The Original Infestation

A pal asked about the beetle entry, and there is no way to describe why I seemed so freaked out to find one today, other than to read what happened last year. Sadly, my photos were on a different pc. I cannot describe how I entered the room to see the other staff members in a circle with very, upset, faces. When I walked over and saw that single nasty bitch laying there I joined the look of.... nooooo.... it's not, is it? It's like being the only person to survive in a Stephen King movie only to be recast in the sequel.

--

The Summer of the Beetle 2005

Our building is fucking infested, seemingly overnight. Remember watching Alfred Hitchcock’s “Birds” and giving a leery eye to every flapper you saw for a few weeks?

In comparison to the shit shaking down in my office, those birds are pussy bitches with legs open waiting to be fucked proper.

I came into work yesterday, one eye open as my ass doesn’t wake the fuck up for a few hours even after I clock in. I meandered to the fridge where I keep my OJ, saw it and screamed.
“ROACH! Fucking roach, get it!”

Our new temp hopped to her feet and came to my rescue. It was all belly up and wiggling so I presumed this stupid fuck was a stray who took a wrong turn in Albuquerque, and ended up thinking “Damn!” ass out in our office chill area.

When went outside to help our lost friend on his merry way, our jaws dropped in slow motion to see about a hundred of his friends screaming “Sup John….. where you been nigga!”

John, and his friends are beetles ranging from one to two inches and they are on the universal track team, these bastards haul some serious ass. I have seen how fast my ass hauls when I see something coming at me, and I have nothing on these bitches. Of course they have like 50 MILLION more legs and shit, but still.

Even after seeing the outside yuck, I was chilly down and went to make coffee. I poured it, smelling it’s strong goodness when in my peripheral vision I saw it…. a millisecond later heard it thunk…. Not one inch from falling into and drinking my fucking coffee for it’s greedy self.

I won’t lie and I say I was all cool. Fuck no! I screamed like I was being murdered and ran so fucking fast I lost a shoe. The girls came running with bats and tire-irons. Ok they didn’t but it wasn’t far off from that. The brave one, Education Lady:

“What?”
Unable to speak….. pointed to the thing.
”Where did that come from?”
shivered…. Pointed to the ceiling.
“From the ceiling?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”

I wanted to take the ruler out of her hand, smack her with it…. hard….. then reply but I just bulged eyes and replied.

“Fuck yes the thing fell from the ceiling! It tried to eat me, steal my money and brag to it’s fucking friends. Now will you kill it or what!!”

The stray bug was in no way a fluke. As the day went on, they began to march into our building saying “left…. Left .. right .. left”

I wish I were kidding about this shit. I was waiting for one to fall into Filbert’s bowl that’s how thick these things were coming through the vent.

I called the exterminator, who in every way looks just like an exterminator should, right down to him telling me how he bought a tattoo gun as a kid and had “practice on someone.” He’s right handed, wanna give it a guess where most of them are? He doesn’t even wear a mask when he sprays the shit, just stands there with a funky grin on his face going about his brain damage. I expect to see him on Maximum Exposure someday. Honestly.

By then Bosslady nor Bossladys Daughter had called in to say when they were coming so I phoned up Le Daughter to say we were under serious attack and were all ready to vomit and flee. Bosslady said we could leave… like later and I lost my fucking mind and screamed at Bosslady’s Daughter, who was trying to be neutral.

“You realize they are falling out of the vents above us, and coming in the vents below us?”“Yes.”“This is SO not a work environment I can dig. If Bosslady thinks we are making this up then the next time a two inch bug crawls up her leg see how she FUCKING LIKES IT.”“I know uh….”

I hung up, ready to put my fish in the car and say fuck it to this crawling joint. I was also wearing a dress and no underwear, I felt like I was a walking invitation to a horror movie. I even chewed out the exterminator. While he’s excellent on bugs, he had no clue how to deal with someone losing their fucking mind about them. I may have even compared bosslady to the bugs, I just know I got out of hand and sat in my car for a long time.

He sprayed all day.

“They are eating eachother.”
“What?”
“Well I’ve been spraying and watching them eat the dying ones.”
“Cannibals.”
“Ay-uh”
“That’s gross…”
“Ay-uh”
“Are they dead then?”
“Naw… they are resisting.”
“Dwayne…. I need to have all these things dead. It’s frankly making me as sensitive as a freshly neutered ballsack.”
“Ay-uh.”

Flash to this morning. I was no longer scared of them… I was and am seriously sick of the bitches. If you are driving down the road and see a person circling a building with a fly swatter… wave, it’s me.

I have had it in all but a holster on my hip all day. I am like John fucking Wayne on heroin. I hear a tick tick of legs and slappity! I have killed more shit in the last 7 hours than ever in my life. I’ve even nuts and boiled the ones coming up through the sink until their nasty guts came out. They keep coming though. It’s like whatever Dwayne sprayed them with mutated them into super bugs, as they’ve recently started to fly - they are eating it up like seriods. Fucking fly yo. Yeah.

Ghetto ass locusts, all up in our office, telling their friends to party up no less.

I’ve been swatting them. Bosslady’s daughter occasionally sweeps them into a pile outside. This is the most disgusting thing I have EVER seen.

Word in town is that there are infestations of these fuckers all over. Isn’t there a prophecy about locusts and shit? Bring on Armageddon… just get rid of the bugs.

-DM

Infestation Round 2?

Remember last year our office was hit with some of the most steriod-guzzling mutant beetle plague? Thousands of them falling out of the air vents above us, into our coffee cups, running up our legs when they mutated further and began to take flight? I'm not whining about a bunch of little bugs either, although I would.... but fuck no -

Actual length each:

(--------------------)

Hundreds and thousands of them.

We just found one.

Friends, I am not sure I can endure that again this year. They laughed at my fly swatter and even 4 rounds of professional extermination didn't kill them. How did they die? Eventually ate eachother. Leaving me to wonder if the one we just found was the sole survivor who ate all the others.

I will update later, I plan to do some serious rounds at lunch to see if they've come back. The level of repulsion I feel cannot be put into words.

-DM

Older things

Would you fucking believe I forgot after 6 months that I no longer wear contact lenses and had eye iritation and stuck my finger straight into my eye? Had a lense been there to buffer it, it would be an entirely different episode in this house. I was shocked, my eye was shocked, and fuck it if we both didn't sit in a state of stupor for a minute thinking what the fuck just happened!

For now enjoy this as I scream on the carpet, writhing like a snake.

-----
This was written last week.....

So I get off work, having fisted two free batteries from the supply closet to reimburse me for verbal abuse, and enter the house with a suspicious roll in my mailbox. Not the food kind, the mailman didn't leave his lunch for me to take home, it was one of those mailer rolls. I knew what it was by the handwriting.

The dogs instantly scattered when I came through the door, and I find they've helped themselves to an entire box of Nilla Wafers. I have still not even considered picking up the torn box, the inner packaging or the crumbs. Mr. Morgan should stop leaving shit on the floor. That's what he gets. No more wafer for him.

I settled in, thought about said batteries and thought why not get my jerk on. The clock told me I had ample time and I went to task. Now.... the next piece of this .... I well.

Let's just say I was very close and felt an odd tickle to see a black something running down my arm.

A choice had to be made. One or the other was going to have to be addressed, and with split second thinking, which isn't my particular talent.

This was definitely a first for me. The "something" won in the end because I couldn't handle the idea of an insect in the bed, on MY side no less being brave enough to climb a human during jacking off. I did not catch the brazen little monster. I wish I had, there would have been a stern talking to. (Update..... I now have a collection of bites on that arm, I KNEW that mother fucker was munchin' and not just passing by.)

Now about the tube. Check it!

I'm smiling again, and feeling a bit better about humans in general. The man is on tour and busy but took two seconds to flick his pen and make someone happy. Those sorts of things help my general faith that people are ok. I thought it was weird he didn't use Mr. Morgan's first name, although I'd provided it, and instead refered to him as Mr. ______ like I do on this blog. Interesting.

But spiders still eat monkey sack, and need to stay out of the bed and respect personal time.

-DM

Least he's honest.

"Honey."
"What" says I.
"Do you know what super power all women should have?"
"Well I could think of a few..."
"No. All women should turn into sandwhich's after sex. Like 'POP', Then Sandwhich." he says with a widegrin and a nod of accomplishment.
"Really."
"Totally. I mean I'll take turkey.... salami...."

Walking away in the distance, trying not to laugh and encourage it..... "ham? even pastrami or roast beef????"

-DM

Don't miss below, two posts today

Freelance Financial Procurement Officer

Go ahead and start this up before you scroll. Adds to my intended element.



You start it?





I'm not fucking around.





Is Wayne Brady gonna have to slap a bitch?








Ok then. Just a grey little taste of who is handing out bitch slaps this year, and baby it's longer than Santa's list of naughty slap needing bastards.

DM got her gear and the bling is in place enough to give even Flava Flav pause to say daaaaamn! Isn't a damn thing cheap about the pimpsuit, including the hair which wasn't for this occassion but it worked out brilliantly. Fuck me if it isn't hot enough to cook a steak on my crotch though, after only 20 minutes I was panting. Dare I say it, but the best part of the costume to me, is the stick. I plan to poke a great many things and potentially people/little people/anything that gets bitchy with it. I already fucked up the ceiling twirling it, as I remember how to rock a flag from highschool, but thats gay and pimps can't be gay. Well we can, just not THAT sort of lame. Gotta a rep or something.

Anyhow it's great and I spent about an hour hemming it because while the pants said they'd fit size 10 - 14 womens, they ... they just made some noise getting over my size 6 ass. The top was huge. Mass production shit.

All for today.... Only two short months..... weeeeeee....

-DM

Dear God.....

Yesterday when I said I could use something nice coming my way I didn't mean having supper with Mr. Morgan's parents. God, I realize the Last Supper was a pretty kick ass thing back in the day, but it's a new world down here God and I frankly need a bit more of a commitment from you if we are to go froward with the cult idea.

I am however willing to let it slide a bit, and bite the botulism bullet for your heavenly enjoyment (which you know took 45 minutes from eating it to flushing it), but we have to re-negotiate some of these bargains if it is going to be this way. I don't need much.

1. Hurricaine Earnest, let it roll but on a certain schedule. Bosslady is planned for New Orleans starting September 4th and if that hurricaine halts that conference, well I simply can't guess how many people you will lose, nor how often a gleeful name in vain will be shouted.

2. I also would like to ask that the people who take all the parking by the mail boxes be smited with herpes. I think it would help rush them along a little faster and let the rest of us get a turn.

3. This one was in the suggestion box. All women would like to know if you could swap the orgasm factor for us a bit. Not the parts, just the given that we'll get one just for showing up. Ya know, couple weeks a year, we aren't too greedy.

It's not too much to ask for. Oh right.... and world peace, end of hunger yeah all that shit too /ducks.

-DM

Sunday Snapshot -- Vacation Mr. Morgan feeding the birds. Started of course as birD, but we all know how that goes. So see God, we are being totally fucking charitible, and if you hate seagulls like most people do be glad we don't and are their sheppards. Give some slack will ya? Lil somethin' for me?

Jesting aside we love feeding those gd birds anywhere we go. I've seen Mr. Morgan try to bully off the one who bites so other have a chance at the food. It's much fun to us.

Please remove my mute button

Last night we went gambling, lost. That's fine. Came home had a drink as Mr. Morgan fed the dogs copious amounts of salami. I raised a finger but decided that talking had done me no good all day, why change that up.

A few minutes later I hear....

"Someone threw up."

Okay.

"Who?"
"I don't know but they are your dogs."

NOW they are my dogs? When something shits or pukes out of acceptable boundaries, they revert to being mine. Any other time offense is taken that they aren't "ours".

It was nice to come home from a heavy drink fest as my day sucked shit on a septic tank level (Mr. Morgan was good, he doesn't drive us all drunk saying weeeeeee) to clean dog puke. I lost a lot of good, and paid for, liquor, cleaning that up. My stomach hasn't been good since.

I did chores all day today while he was at work, naturally feeling chatty because the dogs don't talk and I've been pent up all day. Mr. Morgan's definition of a joke needs improvement or he at least needs to understand why I might not see something he says as one.

He told me he'd had Quizno's for lunch and I enthusiastically took that to be an invition to converse. I mentioned I don't like that place much because it's a lot of work just to get a sandwitch.

"What kind of bread? Toasted? How toasted? Toasted first then add cheese or melt the cheese? What type of..."
Flat interuppted with "Ok I get it."

THAT is a joke? It was not presented with a smile so uh..... I took it to be just like when I talk about work for more than 30 seconds at the end of the day he will say "Well you are home now so, enough." and it is most definitely not a joke. But of course, sigh, he got all fucking ass hurt that I snapped back and told him I was sorry to bother him. He made it seem like I was reacting crazy, which is probably what I am pissed off more about. He works with that asshole friend of his all day, comes home and is on a headset within an hour that you can talk through the computer to, and talks to the guy until bedtime. Did he marry the wrong person?

I get in trouble if I talk to anyone at work, can't talk at home.. FUCK! What ends up being left is talking to fucking strangers who can see it in my hopeful eyes that I am desparate and they risk never getting away from me if they let me start.

I am getting extremely thin on patience with everyone. I wouldn't mind something nice happening to me soon as lately it's just been a series of obnoxious things, one after the other. Can't even be happy at home, that's fucking lame.

Maybe I'll find something to build. Building is good.

-DM

Well I think it's stupid

It’s Friday, less than an hour before I leave for the weekend, my stomach has a minimal amount of food in it – but what is in there is full og garlic goodness, and I still with extreme certainty say I am unhappy.

This job man, it’s fucking killing me. Actively sucking out my soul through my eyeballs without even letting me blink.

I tend to think it’s a good time to move on when you mention the prospect of getting a new job to coworkers and they calmly say “Okay.” then go back to their work or sucking on a cigarette. No need for subtlety right. I may have hurt some feeling today with my lack of being subtle, but that happens. The backlash I got for whatever was emailed to Bosslady after the incident makes me wish I would have thrown in vulgarities, as I was ….. scolded seems light. Let’s go with, I was yelled at and names were not used, the only name I heard was “do NOT lalalalalla my DAUGHTER.”

Daughter. Naw…. it’s all fair around here. I have been put on notice that I am never again to upset her daughter and things that go wrong are not to go outside the realm of Bosslady and Ms. DM-FuckUp Mistress. Bosslady and I seemingly get to share a nasty little abusive relationship all to ourselves, oooooooo fun! I am not sure if I want to puke, quit, both… or just go home and wave a finger to it all.

I would appreciate those working at my place of current employment be adult enough to look away, walk away, step back what fucking ever, and not make things worse for me by getting upset or thinking of being vindictive. C’mon I just started this blog over. I'm not mad at BLD, bothered by the system and reluctant to admit finally.... that I CANNOT... WIN.

I was also told in the same conversation that Bosslady does not appreciate that anything I hear…. “you run to the other side and talk about it.”

I am not sure that is entirely true since she follows me almost non-stop. And if I do…. So what. Human interaction is healthy, even if I don’t get to pick which humans.

Anyway, that’s all for now. Maybe something fun later. I can guarantee a 2006 Halloween prop in my yard honoring some of the workers here.

-DM

Mystery Garbage

Since I depressed everyone yesterday, I’ll try in this entry to lighten up on the heavy shit.

It’s Thursday, which means garbage day around here and I generally lug it to the curb since I’m outside smoking every…. ya know… half hour or so. Behind the garbage can was a pink bag, all tied up, sitting there very unassumingly. I gazed at it for a good few minutes knowing it didn’t not come from the office and had been tossed over the concrete wall.



The color of the bag instantly made me think of vibrators, because that is the exactly same shade of pink bag you get when you purchase one. And again, I said vibrators, not dildos. I don’t really know what color bags those walk away in.

Who knows what could be in the bag, so I sent a note to Bosslady’s Daughter, letting her know of my discovery and she appeared at the front door pretty quickly to take a gander herself. Yes, we are apparently excited about mystery garbage. We do work in an insurance office after all, so that sort of thing entertains.

I told Bosslady’s Daughter that I was considering playing a round of “whatcha think it is!” and she encouraged me.

I procured the gloves. Blackmailed the cameraman and was ready to go.

However, before I could open the bag I had to ask people, whatcha think it is? There were minimal rules, you can’t touch the bag, poke the bag, or get so close to see through the bag.

Bosslady’s Daughter’s guess was sweaty rocks.

Bosslady’s Daughter’s Son (I WAY need to rename these people, fucking carpal tunnel typing it) guesses a teenage girl w/rapid age disease. She told him bag too small, but he says not if she has rapid age disease.

Moon thinks is cigarette butts.

Fozybee guessed leftover birthday cake.

Bosslady had no guess and just asked if it was necessary every member of the staff go outside too look at a bag. I said yes and tried to ignore that she sucks the fun out of everything, wanting us all to be unhappy like she is. Holy shit, people went into the fresh air for two seconds to unwind and have a little fun for a change. Shoot us.

I personally think it’s nut shells.

So let’s see What It Is. The Approach.


The initial peek.


It's shit. With some rocks. Someone took the time to bag shit and toss it into our parking lot. The photo may not show it perfectly, but have no doubt, it was most definitely a bag of feces.

Why? Why bag shit? BLD took the photos for me, and I think we were both a bit surprised. I kept saying, dude it's SHIT, it's a bag of fucking shit! Who does this sort of thing?

Anyhow..... that was my Thursday fun.

-DM

Frowning at things.

The medical update I guess.

I'm supposed to start some medication or other when I get around to picking it up. I've been pretty chill about this new disease being a fact and not something to rule out, but the medicine made it very real to me and I have retracted a bit. Think penis in cold water.

This is supposed to be an update, and uh... I don't know what to say. I guess I am mad. I don't feel like shaking a fist to the sky and saying why me, although I have in the past when I was told my body was eating itself. Back then I do remember asking... "body... why? are you hungry? tell me what you crave and I'll get it for you!"

I suppose after the third time you are told you have an autoimmune disease (not 3 times saying you have the same one, three different ones) you just stare back blankly and pay the bill. I won't say I am not frustrated, it's tiresome to be so vain, so very vain, and ignore the fact that you are fucked up and know that it gets no better. When people give me shit about my drinking or smoking, THAT is why they get a serious fuck you look. I dont know guys, I don't know if I am strong enough to handle it all or not.

Mr. Morgan doesn't really know all that's wrong with me. I think it would freak him out if he was presented with statistics (as he likes to crunch numbers bleh), and I try not to bum him out because he works so much and wants a happy home when he gets here.

I do find myself lacking patience, not that I ever had much, but getting seriously rude and short tempered over things, which isn't fair to people who don't know what my brain is worrying about or how shitty I feel. I don't like that. You all are my outlet to not freaking out, to I guess keep on keeping on which is a stupid fucking phrase and I hate it for saying something so god dammed obvious.

I'm not fucking dying, but I'm working on it faster than the rest of ya so I might be annoyed with everyone who is healthy. It's just a reaction to "are you fucking kidding? something ELSE????" I try hard not to show it, and to those I do share with I think I just shrug to, but I hate hate hate to talk about it. Maybe it's like admitting a weakness, one that I can't be in control of and I go inwardly apeshit at the idea of talking about it. It's not for a lack of needing and craving support, I'm stubborn, so I adore those who just cuddle me without words. Lol Bosslady's daughter, maybe now when I wander in for a random "hold me" you might understand more. Same for Moon.

I guess all I can close with is play. Play a lot. Being silly and fucking around is the only thing keeping me sane these days. It cracks me up a bit, as a hypochondriac how resigned I am to my shit, maybe peace is found with that sort of thing. It is pausing to me how long things were just in my head, then became real and I stopped being so scared. Pissed, not scared.

That should be enough for tonight. I will try to give funny entry soon. Ya just get what you get.

-DM

Dangly Bits and Pieces

It seems a good day for bits. No stories really, just chunks as that is how today went.

---

When are you going to stop wearing that guaze on your toe?" asked Mr. Morgan.
"When there isn't an open wound fucker duh." As though I am wearing a two inch thick pad of white hell for sport.

--

Jeff3 condescended to the hypochondria message board I morderate. Not cool Jeff. Making fun of things you don't understand just solidifies your ignorance.

I am glad I don't think I am better than other people, so I do thank Jeff for that today, arrogance is rarely flattering.

While I do think some people are fucking stupid, and I have said more than once "you are fucking stupid" that doesn't mean I think I'm better, I just think that person is being retarded. I've also had that said to me. A lot. Case in point yesterday I lit a cigarette, with a match and went to shake said match out when it flew out of my hand and went right down the heater vent. Lit.

What are fucking odds right?

I grabbed soda and poured it into the vent, certain the match would tumble to the furnace and blow us all up. Mr. Morgan didn't say quite the above, he rather shook his head and said "jesus babe, soda?" but his look definitely implied that I was fucking stupid.

All for now.

-DM

Stalker

I couldn't not post this today. It has no relevance unless someone has my exhusbands email address, wait he's illiterate, nevermind.

This man made me laugh (you are filthy pig shit!) and yet scared me a little. I think it's a good presumption drugs are involved in the making of this. Several points to note as you watch, both of his eyes are not necessarilly pointing the same direction all the time. Since he also seems to be lacking eyelids, this will not be hard to detect. Be equally sure to note Air Supply bumping in the background. I'm not commenting on that, but also be on the look for the jaw going completely sideways. I have to wonder if it was part of a court ordered anger management thing in plea for shorter jail time.

I also suspect drugs because he's crying way too often and collecting himself all too fast. Either way, it fucking marvelous. Be sure not to miss the other weekend entries below, it's mandatory reading.

-DM

Someone needs playdoh.

Mr. Morgan has a bad habit, well probably more than but short of him leaving peanut butter laden knives on the carpet there is really only one that sends me through the roof. Tonight I am livid, absolutely off limits and he is acting shocked.

He has a habit of reaching out with lightning fast movements and pinching nipples or ass. He does it for no real reason, the one that set this entry into motion was simply we were watching the count of monte cristo and boom, nipple grab. Are they elastic? Does he not understand fundamental anatomy that snatching a nipple two inches out then releasing will not result in a thank you note?

It infuriates me. I have never giggled or played like I thought it was cute. I think it's rude and it fucking HURTS! I say don't pinch, and I guess he for.... 3 years thoguht I was fucking kidding, because I am known to joke all the time about having parts of me grabbed right? He replies with "I'll grab and pinch what I wanna pinch" he thinks he's funny. He's not. I'm sure a lot of my male readers think it's funny, it's NOT! Imagine someone walking up and giving your testes a pull that made you want a firearm, ya just don't walk about and grab things. Especially when you've been told it hurts.

I can't let the man walk behind me, aside of me, or within two feet of me without wondering if he's going to go stupid and pinchy. Yes, he does it in public also as I stand there getting looks from other people that I respond with a look of "Yep, you saw what you thought you did." This isn't the radio tuner dial game from like 30 years ago, and I don't think it's cool to be grabbing like that, even in private. It is god damned embarrassing.

I am not mad at him, I've just had e-fucking-nuff of that shit. I've told him in every way short of sign language not to do that, and that he isn't eight years old snapping bras and playing with boobies. Does it take morse code to understand "STOP PINCHING MY TITS!" I thought that was pretty straight fucking forward, Arrow signs and shit, it doesn't get much more simple.

They've been a bit sore lately because I am losing some weight and they don't understand why so are acting out in their own way (I'm at 111 today go me).

So he did it as we watched the movie and I just screamed mother fucker and walked out, unsure if pepper spray was going into the crotch of every pair of boxers he owns.

"Ok the fun is over, I grabbed.... boo hoo no more movie then"

This does not help his cause.

"I told you they were sore, and even if not, you make them sore grabbing."
"Oh relax"
"No, no Mr. Morgan I don't think I will right now. I poured you a drink, it's not poisoned, I want you to drink it and stay away from me for a while."

So, happy saturday.

-DM

Simple Man

Simon likes to sing, and he is choosey (sp?) about what he will sing to. I can't really call him my only son, since I have Ediberto, but he is my simple man on too many levels. I love his ass and he wanted you all to hear him sing to Mama. By the way, that final obstinant, put out sounding yip before he leaves the room is him indicating the end of his performance and in English means "that's all".

And Simon, to you all I really want, is for you to be satisfied. And to take care of your ass, I tire of picking the turds out. Much love, - mother.



I posted twice this evening so don't miss below.

-DM

You don't know it, but you NEED this

Advertisements are really starting to get to me. It could be I am being overly analytical, but I think they've gone just weird.

I keep seeing one for a maxi pad, that says "Have a happy period!" Ok, thanks. That's like saying "Enjoy your yeast infection!" Or "Embrace your urinary tract infection" Who approves this shit?

The other one on my nerves is anything "Certified Pre-Owned" why not just say what the fuck the shit is - Officially Used. It's official, someone used the shit we want you to buy.

Me and semantics, I know, and I get a good deal of greif about it, but I meet those sorts of words with a confused face of wondering why we have to be talked to in that way, but then ahhhh...... because the technique actually fucking works!

Who wants ice cream when you can have "a cold treat blended with the whipping cream of the gods and hand crafted by cupid just for YOU!"

It's a very good ploy and I've been sucked into it before, I am human, and futhermore, a greedy home-grown American, raised to want this shit. I don't know anyone who hasn't come home and at one point someone asked them "Why did you buy this?" and the answer is "because it was on sale" or "Shit, I really don't fucking know."

To hear a reply or alike of "50 pounds of litter? We don't even have a god damned cat!"

Marketing is that powerful. Happy friday.

-DM

Goulish Taste....

Alas. I have begun.

Last year I only made one kid cry, I am aiming for a lot more this term. Many people think I start hallow prep way too early, but ya know.... a lot of you start Christmas way too early too so sack off my jive.

I order my costume tomorrow, and spent most of tonight painting tombstones. I am high on paint fumes to the point that the dogs have turned into Leprechans and are offering me cereal. I asked if there was a toy in the box, and when they said it was at the end of the rainbow I stopped myself at the front door and thought.... ok this can't be real.

In seriousness I inhaled enough that when Mr. Morgan came home he looked at me at said it was all over my face as though I'd been huffing off the can. Sure as fuck the wind gave me a nice like paint mustache that I think makes me look more dirty and transient, than painted.

Anyway, I try as much as I can to fashion my own props any many of them last year went toe up so I needed to make more. I am not going to say where I got my supplies /cough, but I can say it was a bargain. Well here is a photo taster of what I've been up to tonight, partly. It's not done yet, and I mean not for Jeff's to die, but to just chill out.... thus the rest part. The pic is a bit deceiving, it's about 2.5 feet tall.

This year will be incredible. I'd invite you all over but frankly you'd distract from my dictating of things to do and would hate me. It's a very serious event after all. Don't forget to read below if you haven't already.

-DM

Teamwork

I submit for your enjoyment, a submission from my, hm I will have to think up a blog name for her, sister-in-law, sharing this story about my husband that I have never heard. I found it very ironic since presently he broke his toilet at home (we have a two bathroom home, so he gets his own to be funky in). Sister-in-law speaks of herself in thrid person, I don't know why, but I'll get her a proper moniker soon. Enjoy......

---

So once again the parents needed a night out and left the three kids alone (Mr. Morgan, Sister-in-law, and other sister). Sister-in-law was upstairs in her room when she heard "Help!" from Mr. Morgan.

Sister-in-law (being the one in charge) ran to find Mr. Morgan sitting on the toilet with the water gushing all around him. He actually looked like he was sitting on a geyser. I kid you not, he looked like a bobble doll because he was using his little boy bum to try to contain the water. Of course the sisters spent several minutes laughing at Mr. Morgan, but then were quick to action.

Sister-in-law (being the one in charge) ordered Mr. Morgan to remain on the exploding toilet, ordered the other sister to get towels and buckets and try to clean up the now flooding bathroom. Sister-in-law ran to the phone to try to call for help (note from DM - who were you going to call????) . The other sister put her trusty roller skates on (to protect her from the poopy toilet water of course) and began to throw every towel we had in the house on the newly forming water feature created by Mr. Morgan.

Mr. Morgan now drenched and tired of getting the water enema is screaming for help. Sister-in-law finds out how to turn off the water...and all is solved...or is it? The three kids begin to try to clean up Mr. Morgans pond. Now here is where it gets interesting. The three kids fill the buckets with water and throw it outside onto the walkway. It is freezing temperatures outside, so the walkway is now a solid block of ice.

The three kids also try to dry the WET, POO towels by hanging them all over the suede couch.Parents enter to find they have to skate over the ice to reach the door, flooded entryway, flooded hallway, flooded bathroom. Now remember that this is NOT spring water we are talking about.

They find Mr. Morgan, Sister-in-law, and other sister (who is in her roller skates) ankle high in poo poo water. Lesson Learned...keep plunger by the toilet, teach Mr. Morgan to double flush, do not have romantic dates with three kids alone at home.

--

I wonder if this is part of the reason the man won't fart in my presense, and blocks the door after a poop screaming "stinky!" Good shit. Pun, very intended.

-DM

Land of the Lost

I may post much more lately, I am pretty bored with my Everquesting and need a small break, but I still don't have it in me to shut the fuck up, SO!

I've had some photos in my hopper, pacing and bitching.... I hear them sometimes "fucking cunt, why even take the photo if we weren't going to be used for anything" and it's made me a little nervous lately so I thought "ok fuck man, I didn't know it meant that much to you." So here is a random photo blogging.

Here is Bosslady's Daughter and I sharing a cuddle. In hats. Every so often I wander into her office with my arms out and she scoops me up into the best of all cuddles.

This day I found a Twister game in Moon's trunk and took off with it. I had to paper clip my skirt up, as I wasn't wearing underwear and no one wants to see that. No one would play with me, so it was short lived. Again, more with the hat business.

This is Wax Jesus with a plate of beans or something. It could even be a plate of pennies, the original collection plate. When we toured the wax museum and I saw wax Jesus I thought... oh man, if I take a photo I bet I get some sort of redemption coupon at the gate! So I took a stupid picture.


This was the same place I about passed out at, Hersh mansion or some fucking thing. Wanna go swimming? I sure as hell did, but money doesn't buy happiness right? My ass. That's just half the pool.

Speaking of ass. This guy has a great one. I forget what they named it, it was a really long thing to pronouce so I named it Horse-Ebra. They said it's the only known relative of the giraffe, and it's little face indicates so, but cmon.... wtf is a camel then? While he was neat, I honestly was upset being close to it, and I can't say why. I think it reminded me of those photoshoped pics where they blend two animals together, except I was looking at it in person and something in me said this creature was too mixed up for my mind to wrap around.

Anyway, that all for now.

-DM

Monkum Rockins'

Warned you I'd be writing a lot lately. Make sure to scroll down and not miss one minute of action packed fun at the Zoo!

I admit to enjoying a good deal of rap music, and really.... music in general. Mr. Morgan busted me twirling to puff the magic dragon last night in fact. I've always been extremely diverse in what I listen to, but there are times when a good rap bob is just needed. But that is changing, and not for the better.

There is a song I caught on my drive home the other day, with a girl gleefully obliging the command to undo the male singer's button fly as he tells her to ride his monkey. Ladies ladies ladies! Stop it. Aside from the fact that you do NOT want any man who is wearing button fly jeans, that unless it's your husband playing out a mean ass Tarzan scene, have some self respect. It's very dissapointing some of the shit I hear on the radio these days. /shakes head and sighs..... I mean ride my monkey? Jesus christ be inventive at least. That shit I heard when I was like... 12 from little boys who didn't even know quite what their monkey was.

Below is a great little song "what makes the monkey dance." I first heard it and thought.... oh shit finally the answer to all my soul searching questions... what DOES make the monkey dance? Apparently button fly jeans.




In keeping with my attempt to offer a few photos a couple of times per week, I bring this to the monkey table. Bosslady's Daughter bought these off ebay for her Burning Man fest. Within about two seconds of me seeing them.... naturally one was on my head and the other making my boobs feel quite smaller than they felt when they woke up that morning. I tend to run off with anything new and am frequently caught elbow deep digging through someone's purse without really wanting anything, I'm just in it for the dig.

-DM

The Return of the Jeff

There is a new Jeff in my life. If you recall, the Jeff is the person placed on earth just to annoy YOU and give you incentive to do a stint in state prison.

We all know Bosslady is my supreme Jeff, and my neighbor – actually named Jeff, has been my secondary Jeff for some time now. Since they seemingly weren’t enough to give me fantasies on a Ted Bundy level, god thought he’d give me another Jeff. Remember that movie City of Angels, where they all stand around waiting to get ya, well it’s become The City of Jeffs all up in my life.

My newest Jeff likes to, as Jeff’s always do, make it known that Jeff is always right. Jeff does not like how I eat (HUGE strike), does not like how I take care of my fish, and I can presume, does not like me. One would think that would make Jeff stay away from me. Not so. Jeff is drawn to me just to point out all of the things I do wrong on a daily basis, why they are wrong and how stupid I am in general.

Jeff has recently even began to complain about my doctors. I have tried to tell Jeff that what I have isn’t reversible and being an adult sometimes means that I have to be at work and cannot live in the lobby of my physicians. Dear readers I have… a cardiologist, general doc., Gyno, hand surgeon, endocrinologist, eye doctor, eye specialist….. so I am not lacking on any piece of me being looked at. I am waiting to receive a checkbook preprinted with all their names, that is how much I sit in one of those stuffy fucking offices. So I don’t really need your EXPERT advice Jeff!

Jeff just likes to argue, even if Jeff makes Jeff sounds fucking retarded to me. I choked today on a wonton (not my first fuck up of the day, my sweater went into the toilet earlier this morning as I paused and starting screaming “maaaaaaan.......in the fucking toilet??”) and I ran for water, the closest being tap water. It tasted like shit and I said so. Jeff insisted the water tasted fine. Um, ok. Yes Jeff, I am making up a lie about the water because I had nothing better to do. The shit was most definitely not fine, but Jeff insisted on trying to make me look stupid, because again…. Jeff thinks I am. Apparently I am not even smart enough to judge water according to Jeff.

On a recent fax machine run I didn't feel like looking for one number in the 250 stored numbers the machines has and Jeff proclaimed "It's really not that hard" Neither is taking a baseball bat to your car Jeff, but it doesn't mean I am going to do it.

Jeff……needs……to shut the…. fuck….. up. Get a hobby Jeff. Knit, scrapbook, I don't fucking care just nose the fuck out of what I do since it bothers you so much. Wanna know what I do when I don't like someone? Avoid them. I stay away because shit like what Jeff says to me comes out of mouths when brought to a disliked person. THATS REALLY NOT THAT HARD JEFF!

While I am not the most put together person, I’ve not been found in the middle of a street sucking my thumb, so I think I can pretty much make decisions without going to Jeff and presenting a “where am I?” look. Mind yo’ bidness Jeff, not doing so is the sort of thing that makes for accidental hair cuts from behind.

-DM

ps - I am feeling particularly chatty lately, so I may be posting a lot.

Happy Anniversary.... late

To Mr. Morgan. (no he does not read this)

3 years man. 3 not counting the period when I was fresh ass and all my idiosyncracies seemed cute, and not something you counted on buying with the cow.

I thank you for being patient, damn near always, to a point that I want to stab you in the foot just to see if you are actually human and not a robot. I know I am a severe pain in the ass to deal with, let alone share a home with. I mentioned at work today that we both forgot our anniversary and a co-worker prompted it was a good way to get in on some gifts. I replied to her that my gift was not living on the street as co-existing with me is ten fold working with me and she went into a laughter that, well babe, it did give me a moment of pause that made me wonder if I really am all that bad. She did hurt my feelings with that, and I guess I project myself in a way I didn't think I did. Although sometimes you make fun of me, which everyone should a little, you don't ever give me a mocking look as though I am stupid and you don't condescend to me unless I need it, which sometimes I do because I am a bit naive. and I appreciate that you put your cards on the table when you are upset about something instead of letting it fester into divorce paper type of thing.

I think a lot of how enamored with me you were when we met, how you went apeshit over my art, and how funny you thought I was in words. Time will change that in any relationship, in the sense that it's not expressed as often, but you do still look in on me sometimes when I draw, and tell me it's pretty or whatever word you pick. That's nice.

I like that you don't make a big deal about food, my food, and when I do rarely cook and feed you that you eat every bite with a gracious smile, smacking lips with cheeks full of cheap boxed made food.

I know that I have enough fucked-uped-ness for five people, mental and physical, and I love that you just accept that. I love that when people in droves at your company picnic asked about my foot because I had to be piggy-backed in through the sand all wrapped up, that you knew I was exhausted telling people, and you simply announced to everyone that I got mouthy and you had to stomp me into silence, and they stopped asking.

And lastly, I appreciate that you don't leave me on the pot because I don't have the foresight to make sure I have paper before I plop my ass down, and still go and get me a roll, without laughing or letting me linger there for a while to learn a lesson.

You are my honey and my moon, and if you weren't real I WOULD make you up right now. I love you, here's to one more babe.

-DM

Forced Interactions

We are going to Mr. Morgan's company picnic tomorrow, which I almost always greet with dismay, not because I don't like the people but rather because he leaves me frequently standing alone awkward. Thus it is an exercise in forcing me to be social or lean against a tree drumming my fingers on a plastic cup while people speculate shit as though my hearing doesn't work.

I go through the annual mental plot of "I'm too white, too fat, too flat chested" whichever that year calls for although the white is pretty standard. This year offers a new challenge as my toe, in my opinion, has not made one single change and the picnic is at a very sandy beach. I still haven't figured out how I am going to do that but I can't really sit in the car for 4 hours and just wave to people.

They always engage in volleyball and croquet. Might have spelled it wrong, but think Heathers. When I think of that game I see those balls and mallots as toe missles, no thanks.

If I can manage it, I am fine to get to the water area and just sit and read or keep my camera on hoping to catch some form of stupidity, whether it's part of his group or not. I'm always on the look for someone fucking up, as it helps me to feel better about how often I do the same. The look of shock that washes over a person's face when commit a truly dumbfuck action never gets old to me and is never wasted on my camera card.

A favorite example of great timing is below. Omy way to work one morning this van passed me on the right and I glanced, then said Daaaaaaamn! Someone gone and fucked up your ride homie! The entire side of the car was spray painted with some, well, pretty damn clever obscenities. Homie glanced back with a look of "yeah I fucking know. thanks." How I avoided a car wreck I don't know, but on the bumper it read "I"M RICK JAMES BITCH!" and I HAD to try to snap the photo. Homie saw me scrambling to drive and photograph and I thought he might break fast on me but didn't.



Below is a photo from vacation, the Hersh Mansion or some fucking place that was very impressive, but entirely tour guilded and I honestly can't stand for 2.5 hours in a 90 degree house without a sit down. Yes, there was a scene at one point where the entire tour got to focus just on me because the guide thought it was a good idea to instead of asking me quietly if I was okay, announce to the entire group of 60 that some bitch to the left was turning purple and would a medic be required. We all know how I respond to being singled out and embarrassed like that. But we weren't thrown out. I don't know why Mr. Morgan looks so chubbish he WAY isn't, the big to small ratio is accurate, he's is just not that wide. I think the claw like pose of his hand on my back is indicative of his desire to go Freddy Krueger on me for causing so much trouble. Weird photo, I think I almost even see a man boob..... it's seriously an illusion.


-DM

I am Jack's Laughing Foot.

I came home after a day of ... extremely odd conversations, excited to practice the birthday dance for my wife, because like a language, if you don't do it often, away it goes, and twice as fast with my memory. Not happening and I saw Simon shaking his head at me, I said to him "What?" He said "You are just going to fucking make it worse." Ok, he didn't say fucking because Simon doesn't cuss, but he does talk and that's what he said to me. I asked him when he got so smart and he proclaimed the dumb act was a guise the whole time to allow a diversion for the alien pods to land in my backyard and search for hosts.

Seriously. He said that.

I tend to agree with anything alien for the simple sake of hoping to be spared when the human killings begin, and stopped the wife dance attempt. I put on the Humpty Dance and looked at Simon, to which he gave a nod.

"First I limp to the side like my leg was broken, Shakin' and twitchin' kinda like I was smokin' Do tha Humpty Hump!"

That one worked well for me and offered little chance of error.

Anyway, that's all I have for today.

-DM

Soon I'm Gonna be a Jedi!

Ok... yeah I am a fan of Weird Al. Everyone should be. I actually used to be able to play this on the violin, but only his version because the authentic strikes me with fear of susperstition. I can't sing this will be the day that I.... ya know. Did Wierd Al get hot or what!?! I can promise you that is him and the man can clearly sing, I adore this one. Anyhow. It's my happy offer of the day.

Defeat... or de-feet?

I went to the doctor for Formerly Known as Bone Toe. I called and asked to be slid into a slot between other people and was told I'd get a call back. After the ants I got to thinking, ya know hm I might need to get someone else to check this beast out.

I didn't get that call back so I paraded my limping ass (barefoot, as I cant really accomodate a shoe) into the office planning to wave it in the faces of waiting people, and plop it onto the sign in counter, having a good idea that they'd take me in fast as no one wants a crazy toe waving bitch in the lobby grossing other people out.

The doctors were busy but I got nurses. Fine. She looked at it in silence with pursed lips, then looked at me, then back at it and back at me with a very serious stare. I thought oh my god, it's bad! but I realized soon that she was just very boring and annoyed with her job and life and oxygen or something.

She asked how I'd done it, and I said I walked and she again gave me that Nurse Ratchet blank stare. Maybe she wanted a better answer but that's how it happened, I walked. Seems simple to me. I didn't feel the need to repeat the story I posted on the blog, and she was on my dollar, pretty much taking away any need to explain further that space and anything dimensional don't appear in my vision until I slam into it.

She went to trying to clean it, and I told her that what she was looking at WAS clean, and swabbing it was just increasing the possibility of me screaming and going fisty. She dug out all the black shit, to make sure I was in enough pain as I feared they might, and gave me some wrap-me-ups and gooey goodness. The whole time she looked at me like I was amping up a paper cut, but I kept trying to explain to her that thing protruding "is a BONE asshole!"

As I sat there I remembered that when I requested copies of my medical files from Shriners because I was born funny, and stayed that way, that it mentioned I was in special ed because I would get to running and trip over my right foot. I never did post my freak ability after Saffy's tongue, but I can turn that leg damn near entirely backwards while standing forward. No wonder I can't god damn walk.

I wonder if I can get a handicapped plaquard? If not the toe alone, the mind is definitely out there and getting me in and out of anywhere is to the benefit of any business owner.

-DM

ps - While on vacation this is Mr. Morgan's portrait of me. I hope it is not accurate and wtf about my boobs? They most certainly do not point south like that. I tried to give him a few pointers but he snarled at me and said it was under control. Ya, clearly.

Maneaters!

So there I was, sitting at my desk nibbling on a rice cake or something most people would deem equally dull, and I feel all these itchies on ….. shit can I go Princelike and name it Formerly Known as Bone Toe?

Right, so as I felt this tickle I thought ooooo, the tingle of healing, how wonderful! After a bit I decided to take a look and found not a tingle of healing but a thicket of black ants, doing what I considered to be eating of the toe. Mr. Morgan insists that he’s never seen a carnivorous black ant, but I have seen them march off with chicken droppings by my desk more than once – they most definitely eat meat and I think they want to make off with my toe. They didn’t even offer a barter for it. You can’t just eat a toe and run! This is not fast food bitches! I smashed them all up after a serious amount of “were they really swarming my wound?” shivers. I seem to get grosser by the day. I have progressed to being eaten by insects. Should I just lay down in the box now and save them the trouble of a fight? Christ man.

Things otherwise are typical. Mr. Morgan is happy and went swimming last night as I watched longingly, wishing I wasn’t maimed and unable to splash around myself. I did procure a rubber glove and rubber bands though, I think I could glove up enough to make a water tight seal, but then my mind says to me “Don’t be so stupid, you’ll end up cutting off circulation and losing the whole foot” and I slowly nod, then return to the longing gazes at him in the pool, with his large grin and eyes pinched closed that children have when elated over something fun.

I do have a new project coming, and no I’ve not forgotten Mystery Photo. One of my Professors’ hasn’t sent the last roll, but I was on vacation and I asked not to. That entry is forthcoming at some point. Dr. Plucky Duck did fabulous. As for the other new project, it so far promises to be a feeling nothing short of a backflip into a pit of glass. Heh. Made ya wonder!

-DM

Two points!

I got (in part) the following email from my sister in law:

"When are you getting another blog site? I miss your witty creative writing. I NEED something during my day to make me forget about the old man who just farted outside my door."

I thought to myself, holy fuck, go me, I am at least better than a fart! I have gone up one peg on the ladder and have passed being the fart itself.

Can't be ashamed too much on that one. Imagine being worse than a fart? Hm, actually I think they call that a shit, and I would love to say that to someone sometime "You sir, are worse than a fart!"

-DM

Thinkin'

I've gone a bit thinky. I spoke to my parternal Grammy a night or so ago. I haven't spoke to her since I was 9. We have written quite a bit before my fingers went daft, but upon my vacation return I heard she'd had a heart attack and I called up instantly, from the phone card we'd purchased on vacation, we don't carry long distance service at the house.

She was stunned to hear my voice, and a bit unsure how to speak to me which is easy since I domonate most converstations. She sounded very young. Her heart attack is ok, but she can't smoke which pisses her off, I understand.

I have never lost love for my Gram, she cares a lot but has some pretty shitty thoughts about my mother, which I cannot dig, and I told her so. She explained her side, that she felt mom took us from them, and I explained mom did what mom felt mom needed to do and that talking poorly of her would be politely pissed on. No one gets to talk shit about my mother. Like ever. She tried. And if she fucked up decisions, so be it. But I was pretty up front about no shit talking my mother. Gram understood that it would be the difference between 20 years of silence, or a hello to her grandaughter.

I am supposed to phone my father soon. I can't day I don't want to, but I can say he is not my dad in the sense of who I am. My step father, who I always call pop in this site, is my father. He had no idea how to deal with a little girl like me, so unruly and obstinant. He is a good man. Not one of many words, but a very good one.

-DM

GORE WARNING - and not AL

Just when I think I couldn't possibly do anything to shock myself, I have managed it. Everyone knows I have some weird growths, which are really simply confused calcium deposits in the most inconvenient of places. I've had one on my right big toe that dates all the way back to my first marriage and was given the moniker of Bone Toe from the start.

I suppose I always knew it was possible that this could happen, but I honestly never expected that it would. We walked the dogs las evening and the weather was nice and the neighborhood is clean so I went without shoes, as I do from time to time.

Frankly, I am still in a state of baffle. I presumed if this were to happen it would be over debri or, walking into a wall type of situation. Nope. Sure as fuck as we walked along there was a bit of uneven sidewalk, those little parts that any person paying attention wouldn't trip over, I did.

And Bone Toe.... came out, insisting on bringing my toenail hostage as evidence of it's misery. Blood fucking everywhere. We had to finish the walk home of course, as I left bloody footprints all over the sidewalk much to the "is that girl bleeding all over our property?" distain of my neighbors.

Upon home we took a better look at my inability to walk without some fucking incident happening, and a good ... well all of the top skin of my toe flapping under the ceiling fan. I looked at Mr. Morgan whimpering a bit, and knowing he blanches pretty much at the sight of anything gross, but he went to task, fetched clippers and said we gotta cut that off.

I replied that nerve endings still seemed to be in there and that could pose some pain. Clever man noted that what dangled was blue, thus no longer getting oxygen. I have taught him well!
We cut it off and he ran for a sock, his answer for everything if you recall that when he had some bad ballsack to leg chaffing and I'd asked if he had ointment and he declared that he'd just slapped a wet sock up there and was good to roll.

I will not describe what it looks like today. I'm not even sure what I see when I look, is it muscle? Bone? Both? I can't poke at it, as it hurts badly, but I can say that it's gone black and my (FUCK!) freshly painted toe nail doesn't seem to be intact.

I know it seems presumptuous when I have said nothing about every day I live is normal, but this should prove it. Mother fuck, I hurtin! /cries whines and sucks it up.... sortof. And yes, the photos were necessary. Can't pick and chose what parts of my life you want to participate in, all or nothing fuckers.

-DM

Home Sweet Nevada

Across the most deplorable state (short of Florida) up and back we are alas home!

I was swollen the entire time down there and while I do bruise easily, something about that elevation or climate just fucks me up. I look like Mr. Morgan has done nothing but beat the shit out of me, I have some seriously impressive bruises on me. Like, traffic fatality looking bruises. Not to say he shouldn't have beat the shit out of me as I am a rotten traveller "I have to pee" every hour type of thing and my head spins not unlike this :

(wax museum)

if he didn't pull off and let me go. I'm happy with a bush, not picky about where, but when. To his compliment, he handled me very well as I was the epitomy of menopause in a passenger seat. Hot, cold, mean, nice, happy, slappy. I could be in a ditch somewhere now as he smoked a cigar and smiled and I would think it well justified.

(Where the fuck ARE we??)

We got to Santa Cruz with a bit of traffic, the Boardwalk was reasonable enough. Any smart ass comments about people/traffic/.....people, simply comes from my severe aversion to, well, fucking people and crowds. And California. We had enough of that place and had extra tickets, which I handed to a little girl behind me, she rolled her eyes and mumbled "ok" What... the...fuck? Totally hardens up me opinion of the attitude that way. But being a guest in their state I didn't kick her boney ass or even lecture her.

Our room that night was 200 dollars because of the "spa" and I don't know if you all have lower expectations, but for two hunskies I do not want to see this shit. I'm all for fixing things up, but come-fucking-ON, that is beyond lazy.

All patched up, and poorly. We did not use it and I decided being dirty for a day was worth the risk of, ya know, I don't really have words for how fucking weird it was to look at that firrst hand. So just trust me.

We hit a few beaches along the way. One that ...ok well there was water, but no sand, just rocks. As we parked a surfer was suiting up, (and again to his divine credit of never lacking to ask someone for shit he wants) Mr. Morgan asked where the entrance was.

"It's that way dude.... but it's a bit chancey getting down" the surfer said, looking at my as if I was in a wheelchair and not capable of walking. That or he saw my bruises and thought - this bitch gonna die getting there.

Zoo time! Walking shoes on.

I'm not really sure what he's riding there. Whatever it is I made him do it.

This little fellow had himself a rock. At first I thought, what a filthy little shit because he was playing between his legs, hiding it, but no, he just had a great rock that he was quite proud of.

Closest I came to them. If you don't know my aversion to gorillas you can reference old blog. In fact the particular aversion I have counteracts the entire photo. They don't like us.

For Bosslady's Daughter. Le Meer Cat. Spelling probably. They had a thicket of babies, but they scurried from the high sun, thus no photo, but they were smaller than Moon's rats if that gives any lead. Very adorable and fast to follow Mom.

And dem der are. I don't know why my heart just stops at these guys, but it does and I can't not stand watching until I'm dragged off. They just stun me and make me wonder why I can't be so quiet. We share the same ungainly walk about us, the same curiousity. Anyway... I spent a long time with them, see below for video.

We stayed in Motel 6's the rest after that. The phone rang about 2am, and I lumbered to it, scared there was some emergency as we'd been checking in with family and letting them know where to look for our bodies and what not.

"Hey."
"Hello."
"What are you doing?" the man's voice asked me.
"Excuse me?"
"What's going on?"
"You have the wrong room man."
"Naw, can I come over?"

/phone handed to Mr. Morgan, baffled. He said hello but now a woman was on the phone.

I only heard one side of it, but he hung up. Fucker rang AGAIN! He picked it up and I hear this:
"Because I don't know you, you have the wrong room! No, I'm in here with my wife!"

This happened twice to us, about 400 miles apart in different motel 6's. Both times he had to tell some bitch that he was with his wife and full up on pussy. Frankly, it freaked me out. Are there people out there watching men go into a hotel? Are they randomly dialing rooms? Crackhead assholes waking us up at 2am wanting whatever and Mr. Morgan said after the second call, "I think that was the same bitch, stalking me!" Very very odd.

So we went to Universal Studios, I didn't bag any booze because they said not to but the bag check was a fucking joke, she asked me to open my bag and didn't even look, just moved me along.

Later that night we planned to walk the Walk of Fame, all those stupid ass stars and things, but I was beat. Too much walking on these lacking legs, and way too much sun. I didn't burn, but you all know how too much can exhaust you even if hydrated.

Later that night as we rested, waiting for the next call asking to fuck my husband, someone was stabbed to death about a block from our room. Next morning it seemed a good idea to boot the fuck out of dodge, get our dogs, and go home.

We made the trip from Hollywood to .... where I live, in one day and that was impressive although tiring. I can't say we made much conversation as Mr. Morgan was really done with driving and had that glazed look that people get when they are pushing themselves to do something they shouldn't just to prove they could. The dogs, well doG seemed happy we were home, Delilah's ears were toe fucking up and mad in need of cleaning as she did something not unlike a seizure half the night and wouldn't leave Mr. Morgan's side for a moment. I haven't slept for fuck wondering if a emergency vet visit was going to shake out, but we cleaned them and she seems calmer. Simon, gives a fuck about anything, he's fine.

And here I am, back..... gimme love and say how you missed me.

-DM

:)

I'm hoooooome!

But too tired at the moment to type more. The vacation post will be long and epic.

-DM