Slutty Sydney Steals

This test from NicoleMart. Anyways, I didn't turn out to be as
slutty as I wanted. A few of the questions on the question tripped
me up. Apparently there are some things I won't do. 36% of
them in fact. Who knew?




How much of a slut are you?

I Couldn't Even Make It Up

Not if I tried. My life is so weird even I'm gettin' some popcorn
and a diet coke - caffeine free of course - to sit down and watch.

So after surviving the hands happy doctor who wanted to show
me in detail how they insert the IV in my artery, you know, in
my groin, "right here," he said, placing his hand on it. And then...
not removing said hand. "Then, he explained, "They shave you
here," he pressed down to emphasize his point. He went on to
explain that they would insert the cardiac catheter, blah blah blah
and then went on to say, "And then they'll need to apply pressure
for several minutes on your groin," and placed his other hand on
his first and pressed down again.

There was no nurse in the room. I was trying to decide whether
to call the medical board or just go ahead and have him get me
ALL the way off. Since he was fairly attractive and is apparently
one of the best surgeons around and I may need my valve re-
placed someday I decided on option three. Say nothing and let
him finish his umm... rather detailed hands on explanation.

So after that, I get my other weird test today. My boss is in a
bad mood and gets mad at me on the way out the door. That
always makes for a lovely weekend. So afer all of THAT, I'm on
my way home and I decide that I need to get a prescription filled.
Except that last time I called the pharmacy I didn't have refills al-
though I know perfectly well that I have three remaining.

I figured the bottle was on the passenger floorboard of my car.
You know, along with most of the rest of my life. So I pulled into
K-Mart towards the side end of the lot, away from the other ve-
hicles, got out and bent over the passenger side of my car with the
door open. At that time, there were no other cars around me. Did
I mention I was wearing a rather short skirt? Ok. I was. I think
that may possibly be germaine to the rest of what happened, al-
though I could be wrong.

So I'm looking for this bottle, which I can't seem to find, although I
do come up with some other stuff I'd lost and didn't even know I
was missing. Anyway, you know when you just have this quiet cer-
tain knowledge that someone is right behind you even though you
haven't seen them yet? That weird feeling?

Well here I am, bent over my seat, car door open, and I get that feel-
ing. I look down and I SWEAR TO GOD this guy about my age was
squatting on the ground RIGHT BEHIND ME LOOKING UP MY
SKIRT. A little to my rear right actually. But I do mean RIGHT
fucking behind me. Like less than a foot. So whirled around and
saw a car (a truck actually) that I took to be his but it was at least
four or five car spaces away from mine and there was nothing but
space between my car and his truck. Unfotunately, there was little
space between my ass and his nose. I loudly demanded, "What are
you doing!"

He quickly backed away from me, almost stuttering, and said,
"Nothing, I dropped my key." He was WAY bigger than me, by the
way, but the parking lot was crowded and he left and went into the
K-Mart. I didn't see a key, nor did I hear one drop. So... I was
faced with another one of those questions.

What to do? Well, it happened there was a cop right there in the
parking lot. I mean, its a huge parking lot but in the far corner it
just so happened that there had been a fender bender so there
was one out there handling he report. So I told him what happened
and I said look, I don't know WHAT he was doing exactly but can
you please just stop him and run him for priors.

I'd hate not to report it and then find out he's wanted for this type
of thing. You know, the key dropping dress peeping maneuver. Or
something worse. Because I can live with being peeped personally,
but I couldn't live with not reporting something if it turned out the
guy had hurt someone before or something. Turns out they were
more than happy to stop the guy. It can get boring being a cop
here ALTHOUGH a lot more goes on in a small town than people
would imagine. I say that having worked with social services in
a small town in Texas for a little while.

They stopped him on the way out. He explained that somehow his
key had rolled. That's right, rolled out of his hands and up under
my ass. From many feet away. And he was just kind of quietly
trying to retrieve it. And his jacket was clean. No priors. He had
been on his way to have his key copied at K-Mart and had taken it
off of his key ring and it had just taken on a life of its own. It was a
bad key incident. They happen. And he was so sorry he scared
me. Scared me? Hell, he's lucky I didn't have a gun in the car at
that moment sneaking up behind me like that. I mean, retrieving
his key. And there you have it.

I Think I am Home Free

Kinda. Ok, by that I mean that my test yesterday came out really
well. UBER well. Except that I was told that I can no longer have
caffeine. Yes, I am going to titrate off of that. Oh, and I have to
take some drugs to slow my heart rate down. That's right. More
drugs.

I still have a couple more heart related tests on Monday, but I
hope and think actually that they will come out well too. Ok, that
said... my brain is weird. But you knew that already. My eeg came
out bad. As in wrong. As in, 'you just ain't right." Something that
people here in my new state tell me ALL the ever lovin' time. So
my brain is abby normal. I just got the results.

Very nice. Ok, but you know, that can happen - I think. That these
things come out abnormal. Maybe. Except, oh yeah, I did have that
weird thing happen last week. The incident at work. Ok, well,
There IS that. And umm, all of my eeg's have been abnormal, this
one just happens to be you know, more abnormal. So, I get an MRI
too. Just in case I wasn't pissing my boss off ENOUGH with all of
the medical tests.

But anyway, I'm still not getting really worked up over this. I don't
know exactly why, but I guess I feel kind of more comfortable with
problems in my head - you know, where me and my migraines live,
than with problems in my heart. I'm USED to having headaches so
I guess a problem with my brain isn't quite as scary for me. Weird
huh? Go figure.

I See Men

a lot like hood ornaments. Every time I find one I wouldn't be
embarassed to put on my car, I can't keep him from falling off.






copywrighted by Syd

For The Adult Crowd

So Arthur, or Chief Blogster, never one to rest on his laurels, has
begun a new endeavor. This one is a little racier. A little edgier.
A little not for the 18 and under.

Per his request, its also not to go back to blogster, for any blog-
steridians reading this. He wants to give the new guys a fair
shake without any competition. Although really this is not at
all the same thing.

Ever the entrepeneur, the Chief has come up with a new idea.
Adult Blogster
It's a link site for adult blogs. Its still in its formulative stage,
but... There you have it. Adult eye candy. Or at least, links to
such.

So What Day Is It?

The 24th? The 25th? I can't wait and entire two weeks to do
housework because the house is pretty bad. Plus, we need
clothing. Although... if I showed up to work naked I just might
be able to sell more chicken.

But seriously, as soon as Dylan wakes up, I will give him some
time, like the little vampire offspring that he is, to get used to
the fact that it is daylight outside, and THEN we are cleaning
the house. Because a lot of my tests do not occur for two weeks
and the house simply CANNOT wait until then.

To his benefit, he did do two loads of dishes in the dishwasher
yesterday. And I am going to live up to my taco promise. He
LOVES tacos. I'll bet I could feed him tacos every day and he'd
still love them. And by this I do not mean the crunchy taco shells
you buy at the store. He likes corn tortillas deep fried and folded
over at home. His preference is for me to throw some chorizo in
with the hamburger meat, but Dorothy, we're not in Kansas err...
Texas anymore. We're in Alabama. Hard to find chorizo here.

His grandmother from Texas has a cool way you can convert ham-
burger meat to chorizo. I need to call and get it from her. If I do,
I'll post it in case anyone else wants to try it.

The funniest thing about this post? I hardly ever cook. But hey,
we are poor lately. So I'm going to be doing a LOT more of it!

A Tale of Two Blogs

So... I originally came here because I was having some you know,
issues, back at home on the range on my original blog:

Blah Blah Blog... by again... ObliqueOne

I wasn't feeling creative the day I started it, hence the title. Ok,
so I was feeling really uncreative. What about it? Anyway, so I
left. You know, stopped writing there. Came to blogspot. Started
a blog. I like it here. Not only are there lots of cool blogs out here
but I can - well if I was creative I could - futz about with my own
html here. And blogspot uses the standard blogging format. Un-
fortunately, blogster doesn't.

Last week, things were resolved at blogster, at least in terms of
my issues there. But I found that I couldn't and didn't want to
give this blog up. Nice people and the ability to more or less do
my own thing here reeled me in. So since then, I've been here.
And there. But I will not be leaving here. So I'll do both. Which
is fine. I have more blathering to do than is possibly fair to ex-
pect any one group of people to read.

So anyway, blogster was purchased on ebay initially and was
grown into a community of bloggers. By Arthur, affectionately
(most of the time) known as the Chief Blogster. We were a dif-
ficult group to keep in line I'm sure.

Two or three days ago, Arthur sold Blogster. For an undisclosed
amount. Its not, by the way, his only gig. Never was. But con-
gratulations and I'll miss you, Arthur. You know. In a weird sort
of way ;)

ChiefBlogster

p.s. You guys here may wonder - why is she telling US about this?
Well duh! I have to talk about it somewhere, and I can't tell the
folks at blogster because... they ALREADY KNOW. And there
you have it.

The Funniest Thing

that happened today is my doc said, so during that TIA yesteday-
Look, I said, we don't KNOW that it WAS a TIA. That remains a
hypothetical diagnoses. As I was saying, he went on, when the un-
KNOWN EVENT occurred yesterday, did you think to take your
pulse?

Are you fucking nuts? I said. The "event" that occurred yester-
day where my entire world narrowed to a pinpoint of light? The
one where I was fairly certain was going to die, silently and alone
in the front of my office? No, I did not think to take my pulse. I
thought about how fast I could have gone through all the life in-
surance at my son's age. I thought about what dorky dress my
mom would probably put me in for the funeral. But no, I did not
think to take my pulse. And there you have it. Again.

It Would Seem That

My health isnt all that good of late. It would seem actually that my
health falls into the category offically called, "kinda sucky." So yes-
terday I had some kind of weird head thing where I almost passed
out. It may or may not have something to do with my heart, which
was making very rude noises this morning and not acting at all so-
cial.

Since I'm fairly certain I had a T.I.A. yesterday, I got scared. I had
a little miniature nervous breakdown. So I called my mom. And
cried. You know, briefly. Then I pulled it together and called my
doctor.

And then began the adventure that is the normal trip to my doc's
office. Please try to remember - it's free. My doctor says, I really
want you in here. But its Saturday. Your heart, he says, doesn't
care what day it is. Hell of a good point he's got there. And be-
sides, wasn't that me crying on the phone, first to my mom, and
then, a little calmer, talking to my friend Cindy? Yes. Yes, in fact
that was me. So... I drive to my doc's office in a nearby town. He
has his builder and painter there (they recently moved offices and
are still doing the buildout while seeing patients). Of course, he's
not open today, just there.

His son calls. Oh he says, you'll have to ride with me to (insert the
name of another small town in Alabama here) to take the boys to
their friends. No problem, I said, we can talk on the way. So I ex-
plain what's happened and he, unhappily, agrees I've very pro-
bably had one in a series of T.I.A.'s - his son regales us with a story
written by his brother wherein the entire town is overcome by a
giant fart and then explodes in cloud of methane and FEMA is un-
able to handle the aftermath. The doctor is embarrassed. About
me hearing about the giant fart I mean. I find the story actually
quite well-written and timely. And amusing. As fart humor goes.

So we go back to the office where I am examined. My mitral valve
is loudly announcing HA HA, I don't close all the way, HA HA! But
lots and lots of people have that I said. Not like this, he said. Oh.
And it appears there is some damage that has occurred to my
heart. But HEY, just a very small area. And my carotid arteries
sound funny. Right. Ok. Well... lovely then.

Did I ever tell you that NOBODY in my family EVER gets cancer?
I said. He was not amused. I said, Umm... my mom wants you to
call her. (He hates that shit) He said, Tell her that this is probably
not going to be fatal. I said what do you mean probably. He said,
I mean we can probably fix whats wrong with your heart. Ok... I
said, and again - by fix - what are you thinking. Oh, he said you
very probably need a pacemaker. And someday, you will have to
have that valve replaced, but the cardiologist will tell us if we can
wait a few years.

So I call back on Monday to find out when I come back for a sleep
study, and EEG (those two on account of the TIA thingie), a car-
diac cath, you need your carotids dopplered and... we've already
set you up for an echo and a stress test. Between now and then
don't do anything strenuous, don't have sex (like that was gonna
happen) and - and here he said the thing that freaked me out.
Because this is a guy who in the past has told me that clear liquids
could include vodka. But he said, and I would invite you back to
my house for a beer but I don't want you to have ANYTHING at
all to drink until we're clear of these tests.

Ok, now? NOW I am scared.

This type of thing

May begin to sound oddly familiar to some of you. Here's the deal.
I couldn't find my keys yesterday morning before work. Not any-
where. Now, the previous evening I had gone to bed, although not
necessarily to sleep, at 6pm. Yes. Again. My son had come up-
stairs and needed to used my debit card. I said, yeah sure - oh,
and be sure to get us some drinks too ok? (You know, diet coke
and the like. He's too young to send out for vodka.)

I heard him dump my purse out on the floor in the living room.
Through the haze that was my half sleep, I inwardly cringed, but
then thought, oh well, what the fuck. Ok - a brief side story. I'd
had a bad EKG earlier that day, and I've been having some in-
creasingly annoying heart symptoms. Shortness of breath upon
exertion that isn't even laughingly called exertion (like - rolling
over in bed for instance, or say - taking a shower), ultra fast heart
beat, that sort of thing. Oh yeah, and some chest pain. But really
the other symptons bothered me more. And the fatigue of course.
So anyway, I've always had some slight cardiac issues, but they
had seemed to be resolving until very recently. Now, they aren't
and I've had a worse than usual EKG. And I was really tired. So
back to my story.

I hear all the stuff spill out. I think to myself, Gee, I hope he's put-
ting all of that stuff back. Oh well. Then at some point, I go to
sleep. Fast forward to yesterday morning. I wake up. Dylan is at
school. I can't find my keys. Anywhere. Or my bankcard, which
he took with him the night before. I'm going to be late to work. I
am assuming my son has my card and also may have moved my
keys as he had my purse the night before. I call his school and de-
mand he be sent home. Hey, I have to go to work, ya know?

So on his way home, he decides, I DON'T KNOW WHY, to stop by
the Piggly Wiggly to get the drinks that he apparently forgot to
purchase the night before. He apparently is afraid I'll be mad that
he forgot so he takes this precious time that I am already late for
work to do this. He gets home. In the meantime, I have (oops)
found my keys. However, I still need my bankcard.

He walks in with the drinks, a look of panic on his face. He CAN'T
FIND HIS BILLFOLD. Wait. The one you just had at the store?
The one with my bankcard in it? And by the way, why the hell
did you GO to the store NOW anyway? Uggh! He runs back
down to the store. His billfold is not there but the truck that was
parked next to his car is gone. Lovely. I cancel my bankcard. I
have no less than eight items per month that come out directly
from my account. I now have to contact each of these places with
the new # the bank gave me. I go to work. He goes to school.

Last night when I got home my son said... You didn't call the cops
yet did you? No, I said. Why?

Oh. I found my billfold in the bushes next to our house. You know,
right next to where I park the car. It must have fallen out of my
pocket... I love you mom.

Having Not Slept

More than two hours night before last - you know, being worried
that Dylan wouldn't wake up in time to make it to the bus barn to
get his hatbox - I went to bed at 6:30 or so last night. Couldn't
sleep. Took a half an ambien. Couldn't sleep. Took a whole am-
bien. Couldn't sleep. Talked to friends. Finally fell asleep.

Was awakened by my friend's son. He's about my age. He weighs,
at last count, somewhere in the neighborhoood of 300 lbs and is a
policeman at a very very very small neighboring city. That is to
say, town. That is to say, a town EVEN SMALLER THAN OURS.
(A town even smaller than our is a very small town indeed.)
Because he has washed out of both the police department and sher-
riff's department here. First a shooting at the police department, of
suspicious circumstances.

Although, my friend does not think so, and I do not comment in
front of her out of respect. (Really, Ranger Tom, THIS ONE WAS A
BAD SHOOTING and they fired the right officer, HIM. My friend's
son.) So anyway, the other thing is. He has five kids. He pays child
support for two, the other three, from his first marriage, he left his
parents to raise for most of their lives while both he and his first
wife went their separate ways, lived elsewhere, and did not offer
financial support. So anyway, I don't have a huge amount of respect
for the guy. Now his mother, the one who raised his first three kids,
is a good friend of mine.

We have had a couple of words about how I feel she doesn't take
good enough care of herself, trying to care for three grandchildren
with her husband, on their limited income without the financial or
physical support of either parent. I worry about her, because both
she and her husband have health problems. I do have to say, her
grandkids WERE better off with her. Apparently, her son has
recently moved back in with her. Good. He can help with the kids.
You know. His kids. So anyway, he called and woke me up at 8:30,
(not really his fault as it is considered polite to call anyone after
10am and before 10pm unless expressly asked not to do so, or un-
less a restraining order is in place) and I answered, drugged on
ambien, and our conversation went as follows:

Hi, Sydney - I'm trying to set up a wireless internet for my mom
I didn't wake you did I? You sound a little weird?

Me? Oh - no, I umm, no, it couldn't be, it was just umm, just a min-
ute. A wireless system? At your mom's? Walmart? No no, not
$200.

Yeah, he said I needed three different pieces of equipment but I'm
just trying to hook up these two computers and I...

(Never one to let ANYONE complete an entire sentence awake
or asleep you ARE going to notice me interject a lot. It's one of my
tackier character flaws - you'd think I'd grown up in New York or
something, and by that I do mean the city, not the state - particu-
larly the upper portion of the state where people are oh so gen-
teel.) Listen, you don't need three pieces of equipment, to buy I
mean. All you need to buy are a wireless router and a card for the
computer that is away from the cable modem, you know, the one
upstairs.

I'm sorry? Our cable modem IS upstairs! The computer that's a-
way from it is downstairs!

(Of course, how silly of me to forget that everyone's house isn't
wired just like mine) Right. Of course, but anyway, same thing.
Just the other way around. Anyway, you just need those two
pieces of equipment. Be sure the wireless router has room for
a hard line to go to the one computer that's right next to your
cable modem.

But what about the hub that charter gave us?

Charter gave you a hub? Really? In addition to your modem?
(For a moment was thinking - even through the ambien - that all of
the planets had come un-aligned and charter was not a "for profit"
company after all. The world as I knew it threatened to teeter on a
precipice. See, Charter would NEVER GIVE you a HUB. They don't
like to even think about you USING a hub. If you happen to MEN-
TION that you are using a hub when you are talking to them, they
close their eyes and think about baseball. In their minds every
customer hooks up with one computer and buys a new connection
for each new computer. That's how they make money. Now the
guys that come out to your house to hook you up? They know you
use a router to hook up all of your computers. But then, they don't
really care. They don't really work for Charter. They're con-
tracted employees.)

Oh. No, I guess its a modem after all.

Ok... Well, you are GOING TO NEED THAT. Its what brings the
internet into your computers. From there, the line goes into the
wireless router, then, one line goes into the one computer and the
computer on the other floor receives the connection in a wireless
manner. Got it?

But... There is only space for that cable cord going into the cable
modem, not coming out of it.

Umm... Lets go over this again because I think I probably havent
been communicating very well... (ambien) The cable cord comes
out of the wall. It goes into the cable modem charter gave you.
You take the computer cord, not a cable line, from the cable modem
to the wireless router. From there, you will run another computer
line from the wireless router to the computer nearest the cable
modem. On the computer downstairs, you will install the wireless
card, or plug a receiver into the usb port dependent upon what
type you buy, and... voila! You're hooked up!

Ok, well, how much do those components cost.

(What am I now, mysimon?) I don't know, probably around 70
bucks for the wireless router and 30 or so for the card if you buy
the kind you install in the desktop and 5o bucks or more if you buy
the external type that you plug into the USB port. If you wait and
go to radio shack you might get a better price although the super
walmart did have several brands last time I looked.

And you're sure I only need those two parts cuz the guy at Wal-
Mart said I needed three.

Ok well, you have to decide whether you trust me, or some guy
working at walmart who hasn't already fixed your mom's compu-
ter 5000 times.

Oh, yeah... true. Well, thanks.

No probem, night.

Saving UP

So I saved up everything I needed to do this weekend for today.
Then my son Dylan popped himself in the eye (umm, not really in
the eye - that would have been way bad - but near the eye) with
a power cord and cut his cheek open and we just got back from
the ER. Him with stitches. Err... stitch. Or two. And they said,
you can come back to get it taken out in five days or so. Right.
We'll be doing THAT little operation at home.

So anyway... Now I have to finish cleaning the house, do a project
for work, write a legal letter for my sister, do laundry, and any
number of other things TONIGHT. Why? Because I did what I
always do. Saved up. But not in the good way implying that I
somehow multiplied my funds or something of that nature. No,
I procrastinated. Saved up my misery. That's right. Saved up.

Getting "Uber" It

I umm... didn't know what the word "Uber" meant. By that, I
mean that I didn't know what the word uber meant until yester-
day. Now, obviously I wasn't eaten up with curiousity about this.
The meaning of the word "Uber." Else I would have looked it up.
I had some vague idea that it had something to do with sex. Why?
Because until proven differently, I hope that everything has some-
thing to do with sex.

Below is a long meandering and ultimately pointless story about
how I came to understand the meaning of the word uber. That
was my disclaimer. Don't say I didn't forewarn you. I have ADD.
Which means that my brain is animation incarnate from the mom-
ent I wake up until the moment my head hits the pillow at night.
I mean until the moment I fall asleep at night. Umm, come to think
of it, gee whiz, that just might be one of the reasons WHY I have
difficulty falling asleep at night.

Now my son, he has ADHD. That is to say, his body FOLLOWS
his brain into all of that activity. My body is much lazier than his.
We both take adderall 30 mg XR, a handy little medication, to slow
everything down enough so that we can attempt to do ten things at
once instead of a hundred (Tom Cruise be damned), and there you
have it.

So... All of that said, back to the "Uber" thing.

I was watching tv out of the corner of my eye whilst on the compu-
ter and I saw the promo for some new reality show where people
submit their inventions and the show actually produces, tests and
then markets the product. Immediately, I thought of some pro-
ducts I'd test if I had an opportunity like that including one I'd call
the "Uber Pond" - a little ready made landscape pond since people
seem to be so fond of water features these days.

And so this is how my brain works. Brain - huh. You better make
sure Uber doesn't have anything to do with sex. Then you'd be mar-
keting a sex pond (ok - remember this is already ridiculous because
I'M NOT MARKETING ANYTHING). So I look it up online. Uber
means "over" in German. In usage its used to mean something is
super or ultra, as in, "Dude, those jalapenos are uber hot!" or...

"Paris Hilton is an uber skank." or...

"Uber Ponds are uber stupid."

Customer of The Year

I have one customer to whom I owe a huge debt of gratitude. I
had a broker basically stick us with 29 loads of chicken earlier
this year. It was supposed to have been sold to a large corpora-
tion whose name I will not mention in this post. He gave us his
word on it. And since my boss knew him and had worked with
him before, we bought the inventory based on that. Well... I'm
sure you can see what's coming here. He didn't really have the
deal sewn up. And when it fell through he kind of shrugged and
said, "Wow, I'm really sorry guys."

Enter the customer of the year. Since we are wholesalers, we
sell to a lot of distributors. This customer, who was actually my
very first customer when I got into this business (and he taught
me much of what I know about poultry and deli meats), pitched
in immediately to try to help me move the loads. Now under-
stand that 29 loads of chicken means 29 x 40,000 lbs. Or, in lay-
man's terms, a lot of mother fucking chicken.

So COTY has sold a few loads a month for me every month. As
the chicken market began to dive I have not made money on all
of them, but the most important thing is that I have lost MUCH
LESS than I would have without him as I would not have been
able to move many of the loads. (The company that manufactures
the product and I are in he same market so its difficult to find
customers to whom they aren't already selling, and since they are
the manufacturer they can always beat my price.)

Anyway, thanks to COTY I am down to 5 loads of that product now
and he hopes to have them moved Monday. But in addition to that,
he just called me today. On Saturday. ON SATURDAY! To let me
know that he is in the process of making a deal on the only other
load I need to move so that I can get it out of the way and not lose
money on it. What a great guy!*

*Just as a general FYI, the hurricane took the market up for a
very short time, but it is now falling and is expected to return to
something closely approximating pre-hurricane levels very soon.

This is Why Your Mama Tells You

to pick up your feet...

I always drag my feet. I'm not speaking figuratively here, al-
though hey, that is CERTAINLY true. But I'm just talking physi-
cally. Why? Hell, I don't know. Probably laziness. But I can still
remember when I was a little kid walking down the sidewalk in
hush puppies, my mom saying, PICK UP YOUR FEET! And now?
Now that I'm an adult? My receptionist tells me the same damn
thing. So there's no getting away from it. I've always wondered
what the big deal was. Maybe they just don't want me to go
through what happened to this man:

The Perils of Static Electricity

So My Son Left His

Hatbox on the bus left night. After the game. You know, his band
hat. Which would be moderately ok. I mean, he could just go look
for the thing on Monday morning. Except that to compound his
problems, he left his billfold IN the hatbox WITH the hat. Yes, my
son is getting to be more and more like his mother every day. Hell,
I can't even get mad at him. When's the last time I did something
that stupid. Last week? Yesterday? Did I forget to mention that
this IS a bus that will be used first thing Monday morning to haul
students to our local high school. Yep. It is.

So it would seem wise to at least attempt to retrieve the hatbox
over the weekend if possible. But then that means disturbing
someone else's weekend. You know, to let us into the bus barn.
Have I mentioned here previously what an absolute JOY it is
that my son is in the band. On so many different levels? No?
Seriously. I mean, it is. I bitch about it a lot, but it is. Well at
least, you know, during the five minutes that he's actually march-
ing across the field. Then I get to watch him from the stands at
the home games with all of the other proud parents, queso from
the nachos I serve at the concession stand spattered across my
shirt...

Here's The Deal

I REALLY don't want to move blogs again. So... I've turned off my
anonymous comments and I hope that doesn't cause any problems
for anyone trying to comment. Anyway, I'm just going to go from
there. Other than that, I don't plan to post on this topic anymore.
Way past time to move on.

OK, Let's Move On... To BOTOX!

Please. Because, I reaaaaaaaally don't need the additional stress,
ya know? So can we talk about botox for a minute here? Yes, I
get botox injections. Four time per year. And my insurance pays
for it. That's because most of it goes in my neck and shoulders, and
the rest of it goes in my forehead. You might think that I'd walk a-
round looking like one of those automotons, but noooo... Not me.
Why? Because like everything else in medicine, my body is just
weird.

The botox doesn't do its civic duty and totally paralyze my facial or
neck and shoulder muscles. (Of course I don't get it in all of my
neck muscles because then if it worked, I wouldn't be able to hold
my head up and I'd have to get rings of gold around it to prop it up
like that one African tribe in... well, wherever the fuck they are.)

So, I have apparently developed somewhat of an immunity to botu-
lism and the botox only partially paralyzes my muscles. The entire
idea behind using botox for migraine and headache relief is that when
you have a headache it becomes a vicious cycle. Your muscles con-
tract from the pain, and then they become sore, they throb, which
makes your headache worse, and so on and so forth.

So the theory is that by paralyzing the muscles, it cuts down on the in-
tensity of the headache. And I do think it helps somewhat, otherwise
I wouldn't go back and let them keep sticking me with tiny little need-
les and shooting me with toxins right under my skin.

Of course, the bonus is that she always sends me home with lortab
and muscle relaxants. So that's always fun.

Another Thing

The entire deal with the thong photos was this: The owner of blog-
ster made up some blogster paraphenalia and put it up for sale at
whatever that place is - Cybercafe? Cafepress? One of the items
was thongs with the blogster logo on them. He put up a challenge
that if anyone would buy the thongs and then submit a photo of
themselves in these official blogster thongs, they would get their
money back. So I mostly did it on a lark because I had never done
anything like that before, nobody thought I would follow through,
and I thought it would be fun. Which it was. Very freeing in a
weird sort of way to conquer all of the fears that I had about my
body and my thighs and my butt and whether or not they are too
wide, and what other people would think, and my fears about other
people SEEING my body in just thongs and the blogster camisole.
And wondering if they would stone me, or laugh me out of the
place, or what. So the entire thing was a good experience for me
until the problems began last month.

Huh?

What the fuck? You know, every once in a while something hap-
pens that just makes you SO glad you made a certain decision.
Like oh... say - changing BLOGSITES. Today's been one of those
days. Sorry Cindy. Maybe I shouldn't post links to anymore of
my friends on my blog if they post a new blog on blogspot. It
appears that some of my less friendly readers - you know, one
or two individuals who were definitely NOT fans, have found me
from my old blogsite and get information off of my blog.

The Blogless Blogger

I have another friend who has joined blogspot. However, if his-
tory repeats itself, well, lets just say that even though he has tons
of funny stories, its difficult to get him to post them. He's got a lot
of great photos of his dogs though and he probably will post those.
If history repeats itself. I don't know where he's going with this
blog title and I'm afraid to ask. Yes, I DO allow conservatives
into the circle of Syd. I have to. Umm... A lot of times, they
have the money. Ha! Just kidding. I love all of my friends.
Just for them. Politics Schmolitics.

Caked JoyRag

My Friend TJ Just Loves

Nancy Grace. That is... he would love to ballgag Nancy Grace and
ride her like a cowboy while he spanks her ass. And THAT my
friends is something I would pay to watch.

Because I think Nancy Grace is the biggest hack journalist, the
hugest drama queen hosting an hour long legal "information"
show, did I mention that she was reprimanded by the bar when
she was actually practicing law? She was. But of course, I watch
her. Each and every night. Why? I don't know.

Maybe its because only Nancy Grace can look straight into the
eyes of a man whose only daughter has been found dead after
being snatched from her home in the middle of the night, raped
and then buried alive by the scuzziest pedophile on the planet,
fake the faintest hint of a sob in the back of her throat and have
the gall to ask him to talk to the entire United States about an
event that should remain very private until and unless such time
as the case goes to trial. And then when he finishes say, "Thank
you friend."

Maybe its because she is the only person in the nation to call
Mississippi and Louisiana the "Southland," and to do it for
two straight weeks in a row with no current signs of abaiting.
Maybe its because she can get respected journalists (not to men-
tion Syd's favorite hottie) like Anderson Cooper to appear on her
show.

Or maybe I'm just hoping that one of these days TJ will actually
crash the set on live television, ballgag her, and ride her like a
cowboy.

And Then...

She stopped writing. Right after she did that blog about writing so
much. It was the weirdest thing...

Ok, last night I was just tired. So I did what all tired people do.
Straight home into bed and... stared at the ceiling. For a long fuck-
ing time. (Is it right to do a word break on the word fucking I won-
der?) Then I finally wised up and took a xanax. I have ambien too,
but the xanax is more fun. Not that you can ever remember.

So I'm really stressed out today. Really. Stressed. Out. Finances
and all of that good stuff. Which is one of my least favorite things to
stress about. I really don't handle that one well. It renders me al-
most incapable of doing anything. Which, when you're in sales, is
HIGHLY counterproductive. So that's what I keep telling myself.
Self, to dissolve into quivering blob of protoplasm will make this par-
ticular problem WORSE. It will be self-defeating. Blah Blah Blah
SydSpeak

Christ. I wish I was one of those people who could take xanax dur-
ing the day. But ha! I can't. It puts me to sleep.

Oh Yes

Please know. That I write. And talk. Compulsively. Umm.
Like I do a lot of things. Yes. You can let your imagination wan-
der with that one. It is not, as I was once accused (and not by
one of you people here but I think I'm still just a little gunshy),
so that a lot of people will read me and I will get a lot of hits on
my site. If that were the case, I might make it a point to try to
write about things to which people would read and respond
(I'm actually smart enough that I could figure out which topics
are the most popular - duh). It is simply because I can and do
blather on about nothing at all at will. So anyway.

Where was I. Ok, that said, I am not going to hold back or feel
guilty about the number of posts I write, because after all, it is
my fucking blog. And although the number of posts may be ab-
normally large. PRODIGIOUS in number, in fact. I mean, I
may spout copious amounts of text and font on a daily basis
and I may post many many blogs saying absolutely nothing con-
structive or meaningful everytime you turn around, SO THE
FUCK WHAT. It fulfills some bizarre need in me to write about
whatever the hell it happens to be at the time. And to share it
with the damn world at large. And there you have it. By God.
Thank you. Now I feel better.

I Love Movies!

I love movies. Right now I'm watching the cutest movie with
Melissa Joan Hart. Its from 2002. Cute little thing she grew up to
be. Long blonde hair in this movie. Very cute and delicious. Daisy
Fuentes is in it as well and she's gorgeous. There is an equally bo-
dacious male lead - young and sexy, but I don't know his name.

At any rate, its a funny film. Rent Control. Oh, and it does one of
the things that I think is funny in a movie, it references another
movie. Weekend At Bernie's is the film it happens to reference
but its funny when it happens.

So All Day

I have been sucked into this singularly hideous reality show called
"Wife Swap." Where people switch wives for two weeks and for
the first week the wife has to follow the rules set forth for the
household by the "old" wife and then the next week she gets to run
the family by HER rules, and hopefully everyone involved learns
some new, albeit sometimes unpleasant, truths abouth themselves.

*Note - the new wife does not share the marital bed with the new
husband, although in my opinion, that would make the show a lot
more exciting.

So anyway, although this is THE EPITOME of trash tv at its finest,
and folks, THAT is saying a LOT, I was touched a moment ago by
two women, each crying as they read each other's "how to" manuals
and reflecting upon the essence of time and how quickly it slips by
as regards one's family and the amount of time we each have to
spend with our children as they grow up.

And absurdly perhaps, I too began to cry, and flashed upon a ritual
from Dylan's childhood. When he was little, I had read a book
to him for Christmas called "The Littlest Angel," which many of
you have probably also read.

And when I got to the end of the story the first time I read it to
him when he was younger, I tried but was unable to keep from
crying when I got to the ending. He was DELIGHTED. Every
year at Christmas after that he would HOUND me to read that
damn book because he just knew that it would set me off when
I got to the end and every year I would groan when he brought
it over and I would try as hard as I could not to let it get to me
but it never fucking failed. He did that on purpose you under-
stand. He waited in eager anticipation for the moment in the
book where mommy would cry. It was like the Christmas Pav-
lovian Mommy Book.

So today I wondered if he remembered that. Not only did he
remember. He pulled it out from behind his back. It is NOT
CHRISTMAS YET.

Ok, I Know I Haven't Been Here Very Long but...

But You guys have been so great and welcoming and kind and I
really appreciate it! I have another friend from Texas (my home
state) who came here with me, and you guys were very nice to
her, something I also truly appreciate Temptrous, and so if I
could please ask you to extend yourselves again, I have a very
special friend from the South.

Lo, much more SOUTH than Texas, who has also recently come to
blogspot, and we are still in the process of getting her set up and
templated (that is, I have yet to steal for her the pretty template
that a wonderful friend of her caliber deserves), but she's found,
as did I when I first came to blogspot, that the search engines here
for finding new friends and new blogs, and fun and interesting peo-
ple like yourselves are woefully difficult to use.

So if anyone has any tips or tricks, please let her know, and also,
please give her a warm WELCOME, because...

I AM SOOOOOO GLAD SHE IS HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Random Thoughts of An Ageless Mind

~*<3 <3* <3 <3 *<3 <3 *<3 <3 *<3 <3*<3 <3*~

I ReallyLike

Guys In boxer shorts. Just thought I'd share. Something about a
guy who isn't afraid to hang free with the wind. You know. But in
boxers.

The How To's of Alien Abduction

Ok, so I have a few questions. I just got finished watching a show
on alien abductions and UFO's. Which of course, are two different
albeit related subjects, on the Geographic channel (hosted by Peter
Jennings - may he rest in peace). I just realized, oddly, that as I
write this, Peter may already have the answer to all of the ques-
tions I'm about to ask, and who would have known when the broad-
cast originally aired. How odd. Not really a way one can quiz him
on it though is there. I mean, if Houdini's wife couldn't get through
to him on the other side after all was said and done, I don't lay very
good odds on anyone else. After all, Houdini could escape from any-
thing.

But as usual, I digress. So back to my questions. If an alien abducts
you and you're sleeping with your cat, does the cat come too? I'm
just wondering. My cat doesn't really like loud noises. It probably
doesn't matter, she disappears under the bed at the first sign of com-
pany anyway. How come aliens are so obsessed with sex organs and
reproduction? That's never made a lot of sense to me. Now we all
know who IS obsessed sex don't we? Yep. People. Billion dollar in-
dustry. huh. Coincidence? (And hey, not that there's anything
WRONG with loving sex - don't get me wrong)

And here's my last question. When aliens abduct you, do they do any-
thing to your home environment? I'm actually asking this hopefully.
I mean, if everything is so easy for them that they can can whisk you
out of bed and up to their spaceship on an energy ray then how's
about a little dusting and telekinetic emptying of the trash while
they're at it. I mean, if aliens came to my house, I'd think it would be
the least they could do while they're looking at my twat and poking
around everywhere.

Come to think of it, if there's a spaceship in my neighborhood, beam
me up. I wanna see what all of the hype is about.

The OTHER Problem With David

The would be dater. He's 42 and he's never been married. In my ex-
perience, that doesn't bode well. On the other hand, if I just go out to
have fun then its fine. I can go out for up to two or three dates, never
sleep with the guy, and move on. Because trust me, there is no future
with a 42 year old bachelor. I don't care how cute the guy is.

Oh yeah, he's some weird entrepeneur type. Not that all entrepe-
neurs are weird. I just get the distinct impression that this one is. Did
I mention that he's cute though? He is cute.

Oh yeah, there is ALSO that guy Brooke who I didn't call back when I
had the migraine...

Blogexplosion

Geek that I am, I joined Blogexplosion, initially thinking that
it would be just another way to get more site hits. Most wri-
ters do like to be read. I'm not sure that's one of the seven
deadly sins. Or even against the ten commandments. Or if you
happen to an atheist, or even a Christian now pretending to be
atheist, against any of the published atheist credos either.
We could ask Madeline, but sadly... She was offed a few years
ago. And sap that I am, I was sad about it. Figures. But any-
way.

And incidentally, my minor? It was in writing. So you might
say, I'm doing what I do. Except that I happen to be doing it
online. If you don't like it, or you think it sucks, I'm sure
you're in plenty of good company. Here's a word of advice.
Don't READ it. Anyway, back to the matter at hand....

Screw the site hits, Blogexplosion has been a really cool way to
find great new blogs to read. Another favorite hobby of mine.
Did I say read? Screw the reading part. Its been a cool way
to find great new blogs to LOOK AT. I love seeing everything
that's out there in the blogworld.

And I never cease to be amazed by how creative some people
are. I am so jealous of the talent some of these folks have. It
is truly amazing. Some of the blogs out there are just eye candy.
It wouldn't matter if they didn't write a damn thing, the blogs
they have created are just so absolutely beautiful to look at.

And I know this brings me to a favorite point of contention. What
exactly is a blog? I maintain that a blog is personal expression of
any type. I know a lot of people who say that it is not. They say
that it should be mainly verbiage. Mainly words. Fewer photos.
I say that it doesn't matter. Its your blog, you express yourself
however you see fit. Self-expression is just that. What do you say?

Here are a few I liked. Not necessarily because they had a lot of
photos. Just because their blog formats were really cool. As in,
way way cooler than mine. Umm, which granted, is SO not hard
to do: Twist of Kate <-- Cool! Ok. this next one is just... Say it! it's cute as pie: Teatopia

Two of my favorites in terms of being just, from a female stand-
point, pretty - are: Psychobabble and Not Your Typical Southern
Belle
Here are some other blogs that caught my eye for whatever reason:
Pretty Geek Melodrama Jukebox My Blog The Panic Blog

Awful Souls Lost In Wisconsin Insider's View of Life

Ok, now I'm moving on. This one's just interesting because it's a
German guy with an English blog in which he uses English actually
so well I'd never have known. Except that occassionally he'll need-
lessly ask, did I use this word correctly? All Ralph

I've got a couple of thoughts about this one below. 1. Cool graphics.
2. Was I ever ever this young? 3. She loves her dog.
Thinking Out Loud

Kissable Baby <-- I'm still trying to figure this one out. Umm Cool Graphics though. This blog I just plain liked. Least of My Worries

And last but not least... A camera phone blog, nude photos and
all. It's kind of creepy and sleazy. That's why I had to include it.

Dirty Lense

I Went to Bed Early Last Night

No, not early. Not like 8 or 9 or early. Something like that.
I'm talking 6pm early. I got my laptop out. Got into bed
with it (yeah, my laptop and I are intimate like that) and
then I fell sound asleep. Only to be awakened by my son
at 1am when he got in from his out of town football game.
(He's in the band, remember?) Bursting excitedly into my
room, and FLIPPING THE DAMN LIGHT ON.

Now, I love my son. More than my eyes. Or life. Or yes,
more than sleep. That is to say, that if I needed to wake up
because otherwise he was going to die, then I would be hap-
py to do so. Immediately. Every night. For the rest of my
life. No questions asked. However. A story about how a
new girl from another band who lives about forty-five min-
utes down the road just may have actually flirted with him?
(Which begs the question of, is it possible to tell with one of
those band drum helmet dohickeys on?), that story can wait
until Saturday morning.

But he gets so excited and secretly I guess I am glad that at
seventeen he still wants to tell me what's going on in his life.
Of course, that absolutely did not stop me from going into
his room at 8am this morning when he was in dead drowse,
bouncing up and down on HIS bed and announcing loudly,
SO, What's up! What're you doing today! After all, quid pro
quo baby.

What's Up

Chicken Butt. Ok, so again Syd, what are your goals for the week-
end? Get the house clean and work on the powerpoint presenta-
tion. And maybe, just maybe go out with that new guy David
who's been calling. There is that. Or, I could just let him simmer
on the phone for another week or so. I don't know if I have time
for a date this weekend. (i.e. I don't know if I really feel like go-
ing out.)

I think maybe I have agoraphobia. I really do hate to leave my
house. I scurry back there as soon as I'm done with work and it
is hell to get me out of there until I have to come back to work
again. Not sure what's up with that. I used to be a real person
with a life and everything. huh.

for andy b. - whoever you are...

Really? A mirror?

To See my feet? So... Unkind

I have SO Screwed Up!

I have been so out of it the past two or three weeks, more than
that really. I'd like to blame it on the headache I had recently,
but its been going on longer than that even. Anyway, I have real-
ly procrastinated on turning in my last commission and expense
report. Such that I didn't get them turned into my boss until to-
night after work. So of course, he won't see them until tomorrow.
I doubt seriously that there is any way my boss will cut me the
checks for them tomorrow. And due to a series of things that I
have had to pay out money for recently, I am very very close
to being overdrawn because I have totally not been paying
attention to my cash flow.

Uggh! So now, I am going to have to ask my grandmother to
loan me some money until next week unless for some reason my
boss is just in an uncommonly good mood tomorrow or something.
I mean, not like he's usually in a bad mood. He would just prefer
it if we didn't give him invoices and demand a check immediately
without giving him a reasonable amount of time to go over the
paperwork. And honestly, this is something I should have given
to him the first week of August! I don't know where my head has
been. It really seems like for almost a month now I've been walk-
ing around in a veritable daze. Practically certifiable. Today was
the first time in a long time that I felt like I had my shit together
again.

And that was no fun because it just illuminated for me all the things
that I have let go to seed while I've been walking around with my
head up my ass. But anyway, at least I know where the hell I am
now, even if I can see that I have a lot of things to take care of,
FAST. I'm hoping that I've sold five more loads of the chicken that
I have in the freezer. I'm supposed to hear about that in the morn-
ing. I'm also working on a big power point presentation for our
corporate office. Which is difficult, because we have absolutely NO
media with which to work (that's kind of the entire reason I have
to put the presentation together - to make it appear as though
we're the professional company we actually are).

So now I'm kind of anxious about getting everything done that I
need to get done. Its hard to believe that tomorrow's Friday.
Mostly because I missed yesterday and Monday was a holiday.
I was able to go to work today though and I'm sure I'll feel fine by
tomorrow. And thank GOD, there is no HOME GAME tomorrow
night, so I don't have to run the concession stand! YAYYYYYYY

*Task for this weekend - Clean the damn house!

Ok, So Chicken Is Going Higher

We got an item from the University of Mississippi that said that 80%
of the chicken houses in Mississippi have been destroyed due to the
hurricane. Most of the baby chicks were also destroyed and even if
they hadn't been, there weren't any houses in which to raise them,
there isn't a lot of gas to run generators for the houses, etc.

Which all means, chicken are going up. Pricewise. Boneless Chicken
Breasts went up three cents yesterdy. And that's it for this morning's
agricultural report. Don't say you can't get one stop shopping for hy-
mens and chicken boobies all in the same place.

I've Posted My Last

Political blog. Pretty much. I hate arguing about politics. And
political blogs are the least popular blogs I write.

So I just finished watching Dr. Drew on t.v. Not really watching it.
Its more background noise. Anyway, this one chick had her hymen
replaced surgically. The weird thing? She was already married to
the guy she had the surgery for. That's right. She wanted to be a
virgin after she was married. FOR her husband. That's some
Christmas present huh?

Another chick had her labia ummm... altered. She wasn't pleased
with the way it was formed or something of that nature. Too flop-
py? Something like that. I never knew this could be an issue. Ap-
parently I was underinformed. I feel educated now. I think my
life is really enriched through television. I never learned anything
like this in college.

Awww... Shit!

I stole fruitpony's template. Sorry you guys. I probably subcon-
ciously did it on purpose or something though. I just noticed when
I went to link to you guys and clicked on the link to make sure it
was working. So anyway, I've already fucked with the html too
much to change it. Too big of a hassle. Maybe I'll change the col-
ors later or something. Fuck. So annoying. I'm never original.

Fruitpony

Sex

You know, I used to write about sex in my blog. And brazilian wax-
es. And pose in my thongs. I haven't done any of that in about three
months. I haven't even HAD sex in two or three months. I don't know
what the hell is wrong with me. I need to get a life. Or at least, have
sex. Again. Sometime in the not too far distant future. Anyway...

So I went to the doctor. I do have a sinus infection. He gave me an
antibiotic that I am hopefully not allergic too. We'll find out in a little
while. And some cool cough medicine with codeine in it. I am such a
scrip junkie. I need to make myself go into the office in the morning.
I have dead birds to sell. I told Dylan I'd give him twenty bucks to
clean the kitchen. Nothing beats bribery.

Oh yeah, on the downside. I'm anemic again. I just found out at the
doctor's office. I guess that's why I haven't had any energy. Once
again, I'm not making any blood. My body isn't doing it without the
procrit. Thanks a lot. Traitor.

He Really Needs To Move The Hell On

Ok, So I'm sick this morning. Headache, sinus infection - nasty
nasty mood. Which brings me to a story from last night. The
story of my son's father. My son is 17 years old. He's a junior in
high school. (I started him a year late as he was in a Montessori
type pre-school and well - it was just different in terms of how
it worked and HE was different in terms of when he was ready
to go to first grade and...) there you have it. So anyway. Back to
my story.

When I was in the middle of my bachelors degree I became preg-
nant. Well, I didn't exactly just become pregnant. It wasn't a mir-
acle or anything. There was a slipup in or malfunction of sorts in
proper birth control etiquette and apparently, I was quite fertile
at the time (something which was not able to be replicated ever
ever again oddly enough), and... long story short, I became... with
child. He wanted to get married and I was in love with him but
realized soon into my pregnancy that he was the biggest loser, not
most ambitious guy and by the way, decidedly inept at keeping it
in his pants outside the relationship. So I said, umm... let's wait.
Until after the baby is born. And in the meantime, could you
please sign this paperwork establishing paternity, which by the
way in fine print gives me sole custody, thank you very much.

I actually went to legal aid to have the paperwork drawn up. I
know, women are conniving manipulative creatures. Most especial-
ly when it comes to our children. No apologies there. So... when his
parents found out that he had signed this paperwork, they were fur-
ious. How do you know its even yours, they asked him? Gee, thanks
for THAT vote of confidence. I was a virgin until I was nineteen for
God's sake. He was the one out there screwing everything that
moved. But anyway, I just remained determined. Stood my ground.
We went to court and entered in an agreed order for child support,
I got custody, he got visitation, which I was all for him having. He
was the father after all. And, very important to me, we did a decree
of legitimation. All before Dylan, my son, was ever born. So basically
it was as if we had been married and divorced in that one short day.
In court.

We continued to see each other. He seemed for a time, especially
after Dylan's birth, to have changed his ways. He hadn't. He screwed
up once, and I left. I'm like that. He was disconsolate, but I was
through. I fell in love with someone else, the love of my life actually,
and got married. And then divorced a few years later. (Umm... Do
they ALL cheat?) He never did marry. He never did pay a lot of atten-
tion to Dylan either. Or help with him much. Although I begged him
to do so. Well now Dylan is older. And he has turned out to be a really
great kid. Almost surreal in terms of what a neat person he is. He is
one of those funny, smart charismatic people whom everyone loves.
Teachers love him. Parents love him, and other kids love him. Well
now his dad really does want to see him, I think... But this is compli-
cated by the fact that his father saw me for the first time in five
years this past May and has decided that he is madly in love with
me again. The feeling is NOT mutual. This is a guy who asked the
judge to reduce his visitation last time we went to court. I have ab-
solutely no respect for him. I literally can barely tolerate him enough
to be civil to him for my son's sake and because his parents love my
child and they ARE good grandparents. He was stupid enough to
share his "newly found feelings" for me with our son. So now, Dylan
doesn't believe anything he says is genuine in terms of wanting to
see him because he's never been interested before. And Dylan is not
stupid.

He says he wants to come see him here. He's never wanted to come
before. I certainly don't want to see him and Dylan told him he's too
busy. He said, you don't want to see me anyway, you just want to
see my mom. Probably true. It's sad and I'm not really sure how to
handle it. To make things WORSE, his father keeps calling me
begging for us to get back together. After seventeen years! As if he
has not been a complete cad, idiot and loser. What a freak. I've told
him to get lost over and over again and it just doesn't seem to regis-
ter. He pays me his child support but he does owe some back
medical. I'm considering taking him to small claims court just to get
him to leave me alone. Nothing like asking for money to sour those
romantic feelings, right? I haven't asked before because I make so
much more than he does. Its a very uncomfortable situation. And it
really shouldn't be.


My son and his father and I this summer at his birthday
party in Austin, Texas.

Sydney, you're a Shark!

This just in from tickle.com

You've got a healthy love of life and a killer
instinct. Chances are you hate rules, and don't
plan on getting old. (Well umm.. actually, I'd
planned on living to about 200 or so. But any-
way.) You're flexible and friendly on top of
being innovative and smart. In short, people
respect you.

You're extroverted and love being in the spotlight.
(Yep, I do love that spotlight.) Your mantra is
"work hard, play hard" — you live life to the limit.

And that's just scratching the surface!

(I had to pay money to find out the rest of it so
I guess I'm going to remain ignorant. Oh well.)

So I Just Discovered

That I can manipulate the times and dates of my blog
entries. This of course means... that I can archive
all of my old blogster blogs over here. Cool!

Is Clinton The National Feel Good Guy?

Yes we all know that Clinton likes to cop a good feel.
Who can blame him. Ok, plenty of you can. But anyway.
Has he also become the national feel good guy? There's
just something about Clinton... Come on... You know I'm
right about this... He's kind of, well, soothing. In a
weird sort of way. When he's there, we feel like things
are under control. Especially in times of national crisis.

Like say, big fucking hurricanes that have swept away an
entire city and will ultimately reveal thousands of rotting
corpses when the flood waters receed. See now, that is a
horror almost beyond comprehension. Especially in the United
States. And I'm sorry, but Bush just can't handle this one
on his own. Not without trotting out the big guns. Like his
mom and dad. And... Clinton. Who has that certain... Je ne
c'est quois. After all, there was always something about
Clinton. The entire eight years he was in office. He may
have been tomcatting around. And well, lying about, in umm...
court. And all. But still, He had that voice. That southern
drawl. There was something about him on camera that made the
nation feel like everything would be ok. He was... the feel
good guy. Dr. O.K. Kind of mesmerizing. He would talk, and
we would all nod. Ok, Dr. O.K. We trusted him to take care
of us where it mattered. The economy. Matters on the home-
front. Things like this. Right now. And here he is. Dr.
Feel Good in Action. And I'm glad to see him.

I Feel Guilty About EVERYTHING

Oh Damn! Now I remember what I wanted to write about
earlier! Its so annoying that I just sublimated the
entire thing. Ok, so back about two months ago, this
lady hit me from behind. She didn't have her insurance
card with her. Yes, I called the police and got a re-
port. No, I did not have them issue her a ticket. I
just took her word for it that she did have insurance
and didn't have her card with her.

Then I could NOT get her to call me back. So finally
I called her at work. Boy she called me back FAST then.
And here's the story she gave me. She told me that her
employer, a chiropractor, and she, had just gotten both
health and auto insurance under the same company and that
since it was new insurance they would probably drop her
if she made a claim, could she just pay me in cash? Well,
I thought her story stunk to high heaven. But A. If she
was lying she didn't have the insurance anyway so what
good did it do me to prove that she was lying and B. Hope-
fully she really would give me the cash.

So she made arrangements to come by my office the follow-
ing Tuesday with a check. Needless to say, that never oc-
curred. Tuesday came and went and she was a no show. In
the meantime, my car is still damaged. Mind you, this is
the second fucking time THIS YEAR that this has happened to
me and I have had to pay out of pocket as I have a thousand
dollar deductible on my own insurance (that's what having
a teenage boy on your insurance will do to your premiums).

So this morning I called her employer, this chiropracter,
back again and spoke to the nurse/receptionist whatever.
I asked about their insurance, if it was really true that
this chick and the chiropracter have the same auto insurance
provider because if so, I need the insurance information.
Well, the lady tells me that no, she would be VERY surprised
if they do (yeah, I suspected that). So I leave my name and
number there, along with the entire story of what transpired
and a message for this girl to call me. Now here's the deal.
I feel a little bit guilty about doing that at her work, but
she HAS been lying to me for over two months about HAVING
auto insurance and has strung me along without paying me any-
thing for two months as well. And I didn't have her ticketed
for the lack of insurance in the first place. But then again,
I feel guilty about everything, the mideast peace crisis for
instance. And we all know, that was Abraham's fault.

He's a Fast One

Ol Bushy Boy may not be able to figure that compli-
cated relief stuff out but he sure is johnny on the
spot with that supreme court stuff isn't he? Do ya
think that it secretly bugs any of the other Sup-
remes (I mean, if they were to be all up front and
honest like) that he's kinda going outside the box
with that head of the court stuff? You know, nomi-
nating someone who some say wasn't even qualified
enough to BE a supreme court justice in the first
place, much less the guy in charge of the entire
kit and kaboodle?

pssst... How about Clarence Thomas, do ya think it
bugs him a little bit? What about Scalia? I wonder...
Nah... They're all way too professional to be bothered
by petty things like that, right? Well back to my
first point, shouldn't the president be a little more
concerned by the fact that our good neighbors to the
south are having to use aqua gear to breach the
door to their homes and a little less concerned with
whether it takes two or three weeks to name a replace-
ment for top spot on the Supreme Court? Hasn't that
been the main problem with this presidency all along?
Priorities?

Chickens Is Hot

I Had This Brilliant Thing

That I was inspired to write about. But now that I'm
here, sitting in front of my keyboard, I can't remember
what the hell it was. So I'm writing this instead.
What is this, you ask? I don't know. I haven't decided
yet. But I'll come up with something. I'm in sales. We
can come up with bullshit on a moment's notice. Trust me.
We have to. Its a survival skill. Its either that, or
starve to death. And I don't do that well. Starve I mean.

See? I've used up an entire paragraph already and I'm
one sentence into the next just stalling for time while
I try to remember what the hell it was I was going to say.
Or alternately, try to come up with something else in-
teresting. hmmmm... ok, I really can't come up with much
after all. Reply back if you know where I can find two
truckloads of plain party wings. How does that sound? I
could really use 'em this morning. Chickens is hot.

Yet Another Weekend

Spent doing absolutely nothing constructive whatsoever.
It seems like my "to do" list just keeps getting longer
and longer. I have got to quit procrastinating and get
some stuff done. Its really getting ridiculous. I
just don't seem to have any motivation or energy for a
whole hell of a lot beyong the essentials lately. I get
up, go to work, do what I need to as one of the band
booster moms, go home, relax with the tv and the com-
puter, go to bed, get up and do it all over again.

I have big plans at the beginning of the weekend, only to
look back at the end of it and realize I haven't gotten
anything done. And I'm usually too tired to do much af-
ter work on weekdays. Anyway, better luck next weekend.

Yesterday

Was my grandmother's birthday. She is absolutely im-
possible to shop for. She already has everything she
could ever want, and if she doesn't, she goes out and
buys it for herself. So its a real challenge coming
up with something that she's going to like, want or
need.

One Christmas I gave her a stained glass lamp that she
really seemed to like, so I gave her a matching smaller
one for her birthday the following year. Whew, two
holidays solved. So yesterday I was a little bit at a
loss as to what to do. It was her birthday again and
had I planned? Hell no, I've had a headache for the
vast majority of the past two weeks for God's sake.

So anyway, it so happened, that like me, my friend Judy
sells a good bit of stuff on Ebay. In fact, when I
first moved here, that was my sole form of subsistence
while I was jobhunting, and I taught her how to do it.
She's progressed to the point that she's actually been
buying truckload quantities of returns and overruns from
various stores like Pennys and the like and then putting
the individual items up for auction online.

Yesterday, she was having a huge yard sale to move out a
bunch of items at once. She happened to have this stained
glass lamp/cum magazine stand/table with stained glass both
in the shade and in the table portion. It was beautiful in
pinks and greens with water lilies and dragonflies and had
apparently retailed for several hundred dollars. She let me
have it for a hundred bucks. Happy Birthday Grandma!

I Might Be A Hermit

Ok, first of all (she said defensively), I don't feel like I owe it to
my friends, family or the public in general to date, fuck or marry
someone on anyone else's schedule, if EVER. I mean, the fucking
thing I will do in the future at various points and times because
lets face it, I'm not going to spend the rest of my life celibate. But
as for the rest of it, I'm getting just a little bit tired of people acting
strange when all I do during the weekend is stay home, in my house.

First of all, I paid damn good money for this house. It has a view
of the lake for God's sake. I never thought I'd be able to afford a
house like this. It's a house worth spending some time in. Secondly,
for some reason, I just haven't felt like going out lately. It might
have something to do with the ungodly amount of extra bullshit I've
been having to do since Dylan started school. You know, band mom,
help with school projects and the like. A lot of times by the time
I finally get to go home, I don't even want to answer the damn phone.
So you know, I don't. (The photos below of the view from my window
were taken when it was almost dark and hardly do the view justice,
but you get the idea.)







And would you like to know what really annoys me? I hope so, cuz
I'm gonna tell you. What really annoys me is that the same people
cluck clucking their tongues over my lack of weekend activity are
the very people who told me, lo only a very short few months past
not to go looking for romance, that IT would find ME. So which is
it boys and girls? Or are you just not happy with ANYTHING I do?
And come to think of it, who asked you anyway?

F.E.M.A.

F - Federal
E - Egregious
M - Mismanagement
A - Agency

Maybe its time for an overhaul from the top down.
Our tax dollars at waste. Bumbling bureaucracy at its
finest. Does the word "EMERGENCY" mean anything
to you people? How about terms like hurry up, can't
wait, need help yesterday? Any of this ringing a bell?

If there are thousands of bodies out there of people
who were waiting to be rescued, then I have one big
question. Why? Where were you FEMA? Where were
you government? This has been going on for over a
week. Why didn't you mobilize the troops to search
and rescue for these folks sooner? Why are you just
NOW going out to hunt for survivors.

Just a hint, evacuating the superdome and convention
center in New Orleans and searching for suvivors in
rural Mississippi and Lousiana are NOT mutually ex-
clusive activities. Just in case that escaped your atten-
tion. Why is it that we are hearing from Sheriff's Depart-
ments on the news that they have had no assistance from
anyone as of yet to search for any survivors in their coun-
ties? I am angry and I have just one question.

??WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY??

I Am SO Excited!

I just realized, with all of the hurricane schtuff and the
headache schtuff of the past week that we have Monday
off! YAYYYYY! I can't believe I don't have to go in to-
morrow! I do need to go in and put some ceiling tiles up
but that won't take long at all. I'm just happy to be getting
some rest and some additional time to work on/clean my
house.

I Have Successfully Raised My Son

And I know this because I was unable to cook fried eggs this
morning. I was unable to cook them because the eggs, the en-
tire flat of 2 1/2 dozen eggs (hey, I keep my girlish figure on
Atkins, we go through a lot of eggs) was sitting in the front
seat of my car. But that was ok with me. It was Prima facie
evidence of the sufficiency of my parenting skills. My ability
to successfully steer a male child from boydom to mandom,
and all without that rudder known as a well... a dick. But I got
balls, and I think that counts.

Ok wait, you say. Please explain yourself. Sure. No problem.
Here's the deal. (See, I told you that phrase would come up.)
When I became suddenly single in 1995 I was determined that
my son was not going to end up one of those milktoast pansy
ass mama's boys, afraid of the world and the people in it just
because he didn't have a dad at home to balance out the nur-
turing "mom" bit. At the same time, I've seen boys who are
raised by single mothers who end up as delinquents because
basically, their mothers are just not strong enough to keep
them out of trouble. They don't exert enough discipline. I de-
cided that there probably was good reason to have both fathers
and mothers in children's lives but that in this instance, I was
just going to have to play both roles.

So I've been a tough mom. A little bit of a hardass. But I've
probaby let a lot of the normal "mom" things fall by the way-
side. My son isn't going to win any clean room awards for in-
stance. But he can hold his own in a fight and he doesn't get
in trouble in school. And he does all the normal "guy" things.
You know, leaves the toilet seat up, surfs for porn behind my
back online (he thinks) and only listens to about 1/10 of every
sentence that comes out of my mouth. Hence the eggs in the
car. He didn't hear me tell him to get THOSE out.

On the other hand, he doesn't drink, smoke or do drugs. And
he wears his seatbelt. And a condom. With extra spermacide.
I've told him how those girls lie about being on the pill. I hope
he believes me... I'd hate to pay college tuition and child support
at the same time. Ya know?

I Stole It From That Non-Believer Ben Marvin

No, not that! I mean he doesn't believe in
"Champ" You know, the Lake Champlain Monster?
What? Did you think I was calling him a heathen
or something?

On Further Reflection, I guess I stole it from
Fruitpony. Those team blogs are confusing to
us old and feebleminded bloggers...

You Are 24 Years Old

24 Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

Do You Believe In the Loch Ness Monster?

What about the one in Lake Champlain? How about Bigfoot?
The abominable snowman? The Bermuda triangle, alien space
craft stored in area 51, (or even more exciting and scary, alien
BODIES!)? The Chupacabra? What about the Indian legend of
the Giant thunderbird? Spontaneous human combustion? Do
you believe that magnets can help pain and arthritis (believe it
or not, my doctor, a man of normal intelligence and indeed, one
might even say BRILLIANCE, in all other respects, buys into this
one).

Let's see, what else, umm... alien abductions, do you believe in
those? How about life on other planets. Ok, let's go one step further
and say life in other galaxies. See, most people will say that they
believe in life on other planets in other galaxies, but most of us
would feel uncomfortable professing to believe in extra-terrestrial
life forms currently visiting our own planet.

When I say "most of us," I am of course leaving out those of you
whom aliens regularly abduct and experiment on. You already
know about the E.T.'s up close and personal like. The bitch of it is,
of course, that nobody believes you. It's a Cassandra thing. Learn
to live with it.

But anyway, I was watching a special on t.v. on the Lake Champlain
monster on The Discovery Channel tonight and I just thought, huh.
I wonder how many people believe that its at least possible that
"Champ," (for that is what the Lake Champlain monster is called),
exists. And I've decided that I do.

I do believe that it is possible that Champ is real. Because I want to
believe. Believing in Champ is a little bit like having a piece of your
childhood back. Like going back to the days when everything didn't
have to make perfect sense and you could buy into something just
because it was kind of magic and fun. Champ is like that.

Shot or Fired?

As in, Someone Oughta Be...

So FEMA says, hey, we didn't know. We didn't know until a day
or so ago that people had been told to congregate at the Super-
dome in New Orleans for assistance. We didn't know that place
was being used as a staging center. Oh really? Yeah, I can under-
stand that. Until yesterday, I didn't know that my left hand also
has five fingers. You know, just like MY RIGHT HAND.

I mean, how could you NOT know. Everyone else in the United
States knew. DAYS AGO. LIKE THE ENTIRE TIME. Don't you
guys fucking watch CNN? Read a newspaper? Take a gander at
MSNBC? FOX? Any bloody news channel at all? I mean, did
you just miss the news stories - "Thousands wait at the Super-
dome and the Covention Center for Assistance?" What the Fuck?

You're the damn government for God's sake! The entire nation
has been watching this unfold on tv for days by God. Are you
dense? Do you not have a water boy or someone you can assign
to keep in touch with the news then maybe waft it up to you
there in the clouds? You know, messages from that land called
REALITY. The place where the rest of us live?

Oh and by the way, this makes me feel all warm and
snuggly about our government's ability to have its finger
right on the pulse of the threat of terrorist cells within
the United States. I mean, the superdome situation was
all over the airwaves in living color. Terrorist cells don't
announce themselves until it is too late.

We've got a guy who works in the back, dropped out of
school in the sixth grade? He knew about the superdome
situation. Apparently before FEMA. So if we are paying
these "educated" disaster planners inflated salaries to
come up with real-time solutions for catastrophic events,
by God they should have more information than the high
school drop out who runs errands for the dock guys at the
back of our building. Or better yet, I can give you his phone
number. He kept up with the information in a more timely
manner than you did, FEMA, and he could use a raise.

p.s. please, if you can, give to the Red Cross or another major
relief organization. unlike FEMA, they are helpful and first on
the spot in times of trouble. if you don't have money, donate
your time, clothing, blood, furniture or whatever else you have
that they might need. Feed the children is another very good
organization.

At any rate, if you are wanting to contribute in some form or
fashion, this is an excellent umbrella website. Its called net-
work for good. The following page is all about Katrina and it
has links to the Red Cross, Salvation Army, Feed The Chidren
and any number of other quality charitable agencies:

Network For Good Katrina Page

But also, just because its always good to give, not just during
times of natural disaster, this is a neat website because you can
go to the homepage and put in your state and it can match you
with volunteer and/or donation opportunities:

Network For Good

And just to close this blog, which has gone on entirely too damn
long as it is. I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but before I
got into the fascinating world of post animated chicken parts, I
used to be a social worker. So... I like to help people, and alter-
nately, its difficult for me to watch people suffer. About all of
the people still left in New Orleans, those stuck at the Superdome,
I have been as guilty as the next person as saying, "Why didn't
they just evacuate?

I mean, I have to admit to being guilty of thinking that at first. But
I can't help but think that many of those who didn't leave, couldn't.
Lack of finances, or vehicles, or in some cases even basic mobility
itself caused many people to have to stay where they were. Its not
as easy to get out of New Orleans as one might imagine. If one DOES
happen to have a vehicle, it takes a while just to DRIVE out. But I'm
guessing that many of the people left behind did not have such trans-
portation. And many were sick and elderly. So just one more time:
FEMA - Shame on you. Get your act together and get these people
into some better circumstances - and soon.

I Look Like Candy

I get two or three weeks off from the band nazis. Wheeee!
I am SO psyched! I am so exhausted every Friday night
after running the damn concession stand on the field. And
tonight this chick who was helping with the stand I run fur-
ther annoyed me by asking me, out of the blue, if I knew
some other girl she grew up with here in Alabama named
"Candy" something or other. No wait, she asked me if I
was RELATED to said Candy girl. I'm sorry. Again, I am
recounting this incorrectly. She said that I look like Candy.
She asked me if I am Candy's sister. Now, first off, I don't
even remotely sound as though I am originally from Ala-
bama.

I mean, EVERYONE comments on it. Its a regular damn
topic of converfuckingsation for God's sake. So what was she
thinking? And secondly, Candy? My name is Sydney. A fairly
classic name. An old family name. Do you honestly think that
parents who name their child Sydney are going to turn around
and name another child in the family something cheap like
"Candy?"

I mean, what gives? Were they just slumming that day? All
out of options? Taking a walk on the wild side? Am I just be-
ing elitist and snooty again? Yeah, well blow me. What a stupid
question. Fucking Candy. I'm sure. Might as well have called
me "Gloria," or, "Flo." Oh wait, I think my dad DID put in a
vote for "Gloria." Thanks for that override mom.

So Candy, I am a bitch. I am frustrated that people, don't after
knowing me for years, as straightforward as I am, get me. On
so many different levels. My name included. I so try. So sue me.

*Disclaimer - My family is not immune to putting things on paper
which should, while being left in writing somewhere, never be
transmitted to the bureau of vital statistics on say... a BIRTH
CERTIFICATE. My brother named my niece "Trinity."

A word which can and should be found in written form in one of
two places. 1. The Bible or 2. Your local place of worship.

Her middle name is Nicole, however. I asked, hopefully, "So are
you going to call her Nicole? Nicky?" They looked at me dumbly,
my brother and sister-in-law. Of course not. We're going to call
her Trinity. Right, I said. Of course.

Sorry sweetie, just remember, when you're 18 you can go by what-
ever the hell you want.

Just For The Record

If Nancy Grace Says the word "Southland" just one
more time, I may have to reach through the television
screen and throttle her.

So Is Anyone Else Too Stupid

To Get Through The Spam Blocks?

Ok, so I don't know if its my eyesight, or... the old english font
or what. But frequently when I try to post a comment on a
fellow bloggers webpage and they have the spamblocker filter
enabled? You know, the one that makes you recognize and
type in a certain sequence of letters prior to posting your com-
ment? I umm... FAIL. I fail big. As in utterly. Terribly. As
in, your are a miserable little spammy failure, you are! The
little spamblocker hoohaw says HA! I spit on you and your futile
attempts to post a comment on this blog! You sorry comment
posting putz!

It is gleeful in its mocking of my inability to post. I know it is.
It is LAUGHING at me. I am NOT MAKING THIS UP.
I SWEAR I'M NOT. I, Sydney, will write a brilliant and subtle
response to a fellow blogger's narrative. I can say this only be-
cause such verbiage on my part has never been read. It has
never been allowed through. Instead, I am confronted with
symbols written in flaming blood, and not only that, but also in
that text known as Ye Olde English. Text that is both difficult to
read and impossible to replicate. Text that takes 100 years of
tutelage under the guidance of a strict German dominatrix or
failing that, the blood of a newborn baby miniature poodle on the
6th Sunday of the month in order to match said script and post
a response without difficulty.

I have toyed with the idea of borrowing the neighbors toy dog, for
I think it WOULD fit the bill exactly, but she she saw the syringe
hidden behind my back, and alarmed, she has locked the door and
called the police. She does not wish to be generous with her poodle.
Not for all of the brilliant spam-free comments in the world. So now
I am at an impasse and must post each response two, three and
sometimes up to four time before it will go through. As here in
smalltown Alabama, German dominatrices do not abound and Ye
Olde English is not becoming any easier to read. But for you, dear
reader, I will struggle through. I will post and re-post my comments.
All for you.

Ranger Tom's Quiz

Seven things you plan to do before you die

1. Write a book
2. Clean my house. I mean, by myself, as opposed to begging
other people to do it and then paying them. Oh fuck it. Life's
too short. Scratch that one. I'll keep paying.
2. Wake up on time. Oh fuck it, Again, life's too short.
3. Enhance my ummm... top shelf... I've always wanted a really
stellar rack.
4. Visit every country in the world at least once (So far I've only
been to the US, Canada and Mexico so I've got a fair amount to
go.)
5. Learn several languages well, Spanish and French much much
much better, and learn Russian, Chinese and Japanese. Just be-
cause I think it would be cool to know them.
6. Visit the remaining states in the U.S. that I haven't seen (not
too many of those to go)
7. Stick pins in my child until he gives me grandchildren (he's only
17 1/2, so I'll give him 6-8 years or so before I expect anything
along those lines.
8. Spend the night at the Myrtles plantation in Louisiana (its
haunted you know.)
9. Become more organized. This wouldn't take much. I mean,
ANY steps towards this end would be better than nothing.

Seven things you can do

1. Shoot a gun well (hey, I'm from Texas)
2. Convince people that it really WOULD be easier to do things
my way.
3. Say what I mean and mean what I say
4. Raise a kid
5. Tell the truth. Ok wait, I think I covered that on 3.
6. Sell stuff
7. Read. I read really really fast, and its one of my favorite things
to do.
8. Empathize. Sometimes I do this a little bit too well.

Seven things you can't do

1. Let things go when I should.
2. Refrain from "taking things personally." (Whatever the hell
THAT means.)
3. Realize that not EVERYTHING, (say, the mideast peace
crisis for example), is my fault.
4. Bob for apples and actually come up with said object.
5. Stop being a perfectionist.
6. Have a boyfriend for longer than a year at a time without
fucking it up.
7. Swim with sharks without getting hurt.

Seven things that attract you to the opposite sex

1. Intelligence
2. Humor
3. Self Confidence
4. Ambition
5. Zaniness
6. Kindness
7. Similarities or Affinity

Seven things you say most

1. And there you have it
2. So here's the deal (a la H. Ross Perot)
3. So the fuck what
4. I don't give a shit
5. What the fuck?
6. How the hell? (You'll note that this is very closely akin
to "What the fuck?")
7. And there it is (Also close to "And there you have it."

(Yeah, so I do a lot of fucking repeats, so sue me)

Seven people you want to take this quiz...
Ok, I took the quiz, so beyond that, I don't give a shit who
else takes it. So there, fuck it. Oh yeah, add that to the last
one, that's another thing I say, FUCK IT. Oh and another one,
"So There." "Go Figure." And, "I don't give a shit." And there
you have it.