Everyone die?

Can't a girl get a fucking comment now and then? C'mon it's fair, I give a little to you, give a little back. Shit at least make me feel acknowledged. If you think I'm going to wear a big ass chicken hat on film and share it without a hint of feedback well.... no chicken for you! Not even the gristle hunk that is on the drumstick.

I had other plans for today's entry, but sadly, there has been a death in the family.

My kindred spirit, my faithful friend of 3 years died over the weekend, presumably on his own to save me the torture of watching it happen. With the lack of comments lately I wonder if he wrote letters before hand telling everyone of my true nature and to cease talking me altogether. I'm sure the letter would read as so....

"Dear Army,

I've been a soldier here for 3 years. It's been arduous, but reasonable once you learn the ropes. The meals aren't tasty, but are served with regularity. I have to say lately, my health isn't what it was when I began this trip. I don't really care to be touched and my environment has turned into somewhat of a rainforest. Our leader however refuses to pull back the troops, and I can't guess the motivations behind that. Having said this, I encourage you to go AWOL or you too could be next.

Finned,

Filbert IV"

R.I.P.

I am a murderer. Triple. First the turtles now my very loved Filbert.

The turtles were understandable, and frankly we hadn't made a 3 year bond. Filbert was my desk fish and my salvation by way of making office jokes on the sly to lighten my mood when things seemed at their worst. He was a really cool betta and I don't know what happened over the weekend. Mr. Morgan thinks it's funny and keeps singing "This used to be my Filbert" to the tune of Madonna's -used to be my playground- song. He trooped through two murder attempts by Bosslady and took it like chewing on a box of nails, spitting them to the ground in defiance and gilling the words "what else you got?"

While I made light of the turtles, and the guilt of doing SOMETHING wrong still weighs on me, Filbert's death is a massive bummer to me. 3 years of counting on at least one thing to great me in a good mood. He never failed. Soldier on, as Bosslady's Daughter said.... "he's swimming into the stars."

-DM

Are these yours?

Dogs are harnessed, we walk out the door.

In our driveway was this. Simon pauses to sniff and I jerk him back, to which he takes great offense and lack of understanding.

"Are those your drawers?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"Quite."

What is almost more notable than the fact someone flung their underwear intentionally into my driveway is that it took .02 seconds for me to find a rubber glove in my house to check them out. The owner has an apparent 32" waist and favors Hanes brand. Somewhere there is a person running about with their junk unsecured. No, I am not going to hold onto them for you. Whatever made you toss them gives me pause to think something happened IN them, TO them, or you were hopped on drugs. None of these things warrant asking for them back. Sorry.

Above. The Jeff's left no shortage of shit. I didn't look close but I'm not sure that fire hydrant is part of the block. It could be, but I've never noticed it before and wouldn't be surprised if it was a prop with all the shit they were hauling out of there. To keep! I'm guilty of hoarding shit too but god damn. My friends will say they are suprised that I wasn't over there digging through it, and I'd just shrug because I haven't. Yet.

What else for the Saturday tidbit. Oh right.

Mr. Morgan found my knife. /shakes a fist that my weaponry was discovered and confiscated.

Sounds like a sentence that isn't heard often right? I've had... ok ... not the best choice perhaps, but a 9 inch knife between the matresses for a little while. Ex-on-the-lam paranioa has gotten the better of me and I thought I should be prepared if an intruder came peeking for a slice-up. I'm not claiming remotely that it was a good idea, but we aren't gun toting folk and I've been ansy. I also don't claim that a knife that large was shocking and a bit much, but it's what I picked. I can imagine Mr. Morgan's face finding that shit thinking JESUS CHRIST! and wondering if I were up to some shit. The thought simply crossed my mind to stash a knife because I'm alone often.

Mr. Morgan is still looking at me with the most "Have you met yourself????" gaze of disbelief.

Then, "crunched the numbers" (a term highly humored by many in the family) and stated I was 99.9 percent more likely to hurt and kill myself with the fucking thing. I couldn't say he was wrong, but I hadn't done either to date, so it was hard to concede he was 100 percent right. I crunched my own numbers.

My cutlery rights have been removed. /hangs head. My mother would probably cheer since I have sliced myself stupid on more than one occassion.

That should do it. Well..... gratuitous Delilah photo, looking spry and active as always.

-DM


ps - The KFC raid should be on Monday. Lord.

Pleased

Well fancy this...... made ya guys a little piece of my glee.



I imagine it's really all I need to say. I still have an ache that smacks of instant death but a good support system who is telling me that while it feels like instantaneous death, it probably is something more like extended cancer. Gotta love your friends.

-DM

Wednesday Wrap Up

Stomach alien persists and is lending me a very pronounced, not far stretch from preganant appearance. The bloat has offended my clothing, my psyche and sent my anxiety into a full scale appendicitis scare. I've told Mr. Morgan of this and he replied "you never feel good."

I guess I don't, but that still doesn't negate the time when I feel bad and it's for a legitimate reason. Although I'd argue any pain to be legitimate.

Some bubble wrap arrived today. The GrandMaster and I eyeballed it in silence, knowing it was about to be played with until each and every last bubble was spent.


I built up a dress, and leg warmers... little head piece. I said to The GrandMaster, "remember the age of leg warmers?" and he blinked at me as though I had spoken the words in Russian. I felt very old, perhaps too old to be skipping around in bubble wrap.... popping the bits arbitrarilly on a whim.


Matchmaker... matchmaker ... make me a match!

Well piss on it, here's to hoping whatever has been living in my guts for months will finally let the fuck up. Maybe I have Celiac too, I go skinnier by the day, not to mention whiter by the minute. I just want to feel confident my appendix isn't planning to take off, but no one can reassure me there. Hypochondria 101 is fun! By the way..... that white thing in the last photo... I have no idea. Light Saber? Perhaps God caught in the act of trying to strike me down? It's anyone's guess on that shit.

-DM

Read below.....

I do have a new a great.. I mean GREAT post for today but have noticed my photos are vanishing. I owe this honor to blogger, and may have to rent a new house soon. Stay with me! New post below......

-DM

What dat????

I am not feeling all that much better today, I may have to tell my mother to get on the liver hunt. However, a gem... no ... THE gem of all things gem-ish came to cheer me up.

Moon announced she spotted the diamond earlier in the morning, and it was not to be missed. Now, while I am not hard to entertain, I am hard to impress. I.. was.... very... impressed.

"Did you see the car?"
"What car?"
"The one with the giant snowman on it's roof."

/snatches camera.

"Lead on."

This is in fact a car.

Looking closely you will see signs that I am not lying. This thing was better than a round of Where's Waldo, and had we lingered long enough, I am confident we'd have found him.

Vintage hair dryer, some vacuum parts, basically this car was representing every item on earth, including the media who was snapping like mad with a glee that would take several hours to digest.

The airbag trade for the keyboard is quite intuitive. Have you ever seen more shit on a vehicle?

Flashlights in front on the headlights is a great touch. The inner parts of the engine being on the hood doesn't hurt either. /shakes a fist in defiance to every car that ever failed me.

Is it art.... or crack induced? For one moment I thought I was being a jerk for taking pictures but then retracted and took note - is this a SHY car? Who makes something like this if not wanting it to be well viewed. If I saw this thing in my rearview mirror I'd start to pray and promise god that taking that hit of acid in 1992 was wrong, but please don't sick Santa and his warriors on me.

Moon whispered she wondered if the etch-a-sketch worked, and I admit to my fingers going into a jittery wanting to scribe THANK YOU, but alas I couldn't touch someone else's stuff. My luck would have been that as I wrote my note of appreciation the entire mechanism bonding all that shit to the car would go unsticky and I'd be standing there with all that hard work around my feet and an etch-a-sketch in my guilty little fingers, carrying an expression of wanting to flee, die, apologize or run for super glue.

Props for the PEZ dispensers and bingo troll too. And the bedframe. This car could navigate a space shuttle home, it has THAT much shit, that many computer parts and remotes.... I believe it could quite honestly be the hub that moves GW's mouth when he speaks.

In closing, thanks to Delilah for barfing up something that finally made me follow suit. I hadn't even had my after sex smoke before she made a noise and I walked out of the bathroom to find the most vile ... indistinguishable pile of ooze possible. I fed that dog none of those things. I screamed for everyone to leave the room, all were more than happy to ablige. I really thought I could handle it. Puke has never made me think I should join the party, but the smell and consistency (lack of) of this hit my face, game over. I had most of it scooped into a leftover paper plate Mr. Morgan had left, and something in the slopping process did me in. WHAT did she get into? Mr. Morgan had to come back as I gagged my way to him holding a bottle of cleaner, not giving a fuck if it bleached the carpet white, the smell of that shit - to make ME vomit, means one breath short of death. Even smelling a dying/and dead fellow firsthand I never puked. Wow. That's all I have in closing. Just wow. Delilah seems quite happy and tail waggy now, having expelled her alien conveniently in the middle of our bedroom floor. How many times can I be impressed in day? That was one fuck of a puke. Poor kid.


-DM


ps - Want some fresh music? Quite the rage across the pond.



pps - My ex didn't appear for court. TOLD ya'll he'd go on the lam.

Pickin on the lil' guy

DMorgans Zoo Revisited

Monday, April 23, 2007

Picking on the lil' guy...

I went home sick today a few hours early, something was just not right in my head. Not that it normally is, but a light-headed dizzy sort of thing that is one breath away from the panic attack to enforce it. I have been feeling a bit out of it, but blowing it off to a virus or something alike. I can’t get enough sleep…. All I do is sleep!

My day however began from being very groggy to screaming MOTHER FUCK repeatedly in the parking lot at work. This caught Moon's nose and she came over to investigate.

"Do you fucking see this?"
"Oh man..." /she became quiet and gave me a look that indicated she had an idea on how I was about to melt down and take everyone with me.

Double mother fuck. It was a piggy backed assault. On my god damned metro. The Metro. MY metro!!!!!!!! Pick on any car you want, exCEPT the metro. Find a nice Lexus, a Lincoln... get a little Hummer action (snap on pun!) but leave the metro's out of vandalism. They have a hard enough time trying to compete in their heirarchy of vehicle friends.

"What the fuck IS that?"
"Looks like a pellet gun."

I looked about like this for the next few hours.

I couldn't stop tripping over the who's and why's when it was likely just a drive by metro assasignation attempt. Did I piss off the Jeff-lings enough for a revenge attack? Is my ex in town and using the only weapon leagally obtainable? Who goes around shooting cars? RC will likely defend this behavior too, since... it's probably, just kids. Who I repeat CLEARLY are not getting the proper instruction OR supervision. But ya know, I'm just a meanie with my car shot up. Take it up the ass DM, dig it.... they're kids! I know I was strapped up with all sorts ammo when I was young. They issued them at school and handed you a pack to reload. Therewas even an instruction manual on how to best be destructive without being grounded. Fun!

They are far more impressive in person, and this .... ya know, why am I trying to defend it's size. It's my metro, you all know the value I put on this car that retails at the price of a big mac yet I shelled 6 grand to watch it come home with me. I associate much of myself with driving a metro. Finding it shot is much like kicking one of my dogs, if caught in action I will set aside my pacifism card and give chase, holding the guilty mother fucker hostage until the cops can come and beat it's ass proper while I cheer and encourage justice.

Disregard for one's personal property ..... growl. I mean look at the shit. Does this car look like it's needs help in losing it's paint job? One crack in the paint and it will spread like cancer, and those two bullet holes have already begun to make the paint lice much like an intricate system of veins.


I was done with my car Karma.... or so I thought. I'll tell all that later, but I felt I was DONE. This is the only vehicle I never feel I will need to push somewhere for repair, and asthetically had zero flaws. Fucking thing even has all 4 hubcaps. Lol, grow up poor enough and that is actually something to brag about. May seem small to some, but that is a luxury this girl growing up poor flips her shit for. I own two material items (except the dogs) that I lose my hat over.... my metro, my camera. I give a piss about clothes, shoes, all that crap. I'm very simple in that way. Not saying I don't like STUFF, I love stuff, but if I'm caught in a window with binoculars at 2am ... it's over one of two those items.

Reward offered. /string of expletives.........fuck me I'm still so angry.

-DM

Filler

Kinda had to ... comments won't work below post if not.

The Sunday Nugget

Very very, (one more) very, funny.



In the Morgan's Sunday doings..........

"Did you just come in here and fart?" Mr. Morgan asks me.
"No." /points at Delilah "Ask that one."
"Her?" /he pets the dog lovingly. "No, she has more class."
"Are you kidding? That dog has a fart on her that could make a plane crash."
"No, not MY girl."
"Well I always own up to my farts, and that wasn't mine." /gags a little

(thinking that most times I'm actually rather proud of them! It means things are moving along in there, granted the time I ripped one off with such force that Simon leapt to his feet from a deap sleep and began barking, hair blown back, a dazed WHAT THE FUCK was that look on his face was not my best moment however stunning a sleeping dog awake from passing wind is somewhat of an accomplishment. I'll add that to my resume of class).

"It couldn't have been her."
"Did it smell like rotten egg?"
/silence.
"Then it was her or it was you, but no, I did not walk into your room, fart and leave. But it's a great idea."


-DM

Some sort of dystrophy

Let's us think.


The right hand was chosen by the doctor to operate in two weeks. I think he rock/paper/scissored the starting location.

Since we were playing games, my gumball machine dropped another ... ding ding ding DISEASE. It's written on a slice of paper in my pocket and fights to be pronounced with any fluency. Rather it lodges itself in the back of your throat and sits there dangling with a large smile of "you'll never get me copper!"

I am going to start naming each of my lumps after the next disease I've got.

"Aw..... look at little melanoma! He's grown so much!"
"Hashimoto's Thyrioditis, how long has it been? How are the kids?"
"Who invited rheumatiod arthritis? Maaaaannn, he always spoils the party."

Etc.

Of course, there was an incident. And I don't include drawing ckicken faces on rubber gloves and playing shadow monster wars in the xray light machine. That just passed an hour of time ... yes a fucking HOUR of sitting there waiting to talk to this asshole. Why not make it DMV style, let you take a ticket from a spinny wheel and come back when they are serious about addressing you.

I was caught playing shadow monster and was laughed at by a pretty damn cute little asian (no I can't tell Korean from Chinese or Japanese or Thai or Catmandu style hooker... she was cute and that was enough). I said I wanted to have a potty and a smoke.

"Is this MY room?"
"Yes?"
"If I leave my gloves here, they'll still be here when I'm back?"
"Of course."
"Same gloves? Because I'll know. I know my own chickens."

I had my smoke niblet, not even a whole one. This began The Incident. When I came back in I passed a woman who aubibly and I mean super audibly gasped as though I gassed the bitch with arsenic. I let it go then I hear "Some people just have no decency or respect, smoking like that in the building......" she mutters over her shoulder in quite the condescending "I've a meeting at the ladies club for tea at one o'clock..." type of haughty way.

Time paused in my head while I decided if I was going to flash or not. I am sick of people bitching about my fucking smoke. And she was wrong. I am a crazy polite smoker, reminding you this is a LEGAL thing I participate in, but I follow the rules. My person may smell of smoke, that I can't help until I quit, but it's also very temporary as you pass by me. My cancer will not jump onto you like lice. Promise.

Brain decided it doesn't like people who condescend, people who condescend when are WRONG and people who condescend without the minimal respect of eye contact. Call me a filthy smoker, but don't do as your ass is far enough away for me to fling a rubber band at it. Have a balls to look me in the face and say your piece. So... I flashed.

"I wasn't smoking inside, I smoked outside where the ASHTRAY is, and GROW UP!"

I know, not a big flash but more than normal for me and when I went to schedule my actual surgery, there that miserable bitch was clutching my file and smiling in the way that told me she had every control of getting my insurance to authorize it.

Inside thoughts (fuuuuuuuck)
"Well hello again."
"Hi!" I chirped. (fuuuuuck!!!!! /mental thoughts of banging my head against the desk)

I didn't know she was who she was when I bitched at her, and I'm glad I bitched, but this does not help my surgery get done on time. She won't authorise it without my insurance card, which I've lost but I'm going to tear this fucking house apart tonight and smile right back tomorrow waving it like a god damned gold card in Macy's. /picture a sparkle in the smile when you read that. (ding!)

The problem with my hands - needs to be biopsied. Fine. I had two choices on anesthesia. One being out and out, the other just put my arm out and I can watch. I'm watching. Yes, most people have said are you gone? Yes, but thats not why. I don't like anethesia as it is, so lessor the better. Mr Morgan agreed, said "You won't feel it." and shrugged back to watching Stargate. I concur. It won't gross me out. More likely they'll just wish I was out because I prolly won't shut the fuck up.

Down side. These will grow back. I am being advised to chill a little because there are only so many times they can operate on my hands without permanant damage, which is a good possibility with the first one. Nutshell my tendons are constricting in my palms, a factor I think my body is doing on auto-pilot to form fists and beat the shit out of my co-workers and family members who need it since I refuse to do it own my own. The other growths are something else. Later for those. I'll need a driver for a month or so, I have money.... come pick me up, I'd never beg a freebie. Be funny if like 5 cars rolled into my driveway, all looking for a kickback, but I know I'll be staring out a window saying "anybody?"

I had another thought, but it ran off. I'll name one lump Forgetful.

-DM

Natural Blues

Tomorrow I am to walk into an office I don't want to, for pre-op talks about how I shall be cut up. I marked my tumors for your ease of seeing which and where needs it. I am left handed, so this picture is crucial in understanding the amount of work and money that is going into my pain and suffering. That's one side.

This is the top side. My middle knuckle and pointer finger have some conspiracy.

With a small modification, my hand could be a pig, or anteater.


Right hand. The fun skipped to the other side quite recently.... for the sake of wondering if I'd just scream and run into the street hoping to be run over. My pointer finger on right hand is beyond comprehension.

The reason this matters... is that some may argue I have artistic talent. If I don't, fuck off, it's something I really used to enjoy and something I used to take pride in. Very simple drawings. These are all mine, I made each and every one from scatch so please don't take... just ask me. Artists put more of themselves into their work than people normally acknowlegde.

Below are the digital drawings I made. Mostly for the online gameing I did a while back. Again from scratch... these belong to me.







I suppose my point today is that I need these hands. I am indifferent to all this growing shit, it's just "another one". I didn't have time to take the best pictures of my work, suffice to say whether or not they are good, I don't need to prove it, I need the ability to do it.

I've been dropping things for months because my hands just won't fucking hold shit. I appear to be a god damned moron, and I gulp down the explanation.

I am extremely tired of everything wrong with me, one thing to the next. So tomorrow I will find out how many stitches and how long I wont be able to drive. I feel like a frog in biology class. Anyway... I'm not so stupid, I do have talents, ones I hope very much to keep.

-DM

ps - My ex was issued a warrant for second offense of stalking with menace. He made one week before he managed to be threatening and get a protective order against him.... anyone wanna defend this one? Told you he was fucking nuts, not sad, not looking for hope, fucking NUTS.

Desk Jockying

My office is so strung out we could make a fortune selling our blood because there is some natural crack running around in there. We are a pack of seriously fucked up desk jockeys. We even are going through the typical drug mood swings.

Arrive – Happy, noses lift into the air seeking coffee.
See desk in peripheral vision – frown a bit but the coffee lends hope.
See desk closer – the coffee has lied, there is no hope.
Phone rings – glancing at the clock, staff wonders why they’ve arrived before actual work time. They blame the fish because he’s handy.
Sounds of the phone being angrily answered by Bosslady – Put out tone of voice because she has heard sounds of life in the building and yet no one has become ready to begin the acrobats of the office yet.

The staff is still optimistic.

The morning smoke is greeted with glee, this is our high point.

Work. Phones. Bitching, Stomping. The staff has come down from the drug peak. They want more, they need something and beg each other silently with their dull gazes, but the person returning the gaze has an even more dazed expression and offers nothing to help but an occasional fax delivery to save another the tiresome task of leaving one’s chair. This is also done in gloom and a grunt is offered in return should a mumbled “thank you” be presented.

Everyone is too defeated to take offense.

Lunchtime!

Perking up, gonna eat…. The staff remotely resembles a dog at suppertime, hopping a little and turning in the circles looking for the tail they’ll never quite catch. The drug has kicked back in!

Mid-afternoon. The staff starts to think about life. Why am I here? Is this IT?

Late afternoon – please, just kill me.

Closing time …. Poof….. they vanish THAT fast.

--

Memorable quote of today:

“Oh.. well you wouldn’t know… you’re just a receptionist.”
/pause with a half laugh “Well I’m not JUST a receptionist and some would argue I’m not one at all…..”
“I didn’t mean it that way. My secretary just shot me the death ray look for saying that.”
“I would think so.”

--

Bosslady got a new floor mat today, it sat in my office as a hopper until it went to the garbage, and I tell you, I had been smelling something fucked up but I never suspected it was the enemy in charge of the funk. The smell was somewhere between ethnic food mixed with an athlete foot ridden toe inserted into a rotting crotch. I planned to come home and sniff the dogs asses to clear my nostrils of that awful fucking stench. Odiferous – non – appreciated is what I called that mat as I drug it’s ass out the door, damn near killing myself because it has all those spikey bits on the underbelly and weighs more that it stank (bold statement).

I’m going to make a National Desk Jockey Day soon. We are NOT receptionists, or secretaries, or handlers – although we are frequently tasked with handling people who need to grow up and recognize their problem is not my emergency. Hear that Bosslady? Wait shit… you sign my check. It’s totally my emergency. Working in an office is doldrums to me. Repetitive. I’d like a week where no one talked. They could smile and you’d know you did good, and if you got the finger you’d know to pack your shit. Elementary!

-DM

Strut right by with my tail in the air.......

There is something notable about seeing a white.. no albino girl in khaki capri's, sporting choppin sticks in her hair and belting Oye Como Va at the top of her lungs while blazing down the street at 20 miles per hour in a geo metro, head bopping like it's the Night at the Roxbury.

Wave next time.... it was me.

Shit what else is new. All sorts of crap. Someone close to me has been diagnosed with a disease I discount and discredit, and I shouldn't do that because it's not only poor manners but cold. I am not not blowing it off from lack of care, I think it's wrong, I think it's bullshit and I know way too much about medicine to accept it. Saying so to that person though has to come off so cocky, so dismissive, it's not - I simply know medicine is WRONG. Apparently doctors have joined a cult in saying "you are going to die" because my loved one was told the same. I'm about apeshit with the fuckers saying it. I studied up on the disease, and there will be no dying. I'm looking into voodoo. It's interesting how little things matter to you until you personally get to roll in the hay with it, I try to remind myself of that and give all my best thoughts and any strength and support needed.

I suppose it's not unlike when Mr. Morgan gets sick, I go batty... I can't have my rocks weak. I'm the only one allowed to be sick, so these things startle me and I still don't know how Mr. Morgan's mom is fairing.

Sick of fuckers getting sick. KNOCK IT OFF! And if not, can't we at least take a cruise before filling the caskets?

I won't muddy this thought with anything else.

(private yet, not really note. Mannnnn you and I would have tore shit up if right place at the right time. You were only 30 miles from me for so many years, potentially keeping us both from jail time. Damn, hang in there I love ya. /bites into a cracker and dodges a shoe). Below is your song and don't even try to lie.... I've never seen ANYONE hold their tail higher, and I've seen me some tail /wink. From one slinky kitty kat to another, beak up.




-DM

If you don't have something nice to say... don't even fucking dare

Very difficult post for me. I did want to do it because I thought I should. Evidence? Play this while reading.




I received another letter from my ex husband. This post is of sadness, fright, and memories I didn't miss. A ghost I wish would go away yet pulls on a heartstring. I want him to stop thinking about me. I'm not about him, I was 18.... stupid, I'm not who I was then. I am keeping his letters since he's mentioned coming back to Nevada and by the way ... it's Corn-Rows. Not rolls but that's barely a taste of everything wrong with that letter.



My mother and pop have expressed no worry. They know Mr. Morgan would have him on his ass in two.... no ...point two seconds if he came knocking. I worry this fuck is crazed enough to gun carry. He is short, has always resented tall men. Mr. Morgan walking a lovely 6'5 could set off off a short angry troll. I worry. The last time I saw this man he walked out with police, and me with two broken ribs. He was released and said he would kill my dogs if I left to work, so we 4 lived in my tiny ass metro because I was not taking that chance. Sleeping in a car with busted ribs, two days on a new job... lying my ass off about why I couldn't breathe sucked. He then turned off all our utilities except whatever let me boil water to bathe. In case you wonder, it takes about two hours for a decent bath. Pride goes far. I do not miss him. I think it's that .... those were my formative years. And they happened to be with him. How could one not sigh at what's become of what back then was the highest of hopes?

Don't mistake this for missing him. I simply feel bad, and did 2 years before I divorced him - knowing he'd never do shit with his life. I can't help that. He tried. I tried. It wasn't in the cards. Because it seems to be a reoccurring event... the stalker video. MARK I DO NOT WANT YOUR FLOWA!




... leave me alone. I wish you well, get your shit together, your teeth fixed, you need what about ... 13 of them? Work on that, don't make my husband bust his hand on your face because he will without a thought. I've been re-married for almost four years... we had our time, and admit it, none of it was good. ps - the killing the dogs statement? Bad fucking move asshole.

-DM

-pps yes we know exactly what he was incarcerated for thanks to the DM Army, but he's loose. I won't post what he did but it does not surprise me. Just makes me nervous enouh to tuck a knife under my matress.

Eggsausted.

Easter. Good day. I'm excited. Mr Morgan says I'm too old for an egg hunt or a basket and I blinked..... asked why? Since when? Who says?


This is my mother's dog Nipper. I dont have much to say about that dog that I haven't before.

Here I am with a toy meant for my nephew. He didn't show up so I took his shit. He wouldn't have played with it anyway, he is over that age of being FUN! I missed the memo.

This was our Easter beast. The knife is in it because mom and I had a margarita, she saw me with the knife and went nuts that something unintended was about to be cut. The drools from her mouth when the ham-hock popped out though was classic. She was so proud she went to tell my pop that she'd secured a proper hock. I've never seen a ziplock appear so fast.

All said and done I am soooo tired after such a feast. Mother and I had a great time. I ragged her on the teapot (photo above) since she has never made tea from a pot. She likes how it looks on the stove she said. I said it was pomp and circumstance, and since we'd both eaten that margarita with glee, neither of us knew if it was an insult or not. I snuck a fuck load of that bacony-looking-ham home for the babies.

This is MY Easter Pig. I've never seen him so round and expect him to throw up anytime. Presently... he is quite happy.

-DM

Ugly Sunday.

Veiwer discretion, I am extremely ugly today. I asked myself why.... self had no answer.

For some unknown reason, perhaps looking for a pass to Heaven, there is a gorgeous woman I met from being mentally ill on a message board who from time to time sends me shit she no longer wants. I accept these packages with a teenager's glee of wanting to stick it under ones' shirt and hideaway in a closet to open and see what may be inside. I knew she'd promised to send me some of those teeth whitening strips I am too cheap to purchase.

My code name lately has been Green Teeth, so this was a very welcomed arrival. I feel like a fucking boxer though, all mouth geared up. Trust me, I wanted to photoshop the below photos in the worst of ways. I look like I should be consulting a plastic surgeon, not a Crest Whitestrip. My face portrays this sentiment quite well. That shit under my right eye. for those who don't recall, is from walking straight into a gaping hole of construction glass when I was very young. Since gravity has a sense of humor, it's dropped an inch over the years and wants to make me into Joan Rivers.

I do however have high hopes on the bleaching. It can't hurt and after I pull these fucking things off (half hour to write this up while I "bake") I am definitely addressing those eyebrows.


Nostril City! (And whoever said my eyelashes are fake.... SEE! Not fake asshole, just not medicated with the goodness of CoverGirl, it IS sunday after all).


But I did find a kite lodged under our front garbage can and scooped it up because ya know.... I like trash.

What DID happen to our yard? We don't know. We blame the Republicans. And we blame Reality Check just because we can say the kite "could" have been from a kid and we furthered our dirty ways of slighting a child.


Creepy point of above photo... am I floating? I don't recall a float. I'd like to have a good float.

I may post up some of my digital art tomorrow, most of you have seen it but short of seeing a plane crash, I don't have all that much to say lately.

I get a pap smear tomorrow morning? Is that notable?

If I had any balls and a nice bank account though, I'd consider some fix ups. Feel free to post that if there were no boundaries, what would you have done? Anything? Nothing? Go noble and say I'm perfect how I am and lie? Let me know...

-DM