Edmond says hello, and welcome.

My wares are out and my eyes have the twinkle of O.J. when he heard the jury say he'd pulled it off.

A few years back someone hung a very nice skeleton on the tree at work, taped up and in need of repairs. It was brought to me and asked if I was interested in the find. I smoothed my shirt coolly, and replied that yes, I could take a bit of curiousity in a new ward. In befriending this have not, seat belting him in on the drive to his new home, I engaged him in a very exciting conversation of promises that I could make him a star. This year he is in charge of the fog pail. This is a big task for a newcomer.

As I set him out this evening Delilah sauntered from wherever Delilah's come from, and she stared at it (standing 100% still) for a good 5 minutes. I sat down and smoked a full cigarette watching her just stare, trying to understand what the fuck it was. A dog treat? A people treat? Someone DIED oh my god and you didn't tell me! Why are we keeping it? I've never seen her focus quite so hard. But for all I know she just had gas.

Proof she is fascinated, or confused by it, I wrote this whole entry and walked out to find her still gawking at it as though she were at an art gallery and her thesis depended on it.

-of note, adding to her debt of all depts, look to the right of the doorknob. That is her way of expressing she wants us to come in when we enter the driveway, because we often pull in after work and decide naw... let's toture the dog and hit the strip club. I understand she's bored, but so am I all day and I don't deface property. Well, not in obvious ways ahem. It's embarrassing and I make her take her own credit, that shit isn't my fault, bad sadly, my liability.


Here is my table. It's way cute. We don't eat there, simply a eye pleaser and landing spot for bullshit mail and bags and whatever else seems tossable.

Chia head update. Look at us go. Chia Frank is on the left, he is the one with who has not shit his bowl. I had to trim him early because his male patten baldness was fucking up the gig. Hickie grows just fine. Still waiting for photos from MissNev on Vlad.

Costume comes tomorrow. Don't think you are getting early photos, but I know the temptation will bite at me.

--

Last of news, we bowled tonight. I did great. There was a little girl next to us who couldn't roll down a pin short of walking down to kick it. I sort of hoped she would. We had a understanding about our shoes, I couldnt get the one I wanted (Mr. Morgan told the woman I wore a 7.5 - pardon? I wear a 6.5 but a 7 in bowling shoes for bone toe comfort) and she also couldnt get a proper fit. We both went to settling for velcro versions. Not a lot of talking but understanding nods. I wanted much to go over and help her suck at least a little less than I do, but her parents were pretty harsh on her not bowling to their standards. Lil trooper kept on and said "man, all I get is a zero." Totally cute. Then she politely asked parents for a bite of food after watching us anahilate a full tray of fries and chicken bits, denied. To endear a strange kid to me is momumental. Let alone a little girl, most are so bratty. She made me smile today and that's something to note. At check out I whispered " I blame the shoes." she beamed and said she did too.

SO! everyday for a month I am going to try to post a vid for you all. Don't be bitches and not watch. This is my time, I expect at least effort, and if you lie and say you watch daily..... lie well. Anyone else dressing up?????

Starting easy...... vids get more inviting as we go ghouls and bats. (Watch the groom. he is all about it)



-DM

Do your job! That means YOU!

I had a decent office prank planned, but I de-pranked by default because I pranked before the prank. I seemingly have over pranked so can’t pull off the original idea. I have a pretty good idea that I can still pull it regardless of the unexpected pre-prank.

We will have to see the mood and possible freak out of the pranked first. It’s just an office goof, no need for freak outs but it very well could happen given the prankee. To be honest, it keeps me from throwing myself into traffic.… I NEED to goof on people. That's what office workers do.

__

So this morning our Grand Master was slighted a biscuit in his McDonald’s. To boot they gave him the jelly, as if to mock. I asked for the receipt and said I’d write, even though my last writing scored nothing more than an OK basically. I have faith Mc’Ds will be better. But not much.

Dear Ronald,

I recently purchased the Big Breakfast on the speedtrain we call a commute for the standard worker. Being in a hurry I trusted the employees to be certain all of my items were in the package, and didn’t check it as I had five minutes left to be to work on time without consequenses.

My meal was missing the biscuit, but there was no lack of jelly to mock it being absent, as though I could hope to find a biscuit in there and I looked with great anticipation. What am I to do with jelly and no bisquit? Should I keep ordering and hope it arrives and double jelly it? Is this a bisquit pyramid scam?

While not trying to squabble over a biscuit, I work a very long day and my morning meal is what gets me by without a low sugar seizure, more so, I expect to eat what I have paid for. My job does not allow the time to return to the restaurant for a complaint or biscuit beg, but I do feel owed that biscuit as a loyal customer and advocate to your food, I did not have time to check the drive through bag, I simply had faith that your employees would understand what the order entailed, and fill it appropriately. I have enclosed my receipt as proof of my breakfast expectations, and ultimate disappointment. Frankly, I'm not lovin' it.

I have great trust Ronald that you will do the right thing and replace my biscuit, I have seen you on the television and you seem very eager to please. I appreciate and anticipate your response.

To Grand Master.... you're welcome. We shall see. Getting rather annoyed at writing for a missing item, but ya know.... it IS McDonald's, I doubt they give a fuck and probably overlooked it after the illegal alien raids at local McD's on Thursday. I read in the paper today that some of the franchised chains closed just by hearing immigration was making local fast food sweeps. Crazy shit.

Who knows though.... mailed on Monday fucker.

-DM

Ball in a cup!

My keyboard has given it's last hoorah so I'm using a borrowed one from the room across and it has no letters on the keys. They've worn off so this is taking me a long time. Mr. Morgan said "You need to watch the board to type?" Well, yeah, I kinda do. I type fast, but get lost in it and look down to find my center every so often. Perhaps a new one tomorrow, because this thing sucks.

My costume comes Monday. I went a bit ugly on the company who has shirked me for two months, cancelled - without their normal fee, and ordered through the place where I obtained the hat. Even with super-shipping, it was cheaper. Go figure. Got very tired of monkeying around with their asses and I need to see a costume on monday or I lost the bet on selling my soul. That would be a drag and a bargain because I have one hell of a good soul for the taking. Ask my boss, she's given it a fine testing for almot 6 years now. Am I interning for Satan?

Only other news is me going apeshit over food. Mr. Morgan eats everything. No matter how much of it there is, the ONE item I want is always in his damn jowls. I go for it and he says "Oh you wanted that?" Well..... I only hid the fucker in the fridge behind the fish you so madly detest, did that confuse you or give you the incentive for a scavenger hunt?

Growing up we never took the last of anything. It was a death trap should Mom have her mouth set to eat something and it was gone. We always left one of everything. I am the same and went on WW3 level over marinara sauce that not only didn't belong to him, but had been hidden with a note. For now I am back on not eating after 6pm, so my stomach was set on one breadstick with sauce for supper. He ate the sauce but offered a can of Prego.

"Why didn't you eat the Prego instead?"
"I don't know."
"Then don't offer me Prego as if it's the same because you didn't eat THAT, you ate mine. so it's not the same!"

Ensue fighting.

I know it's super weird and petty to fight for food, but I do. I didn't grow up with boys, what's mine is mine and while digging THAT deep in the fridge is commendable, it is still stolen. He says "how did I know?"

Well let's think.

1. Bought a triple order in hopes I might get one before the savages got to it or given to the dogs.
2. Hidden behind fish.
3. Note. "Mine."

I complicated his mind it seems. He read "mine" and thought it was a gift. For me? Really? Lips smacking as he said mine mine mine.

-DM

ps - Photo Thursday. Never claim to be good at it as my hands fail me, but I keep trying and I do love it so. (lashes remain unfake, I forgot who said they were hm).



You're looking for about 1.42 minutes in. I can play that. Other things too, but it's so pretty, and really... the video is artistic and the lyrics poignant. I presume by now everyone knows the videos I post are time appropriate and thought out. You watch. It's good to get thinky.

Turtle Pancake

Turtle warning. It's not bad but if shallow of stomach - quit now. I can't guage what each of you think is gross, to me.... it's fine.

I don't back down much to a dare, unless it could kill me, so I delved into the Turtle Coffin to see what has become of them over these months. This is where they've been. With the pool chemicals, and the flat pool ball, some spray paint, because, well I don't know why half the shit we have in the garage is in there, including two dead turtles.

Don't think my ability to glove up at any moment is a lasting moment from my medical background, it's because I dye my hair all the time and scoff gloves..... yet save them. I didn't have a face mask, so used what Mr. Morgan calls an "eye pad."

I admit to trembling a bit, thus the shakey photos, I didn't know what I'd see and had ignored that box like a dirty secret for many months.

They just mummied up. Francis has caved in, and Tardy is still mid climb, head and foot out. Unbelievable. One hundred percent dead and STILL trying to flee my inept un-turtle-friendly house.

So there's the answer to that.

As for Jemima... who we now refer to as "stingy" below is the letter.

They were sorry I didn't enjoy my eggs, hash browns and sausage. So am I! Know why? Because it's not even what I fucking purchased, but they are letting Quality Control know all the same of my upset with something I didn't eat. The irony is enough to laugh me into bed tonight. I made it very easy for them by including the box, UPC code and a sample of my DNA. I have been form lettered! This is what my compensation is:

Here is your fucking sausage coupon. One. I suppose it's fair as I am just out one sausage and will with the proper purchase be up one sausage, but one voucher??? I took the time to write, express my love and support and I get one lousy voucher. Anyone want it? It's good for breakfast lunch or dinner, your choice of dissapointment. Don't be shy, for real, it's for grabs but I make no guarantees on it fullfilling it's package promise. Whoever takes it, if the meal lacks.... game on for round two of letters. Jemima should have written me herself and not sent someone who can't spare more than one voucher for my trouble. Plus, it was funny. Carol T. at Pinnacle Foods, you need to lighten up and let loose a little on those freebies, the god damned thing was $1.29, stiffing a few coupons only made you look like an asshole. You could have at least earned the postage it cost to write back by packing a few more in there. I wasn't even going to use them, now I will.

-DM

Jemima Talks Back

Read below for new post but just got this so... omg!

I have a reply from Jemima. Will write more once I've read it, was just handed to me. Mr. Morgan has been pelting me with "stink socks" all night, no idea why but he got a few head shots dead on and they in fact do stink.

Write people, even if for the sake of it is all I can say. Often your concerns will be adressed and compensated. I don't write from boredom, I wrote because I wanted that fucking sausage, and in other instances, I wrote because it's just what a consumer does. It's mine, give me what I bargained for. Even if no reply (off chance)that's how DM acts out on her cash going into the toilet, and I'm not much on flushing currency.

-DM

Week End Update

Decent weekend, feel free to tell me how yours was.

Mr. Morgan made my eyes sparkle in an odd way, when I said I was working on the wall mural... which it is really a doodle in my opinion. He came in cocked his head said it was good that I do something except portraits all the time, that he was happy to see me scrawling all the way up and on the ceiling. Who ever thought a doodle warranted praise. I remember them being madly complimented in high school for idle drawings, but that was too long ago to count unless I get so depressed I need a boost and have to go digging in a yearbook.

He even brought me a gaggle of sharpies because what I was working with lacked, and he saw my face wrenched in a "damn you sharpie!" sort of countenance. It's dizzying to work on the ceiling, but ... I guess I need to doodle on a giant level. In return he came and pelted me in the head all night with what we call "stink sock" because we are massively classy. I have no idea how he had so many, as I collect them weekly for the bath, but fuck if my head wasn't a target all night for it's funkistic wraith.

Mr. Morgan came home on Sat. from walmart smiling and said "if a girl was good, I have a spooktacular gift for her." I all but sat in the "praise Jesus" pose. It's a ghost on the move. Line the rope and he will pass back and forth, bitching as he goes. Score Mr. Morgan, I had it lined up from our ceiling fans within the hour, and it's a great prop.

Shit what else. We bowled earlier. I rolled a 82. Rock!! Blaming the ball the whole time for it's lack of spin. Nice little scapegoat when you know good and well you just suck. Lost my nerve a bit when the lady at the lane next to us went to comment on my suckness. Nicely... as Mr. Morgan claims. To me, don't comment on gutter balls unless they are your own, or in your party. Short of that, mind your own ball asshole, I am well aware of how I bowl, I didn't show up for a fucking tournament or commentary on how to be a professional.

LeedyBeat is feeling fine, I had a dream that shit was back last night.... ugh. We should be knowing the results of biopsy tomorrow. She hates us. ok ME, for the constant ear peeks... but what the fuck are we to do? Ignore it? I dream of the alien pod coming back, fuck you I'm checking.

I have much to share just pacing shit out. The Halloween chia head grow off is on a great start, waiting for Miss Nev before I can really report as her chia head arrived tardy.

Have I ever mentioned the turtles have not been buried? They are on a shelf in the garage in their box. Vote, do I open to see.... or just bury it?

-DM

Astounded

Delilah went back to doctor today because the bleeding was just embarrassing. Ok, she went because the bleeding was concerning.

The doctor looked and agreed it was not getting any better, and wanted to take her into the “back” section for another view. They also had never seen shit like our girl managed to grow in such a short time. I reminded him she was that special.

He recommended surgery, for 7:30 am tomorrow and I teared up asking every question in the world, yet his patience and kindness never once faltered during my non-stop berating of “How do I know you are not killing my dog!” I know this has been the topic of my last several posts, but she has been in my life and part of my family for over a decade. She is also the only animal I have ever coveted so much that I was willing to risk jail time to steal her if I didn’t get her.

Mr. Morgan had to leave the room when they came in for pre-op blood, from the neck. The neck? Dayum. She’s a good girl and having seen some of our friends, she probably thought it might be heroin and raised her neck willingly. Jest.

In comes the happy lady with the estimate of one thousand dollars to extract the alien from Delilah’s ear. At this time Delilah stands up, shakes her head against the wall and I fuck… you… not…. That god damned giant ear tumor flopped onto the vet room floor. Flopped in slow motion no less.

Billing lady backed up, Mr. Morgan began to heave heavily and had to leave the room when Delilah began to eat it. I ran interference and told billing lady GET DOCTOR! while throwing myself between the bloody object of stench and the dog trying to consume it.

Why is it always me on these tasks? Can no one jump into a situation? She was about to eat the evidence! We need that for biopsy and she had saved us a good deal of money by lopping it on her own.

Proof positive that she speaks english. She heard “anesthesia” “laser removal” and boom, there it was on the floor like magic. Mr. Morgan thinks she heard the amount of the bill and said “Fuck that, here is your discount.”

That’s why we love her.

She is not in the clear, the flopped … membrane? …. needs to be poked at and we know if she’s in danger after all. She’s in fucking debt, I know that. Here is to having a dog that managed to stun an office who see hundreds of animals each day. I own the Tumor Tosser, and I’m proud.

-DM

Ring Tossing

Not sure which Morgan woke up more bloodshot-eyed than the other. LeBeat got to either scratching or that thing in her ear liced open over the night. I checked her in the morning and my entire hand was covered in fresh blood. Not the brown thinking about drying blood, this was fresh as a slaughter and looking much like the pinnacle scene of Carrie.

There I was naked and trying to re-cone the dog by myself. The dog wanted no part of being re-coned.

Since she's in the equivelent of a cast (of sorts), I did what everone does. I decorated her as payback for bleeding all over me at 7 in the morning after waking us up all night in her misery. Plus it's, fun.She's totally fierce.

Not the first and not likely the last time she'll get to bleeding, and I feel greatly for her unhappiness, in fact it ruined my entire day worrying about her. Thus decorations were the least of the punishment she gets for not being able to not be herself and stop the self mutilation. Even cleaning the cone, while ON the dog was a chore that I see no one else in the house stepping up to. This is not a fun job friends. I stare at the money pit of fur in this house and wonder why people encourage us to have children. We are plentiful on issues, thanks. I have had a sit down with the conehead and explained that anyone else, she'd have been on a doorstep years ago. She yawned a drugged thank you.

The bleeding seems less, though she is ravenous for food and water, which I suppose is a good sign. No improvement on living in the cone, she constantly head-rams things, including us, as watching her attempt to get on the bed was pitiful. The lower ring catches on the matress on every attempt and it shocks her each time. I finally just lifted her up and reminded myself of a recent ass injury that hadn't screamed for a day. Adding that to her tab and thinking of cone games to play.

-DM..... Hey there Delilah, it's what's you do to me.......and you are so pretty.

Dawning of Delilah

It’s 7:30, after coming home at 4:30 to remembering that doggie med emergencies are no faster than for humans.

/walk in the house.

“This one is bad.”
“What one, huh?”

Points at Delilah.

“What did she do?”
“She’s at her ears, I want you to look.” he says and runs away to peek around a corner.
“Ok.”

I grapple the animal and one ear has it’s usual amount of doggie grit, the other ear made me take a step back and try to control a little composure for the husband who was waiting – at a distance – very eager for a report. I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell him what I’d seen and bit into my hand to swell back tears.

“Well???? It’s your call, do we take her in?”
“Get the keys.” I said.

I still won’t exactly say what I saw, but Mr. Morgan got the idea when even the vet recoiled and said… “Uh… ok, um… wow.” and ordered up slides to microscope the issue.

Her ear has something coming out of it that I don’t identify yet I know it’s part of her, and we sat nervous parents for a long while, Simon in tow. Once in, her ear was bleeding and carrying on that the proper choice I’d made to take her immediately was the right one. I also made the call to stop at a veterinarian office that she damn near died at many years ago, but they’d saved her life, so pulled over there instead of the vet hospital we normally take the kids to.

The doctor was extremely nice, one of those sorts you grin at because it’s obvious he actually enjoys his job and wants to make my girl healthy without filling a pocket full of paycheck. That would be for the front clerks to help me with. It's refreshing to find someone happy in their job and while I want to stab that enthusiasm in the eye socket with a pencil, he was treating my very heart of tail waggyness.

We are on watch. She has two days on some shit strong enough that football players would likely bargain for behind bleachers, plus antibiotics.

Oh and the cone.

My … dog… is … on … the… cone.

It had to come to the cone? Watching a dog try to maneuver in one of these monstrosities…. I admit to laughing. Everywhere we hear the slapping of plastic shame.

I saved yelling at her running tab that now is reaching 3k total for a lifetime goal, just because she looks like this.Girl has traded all dignity for the sake of getting better. I wonder if one of these would work to control me from myself as well. We hate to make her wear it but she's exceptionally chill in it, just doesn't grasp it's perimeters. I have to leave my girl in this tomorrow morning, convinced she'll choke. Don't even say it Prada.... this is NOT Zoie. Coning a dog is very different than coning a cockatiel.

It was a fuck of an evening, plus a Monday. I keep hearing Mr. Morgan saying "Stop licking your cone" and I cant help but burst into giggles out of exhaustion. We did have to have the cone licker didn't we?

Gasping to bed.

-DM

Boom. It's On,

Finally finished up my Halloween packs. Next year I think I have to up my count to 24, because making the gauntlet choice of who will get one is increasingly more difficult each year. Kitty Pig better giddy up because it was 60 bucks just for the packs this year and they aren't even that fucking stellar. Suffice to say half of the shit came broken and I spent a good deal of time trying to fix it as... like I said... I only alloted for 12 people to get the packs, so busted items brings things to a halt of figuring out who will get what, meaning I can be found in the kitchen looking for shit to put in that bag as makeup for the item. Letter to follow lol.

"Can you believe I had to send a child a spatula? Shame on you, this child expects a prompt replacement while she flips eggs in a little witch hat and a frown!"

Good weekend otherwise, exception that my ribs still howl. I've been driving Mr. Morgan crazy with talk of it.

"Think I punctured my aorta?"
"No."
"John Ritter did, and all he did was fall."
"You didn't."
"What about a lung?"
"You'd be coughing fluid."
"You saw me fall, what side did I go down on?"

You know..... trying to be all tricky and shit.

"Both of them."

Thworted!

I took out the smallest taste of my Halloween wares, three tiny pieces really... nothing terribly intrusive. I was drumming my fingers against my chin the first time Mr. Morgan went towards the kitchen, trailing behind him with wide eyes and a soft but gleeful prance to me. I only hung two pumpin-kins, and my pumpin-kin lights.

"Al-READY!?!"
"Well......one does need a bit of flare?" blinks wide blue twinkling eyes that express the mad desire for the show to get started. Had I been caught hauling the Edmond in, it might have been a bit of a deal breaker, but really.... try telling me what not to do with my shit on this holiday. You can get a front seat for a real live enactment of the Exorcist. I am off to test the blood boil bin and squint at it scientifically until I get the desired effect. For company I might bring in my skelton to supervise, and otherwise annoy Mr. Morgan. Cmon folks.. It's TIME! My burning man loves will understand the time frame of getting shit in order long before it seems due, to them, I give a solid "that's right" rocking it nod.

-DM

Good Samaritans

Twice today there were loose dogs in the streets. One greeted me at the postoffice kitty pickup, to which I spoke to before even thinking about getting out of the car (scared of chows and frantic lost dogs). No collar, it ran.

Later this evening was a lab-ish looking girl on the lam, scared and not sure she made the right decision to stretch her legs. This one we caught while taking out the garbage, with a collar and Mr. Morgan went straight to chasing her down as she was darting a crazy game of car vs. dog. She was clearly young. He started to drag her by the collar, which I loathe and I said to pick her up. She was not going to bite. Scared as hell, but not a biter… I don’t know how I just knew, maybe it was a dangerous gamble, but I took it. Any animal could bite, but she didn’t seem the sort. He picked her up and brought her in so we could see her calling, as she hid and pissed all over my house. Baby girl was scared!

I phoned the owner who had a screaming infant in the background. She didn’t know dog was gone and I’m not sure she knew the dog’s name, which was Freda.

“Hi, I think I have your dog.”
“What?”
“Freda… this is the number listed, is this your dog?”
“Oh …..” pause “yes.”
“She is in my living room, we caught her sprinting for the Olympics on our street.”
“Oh oh oh ..”
/baby screams
“My husband said he’d bring her back to you, what’s your address? “
"She didn't get far."

I bit my tongue to say it doesnt take but a step into the street in front of your house to be too far.... but ok.

We recall the time our leg stretchers went on a jog and how our neighborhood rounded one of them up, although Delilah was too important to be bothered with being caught. It’s just what a person does, but most people…. I don’t think they do and this girl was SO sweet. Pissing aside, which has made both of my dogs go nuts with sniffing, wondering if it was their replacement. A favor is to be returned.

Mr. Morgan walked the Freda back to the owner, wasn’t far, and came back fairly annoyed.

“Was she grateful?”
“Not really. I think she likes the dog, just not a good owner, said she lost track of her.”

All I can think is thank GOD for the Mr. Morgans in this world. We talked for a moment about how distracted we get yet never lack knowing a piece of our family has gone running. Don’t compare those kids last Hallow setting my dogs loose, very different, those bitches walked into my home uninvited and quietly as small and as upcoming criminals do.

Anyway, it’s sappy and shit…. but that I ran into the road (full pajamas and barefoot) yelling for Mr. Morgan to come help the dog and he didn’t skip a beat, melts my heart that we are on the same page. The neighbors were running from her, and I was trying to lure her from the street. He didn’t chase that dog down for me, he did it because he is like minded and knew that baby might have been killed or pounded, and could have been one of our misfits on a jail break. I'd claim higher respect, but I expect no less from someone sharing my life, animals mean a lot, and sometimes dogs just want to strut a bit.

I am a puddle of smile. Below a funny complie of doggie silliness. Sound for sure.

-DM

Bumber Boats

Quote for today.

"Most people are like candy, hard outside with a nice inside."
"No. Do you know what most people are like? Bastards. Bastards with a bastard filling."

--
Costume getting still proves to be a chore no matter how passive agressive I am making it. I need to bust out the Edmond soon and take inventory on what else is out there in decent enough shape to be included. Also need to test the blood boil bucket and see the whats doings with that project.

--
I'm going on a cruise early next year. Me... in a giant bed of water. On purpose. We haven't slided up the specifics but agreed to for-go birthin' days and christmas so save for it. Mr. Morgan insists on a balcony room, which sounds... as good as it possibly could to someone afraid of heights, water and wild lemurs. If I see ONE whale flop, I'm off the boat and riding a donkey home with my escort Pedro. Seriously, one whale and I am fucking OUT shaking my maraca ass back to where land folk exist.

I think it's a matter of knowing I'm no where in the contest with water critters, the advantage is so far beyond I wouldn't even try to win a battle. Just eat me up. They are quite agile and quite larger in their watery world but you can find me on the beach strutting my legs in high kicks taunting "What now huh? I'm walkin' ... can you walk? Noooo no you can't, can't walk at all. Can't even walk a foot... know why, because you don't have a pair of these! Betcha you'd like a set of these fine babies wouldn't you!" /skips to further flaunt my leggyness, then takes a faceplant into the sand.

I do not really want to go, sounds retarded I know. Prying me out of my house requires a pitchfork and fire. I vow not to be a total crotch and ruin Mr. Morgan's enjoyment or make it a slap in the face of our spent bank account by not enjoying myself. It's difficult to find fun in everything I am scared of, not limited to the above and:

Language barriers
Seating next to strangers at a meal
Questioning all water
Bartering for wares (I HATE to barter)
Wondering where medical staff is
Is there medical staff?
Are they at the bar?
Will a life raft be issued to me? Can I have two as a failsafe?
Where is Osama and is he interested in my boat?

More about all this once things get to be something I read as happening. Passports to get and shit to decide while living with a massive "later on that" person. Lol... cheers.

-DM

Mama said there'd be says like this...

Still sore, still “whimpering quietly” as I was told to do. Of it all, my ribs are what are bothering me the most, perhaps a flare up from an old wound.

Today was an effort. Once you injure yourself well enough to require day long whimperings, then sleep on it, the morning offers a creaking of bones and bodily laughter that lends one a gasp and a “fuck it, I’m not going” but you know you have to.

I managed into some frock of an outfit and all morning Delilah was cockblocking my every step to show me she was not happy. Checked the bowls, all good on that front but the cockblocking didn’t cease. I had forgotten some trinket or other and went back to the bedroom, having damn near left for the day and Simon is huddled in a corner trembling as if he was in trouble. Sigh.

“Lemme check the butt.”
“Simon? Lemme check .. the… butt”

Thought so.

Enjoyable start to the morning. Never a dull moment when your dog’s ass is out on a Monday morning and he’s scared to beg you for help. Because I beat him so much of course. Hell I might hide in a corner of embarrassment too if I had a massive impacted turd half in and half out asshole gaping and inflamed with the horror of it. This is why Prada wants dogs!

Impaction solved, work done for day, and Mr. Morgan’s friend (we know my sentiments) has been arrested for being out drunk or alike. You can’t be out drunk? Granted he was making way to the car, but he had a good while before getting there. I hear tell family and friends were out with flashlights looking in bushes. Now THAT’S one hell of a time. They found him though, in the drunk tank alive and well and probably happy to curse my name because I am handy. I offered to fix up a nice spread for a boys night soon as he is sad over it and likely as embarrassed as Shitting Simon.

On a final note, our dear blog buddy Saffy’s grandmother passed today. Take a moment to send strong thoughts to her, we all know how heart stopping it is to get that call. Her name was Ida, and I'm sure she was a wonderful woman. (please refresh if video does not show).



Saff love you and yours, are in my thoughts very very much, and all I can offer is this song.

-DM

Again?

Keeping in trend, I fell again last night. This time at least I was mobile and not simply sleeping so the plausibility factor is a taste more lenient. We had supper with mom in law, pop in law, Prada and Mr. Prada, and step-sister (who is yet to be named because I see her so infrequently). Also in attendance were the gaggle of offspring, who are oddly behaved for their age – consistently behaved no less. I’m waiting to watch one of them loose their head and throw a mind bending fit, but it hasn’t happened. I am damn near disappointed.

The meal was delicious, and just as rich as the one from last week yet it managed to remain in my stomach. Proof, my friends.

On getting out of the car I took a tumble into the yard of rock-scaping, and fuck if I didn’t all but roll into the gutter. Having worn a short cocktail dress (no commando thank god) I’m sure there were crotch shots galore for all the neighbors. I look like a victim of severe domestic violence and woke up thinking I broke something ELSE. Skin is missing, bruises are popping up like a spring crop, and Mr. Morgan is simply shaking his head saying “You are a serious pain in the ass, but I love you anyway.”

I think it’s more of an affirmation than an intended statement.

I have given up on thinking that I will ever learn to walk, or be the graceful person I always thought I was. I am simply glad that I didn’t take the roll in front of his family, and grateful I did not smack my head this turn. I remain surprised because my shoes were very unassuming and not difficult to walk in, and my front porch isn’t tricky either. Drunk? Not remotely, it would be a great excuse, I... just…can’t…. walk.

Off to nurse my wounds. Hope all had a great weekend.

-DM

Jill, Jane, Jamie? Who ARE you

I forgot to mention something until I was busy writing to Prada, did I say busy? because I meant "where the fuck WERE you." Prada would have handed a biting statement that would turn me purple, I just know my girl wouldn't fail me. At the supper on monday, my step mother in law introduced me to everyone as Jill, because.... you know... that's not my name but rather belongs to Mr. Morgans ex-girlfriend of, hm, over 5 years ago? She still doesn't know who the fuck I am, I met Jill once and being slipped up is highly offensive - once you've met Jill. I may just refer to step mother in law as "pain in my ass" or "chain smoking satan" and introduce her as such, but then I'd have to be actually introducing her as if I cared.

The Jill incodent had been very entertaining to me. She came to Mr. Morgan's apartment, I was there, and it set in that when he had said "Take your shit out of my house" that he meant it. She did not seem to think he was being serious and a possible mend was in route. But there I was on "her" couch and she went postal. Declared she was taking everything including the toilet paper. And.. bitch did. They even went to arguing over who had picked what from a garage sale. I sat with great interest.

It then got heated. Greedy "taking all the shit" Jill went and got male folk to be intimidating as if Mr. Morgan was stopping her from removing anything. We went to playing a card game on the floor since she'd scalped all the furniture. The male folk decided to provoke Mr. Morgan as if he'd given two shits about her collecting her crap, enter angry girlfriend screaming how he had mistreated Jill and she was in the parking lot crying. All I can say is what I'm told - and the whore was coming home smelling like sack, when she came home at all for months.... so like .. bye? I'll take over the good man you silly bitch (already had), get your shit, no one cares. Then I found my dumb ass in the middle of a very overweight (ready to bust my ass) girl and two men twixt Mr. Morgan. I flailed and made a fuck load of noise, which normlly chases off everything including local wildlife.

Her friend then keyed the piss out of his car and I thought I might need bail money. He rarely loses his shit to the point of voilence and he wasn't altogether wrong to want to choke her.

So... apparently to some people I am this crazy crying, gold digging and cock smelling bitch. This is why I take offense, yet held my composure respectively. I told her it was ok, I know my own name, but with retrospect to the reference of that person, not cool. What could I do? Food fight? I fantasised about it, but subsided to send her bullshit keychain in the mail and sign it Jill. Then smile.



-DM

Puttin' on the Ritz

This is all the pre-taste I can allow. Game fucking on. /massive wide grin.

There was a formidable battle with the costume company today, wondering where the part that makes the hat less silly resides. The gal on the phone, while nice and presumably adorable, faltered.... and I know what faltering generally means, I answer phones, I'm just frankly way better than her on knowing the answer to make that person not go apeshit over an obvious lie. "It could be, or could not be in some GIANT shipment received yesterday" and the worker bees were digging through it as if to find the Hope diamond and make me... their BEST customer, pleased and somewhere eating ice cream with the giraffes. Maybe they don't want one of my letters, and really... I just want the fucking costume.

I explained how long I'd saved change and that God himself sent me to their website with absolute certainty of that costume being produced. She indicated she did not want to let down god and I replied it was best not to as god can get tricky on your ass. And, more importantly, not on my halloween because I have voodoo kits and shit to get all crazy with. More faltering, but being on the phone with me can be quite trying, and it's intentional, I don't pretend to say I speak normally or predictably and often take people off guard. How are you? Happy! I say that a lot, when I mean it, but no one ever expects that and it's a shame. So much more grand than the canned forced answer of good, or ok, or fuck off. Although fuck off is equally stunning in it's effects.

I think I may have made vacation plans with a stranger today, shit no.... TWO strangers (one as a stowaway). One must find entertainment in phones. You've all used them and found the standard "I hate my life" person on the other end. That is me some... ok most... days, but I am playful when the person calling actually has an idea of who they are and what the fuck they are distracting me for. It helps.

Well so, no costume yet, and no reply from the Jemima front. I did write to Hamburger Helper asking for one of those cool happy faced gloves but was denied as if I was passing a venerial disease via internet. I call for a Helper Ban!!!

-DM

Gaggalicious

Labor Day. So I cleaned the kitchen.

/beat

We later cleaned up and went to sup with Mr. Morgan's partial family, each offering quite the buffet of moods. In attendence:

Greedy for family time
Greedy for MY time, and cigarettes
Downright depressed and lying about it. Or simply hates me.

I was well bahaved. I spent time with the birds of the house (whole room dedicated to pooping flappers, but I grew up in a house where the garage was an aviary with no less than 200 birds at any time), mostly keen on the one who wears a little bird collar because she cannot stop from eating herself. This bird interests me a great deal. I asked her to stop eating herself, she made no promises. This bird is named Zoie. She is a ... let's not lie this bird is fucked up and eeking every meal out of respect to her owner. She doesn't seem to have much quality of life, but she also doesn't seem to notice she's the only bird in the embarrassing ass collar. That's her saving grace.

The cat was let out of the bag about my ministry and PhD, which led to a very long and "meaningful" discussion with step mom in law, who was nothing but respectful to me and not a snide comment slipped from her mouth all evening. She beamed that I am now with god. I forgave her sin.

The meal was obscene, and by that I mean by cost and quantity. My vision proved me a fucking moron once again as we sat in a booth and I looked behind us and whispered to Mr. Morgan "There is a guy in the booth behind us that looks JUST like your dad."

"It's a mirror."
"Oh duh."

I swear I am not stupid (entirely), my eye refracts in darkness and I really can't tell shit from... well... Dad apparently.

Right so. We puked the rest of the night proving that we are rice and bread people and cannot tolerate rich food, no matter how tasty. Both of us came home from work wanting to die holding the bucket. My step mother in law doesnt even have to cook to get us puking, it's a fucking anomoly and downright magical.

It was a nice evening pre-pukes, and some interesting elements revealed about how I am perceived in that end of the family. I suppose I present myself either muted, or blank because when I spoke an opinion the table went quiet. I will remind myself that my voice makes people's eyes hit their trays while forks shovel food quickly as if to flee.

All for today, still ass out and considering eating my leftovers so I can vomit again, because it wasn't the carnival I'd hoped for the first time.

-DM

Bullshitting

"Do I look like total wipe out level of hell? Because I'm pretty sure I do."
"You look like an angel fallen from heaven to (location) just to be sure I could be happy."
"You are way full of shit."
"Nope."

-note, while liars are not to be tolerated, ones who live with you.... are, and sometimes downright fucking necessary. I question if he said I look great because I have presented other levels of WORSE, so that in comparison, it's angelistic? As in ... bad... but you've rolled out in a far higher level of toe up. Take a shower and do your god damned hair.

He doesnt say that though, he wants to continue to eat and see his clothing folded nicely in his drawers.

-DM