Pussy Porn

Max:

Home free! She just got fixed - all the fun without having to worry about knocking her up. And it's SHAVED! SssswwwwwwwEEEEEEETtttttt!

Mini:

I'm going to lay here with my eyes closed and ignore him, but if those paws go one inch closer to my incision, i'm going to fix HIM.

Ok, here's the deal.

You.

You know who you are.

You are the one who has stomped all over my friend's heart and I.AM.PISSED.

I stood up for you both at your wedding.

I babysat your animals when you took her away for anniversary weekends.

I was there when she pee'd on the stick and that stick turned blue.

I was there with you both when you were in the delivery room. And I held her hand when tears were trickling down her face out of nerves, excitement and joy. And i laughed at her when I asked her if she was ok and she said no, she was scared to death of having the baby and she had to poop.

I feel it only fair to tell you that I am STILL THAT friend.

But now, I'm the one who's going to take her to her divorce attorney interviews.

The one who will take her to the bank and force her to move her money into a sole account and move her direct deposit over.

I am the one who will continue to pick up the phone every time she calls crying, screaming, breaking down because you betrayed her.

I will open my heart and my home for her when she feels like she wants to give up.

I will agree with her when she says you were a good guy and she still loves you and I will comfort her when she screams that you should go to hell. Right now i agree with both.

You were that friend, or half of the couple, who were at our wedding.

You were the one who videotaped Walker's first few hours on this earth in the hospital nursery because you knew I was recovering from a c-section and his dad couldn't work the video camera.

You were the one who remained a friend when i had to leave your college roommate because it just wasn't working.

You were the one who invited me over to your home on my birthday - the first one after the divorce - because you didn't want me and the kids to be alone or sad.

You WERE THAT friend.

I am STILL THAT friend. I want YOU.TO.FIX.THIS.NOW.

Think about her. Think about what you're doing. PLEASE. Your family needs you. Your wife needs you. And whether you realize it now or not, you need her.

Be THAT man, ok?

Cars in the Foyer, a truck on the front porch and one ticked off Vance.

Note to self: Do not mix red wine with sugar free pecan tassies and then go to sleep EVER AGAIN. You will find yourself staring at cars in the foyer, trucks on the front porch, and yourself driving a new red VW GTI (why???) and one pissed off man on your hands.



So somewhere between 10pm and 6am this morning I had this dream where i walked down the stairs in the townhouse we own over in Tampa to see a car that scarily resembled Speed Racer's car sitting in the foyer facing the front door, as if it was just waiting for that door to open so that it could escape. And then i notice that there was another one right behind it.

Now any normal person would have been like WHO THE FUCK CRAMMED TWO ROADSTERS IN MY FOYER? or MY FOYER IS NOT THIS BIG - HOW THE HELL DID THEY GET IN HERE??



No.....my reaction was more like: "Hmmm. Maybe i should move these before Vance gets up."



So of course, the keys are there just waiting for me, and i get inside the first one and drive it out the front door...and right into the back of the bed of a black pickup truck. on the porch. It doesn't matter that our townhouse doesn't have a front porch. It has a stoop. And one cannot fit a black F150 on a stoop. or in this case, even a porch.



The truck lurches to the side and to the front and hits 2 other cars parked on the street.



I look around and rationalize that if we can get this 'mess' cleaned up quickly Vance won't find out. Now, exactly what 'quickly' meant in this scenario - is like the speed of light - because i manage to get rid of most of the banged up cars except the truck. And then V comes downstairs and sees this mess and just looks at the tailgate of the truck where Speed Racer left white paint marks and then me, and says "Well, THAT left a mark didn't it?"



And then the dream jumped and i'm driving this red VW GTI and Vance is a passenger - and the car is brand new and i take a corner too quickly and hit the guardrail crunching in my new shiny red fender. I WAS PISSED. In fact, i'm pretty sure i yelled FUCK in my sleep because my oldest had climbed into bed with me at some point and i woke up to him to telling me that i cuss in my sleep.



Now, you know i had to google dream intrepretations right?? It says that "I may be harboring deep anxieties and fears. Are you "driving" yourself too hard? This dream may tell you to slow down before you hit disaster. You need to rethink or re-plan your course of actions and set yourself on a better path."



I personally would have liked more insight than THAT. That's not rocket science - obviously i'm fearful of crashing and burning - but do the car makes themselves and their colors have any merit, or the order in which what car got damaged first - and what is up with me trying to 'fix' it before Vance woke up? He's not exactly on my ass for shit like that - so what the freak dude? Any insight out there? Curious to hear your takes...

Church shopping

First, a disclaimer. I am about to tell a joke. About church. It's FUNNY. BUT, if you are easily offended, well then why you're reading my blog is beyond me - and i can tell this joke, you see, because i come from the roots of this joke. And since we "church shopped" today - it's timely.



So here goes.



This lady dies and gets to the pearly gates and is greeted by St. Peter who for the purposes of this joke, is the Julie McCoy of Heaven. St. Peter is going to show the recently deceased around on her first day and they get to the first door and the woman can hear lots of laughter, some people hollering out numbers and in general lots of ruckus - the woman asks who is in there? St. Peter said "The Catholics - they've got a raucous game of bingo going on tonight."



They get to the second door and smells of bacon and pancakes take over her senses and she says to St. Peter - "well, who is in here - it smells divine" and St. Peter says "The Methodist's - they're having their Pancake Supper"



Continuing down the hall, they pass a third door - with a "SHHH...quiet please" sign. Looking for an answer she turns to St. Peter to ask him about who was behind this door, but he raises his finger to still her voice before she speaks and he whispers "SHHH......you MUST be quiet when you pass this door."


"But why" asks the lady, perplexed.



"Because the Baptists are in there and they think they're the only ones here."



Ok - see it's FUNNY.



So today, we church shopped. I am not a religious person. And faithful? Well, i guess that would be determined by your definition of 'faithful'. I am a spiritual person but i think the Bible left too much out. And the fact that it was written by all men, yeah, not such a draw for me. In this house we like our religion traditional and the message liberal. Which is why I am a congregationalist. However I'm a congregationalist without a church. The ex husband got custody of our local UCC in the divorce. That's a story for in itself for another day. And at the time I was all about finding myself and then worrying later about finding God. And then somewhere along my journey - i realized i found both, which i think is what was meant to happen.



My personal belief is that God is too great to be confined to a book, a congregation or a building. God is not black and white, or color within the lines. I don't think God cares one patootie if you're baptist, catholic muslim or hindu. God cares that you CARE. About his people and his earth and universe. And that you are living a life that honors what he gave you. Taking care of those not in a position to take care of themselves. HELPING one another. You are your brother's keeper, his mentor, his conscience, his teacher, his student, his helpmate. All of those things and more.



Thanks, and please pass the offering plate to the ushers in the center aisle. Ok enough about my sermon. I think you get my 'vibe'.



I feel it's important though to have a center and without my church, i've felt center-less. And then last night, we watched "Lars and the Real Girl" on dvd and i longed to go to church because Lars, who's going through a little bit of a "mental-misstep" in his life is embraced by his church and his community and they help him get to the other side of what was a very un-nerving time for his family. (Side note - if you like indie-films and Ryan Gossling and some very real humor - RENT THIS. It starts off slow, but about 15 minutes in you're rooting for this guy and laughing at what his community was doing to help him.)



So, we went on our first soul-searching church shopping mission today to a Methodist church. Vance's choice and because i'm all about being inclusive and those methodists have this great inclusive PR campaign going on right now in all of these TV commercials - i'm like SURE- LET'S GO. This is also how i ended up with gin-zu knives, but i digress. SO...off we go. We enter the vestibule and are about to enter the sanctuary when this gentleman jumps out into the aisle from one of the pews with a camera and starts taking our picture as we attempt to walk to our seat, now blinded by flashbulbs. Through the blur that was now my eyesight i caught this name tag thing he was wearing but couldn't make it out what it said. V was visible disturbed by the whole thing,...me - i was intrigued - if they want to treat me like Jennifer Anniston and have their church paparazzo jump out from the behind the bushes and sides of cars too - well, i'm all for anything that pays homage to the star i obviously am.



It kind of went down hill from there though. We were the youngest couple by far. It was us, and like 100 other people all over the age of 65 and then this slew of kids - like 30 of them from toddlers to 5th grade - and i'm staring all around the church trying to find these kids' parents - i mean HOW DID ALL OF THESE CHILDREN GET HERE? My mind went briefly to wondering if all of these 'retirees' were really "busy" - wink, wink in their golden years and these were their spawn. Then i remembered that i was sitting in church and i should NOT be thinking about AARP members doing it naked. At least not before the passing of the peace.

Then, the choirs started. Now I like a good song. But all at once all this SOUND came blaring out of these BOSE speakers in the corner of the church and it was a SOUNDTRACK. They had a pianist and an organist up front - but they were SITTING, not playing. THEY WERE PROPS. Never did a finger touch a key. BLASPHEMY! There will be no fake music in church - THAT'S WHAT YOU LISTEN TO ON THE WAY TO CHURCH. God gave you fingers - use 'em missy. Then i would have to say that the proverbial straw (snort) was a toss up between the way they CONTEMPORIZED Blessed Assurance. This is an old hymn folks - it is not meant to have a dance club beat for christ' sake - seriously. And then i caught it. A white sleeve went up in the choir loft. At first i thought it was a choir member who was in need of excusing herself to the loo - and then it hit me - THIS IS AN EVANGELICAL kind of Methodist church. OOOhhhh.

I get it the fact that there are some people that like that kind of worship. My parents do, my aunts and uncles - they all dig it. Me, not so much. Which is odd, because i think if you dropped my southern butt in the middle of Mississippi, in a black church with the black choir singing and swaying to "I"ll Fly Away " or the like - i would be all about it and you would have to beg me to leave. But put me around a bunch of awkward white people with no rhythm and FAKE MUSIC i'm outta there.

So, no luck today - but i'll let you know where we land. Sometimes it's more about the journey then the destination anyway.

Mugsy

My sweet boy. I miss you so much. My heart aches when I look at this picture of you sleeping (and snoring and farting) on your favorite doggy bed.



I am so sorry that you're little body betrayed you the way it did - it must have been hell having your world go dark and your body go stiff only for you to wake up a few minutes later sprawled on the floor in a mess. And i'm sorry that i grumbled and complained everytime i had to pull out the mop or throw your bed in the wash - it was 100 times worse for you.



I won't forget the day i got you. You were a gift from a then-boyfriend who took me to the pet store and showed me this pug that was determined to pull this small bag of puppy chow across the floor back to your bed. You pretty much had the run of the place, and the manager warned us saying that you had already been returned once because you were a high-maintenance dog. You were the oldest dog for sale, and the owner even discounted you because you were almost a year old. But i was in love. So we went home, you in my lap, wimpering because you were scared, not knowing who i was or where you were going.



You quickly warmed up though - especially the next day when I took you to the beach. Oh my freakin' god, you were in doggy heaven. Well, not like now, but you know. You would run to the waves as they were going out and BARK your little pug head off, and then when the tide would turn to come back in, you would run your little butt back to the soft sand and get behind me barking the entire time. I have pictures of our beach trips with you running and your ears flopping, your muzzle dark black, not a speck of the gray it eventually turned.



You were such a trooper - you outlasted the boyfriend, the move to the condo, the new boyfriend that turned into the husband, another move to a rental, a move to a new house. THEN THE BABY CAME. You would jump up with me on the couch and lay in the crook of the back of my knees and not move. When i would pace the floor with braxton hicks - you would get in the middle of the living room and watch me go back and forth, and when i finally tired and went to bed, you were there, sleeping on the floor on my side of the bed. Baby number 2 came and another new, bigger house. By then, you had started to lose your eyesight but you learned that house really quickly and chased the boys down the hall as they toddled along on their chubby little legs. You survived living with Blue - the red tick hound we took in (yes, he was crazy but he did save you from the hawk that tried to steal you out of the back yard - so he earned angel wings with that move). You went on to outlast the husband and went with me in the divorce, as it should have been. For the first year, you had peace here. You were getting old, but your body hadn't given out and you didn't have another dog to make you crazy so you had peace. We both did.

But what is that phrase, life's like an hourglass glued to the table? It is. I wish i could get time back with you to take you to the beach again and watch you run and ruff and play. The boys - especially Nate - are heartbroken. I am crushed. But i know wherever you are, you're running and you're legs are working, and you're not having to take medicine, and life is good for you. I love you so much little guy. Until we meet again - play in those waves.