DMorgans Zoo Revisited

Riches Await!

2012-01-25T09:07:00.001-08:00

Anyone ever use those cash for gold promos where they send you an easy-breezy envelope while, in the commercial, happy people with piles of practically forgotten precious metals make their fortune with no effort?

My favorite is “I do, now I don’t”

Rock. I don’t know why that makes me laugh other than the vivid imagery that pops into my imagination on hearing it, and probably because I used the old school version of cash for gold – the corner hawk shop – when I retracted my first “I do” Even then, I have to say it’s wasn’t a complete DO from the get go, it was a silly “I guess” at best. It’s fair to say a good number of young people ‘guess’ at their first shot at being adult.

Some months, my ex-guess asked where my ring was. I don’t know if he was hinting that he wanted it back, as knowing what motivates the mind of a broken human is often tricky. I told him it was on the corner of Main Street and Washington.

“You pawned your wedding ring?”

“No, no.” I shook my head “I sold it.

He was genuinely shocked, reasoning unknown again, but I suspect he thought I got a tidy sum for a barely 10k band with diamond specks. I asked if he wanted the 25 bucks I got for it.

Now that’s it has been many, thankful, many years since all that I know more about gold, and can see it’s price every day in the newspaper if I chose to, I don’t suppose I understand how anyone could be shocked at the value of their shit. Maybe I’m just jealous of those people and their piles.

-DM

Gonna yell, gonna scream.

2012-01-07T13:49:00.000-08:00

At a post holiday event I asked my brother in law (I have 3 in varying forms, one that I could do without and for the most part do) what we were all about next. He and I have had like-minded discussions about politics and state of affairs plenty in the past, so when I asked "we," it implied "the people like us." The said something along the lines of -being all about occupy-

I'm not blind or deaf to the splashes of news and outcry snippets but I truthfully don't know the details. To say I know that people are fed up and protesting would be understating what I do know, it's more than that... but exactly what it's about I don't know.

Right so, this is for him, until we've had a chance to discuss it at length. I was extremely hard pressed to find anything on youtube shorter than 13 minutes. The average occupy ranter's tirade lasts between 8 and 11 long winded, passionately shouted minutes to invoke chanting. That said, I have really no clue why the below video is happening but I would be alarmed if swat teams were forming up in my city. Maybe it sounds naive, but martial law looking events aren't something normal to me, in America. If something looks wrong and you don't even know what it is.. well, looks like a duck, walks like a ? Could be.

-DM

Have I become one of THEM?

2011-12-30T23:06:00.000-08:00

Ever been in traffic, normal navigation sort of thing and it couldn't be more obvious that every single piece of lolly-gagging operator fuck is out in front of you in some collective plot to jerk off your day when you realize that it's not possible that everyone is a cocksucker, but in fact you.... yes you are the cocksucker jumpy on the pedal with a mouthful of surprise obscenities both verbal and for the hearing impaired combined?

I tamed the inner angry but there was no saving face. /looks up remotely, more or less indifferent that I may have, by way of personalized license plates, made a few enemies who will scowl next time they see it and cut me short for punishment.

For Saff.
You just shouldn't bard. Your conscience is too high and good to not completely whore out all the bard you could be. As one who fully turned a tune or two sneakishly, every so often you made me feel a little like a hand in a cookie jar by way of giving me something for no damn reason.

I think you gave me a dog that I named Jhett then forgot for a week. Once a week had past I felt bad that Jhett was likely starving so I didn't go back to my house at all, avoidance in the most lame of all video game avoidance. So lol, alas when I never wanted to travel.. it's because I left something there that was going to bum me out and I just wouldnt say so. Forever in trouble and compare me to the bum who knows he's wanted in the town over yonder. I could be your doppleganger Saff, very well could be.

I wanted to dedicate Leather, because of the tone range that I know you can nail, not because of the naughty lyrics. Instead, this will do as it's equally ticklesome to the earbone.

- DM

Fashionably Late

2011-12-19T17:16:00.000-08:00

What does that mean anyway? 'Fashionably late' Does being late in any manner make you less of a self-absorbed asshole? I'm not sure it does.

With that in mind, I know not if I'm early or asshole late in making dedications. Usual cast of characters likely, not sure, but I know this song has been sitting in the forefront of my mind for a while.

For Prada.
Author-ess? under yet another name in oh-so-naughty erotica, Rhianna says it best with "I may be bad but I'm perfectly good at it."

You amuse and always surprise me Prada.

-DM

A Haunting We Will Go...

2011-10-30T15:32:00.000-07:00

Finally! My pumpkin harvest is complete, my cornstalks dried, this house is ready! Most of my setting up (the moving and expensive props) don't go out until tomorrow but the ground work is done even down to having two candy bowls - one for the begging participants, and one for the hosts who withhold the really good candy until the cheaper fare dwindles. Anyone with a separate bowl is bullshitting that they don't eat the candy, it's just for the kids.

As mentioned, this year the dogs demanded to be pirates. Sure, I like pirates too. Come time for fittings, Simon showed up. Early. He'll sit in anything all day patiently waiting for reward. Costumes and hats always = big payoff to my Simple Simon. Kylee.... much more of a fidget. She tries not to be a diva but every now and then she simply "won't stand for this grueling schedule." She still doesn't fully understand that I'm not going to give up and it's going to be a scene if she won't play along. Kylee also made a last ditch effort to change costumes and go as Batman! because her Dad is playing the new Archam City game and says often "It's bat time!" That dog loves her a new fad.

Edmond, you remember Edmond!! Took a chop to the neck over the year. I don't remember how, it was just like that one day so I converted him. The pumpkin is attached so the head moves just like Ed's, and a candle lights up both the Jack and the Hollow Ed.

So here is my video for this year. There is a hidden opinion, potentially political, if you know what it is, I'd like to hear about it. Happy Halloween!

-DM

Roll with it.

2011-10-26T16:51:00.000-07:00

We know I drive the Metro. On purpose. My love for the Metro is so unbounded that when my last Metro was assaulted and made a victim, I bought another within a month.

Most people do not drive a Metro on purpose. It's usually because it's economical and is built to drive it's little heart out, mile after mile without fucking with you unreasonably. In exchange for being hard driven and engineered to do a lot in a "limited spacial environment" (PC term instead of just saying what it is - a miniature donkey), the Metro in all it's use of mentioned limited-spacial-environment is forced to cut corners on the extras.

Now, when you think extras... you might picture power windows, power steering, maybe a little anti-lock brake action but naw, 'dem ain't featurs'! Those are laughed off the table, we won't consider those anything except folly.

Metro has two ways of being. It's on, or it's off. It does not glide nor coast, it wants for you to lovingly know you're in there. Nothing gadgets by voice and no little motors run to address the comfort portion of the ride. This said, when the Metro does act a fool, as mine is doing this month, it's not pissing around. Metro doesn't whisper soothing reassurance that something might need to be checked when it's convenient, and the Metro could give a shit if your tires are a little low. You won't be hearing my car nag you into fastening your seat belt (but you will hear me and that's possibly just as bad), and finally, the Metro - revert to the first line of this paragraph - has one purpose, being in either the sate of focusing on moving or nothing at all.

Not to say a Metro doesn't limp, it's simply not a lingering limp. Not like the last leg of a marathon, those runners have a steady-built slow limp-wobble to them. Metro is more of a gunshot limp. Everything is fine, then not so fine and lastly... "Fool I said hurry!" kaboom. These cars are not infallible. I went..... 6 years - two different Metros - with no major repair work. It seems the Auto Gods have realized they missed the memo on this car and have to make up for lost time. Two months ago it had a shitty serpentine belt. You know these cars as the ones that howl past you, their driver ashamed at the absolute screech of their pissed off car spinning a ruined belt. They usually taper off though don't they? Usually when the driver slams the gas petal really hard? Heh, yes that's why the jumpy-to-start behavior is often seen paired with that noise. The belt corrects itself faster that way, but only after getting considerably louder too. And it's terrible for the already dying belt but that noise will make you do irrational shit. So, new belt. Bam. Happy Metro.

Then last week, Metro got a new headlight. I don't drive at night so that was ok, but it does have daytime running lights, making the car a one headed beacon. It was making me nutty and Metro got a headlight. Happy Metro.

Today, drunk on auto-part lust, Metro flashed angry, displaying "Service Engine Soon."

When I reported this in somewhat of a panic, I was patted on my head, These people don't know the Metro laws of limping. Car down, and fast. Now that you know and understand me and my relationship with those laws can see why I didn't like my head patted.

"That's just your car saying to get around to it sooner than later." was said to me.

I immediately disagreed, explaining how small the interior is, thus restricted features blah blah, and that for all I know there isn't both a "whenever" light AND a Check Engine" flasher. Seems to me that IS the warning note. No warning light for a worse warning light, but since I wasn't positive ...cocksucking Metro won. Got parts. Happy Metro.

Well maybe, I have a shiny new air filter for her that isn't flopped in but is sitting impatiently.

//UPDATE! Filter installed. Mr. Morgan borderline disgusted at the incredibly cramped engine area. Said he feels like he has giant hands.. //

Happy Hallow below.....

-DM

100% Real.

2011-10-18T17:52:00.000-07:00

I thought I might have to gather strength from a very empty bucket of imagination to drum up today's hallow-post, when damn if I didn't search you-tube for "scary scenes" and have this write it for me:

I almost have no words. Mostly questions. Hopefully the same kind of questions as everyone else or I'm the only one wondering why Pennywise from IT would make the scariest scenes list? .......

Top... something or other scary movie scenes above. Remember some of these? Don't forget to tip the skeleton above, who seems to be playing with his own worm if I had to guess.

.- DM

/adds freaky-candy-cock-worms and anything with the word "ribbed" to Run From list.

Raffin' It.

2011-10-16T17:06:00.000-07:00

So I saw a picture of the hat somewhere on the web - but it was on the head of a toddler, so I made one and it's a spot on exact replica, no pattern, nuffin!

Theirs:

Mine:

Where I'd wear it.... I don't know, it's not a shy piece. But we all gave it a round we like to call "who wore it best?"

- DM

Kickin' Off Dark Sided.

2011-10-01T21:50:00.000-07:00

'Bout time! Let's start this year's haunting with a visit from a long lost spirit.

Until time kiddies................

-DM

In the neighboorhood.....

2011-09-26T19:55:00.000-07:00

I was going to get my mail. I love my mail once I have a good idea that all the bills are paid for the month and nothing aggravating should be in my hovel of a mail slot. We have cluster boxes for our mail, it's a semi-hotspot for people to gather and make small talk as it's also right in front of a dog park.

Being so, one gets to know who their neighbors are and their accompanying pets etc. Everyone knows Kylee and Simon so it's a social circle not unlike the chatter you see at a school yard including the occasional "which one is yours?" followed by "The one that isn't being a good listener." Conversation that is interchangeable with either location.

I got my mail (hey, I got free mayonnaise in the mail on Saturday - who knows what would be next, maybe a covert mission to have me build a sandwich piece by piece, but that's a story for another day). As I pull the letters from the box a kid - and I say kid but he's taller than me by a foot and wider than by two feet but I'd guess he's early teens. Hard to say as he doesn't raise his head or look anyone in the eye. The kid has two dogs, both I want for myself but the tan one is just a kick-ass little dog. 25 pounder maybe? The other dog is more boxer looking but also a good beast. The tan one is on leash and the other one tastes freedom. Always, that's always how he has them. He once said it's because Little Dog a bit too hyper and young.

His boxer-like dog is in route back to him after having trotted to great Bella. The little dog is straining on her leash because she's happy and wanted to know what things were found by those not on a leash. I've slid out my mail and said hello to Bella's mom as they pass. Kid is petting Angel for returning then kicked little dog.

Not hard but ... how hard does a dog need kicking? None, right. Fucking none. He then looked up quickly - proving he damn well knew that anyone who saw would not think kindly.

My arm still raised with mail in my grip, just about the right height to give him a good pop to the kisser, calmly in a normal volume and normal tone said "You shouldn't kick your dog."

I didn't call PETA, I didn't freak and make a scene. But. C'mon, fucking seriously? He mumbled something under his breath about her not listening and to not tell him what to do. As mentioned, no eye contact, so clearly no interest in having a conversation with someone he sees often about what a complete fucking douche thing he just did. I replied in same even, same volume tone "You shouldn't have to be told not to kick your dog."

I don't want to tell someone what not to do, especially the god damn obvious.

Little dog, un-phased - clearly learning from being kicked - wagged her tail and grit in her claws to concrete to say hello to me, which I always enjoy of Little Dog. I did ask her name once, but he really does mumble and it wasn't important enough to ask a second time.

Who IS this kid? This guy?

Or this one?

Kicking a dog for being happy??? Jesus. It's totally this should-be-ashamed-bastard!

What a jerk.

-DM

Cheatery.

2011-09-21T19:47:00.000-07:00

For real? For real real???

"Sheriff testing high-speed plate scanner"

"Deputy Dean Williams generally runs about 20 license plates each day as he patrols throughout the city. In about 20 minutes Tuesday, he ran 130 plates. Credit new technology installed on the light bar of his patrol car. "

"The two cameras mounted on each car can run an estimated 5,000 plates per shift, said Steve Adair, of Lehr Auto Electric. A four-camera system on a vehicle, which is what Furlong is considering, could run 10,000 plates a shift, he said."

Holy fucking cheaters! I'm not a proponent of crime whatsoever, but I do feel the sense of the chase, the... earning of a ticket, if you will to be how things oughta go. No fancy-lazy-cop-cheating machine should ever be allowed, much less footed by the taxpayers who will not only fund the sneaky private eye contraption, but be subject to it's fines. How dumb are we?

Can't we go back to earning our tickets by acting a fool and drawing attention to ourselves. Whatever happened to the novel idea of getting caught red handed by those hired to do their jobs. I'm sure the police are filling their pants with the overload of power. FOUR cameras per cop car? What the what??? Will there be room in the vehicle for the actual cop?

Not fair. Total cheatery.

-DM

Marley and Us.

2011-08-09T20:17:00.000-07:00

We're dog-sitting Mr. Morgan's, Dad's dog, Marley for a a couple of weeks. She is a nice dog, and tries really hard not to be an interruption to anything normal here. That means she tiptoes. Adversely to the lovely soft trot of a large canine.... she has a mouth on her that can cause the most sane and loving people to fight over nothing. Her voice creates chaos. This great beast is blessed with beauty and manners, and has more grace than Kylee or I could ever hope to pull off, but in exchange she really gets to using her mouth and refusing to be reasoned with about it. It has the impact of a fart that clears a room in ten seconds.

Simon is none too pleased as you can expect, practically shitting himself when she came into the house screaming at his sister "Oh my god! There are MORE of you???" I think I last saw him yesterday or thereabouts.

Marley is receiving all the spoils and what not my dogs get but he being here has brought up an aspect of me that I hadn't really thought about. I am a fucking house czar! Watch the clip below from Curb, and think of the conversation as Larry being Marley, and me as the other actor (incidentally named Dog).

Much like Larry, Marley does not understand that there can be - no. bullshit. on. this. counter. We have had a bit of knocking heads over it, she ultimately thinks I'm moving her shit for no reason and I ultimately blame my dogs for throwing her under the bus and not letting her in on the rules. It may take you ten seconds Marley, but my voice clears a room in five, count em.

Marley/Kylee/Simon property goes in dog sanctioned areas (Ok Simon doesn't have property but still). That's how it is and where it belongs. We can't have willy-nilly all over or I melt down. I didn't know I melted down over silly simple shit. I merely suspected it was a peeve, based on the fact that I'm almost always in a constant state of putting things not only where they belong but exactly how they belong. I refuse to call this OCD, and wonder if other people with ... let's say.... persnickety mannerisms stare blankly at being a bit demanding about house order a diagnosis. I don't count things or think something bad will happen, other than being annoyed until fix it. Does that still count? Damn.

Marley has a head tilt on her that is spot on. It's the dog version of a question mark. Everything she responds to with interest has that tilt that clearly means "?" Am I hungry? Tilt. Did I miss you? Tilt. Did I eat the small dog today? Tilt... guess you better go check tee hee she struts. So while I naturally play this up a little, as far as house sitting goes, she has been a gem right down to looking a bit offended when we showed her where outside to bathroom is. "Like I was going to do that inside, what do you think I'm an animal or something, jeez."

Last weekend we went on a hike. Here is the face of a true monster:

Scary huh? And don't even say you can't see my girl if she closes her eyes or mouth. Shame on you.

My photo looks like hell because we're supposed to look like hell. Forthose who smoke and squander regular exercise hiking is hell and becomes more irrational with every huff and puff up the mountain. By the time everyone is back to the car and no longer winded, "Wasn't that fun?" chirps I, to the disbelief of Mr. Morgan who doesn't see the ray of sunshine who is his wife. He only sees the broad who did nothing but bitch and moan about death being better for the last two hours.

Cheers.

-DM

Blue Light Special, isle 6!

2011-07-12T18:15:00.000-07:00

Right so, I shop ebay. With clickity-coupon fingers and manicured bargain nails, I am indeed one of those people who will toil to save a buck any time I can. Every now and then comes a glitch in advertising, an underestimation of demand or simple oversight.

It's finding a mistake in your favor on a receipt, getting more than one of the same coupon that forgot to say "limit one per visit," and happenstance of a too tired customer service rep. to add an additional item to your order and re-calculate the entire tab.

The frugal know this as The Golden Gimme.

With effort, a person can strong arm or pout/be loud/embarrass themselves into getting a Golden Gimme, but that is not the true nature or soul colors of the GG. Nay, they are meant to call into your lap unexpectedly.

There is only one thing to trump the Golden Gimme. It's a bastard to come across and usually to happens to a person around you, leaving you with a dry lipped whimper of "Whens' gonna be my time god? Whens it gon' be?"

So ebaying I was. Ebaying for shoes no less, something even those who thrive living on the cheap don't normally do. I've worn bowling shoes, I was not afraid of sandals and really wanted a specific type since the last ten pair of cheap summer flops have not been replaced since the days of Kylee's teething and chewing grandeur.

I saw these:

Pretty much what I was looking for in a black sandal. Those are my feet prints, as the item was listed in bayspeak as EUC, which means Excellent Used Condition - i.e. damn good shit, worn/tried on once but no box no tag sort of thing. Calling something EUC and lying is a big no-no and the thrifty will talk shit in nasty little discount circles, running your name into the mud. It's not worth the risk.

They arrived, looking angry.

Hm. But ok, I don't always have an excuse for why I look the way I do either. It was a good deal and inexpensive enough that if they were gross it would be an easy loss.

I won them for $5.55 plus $3.33 in shipping. Someones' keyboard must be sticky. Here is the listing:

Now, remember the angry packaging? The menacing tape leftover from a hostage situation? I was still thinking about that when I readied to slice into the wrapping and stopped, frozen. Holy fucking shit..... it was a Golden Gimme Gobble.

"In my very own house!" I began shrieking and hopping. Mr. Morgan came into the room expecting me to holding one of those giant award checks, and to an extent I felt like I was.

Do ya see it? Do ya do ya?

Oooooooh that former shoe owner had good reason to be pissed and wrap them with venom! Clunky-sandal-postage-be-thy-name and by the laws of The Golden Gimme Gobble she not only landed no baycash, but cost her an additional $0.60 cents to sell them to me. Not including the ebay cost to sell, and the additional fees for photos, instant sales etc. - that shit adds up fast.

The fabled Gobble. Turning the tables for one time only, not just giving something of value away, but inadvertently paying to do it.

That is so. fucking. fantastic. And no giving me a hard time for thinking so. My idiot ass constantly does something that ends with "well, it serves ya right." so don't think I wasn't deserving of that GGG. I'm forever being given that waving finger of shame reminding me that I do things half thought in advance.

The shoes really are heavy though, she should have known, or someone should have told her so, and lastly, it serves her right.

- DM

Smules.

2011-06-28T19:34:00.000-07:00

This morning I acted out and almost felt a wave of empowerment wash over my disobedient face until it occurred to me that by "acting out" I had simply taken part in what every self-serving human does every day. Dare I had done something common?

Check out time at Walmart with an embarrassing assortment of things that must have been the root of the "one of these things just doesn't belong here....." song from Sesame Street, I went through the 20 Items or Less! without taking numeric stock of my wares. At 8am, for some reason the Walmart was silent and I took that line. I was glad I took it. The more the cashier stared at me, then at my items, then back at me to clearly indicate the inner dialogue of "Oh fuck off with her, didn't she see the sign? Can't she read it?" made my eyes light up more and more.

Becoming more giddy by the moment and watching the clerk mute herself, I replied in kind to her mental beams, hoping we would forge a conversation alien style.

"Of course I can read it. Not only did I see the sign, but I read it and felt an extra shove towards you because it has an exclamation point after 'Less!' Walmart really wants me to get the point and take this line seriously, and yet I here I am... with more than 20. On. Purpose. Ring me up please. Mm-hm, ring ring" Chirped I through cheerful closed lips and gestured a wave towards the items. Of course I had noticed the sign, I had deliberately decided to disobey it.

Then an older, fuck it.... elderly and idle woman - the type who beg for eye contact and perceive it as an invitation for chat - by then meandered up with all the items I should have been buying and ultimately in time will have to as a result of giving in to tasty goods, remarking to the cashier that she was very fast. More glee when the cashier flicked her eyes onto me one last time and said "Yeah, I have to be."

After bopping to my car I ran a .... what would you call it? Pink? Stoplight. Red and yellow halfway isn't pink and I'm not one to be found in pink zones often enough to know but I think that's what they're called. A pink! On. Purpose! I knew it was going to pink on me and both Metro and I skirted the turn like bank robbers with bags of cash.

So... heh, sure my version of acting out is barely noticeable to qualify. It's just what people do. I'm either overly concerned about inconveniencing others or am against rule breaking to a level of boring reserved for librarians. Maybe both as I don't like to be inconvenienced by people breaking the rules, and know why? Because they god-damned get away with it. And they do it because it feels goooood!

- DM

Muddin'

2011-06-19T19:31:00.000-07:00

The pups greeted their Father's Day gift mission quite differently, then came together at the end result to both agreeing that the entire idea was of the sort that when their minds danced around the vision, it included neon signs, applause and flowers being tossed at their feet to roars of "Bravo! Bravo, encore!" If I had to guess, the youngest of the two even envisioned a few women dabbing the corners of their eyes to absorb how moving their gift was.

In reality, the thing was a fucking nightmare with good intentions and carefully staged actors on the box, huge smiles plastered to their lying gums. They, wanted, to make something for Daddy. Something messy. Something breakable, edible, walkable, lickable.... mineral, vegetable? I don't damn well know, their demands and aspirations were exhausting until the epiphany arrived like a beam of light from God.

Stepping stone. Stepping stone for Dad.

One hour post prep I announced the personalization process was starting and they ran into the room (one even bringing her best friend and confidant DuckDuck, looked around and ultimately slid to a halt to make trade for obvious disappointment.

"We has muds?" asked Kylee?

"Muds. Right here, step on up."

"Noooooo, m.u.d.s.!"

Her idea of concrete is the exact same as mud, that much I understand. I did not know however, was that when I said we could put our feet into a mold, she thought I was referring to a mud pit akin to a monster truck rally to be her personal canvas.

The Russian scowled at his little sister.

"I told you it was a ruse! Fool!"

Simon too had an idea of the same product, and his was confirmed by the square drying in the mold, waiting to identify him. Alas, his version of the gift was some sort of high end plot to garner his fingerprints under false pretenses.

I did clean it up somewhat, but it is actually their feet. Bribes were made, treats handed out, submission, tears of pity..... and no cooperation came until I began to shriek and flail through the same clenched teeth your mother had when you didn't listen and come when told to, forcing her to drag your ass and end up looking like the foolish headcase. They swore they had no clue I was serious, jeez Ma, what's the big deal sheesh?

-DM

DM's head count

2011-06-05T17:22:00.000-07:00

It's been a minute but.... right, so, what's new? Comment section open for role call.

-DM

Smurfin'

2011-03-01T18:32:00.000-08:00

I'm back to work. Whew. Wait.... I meant whew?

I have gone from one extreme to the other in a way that only DM's seem to fall into. My last gig was at the chi-zen-redonculous acupuncture office where every smell, blink, or sluffing of my feet was somehow upsetting the energy of someone, somewhere on the planet. The new gig is a pain management office.

So from shhhhh zen tree-folk, to the most volatile people of the population. I guess I don't do gray areas.

I can't say I hate the new version of patients anymore than I hated the old ones. They share a common propensity to bitch and tell life stories until they are patted on the head. Unfortunately, there is a pat limit when it comes to pills, pesky laws and shit throw a dirty wrench into their plots and there is many "damn the man!" shouts of discrimination, judgment, cold-hearted doctors who aim for their torture and on and on. It's still new and may not last but pays nicely and isn't far from home. With no work for many months and being interviewed and hired in one day was a sure warning sign, and possibly too good to be true. Until told to go home, I'm at least off the government buck.

I am very entertained at the excuses the folks come up with as well as the ways they try to scam the system, including the urine test. I've seen it all in the past having been a phlebotomist intern where drug screens for employment took place. Taping urine to legs, arms, backs, that sort of nonsense. Our lovely specimen collector is flummoxed on how to make sure no one is bastarding in piss that isn't theirs and the only sure fire is - watch em pee. /shrug.

I'll write more another time of the more entertaining excuses I have overheard from the "fail" list. Some are rather good and some I wonder if they know what's fallen out of their mouths. Are they really dumb or is it a riddle to make it sound so unbelievable is HAS to be a truth. Hrm......

Cheers.

- DM

Ya say it's our birthday, we're gonna have a good time!

2011-02-17T18:49:00.000-08:00

Yep. Cheers to us's.

We spent a fair portion of the day arguing the line "But it's my birthin-day!!!!!!" Which doesn't work because the exact same line is returned. "Fuck you and your birthday, it's MY birthday bitch." I could have argued that I'm older, but who really plays that game after you grace legal limit for the good stuff.

We went to bowl, and my hands thought it was the folly of the year so we decided to pass on old person bowling at 10am, and made a run for the $2.50 breakfast instead to prove our spry and fancy for spending. We know how to rock our impending senior card and getting our practice in early. Even our entire conversation smacked of lameness that we both enjoyed until we looked at each other seriously and deadlocked in a silent stare that we'd been discussing the tray contents and portions for 15 minutes, including me going on and on that it was only $2.50 per man and Mr. Morgan breaking down what it cost the restaurant. Eventually we concluded they lost $0.40 cents on my meal. I concreted the good god moment by pulling a snot rag from my pocket to fist a handful of bacon away for the pups. Kill us.

To Mr. Morgan, well yeah... let's just laugh that we are so going to rot ourselves away together in some unforeseeable dicked way that life lends and that is just fine with me. I love you all the many and always will.

- DM

Mock--iday

2011-02-13T10:17:00.000-08:00

Valentine's is silly. I'll say it every year, not in hopes to boycott or end the madness... but just because it's crazy that people are guilt gifting. My valentine's were not presents purchased because I had that crazed expectant, yet ever so silent gaze a wife gets when hovering over a stove or vacuum this close to Valentine's Day. My gifts were either spawned from true adoration (fear of that stove going cold?), or simply from boredom as Mr. Morgan was idle for an hour waiting on his oil change.

I was presented with a dozen red roses, and some novelty item the other scattered and frantic menfolk had not yet snatched away. It was very poetic, but not as poetic that while I adore treats.... what I really was wanting was Handi-snacks. Cheap date much? Being sunday, Mister went to place a small sports wager and came home with two boxes worth of handi-snacks. I all but had his genitals in my mouth with appreciation, that is how strong the handi-snack lure can be. Flowers, awesome. Novelty.... cute. Handi-snacks? Oh shit come here you and bring the Mister with ya. THAT is valentine's done right.

My gifts for him were candies and a handmade card. Since our birthin-days are so closely intertwined with the mock holiday I did a two-for. We both keep assuring eachother that it's a "lean year" which more or less disclaims that perhaps a handi-snack and flower was a suck present. Nay.

His main gift was pretty crazy good, and did arrive early so that he could plan travel and guest accordingly. I think we all know that I collect change. Not the soul changing sort that I could use a dose of, but actual coin. When my change ziplock bag becomes very pregnant, I march into a Coinstar with pride. This run landed me not quite 70 dollars but close enough that I could cover the difference. I bought him basketball tickets and made him hunt!

A birthin-day/valentine scavenger hunt! He started on the laptop, then to fridge, etc. all with clues to the next location and on each a note saying sweet things such as "I'm not really so afraid of your socks." or "I like that you smack your lips whilst sleeping." and also "it's cute that you run the fan in the bathroom for an hour every day like I don't know what's going on in there. Baby, I clean your toilet, but thank you."

Even the dog was in on it.... she had a clue on her collar. The funnest, was that the superbowl babies have a website where you can type in anything you want and that baby will say it! So his last leg of the race was to listen to the baby saying where to collect final prize.

Go fucking me! Annnnd I did it all on my own collection dime, no dipping into mutual funds, for some reason that mattered to me. So part gift, and lots of innovation.

I made it clear I do not wish to be invited. Let him go man out or whatever they call it, belching burping and otherwise not modifying their behavior. I know his friends' wives or girlfriends..... we don't care unless it is so excessive we are being asked to leave our plates and restaurant.

Hearts to all, and those with none... it's over-rated.

-DM

Hammers

2011-02-10T21:40:00.000-08:00

Let's us sing! Or completely put a mob kill on me as my sister might because I never stopped chirping this shit for a good two years (age of ... I'd guess 6- 9, I still bob like a moron so hard to gauge). I had another song I wouldn't let up on and the record went suddenly missing one day. Little birdy sisters are sometimes silently punished with good reason. I never asked any questions of it's being gone, but a couple years back she found and delivered me the missing record on vinyl. I may have posted it before but this song sent a spinal cord contraction and seizure to my sister who had the misfortune of sharing my room, as it was more repetitive of a noise that as an adult I'd have sold a child for such an offense. I like to think she was tired or on some level found my tiny body prancing and hopping about hippy tunes that would stay with me into adulthood, somehow adorable. Or not worth talking to cops.

Thank god, she didn't have fucking hammer, I was THAT bad with this nonsense.... still am. Peace, the hammer is figurative, don't get smacky. If pressed and in a bad situation, belt out the lyrics to the offender and more or less declare yourself a loon by doing such. Anyone who sings "if I had a hammer...... " I'm out the door. Maybe after I whispered meekly, "I'd hammer out danger?" Here to help folks lol.

- DM

The Making of Medusa

2011-02-09T10:29:00.000-08:00

I've been able to put out a lot of art lately. I don't know why, as being idle doesn't necessarily lend to inspiration. Who knows, maybe Clash of the Titans was on during my sleep or something but I drew The Making of Medusa. By making I don't mean the act of drawing it, I mean the split seconds when she went from totally hot to totally fucked.

There are many more eloquent ways to tell the story, but as I see it..... We have Medusa, she's crazy gorgeous and pissing off a lot of bitches because the men gods won't stop peeking.

She and Poseidon get all freaky and Athena is having none of it, basically saying "oh hells no, you did what? In my own house? It's so on."

Throws a bitch slap onto Medusa and she gets to be snaky and un-fun forever. I've had some haters, and have been a hater in my time but I can't say I can compete with that level of eternal fury. So, here is Medusa transforming. Colors from my camera, as always suck, but the green is creeping from one side to the other in a blanket of the curse washing over her, one eye still blue, the other a lovely lizarding green. Poor kid. The background colors are also ill-represented here, many blue and purples on the pretty side.

By the way, it's my birthday bitches!

-DM

Twitchy slicey

2011-01-24T19:58:00.000-08:00

Fight night! You all have them over eggs or kids, or kids wearing eggs. Our fight night was my happy in the bubble tub, book in tow, wine glass placed... when I felt a shabby leg.

I'm not trying to impress anyone by way of being shaven, it's just what one does when not on some sort of field trip through Haiti. Let's recall that last October (I know.... fucking October right?) I took two antibiotics for a urinary infection and went numb from neck down.

It's all but gone except... for the section of leg I shaved tonight and skin came flying off with wings. I CAN feel the problem, but not until really put under pressure. This was pressure.

Looks like nothing eh? That's a sorry excuse for a thigh and no blood drainage, I zipped a good three inch tear down it's top bone. Yelping... I called for Mr. Morgan.

"I've bloodied myself."
"You do that always."

And he seriously fucking left me. Bleeding into my own broth of bubble wonder.

This from the man who had a rash last week and called from the shower for a second opinion. I was there in two seconds and didn't say "dry it off, you're fine." piss piss of my time sort of thing, no.

Shame. He still maintains he didn't know it was so "dire" and I maintain that anything bleeding in the house should have a second peeky. As for my numbness, it really is almost gone but I get these really odd synapses at night that makes my limbs move or jerk, definitely nervous system damage... .careful what you swallow.

- DM

My Bonny

2011-01-21T17:42:00.000-08:00

I have on me a crazy sense of mischief tonight. One of those sorts that you walk into a room and catch a wide, wild eyed person huddled into the corner with huge eyes and a grin that means they know something you don't, coupled with hands over the mouth to cover an immediate attempt of the mouth to tell.

What me done? Not tellin'. I'm fine to giggle lonely. I told the Russian, he wasn't impressed so fuck him.

Onto bigger things. I've been working further on my heroine pieces, I've done two since my last posting. Mr. Morgan found the prior (not posted) as "not your best" and wandered off. That's really a fuck off way to not get fed. I've seen his artwork and his stick figures are sideways and frankly crippled, sad for them, but don't fuck off my art. I am weird about it as it is.

The latest piece is another Loreena McKennit drill, Bonny Swans. I think it's swell if you'd give my work (and shitty fucking photo of it, it's detailed madly and quite colorful) a go and listen to the lore of the reason I drew it. It's really a bummer, like most of my art, but I think I did well to bring it to life as a visual and no it is not yellow in person.... a lot of purples, greens and blue. My fascination with dead Celtic broads are endless. I spent a very long time on her, and wish the photo were better.... it's stunning. I never say that of self. Please do listen to the below song, it's pretty awesome and explains why I drew what I drew.

Below for the printing lyrics and story.... tis good stuffs!

A farmer there lived in the north country
a hey ho bonny o
And he had daughters one, two, three
The swans swim so bonny o
These daughters they walked by the river's brim
a hey ho bonny o
The eldest pushed the youngest in
The swans swim so bonny o

Oh sister, oh sister, pray lend me your hand
with a hey ho a bonny o
And I will give you house and land
the swans swim so bonny o
I'll give you neither hand nor glove
with a hey ho a bonny o
Unless you give me your own true love
the swans swim so bonny o

Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam
with a hey ho and a bonny o
Until she came to a miller's dam
the swans swim so bonny o

The miller's daughter, dressed in red
with a hey ho and a bonny o
She went for some water to make her bread
the swans swim so bonny o

Oh father, oh daddy, here swims a swan
with a hey ho and a bonny o
It's very like a gentle woman
the swans swim so bonny o
They placed her on the bank to dry
with a hey ho and a bonny o
There came a harper passing by
the swans swim so bonny o

He made harp pins of her fingers fair
with a hey ho and a bonny o
He made harp strings of her golden hair
the swans swim so bonny o
He made a harp of her breast bone
with a hey ho and a bonny o
And straight it began to play alone
the swans swim so bonny o

He brought the harp to her father's hall
with a hey ho and a bonny o
And there was the court, assembled all
the swans swim so bonny o
He laid the harp upon a stone
with a hey ho and a bonny o
And straight it began to play lone
the swans swim so bonny o

And there does sit my father the King
with a hey ho and a bonny o
And yonder sits my mother the Queen
the swans swim so bonny o
And there does sit my brother Hugh
with a hey ho and a bonny o
And by him William, sweet and true
the swans swim so bonny o
And there does sit my false sister, Anne
with a hey ho and a bonny o
Who drowned me for the sake of a man
the swans swim so bonny o

Entirely possible I have a hard on for drawing ghosts but here are the lyrics, it's a good story and I love when she calls out her murderer. I did good. My next piece is calling "The Making of Medusa" we'll see how that shakes out.

- DM

Memories, like the corner of my mind.... misty water.....

2011-01-14T19:02:00.000-08:00

This was my avatar last week.... sparking the following conversation copy/pasted from an IM.

Bosslady's Daughter:: wow! sweet avi (picture of a magnificent tree - tree of life sort)

DM: : I agree. Never took shrooms but I babysat for a few participants once and they claimed to have climbed the "mighty tree" I like to think that is what they saw. but it was really on inspection of such a glorified act of god, nothing more than a large sagebrush. heh

DM: and they stank for days!

Cheers to those who entrusted me to motherbird and awe at the miracle placed before them. With no disrespect, I'm glad I was able to see soberly that it was sagebrush, as I'm allergic to Mighty Tree and could have turned a good time bad swiftly. Not remotely sorry that I never took that trip, pun intended - plus doesn't it taste like the shit it's raised in? Who puts that into their mouths on purpose? Those who seek Tree, that's who. Fair enough, keep on my tree seekers.

- DM

Zigga Zig Ahhhhh

2011-01-04T16:17:00.000-08:00

Peace out to 2010! The last of family gatherings for what best be a good chunk of months was on New Year's Day, the final of three weddings in two months.

Not to say it was a bad wedding, went on a bit but for their dime I guess the bride and groom are allowed to talk about themselves for 4 hours. I won't claim to have been completely miserable, it was nice enough but I was also fine to have mailed a card.

However, to offset the overly exaggerated ceremony of how the couple met and how the Fates smiled down with approval and foresight, at the reception was a photo booth, and a few chardonnays in, Prada and I looked at each other in silent knowing that we at some point were going to tear that shit up.

Prada was sparkling (literally wearing glitter) in anticipation. She wanted a piece of that action so badly I was willing to go with simply to see children being flung from the line, bandicoot style, spit flying and teeth bared. Or.... the other possibility was a slick slide of her ever so high heel to ankle swipe a bitch and move forward in line unnoticed. I was game, I'd have thrown a pair of prop glasses in a round of fetch with the kids ahead of us but we just cut in, needing nothing more than a "What, what you gonna do!! Back up son" stare. Photo time meant business.

If I look somewhat hostage and resisting, I am. Mostly because the seat in there was about two inches and two sets of cheeks were vying for it.

Told you she was rabid, biting my ear here, or going for the jugular ..... I'm smiling because the wine has stopped my brain from letting me know I should be defending myself.

We then, with others danced our booties off. Well, they did, I haven't a booty BUT I was the only bitch out there who ditched shoes and did the moonwalk when MJ popped off. Dancing with Prada is dangerous if you are Raggety-Ann small and mal-coordinated. i was certain she was going to fling me through a wall in one of our spins - which were sex-ay but - I'd have looked the drunk broad, and something tells me she'd have samba-ed off back into the crowd leaving me behind as "the one who fell." presuming her partner just went missing, twirling off into the crowd, fuck it, get a new one!

Zigga zig Prads, for sure we worked it with the best of em, getting wicked at a party after age 30 rocks more because no one ends up in the bathroom holding hair, been there done that - we simply just rocked the bitch.... then looted the table. Heh, that was my influence, go figure.

-DM

Lasty of 2010

2010-12-31T11:49:00.000-08:00

Last dedication of the year, not for lack of other worthy recipients, it's just the last day of the year and how 2010 rolled.

This song is for ME (selfish like that) and my brother-in-law. We've found ourselves in a very precarious life lately, something to tread lightly on and chew through our tongues until we can identify our blood type out of being properly raised and respect for the idiocy happening around us. That or the battle simply isn't fucking worth it's weight in ammunition. With any case of drama, the deep drama, the kind of drama that eventually decides how relationships go for the rest of all our lives not simple gossip but dra-mah, things become so retardedly askew and blown out of proportion that it twists into a game of telephone. He said, she said, and even if the fucking dog said - someone at the end of the day is pissed and making the decision of whether they can be pushed a little more or if they want to make the morning news.

Pride sucking is a shit fuck stain of resentment that I hate more than brussel sprouts. Yeah, that much. All I can really say to myself and my brother in law is that hopefully walking away is appreciated or at least acknowledged in time. Clever people don't like being hushed, but perhaps clever people are clever because they know when to shut up even if it results in the aforementioned stain.

So quietly, privately in my mind I will be a sparrow, a hammer, a quiet little lump of person taking up space, even if I'd love to unload my mind. I don't mind at all that a good many relatives think I'm a daft chunk of human, void, and otherwise unremarkable. It is like having a naughty secret, that when sneaks out is a curious time of "fucking stupids, I'm not a hair twirler." Not that hair twirling is to be put down, kind of fun actually.... if it's not the only thing you do in a day, baldness would ensue. Point is, sometimes not saying or doing anything isn't a weak man's path, it's the smartest route, even if perceived as not giving a shit. If one does give a shit, then it's taken as being overbearing and controlling. Which way would you like to be fucked sir, from the front or behind? No winning.

This song ultimately made the final cut because "I'd rather be a Forrest than a street" Bit abstract to readers out of my family, but ...... I'd rather be a Forrest too, as I've seen the street and it's done been driven into potholes with no intentions of funding repair.

Plus it's a happy damn song and the Russian and I had a lovely dance to it. He sang a little.

So to me, go me! To my brother in law, rockstar, I thank god you aren't a republican under such stress and a NRA club card. You're good people! We can't fix things but.... Yes we would, if we only could /she sings. Cheers.

-DM
aka Jen-Nay

Dedication 5 - Mr. Morgan

2010-12-15T17:21:00.001-08:00

Still getting around to these. I feel more tackled and pack-muled than santa with all the holiday needies. Not that anyone here is giving a jingle to reply most of the time, but it's my bitching ground and I'll use it as I see fit. For all the nose up my ass swearing that I'm too funny to go unpaid, I would think I was funny enough to be missed or visited. THAT my friends, is cosmic irony.

Not to detract from my husband's dedication. There was a time, and it was an unplanned and unrehearsed moment, that a song came on at a family event, and not this song..... but we did this VERY thing. It was noticed, enjoyed and remarked upon before we even knew we'd done a solid synchronized head bob. I've caught Mister in the hallway many times, mid-jig on my part and he's hopped right in. We just are like that I guess.

And this because it's proof the head bob is Jesus on a wheat thin of salvation.

As for my dedication to Mister, I don't particularly love this song, but I like it's sentiment. I'm thankful you have given me early Christmas gifts, including bathtub paint.... that I read to be bath body paint and had doodled myself into what caused a fit of laughter I've not ever heard from you prior. You were quite pleased with my rendition of the pyramids over my breasts and some sort of sunset scene on my face and forehead. I was too, but the package didn't say to draw on the walls. I can do that outside of bathtime.... I guess I missed the idea but it was swell. Something a five year old would love, I appreciate you understanding my craving to not be old and boring and how much I really love things that sparkle, that simple little shit is grounds for tons of possibilities. And that you know sending me off with a tube a glitter brings me glee... but also know I'm not in need of mental peeking over it, awesome.

Your fish,

- DM

I can play all day....

2010-12-12T18:36:00.000-08:00

Holiday parties. The potential for shit to go sideways, and the distinct probability of honesty falling out of mouths courtesy of drink tokens. Everything that makes for me becoming Pavlov's Dog.

Mr. Morgan wore a suit and I looked not unlike Jackie-fucking-O on his arm. All was proper. The younger chickens were already out front, smoking their angry minds out but I went in to greet the hosts, and Mr. Morgan's boss and wife, all the formalities a Jackie would do right? Of course two minutes later I joined the chickens, who were happy to have another to fold into the bitch circle. Not invited into chicken circle was the mom of that Simon eating dog. Still hasn't said sorry.

This lovely person I guess pissed off one of the main chickens, who is so damn cute I wanna poke her and see if she giggles. I bet she does. She also is balls out and young, will throw down to fisticuffs sort of girl after a few drinks. End of the night they did a white elephant thing and most people were sloshed or hoping to get there. We had a 45 minute drive home so... not us kids. I could have been, but it's an expensive restaurant and ... again Jackie factor for the boss's anyhow. Outside smoking area was fair game.

I had initially plotted to pack up the destroyed screen door for the dog eater's parents and present that as my white elephant gift, because I'm a dick like that and I don't like having to ask for reparations time and again. Just because I ask nicely doesn't mean I'm not dead serious.

Father of dog we fostered made a huge mistake of trying to fit in and approached my circle. He'd won a gift card, 25 shitty bucks and above mentioned chicken reallllly wanted it. His asshole bride said hello to no one all night and stood somewhere about ten feet back with the facial expression of Satan.

I told him to give chicken the card, in front of everyone. Went like this with that cocked asshole one brow raise I do when playing, ... chess? And knowing I was two moves from a win:

"She really wants it, and if you give it to her I'll get off your balls about replacing the screen door your dog destroyed after eating Simon"

I know that absolutely embarrassed him and pissed him off royal. Yes sir, welcome to my parlor.

"Did you think I forgot?"
"No, I know you haven't"
"Then give her card." many eye contact and I felt him trying to set my soul on fire.

I walked off. How easy can I make it? I know it seems trite perhaps, but I'm a pun? dog with a bone over this issue.

Solution -

1. Don't wait 3 days to ask if Simon is dead.
2. Fix or pay to repair my property.
3. Fork over the card. 25 bucks is about what the repair would be.

Any of the above saves me being on your ass, in public. I was done having wrecked his wedding, but two months later, saying he hadn't forgotten .. but no pay and his cunt wife still has said not a word to me and pissed off a fellow chicken. Don't make it so easy.

So, bad girl, and no he didn't give the card. Probably scared his wife would beat him if he had. It really was a great party though, that didn't damper it at all for me. I wasn't the uncomfortable person. Was the perfect opportunity to make right with people, guess they don't play a lot of dominoes.

How are your holidays coming along?

- DM

Icy Walk of Doom

2010-12-07T11:18:00.000-08:00

Instant karma for the chick who can't stop laughing. As someone who falls often enough, there is no dignity or grace to taking an unexpected dive. Merry!

- DM

Dear John

2010-12-01T18:57:00.000-08:00

I never thought I’d write a Dear John letter but today I do. A while back I mentioned a family tragedy I would eventually write about. Since the tragedy I cannot say I have kept a strict mental record, some intentional and some not simply because I am not the sort of person who keeps such a diary. It hasn’t been a reluctance to blurt my brain blathering, it’s out of been respect and timing. I am on a potential limb of direct shunnings and dirty looks for what I post here in this entry, at the end of my day I am little more than a daily muse, an artist and someone who writes things of observation. I will not apologize for any of those things. If I did it would completely contradict my person. I have republican parents, thick skinned be thy name.

So. A bit over a month ago my step father in law took his life. And not in a particularly shy fashion. Something that had I read in the news of a stranger I’d have said “damn!” but I wasn’t quite afforded that word and rather chose “oh my god!” because, it was personal. I have thought about it, pretty much every day, just as the rest of the family, going through the cycles of why, and every other thing that does no good. Some think they could have stopped it. I think – sure, that day. If it’s in ones’ mind to do such, they will. I had an Oncle who hung himself and his daughters found him, and they forever chewed into their stomachs with guilt. Many people say it’s wrong to call a suicide selfish, that the person was sick. Clearly. At the same time I disagree to an extent. (btw the way one cousin rides a pole at night and the other is a meth addict, way to go Oncle Charlie!)

We were recently provided with the last letter, five pages worth. The script admitted sorrow for those he knew were going to suffer. That’s my definition of selfish. Mentally unwell, yes, but selfish and self loathing too? To me, without question. I’d book a cruise. Tell everyone to fuck all and get myself proper. This man was not crazy, he had options. It’s something I do not understand, and in turn my reaction of sorrow is highlighted with anger sprinkles. Hearing my family and husband weep without a way to console them is … foreign.

Against the anger I am very sad and frustrated, mad... but I don't hate him. I liked the man. A good deal. Here is my simple (somewhat?) dedication. Can start the song and read, of all my dedications ever.... this one really is... mm hm, and it's kinda a hand-in-hand, need the song with the note.

Dear John,

Well. Yeah. So, there’s that huh.

I wish I’d known you more. Of all I will remember of you is being a house staple. Every holiday, every meal there you were with a camera, politely watching the family going ons. I watch people crisply, and you were always in the background, but visible, not quite smiling always but interested in being with your family yet not wanting to be the star of it. I’m not sure I saw you laugh very often, but it seemed a capability.

If I had to pluck an adjective John, I would say generous and soft. Last Christmas you gave all the children valuable coins and your eyes lit up with such pride that you had provided something that meant a great deal to you as you explained the worth and value, pointing out how each was different and that you hand selected them by the year of each child's birth. That is probably the most I ever heard you speak in one sitting.

That some of your personal coin collection is now boxed in my spare bedroom preparing to collect dust gives me more pause than I can ever express. I know how proud you were of them. It’s humbling, so I’ll just polish them lightly and scurry away.

More humbling was watching my husband put on one of your suits, your watch, your cufflinks and the tie I had bought for your Christmas gift months before to attend your memorial. You'll be glad to know he looked sharp as you always did, but the cloth weighed on him like an anvil.

I hope you don’t mind being referred to as a house staple, it’s really a compliment, much like hugging ones’ mother and smelling her perfume…. It’s always there and something one relies on, perhaps takes for granted. And then one day it isn’t there anymore. Time is so short and I am very glad that I don't feel we had unsaid words, you know I love you.

Take good care of Bruce.

Yours,

DM.

Moral of the story - don't squander! Never go to bed angry or forget to say something you later might not be able to.

(read below if need to perk up after that)

Sloppy Santa

2010-12-01T14:13:00.000-08:00

I've done it, you've done it. Only difference is this Santa lacked a wing man to announce "What are you looking at? Never seen a person with narcolepsy and seizures before?" How to disclaim the pissing, I'd have to think on the fly there.

-DM

Dedication 2 - To Simon

2010-11-19T19:41:00.000-08:00

Mr. Russian Pickle,

Size doesn't always matter to everyone baby. Love you,

Mama

Just an idea....

2010-11-18T18:08:00.000-08:00

Men, let me help you out for a second. A small favor that shouldn't have to be shared or told to you because you all have mother's, probably sisters and a rag line of past relationships that might be vastly different if you did one little thing....

SHUT UP

I know women can be just as bad, but let's take me in the last day for instance. Yesterday, after cleaning the house - and it was toilet day, cooking supper, beating the dogs or whatever else shit I toil over, my Mister thought it funny to remark:

"Ponytail huh? Something has to hold all the grease back."

Because women love to hear they look like piss. Add to that Mr. Morgan is not that great at realizing the house doesn't clean itself, the clothing doesn't dance onto hangers etc.

Later, some unmarked people came to the door at 6pm peddling security. Mr. Morgan had no problem telling them we had no security system and I audibly gulped in the hallway. Please don't tell strangers we are unarmed. I said such to him and the reply was:

"I know you like to lecture...."

Gentlemen, please stop giving your ladies ammo to hurt you as you sleep. If I liked to lecture I'd be a professor somewhere. It's common fucking sense to not lay your cards out to people, and especially not to people who have no credentials nor a brochure. Paranoid, maybe, but I side on caution, which is not anywhere close to a lecture. All that did was piss me off.

In closing. Please, chose your words and if you think they might be wrong... shut up. You can be right or you can be happy.

- DM

Dedication 2010 - Sisterfish

2010-11-15T18:55:00.001-08:00

Alas we begin my sappy tributes via music because every so often I become a mute and think it's best left to those with the talent. I begin this year's dedication with a song for my sisters. All three of them. Prada, JBomb, and Beezus, The first two are my sisters by marriage but are without question in my head sisters to my own blood.

It's been a very tough tough row for everyone, and I think this song is... just consider it. We are all trying against the damn near impossible lately and it makes me squint in a way that can only be described as "why". And there is little explanation. Pretty sure I nailed the proper song, Prada and JBomb, you two have been beyond anything expected of anyone, the stress will sort out, it has to. You'll both get it in the song, I'm not too cryptic.

As for Beezus who said to never write of her on my blog, bummer, it's what I do. I miss her many, please let's move forward, a person only gets one Ramona in a lifetime, and lord knows I can't be a Ramona without my Beezus, I am sorry if I was rough, song applies to you too Beez consider this a formal apology, with perspective as middle ground.

And JBomb, get your hippy groove on, Mr. Morgan stares at my records like they are potential serving trays.

- DM

Help... my boobs are gone and I can't get up

2010-11-14T09:31:00.000-08:00

Well, it's that time of year when everything below my belly button gets a sense of humor. Nothing below my belly button is funny to me, rather it tends to be a messy area in constant need of hygiene, grooming and telling it that it's very pretty.

So, I had my first interview in months yesterday, coupled with pelvic pain (probably a bladder infection, who knows) for weeks. Imagine smiling through the feeling of an elephant on your bladder for an hour. That is some SERIOUS faking.

I relented and started on antibiotic I keep on hand for such things, doesn't it always happen over a weekend or when on holiday? I was mad as hell about it, not just because I've been uncomfortable, in pain, and unable to sleep..... but because how much of a pill phobe I am. I read those fucking drug printouts that come with the prescription as though I was studying for final exams. And because I rarely to damn near never take anything, I'm hyper sensitive and even a small anitbiotic wipes me out and I go wonky. For extra fun the side effects of pills are sometimes worse than the actual damn illness so I get to decide which organs I prefer more, my liver and kidneys, or my urinary tract. Picky chosey, do I flip a fucking coin or what? Bah.

I've taken this medicine before, begrudgingly, but I had trusted it. Pill two (hiding in the closet as to not tout my inability to swallow medicine without gagging like a pet does) and my legs went numb. Just my inner thighs but it got my attention. It subsided later in the day so I figured, fuck it, take your normal dose.

Woke up at 3 am this morning numb city from my boobs to feet. Not to say I couldn't move, but my skin sensation was completely dulled. Not the sort of numb you get up and think you can walk off. In DM's mind, this means the numbness is creeping north to my brain to numb it too until I die.

/ poke "Baby."
/snort "What."
"I can't feel my boobs."
"Me neither." he says and rolls over while smacking sleepy lips.
"No I'm serious, totally freaking out over here."
"Well why are you feeling your boobs at 3am?"
"Because....." I started to explain that I wasn't getting myself to second base, but that I noticed during a bed flop. "That doesn't matter, I'm really scared!"

Not kidding folks, from collarbone to toes, could barely feel anything. I walked fine, or as fine as I do walk, but it was frightening and the dance of to-go or not to-go to emergency played in my head. Being a nervous sort, one really has to weigh whether it's somewhat psychosomatic, or if this time is the REAL one.

At this point it's' mostly subsided except that I cannot feel my feet. I feel like a double peg-legged pirate.

We also have a mouse - or many mice that look like the same culprit. So I'm loopy on antibiotics and now high on bleach for spraying down feces. Last thing I need when not feeling well is even the idea of Hanta popping into my brain. I'm not freaking out, annoyed would be more accurate, just want to begin feeling better, and being very impatient on why I can't have an insta cure. My only goal today is not to be hassled. That's not asking much but sure as fuck, mice poo, filthy laundry that Mister thinks washes itself, dishes, a dog who scooting because he wants his glands checked, and I'm about two minutes from screaming that I'm taking the day off! Feed yourselves, figure out where I keep the cleanser and pitch in, off duty! If my bladder or vag falls onto the floor in a gory mess of vile, it's all their greedy selfish faults lol.

- DM

Watch me burn

2010-11-08T17:21:00.000-08:00

Happy post hallow. Thanks to everyone who didn't comment on my video, I feel extra popular.

I happen to think Eminem is rocking ass hot. Not Mr. Morgan hot, but ... Clooney close. I have a hankering sweet tooth for talented men and Em brings the goods. I mention that I like Em for his work... and Clooney for .. well fuck it, it's George Fucking Clooney! I think it's safe to say that I am drawn to men who control and rock a room. Nothing is more sexy than someone who can trump my humor, or more sexy than someone I'm willing to LET trump my humor. Mr. Morgan fills that bill. We have had a dramatic loss in our family that I will find a way to make semi-light of, but for now, it's proper to take the time because to be honest - with the bullshit following, I may have more story to write and just don't know it yet. I'd like to gather my material into a tidy bunch, much like raking leaves.

All the same, poignant video. Do watch to the end, very well done.

- DM

DMorgan Hallow 2010

2010-10-28T21:01:00.000-07:00

Of note I don't say twenty-ten, and for some odd reason it annoys me. In two-thousand and ten I give you this offering and you need sound, louder the better.

I did not want to do a typical video of the front show of my house, I thought I would write you a little story. Thanks to my dogs, somewhat..... they were rewarded for being extras. Don't miss other action posts below.

- DM

Children of the Corn!

2010-10-27T14:54:00.000-07:00

After almost six months of nurturing, growing and otherwise telling my crops they were the best crops ever, I harvested. Mostly because of a freeze but also in part because I'm really tired of it. Not so much just the watering and weeding, but every day for the last six months on the other side of the fence is a zombie neighbor than paces back and forth, and forth and back...... all day. It fucked up my watering enjoyment.

I admit I planted too late, and the freeze came too soon but here are my takings, not fully grown up but I don't mind them. Ham dog..... shoo!

Yes I know them. From Left to Right........

Apple, Margaret, Pigpen, Linus, Eloise, (no idea found that one during harvest),Winifred, Sloopy, Little Ricky, Ricky, "Can't Make Me", Jorge, Alfred, Amii and Sam.

Out front are Rabbit and two others. Rabbit weighs more than I do.

Then my corn! Mr. Morgan insisted I'd grow fucked up crazy mutant corn, missing pieces and otherwise something never to be ingested. Nay. Perfect corn, just stunted again by late plant and cool temperature. Mutant this!

I'll post my video tomorrow for anyone who hasn't seen.

- DM

AvaChick

2010-10-25T18:03:00.000-07:00

Ok listen, I make my dogs dress up too... which I'll post soon, but I've never once added any chickens.

- DM

Medication Nation

2010-10-22T14:43:00.000-07:00

There is a particular time when all that you are is stripped into a gown, open in the back they tell you, and sit waiting for your annual check to make sure nothing has crawled in or is crawling out sort of adventure of your lady bits. I had the double pleasure this week of not only a hello to my ovaries but a shot in my ass which yes, today hurts in the way it generally nags when a needle is forcibly thrusted into your backside. I don't mean to imply my nurse threw the thing like a dart, in hopes of hitting her target, I mean more so that I felt my flesh having a conversation on which way to switch up for the least nerve upset.

Now comes the fun. My doc enters, cheery and in a pink shirt and tie. I appreciated that shirt without knowing why. I did however know that I like the man a good deal and have entrusted my uterus and other belongings to him for over ten years. Until he fucks up, he has my vote. He asked how I was and I said with no thought to anything "Well I suspect you'll tell me in a few minutes"

He replied with ... "ok right then". But he's not a shabby doctor so wanted to ask if I were really feeling well more or less or had concerns. He is always thorough about his patients, and not in a rushed, pissy way. I could have detained him if I wanted with a rag list of questions and he would not have left me in quandary. Pink shirt was sitting and perched all for ME at that time. And consider, this is a very well known obgyn, he is not bored and serving only my vagine, he is actually the exact thing you want from someone inspecting your bits.

"Lay back and scoot down please"

Scooted.

"Bit more."

Scoot scoot.

"Another inch please."

What the fuck you can't see it from there? Do you have little tyrannosaur arms that make you unable to reach more than 4 inches? No let's us just let me dangle my arse and genitals for a nice fine view of something I am never happy for anyone to see, especially before the sun has risen proper.

Not that mine is different from others, I just find it an odd profession to aspire towards. I shimmied lower. Ugh.

He nonchalantly did his work with bright blue gloves, and forgot who I was for a minute and said "Oh good no tumors or lumps" I reminded him that I am a hypochondriac and introducing words into my head might not be a great idea, he laughed softly. I hadn't even considered that I was full of lumps and cancer, jesus!

Checked my boobs, also lump free, so I can for a year say my girly goods are in check. As he said I could dress, he asked if I was ok in my head. He didn't use those words albeit, and I paused for a moment in wonder if I had acted out and didn't know. I am generally in the know when I behave poorly. Turns out, his nurse who I also adore and trust, snitched about my having a somewhat tear session over family problems. I didn't break down, but it's hard to be asked, and then try to lie.

I was offered brain pills. And ya know, fuck you not, each and every time I see a doctor I am offered brain meds. I simply must be doing something wonky, or they are on a monthly brain pill quota. I generally take the script, sometimes fill, sometimes don't. When I do fill I'm like a fucking hobbit, a pill hoarder if you will. I won't take the shit. I just like knowing it's there, hidden. No one except me knows the stash location. That is rather odd, to collect and never take. Maybe I'm a rainy day person, does that make me crazy? /she sings with below song

Below, for my being weird, then the hallow submission.

- DM

Potty Count!

2010-10-19T20:34:00.000-07:00

Getting closer my little ghouls. The pumpkins are refusing to ripen proper and frankly I have come to think it's a mutiny. I am unable to say why but very able to say Margaret is the one who spearheaded the bullshit tardy reluctance to bloom. I had not planned to carve any of them, as I've nurtured for many months, but that bitch is going first just for being obstinate and inciting a riot.

In other news, Simon still thinks it's funny to poop on my carpeting. Ever notice people calling carpet "carpets?" as if it's plural when talking about one room? I have come to notice these little dialect differences as I adventure through spanish. I also cringe when someone says two pairs. Isn't two pair? Pair already implies plural. Digressing. So Simon is going to see his best friend tomorrow Dr. Pulver, as in Pulverizer to those who shit inside! but he doesn't know it. Frankly, I'm going to let him think his happy ass is going to the park to roll and sausage himself in the grass. No. He's getting a finger up his ass to express glands and I am all but calling a staff meeting for all to watch him and add the humiliation factor to it. "Get the interns, let's all learn from Simon!" Teach him right to be getting old and sloppy on me.

Soooo. well why not on today's submission. I don't think it's out of line for puppets to start getting honest.

- DM

Halloween Pups

2010-10-18T11:56:00.000-07:00

I'll buy the soundtrack!

-DM

What about Steve??

2010-10-11T11:57:00.000-07:00

20 days to go! I've finished my video, will post as the time gets closer. It's good. For today I offer you this, not exactly halloween... but it kind of is because it's creepy and casualties result.

- DM

Thunderscares

2010-10-05T19:35:00.000-07:00

Holy rain much? Both of my dogs have been complete pussies, refusing to get wet - lest they melt - and one was even in the bath tub wearing a shower cap as a precaution. Wet AND cold? Hell no they said in unison. Here is today's submission.

The ending here is the most awesome.

-DM

It begins.....

2010-10-03T11:40:00.000-07:00

Well let's get this party started! The 31 days of hallow. My pumpkins are finally turning into a lovely ripe orange. What are you all doing to gear up?

- DM

The Art of Crapping Poorly

2010-09-30T20:14:00.000-07:00

Care to know what I'm sick of? Shit. Not even your run of the standard line of bullshit that comes handcuffed to being a human, I mean shit shit.

I don't have kids and have cleaned up after more bowel movements than imaginable. In my opinion, I get an instant fast past to heaven. No waiting in line, "oh.... I see.... yeah that's fair" and wave my ass right in.

For something like the last 15 years or so I've slung shit and lost myself maybe once, belly wise. Attitude wise - often. This applies to both people and animals.

There is the perpetual "swore was done shitting" then, whatcha know. more. As a tip for service.

Then the random "didn't know I shat" lie

And the blessed "I shat and I don't care, clean it." type of lovely fuck off.

Tonight was the Russian's turn to have his, known issues. To his credit he tried hard to hide it by scooting all over my carpet, not in full awareness that this was a pointed fingerprint of sorts directly leading in his direction. I found him on the bed, shivering in a ball of shame like a guilty criminal without a good lawyer and freaked. ON the bed too? Poopy on bed? get the fuck into sink.

All clean, including the aftercare of my fingernails, but really.... I'm done with poop.

Now bullshit, isn't a far leap. It smells almost as bad but has an intentional insult to season the pile. I had to hit the post office and the usual line of snotty (some literally with colds) were in attendance, pacing as though a dance song was going and some just outwardly being bullshitty. Lying, on purpose. Why? I have no clue. Awesome compilation I was able to hear this morning:

"New terrorist laws to renew the PO Box, I have to prove I have a daughter who lives with me, but she doesn't"

"I was told I didn't have to pay for this, I'm on disability."

My fav......

"I'm late getting in line." THAT wasn't bullshit. A bullshit excuse? Well it made my list.

- DM

Losing never felt so good!

2010-09-13T08:40:00.000-07:00

Kudos to Skittles for the best way ever of letting me know that I would not be receiving their $10.000 prize.

Well done Sirs.

- DM

Limpy Smurf

2010-09-09T18:23:00.000-07:00

Right fine, so I broke my foot. Kinda. mr. Morgan is screaming "you've got the gout!" in almost a far too gleeful exclamation. He wants my pain to have a proper calling. I was fine with calling it a case of stupid foot.

So it's on us, Halloween. It's been on me for the last 4 months, but you all knew that. This is my first year in the new house so I want to make a delicious impression but really have been unable to grab any theme except Rosemary's Baby, which I think is genius but a good chance it's lost on little kids, shit my own nephew doesn't know what Atari is, what chance do I have on that. He'd say Rosemary's what? When did I get so dated? Plus I'm not trying to explain to a toddler, what happened for Rosemary's baby to.... Be. Something a bit less complicated in idea is appropriate. Not as fun but ok.

All the same, the daily hallow posts are coming. Here is a teaser to get you all in the mood.

- DM

Where was my camera for peopleatwalmart.com?

2010-08-08T10:48:00.000-07:00

So this morning I went to walmart (ugh!) to exchange two items I bought yesterday. They were marked small, and I thought.... hm, I'm small and it's a spandex sort of material, it'll be fine. Nay. It was the most unforgiving fabric on the planet and mocked every inch of my faking being small. Easy exchange no biggie and Mr. Morgan was whining that he had forgotten hot sauce, a huge staple to his diet. He'd eat hot sauce on a pancake if you let him. Fair enough.

I walk up to customer service after checking in my returns and getting the next size up and I instantly see a man in front of me, either in the act of being a cunt, or preparing to be. Either way there was no question that it was kicking off. He hadn't even to my ears made a word but I smelled it. Between his twitchy body language and the look on the face of the poor clerk, I thought.... oooo entertainment.

He smelled me too I guess and swung his posture towards me, lips pursed ready to be a bitch to me for no reason short of my mere proximity. "Can you believe this store????"

I said that yes, I could.
"They have us by the balls, we HAVE to shop here because they know we don't have much money and then they ROB us."
"Probably."

I did give a lean over to see what "needful thing" he was being cheated on and it was a new release DVD, blue ray. I blinked and continued to lightly smile, forever amazed at how people feel entitled and really, only prove to the entire world that they are a certifiable jerk.

He demanded to know why the price was listed wrong and whose head was to blame. The poor clerk tried to deal with him and even me at this point .... kinda had enough of the bullshit. I told him coolly "Ya know....if it makes you feel any better, it's not HER fault personally, she doesn't even work in electronics." I said with a shrug of - mellow the fuck out dude, acting the way you are isn't moving the line.

He didn't want my advice. She told him the sign hadn't been changed overnight and refunded him - fuck you not - 2.15. I about slapped him with my bag for wasting my time on being a bullshit toddler over 2 dollars. First off, pay attention when it's being charged initially, then you don't have to come back with a piss fuck attitude. Secondly if you have rage in your heart at 8am on Sunday in a walmart..... you should have gone to church instead and worked it out with god.

Not to say I don't expect this sort of thing all the time, it's bad times for a lot of people..... but at the same time, they are a greedy, selfish product of how this country is. I love living here, am fortunate. However when things get bad throwing a temper tantrum over a cheeseburger or ....say, a stupid dvd you don't NEED makes Americans look like bratty kindergartners. And everywhere you look, entitled-gimme-because I'm owed it-cocksuckers are ready to pounce, eager to be a prick, question everything, and no matter what are told... not good enough. I felt like telling him to shut the fuck up, did he think he took a wrong turn on Rodeo Drive? This is WALMART you moron, why in the world you expect anything except what as a large group of the consensus knows ABOUT Walmart, so quit acting shocked.

The clerk waved me in with a despair of "please.... just be decent" hope on her face. Not a problem and I was out of there in less than a minute.

- DM

Sleepy Hollow

2010-07-29T19:14:00.000-07:00

Yeah so (I love anyone who starts a sentence that way, smacks of Lumberger in Office Space) last friday Mr. Morgan had friends over and the po po arrived, we (the menfolk) presumed that it was getting loud but well within ordinance hours. Laughably, the officer asked if Mr. Morgan's dad was home. Hahahahahahahahaha! Mr. Morgan said he was the owner and what was up. They asked where we were at 7am. I heard that and became interested. Mr. Morgan was off hiking but I was home. The officer asked if we heard anything odd.

"Define odd." I said.
"The sound of an animal."
"Aside from the usual morning barking, no."

This wasn't animal cops either, it was the sheriff so I asked questions. Turns out someone has been cutting the heads off of dogs in the neighborhood. I literally heard the Russian make a break for the closet. How he understood - I don't know, those crazy KGB spies don't speak English unless it pertains to their field or self being I guess. And not just heads but cutting up the bodies like chicken cutlets.

Both my smart ass mother and sister - on two totally unrelated conversations asked me if any asians lived around. Grief. I said if that were the case there would just be MISSING dogs, not cut up ones stupids. Lol.

So Mr. Morgan was walking Kylee after this and found another head. Gross. And a regular at the dog park dog found one too - gets weirder, the man buried it, then called police. Um. Does he just travel with shovel? That's a bit weird.

The owner of that head wanted it dug up for identification. Jesus christ! I'm not saying I don't love Simon and would want closure, but there are certain things you can never "un-see" (think Human Centipede) I'd prefer to think he ran away rather than sear the image of his head sans body into my brain for life.

Maybe coyote, but it seems unlikely don't you think? In any event, told all you bitches it is NEVER too early for halloween! Creepy shit.

- DM

Bubblicious

2010-07-20T12:09:00.001-07:00

Dear Mr. Bubble,

My family has been a long time customer of your product, in fact it has been a pink staple in our bathtub for many years, so much that if a store does not carry Mr. Bubble, we will seek it elsewhere before settling for a far inferior brand of bathtime goodness. We know to trust Mr. Bubble and have never felt anything but thrilled after a sub-soaked swim!

I noticed your advertisement for a t-shirt on the back of your bottle one evening, as everyone in the house were donning bubble hats that read:

I would like to implore as such a faithful Mr. Bubble consumer that you send me a t-shirt without the cost, as I've already purchased your product, and often. I would be a walking free billboard for your product, and to be honest Mr. Bubble, Disney and Calgon are ripping into your market and stealing the bubble from under you.

Regards, and I hope to hear from you strive to live up to your sloagan that "Getting clean is almost as fun as getting dirty!"

DM

Well. I waited. I knew I'd get something. I almost always get something, even if it's a cheap voucher. Frankly I like mail. I like writing letters and getting replies. I don't abuse it, I really wanted Mr. Bubble to talk to me. After all, later on the bottle it says crisply not to overuse Mr. Bubble, lest a urinary tract infection could occur. Jesus! That's not a shy disclaimer, it smacks of a threat!

So UPS came to my door, always a welcome person.... usually with tan legs looking like he was fresh off a marathon or a shampoo commercial, glimmering and shit. And I gots me:

/sounds of angels singing.

Free fucking shirt. Goofy, dumb shirt? Absolutely. Will I wear it in public? Without question. I made the people a promise and cmon, who do you know above the age of ten wearing a bubble shirt that doesn't live in .... let's just pick one, hm let's go with Alabama and has her teeth? I'm rocking that shirt and I'm not sorry! Can't be any worse than when I wear my Michael Jackson shirt.

I get looks like I touched a kid just for being in it.

All it cost me was a postage stamp. Small thrills.

- DM

Refusal to acclimate

2010-06-30T11:42:00.000-07:00

I'll never give in to facebook, myspace, twitter, tweeting or even a god damned cell phone. How boring would that be anyhow.....

10am. Counting giraffes
10:15 Paced the house
11am Had a deep and meaningful conversation with the Russian dog about space travel and worm holes.
11:30 Forgot I'd been counting the giraffes, started over.
12pm Thought about napping
1pm - Took personal offense to the amount of weed invasion in my backyard.
1:15 Wondered how cool it would be to ride a zebra.
1:30 Began a children's book about riding a zebra.
2pm Remembered the nap notion but was still busy holding disdain for those weeds.
3pm - Have decided that cigarettes burn far too quickly, and add them to my list of things to squint at hatefully.
4pm - Made note that I've done nothing but consider my chores and realize they have to be done before Mr. Morgan comes home.
4:15 - Chores done, my house is a sparkle fest!
5pm - Thought about weird shit like if my shrimp was cooked proper of if I need to make preparations for botulism. Bucket - check, lots of toilet paper - check. Telephone charged with 911 on speed dial and in a holster riding on my hip - check check.
6pm Still thinking about that zebra.

ETC! Lol I mean seriously, is that what those sites are all about? Some could say they are as usual and mundane as blogging... but I'd like to think my shit has a bit more flare and flavor. I think my time is better spent taking my spanish lessons rather than setting up a daily pattern of my life for stalkers to study.

- DM

It Lives!

2010-05-27T21:03:00.000-07:00

I am still here, tardy, but here. True conversation in the last ten minutes.....

From Mr. Morgan: "Suck any dick on the way to work today?"

"I just asked if you had cash in your wallet for gasoline, if I had sucked a dick don't you think I'd have not needed to raid your wallet?"

"No, no I guess not."

/moment later....

"Holy shit, you really ate all this chili? That was like 5 pounds of chili, are you Man vs' Food or what?"

"Well, it was the corn. "

"In what facet?"

"You made just the right amount of corns" (he calls them corns.... and in fairness they are free standing corn so plural is ok).

"I'm calling Man vs. Food, and I am so glad I don't see your shit in the morning."

"Looks just like corn on the cob." without a beat.

-DM

Ode to Billy Joe

2010-04-13T20:58:00.000-07:00

Mostly because I don't want to talk about it anymore. Did I talk about it to any of you good folks, no, but I sacked off my walls for a week or so and returned to paper, a sheet of paper I have talked to for long enough that I resent it. Not because it's wrong or sucks, but because it "is" and it starts with me first thing in the fucking morning before coffee even knows it's going to be crisped to a boiling pot of goodness.

My Heroine Series if you will, but thus far only one of them has actually done anything to deserve said title. So far I've drawn Highwayman, Ethan Frome and this wekk I gave some consideration to Ode to Billy Joe because it's always been a question mark.

Review song below and think about what YOU think it's about. Put down your work pencils (I know readers are using work time to read, that's fine and encouraged), and make a guess at an oldie.

I have read up on the speculation, it's always been a curious song to me. Clearly there was a child involved, potentially stillborn. My favorite theory is that Billy Joe didn't actually hop off, but that her father found out about his daughter's indiscretions and after they had done away with the baby, the father actually threw him off the bridge. I.e. the reason he was so nonchalant about hearing the news of Billy Joe jumping "Never had a lick of sense, pass the biscuits please....."

For the sake of letting this one go to bed and not ever listening to this song again.....

No she doesn't have a mouth. Because she's not a snitch and we just will never know. Artsy, thinky like that. Can enlarge, all my pics look like half assed attempts, it's fully shaded and impressive, the details that exist lack much like a much needed new camera. Want it? Just ask, but I would ask why before I parted with it. The song really always stuck to me.

- DM

Disturbia.

2010-04-11T18:28:00.000-07:00

I never did mention my DMV story, and why that any person can just utter the word DMV the other person listening already knows it's never going to be simply "So I renewed my license and went home." Having to visit the DMV ultimately commits everyone to some form of hassle, it's never easy. Not even at 8am, which is precisely when I arrived. On time, in line with the people who would become dear fellow hostages for the next 3 hours of our lives. Some of them were already resigned to the fact it was not going to be a prompt transactin and had begun making chit chat early. Others stood with arms crossed, also resigned, but resigned to be angry and put out. Potential scene makers if you will.

I was somewhere in between. Certainly not hoping or anticipating to act out, but on a strict time schedule and had done my proper diligence by being on time and having all my papers in order. All I was doing was renewing my drivers license. Nothing remotely special but a new law in this state has changed up things and from the time I stepped in there was one loud DMV staffer who was herself, already disgruntled with us... a pack of complete strangers who by no means wanted to be there, so chill out lady. Completely out of line sort of person that I silently bit into my lip and hoped wasn't my clerk when it was time because she was in dire need of being reminded that she was earning a wage and her piss fuck attitude affected the line. I did not get said clerk.

Got my mug shot photo and was told to "No, wait please, your face isn't acceptable."

Hm. Pardon?

"That is by far the weirdest thing ever said to me." the photo master, and I knew she meant the photo snapped crooked, but she didn't say that, she opted to say it's wasn't acceptable. Not to her, she cared nothing about me but the machine did. I understood from the start but again, knew I was there for a long time so why not entertain myself. I asked if I should avoid young children and those easily frightened. My humor was lost on her. Such a shame.

I sat down with my Beetlejuice ticket - now serving number ...... - and watched everyone gadgeting and the dull murmur of what I presume an airport waiting area to sound like. I chatted up an older man next to me, because he looked as lacking in gadget business as I was. I told him I liked his boots. I didn't, but had a sneaking suspicion that he was crazy proud of those boots. He had a story about those boots, the boots before those boots and fuck all if he didn't even have a tale about his very first pair of boots. Awesome guy, if you like boots but in fairness I started it. Who knew anyone was chomping at the bit to talk boots. / good times, nice fellow.

The chatter went to instant dead silence of "what do we do!" when a customer lost his shit and began screaming. Bald man, with a long white beard - think ZZ Top and irritated. He'd taken off his prosthetic leg and flopped it onto the clerk's counter in nothing short of a display to humble anyone who had previously been considering a freak out. No sir, this man won the prize for the day, all other unhappy people had no chance of getting his trophy.

The room goes in retrograde silent. Silence so silent that it actually went in reverse and I checked that I was still breathing. The leg man, fists balled at his sides, cheeks more impressively colored with blood than santa, had paused to get air when "Now serving G945" blasts over the silence and I looked at my ticket slow motion muttering "you've got to be fucking kidding."

I stood up, the first person to move since the man's meltdown (security was in route but meanwhile everyone was frozen, not sure what to do) and there I was, with 100 sets of eyes on me, wondering if I was part of his crazy. I held my ticket above my head and tip-toed to the clerk who without a beat said "I don't get paid enough for this." before I even sat down. I replied "I'm not getting paid at ALL for this ok, so let's get on with it."

Turns out he was being denied a handicap placard, and to prove he deserved one was the reason for the leg flopping. I found that out a week later as a patient from my office was there also and coming over to say hello to me before the man's FUCK THIS moment. Small towns, people yap so it took all but a minute before everyone was telling everyone blah blah etc. Interesting conclusion, and I did get my new license but not before having to wear my spectacles. Bah! I tried without them and in the professional conduct I'd met all morning there I was asked "What's wrong with your right eye." Not even asked, it was a statement. I had a bevy of smart ass ways to respond, but just played their game, got my shit and left, somewhat wishing I could have borrowed his peg leg and gone on a well warranted beating spree.

- DM

Status of Selfishness

2010-03-20T17:48:00.001-07:00

Pho-tog. Is that when people refer to a photo blog entry or is it what people call any jerkoff snapping photos? Ah, the art of word definition, that is the subject of this entry.

Mr. Morgan bopped up to me about a week ago proclaiming nothing short of absolute glee that his heart and very soul were on the verge of imminent destruction if he did not purchase a laptop. I said "ok." It was simple, straight forward and in no way a shrouded protest. I said ok, and meant it just as basic as intended. In some inward conversation I wasn't invited to, Mr. Morgan created a scene where "ok" meant "You are greedy, it's a rotten attribute and I'm ashamed to know you!"

I had no idea this mental battle had happened until he approached me later as though someone told him a secret and a light bulb flashed as he said "heeeey, that's fucked up! Why is she mad that I want a laptop!" Truly, I was left out of that war and felt more than blindsided by his brain advisers (fired!) because I really give less than a single fuck about his toys.

What transpired next is when I began to care.

The facts:

1. He plotted a 500 dollar purchase without any need to explain why or what or when. It wasn't like he was asking me for the go ahead anyhow, it was a statement not a "hey baby do you mind.....?"

2. I replied that since it was from tax return money, I'd like to make my own purchase.

3. Meltdown. Not mine. Yet.

He proclaimed that I crap on everything he wants to do or get, and that by mentioning my own purchase consideration I was selfish. Selfish. /beat. In what form of the word? So I thought about it.

What had I asked for? Tattoo. Not a new one. An... oil change, a tune up, if you will, for the one on my wrist that is faded and lately the old male patients at work have been comparing mine to their glory day tattoos from Vietnam. Hint much that it's time for a revamp? Big black blobbish tats that you have to ask what it used to be sort of thing.

The kicker was last week a patient saw it peeking from my sleeve and said "oh my, you have a wart" and reached forward to touch my wrist. I wasn't sure what was weirder about it, that my tattoo - the size of a silver dollar - was confused for a wart, or the fact that she went on a lean in to touch it.

So when Mr. Morgan tells me he wants to drop half a thousand dollars for a toy, which in fairness is (and WAS THEN TOO!!! OK OK OK~!!) something he needs and won't use my super-puter anymore, me asking for a hundred dollars to protect my vanity isn't a terrible hassle.

So after being told it was a selfish thing to want came the ..... are you serious? Because, um...... wow, tell me you are not serious. That is one hundred percent me questioning that I just heard something retarded.

Oh my god, you ARE serious and I'm embarrassed for you.

Don't be a non-nonsensical pain in the ass if you aren't prepared for my face to turn into nothing more than sucked in lips and giant eyes. If I look at you like you are crazy, then you've done something loopy, I'm not tricky to read.

Honestly, if he hadn't thrown such a poor brat attitude I might not have pursued getting the tats redone. My wrist has looked tardy for a long time, I'm obviously resigned to it. Telling me no, and captioning it as Selfish all but concluded it was going to happen. I don't ask for all that much, for Mr. Morgan to twist the situation in his head, it should have just stayed in there where everyone seemed to know what was going on and not flop onto my innocent lap. I almost offered him a tampax, but didn't want to fuel the fire.

I went and got it done. Before (and it's a tad blurry but pretty accurate, it's THAT old and faded):

To ahhhhhhhh........

As an extra selfish bitch maneuver, we touched up the back of my neck because why not. Terrible photo, it's a crisp and nicely lined piece and the only tat I have that I would do again. When midway in the wrist fix she asked me "did you consider having it lasered off?" I replied.... "should I?" Awkward. She only meant that I'd asserted it bothered me, and it does, did? Would I ever put a tattoo on my wrist again? Fuck no. Since it already lives here, do what we can. While I waited for my artist to set up her station a younster came in, he was 16 with his dad wanting a full forearm piece. He was turned away. They told him nothing above the neckline or below the elbow before 18 because of jobs etc. He was pissy, and I kinda understood but I also know full well that it's not bad advice. Look at me and the bullshit I endured for such a tiny nothing of a flower. I was glad they said no.

I suppose that I don't like being told no and more being labeled with an untrue quality. Not to say I lack being selfish, my god I cling to what I think is mine faster than a two year old, but in this instance it was odd to attach that to him getting a treat for himself. I still baffle a bit at how I can be selfish about something that has nothing to do with me. Generally speaking I am a good bean, I do things for people that I don't need to and almost never ask for anything in return. So when I do ask for something and that goes for anyone I know, and told no..... doesn't fly well. At least give me a good reason or I'll remind myself to also say no next time you need something that might be out of my way to do.

Mr. Morgan falls into routine like we all do, and it doesn't occur to him that I am not just Mrs. Morgan. Nay nay sir, I am the same independent person as I've ever been. Because I'm nice and ask before I do things, it's a formality for his sake, chances are I was going to do it anyhow. Would he really want me any other way? I know I wouldn't. Lucy Ricardo I am not. The antics and train wreck of a person... lol most certainly. I never apologize for being a mess but I do not want anyone to yes or no control my life. I frankly blank blink at the idea.

To close, here is an update on the bridge work. More more more to do on it, but it's ok for now. It's getting very busy over there, but it's a good reflection of how my brain rolls on any given day. I envy people who wake up without a complete itinerary in their mind.

-DM

Fryer.

2010-03-18T21:15:00.001-07:00

I once worked with a girl who turned me onto this song. Dedo:

Girl oh girl I have nothing but fond memories of bad behavior and conversations on every level each and god damned every time Bosslady was out.

You've since had a baby (he's now what.... six??? bitch, you are aging me!) and I remember your paintings sitting in a room in your house, against your ridiculous white carpet - NO SHOES! - and thinking you had a quirky way of throwing paint onto a canvas. At the time, you were very dismissive about your art... said something like "oh yeah.... those. I painted them." and wandered to another subject.

You've also since gained a dog, I think that was before the baby and again I remember feeling really bad for the dog and resenting that carpet because for all it's white bullshit.... it really consumed almost everything in the house. The poor puppy was a hostage kept in the kitchen area and I seem to recall that puppy being pissed about that situation. But it was you and you fed me magaritas and bitched about your figure, which lent me your hand me downs but seriously love, you were what a size 8 for all your height? Being the greedy receiver of goods I never corrected you and you have the most lovely hair, and figure and fuck all nice ass personality that is refreshingly hard to find.

There was also the time I went to lunch and some broads from the beauty academy got drunk at a manderin eatery and bashed up my car while I was in another shop. You blinked at my fury when I got back to the office, silently without a beat grabbed your keys and told me to get into your car. I did and subsequently watched you get all but arrested upon marching into the beauty school demanding to know which inept drunk bitch hit and ran her friends' car. Your arms and fingers were a blur of impressive fury.

You also came with me to bankrupcy court. You didn't have to. I wasn't scared or intimidated too much, I was not sure what to expect and you instinctively knew that and insisted to be my wingman of sorts should I get nervous. We giggled at the fucked people who were also in my shoes, then kinda stopped giggling because no one there was really having a great day. You didn't have to do any of those things for me, but you are just that kind of person.

I miss ya, good times... you got sauce. Even after these years, you could call me 2am and from a dead sleep I'd say "huh? Crow bar? Ok where I'm on my way." Love ya bitch. Gimme gimme....

- DM

Prada Propery.

2010-03-16T19:50:00.000-07:00

I'm getting to those dedications, promise. For today, this one goes out to Prada who as it turns out is a wonderful writer. I won't divulge the content of her work nor any tasty passages but suffice to say she will well understand and appreciate this dedication to her novel, which I have read and hope she pursues getting published. From one clever bitch to another, props baby... the book is good. It needs a bit of work, but so do my hands, face, ass and everything else on this rapidly declining body of mine... nothing is ever perfect, but I like it and more so I like to see someone not laying in waste and letting time fuck them out of serious skill. Almost everyone I know is in some way wasting something awesome about themselves that I see so very crisply in sadness. Off your asses lazy bitches, get to task on doing what you do well. No more Maury, no more "too long a day at work." I don't care if your only talent is to suck a dick proper, you go home and give the greatest head ever known and snap your fingers afterward with the full understanding that you owned that.

That said, for Prada.... I am very much giving you a nod and can't wait for the sequel. The girl has talent.

- DM

Handy

2010-03-06T20:25:00.000-08:00

Fine. I'm too stubborn to say I'm in tears. Gang, I can't do the shit anymore, I hit witch finger a few bits ago and she's gone purple. I'm seriously sick of hiding it, I want it cut off, To smile and act like shit is ok for years.... it's NOT ok, last check I had was 25K to make it reasonable, but that whatever fuck is wrong with me WILL grow back. Lovely. And lets not pretend this is the only effected place.

My middle left finger has gone bitch. This upsets me deeply because it's in sister sitting next to my wedding ring, which means a huge deal to me. Mr. Morgan went on own without me to purchase said ring configuration. The sales person insisted on a square cut. He was bothered and said no, "she is not square, I want a round." Good man because no, I am not, not ever square. Right,, below...

I don't crumple fingers, what you see is what I hide for lack of wanting to really explain shit I have no explanation for. My hands have gone to shit, and it's likely involved with other organs.... wanna ask me again to reproduce? Yea, thanks, I am not definitely NOT ok with my body and it's acting out, being quiet with a silent nod works fine. I can see I'm fucked, and am greeted with oh my god~ too often, I dont blame skiing or other silly shit, honest to a fault... it's just how I seem to grow. I think that people who notice these things, think I'm curling my fingers. I wish I were. Does it hurt? You've no fucking idea. The pain I smile past deserves me a god damned award, so yes, on an and every given day... I hurt a lot but I tend to be smiley. Why do I lie.

Often enough I bite my lips instead of crying, and it shows through my lippin' stick, but indeed... yes my hand pain is a daily scream of what the fuck! At least that's what I have named it. I'm resigned, but yes, in a great deal of daily pain and have been for the last few years. Hopefully I am a great hider of such for why? Who knows... I thinks living in a state of ongoing cripple deserves a permanent bitch fest.

Mr. Morgan is keen to my screeching, and bless, but really.... is advil going to help hands that are curling in on themselves?? He's scared and tried to forget,not hard since I rarely bring it up. He knows I can no longer navigate grated cheese or opening canned items, both of which somewhat bother me because I CAN do the shit, but without injury, likely not. So on a small level he does know I'm creeping into premature yuck.

I'm not giving up. I am simply angry . I feel I need to hide my emotions because, while not blind, Mr. Morgan would become frightened if he thought things were bad bad. Not sure how to break it... but things - charitable level - have been wrong with me since the day I came out breach born (LOVE YOU MAMA! I sorry!)

- DM

Newest work. It's good, but hard for such a simple idea. It's a bridge to fucking No-where, I haven't added that yet. Mostly because I thought it might be going somewhere, but .... why. It's doing nothing, I can't question it's purpose.... but I am going to add a note t a bottom that says TO NO WHERE. Because I can and because I have to live with it.

Right so, humor me, a self song dedication. So not to worry because worry is useless in time like these.... even your girl can find a smiley face somewhere. Fucking hard, but hell ... I dig them.

-DM

Here's and Theres and Drown a Bitch

2010-02-21T19:46:00.000-08:00

Here is a quick throw down of isolated shit to dump off so I can move onto other things, of which are many. My story backlog is reaching a level of frown that I need to de-stack piece by piece until it's a more organized library, so to speak. Keeping all the things I want to talk about wrapped in my head does nothing but clutter the pile and leave me speaking in nonsensical sentences.

That said, not that any of these photos are the "dump off" I claim, I've just wanted to share them for a while. I think they are a gorgeous peek into the charmed Morgan world.

For valentine's day, since I had nothing to offer Mr. Morgan (and I DO have something... it's just not arrived, tardy fuckers) I made the dogs do a photo shoot for Dad. Ok, for mom. Alas my appealing and well trained beasts doing their best to tell dad how much they love him........

What dis?
Oh, it's a wearable?? Okay.

And me sigh. I won't even claim to try and say that seksi was a goal. I look tired because I AM tired. Poofy, because I am poofy and too give-a-fucky to reach for makeup. The salmon robe was my valentine gift and didn't even have the tags off before I was jolting through the house in it's warmy love. So ya, I look like piss but I look like happy piss. No faking that I love you in my eyes.

But then it was Simon's Birthday!!! I don't really know for certain, but based on the fact that Leedy Beat moved out when she was roughly eleven, and he was 1 year younger.... I've fed this little spy bastard for over a decade. We've had headaches, toothaches, tears, cheers and most recently the anal glands to celebrate over our time together. He makes me very angry, more often than he should but mostly because he's gone old on me and I'm scared to fucking pieces of the demise. Who thinks like that when the kid is staring at you right? I do. I don't know how I will ... well, later for that. So I threw his ass a party. Ghetto party with yank hats? YES SIR!

Birthday Boy, scorned.

I did however give proper birthday eats. Simon likes the Ceasar soft food. Who wouldn't, it pictures a happy dog with a happy mouth and smells like things he doesn't get everyday. Simple party, but I acknowledged my WeeMan for living another year and he kinda did the same for me a few days after.

New art, new wall portion. The photo once again is fairly piss poo, but enlarge to see (hopefully) greater detail. The man is in fact drowning at the bottom, it was not planned. It happened as a facet of my temper, the temper flarer not worth my time to even give credit to. Oh, the peacock feathers are not my art, they are real and very lovely. For the feet, of course they look cartoony, I CAN draw real feet. Not as good as I draw a boob probably but... the whole thing except for the sudden drowning, is intentional. Needs stronger borders but out of sharpies. /fist shake.

Ok whew, one thing off my mental pile. Next shall come the customer service greedy consumer rant, and a few more experiences that are still entertaining me. Have you ever been front row to a complete meltdown that you had no control over nor no personal participation in, yet were held hostage to it's time-slowing breakdown of "oh my god am I gonna live? Should I laugh? Do I begin the floor bound army crawl towards the nearest exit?"

Go figure, I had one of those exact moments this last week and will be glad to share. Comment me guys, feeling a tad chilly here all by myself.

- DM

Hopscotch and Jesepe

2010-02-06T19:26:00.001-08:00

Making some progress on my room. It's slow and arduous, detailed to a retarded fault that my camera - once so cutting edge not too long ago - now takes so-so photos in comparison.

Wanna see what I've done so far? Well, first I had to paint my room, all done in about one day, roughly, since once those paint fumes really kick in the clock turns into Wonderland Time and I may have been in there for a week, sitting on the floor with a box of crayons and a catchy hum scratching from my throat.

This is my station:

It's all built in, obviously, and is messy in this photo since ... ya know.... it's MY room and I have no shame in admitting my slop. Truthfully though, I'm just done working on a piece you will see below so "tidy" is not terribly important to me until done. I am required to have that door on the right open so Super Puter can breathe. She runs heavy winded. But for all the cords required to facilitate my station properly... the former house owners set it up ingeniously, not a single visible cord if doors are closed. Except my electric blanket under there, but even there it's remote control snuggles comfortably into the drawer.

Behind the pc station:

Nice laminate flooring for the easy scoot and spin. How many raffes do you think are in each of the photos above? I had to count, I barely notice them but know they are always somewhere.

First piece I started.

Then got super happy and discovered that whiskey is funny. Who fucking knew? I went into a fit of giggles, saw a sharpie, and drew - because I needed another right? - a cartoon giraffe on the wall. A big one. With big goofy eyes and a busy mouth, next to a palm tree. Why the palm tree? Don't know, ask the smart-ass-sense-of-humor-having whiskey. I just know I threw it on the wall in less than five minutes and marched to bed.

The sketch I woke up to thinking I would be revisiting the paint fumes again:

I did not paint over the raffe, Jesepe, turned into this:

Hard to grasp scale, but his goofy ass is roughly 4 feet neck to horns (enlarge by clicky on Jes, not a crisp photo... but all I could get). Palm tree gets to stay too, lol I'll figure out something to do with it. Mr. Morgan is thrilled I'm drawing things other than ladies and that I am using color. I appreciate it as a sincere compliment but I also suppose I presumed he knew I can in fact probably draw anything I want to, and additionally, absence of color is intended in that annoying artist way, so that the viewer can color it in their own mind. God forbid anyone paint their own inner picture right? But it's fine. Color don't scare me none!

Don't skip the below entry, part two later this next week, I'm sure Monday will give me plenty of inspiration to bitch.

Last but not least, Simon caught stealing...... I couldn't slide the "you steal it, you wear it" rule for him

and yes, Kylee was giggling into a seizure since she's generally the busted offender.

- DM

ps - Give up? There are 3 giraffes in the first photo, and 4 in the second. :) Play Where's Waldo, I assure you they are there.

Customer Serv... with ICE.

2010-02-03T18:57:00.000-08:00

Ah alas the art of customer service, and I can assure that such is indeed an art. There is a hierarchy of customer service. If you are a teenager who chews gum at work and don't give a toss, it shows, and you make those of who by whatever circumstance do take their job seriously, and sometimes even feel that tingle of "go me!" for making someone smile. If being a sloppy fuck applies to you, try to do it elsewhere until school starts again. We know where you store your energy drink left-overs and know you will drink it with or without fuzz and leave it open all day for anyone to spit in. The stories.... are true. Or could be?

There is a myriad of levels to CS.

1. Retail.
2. Sales.
3. Sales and Retail.
4. Commissioned sales and retail.
5. Selling commissioned retail FOR someone to earn brownie points you'll never see who take the credit and cash for.
6. Phone sales or dealing with incoming calls.
7. Scheduling pick ups/delivery/cancellations or the neutering of your dog, for convenience, we aim to please.
8. CS requiring empathy, i.e. anything medical or dealing with bills people can't afford and lay their souls out in front of you begging that you trade a handful of magic beans for the upward silent chin jerk of "go on and get out of here, I'll figure it out and smooth shit down. Worry another day."
9. Or my job... all of the above.

Unfortunately, unless you are really good at it, and unless you are liked enough to talk your way into giving someone a pass..... the get lost for now thing won't work so don't try that at home Gum Chewers. If you lose money for your company consistently, you will be fired, but you won't care. However, if you are good at it, you can swing a pass for the customer because you know you will get a return and that person will rave about you. Career CS-ers like myself depend on that. You may get burned a time or two, but alas... in time it can be avoided by and large with nothing more than experience.

If I haven't weeded out the amateur-ants yet (and don't even get comfy grasshoppers... I have words for your selfish asses in a minute) learn on.

Preface - I don't have a title. Desk jockey perhaps. People have handed me papers and shit to do with papers and people since I was 16. I feel like I invented the stapler and made a very wrong turn at the point that it needs occasional refilling when no one seems to know what the fuck a staple even is and scatter like rats.

Ants:

1. The customer is never right. Not completely anyhow. They are often even assholes insisting they are right justto make you look an idiot and win their whiny case. You can't convince ALL assholes that it's not the end of the world, some assholes actually seek out Ants to prove that they can in fact behave like dicks and get away with it by making a scene to everyone in a block radius. For the most part however, most assholes are the result of you not running damage control on the potential scene. Cmon, you saw the asshole approach.... ready to pounce. You didn't diffuse. Your bad, take the asshole wrath. Next time, you'll remember asshole by name - and don't call the asshole his proper moniker, but stop the bitchfest before it can begin by addressing on a personal level inquiring how to help things roll better this time. I'm not saying that you shouldn't be full on acknowledging that person's presence as negative - I learn names faster than lightening by negative pain in the ass association encounters from the past. So it's not a bad idea to know your assholes intimately, but they don't need to know exactly why you are giving them special attention. Acknowledge... don't let anyone think you are ignoring them, especially if you are. Resign yourself early on, you will never please someone who wakes up shitty and intends to stay that way. I tried for almost seven years and it wasn't her back that broke. Don't bother thinking you can prove a point and that just because you may be a nice person, that the quality exists in everyone. It soooooo doesn't. Negative energy likes to spread and it's only goal is to take you with it.

2. If you suck, please quit. You drag down the day of already shitty mood-ed people who might be headed my way and I have to work twice as hard because they've already felt pissed on and I don't want misguided punishment because you hate your job and had an attitude.

Matter fact.... try this - it's epic and would earn you respect in my book. A real employee knows when their time has come.

4. Really know your craft. Once mastered, a great majority of the time you can speed things along and have a smooth transaction that will get that person to go away. Is that my ultimate goal on any given day, whether I'm on the clock or not? Unless you are George Clooney, yes. Sorry gang, but I'm quite self driven and I do tend to think on a "what will make my life easier" level, and it generally serves me well.

5. Last, and it's just interesting fact if you do it naturally - if you smile when you are talking, your voice changes. Now this won't work if you are already holding a hatchet and the police are coming because one last fucker pushed your final nerve. Add a question mark to the end of your sentences. Not excessively or you'll sound like "so... like, this one time at band camp?" and that's no good.

NOW.... Grasshopping Cocksuckers. Part two to come soon, until then try to remember your emergency is not my priority if you approach me like I'm personally responsible for not helping you before I even know what your fucking problem is. Give me a chance, decent likelihood it can be handled, like adults. If not.... well, Douche 101 will enlighten. Once again, address said freaking-out-for-a-silly-ass-reason person and let them both look and be pissed. You'll be right with them (ahem) and very interested in watching them mentally combust for the 30 seconds it takes to wait their turn.

- DM

Sunday Simon

2010-01-31T11:18:00.001-08:00

Dear (insert name of my vet tech pal),

I need your help. Something seems to be wrong with my bum and Mom and Dad are frowning at me a lot. I've always been a scooter when it bothers me, but lately I can't stop myself from licking my hindquarters constantly. I've not wounded myself from the licking but it sure smells bad and makes my fur matted while the female yorkies are turning their noses up at me.

Mom thinks my anal glands or something otherwise unpleasant is the possible culprit. She tried to do something called "expressing" them with help from the wise people Google and you tube offered but it didn't have the explosive effect and seeming relief that other critters have. She's not sur what's she's feeling but there is a hard lump in there, almost as if I need to potty but am impacted, but I'm not impacted and poop just fine - except lately I'm doing this in the house which I've not done since I was a baby 13 years ago, the change in my behavior upsets Mom and grosses out Dad.

Would a doctor help me for cheap? Mom thought a groomer would be an idea but we looked at each other and got a little nervous, decided that was too dicey. I feel ok, and behave just like I always do, except that I don't want to raise and wag my tail very much.... I'm protective of that area, but not in a mean way.

Any ideas on how I might feel better without bankrupting mom and dad? I've had my eye on a bone larger than myself for months and I'd hate to blow my entire allowance if I didn't have to.

Thank you,

Simon "The Russian Pickle" Morgan.
(translated by Kylee Theodore Morgan, she's bi-lingual and is fluent in Russian)

- ps - I'm very tiny - only about 5 pounds and shrinking with my age, so I was relieved that Mom didn't consider the internal solution and making me hurt.

-----

Next day, Mr. Pickle went to doctor with Mr. Morgan. I was on shit cleaning duty for 3 days - so he could take one for the team, of which was not appreciated. I reminded him that 6am ass detail sucked too, so bummer. Simon went in and had his glands "expressed" of which I'm told were extremely vocal and rode in on a glittering rainbow of expressiveness. Whatever came out made Mr. Morgan gag from the words of it, he wouldn't even join our boy in the room. He was told it was thick and "very bad."

The Pickle came home with a Whole New Lease on Ass!, as the commercial goes... kinda.

Got his bone, but how to eat it?

Next day he got a haircut. Me too, and I can't claim my skills are any on better on him than they are on myself, but it's free and it makes him look much younger.

All I said was "treat"

Team A bonus photo. Team B would be Simon and myself, as we are the slower two of the pack. I SO SO SO do not miss that house. Just seeing it in the background of the below photo makes me want to go wash my hands.

Someday, Maybe... with dedication start.

2010-01-03T19:02:00.000-08:00

Saying I'm going to blog soon, while actually blogging is a retarded gesture that smacks of excuses no one cares about, but I'm doing it anyway.

I have moved. I have pictures! I have holiday gossip, stories and more shit talking to usher us into 2010 than anyone could hope for!

I also have black bags under my eyes, a weary directory of work clothing that is doing nothing to help me look anything less than second hand and sloppy, and finally a very shitty schedule which requires me to daily concentrate on when I need to get up and start kicking my day around as opposed to the monkey motion of setting the same alarm for the same time every morning. Same coffee, same dogs who need to go potty as a result of drinking every last drop of water from their bowl as the Discovery Channel channel programming have informed them the water supply on Earth is low. Or poisoned. Or poisonously fucking low. Whatever it is, Kylee translates to the Russian and both get nervous, fill their bladders and become MORE nervous they have no where to empty it and begin blaming each other for jumping the gun on the water shortage scare. This means more black eye baggage and bladder catering, ultimately being a facet of my fuck it lazy attitude to post a decent update and instead belly up a promise it's coming. With fireworks and dancing girls.

Yeah, I just blamed being tardy mostly on dogs who constantly need to piss. Sue me, it's totally true, but moving was horrendous, gross, exhausting, all during the holidays where I was slotted to go from house scrub to clean fingernails in an hour every day for the last couple of weeks. I was, am?, ready to pull my finger nails out just to sleep that extra five minutes and not wonder what I got into and why it's that color around my cuticles.

Cheers, tell me about your holiday, favorite gift? A story perhaps? I'll be next doing either a photo entry of the house and it's oddities, one of my gossip column o' observations, and a dedication one since it's the new year and overdue. All in time, meanwhile, ration your water, filling up to point of bloat is not the magic key to the doom upon our doorstep. I can't say that whilst annoyingly inconvenient, there is something about the expression on the face of a dog with a pending bladder explosion that doesn't give me a smiling pause. The panic look although quickly turns to "bitch I will piss right here if we can't reach an agreement." Fair enough.

For now, I will kick off one dedication early, for BLD:

My Burning Girl will get it. Only line I don't imply is the one about "him" being untrue, but I suppose that could be interpretive, untrue could be anything from addictions to habits to just being unable to not be a fuck up. Sometimes picking a vice isn't necessarily picking. You have a good thing, or fuck if I know - maybe a comfortable thing, and patience longer than a scain of yarn. As dysfunctional as anyone else, you bet your ass.... so remember walking in that Playa "sand" and smile on the good ok. People get misguided, they change, but vintage is vintage baby and letting go is over-rated and easily recommended too often. Your DM loves you many!

- DM

Needle Beetle

2009-12-12T19:40:00.000-08:00

Feel like getting all zen and chill with your Qi? Read on! I mentioned my new job, and it's inserted weirdness on my lifestyle. No perfume, no hairspray, no deodorant, no laundry smells etc. Basically bush people sort of living. I can dig it., but you bet your ass the first thing I find in my clutches on Friday evening is my smell goods. The more obnoxious the better. Being a smoker, or an almost former one (more on that in a minute) I smell damn near nothing that doesn't walk up and slap me in the face on a personal level. I love perfume, am fascinated with lotions and one-hundred percent in love with a scented bubble bath.

Did you know formaldehyde is in hairspray? I can't say that bothered me to learn such, preserve my hair? Awesome! But no, not so awesome to those who are taking this shit seriously. My level of being entertained by facts often doesn't illicit the fear it's supposed to at this place of employment. "Right on!" is not the proper answer to toxic products.

I've become a lot more open to the voodoo magic being offered to me, for free in lieu of formal benefits but I cannot say I am on board completely. I wouldn't be a DM if I just went into shit full charge without some sort of reasoning that filtered through my version of being rational. If anything really can anyway. What I do know, is patients leave feeling hopeful, and it is ..... humbling. Lends to me stopping myself from being an impatient asshole, it's not so bad that your only wish of the day is to not hurt or somehow feel pampered and acknowledged on a very personal level. No one in my office is ever a number or just a name on the list.

Alas I am well suited for this job. I talk tea with the patients who wait, and ask if it sucks, because I drink only green tea so have no reference to what is good. My Jasmine and Detox blend is proving popular. I haven't tasted it, trusting it's ok based on lack of coughing and gagging. People who are into tea will readily tell you anything you ask about it, or direct me to the giant laughable book that sits in front of my station all day. "The History of Tea." It's seriously two inches thick. I could sum it up in a page - plant grows, it dries, it's plucked, and if soaked in water .... boom.... heaven. Gimme my book check! Tea lovers frown at such simplicity.

So. My smoking is not rolling there no matter my attempts to hide it. I concede. Pissed as pissed, pissy and pisserific as it gets but... I had to make a choice or wait another 1.5 years to find a place who likes me. The job is fine, and going on a month now there, I am seriously good at it, much to the disdain of the other girls who back up the front desk. I'm not disliked, I suspect they are simply not used to someone who can roll in and not need hand holding, without being rude of course. It's fair to toot my horn, I worked for a very demanding boss for th last 7 years, saying I am great at what I do is fair. But I'm fine to admit when I am not so great. Then blame a dog, traffic or the unsuspecting mailman. The day of the three stooges whoop whoop at my station are over. DM has officially moved in a giraffe, we mean to stay, and we mean to streamline the silly dysfunction. Alas Bosslady, I did learn much from your hard handed demands and fuck me if I don't STILL see large paperclips and shun them instantly. I pick them aside like a nasty vegetable.

Getting to my point. I allowed one of the doctors, we have two - one scares, intimidates? me, and the other is so short, small and lovely I can't not adore her. I went to short and small, asking for help with the smoking as it's been clearly put that smelling of smoke will not ensure a job for long. Two of us there smoke. Short and Small was eager to help and needled me right up. I have five .... thingies (I'm ever so technical) in each ear bone. If I get pissy I am supposed to fuck with them. I did and I made my ears bleed. So, I am to fuck with them but not so fervently. Who knew.

Here I am with my treatment:

I diagrammed for you! They sit in there until they fall out, are picked out or eaten by coyotes. Usually about a week. I don't know exactly what each does or if they are a tribe and make it a group effort. #2 is for stress. Those are VERY sore today. #5 is for the cravings. I am to tug on them when I want to smoke. I look much like Tabitha Stevens from Bewitched when she was too little to wiggle her nose and make magic. That, or I look suspicious and weird. Third possibility is that I'm giving the pitcher cryptic instructions at a ball game.

They do itch and I forget they are there so some have been plucked out from accident. I like them in there without knowing why. No one has asked what's doing with my ear bones, but I'm anxiously hoping for it as I have an arsenal of lies just laying in wait. Bees, rabid vermin .. that sort of fun story telling.

I also like just arbitrarily stating "I'm on the needle again." It suggests such a wide variety of possibilities, which none are easily replied to. Most excellent. Except in my office because the listener just says "yeah, me too." and gives the silent nod handshake of brotherhood understanding.

Is it helping me not smoke? Well, if I think it is then yes. Has a pressure point fairy fallen from the sky and made me scowl at Camel Lights? Not recently. All I can say is that the effort is interesting, and having a ten pack of needles in my ears at all times kinda makes me giggle.

I appreciate anyone who is passionate about helping people, this was not pushed on me (pun?) but smelling of smoke is not an option and it feels nice to not worry and just do my job. I've been fixing their crooked ass shit forms at home on my time because they bother me (thanks again for making me anal, Bosslady or in her terms lol persnickity) and because I'm getting free treatments. I earn my keep and look like a hero because they've had a printer for over a year not hooked up or functional. No one knew "how."

I plugged it in.

Stop by, I'll sell you something or offer you some potentially good tea?

- DM

Ho Ho Holy Shit

2009-12-09T20:12:00.000-08:00

Small update, more this weekend when I'm nice and warm, giggling on wine that wasn't from a box and feeling all .... sharey.

We close on our house in less than ten days and I look around this pile of, basically "us" I am floundering to think a move will really ever happen. Without casualties anyway.

Keep checking on me, I am alive, well and up to unconventional things. For now:

- DM

My Job

2009-12-02T17:37:00.000-08:00

Many of you email and ask how my job is, what's it like, how I'm doing and if I've embarrassed myself or pissed anyone off yet. I shall answer, and I timed it, this entry is a 7 minute investment, don't photo cruise, totally rude. I work until 7pm some days of the week and this took me over an hour to type, so suck your seven selfish minutes and read up.

______________________

So, I get to work HERE!:

DM lives behind the window above the bench. This house is un-fucking-credible. It was built in 1863 and built by a guy who housed something like 20 Chinese workers in what is now our linens room, I have no idea why. Good thing those Chinese are little fellows and pack light, it's not that big of a room.

It's also supposedly haunted, but I've not been spooked yet, too busy smiling in hopes of planting my roots.

The carpeting throughout is scarlet. The furniture is Victorian, and scarlet. Even the spiral staircase..... scarlet, with a scarlet wall lining the way up. It's amazing.

View from my station:

I'm the front kid, so I sit where all the merchandise and patient sign in things are. The holistic Chinese medicine candy store if you will. All day long while I'm chewing hatefully on nicorette I'm stared at by those books. "Fast your way to Freedom!" "The Truth About Tea" "Find Your Inner Strength" "Detox Now!" Ya know, all the sort of shit that makes someone with my habits feel like a filthy representative of a proper human. The ... molding? (Top) is about 1.5 feet long, the photo doesn't show it right and frankly I was sneaking the photos between patients as it's kinda creepy to be caught snapping away and having to explain that I planned to slam them up on the net. Oh, and that's my Christmas Cactus. I inherited it.

Another view if I peer around my station: Stuff to have! Things to get!

The staircase: (I walk VERY slow). It spirals up a good deal, and sharply there at the top.

My waiting room. Shit fuck photo, I'll get a better one during a shift when the sun isn't so crabby. In the back there... the love-seat, is actually a bay window type thing (I don't know these words) but sofa sized! I was told on interview to take seat and I bee lined straight for that sofa. I was found sitting in the best seat in the house, petting the upholstery. The room is twice as big as that. To the right we have a tea fountain, and a large bowl full of bells floating in water that ching ching lightly.

After interview, I realized I didn't like an answer to one of the questions I gave, so emailed to correct it, and ended it with "I hope I didn't get too much dust on that lovely sofa."

Brownie points for sure, but I meant it. Aesthetically it is the most awesome place to spend a day and call it work.

Right, So what we do. We are.. and when I say we I mean they, and me as a secret sinning sidekick, an acupuncture and healing arts practice. Name it, we can do it. And if not, the yoga/exotic dance/Youiganquo studio can. Heh, yes I totally made up that last one because I can barely say it let alone spell it, but it looks tricky and does exist.

Needles, and herbs and music and everything to bring calm into your life, and they hired ME! I don't know when I have ever looked remotely calm or not coming off the crack pipe. I like the job. It's not even really work, it's repetition and making people feel warm and fuzzy and attended to, instead of the typical bored, put-out expression you get when in a normal place to seek medical attention.

Now I'm not saying this alternative medicine route is Word, but it's in the water and these people are drinking it up eagerly. There is probably a lot of truth to it, the Chinese live forever after all, so placebo effect or not, it's making fuckers happy as a dog who got away with getting a free meal from the garbage without being caught. This, while I sit feeling like a guilty sneak for enjoying salt. They have a thing that spins water into a tornado to remove electrons or something. I just watch it curiously.

One of my doctor bosses asked me if I wanted help. "With what?" I asked, half offended wondering if my fly was down. "I can put seeds in your ears, for the smoking."

/hm. I told her I wasn't ready. She doesn't know, so let's just not delve into my level of resistance to everything. She looked at my with a peculiar expression. I'm not ready to show off my ugly hands, and confess that I eat things that I shouldn't - which is everything, etc. etc. We'll get to that once I've endeared myself a bit more. Nothing like flopping your fucked up soul onto the table like a slab of sorry week old meat in your first week right? Not ready, if ever.

I'm slinging herbs, treatments and my dose of DM humor all day long. And getting paid! Those are the upsides. Oddly, in one week the patients know my name. It startles me, I've done nothing so spectacular to be too memorable yet, other than beg their forgiveness for taking so long to help them as I'm learning the most archaic computer program ever created by some sack who cut every last corner to make the piece of shit be user friendly in a decent increment of time. Some of these folks are at my desk with needles in their face like Pinhead (Hellraiser)while I'm farting around blaming the computer.

My co-workers for the most part are ok. Those who aren't, I'm SO over fussing with so don't give a shit and am playing nice because when shit hits the fan I don't want it to be said it was my steaming pile. The most difficult part of the job is not smelling too much of smoke, and yes I can be found bundled in a robe and a retarded shower cap at night, and bathing so much my skin may fall off. We also are discouraged from visible sweets, strong smells - perfumes hairspray etc, pretty much anything and everything that can be found within my reach right now.

I am making some mistakes, but I am making the same ones consistently, so...... is that good to be consistent or lame to not get the picture after five times? I ran a credit card (swipe type, not hand entry like my last job) and in my mindless haste I entered a $72.00 charge and hit ENTER before my brain told my hand in slow motion "nooooooooooooo stoooooop!!!" as I'd actually entered $7,200.00. You will never see a person rip a phone cord out of a machine faster than i did. I stopped it from going through by seconds.

The only other semi-disaster was someone mad at me for not getting a receipt when they had said ten minutes earlier they didn't want one. I'm not going to try and argue with someone who has more balls than me to be digesting this routine of happy frappy living via carefully placed stabbings. She yelled at me, then went to someone else to yell about me. Fairly amusing, and not a big deal, I am simply a bit slow right now.

That is the gist of it. I could get more detailed but people get fired for writing things on the net and I did sign a confidentiality agreement, which I do surprisingly take seriously. Plus, mama gots a mortgage to pay!

Hoping things stay on the ups, if not I'm enjoying my time there even if a new environment and new people are intimidating. In closing per my title paragraph, have I embarrassed myself? Of course. Pissed anyone off? Almost instantly without trying.

- DM

Gobble.

2009-11-27T10:34:00.000-08:00

Flap a wing, Turkey day! Flap two if you feel so inclined. We had a super easy day with minimal travel to a loose environment, nothing formal and just all of Mr. Morgan's family, and there are plenty of them! All were in great spirits, food was good, even if I spent more time yapping than eating.

For fun, Prada and I decided to have a Pie Off. I'd never made a pie and I'm pretty sure she hadn't either. The opportunity for it to go completely wrong was not only palpable but probable. Our initial rules were that it was 100% homemade, then time and ya know.... reality..... decided it was reasonable to get pre-made dough. We don't need no stinkin' yeast! That's what the round "hee-hee" guy is there for.

I don't really eat pie, and didn't get a recipe. I flopped shit into a pan that I knew wouldn't make people sick, and if I were a pie fan, I would eat. Then I made it all pretty wondering how Prada was doing with her contest submission. Crushed some graham cracker crumbs on top with sprinkled sugar and basted a bit of butter to make it shiny. DM's love everything shiny.

The entries:

Mine....... I made lattice work of it and pinched the entire outer ring (all by self!) much to the chagrin of my hands, but honestly, they bitch whether I'm using them or not so it doesn't really matter. Now, in looking at this stunning work of pie perfection, you might say "and you've never made a pie?" No. But I did have one of those shitty pot holder looms as a kid which it's products were forced onto every unsuspecting family member in sight who had to lie and tell you it was JUST what they needed. That was my inspiration and training.

Prada's entry: Store bought crust, fair, within the rules ... but mine started as dough!

This entry was disqualified: Bought!

I believe I won the Pie Off, but Prada did give it a good run. Time for Shitty Santa.... muahaa!

Hope you all had a good holiday. We're nuts around here packing for our move (less than a month!) and me getting used to being employed again, no afternoon nappies. All is well, just busy!

- DM

Not Ready.

2009-11-16T18:30:00.000-08:00

Can't make me. We are packing, willingly, but it's been a crazy painful mind-bending sort of retardation that I can easily make sense of. if you think how I do about walking away from stuff. My stuff is my history, and why I need to keep it around for a rehash, I don't know, I just know it's mine and I've toted it for long enough that it will offend us both to part ways. It's like telling the stuff that it's going to be good enough for a new home. Do I personify items? Every damn day.

We haven't purchased the new home yet, but we meet with the real estate agent tomorrow. I like her, even if she is rocking a crazy porn star name. Shit maybe I shouldn't say even, it might have been the subliminal woot of why I liked her to begin with. I thought she was clever enough to hopefully handle our money but we are just in the courting phase of house ass sniffing. As first time home buyers we need to remember that WE hold the cards and not be overzealous, another very hard task for both of us. We like shit said and done within in the time it takes to watch a Lord of the Rings flick.

So in this we've dumped the stuffs. I seriously moved 10 full size black garbage bags out of my studio alone. Watch for me on the A&E channel under Hoarders. I am so fucking ashamed yet circling the bags wondering in I need something back, so it really should go sooner than later. That mentioned, here is where I am. Painting over my shit. To my step mother in law, calling my work "doodles" forever not cool and I stand by that. Artists get nutty and have even cut off their ears (one of them at least), really want to bullshit about something being a "doodle" ?? Insulting on a level where you want to pat that persons' head for having absolutely no artistic intelligence. You don't have to love something to realize that it's .... awesome for the sake of just being something you'd never seen.

I am impossible about painting over my shit. I've packed the paper works. There are a lot of hand gestures and pacing going on when most would say to just suck it and paint up. I can think of only one person who would know exactly why this is upsetting - other than I did it once and it sucked then. Art is such a crazy time piece, captured. Poetic to be erased.... but it's a story I tell in every stroke of my brush, pen or word. I can look at my walls and recall the inspiration and the emotion that formed it. Listen below: then a treat. Little nugget I never forgot, go Toad.

Here's what I'm wiping over. Yes, I'm caught singing to Hook... it's a fav and I can do it if I don't get winded from excitement.

Great. So did you all know I once painted? I did, might again eventually depending on my hands. I took a few shitty tries photographing a large piece, but yes I paint and that is acrylic, not oil. It sets in about five minutes so it isn't a "sit and contemplate" medium." Just something I found while moving shit out today.

- DM

The Subtle, if you pay attention

2009-11-14T19:08:00.000-08:00

As I've been going through junk to toss and not haul into a nice (CLEAN!) house, I've found some crazy curious items that I've twirled in my fingers with the oooooo of seeing a fake Santa and wondering if it's worth my time to take that photo. Of course it is, fake Santa knows I know, just like the found items suspect I know as well. Not a single one has had an attitude about being forgotten, but I've heard a couple of cries from those who didn't make the cut. It hurt. I collect shit like a fiend for a reason, I feel I'm being an asshole to just disregard a tenant and bounce them to the curb for no good reason. I've been bounced, it's a deflating why me moment.

My most recent find was a home burned CD called Crowded Emptiness, one of the most excellent titles Mr. Morgan has penned because it contradicts itself to a point of glee my head just dances to. What is remarkable about this CD is the progression of obvious inebriation.

It begins with jammable songs, little bit of Pepper, some Sublime, then drifts to Ben Harper and it takes an abrupt sharp turn. Someone clearly began to get high. The songs wrap into joyous "fuck the man, let's burn one!" and transgress straight into Hendrix and Joplin in a nosedive, leading to Van Morrison and before you know it, the world is an angry, depressing sweat sock from the grunty muscle guy at the gym whose over chiseled yuck are a reflection of his brain and certification that the only thing left to do on earth is to sit and think about cereal.

I laughed and gave a hearty nod to this compilation - wasn't my work - and followed the inner thinkings as a treasured timeline with the most respected entertainment. Mr. Morgan wouldn't even understand it, I saw it as though it was written on the wall. Here's a fun video of how the come down had always been for me. I don't partake, and when I did... I may well have seen shit like a rabbit chasing a carrot and frankly no one wants that sort of high bitch at the party. Buzzkill Jane becomes an instant moniker. Point being this CD is priceless is how happy it starts and ends in somber ice cream seeking.
Ever been really high but aware enough that someone else has their sight on that very ice cream your soul was camping on? Ya.

- DM

Go go gadget legs

2009-11-11T17:01:00.000-08:00

Know how you can tell a true pal? They give you gifts and manage not to tell you about it beforehand. The stuff just shows up. Saffy gifted me. Here is my open letter and update for you all to Saffy:

-----

You fucking crotch! On so many levels of being the most delightful of all fucking crotches, this ... you are. (also a GREAT indication of a true-blue friend because when else is it ever ok to greet a person or start a sentence like that? I doubt she thought a single thing of it, and maybe even got happy that her package had arrived).

I've not opened it.

I got yelled at for it. Mr. Morgan signed and flew into the houes screeching that I was warned to "stop the god damned spending!" Lol, because the box said Mary Kay and there is no difference to him from that to my Avon gig.

So it was trouble but short lived and he felt stupid. I cannot believe you spent that much on postage. We both stared at Mary's box in awe. So that's why it's not open. I'm waiting one minute for every soul sucking dollar they raped you for.

Secondly I GOT A JOB! A real one! A decent paying one working in the most lovely Victorian house in the old district of town. My god this house is ...... lol I'll have to write it out much more in detail for you and perhaps snap a few photos. It's amazing, vintage and even has a wooden spiral staircase for me to fall down from, which we know I will.

It's the holistic medicine practice, very small, very cozy and hippy-like. They do acupuncture and herbal remedies, treatment things that really is pretty fucking cool. One of the doctors herself interviewed me and I knew she liked me without know quite "why", not an uncommon thing when it comes to me I guess. But alas, the hippy folk are indeed kindreds and have welcomed me into their fold like the lost little lamb I was. DM love..... finally! She said they thought I was funny (another ABOUT TIME, I really am ya know... funny if you unclench for a second) and that they felt I would be a perfect addition to the staff. /melts, melts...... how long I've waited for someone to say something, ANYTHING nice about me.

No benefits persay, as in no normal ones. All the free yoga, acupunture and herbs I want. At first I thought what a cheapy, but that's not it at all. She truly believes in alternative healing and if she contributed to western medicine by paying me for those doctors, it would upset everything she is about. Not what my cripple hands need, but .... I applaud standing by your convictions and not being sorry for it.

That's my update and just to make a perfect day better..... the box. It's sitting there. Blinking. In neon.

I have many more things to share, but one epic at a time. For now let's do a butt wiggle dance about my getting not only a job, but one I wanted. Irony is, I had two calls for interviews by the time I came home. God thinks he's funny, and maybe to some extent he is.

Love you and thank you for mystery box.

- DM

So I waited that time period, as promised because I'm a faithful friend back at her, and it was Gary in the box! Gary has been talked about for many months, maybe encroaching on a year of the Garyish tease. He..... does stuff.

Gary is an extremely talented raffe. I think she got him cheap off the black market animal circuit, a rescue raffe! I don't normally look like the above photo, actually quite the opposite and somewhat squinty or pissy looking but throw a present at me at it's fucking Christmas for a two year old eyes lighting up sort of beam.

Awesome and great song timing, today was a long overdue and much needed day of delight.

-DM

Twitted

2009-11-03T17:25:00.000-08:00

Darline Detwitted is now following me on Twitter. I didn't know I was a tweet, or signed up to do so, but watch me closely Darline, I'm sure you exist just as much as the "supervisors" at the unemployment office, who is now encroaching on one full month of not paying me a dime. . What are they supervising? Their lunch?

So I have spent the last 3.5 weeks of my life like this:

It's my ghetto answer to the Bluetooth or whatever that alien gadget is that everyone walks around wearing because they are terribly important and can't be bothered to hold a phone. Calling unemployment for any reason, even if asking their address will take longer than walking to the IRS in person just to wait in line. I was seriously 95th caller in line this morning. Apparently I'm not the only fucked person, however the human condition requires that I feel I am definitely way up on the priority pole. Rock paper scissors me on how fucked you are by these people and I bet I win. I've heard everything from "complicated" to "messy" to interesting" about my case and all eventually boil down to the same word, FUCKED!

We literally bought another phone to have on the charger for when the original beeps it's battery death warning, or in phone terms "dude, give up." Either way, it's innovation at it's finest and frees my hands to do whatever it is that I do.

Lighter news and shitty camera, I finished the second in my heroine pieces, I really hate that paper. And I hate my camera for taking such shotty photos of a really nice, yet busy, work. It's far more detailed than below shows. Shit paper. It's paper that doesn't even allow you to crop a margin or otherwise erase anything without showing telltale snitches that you made a mistake or wanted something a bit different. To my credit, which as defeated as I feel lately , I don't make mistakes often so it's not a problem, but knowing it might be is irritating. Ah, artists......the arrogance, the narcissism. Really though, I have shit all mapped out before I do anything so, it's probably the only lie I haven't told this week. I think I have proclaimed to have starving children about 3 times in efforts to get my benefits.

Ethan Frome:

This is Ethan Frome. Anyone read it? It's not a long story, and it should have been somewhere in your syllabus or summer reading list. I'll tell you, then you can click to enlarge. Ethan Frome is a quiet sort of man, doesn't particularly like his wife and takes in a housemaid for help when the wife falls ill. Ethan and the maid fall in love that can't be, so take off one morning on a sled determined for one last ride - heading for a tree and give a fuck all to life. They do hit the tree yet end up quite alive, the wife still ailing, and the lovers mangled with severe handicaps forever. All in the same house. That's some nasty wicked fate.

I summed it up, and poorly. It's a beautiful story, very mental. Recommended reading. So in my piece we have the slope they flew down, the tree they hit, the bloody aftermath and the sadness that it all encases. I don't like to explain what my work means... but sometimes I guess you have to or it's just a weird doodle.

- DM

ps - As I've noted before, there is no such thing as a photo of me without a rafe hanging around.I counted amongst the clutter and think I caught a herd of five in the phone photo. And yes that is my I AM OK affirmation post it note hanging to the right off my monitor. I need it to stop myself from gathering and gutting kittens. Find your inner chi..... /waves a finger.

Halloween!

2009-11-01T17:45:00.000-08:00

I like him, maybe because I free-lame-style frequently. With the blinds open.

Happy Halloween. With a period, not an exclamation point because I'd sworn it off for this year until the beggars began to arrive promptly to demand loot. It was twice in one week I insisted I was right about a date and Mr. Morgan "crunched the numbers" long enough to make me insane and no longer give a flying cuntsack enough to argue. I have only lived in this town since I was nine, I had a good idea that kids would be coming, as opposed to a neighboring town, who does trick or treat on the day after. No, I had to look the asshole and start dragging out the dregs of props our quasi puppy had not eaten and throw myself into a costume from years before as I couldn't afford that expense this year. It was meager, not even photo worthy but came together in about 7 minutes.

No theme, just pretty much myself, Edmond and a lamp (yes BLD those are rocking ass lanterns, impressed and looked great perched next to the talking/moving robot of an Edmond).

That said.

I had a good amount of crying children, and actually one, two three, different occasions of scared toddlers making a straight beeline INTO my house to flee from Edmond. Oh little crickets, wrong way my precious soldiers. It was hilarious.

Now let's move to why Halloween is now becoming the most sucketh soul stealing ungrateful cauldron of steaming semen froth.

The majority of children at my door were the most shit assed, rude, acting like their parents weren't in distance of me throwing a well aimed rock for raising such brats. Ill-behaved ingrates. The first few batch of them came in packs, looked at my bowl givings and told me what they wanted. I'm sorry, say? Did you seriously just pout and say "Another bag of skittles!"

My house is not a fucking restaurant you spoiled twit, take what I give you or get nothing. I give good candies, and it doesn't come free. And they didn't just have the balls to complain, it was the whole set - balls, dick and hairy arrogance to talk shit within my ear shot. Angry and let down about free candy.

I offended one kid, but I'm not sure he knew he should have been offended and whether that should disturb me is up for debate. I asked his costume - full afro and everything else was plain hodgepodge, which is fine, lie to me, make something up. Don't go begging without a plan. He said he was dressed as Able. I told him that was a really bad idea and would lead to no good, on instinct speaking as I am prone to. Turns out his name is Abel (like ah-bell), but I'd craftishly confused him in a riddle. What are they teaching our kids? I had him pegged for the fucked brother of the pair, who knew.

Got my yearly Juggalo. No photo... he was shifty. I waved him in from a pack of about ten, my candy, my rules, he was pleased and we exchanged a knowing nod, no secret handshake, a nod will do.

Then came more and more jerkfucked little children with the occasional gem in the middle, even the little ones who didn't know trick or treat in English but tried and looked darling. Formative years, lectures on learning English later, not tonight.

I pulled it in a little early when a child approached and began to accept candy, then withdrew. Ok next.

"Are those your REAL legs?" she asked.
/tilt of head. "No I borrowed them." without a beat, because it was a really weird thing to have asked of me and I'm swift like that.
"They are really skinny."

My candy bowl became something that was sinking into the black hole of "you are so out of line." What a cuntish inappropriate line to say to a stranger. I said about as much minus the expletive, and her brother began to immediately realize there was no candy on the plate from casa de Morgan courtesy of his sister's big fucking rude mouth. I wanted to snatch her sack of goods and twirl it over my head for extra leverage before whapping her on her bottom into the street.

I'm aware. I'm white. I'm thin, don't be so god damned honest. Learn to lie like the rest of us. Especially when asking for a freebie. Talk shit later to your friends. At the end of post I've included a former photoof legs..... which YES are stringy without a doubt, but freakishly scary? Wow. I wonder if I can get out of bed in the morning or should I crawl.

Mr' Morgan's fare of Hallow was this:

Which he baked once I went to bed bitching about leg girl and who should beat the words out of her.

Sometime between this and the former photo, he broke my camera. Could it be he was shit faced? Naw, doesn't look it.......

Hope all had a festive holiday. I've sworn off children for a good while now. The sense of entitlement is on my last nerve. Gimme a cell phone, an Ipod, a PS3, Xbox. Kids need to earn things not run about like the world is an oyster. Come to my house and I'll give you either a hug or a kick in the ass.... your mood will make the choice.

Chicken 'de Freaky:

They are everything but voluptuous, but they get me around. Put 20 pounds on those to my upper torso, how would I look then? Ya.

-DM

But Swimming is Fun

2009-10-28T12:37:00.001-07:00

I told you. I totally100 percent fucking told all of you that my complete meltdown of trans-versing the Bay Bridge was valid. That piece of metal taunting shit has been on my radar since 1989 when it did this:

I have not once before nor after ever directed my husband to speed and get me off that thing. In 2007 it hadn't improved it's credentials much, a ship drove into it and made things tricky again.

As of this morning, after an extremely short "fix it" a month or so ago, it's now closed indefinitely? Maybe premature reporting.

All I can say is I knew it! I said that bastard was a deathtrap, short funded and over loaded with traffic and weight just aiming to suck me into the abyss the one time I had to cross it. I'm glad it's shut down. I spit on that bridge with determination that would probably loosen another of it's bolts, as it's so very proven stable.

"The whole Bay Bridge is slated to be replaced in 2013, said Patrick Siegman, a transportation planner at Nelson Nygaard Consulting Associates, a national transportation planning firm based in San Francisco.

The bridge is "really showing its age," he said. "It's kind of a race against time to finish the new bridge before the next quake hits."

Winds increased vibration by the rods that were fatigued and ultimately failed, he said. "It was a contributing factor, but not necessarily the only factor, and we are analyzing what the factors are right now," he said.

The factors are that the god damned thing is done and done! All the whiny bitches who were inconvenienced need to shut it, they are saying cables were not doing their job. CABLES, on a fucking bridge assholes! Can't get to work if you plummet into the bay, so seriously, take your bullshit whaaa whaa whaa the fuck home and be happy it was halted before you died trying to get to a job you hate anyhow.

- DM

Tub Lurker

2009-10-25T17:22:00.000-07:00

I'm posting this because I'm not entirely sure what the fuck I am looking at and why anyone would be so persistent about getting IN. Clearly this is not a salvageable situation, and the xray goggles have failed she who attacks the door. Call it a day, excuse the interruption to said tub lurker and go home. "Oh! Occupied? My bad." and be pavement asap.

Of possible interest, my review on Paranormal Activity - mehx3. It's beyond slow, smacks of Blair Witch lameness, and has maybe one brow raising moment - which is in the preview. It's all hype, people saying it's the most disturbing movie ever. Hm, because you paid to see it? A complete an utter stretch for grown adults to say it sent them home afraid. No stars.

- DM

A must read follow up....

2009-10-19T17:39:00.000-07:00

We all DO remember the Starkist Tuna fit I've been having no? Found a bone, returned bone. Wrote one of my letters that is funny, but at the same time serious. No response so wrote another letter letting them know I had a case of postage just waitin' to be used. I would not be forgetting that bone.

Alas.... on the eve of an extremely entertaining afternoon (more on that later) came my response. I have been whip cracking the Mister to check the mail daily for months, waiting for their reply about trying to kill me and why as a stranger, I deserved such malice.

It arrived in a pile of people demanding money but it glistened from the pack and I immediately grappled it and took off much like a prisoner with contraband, back bent forward in Igor fashion. Then, as usual DM way I circled it for an hour, wondering what was in it.... picking out the perfect song in which to open the letter. I chose something angry and overly serious just in case I needed help being unsatisfied. The Starkist, had.. come.

What oh what did they want to tell me?

They wanted to be all proper and pay me off. Ding. Here is what the letter says:

Dear Ms. DM.

Thank you for you letter about Starkist Chunk Light Tuna in Water. We're glad you took the time to contact us and appreciate the opportunity to respond.

First, please allow me to apologize (like she personally fed me a bone) for the apparent lack of response to your August 15 letter. I have checked our records and we have not ever received the August 15 letter. (maybe has a good secretary with under the rug skills, I am familiar with them, I'm in the business, it's a necessary thing at times and no boss doesn't always know).

We can understand your concern at finding a bone in Starkist Canned Tuna (really?) and appreciate your bringing this to our attention. (I feel overly appreciated!) While bones are an inherent part of fish, we take great care to remove all the bones. Each fish is individually handled (the love!) and inspected at several points during processing. Quality Control Inspectors continuously monitor the entire process to ensure that the finished product will meet our high standards, as well as those of our customers. As a result, and experience such as yours is not common. (gummy bear de ja vu or what?)

The information you provided will be helpful in our efforts to continuously improve our products and we assure you your report will be brought to the attention of our Quality Assurance Management.

Thanks again for contacting us. Our reputation is built on quality and consumer satisfaction and we apologize for not living up to your expectations in this instance. In an effort (to shut up) restore confidence in our products please accept this refund check.

Signed,

TunaChick... won't name her but it wasn't a stamped signature.

====

Several thoughts. Money! Woo! Ten bucks. Second thought, passive aggressive much to say bummer we didn't live to your expectations. Trust me, my expectations are not high, just no tuna bone.Third thought, jesus... that's one fuck of a letter. When you send me a check, a lengthy run on sentence of sorry is no longer necessary. Just don't ignore or fuck me off, simply acknowledge me and I probably go away. I am extremely entertained at the level of ass kissing from that letter.

Moral, don't extort and claim finger in your chili, but if a bone is actually found in your tuna, they might need to know. Vindicated, can rest.

- DM

Better to just give up the treat.....

2009-10-12T08:08:00.000-07:00

I'm going with a half and half of trick and treat! Go dog! Don't miss the below new entry too.

-DM

Maid Service

2009-10-10T09:43:00.000-07:00

One of the quickest ways to recognize someone who has never really cleaned something is to send them for cleaning supplies. I sent Mr. Morgan to Walmart for bleach, a mop and a broom. Quite straight forward and detailed. I noted NOT a straw broom, a GOOD mop, and.... bleach. I was not trying to trap him in a riddle.

He comes home with this shit:

Now, those of us who DO clean find this to be a cheap insult. Did he break into the janotor's closet at a local school for this? Where is the wringing bucket? Look at the yuck beneath my stove, does that mop look remotely competent to navigate under there?

Bleach. Is that what the furry pets on the label told it was? Our pets haven't "stained" for a long time. This shit is fucking useless, and it's label looks like it was used and returned.

All this turned into me being ungrateful and that Walmart had only one version of mop, and one version of broom. Really?

Am I supposed to ride that straw piece of shit on Halloween or return it all to Cinderella?

"Fine, I'll show you how to use it since it's so bad."
"Good luck."
"DM EVERYONE uses these."
"Nooooo, everyone uses fucking SWIFFER! Which I specifically asked for!"

I'm not using the shit. The broom is a fine outdoor broom. Indoors it's a joke. The mop .... jesus, I have to wring this thing every ten second and clog the drains? Who knew the fun I was missing out on. So ingrate I may be, but he can add obstinate ingrate to it because those items are lame and prehistoric.

He had to have the last word and mumble that he guessed I wanted a push broom. Good lord man, stop being so nut hurt. Ladies, you know what a normal kitchen broom should resemble, that isn't it.

- DM

Score one for the team!

2009-10-07T08:44:00.000-07:00

As mentioned, the Haribro Gold Bears were on my food shit list for being little rocks of joy for my dentist to profit from. I wrote and proclaimed they were OLD bears, not GOLD bears by any stretch of my ability to exercise my imagination. I told them I'd tried to do so, and had tried hard.

The first response was something along the lines of "Stale and hard? That's pretty weird."

I think he used the word "uncommon" which is in my opinion not a far leap from weird, so that is how I read it. The second letter after (see below for synopsis) said it was too hot and they would melt. Awesome! Soften them up! Weeks go by and having just finished bitching at Starkist, they were next to get a letter. Third letters are never going to end with a thank you. No, by letter three I feel like a bill collector who knows they are being dodged and I'm ready to start threatening to own the company and fire every last gummy bear representative. "But, but I have kids to feed!" Then you better fill your bag with those fucked up asshole bear bags on your way out and make them last! All that dictator sort of debauchery.

But they came. And two packs worth just to make extra sure I was going to accept the additional gesture and shut the fuck up. That indeed, has shut me the fuck up. Wasn't hard to vindicate my lame ass unhappiness over their product. Twice what I asked for in ACTUAL product form and not a voucher? Thumbs up Haribo, the equivelent of hush money, but these were hush bears!

Here is the laughable part. These bears were just as fucked.

"I think they are just a more hearty bear." says Mr. Morgan, chewing gumfully.
"Who ever heard of a hearty gummy bear?"
"Well, apparently..... them." /shrugs and digs for a green, his favorite.
"Now I kinda feel like a crotch, I didn't consider that consistency was intentional."
"You are a crotch."
"Then stop eating my guilt bears."
"Can't one would be lonely in my stomach without a companion."/takes off with a whole bag.

Moral my friends..... write your letters, stuff will come. And lol BLD on your comment about the tuna, no shit they probably don't know what the fuck to sort of it, OR there are so many bones being mailed in that there is a backlog.

- DM

Foody Fools

2009-10-01T18:01:00.000-07:00

I've had to get serious with these Starkist people. It is nearly impossible to ignore me, and extremely out of the question to even try if I have my mind set on something. Ask anyone, even those who don't know me give me the "it's a gnat!" stare. I simply stink of being a pain in the ass. (click on Swinfan on the right if you missed the original).

Dear Starkist,

Below is a letter I wrote to your company on August 15, 2009. I have received no response so am sending it again. The proof of bone and upc was included in the original letter, but I was keen enough to have photographed it before it’s mailing. I hope to get a response soon, as I am quite persistent and have a good deal of unused postage.

Sincerely,

-DM

I have two other birds to fry, one being a gummy bear company who is lying to me about replacing my fucked up bears, and the other is below with explanation. The bears were not mishapen, that was not my beef, they were hard as rocks and claim to come from Turkey. Well no fucking wonder they were stale. All the same, their package promised me freshness and I am a big fan of getting what I presume is the deal. I wrote, and twice they've written back giving one bullshit after another - the last being that the heat would have them melt and they don't want that to happen lest I be back to bother them again. Well it's the haunting time of year, so guess what? Boo, I'm baaaaack.

This:

pile of exorcism caught in a bowl I can't explain and am almost willing to give it a pass just to have it away and down the sink. That's chicken noodle soup. Really? When? It's fucking GREEN! Reagan projectile vomited and someone swept it into a bowl and canned it just for me. There were no chickens in that soup. Nor a single noodle. Cheated again! Vile. I know I'm picky but what the fuck, bones? stale and tooth breaking candies? green soup????? I don't think I'm being too far fetched here on my expectations. I likely won't write the green soup folks because it was scary enough to make me think they'll hex me, but I'm certainly not buying it again. /cough CAMBELL'S. Yes, I snitch.

- DM

October 2nd.

2009-10-01T16:53:00.000-07:00

Ouch.

- DM

October Time!

2009-09-30T18:17:00.000-07:00

Happy ghost and ghoul time my pretties! I will do my best to post a daily Hallow photo or video to keep you in the spirit of spook.

But be on your toes, you never never if you'll get a trick, or a treat!

- DM

A Lunch-A-Might

2009-09-28T17:39:00.000-07:00

I sat down to eat today, a thing coerced and not necessarily a planned task. Mr. Morgan does his best to find items I won't scowl at and decline, so he seeks mini portions of anything in his reach. He knows I enjoy lunchables, and brought home the most laughable product I've ever seen. Midget food! I have no idea if he was looking out for my nutrition or making a mockery of my clear hand disfigurements.

My dogs eat shit cut this size. What was I supposed to do with it? Seriously, this wasn't pulling off being a cracker sandwich on it's best day and he knows I have much trouble handling things. So do my dogs, and they are incredibly keen on when I feed myself.

Does that look like a meal? It took me more time than I'll admit just to balance that idiot square of turkey between two tiny crackers. Dare to guess how close my dogs were watching this silliness and knowing a free treat was bound to slip to the floor and happen? Giant cheese on tiny crackers with a chunk of "meat" smaller than their kibble. And what the fuck is oven roasted white turkey - cured? It's oven roasted then needed a second cycle? Don't cure my birds unless they are sick, and if they are, please do not feed them to me.

I had a fit of giggles looking at this tray while feeling as though I'd been sold scraps. Duped! Mr. Morgan took somewhat offense that I found it something to stare at with the look of a child at the circus. I am not sorry, it is THAT silly of a thing unless you have the mentioned dogpile gazing at you hopefully for a snack.

Halloween upon us guys, daily videos to come. /cackle.

- DM

Toot your horn

2009-09-25T21:51:00.000-07:00

In passing, I asked Mr. Morgan what was the first instrument I ever played. He looked at me rather oddly and asked if it mattered since all kids played something at some point. No, not anymore, so let me sound old and fucking tell a story. I wa sonly able to tell half of what I'm about to before he fled.

His answer to my question was a sincere exclamation of Violin! /beat. Really? Anyone heard me play that fucking thing? It's less than grade six, no matter my attempts. I asked if he wanted to know and he said yes because I suspect he knew I was fitting to tell it either way.

I played french horn. Not a very shy instrument and mine came in a clumsy large case weighing more than myself and had no handle. It had a string to tote it. I did not have to walk far and that fucking thing served as weaponry when I was attacked by dogs one afternoon on my way home. They came at me hoping to eat my horn or my legs, I didn't ask them and I was found swirling in circles swinging this contraption of a giant box of french horn and screaming my ass off. A do gooder pulled over and yelled at the dogs. "You get on home now!" and they scattered. THAT was all it took? Fuck. I scrambled home, in tears and never touched a french horn again.

I took up trumpet. Better weapon! And I was damn good at it. It also sat me next to a nerdy slice of delicious that in later years I'd realize was very not into ladies. He was a french horn player himself, very distant, and very interested in his spit trap. I can understand that in brass instruments.

My third year of trumpet I was given the lead role to belt out Wind Beneath My Wings. Lead trumpet??? Holy fucking shit ass of a gimme! Condition - I had to hit a high G. For the unknowing..... you have to stretch your face backwards three miles for your lips to perform that particular move. Ever seen Louis Armstrong? There ya go, he look unstressed? I had that note down flat, much to the annoyance of my family.

Concert night. Little pain in the ass flute and clarinet section acting rich and whatever obnoxious people do, chatting about how great they are and how shitty my clothes were, I don't exactly recall when middle school and high school changed, short of dates, but I went from shit to oooo HI!!!!! seemingly overnight but I never forgot being deemed as a pile. Did I get pretty or something? Piss.

So, the song started and the conductor was waving a shitty wand fiendishly, my note - feel free to listen to the song, it's not hidden, came and I faltered my fucking ass off. I didn't hit the one note I had practiced for months. And I was very, very picked on it afterward, that had I not given my trumpet back I might have hurt someone with it. It was extremely embarrassing in front of so many parents and whatevers. I do not know why but that lingers with me. In a shruggish way, but more so because I KNEW that note and just didn't pull it off. I also remember each girl who made me feel like slime and hope they are fat divorced and bankrupt. Bad Dm, but all the same. Hope that answers Misters' misconception.

- DM

Highwayman

2009-09-23T18:41:00.000-07:00

Here is my newest piece. Mr. Morgan has been giving me grief both for not drawing, and when I did, for it having no color. Sometimes I think he has not met or understood me, I lack color most of the times so the viewer can mentally create their own idea of shades. But ok, I AM capable of coloring a piece.

This piece is Highwayman. Please listen to the song of it below when viewing, it's the lore of a tragic story of a girl waiting for her love and they kill both she and him as she waited for him in the dark to come for her, light came and nothing good had happened. My take on looking on an aftermath version of a brave young woman who kills herself to alarm her lover of the danger he was returning to. That is what this fragment hope of art is about.

- DM

Ribbit, Let's Play Leap Frog

2009-09-04T20:47:00.001-07:00

It isn't early to me, but Halloween must be upon us as we had a visitor this evening. I was in the works of carefully selecting my short list of the Halloween Pack 2009 recipients... who was a good ghoul this year, that sort of business and something scurried across my path to the kitchen - and froze at about the same time I did. Me looking at it looking at me. I thought MOUSE! and began hysterically screaming, not because I'm scared of mice (I do however think they are highly infested disease carrying animals), no I was screaming because I was barefoot and while I wasn't sure exactly what it was, I knew it was not one of my dogs.

Mr. Morgan came running and I, still moronically screeching, but on a lesser pitch to my voice said "Don't move fast, I'm serious. It's... right.... there...."

Then it hopped towards the kitchen, for a bite to eat, and we both looked at each other in slow motion. A frog? Mr. Morgan said "Why is there a giant frog in our kitchen." It was not a question, it was most definitely a what the fuck moment. That I agreed with.

How did this frog get in and for the more immediate time, how do we get it out? We don't live in the boons, frogs don't just walk in and out as though it's Sunday breakfast time saying "Hey Frank, how's the family?" I won't exaggerate for the sake of it, because the wow moment really speaks for itself with no need for fluff. In the slow motion meeting of the eyes we wondered how much we'd had to drink. Did we seriously just see a frog? The sober puppy lunging forward gave us a good idea that we had not been slipped anything untoward.

Instantly I thought of having been making my Halloween packs and checked the memory rolodex.... and no, no I'd not turned any little children into frogs this week.

Yet.

That Kermit made the best wrong turn of his life by hopping into this house. There must be a white flag on our property that says "FRIENDLIES LIVE HERE" because we get a lot of stray shit, but the frog was quite a surprise as far as strays go. Little Kermit (for all Mr. Morgan's spout, it was not a huge frog but how much frog is too much when it's skittering across your bare feet).

So here we are, with this trespassing amphibian who made a dash for the dish washer. Oh silly frog, nothing good comes from under there and we caught him, defeated and clothed solidly in dirt, dust and possibly other dead frogs. I am extremely glad he was captured because nothing like running my dishes everyday knowing a frog corpse is under there.

Mr. Morgan and I are ... fucking idiots. Most people call it bleeding heart animal lovers. What were supposed to do with this Kermit? Let it get all gross and hungry just because it got lost? If that's the case, god knows I'd be in the grave many years ago lest some poor person took pity and fed me. Mr. Morgan swore it was the remains of the frogs we had before and I had to remind him that we had TURTLES, never a frog and trust me my darling husband, they did in fact finally die, this was not a descendant. Spry Frogger:

Which brought us to the retarded solution of driving the wayward frog to a pond where he could live out his life (this is late night, and less than sober). I think we both frankly felt guilty that he was so coated in dish washer grime - you can see it above if ya look - that we were forced to drive him. In a bowl, covered with a paper plate to freedom. Most people would have either made friends with Kermit, or killed him. No, we had to get retarded and return him to the wild and neither of us even questioned it, good match, even if .... still.... generally retarded. It's not like we have a kid losing it's brain over killing a frog, we just trap and release I suppose. He does the same shit to spiders, which I don't agree with. Kill them. On sight like a sniper then laugh at their leggy remains.

We do not know how Frogger got in. It is truly bizarre and speculating would just fuck with us. When the phone rang and I told caller about the frog, Mr. Morgan was mad. I had stolen his thunder. Well piss on that, I found the frog, it was half mine.

Just remember that your Labor Day weekend didn't kick off with driving down the road - still barefoot - holding a bowl of criminal frog and hoping to god it didn't get loose and have to search the car, looking more and more like drug addicts who dropped a pipe. "Honest officer, we were transporting a frog."

Click, you have the right to.....

- DM

Goodbye hello...

2009-09-03T21:46:00.000-07:00

Smartly tardy. What that means, you'll have to ask me. I've been otherwise detained of my own confinement these last few days. Writing something I've no idea how to use if ever, even if it's getting rave reviews, it's either from polite people or family.... either way none of these people are paying customers, and I'm fine with it. I know it's funny. I know it's well written and highly articulate against some that my lessor fans might think, but that is likely because they think too highly of themselves first. /tilts head and knows is right. It must be silly as hell to think you are better than everyone else, and will bite ya.

Who knew I can actually write without cussing? Me, assholes. Do you think I order a Happy Meal with a side of fucking BBQ sauce and don't fuck it up or I'm fucking coming in there? Right. If you want to read what I've written and really, it's damn good, just hit me up. No freebies to the bus throwers and shoe havers.

So, in theme with what I'm working on, it's a piece about work and lack of ... it's quite in point.

- DM

Holla to my BM Girls (and .. mmmmm boys)

2009-08-24T16:59:00.001-07:00

BLD reminded me today that the time is upon us. Burning Man has commeth. It's the only holiday I celebrate without ever having gone. I live vicariously through my delicious ladies and they never disappoint.

I hope they don't wreck The Man this year, that wasn't cool. I'm fairly glad I don't participate, not just because of the weather issues, but because I think I have an idea of Burning Man in my head that I don't want to replace with the reality of it. I'm rather fond of my perception. So .... in favor of it being time and wearing a sneaky proud grin, let's us listen to some of this and celebrate.

Tonight Light me up, before I go... If I'm causing no harm, it's shouldn't bother you.... if you don't like my fire.. then don't come around, 'cause I'm gonna burn one down.

Rock Burning Man, rock. Any festival carrying the (literal) torch of personal expression, freedom and otherwise most awesome folks on earth... I approve. Burn baby, burn.

- DM

Swimfan

2009-08-15T11:26:00.001-07:00

StarKist Co.
323 North Shore Drive, Suite 600
Pittsburgh, PA 15212

Dear Starkist,

Please find enclosed a surprising discovery from one of your Chunk Light Tuna in water. I am a fan of tuna, in fact a fan of YOUR tuna. Starkist, there was a bone in my tuna. I’ve taped it below in case there is any question that this miniature sword sharp object almost went down my throat. I was shocked! In all of my tuna eating years I’ve never come close to consuming a bone, I know this because I in fact do chew my food before I make the next move to swallow. As you can see by it’s small size – yet determined sharpness, it was easily overlooked for the first two or so bites, enveloped in the standard mayonnaise creamy fluff and wrapped in bread.

I am aware these things can happen in factory processing and am elated to be in the know about your no dolphin policy, giving me peace of mind that while I almost choked on a bone, it was not the bone of a dolphin. At the same time, not to be picky, but really…. isn’t any unwanted and unanticipated bone too much bone? Maybe less “no dolphin” advertising and just tout that you won’t be serving razor sharp objects hidden in your fish products. I think the consumers would be satisfied with that.

Starkist, I am now afraid of your tuna. It’s possible that I am forever afraid of all tuna. Your bone has spoiled my tuna enjoying feeling of safety in canned fish. I am returning this bone to you, with it’s UPC, feel free to hold it up as an example in your next quality control meeting. I appreciate your mascot Charlie smiling the wide happy grin of having just devoured a delicious tuna sandwich, but am sorry to say my face looked nothing like that upon finding my tuna bone.

In return for me giving you back your property (given I didn’t really buy that bone…. it came of it’s own accord so I don’t own it), I would like for Starkist to return my tuna money. Four cans worth as the other three have not been touched and may well have no bones, or the rest of the skeleton the first can didn’t. I just can’t bring myself to take that chance. Once you see the enclosed, I’m sure you will agree that you would not want to find that in a sandwich. I trust you will redeem yourself, you’ve been a long trusted since 1961 when as you say “Charlie swam into our hearts.” I think he swam into my meal.

Thank you,

-DM

Muh muh muh my Metrona!

2009-08-13T19:29:00.000-07:00

Mine. All fucking mine. This:

Small lump of foil officially came with a title in the mail today. I own a lump of overpriced nonsense, but it's now MY nonsense legally and I'm ecstatic.

Fuck off, I'm allowed to look dead tired, torn up and downright wrong at this point in the day. Let's us remember that no matter how I try.. and I didn't, the right side of my face is fucked from a childhood eye injury... plus I tend to always look kinda crazed and otherwise pasty weird.

Me so happy.... we finally after all this time have no car notes to pay. Ironic in a sense that the one Mr. Morgan drives was triple the amount of mine and falling apart as my metro just gives it a .... pfffffft, and rolls on in it's simplistic rattling way of getting me from A to B. Friends, I own a car! I'm 31 fucking years old and I just now own a car that wasn't made when Lincoln was in office. Fantastic. Here's to my adored metro... we all know how much in love with le Metro's I am, we understand each other woo make my motor run! I may well now name her Metrona. She's always just been "Metro" as in the replacement from the last, but has loved me just as good as the last had. We have no frills, either of us... we just bang along to the beat.

-DM

What it takes.

2009-08-12T19:36:00.000-07:00

Mr. Morgan,

We married each other in what I think was 2003, after a long trial run of what was in store for the other, but we can both be honest in that it was what can be called the "polite" phase of most relationships that mean anything. When you begin a courtship and know you don't care it's fine to let a fart fly at will or make idle complaints that are expected to escort you to a door.

Our polite phase has gone into reality and I don't mind you so much. I am actually intrigued by many of the odd things you do, with consistency. I too am consistently odd, it does not go without notice. You seem to love my eccentricities, and there are plenty, and I am forever amused watching you be amused over the most remote of things, and yet very angry over the same things. In all our differences, we are alike. You look at something and make the biggest stretch of "why" thinking and I smile ... wow I so was just going to say that.

Sometimes you don't like me. That's fine, sometimes I don't like me and even the dogs will chime in that I'm not likeable-worthy. Until a frenchfry is in my hand that is. Being latched to a person for this long and it only gets better right? is never easy. You are loud. Your opera sucks. You nag me like I'm younger than you, and you are not sorry for being so righteous. In turn, I'm chirpy, I don't listen and am never ever sorry for being so righteous. We don't really spend that much time together, we share air in the same fortress but not too much together and that seems intentional from both of us. I wonder if that's normal, or just normal for us.

For our Anniversary, I had no money so made you a Cheeto Puff Love Bug. Complete with pretzel arms and legs.

I hope you didn't eat it. It was toxic and not mean for consumption.

Your dedications are two fold.... this one from me.....

And this one, from you because really babe.... you have it pretty good as far as wives go. Am I a pain in the ass? Absolutely. Am I sorry for it? Not too many. Flip side, have I transformed into a crazy cook out of boredom, and you are often found lost in the hallway wondering how you can function without clothing and I have to point you to the right direction, which in fairness changes often. So from you to me, thanks for the song... in many ways you ARE lucky, more than you fucking know, and I am too. In the last year you have finally loosened uop enough to prance naked in front of me. Did I say finally? Like I didn't know what was under there silly rabbit. I am very happy when when you do the naked man prance, as I am also a known streaker, greeted by you with a belt of "NAKED BIRD!" It gives me great joy to see you loosen up and adapt to some of my things. Find a woman who would play a game of "mep" (muppets) over a phone line and hang up without a single english word. Mep mep mepmepmep. Back and forth for 30 seconds then click.

I love you, and I know you are wild for me and that you do appreciate me. Keep an eye on that fever.... rawr. Hard to find two people who are as keen on what the other is doing without showing it, you check on me all the time to be sweet because you know I have nerves and I check on you because you often look thirsty. Here's to another darling, end of the day... you are mine mine and I adore you for being a nut who loves a fellow nut, we play, I wouldn't trade anything for it.

- DM

Mmm.... clone.

2009-08-06T16:58:00.000-07:00

Got to wondering today.

DM WHAT do you want? Well, I answered self .... lots of things. Then I realized that with how I have almost a 24'7 feed of inner dialogue on loop... what I really want is a clone.

Which DM would be the better DM? Would MockDM be cursed to repeat my path physically and mentally or would MockDM prove that my choices are what's ultimately fucked me up and not genetics at all. Having a clone would eliminate the need for inner dialogue as I could simply talk to myself without looking nearly as crazy and intrigued with whatever is going on in my brain that people can't hear. On the other hand, what if MockDM was way better and I felt the wild impulse to become Cain and get jealous. By murdering myself would it be suicide?

These are things drugs addicts and possibly really smart people sit around thinking about. Since I'm neither, I don't know.... but if a clone salesman comes to my door, I'm buyin.

Bringing me honestly to the next annoyance, and I'm aware that I am teetering on a see-saw of irrationality and patience above and beyond what is normal for me..... but, and none of my readers are guilty of this - so this is not aimed at you. I would really like people to but the fuck out of my vagina. Permanently. As in there is no locksmith that can ever reconfigure the lock sort of situation. I know that asking me about kids and shit every... I dunno, two days since I got my first period is fairly normal conversation for people but I can't be polite for much longer about the fact that I'm not having kids. We all know I say they do not fit into our lifestyle or aspirations, and they do not, BUT and here's the big ass polite BUT that these nonthinking mother fuckers don't even take a half second to grasp. You are going to look me dead in the eyes, pretend to know me, and ask such a stupid fucking question as reproduction. Then wonder why I'm staring at you like I saw a mutant mangled zebra, squint, smile with pursed lips and walk away.

So... sticking with the clone/genetics theme...... it occurs to absolutely no one that there is zero chance in the spinning cosmos that I would ever pass on my plethora of genetic fuckedness to a little human and sit on a hope that shit skips a generation? Why would I ever consider putting anyone through the shit I have and I'm only a hair over 30, I can only guess what fun is coming. I'm not taking it personally that no one has once considered that being part of my reasoning, it's no ones' fault that I don't offer up that sort of thing at dinner parties.

Fast forward to 4:40 for the clone portion if you want (the rest is funny too tho), NSFW but very funny, and my case in point.

- DM

Fair Contestt, Step Right Up!

2009-07-31T09:41:00.000-07:00

Here is the skinny on Scarborough Fair. Props to those who gave it some thought.

This is a very old folk song that began in villages 1600-ish when it was common for street singers – bards they were called, to spin tales. The lyrics with time and travel have been altered.

This version of the song is about a soldier dying on a distant battlefield. As he passes away, he is thinking about a lady he loved but was rejected by and disappeared with no warning. Scarborough Fair was not a fair in the sense we think of, it was a gathering for merchants to trade and make their annual monies with their wares. He falls in love with a lady but knows he can never have her, it was not acceptable in those days to go courting like that, so it was more of a love affair in his mind and from a distance. She does not respond to his remote attempts. This is a jilted man who by being rejected asks her for impossible things, a shirt with no seams, acre of land, etc. He asks these things of her to justify her refusal, which again – it would not have been proper in those days to persue.

In the changing of this version of the song, the words are pointed at anti-war movement, and was adapted during Vietnam. “To fight for a cause that was long ago forgotten”. Spot on Saffy!

For the herbs….. Parsley is associated with digestion help, it eases away the bitter. Sage is for strength, Rosemary for love, faithfulness and remembrance, and Thyme for courage.

If you want to remove the political and battle portions, watch the below video, it’s gorgeous and turns it into a simple sad romance story from the gender reversal point of view. Art is interpretation after all no? Well done to those who gave it a stab.

-DM

When Ill Tempered Adults are Burgled

2009-07-26T18:51:00.000-07:00

Short of the arrival of Gummy Bears, galloping in pairs and putting on a crazy square dance... today has not been DM friendly.

I lose things all the time. I tend to think most of us do, but have you ever had a string of missing items that there is either an outbreak of gremlins or really desperate thieves? In the last few days things that belong to the house have not been returned. Most of the items I was ok with, being that when found it would be a nice surprise. Others items were much more dire..... like my FUCKING CAR KEYS! And yes I scream that because of how they came home to me.

They are not magical keys, sure they start a car and that is not without note... but they are somewhat important to me as I'm not much of a walker. I have two keys on my ring, and two keychains, it's very light and not one of those clunkers that make a person look overly important. One is what many people associate with the Nazi movement, but it''s not, and the other is an initial of my name from Disneyland courtesy of our darling Safferstein. Silly chains, but both mean a good deal to me. Mr. Morgan lost the key to our mailbox earlier this week, so I was certain the Key Monkeys were on the prowl. I went seriously tornado and tore the house apart pretty much to a rolling theme like this:

Seriously, house ripped the fuck apart, nothing was free from the freak out. Those bastard Key Monkeys were going to pay! All dogs hid from me. The Russian has taken to eating a portion of his ass with extreme fervor that I threatened a yorkie head cone so seriously he tip-toed the fuck out of my way much like someone who just saw their ex at a party and is trying to flee unseen. Where were the keys? Where could I have left them? I'm so consistent with how I enter a room, I was baffled! Desperate, I dove into our garbage can to make sure they weren't in the mix. Dumpster diving in 95 degree sun is a scent that just can't be appreciated until it's weaving into your nostrils at the pace of a conga line. The problem with losing something so simplistic, is that there are only a few things in my world I am consistent about, my keys are one of them. My crack pipe and other items may go wayward, but not my keys or my identification.

Finally admitting defeat I tried to nap again, unable to because those keys were somewhere and god dammit they were keeping me from the store that housed the cigarettes I meant to purchase. Quitting be side-fucked, I can't do it in a day and never planned to.

Mr. Morgan returned after 7 hours of golfing glee and I emerged from the bedroom, disheveled, angry, wild eyed with fists clenched and a bit of foam in the corners of my mouth. In the face of a possessed person who faked a smile and asked if he'd seen my keys this retarded man was honest.

Were it me.... I would have said I found them on the sidewalk. He went all Jesus route on me and said "I took them, I didn't think you had anywhere to be."

This is where one of those squints and lean in's with a "what the fuck" open mouth happens to people. We aren't sure we just heard something defining HUH? more in our lives.

I felt held hostage! Took my keys? Did I seem up to trouble? An insurance risk? He had some sort of reason, but remember the froth was still around my lips, coupled with a sudden language barrier that ripped the keys from his hand, hoping that a finger came off for a snack as I went in search of my nicotine.

Here is today's Raffe. Einstein - AKA LemonDrop

He's very troubled. It could be that his brains are too big in proportion to his tiny body and he just doesn't know how to make sense of it.

Don't miss the contest below.... still time.

-DM

Dedication Contest.

2009-07-22T22:02:00.000-07:00

Who wants to play? Prizes and bragging rights to the winner! I'm trying to spin up my normal dedication year, I'm frothing with the need to be creative.

Your task is to listen to Scarborough Fair and tell me what it means. Google is off limits, I've posted the lyrics below. It's tricky... so impress me. I'll know if the interpretation was snagged off the net. I may not have ever mentioned that poetry and shrouded rhetoric are very precious to me on an artistic level. Street level, just say what's on your fucking mind and get to it. God forbid anyone think deeply anymore, but I dig it. So I offer this challenge.

You don't have to be right, just tell me what YOU think they are saying. To the winner goes the spoils -

This little honey SpaFinder comes complete with 2 metal anti-stress chime balls, 3 incense leaves in Refresh fragrance, 3 incense leaves in Peace fragrance and 1 ceramic incense holder.

Want some? Come get some. Post here or email to dmorgan255@yahoo.com. Doesn't need to be an essay but if you feel thinky, have at it. The prize is worth the trouble, and the song itself won't beat your soul to give a listen. I was asked if I was 21 today and I almost took offense, then kinda smiled that the rag assed teens bopping in behind me had no clue this song, or these people even exist. Begin game!

Scarborough fair / canticle

Are you going to scarborough fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary & thyme
Remember me to one who lives there
She once was a true love of mine

Tell her to make me a cambric shirt
(on the side of a hill in the deep forest green)
Parsley, sage, rosemary & thyme
(tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground)
Without no seams nor needlework
(blankets and bedclothes a child of the mountains)
Then shell be a true love of mine
(sleeps unaware of the clarion call)

Tell her to find me an acre of land
(on the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves)
Parsely, sage, rosemary, & thyme
(washes the grave with silvery tears)
Between the salt water and the sea strand
(a soldier cleans and polishes a gun)
Then shell be a true love of mine

Tell her to reap it in a sickle of leather
(war bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions)
Parsely, sage, rosemary & thyme
(generals order their soldiers to kill)
And to gather it all in a bunch of heather
(and to fight for a cause theyve long ago forgotten)
Then shell be a true love of mine

Are you going to scarborough fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary & thyme
Remember me to one who lives there
She once was a true love of mine

- DM

Smoking, In Repose

2009-07-20T18:13:00.000-07:00

Somehow, embraceably lovely.

The smoking issue came to a massive head and it's one of those things you try not to announce because generally people expect you to fail and the guilt of "told ya so" isn't a choice item on my menu. I think everyone secretly wants you to fail, even if they never smoked simply for the reason of being a superior asshole. I'm down to about 3 a day, from a pack and a half daily. I'm making no promises to myself and have a very weird outlook on quitting that I'm not ready to talk about, but eventually will. I can say however that I'm crabby, restless, extremely over-run with anxiety, and otherwise feeling like behaving as would a two year old who is denied ice cream. I really will go into more depth in time, for now... that is why I'm distancing myself from many people. I'm a strong advocate that irrational people need to stay away from the normal public lest they embarrass themselves and end up buying a million "I was such a douche!" sorry cards. Quitting smoking is not an attractive state of person. We hate people for something as simple as they are wearing socks and violently heckle them on the streets. Oh look at you, all happy in your SOCKS! Whoopdeedoo sock wearer! The petty has yet to fail.

Tomorrow the next fucker I see buying a banana is getting hit with one. They say it's best to formulate a quitting plan, so Banana Tuesday is set to go. Bail Me Out Wednesday to follow. Thursday on is wide open.

Whilst on my perch photoed above, I saw something that in five years of living in my house I did not know was a resident. Half a bed frame. What will I do with a tiny ass brass frame? I don't know, but wanna make bets on injuries or the manner in which I plan to get it, pretty much for the sake of just getting at it. It even comes with a hanger.

This is what came with the house to "get at" stuffs. Don't mock it's seeming simple ways, NASA totally vouches for my wall ladder.

Being that I'm home alone most of the time and lost McCauley's number, this could prove to be a great problem to both myself and the dogs who are always curious for front row self destruct tickets. I may just poke it with a broom until it falls and hope for the best.

My point is, that DM's will fuck with anything.... DM's on withdrawl are unstoppable. Must be busy, must glare at strangers, must write letters to the post office that their incessant giving me coupons by the pound into my cubicle of a mailbox is wasted on a girl with no job and this is not the week to offer me a buy one get one free since I can't buy one you mean spirited smug hopefuls wishing the have nots will forgo a meal for the sake of your precious outsourced heals that break in a week anyway.

Might be time for a stick of that nasty gum, of which I'll save you the entire rant of. I can sum it up that if smoking is gross..... so is chewed up fragments of whale blubber stuck to your clothes, bare feet, glued to the countertops and if you are very lucky.... your hair survived a "new" haircut that day.

- DM

Let's Say Hi!

2009-07-16T20:37:00.001-07:00

My dedication for today is to Witch Finger. It strikes fear in children, and animals if they are bright enough to know it's evil. I've tried over time to show you all my hands and how they took a turn on the road of I hate DM enough to disfigure and make her get creative on excuses - of which there are plenty. See a kid fucking around where they know not to? Show them Witch Finger and explain that I was doing just that very thing when it happened. And a bit of a limp and the silliness tends to halt.

That is yes, full extension. Why my tendon there looks so exhausted, I don't know, it has nothing to do with this debauchery. I've had doctor's ask me to open my fingers. Dude that IS open. Like I'd be making a showcase by faking a finger bend and wasting our time. Let's just say my handshake is a cradled one, most don't notice.... or pretend. The only other choice I have is an upside down left handed shake... which is fine with me as I'm left handed and think most people ought to be. If I shook my hand I'd ask. Seriously. "What's going on there?" I've said before that fucked up people KNOW they are fucked up, pretending to not notice is just entertainment for us.

I can't wait to be invited to a cripple conference. Circus and free shit in our rooms galore! Who is going to deny a crazed invalid anything? We have the upper hand friends - no pun intended but ... heh oddly useful as I type off the cuff.

Ok... now I'm not going to bullshit and say I could do this..... but I was getting there when I got sick and my hands said that Mr. Morgan made a shit investment on my vio..

What I CAN still play is this.....

Obviously the violin part. It's not comfy, but can be done. Either way, awesome songs, both of em. And of course, I'm madly in love with old videos, how much more poignant can you get than dust in the wind?

- DM

Dedication Days Begginith.

2009-07-13T18:38:00.000-07:00

My Ount Vick is a kool kitty kat. She lives in a place I wouldn't wash my socks, but my socks aren't entirely picky. It's where she's pretty much always lived so it would be a pot calling a kettle to give her a hard time. All I know is it sounds moist, and insect-y. I was born in MO, so yeah, moist.... insect-y. I don't know entirely WHY I was born there, I think it was a facet of baby daddy and being held hostage womb style. So....

Hi Ountie V. This dedication is from an era that I didn't manage to be alive for concert age wise. I am taking a bit of a stretch in this guess, but I can see you and my mom having a ball to something not unlike this, shoulders rolling, twirling about much like I do when I hear it. Generations are not all lost on rap and being forgetful how damn groovy my elders are. Solid nod babes, I got me some groove in my heart (and not B52 style lol). Call my mom and thank her, she did good with this bean, and I happen to know that my mom could tear shit up in her time. It pleases me a great deal to know that I am her spitting image, with a lot less of the evisceration she took. She always liked you.

- DM

Gnatty Apples

2009-07-12T19:31:00.000-07:00

Talk about the lowest blow possible - take away my computee cruncher. My pc went on almost indefinite hiatus. This is when you find me in a corner rocking back and forth talking about mashed potatoes and why carrots grow the way that they do.

I've fixed most of it, but my files are still gone. Programs still gone. In time I'll get it sorted out. Not a big secret that if you want me on my knees begging to be a free maid it's my machine out of commission. I'll think about 6 years of work, photos, and what not later.... as of today I am not to that stage of therapy.

We went to a baseball game yesterday. The UNR new team. Instead of a company picnic, Mr. Morgan's workplace bought us all tickets for the game. Like I watch baseball right? /ahem. Mr. Morgan made me feel like a fucking moron for introducing myself apparently to people I've met before. In my defense - he can get fucked, by the same virus eating my machine! Between 100 employees, and forever family members/cousins/boyfriends/girlfriends/kids/ounts/oncles, I'm lucky to know my OWN name. Be glad that I'm friendly and don't point out that I'm embarrassing him, or ya know..... leaving me home is always an option. I didn't even know the name of the team. It's new I'm told, and I insist for whatever reason to call them The Apples. No reason, I know their name starts with an A and I like Apples. Mr. Morgan said "who would ever name their team Apples???"

I said.... me.

We found the gnat source. Mr. Morgan pussyfooted for two days about it so I knew the source was not my nasty habit of leaving food around. He finally bellied up the truth and it's coming from his disgusting bathroom which I cannot clean because the sink is stopped up for.... shit I dunno..... a year? I wipe it best I can but it does not drain. I can call the landlord but now isnt the the time to be a pain in the ass renter. So in his wisdom, he has ... let's say "dammed it up" with some sort of tshirt to block the infestation. I want nothing to do with it, but suspect that eventually, it's going to be my task to do just that.

-DM

DMorgan's Zoo - Literally

2009-07-05T09:59:00.000-07:00

Road trips can't really be considered fullfilling unless the unexpected strange of the world comes out to great you. In California it will find you, no need to go seeking.

At our first rest stop there were armed police men, hands leisurely on their firearm. I decided I didn't want to pee that bad. Mr. Morgan said they were transporting bad guys.

Second rest stop I thought I'd try again and maybe even get a few stratcher lottery tickets. The bathroom was busy for a long time and when it's occupant came out, his head was down and his stride was so fast he actually hit me with the door. I called him a jerk and went in, wishing to god I'd called him worse for what he'd done in there. There is no way a person didn't know that he did what I walked into. Once again, my naked ass was going no where close to this level of prestine sanitation. On the wall was a Health Mart. Interesting choice of titles. I implore you to click and enlarge.

Got your extenders - try all six in rotation!
Pandora's Box - a grab bag of sexy surprises, you'll want them ALL!
Super Studded Lubricated Condoms - Arouse her!

and finally....

I emerged gasping and frowning deeply.

"You won't believe what they've got in there."
"What?"
"Genuine Horny Goat Weed."
"What is that??"
"I don't know."
"Why not?"
"I didn't have 75 cents, but there is a picture of one goat, upright smoking a cig right at the ass of another goat."
"Sounds genuine."
______________________

Arrived!
First stop was the seals. This portly fellow was doing no tricks, no cute little back-swimmg, absolutely nothing except bobbing in the water,begging. His length to width ratio was pretty damn curious. The begging clearly is working in his favor.

Not sure why he's making that face. Probably because the Beer Cart chased him off and wasn't yet open. Maybe it's his "denied!" face.

Also don't know why I'm making THAT face. Maybe I somehow intuitively knew the Churro I'd just eaten would be making me very sorry for the next 48 hours. So we'll call that a "whatcha gonna do?" pose.

Dolphins are really hard to get a photo of, being all slippery and jumpy. Be that as it may, we could at least safely say we got some tail that day. /beat, kne-yuck, kne-yuck.

This is one of those misting machines. The snide little comment at the bottom did not go without note. I can't say I even understand it completely and don't think I paid full ticket price to be asked to think, but maybe I'm just dumb. Is the contradiction that pale people don't like things tropical? It's tropical - but even YOU in your white skin can enjoy it. Thoroughly. Huh?

Destination! We aren't sure why the little one on the right is laying down, it confused Mr. Morgan.

"I don't think giraffes can lay down."
"Of course they can, and seemingly - are. I would presume that as a giraffe, you'd have to really weigh the worth of sitting down. Probably not easy to get up and very likely not graceful."
"Think it's sick?"
"Maybe, it is kinda weird but wouldn't the zoo keepers be shuffling it from the public?"

Feedings weren't for another few hours and I was tired from the long drive, the sun and my consistant way of thinking that booze is actually a form of hydration. So no feedings this trip.

One hell of a lippy snear.

I'm still in belly and sun turmoil, but that's what taking me anywhere leads to. The people there are so unbeleivebly fucking rude, I was glad to be home. Everyone is in their own asshole world and will trample you without a second glance then give YOU a dirty look. I'm sure the heat intolerance on my part didn't help but I inwardly began to feel racist and angry. I didn't like that at all, but I was stewing over these terribly mannered flocks and began running sterotypes in my head everywhere from racial profiling, to being pissed at large people in those carts, people with kids who are out of their fucking brains - yet being pumped full of cotton candy.

Name one nasty thing and I'm sure I entertained it. I even began to hate skinny white bitches in tan jumpers who smiled for no reason and had the balls to hold up the pretzel line with no change. It's bad and time to go home when you are resorting to hating on yourself. Really though, that is why I hate California, some parts I'm sure are lovely....this place was just a free for all to promote shitty ass conduct. While I know my energy from impatience could fuel most houses for a month, I've not found myself in such a deplorable wretch cunting state that I can ever remember that I was stooping to muttering slurs at tiny children because they were wearing purple or had waffle cone on their stompy snouts. Mass crowds are not my fortay is would seem. Or that one wasn't. Exception was one man who saw me trying to take a photo of Mr. Morgan in front of the walrus statue and he said no. I said "Cmon you know you want to touch the tusk!" The man stopped, laughing and said I was right, he'd be happy to photo us. Sadly he didn't understand my camera and didn't hit the right button before wishing us a good day.

I'm back to being my normal self, a house fell on my nasty sister or something the minute we crossed back into Nevada. A lot of it was also the congestion and being knocked into so often. No touchy, and I increasingly seemed to take each careless smashing into as a personal insult. In fairness, if my clutsy fucked up ass can navigate.... so can everyone else.

Hope all had a nice 4th.

- DM