how u lick me know

dear conclusions i didn't mean to draw diary,

every once i a while i feel so blessed to be me and then the bottom drops out and i hate myself. try explaining that one on a daily basis. it ain't daily so much anymore, not since i started this nonsense about being a whore, but it does still happen. oh sure, i came to terms with the whole 'whore' notion and it was indeed a fun pill to swallow, but the reality is, i sure didn't make a very good one. i could have (and should have) done a much better job. maybe i wasn't qualified for the job. after all, i can not build a house, or remove an appendix, or drive a back hoe- i'm not qualified to do those jobs either. so i don't know what i thought would ever qualify me to be a whore. but now that i do have some experience, maybe i can go sign up and be a firefighter and put my skills to good use. deep in my heart of hearts, i always did kinda wanna be a hero.

the game warden

dear that is how murderers are made diary,

listening to the neighbors behind the neighbors scream at their child is a real lesson for prince william and lohan. they were shocked and appalled at the words those parents chose to use at 3AM when their little four year old son wasn't sleeping like they apparently had expected him to be sleeping. the unibomber confirmed the parental agitation towards that child, but he said he'd only heard it during the daylight hours. i don't go outside, so i wouldn't know what goes on out there, but their is the yard where i caught the possum a few years back with all the babies hanging from it, but that kid prolly wasn't even born yet when that event happened, iffin he's only four. i'm no calamity jane, but i do pride myself on the capture of that mother possum and those babies holding on to her for dear life. but i cant bring myself to understand why parents would speak to their spawn in that fashion. i know i blog about the dumbest of the dumb shit i can think of, usually most of the time, but i'll just bet that poor child feels just like that mother possum did, prolly every time his mommy and daddy even speak a word to him- and he ain't even got a galvanized garbage can covering his head yet.

never do what i ask

dear doing what i asked diary,

when my little hot ass sexy 22 year old hair cutter woman asked me how i wanted my hair cut, i know she was not expecting the answer i gave, but then i rarely ever give your standard answer for anything. i told her to cut whatever amount of hair that had grown in six years completely off- all at once. ima be wearing my monkey hat alot this winter.

just like her now

dear my goal in life today diary,

i woke up this morning and decided i was going to make a change. i'm tired of everyone telling me how beautiful my hair is. seriously. i hate my hair. i've been angry at it for a very long time and it's been getting on my nerves and i swore the next mother fucker that ran up and said something to me about it- i was going to do something. it brings attention to me that i just don't want anymore. i don't want anyone to look at me. D.O.N.E. look somewhere the fuck else. i don't want to be a whore anymore. i hate my fingernails. i hate getting dressed. i hate smiling. i don't even want to go outside because i hate being a bitch and whenever i am nice, men think i want to fuck. so OFF WITH MY HAIR, OFF WITH MY NAILS, and IMA STAY INSIDE- where it's safe.

bleeding sky limits

dear behind there somewhere diary,

what i don't understand are the needs to have limits all the time. speed limits are stupid. the only limit on how fast you can go should be how fast your car is able to go. my ears keep itching and i just want to stick a pencil down in there and poke them until they bleed and stop itching once and for fucking all. my top row of teeth hurt too, i think i counted sixteen of them bitches with my tongue this morning, but i don't actually know because they were throbbing so bad i kind of lost count a number of times.  then- every time i get brave enough to take a deep breath in, i cough soon after and moan like eight times, so i feel much better today. i really hate my hair. i hate it. i cried when i actually looked at it, but what it done is done now. we all have out limits and i've past mine. i hate limits. but i think we all knew that by now.

ain't gonna happen

dear this will be short diary,

i am flying away momentarily to have my hair whacked off. i'm sick of it. i've been gonna do this for a while and today is finally the day. i want to set a good example for the unibomber who obviously fears the barber like some fear the dentist. i must brush my teeth now, so i have to get going. don't anyone worry, i wont come home looking like cuntface. i don't like yellow or gray for hair color.

ONE BRAVE (but ugly) BITCH

dear you got balls diary,

i haven't been this sick in years. i'm getting my ass kicked right now. i really just want to mope around and whine like a fat baby all day and night and cry and bellyache to anyone who will listen. i cant help but learn form being sick and apply this to a wide range of a broad spectrum of circumstances and i've come up with many sharp and focused conclusions about being sick. you know, cuntface has to have some mighty large balls and be an awfully brave bitch to be having any type of relationship with her hero husband, protected or otherwise. i know for a fact a regular condom wont stay on, so that's out. knowing he contacts women for sex, knowing he made his rounds the day after he got home from vacation, knowing he leads a double and triple life, i couldn't do it. i wouldn't risk my life for any man. it sucks being this sick and i'm not even ashamed of having a CHEST COLD. get well soon CUNTFACE! better see a doctor like i did.

i'm glad my mower ran out of gas

dear forget me not diary, 

it is not inconceivable that things will go my way. even when they seem to not go my way, they always go go my way- sometimes i'm just not ready yet. i wait for change sometimes, or the lack thereof, because i feel guilty for wanting less. i mean, sometimes i want more, but not often. is wanting something different something more? not always, i wouldn't think- but to some it would, i suppose. getting ripped off is out of the question. so is trading in what you have for something you don't know about, but i almost did that once. boy was i stupid. the grass may be greener on the other side of the fence, but it still needs mowed and fleas still live in the grass. dogs still piss and shit in that green grass. i no longer want anything much different and i feel terrible for thinking i ever did. i'm lucky to have held on to what i've had for so long, thinking about tossing it all away for something that would have been so terribly worse makes me fucking vomit.

closet space

dear the reality of a special place diary,

are there any sacred places anymore? there is so much garbage spread out everywhere, tell me a place where keeping something special actually lasts. logic does not always prevail. if you have to keep a nifty delicate trinket in a box, wrapped up in bubble wrap, inside a darkened dry closet, sometimes i think, "why have the fucking trinket?" i like shit i can throw around, durable shit. I like stuff that can take a beating and i like to punch on my friends. i don't mind keeping my favorite things packed away, so i don't have alot of friends and i'm pretty picky about the trinkets i bring home. my treasures are all packed away because of all the shit floating around these days and my concern about the garbage and shit mingling in with my treasured trinkets. i haven't figured why i always punch on my friends, i did figure out not to punch on the ones that punch me back though. i told you i am smart-uh.

blowing the whorn

dear crumpled up wad of kleenex diary,

i would have called but the person who answers the line on the other end of my blog line is me and i'm not coming to the phone right now and i hate leaving voice mails. i thought it would prolly be best to call back later. i'm blowing my nose and coughing like a freak today. i suppose if i had to pick a week to be ill, this is as good of a week as any. i'm going to take a nap now and sleep, although not for the normal reasons i usually sleep for, but for altogether different reasons this time.

a weird phase (to some)

dear an obituary diary,

sometimes when i get bored or depressed i often sit down and prepare my own obituary. don't worry, i am not about to share it with you here now, today, on my blog, or on any other media, because that would ruin the element of surprise for when i do actually die and it gets published. i like to write one for the dogs and snake too. and by the time i get theirs done i am usually satisfied. but on the off chance my obituary writing needs are not filled, i move on to horrific accidents involving heroes falling from the sky on an otherwise warm fall afternoon. and that will do it every time right there.

if i die (my wishes)

dear for all those times diary,

for all the times i haven't been sick over the past few hero-less years, i'm now looking at a SLAM DUNK. i guess i really can get down with the sickness- even when i don't expose myself to the nasty bug. at least now i know why i got sick all those times i did, because i sure always did wonder. it's in my chest this time i can feel it when i breathe. it hurts. things are tight in there. it used to start out in my face and move down to my chest, but i'm skipping that first part and moving right to the good stuff. i might die this time around, due to all the previous times my body had to fight the shit off for NO REASON. so if i do, the following are my last and final wishes:

1. i want my snake to go to a zoo where school age children will prolly take school field trips and come and see her. please warn children not to touch her- she bites.
2. i want my 167 bottles of opi fingernail polish to be sold for at least $2 a bottle and i don't care what happens to the money, but my polish better NOT go in the garbage.
3. i want my grandma's china to stay where it is. don't fuck with it til i come back for it.
4. i want the grump to live in my house, so whoever needs to keep paying the real estate taxes on the property so the grump has a decent home.
5. i want prince william to live next door to the grump for as long as he wants- make sure that happens.
6. my bible and bert banks go to prince harry.
7. becky can live with candy, or my dad, or even the goat.
8. candy can have some plants, but the hoya goes to the goat, even if he doesn't want it.
9. the holly hobby picture in my room goes to aubree.
10. please as my final FINAL WISH, someone send a package of oreos to mr. and mrs. loveman starting Christmas Eve 2012 and continue this tradition for FORTY ONE YEARS. 

alien cuntface

dear new return policy diary,

i think if the aliens came from outer space and hovered above my house and sucked me up through a giant flexible sling down tube- through my window- while i was sleeping (cuz you know that they could damn well do it at anytime during the day or night) and i fit up through the flexible piping that was provided and somehow entered the alien's spacecraft.... i think the aliens would take one look at me and spit me right back out the window. they wouldn't want to dirty up their tube again. they would know they fucked up and got an oddball whore. i think the alien head fry cook would be one pissed off fucker up there at the worker alien who picked out the whore human to suck up. i'm just not like all the other human whores, i'm retarded. aliens may have already had some experience dealing with human whores before, but not like me. i will scare the common alien and even the hero alien will grow to fear me. female aliens will spit upon me and call me names, but this doesn't bother me, for i have had many years of special combat training here on earth. so if i am ever taken by the aliens- i certainly wont be worried.

smelly body armor

dear what should i do diary,

if you haven't figured out already, i'm not an organized woman, but i don't consider myself confused. however, there are those times i find myself in situations where i don't know what to do, let alone who to do it with. my comfort zone is not a large area and remains pretty much confined to a size big enough to fit myself and my two animals, a snake and occasionally a guest of my choosing. i find that when i expand my comfort zone, it is then i become more disorganized and unable to recognize when safety violations occur. wearing a helmet has become a more obvious approach to dealing with the onset of sudden infractions of personal space within my comfort zone, but did nothing when the snake bit me on my leg one week ago today. i got to show off my still remaining bruise today over at yvonne's house, impressive i must add, as everyone there gasp at the fang marks still obvious through the yellowing but fading color. which brings me to my situation i find myself in this evening. after the roast and before the sons of anarchy come on, do you all think it would be okay if i remove my helmet for a while?

roasted buttered spiders

dear when the time starts diary,

when things begin to matter, one starts watching the clock. kinda makes a little more sense when you look at it like that huh? i'm getting pretty good at stating the obvious. i ought to start thing about trying it more. i never expected there to be a spider on my arm, so by the time i had to take the time to look at it twice, the fast fucker took off and now there is another free range spider loose in my house, along with the mice and mosquitoes. i'm thinking i'll set up a fucking tent in the living room tonight and sleep out there. maybe i'll leave the front door wide open and a cat will sneak in and prowl around and do some good will hunting. i had no idea spiders could move about so quickly. the ones i always kill could run, yes, but this one seemed to have a zip power i've never seen. if a watched pot never boils, then my roast should be done- i haven't checked on it once. but i know it isn't and that's prolly why i ain't checked it yet. i'll know when it is though because a roast is one of those silly things i don't need to check twice.

spray paint

dear all caught up diary,

getting caught up sucks when you're ready to start over. but i made it at least. i knew i would, but not a moment to spare. i like to stay in the lines when i color with crayons and i like to cut it close to the edge. sharp scissors are a must, anything else will just fold the paper. the electricity that runs behind the wall carries the voltage needed to power all the gadgets that seem to entertain us. electric crayons, now there's a fantastic idea.

a foggy day in LONDON

dear cruel foggy world diary,

what a cold place this world is where we live, that mice can roam freely and mosquitoes bite within the confines of our kitchens and bedrooms while we sleep. i killed a fly the other day simply by reaching out and touching it with my index finger and pressing down on his head and body- crunching him between my fingertip and table like a fly wizard. it was at that moment i knew my powers were at full capacity and i was indeed a force to be reckoned with and ready to make french onion soup for my people. i have not made this concoction for many years, and so, i am going to set out today to complete this task because it is so foggy outside. no one can walk on by my french onion soup complete with toasted croutons and browned cheese on top and onions hanging over the side. i cant wait until the butcher shop opens.

the strengh of the wire

dear life is a gamble diary,

you just never know how those dice are gonna land. the unbridled power of the force of nature can work for you or against you. while sometimes things may seem to go with the flow, they may actually be going against it. not so much differing from that ride in the plane where you think your going up, but you're really going down. you just never do know where you'll end up when one foot is in a bucket and your head is in the clouds.

my personal style

dear what it seems diary,

damn a cupcake anyway. ima have to have another. oh but wait, i ate them all already. i hate when that happens. i might have tripped on your coattail, but you shouldn't have left it on the floor. i hate to hang up my coats so that's why i don't wear them. i find that coats are bulky and hold the smells of where you've spent the majority of your time recently. i kinda hate wearing the same coat over and over too, but i will, and i do, when i have to. my coat is red. i bought the only coat i've had in twenty years and after i did, i took it back and got a refund. then i missed it so much i went back to the department store and bought it again. my coat doesn't have tails, but it could tell many tales. you wont be tripping on those now, ima keep them in the closet with my coat.

lazy days of AUTUMN

dear excited to sit here diary,

now i know why old people like to do it so much. it is a damn good feeling to just sit around safely in the comfort of your own bed and know the only thing endangering your life today are the herds of mice scurrying around on the clean fucking carpets throughout the house. i love my home and the quietness i hear right now as i sit and view the floor and wait for a mouse to run across it. becky and the grump are asleep next to me, one on top of my feather blanket and one under my blanket. i don't think i could ever get tired of watching those two sleep either, but watching for mice will eventually piss me off. becky doesn't leave little turds under the blanket and the grump doesn't chew on boxes and the corner of bag of dog food, so we'll be making so big time changes around here BEFORE WINTER.

little man on bike (ON SAIL)

dear shipping things you order diary,

things get shipped everyday. they come by water and by air and over our nation's roads and then delivered to our doors by mail carriers and uPs drivers and fedEX and even little men on bikes. sometimes the consumer goes after the items they order and wag them home by themselves. remember a time when there was no uPs? it wasn't that long ago when all the family's needs were met at home, on the farm. people didn't think to need things from overseas and iffin they did find their way over here, it was a cherished item and often glass or ornamental. with the way things our in the world today, it seems like families would revert to the way things were so long ago before fedEX came along. being happy with whatcha got seems like a pretty good idea these days. that is unless you are a hero and you can get on your little bike and go around and take inventory of all the overstock.  

squealing peanut butter filled fingernails

dear chipped polish and mice on the carpet diary,

if today was tomorrow, i wouldn't be up yet. but my polish is worn and chipped on every nail and i could sleep no longer. i hate this color i have on anyway. it doesn't scream, "whore" loud enough for me. i have a huge issue going on in my house already this year, a month earlier than usual. i have mice. it seems like mice like to hang out wherever i live. fucking looking back over the years, i cant think of any home i've ever had that didn't contain a family (or two) of mice. i've never had a cat, but i have a snake now- who cant keep her jaws off of me, but that goes in a different post. we had a bread drawer at my first house and i pulled it out and got to see a whole nest of baby mice and their parents. that little family got us on david letterman and stupid pet tricks in february1996 when my dog marty joanne (gymshoe) had a strange reaction to the little family. i wish we still had that dog. he was a mouse hunting freak of nature. after i take my nap, i will paint my nails and lay out more rolling traps with nutterbutter cookies in them. i sure hope the snake can tolerate nutterbutters.

busy as ever (not trying to be clever)

dear it is always something diary,

ordinarily, it is really something to watch someone who is busy doing nothing, but i don't like it when people watch me when i am busy doing it. it fucks me up. it throws me off and makes it hard to concentrate and before i know it- i am doing something i never wanted to do, which is usually something detailed and dangerous to my health. nobody chops onions in a blender, for instance and i'm not about to start. i wont be storing my shoes under my bed either, or wearing pajama jeans. what i will do is venture on into the kitchen and see about eating another cupcake because those bitches are something else at 1:41 in the mourning since oreos aren't on sail at kroger this weak.

seasoning packet with natural juices

dear baking gently diary,

i haven't felt like blogging much the last few weeks. it would be a lie to say i haven't been myself lately, because i have, i've just come to peace with the whole reasoning behind the existence for this blog in the first place. for the moment, i no longer feel the drive and hourly determination to spread the word because i know the word has already been spread. sometimes i wish i could step back into time about six years, even just for a few seconds. i would you know, step back there. i would warn many people so they too would not waste these years of their life- wondering. then maybe all these years later i wouldn't be looked upon as the retarded whore who waited for the roast that never quite got done.

i shoulda paid the bill

dear dreamcast diary,

the dream company who provides programming during my slumber could do a better job picking the shit i like to watch. i am prolly the best and biggest customer, after all. i tried changing the channel last night, but the remote wouldn't work and i was stuck watching the same dream over and over all night long. i hate that. to make things even worse, becky slept down my side, like a long silver warm dead turd and i worried about where the grump was. it usta be, before the grump was supposed to die, i would kick him out of the bed and invite becky to sleep there, but now things are so different. i need to have the grump touching me all night- just to make sure my cable is working.