May 29, 2008

Don't Give Up, Get Naked

When things are dodgy, and you owe maintenance, toss off your kit and show the rest of them chuffers your lunchbox. (When the going gets tough, the tough get naked.)

Well it’s Thursday now isn’t it? And as you well know on Thursdays I have a look at films what ain’t as new as some of what the other nutters out there looks at, but that don’t make em scrap. Right then, unless you’re a pigeon-chested tosser, let us have a look at this week’s pic, I reck I clocked it as a good one.

The Full Monty (1997)

Here’s a heads up ya bugger, if it’s your first time watching I’d wager a quid it will all sound like malarkey to you, so turn on the closed caption or visit the
website first, for a look at the meaning of what these cheeky bastards are saying.

Ok, so here’s the thing; our man Gaz along with his best mate Dave and most of the men in the town of
Sheffield, including their old foreman, have been laid off from the steel mills and are on the dole. Thanks to Gaz’s ex, his kid looks at him like he’s a beggar and Gaz has got to raise some quid or lose the kid. Dave can’t raise anything, if you get my meaning, and his wife is having an eppy about it. Our foreman, Gerald, has to be taken down a peg, but it turns out to be the blokes that prop him and possibly Dave’s widger back up.

After seeing what he calls a lot of woofters, (Chippendale’s dancers), Gaz gets the idea that him and a few of his lads could earn some money dancing. But in order to piqué the interest of the town lasses they will need to show the full Monty. Meaning, six Job Club blokes will have to dance around like benders, pull off their kegs and show their tackle in order to get back their self-respect. Now that takes bollocks.

A fine bit of acting was done by all really, with much praise going to Robert Carlyle who plays Gaz. When his boy Nathan, played by William Snape, lets on like he don’t want to be with Gaz, Carlyle delivers such a pained look your heart will break and you’ll know what a sodder it must have been to live with his ex. It is no wonder Gaz thinks women are taking over the world, as evidenced by the way they piss.

Our fat bastard Dave, Mark Addy, is anything but and the rest of the lads are right chums as well. (Mark was later on Still Standing, and American TV show.) For a look at what the town looks like now there is the unofficial website, MONTYMANIA.

I really liked this movie, despite its not living up to its name, but then I liked Pretty Woman, and it didn’t live up to its name either, (unless they meant Richard Gere). So have a look mate, you might like it too.

Beers and Cake

I am currently facing a deadline, self-imposed, but a deadline. So the night before last I drank 5 beers and ate cake. My girlfriend says I have a fear of failure that is causing me to drink beers and eat cake. Her theory is that if I don't finish something, meaning make my dead line and lose some weight, I can't fail at it.

This made sense to me. I came home last night ready to write.

I watched the best of Triumph the insult dog on DVD. I feel this was probably worse for my brain than the 5 beers.

May 25, 2008

Diner in Napa....Pricey

We took a little side trip over to Napa. Not really in the budget, but how can you not? We visited two wineries that we did not get to see on our honeymoon, Sterling and Franciscan and had a great time at both. But by now we were a little hungry and decided to grab a bite before heading back to Sacramento.

I suggested a little road side stand, Wayne didn’t want to go that cheap, but we weren’t looking for fine dining either. Stay outta
Yountville. So we spied a little grill that looked like a converted gas station, it had an unassuming name and we thought we might do ok with them.

We walked in and were greeted by servers in crisp white aprons that capped the tops of their shiny black shoes. I knew we weren’t getting out of there for under a C-note. But as we were led to our table I saw that the servers were wearing jeans under their aprons. Hope for getting out of there for under two hundred.

We had just been tasting really great wine and didn’t want to spend the money to get something up to that par, so we opted for beers. Fancy Napa beers, but beers. Wayne went for the steak and I choose a pulled pork sandwich; should be pretty good with beer.

So here’s my deal-e-o; if you’re going to pay $114 for dinner, the steak should be rare as ordered, not brown all the way through and the French Fries ought to be as crisp as the aprons. If you’re going to put a steak on the menu, and charge $35 for it, you should be able to cook it at least as well as Ponderosa. The pork sammy was yummy but that’s the least they could do.

PS They must have been designer jeans as the appetizer was so snotty and fancy I declined to eat it because it looked like a $15 fried bug. Is my trailer park showing?

May 23, 2008


My overwhelming fear is relieved by crushing disappointment. He really deserved it. He should have gotten it, and he should have gotten a lot less drama from me. He says not to lose faith, when the right thing comes along we both will know it. I knew it when he came along and we will know when our next move comes along.
So it is the right coast for now, and Wendy and Wayne forever.

Riding Roller Coasters in Sacramento

I’m sorry for the lack of a non-new review this week. I have been on 5 day long roller coaster ride in Sacramento, CA. The only movie I saw in the hotel was Evan Almighty and it’s just not worth the ink; even though we’re not using ink. So this Thursday instead of reviewing an old movie, I will review the last 5 days in Sacramento, the things that led up to us being here, and a ponderence of what might happen next.

Long story short; we might move to Sacramento. Back story; Wayne is up for a promotion that would take us here. He really wants and deserves the promotion. He has worked so hard, out shined some people who are supposed to be above him, won the praise of people way above everybody else, (Speaking in the chain of command sense) and has the support of his current boss and peers in his quest to move up. Wendy is a scared little brat who doesn’t like change and is afraid to move away from home, wahh-wahh.

Back story on Wendy’s back story; Wendy, aka me, lived on the same side of the same town till she was 37 years old. In a leap of faith unprecedented in my life, I left that town and moved 1000 miles away with Wayne after having only known him for 6 months, 3 of which he was on the road. Sometimes you just know when it’s right. I am never clear on anything; I will change my mind before the end of a sentence and have to start over. To date, Wayne is the only thing I have never changed my mind about. I knew it was him, and he knew it was me, so I packed up my station wagon, sold everything else and went with him. No regrets!

I have never loved the town we live in now, yet with the possible opportunity pending to move near the other coast, I am so saddened and scared and then excited and full of adventure, then scared, then excited. Roller coasters of the emotional variety are worse because they are not over in 4 minutes. Speaking of roller coasters, I am typing this on a plane during turbulence, just one more thing I am afraid of. F.M.R.

I really wouldn’t miss our little town, I don’t have lifelong friends here and the climate is not my favorite. I guess I could even learn to live without our house, but it would be hard. It’s my first house, we had it built together and I hate the thought of someone else having it. But it’s my trees that I weep for when I think of leaving. Yes, including my lemon tree. I have never planted trees before. In apartments you plant annuals.

Seriously we are past the age where we can plant young trees and wait. I mean we can still buy green bananas with relative certainty, but saplings, not so much. And my bushes that were less than a foot tall when we planted them are now huge. I love everything we have done to this house, and that we have done it together.

And then there’s family. I am already 1000 miles from them; Sacramento would be 2500 miles from them. 100 to 500 miles is good distance for family. Too far for the drop in and not so far if you need help. My family would drive you crazy but they will come if you need help. I hate the thought of seeing even less of them.

But then the ride goes up, and I think of the great time I would have taking them around California. My Mom is getting careful with her bananas, so now is the time to take her on an adventure. Wouldn’t it be better than Christmas if I could take my Mom to meet Pat Sajac? And I know Wayne has got a little thing for Vanna.

I would love to take the whole family on a CA tour, but plane tickets are not cheap and vacations often get used up for other things. And so the mental ride goes down with practical thoughts. Up down, up down, I don’t know, we’ll see what happens. I guess I am ready to get a forever house, and though I don't think it is the one we are in, I also don't think I want it to be in California.

So, it has been 5 days of ups and downs. I loved Sacramento, hated how far away it is. I loved seeing Lake Tahoe, and getting to visit Napa again. Hated the huge dough we had to drop. I loved the idea of the adventure we could have had and I hated the idea of leaving comfortable and familiar behind. Roller Coasters suck.

May 19, 2008

Huggin Trees

We are in Sacramento till Thursday. It is really beautiful here; today we drove out to Lake Tahoe and I was wowed. The mountain top lake is surrounded by majestic pines and snow capped peaks, really something to see. If you want to know why people hug trees, visit northern California.

May 15, 2008

A Call For A Ban!

On Fridays do you get the privilege of paying $5, for charity of course, to wear your jeans to work? They do this every once in a while where I work. Frankly I would pay $5 for the privilege of not seeing most of these people in their jeans. There is something about Halloween and casual Fridays that makes working girls dress like working girls. You can see more T & A on casual Friday than in hotel porn.

This wouldn’t be so bad, but have you seen what the cubicle life has done to the bottom line of the American office worker? Listen, I know I am no better, but on Friday I stick to the loose fitting, elastic waist, black trousers that are my weekday uniform. Do you know I have even seen them parade in, wearing elastic waist jeans. Oh the humanity!!

There should be a memo: If your age and/or waist is over 40 you have to pay $10 to wear jeans on Friday.

Still they lay their money down and parade in through the employee entrance like a circus consisting of nothing but fat ladies, going up Main St. U.S.A. hawking the show. Come one come all to the greatest show on earth. See unbelievable wonders such as your boss in low riders, the CEO in droopy crotch comfort fit dungarees, and the head of HR viciously and brutally violating the dress code. They saunter in with not only junk in their trunks, but copiers, fax machines, and in the case of some of the older men the occasional Dictaphone.

Surely they don’t have mirrors at home or they would not leave the house like that, but you would think the full length one in the ladies room would shock them back into their, oh so forgiving, A-line skirts. And you guys out there; if you can’t tuck your shirt in, don’t wear skin tight jeans that you’ve had since before the kids where born.

As I see it, this is plainly on OSHA issue, so with our safety in mind I call for a ban on ba-donk-a-donk in the boardroom, lest an overstressed rivet break free and put an eye out.

Naughty, but not in the New Releases

OH that’s it, now turn the page, turn another page, OH! I love you! Oh God, I didn’t mean it and you’re a bastard for making me say it. I take it back. You don’t have to read anymore if you don’t want to, it’s just a casual thing, a quick read and then piss off, no harm done. But before you go why not have a look at this Thursday’s non-new review, Better Than Sex. Watching it almost is.

Better Than Sex (2000)

In three days can you fall in love, break up, get back together, say good bye and still keep it casual? They meet at a party, mutually decide on a one night stand, luckily somebody had a condom, and go back to her place for what turns out to be three days that might last a life time.

Filmed mostly in Sydney this movie was written and directed by Australian film maker Jonathan Teplitzky. It stars
Susie Porter as Cin, a delightfully freckled single gal who just wants some sex. After all he’s leaving in three days, what harm could be done. David Wenham scrumptiously portrays man-hair laden Josh. A single guy (maybe) with atrocious bathroom habits who also just wants some sex. After all he’s leaving in three days what harm could be done.

Neither of these actors are well known in the U.S., but they are both very engaging, adorable to look at, yet not unbelievably good looking, and you feel comfortable with them right away. Their accents are at times a bit hard to understand but the language of love is universal.

And speaking of sex; this movie has plenty of it, along with nakediness, great dialog, sex, outstanding cinematography, with some photography thrown in, sex, nakediness, romance, comedy that is nice and dry and sex that is decidedly not dry. But what is great about this movie, is that you get all that sex and nakediness without pornography or fakey soap opera lighting, candles and spray tan.

On their 1st day together Cin shouts out in the heat of passion, “I love you” Could she love him already? After having sex, AGAIN, Josh takes his leave only to find it harder to go than he thought. Their would-be romance is helped along by a guardian angel in the guise of a taxi driver, Angelica Huston look-a-like Kris McQuade. After a fight is sparked by Cid’s nasty, slutty friend; Josh storms out of Cid’s apartment only to be refused a ride from the benevolent
hack. Will he go back?

You’ll be going back for more. This weekend rent Better Than Sex, and if you don’t have anyone to watch it with get your vibrator out of the fridge and have a go then, right no worries.

May 13, 2008

Big and Thick

I can't believe the size of my husband’s, oh what's the word for it... his thing-a-majig. Whatever, I will think of the word for it later. It's so big and thick I can hardly get my hands around it. He said I could use it because I don’t have one, but that I have to be careful with it. Sometimes I can be a little clumsy.

I have been envious of his for years, and sometimes I really need one. When I am desperate and I am at a complete loss for words he lets me use his and a whole new, a whole new….oh, I can’t say what I’m trying to say. It just makes stuff good when he lets me look at it. I better go get it so I can finish this post……….

Mercifully, I am relieved of my anguish. All thanks to my beloved matrimonial cohort and his plethora of apparatus. His generosity is unprecedented among the modern homo-sapiens, especially those dwelling in an urban setting. Endless waves of gratitude egress from my corporeal frame and ratiocination. The tension has been abated!

With great fervor it is my counsel, that if either you or your paramour are sans the most recent lexicon, you obtain one post haste. You need not fret about having one of immense proportions until you become more familiar with its use.

Paying Penance

I am going to hell, directly to hell; do not pass go, hell. H.E. double hockey sticks, Dante’s Inferno, Lucifer’s living room, HELL! Unless I go to confession and get a pass. Oh, settle down, I was just kidding. Anywho, where was I? Oh yes, HELL! Ok, so I ‘m going to tell you what I did, but I have to type quietly as I don’t want Wayne to see this. If he pulled this crap I would flip a biscuit. I’d be so PO’d there would be weeks of endless questioning of his love and devotion for me, his feigned tolerance of my charming little quirks, or if he wished I were younger, smarter, smaller, taller, prettier or had real red hair.

Yesterday I was checking out at the grocery store. An ordinary day, other than the fact that I had actually managed to make it to the grocery store, but other wise an ordinary day with the ordinary sundries: Napkins; paper and sanitary, tissues; facial and toilet, soap; bar and pump, along with low fat everything, sugar free anything, skim milk , et al. As luck would have it, on this particular day I was not buying anything that makes you go, anything that helps you stop, or any liniments, ointments or lubricants.

Innocently unawares of my cougaresk charms, I inadvertently unloaded my cart in a seductive, some might even say, Mrs. Robinson manner. I conversed with the check out lady employing pleasant, sophisticated and witty prose. In a moment of optical fortitude I entered my pin and completed my purchase sans store bought reading glasses, as my super sleek, Dr. prescribed, sexy librarian reading glasses are still on order.

That’s when it happened. The automatic doors opened and a gust of ocean breeze swept in tussling most of my hair and all of his. The sun’s rays gleam on his golden bronze skin, while the fluorescent lights accentuated his aqua blue eyes. There he was, the bag boy, gently handling my eggs. Paper, plastic or me? “May I help you out with your groceries My Lady?” he mouthed in a husky tone that was beyond his 17 and ¾ years. (He may have said Ma’am, but really it’s practically the same thing, at least it had the same effect). See paragraph one…GOING TO HELL.

Not only did I giggle, I squealed a little, blushed and felt a twinge of nausea. I’ll have to buy something for that. In the nano second it took for the transgression to transpire I felt everything from giddy to remorse and shame. 17 ¾ is in no way equal to 50, handsome, smart, loving and my husband, no matter how tan you are. Can you imagine a mature, voluptuous, worldly woman, like I would like to be one day, effervescing like a sophomore cheerleader because one James Dean Jr. bag boy winked at her while bagging her melons? I should think not!!!

Quite shaken, I declined the offer and ran to my car. Well, it was more like a half hearted power walk, after all I was pushing a cart. I threw my bounty in the car and instantly called my girlfriend back home for advice. She has been married 15 years; she’ll know what to do. I told her of the offence to all that is good and moral. I relayed my shame to my comrade in age. I am not used to thinking other males are attractive; I am happily married to a handsome man who I love more than anything.

“Calm down” the old girl told me, “you’re married not dead.”

Well this seamed a rather mannish answer to me. Isn’t that the sort of rationale some chauvinist pig might use while shoving singles in a g-sting or ordering seconds at Hooters? My partner in would be cougerdom then proceeded to tell me of her lustful ogling of a certain Cleveland Indian’s baseball player.

“It’s not that I don’t love my husband or find him attractive,” she claimed, “it just an appreciation for beauty, I would never do anything about it”

Sounds like a slippery slope to me, I thought.

“He’s 24, athletic and fun to watch,” the old girl continued.

“But, there is one important difference,” I replied. “Your thinking a 24 year old is cute makes you a dirty old woman, my thinking a 17 ¾ year old is cute makes me a criminal!” Definitely going to hell!

So, I have instituted a self imposed sojourn in Purgatory. Until my soul is cleansed, I have banned myself from all grocery stores save Wal-Mart. I am absolutely certain there is no chance in hell of me seeing anyone even remotely attractive in a Wal-Mart.

May 10, 2008

Simmer Down Now

I just can't relax anymore. I was sitting on my back porch, eating breakfast, not due at work for 3 hours, marveling at my yard and the cardinals and woodpeckers and the other side of my brain kept interrupting with post-its about what I should be doing. Geeze! What is it about modern day life that has programed us into some sort of multi-tasking frenzy? I never take the time to relax and enjoy the good stuff. IE; my lemon tree and how big it is getting. I feel guilty if I am not doing at least two things at once. Wayne says that's why I never get anything done when I want to, yet he feels guilty if he doesn't keep up with his workaholic boss and the tons of hours that guy puts in.

Rant Alert:

I miss the good ole days when I didn't feel like everything was a race. When we didn't work our tails off to have so much stuff that we had to have monthly storage spaces.

Cliche Alert:

We used to take time to smell the roses, now we buy rose scented air fresheners with automatic fans to blow the scent around.

I am currently reading Tom Sawyer (and Dr Phil) and I am struck by the slow pace of the world Twain depicts. People worked a lot harder then, but they did not feel the need to fill every moment with work.

I haven’t read Tom Sawyer in 30 years or so and the book reminds me that I can’t remember anything being fast when I was a kid. It used to take a year from one birthday to another and it seemed like Christmas wouldn’t come till sometime after you were dead. I am also struck by how wonderful Twain’s voice was; I hope that I was influenced by his style. He illustrates the simple pleasures of life in the scene where Tom and one of his school boy chums have a game of Pong with a tick. They are amused forever by whacking the bug around with pins. I wish I could get back to that kind of calm. I don't know how I got to where I am bored watching TV, reading a book and eating at the same time? I have a weird need to always be doing something, and it seems I get less and less done.

There are so many things I want to do, but I want to enjoy doing them. I want to be able to really experience each thing and not just move from event to event, task to task, book to book, so that I can cross them off my list.

So, my new plan is to read one book at a time, do one task at a time, and live one event at a time. I want to rewire my brain back to when I subconsciously understood that not doing something is doing something. Take care and slow down.


May 9, 2008

I'll 2nd that emotion

Recently I receive email number eleventy three hundred with a little laughing or smiling or whatever icon on it. It came from my gal pal at work. It was a personal message sent to about 47 of us, encouraging smiles to brighten up a dull work day. In an effort to encourage her to send me something funny versus a picture menu of emotions to pick from, I sent her an old time one liner. It went as follows:

A priest, a rabbi and a minister walk into a bar. And the bartender says “what’s this; a joke?”

From: wendy'spal@work
I don’t get it!! I’m not laughing!


Well, it is a play on words because a lot of off color jokes begin with the phrase….. A priest, a rabbi and a minister walk into a bar; or some variation of that. Generally it was followed by some offensive reference to one or more of the participant’s dogma. While this type of joke was generally more acceptable in the 50s and 60s, derogatory humor at the expense of others, especially others of a minority, began to lose favor in the 70s. Thereby leading to a benign version of the joke which is really a spoof of the farce and those who found this type of lampoonery humorous.

Does that help?

From: wendy'spal@work

May 8, 2008

Skip the Popcorn, this week you'll need peppers.

It’s time for Thursday’s non-new review and this week I am on top of the world, if not any women; and hopefully Wayne is just kidding when he says he would like to see that.

Woman on Top (2000)
Directed by: Fina Torres

In this story of love, motion sickness and the art of cooking, there is something for everyone. For the guys: Isabella, enchantingly portrayed by Penelope Cruz, is gorgeous, comical, and has a sexy Brazilian accent. You’ll be running out for chilies after watching her cook. For the girls: Murilo Benicio as Toninho is Isabella’s husband, for now. He is so SEXY and not necessarily the man you may think he is at first. His songs could woo the deaf, his looks could attract the blind and his sex appeal could make a guy change teams. Which bring us to Monica (Harold Perrineau, Jr) who is for everyone in between. Monica, Isabella’s best friend, is beautiful and handsome and quirky and loveable, so much so she gives Cliff the hiccups. Cliff (Mark Feuerstein) is for you Wonder Bread lovers, but is also adorably charming as the nice guy rival for Isabella’s love.

This movie is exquisitely filmed with bright colors, exotic locations and attractive people. It takes you from beaches in the northeast of Brazil to
Lombard Street in San Francisco. The music and song throughout the film give a feeling of love and happiness while the ritual sacrifices to the sea god Yemanja are foreboding. Dabbling with curses and sacrifices to sea gods can have some unforeseen and ultimately unwanted effects.

The story focus on Isabella and how her vertigo threatens her husband’s manhood putting their love, which is hotter than a habanera pepper, in jeopardy. Stifled from taking the lead in the traditional male role regarding inconsequential matters, Isabella’s husband acts out his need to be the man by committing a grave betrayal.

What I love about this movie is its subtleness; nothing is decided for you. Characters are flawed yet still beautiful and engaging; there is no obvious villain. There are very funny parts but there is no rim shot slap stick. And everything is at an easy languid pace, but don’t mistake that for dull. Despite, or more likely because of, the lack of American block buster punch or Indi film righteousness, you’ll be smitten with this film.

And so up and down the streets of San Francisco, Isabella finds everything she thinks she ever wanted and then finds everything she ever wanted. This smoldering love story surrounded by the love of good food makes Nine 1/2 Weeks look like cheap soft porn (which it kinda was anyway). This weekend rent Woman on Top, but don’t rent it alone.

May 7, 2008

Fake Fake Fake

Turkey chili just doesn’t cut the mustard. I am sorry, I am trying to be healthy, but I just can’t do the turkey chili thing. For that matter; turkey burgers, turkey bologna, turkey hot dogs or turkey turkey except on Thanksgiving. I mean really, what’s next, turkey chicken McNuggets?

Everything is fake these days and the country is fatter than ever, so why bother? Fake butter is bad for your heart, fake sugar can give you intestinal unrest, and fake boobs can hamper your intelligence. A little off subject, but none the less true.

I know there is no startling revelation here; I just had to get it off my chest. My feelings about turkey that is. It seems like the more fake stuff I eat, the more I don’t trim down. Wayne says it’s all about exercise and burning more calories than you take in. So, I bought a stair stepper. Not a real one! This one sits on the floor in front of the couch so you can do it while watching the cooking channel. Fake exercise.

You may be thinking: “All things in moderation”. Obviously you have never tried to eat just a half a cup of Ben and Jerry’s. Or a half of cup of frozen yogurt… fake ice-cream. I have been trying to fake moderation but I keep ending up with nothing.

Oh well, this wasn’t a real post anyway!

May 6, 2008

Rachel Lucas wrote recently about her ideas of what being a real man is and how women should be held to the same standards. Here is a small piece, but please real her whole entry to really get the feel for what she thinks on this matter. We Need a Real Woman Manifest.

So there’s really not a lot of mystery about what everyone agrees a “real” man is. We all know “real” men are:
Mentally, emotionally, and intellectually strong, even if not physically (crippled and elderly men can still be “real” men). Hardworking, honorable, honest, dutiful, protective of family and country. Brave, courageous, rational, reasonable, kindhearted, and respectful. Knowledgeable about how to survive in rough times and how to solve problems. And so on.
What I started wanting to know when I was about 16 was just how in the hell any of those things were (or should be) exclusive to men. I realized even then that in fact, they are not. All adults should have every one of those personality and character traits as a matter of course.

So then I started wondering why anyone bothered with the phrase “real man” at all. Don’t they just mean “real adult”? As a young girl, shouldn’t I strive to be exactly the kind of person I kept hearing a “real man” would be? I thought so, and I still do. Maybe that’s why you never hear me whining about how my butt looks in these jeans or crying that no one pays enough attention to me. Who gives a crap? I don’t need any reassurances about silly shit because apparently, I am a “real man”, secure in my own “manliness”. Even though I’m a woman

Rachel’s post prompted me to write a little of what I think on the subject.

I have always been proud of my big boned, size 10 feet, sturdy stature. I have felt superior to little whiney cows that have to ask for help to carry milk in from the car. If I want to move the refrigerator to sweep behind it, I move the refrigerator. And, I have always felt superior to nauseating catty bitches that treat men and other women like shit. They think they have the golden p---y and give us real women a bad name. I think women should behave within the real man/woman code but not confuse that with acting like some of the worst traits of some men. I think girls mistake being a real woman with acting like what they think real men do.

Case in point: The rise of the male stripper shows for women. Pardon me this is gross! Why do I want to give some oily ego maniac $1 to feel me up after he has made his way around the room feeling up a gaggle of nasty women who think that this behavior makes them progressive and liberated. I don’t believe it is in the basic female make-up to randomly bed the fantasy type male, so why pay money to have some man with less body hair than me, pretend he would.

2nd case in point: I think girls mistake being promiscuous with being equal to men. Again I think men are programmed different; to spread their seed to all. Women aren’t. So why is different not equal? Why do some women think that acting like a man is what it takes to be equal to a man? We are supposed to be different, that doesn’t make one better than the other, it makes things work.

3rd case point: Girls brawling, WTF? Do they think this makes them more of a woman? In fact it makes them more in common with the lowest dominator of men.

4th case in point: Making out with other girls just to impress boys, (if it’s because you like it, get a room, who cares) and flashing and no underwear. Do you really expect to be taken seriously if the only way you can get or hold someone’s attention is to flash the beave?

So, I do think women should have a real woman code that is like the real man code, but don’t mistake it for thinking you have to act like a man, especially those men who aren’t following the code.


May 3, 2008

My Writing Space

Inspired by other writers who have shared their space, I decide to share my little work area.

The gazing ball and book, "Diamond In The Window", are from my husband, who fully supports my writing including my efforts in the genre of children’s books. In many ways it takes much more skill to write a good children’s book. I don’t know if I will get there, but I love that he encourages me to try. Also pictured but hard to see is Stephen King’s "On Writing", Wayne gave me this book when we first started dating. Back then I did a lot more talking about writing than writing. Thanks for encouraging me to shut up Wayne, I love you.

The candles are from my newest girlfriend. I love to light candles or incense when I sit down to write. I also like to have a fresh HOT cup of something; flavored coffee or black tea. If it’s a good day, the cup will sit untouched while I click away. If I am working on two or three cups, I know I need to hang it up and vacuum or mow the lawn.

The bookends are from one of my oldest girlfriends. (In reference to the length of time I have know her of course.) I think we were living in our second apartment together when she gave me these. We had begun to move away from black lights and beer and were beginning our books and wine phase; which is still in progress. Back then wine meant Sutter Home White Zinfandel but it was a step in the right direction.

The Writer’s Brief Handbook, was acquired during my brief stink at Columbus State Community College. There I was called by one Mrs. Diane Kinser, a writer. She was the first teacher to ever call me anything but late for class. I'll never forgot it Mrs. Kinser and one day you may see my name in print.

The dictionary from a yard sale and the how to books from Half Priced books or such; I could really use a thesaurus. The rest of the office/guest room/ storage unit is kinda messy, but I absolutely adore looking out my window or through my gazing ball and seeing my blooming Hibiscus and evergreen yard. So there you have it if you care to know, my little work area that I love.


May 1, 2008

Thank you Ishan De Silva

A big Thank you goes out to Ishan De Silva for writing the code to make this a 3 column blog. Here is a link to the instructions.

Ishan must be really smart to make this easy enough for me to do. You can too.

I am still tweaking colors but I love the new format.

Thanks again Ishan.


Nothing in the New Releases?

Shit, I know shit is bad right now, but you don’t know how bad it could be. This Thursday’s non-new review takes a look at what our future might be, if we don’t stop massive consumption of sports drinks, shopping at Costco, and watching reality TV.

Idiocracy (2006)

Want to see a juvenile movie done by people with a sophomoric sense of humor (Mike Judge, think Beavis and Butt-Head) that has a devastatingly frightening truth? Well, that may be a trifle dramatic but this movie wouldn’t be worth much of a look, if it weren’t an unsettling look at our possible future.

Just suppose that the most inept dumbass slacker of today was the most adept crisis manager of the future. An extremely un-ambitious army private who just wants to get out of the way, is the unwilling monkey for an experiment that lands him and his co-monkey 500 years in the future. Private Joe Bauers, played by Luke Wilson and Rita, played by Maya Rudolph, a hooker rented to the army by her pimp, turn out to be our best hope for the reclamation of intelligent life on earth.

The movie starts out with a hilarious, yet sad and true, explanation of how the retarded process of natural selection led to a country populated by the dim witted. They mindlessly meander through their existence while being bottle fed giant drinks and processed goo during the most vulgar reality TV shows and movies.

World leaders are not exempt. In the movies most unrealistic scenario, the President of America (Terry Crews; Everybody Hates Chris) is a wrestler type who has replaced saluting with flipping the bird. This could never happen; I mean really, the farthest a wrestler could get is Governor of America right?

Also Appearing: Dax Shepard plays Frito, a Costco educated Lawyer and our second best hope for the future. Justin Long as a dumb Dr and Thomas Haden Church make amusing cameos.

Rita, who has hidden the fact that her boyfriend Upgrayedd is really her pimp, looks for redemption in the future, while Joe finds his true potential. There are lessons for us all in this satirical exploration of the dumbing down of America. Hopefully renting this movie will give you pause the next time you pass up a book sale, tune into Springer, or order food from someone using a picture menu.