And The Newest Member Is...

I am so pumped because I invited Bad Shoe Guy to come play with us, and he is going to! Whoo hoo! Quite some time back, Shoe Guy and I had the conversation that he wouldn't want to keep up his own blog, but would love to post from time to time. I think that kicks ass, and I am happy to welcome him finally as a contributer. Especially since my posts have been infrequent lately. Welcome and Game On.

The Year In Review

Weather: 95 degrees
Mood: Blind Fury
Number Dead: As many that stand in my way, but especially "1990s Dan" at the tag agency, he's one dead mother fucker.
Bullets Remain: The day's not finished and I've been spraying down bitches all day.

So let's review the first year of marriage:

Wedding.
Honeymoon.
Stolen Wallet.
Stolen Cell Phone.
Stolen money.
Baby.
No Baby.
The bank tries to rob me.
A friend has cancer.
Liver is bothering me.
Stolen purse, brief case, ipod, ipod case, disney shit, work keys, you name it and it's fucking gone.

This skips all of the friend-fighting, job betraying, backstabbing high school bullshit that composes the rest of my treacherous year. I am so pumped that we have 3 more months before we finalize this our first year as husband and wife. This just skims the surface of the sour stanky milk that is my life. At least the cop who came and took the report was sympathetic. He got to live. Broke into the car. In the garage. Someone should have told that sonofabitch that all he had to do was take five more steps and he could have walked right into the house and took anything he pleased, because we didn't lock the door. We don't live in "that kind of" neighborhood. Sarcasm. Someone go ahead and replace the journal that they took that was given to me by a student. Someone try and replace the UT Evidence CD. Someone give me back the notes that I took at every debate tournament that I went to, the notes that I create strategies from. Someone replace the Memphis pen that Count gave me or replace the DisneyLand pens that came from the Nightmare before Christmas store. Even go ahead and replace the gift cards, the Bath and Body spray, the vanila mint chapstick. Go ahead. Go replace it. They were gifts, presents, memories. Stolen.

And actually, some of those things can be replaced. But it means a trip to each of those places. It means doing more work that I should have to because some other lazy sonofabitch took what I earned. And once again, everyone seems to lack in the sympathy department. Apathy is more plentiful than the gas I have from last night's meal. I started to feel sorry for myself and then I started thinking it's not just me. Gender and Hater have had their shit stolen twice this year, too. Its so common now that people don't want to do a thing about it. Last time this happened, I was teary-eyed. I was upset. This time I'm not sad or scared. I'm just pissed. I don't like losing, and when it comes to this game, there is no winning. The purse and the ipod I knew was almost a eventuality. That's some hot shit. But the damn briefcase was unzipped and only had my journal and my school papers in it, along with some pens. I was at least hoping that would be laying on the lawn. I didn't get that courtesy. But we'll all just write it off and move on. Not worth getting worked up about, right? It's just stuff.

Motherfuckers.

My Time At Middle Tennessee

Most of you don't know this, but there was a brief period in history where I had to quit college. I had a "peeping Tom" problem, which I believe now is referred to as voyerism, but either way, I couldn't stop watching people. It started on the night of the Rodney King beating and it just kept getting worse and worse because I was convinced that I too could catch a beating on tape. So I started carrying my video camera around with me everywhere I went. I started to get into trouble, as business don't like you filming their activity, but I decided not to quit.

Eventually, it was revealed to me that the University of Central Oklahoma wasn't going to be revealing in its criminal activity and that I would have to take my camera on the road. I stopped at all of the colleges that I had debate tournaments at, hoping that I would see something interesting. And did I ever find it!

When I finally made it to Middle Tennessee, I was following a possible cat napper-no this does not mean our criminals were sleepy, it means that they were going to steal the cats and pour gravy all over them! That's not all they are doing to these cats, either. The bastards had been stalking cats for about 3 weeks, well that's as long as I saw them do it...It was becoming apparent that this was some sort of cat napping ring. I saw the two talkative ones almost daily, but the angry one, wasn't around on the night in question.

There they are mumbling back to their castle, when he cracks open a can of gravy and starts calling to the cat. She seizes the opportunity to try to close off all possible exits. Thank goodness my camera is rolling to catch all of this, because I see the two of them trap the cat. I have been giving this particular cat boxing lessons, so that he could defend himself. Well, Mr. Nibbles implemented his training well, because by the time he was finished, the two were running and screaming away from the scene. I tried to follow them, but in my rush to get back to their cave of operations, I stumbled over Mr. Nibbles and fell, thus breaking my camera and ending my voyeristic career. I had only one remaining tape of what they did to those animals, and I am going to share it with the world now...

The Dog's Second Worst Day Ever

Weather: Humid and 81 degrees.
Mood: Surprisingly cheery. Super Cheery.
Number Dead: Dare I?
Bullets Remaining: 97, I know. There's one I haven't told you about.

Following excerpt is a "from the vault" especial. This is about two years ago when the count and I were dating. It is a warm summer afternoon when the actors enter the room. The summer has been moist and fraught with the battle of the bugs, ticks, etc.


So, here we are petting the dog. I am rubbing under his neck and on his stomach. It's business as usual. I feel a lump. It's black. Not pumped. We've been battling ticks and fleas all summer because of the rain. We hadn't seen the sun for more than one day, much unlike the recent desert-like weather...

When it started to rain three days ago, my first thought when a drop hit my shoulder was that a bird had shit on me, rather than the possibility of rain. What f'ed up world do I live in where bird poop is more probable than precipitation? Moving this story right along...

I call The Count into the room. Backup is most definitely needed. I'll pull the tick if I must, but The Count loves all of these special little moments where he gets to show off his manhood (I have no idea if this is true, but it seems funny, so there you go) to pull this horrible tick from the dog's arm pit. The Count has the tweezers in his grasp and is attempting to tug the tick off. Now everybody knows that this tick isn't coming out with just a little tug.

Animal lovers around the world know, if you are going to pull a tick out, as opposed to burning it out, or "smoking it out of its hole," to use a Bushism, you are going to have to put some gusto into the tugging.

So The Count is yanking while I hold the dog, trying to pull the body apart from the head of this tick. We both keep looking at the dog, who is sitting as placid as a cow, waiting for him to squirm or panic. But not our dog, cool as a cucumber.

Get a better grip on the tweezers and keep going. What is probably 2 minutes feels like two hours of holding the dog. I don't know what finally clued us in, I guess it was when Squeaker, yes dammit his name is Squeaker, gave us The Rock's patented People's Eyebrow-you know the rock, even non-wrestling fans know The Rock-and we somehow figured out that tugging wasn't going to do the trick.

We lean in closer to get a look at the mut and his tick. The count touches it with his finger-gag. Gag again for posterity's sake. Eew. The Count and I have to have a thinking moment and then, slower than "special" kids doing Geometry, the light bulb comes on.

The tick isn't a tick. The tick is a mole.

Worse, it's a mole on a nipple.

Better than discovering that the three-headed dog was protecting the Sorcerer's Stone, the Count and I discovered that the reason why the dog wasn't squirmy or pissed is because this whole time we were gently pinching and tugging on his nipple. Fuck. Squeaker 1. The Count and Myself, 0.

Cognitive Dissonance

I want to post something. I want to talk about how pissy I was at work today, but in order to do that, I have to post something worse. I have to post a bullet. I should have at the top of my blog: weather, mood, number dead, etc., etc... posted. Something happened last month, and I have to admit its one of the reason why I haven't been posting lately. I haven't really been wanting to talk about it, but now for whatever reason, I am ready to talk about it now.

Two days before my birthday, there was a 10 year old girl that went missing-Jamie Bolen. She was found one day after my birthday, dead. In the neighbor's closet. So much for amber alert. She was in a rubbermaid tub. She was obviously cut. There has been confirmation that her killer planned to eat her. That was shocking. And traumatizing, but not near as bad as listening to what was later revealed, which is that her killer, Kevin Underwood, had a blog. (I don't know that I was pumped about putting this link on this post, but I figure it's your choice to go there. Now, all of the comments on his blog mainly consist of either really pissed off people who swear he is going to hell, really sick fucks who think that killing is just as misunderstood as homosexuality, and everyone in between. If you are really curious, you should see his profile, where his blogger profile question is about cannibalism.)

The next Wednesday after my birthday, I had current events discussions in my class and we started talking about the news. All of my kids have my space pages, facebook pages, blogs, etc. Hell, look at where I am choosing to talk about this. Of course the issue of the blog came up. Apparently, there are multiple posts talking about cannibalism. I say 'apparently' but this has been confirmed by news sources. I don't have the patience to look at the sight that long. I don't know how I feel about snooping around there...But more concerning is the fact that one of his posts outlines that he intended to take either his neighbor, some older woman, or some other boy that he was watching-once again, this is all from news sources (sources, meaning I have read more than one source, just b/c I don't want to be part of the glorification entourage...who gossips about the killing...) Other posts talk about his loneliness, still others about how he hasn't been taking his medication.

And the debate begins. Should someone be watching all of this, our posts, I mean? Should someone have seen this coming? And believe it or not, I am actually not looking for your opinions on that. I mean, I would love to hear, but I'm just saying that's not why I am posting. What has gotten me into this state of cognitive dissonance is that in the middle of defending the blog world to a student who said something to the effect of "of course someone should have seen this coming," I spouted back, "Well, I post everyday about how many people I have killed. If there's someone who really pisses me off, I dedicate a post to their death." The debate continued, of course what I was saying was metaphorical, oh, of course we can tell the difference between what's real and what's not real, right? Yeah. Refer to the James Frey post. This is the reason why I am concerned. I don't really think that we do know the difference anymore. People say his, Underwood I mean, blog talks about cannibalism. But then again, right now at this moment in time, so does one of the men that is a dear friend to me. Here's his post on the case for cannibalism. Maybe we should arrest him too.

But honestly, when I reflect on this mess of a dilemma, I also wonder whether or not I too, am to blame for trivializing violence. If Underwood is guilty of glammorizing violence or fantasizing about it, then I am too. Maybe that doesn't make me a killer, but it might make me as ethically slimy as one.

Here's one of the news articles that might help give you more information. Beyond that, if you want to know more, I trust you know how to figure it out from here.

On an unrelated note, I am really thrilled that everyone has been sharing what they are reading as well. It has been awesome. I am still reading A Million Little Pieces, I am a slow reader, but I absolutely love it. I know that I had a moment, but other than about 15 pages, this has been one of the best books I have ever read. I went ahead and purchased the book for myself, and I also purchased the book that follows, My Friend Leonard. I don't know how to describe this book, you have to read it for yourself. Oh, but fast forward past the dentist part. It seems too fake.

And now, since I have hot-linked you to death, I will finish. Wait a minute, in this case is death punny? Is this the lighthearted ending to this post I was looking for? Maybe...