A Quarter Life Crisis

What is this life about?

Sometimes at night when I hug my pink and green blanket that was so nicely knitted for me by a friend’s girlfriend I wonder if I’ll ever have the perfectly fulfilled life of a modern day super woman: a career that pays the bills with extra to buy fierce heels and handbags as well as a comfortable home life with a sezylicious husband and 2.5 children. Granted I never understood how one has 2.5 children I mean either you have 2 or 3 but I’m sure you get what I’m saying.

During my scans of the blogger world I find myself most interested outside of folk who live stupenderful singles lives equally drawn to chiquittas who blog about family life (mostly stay at home moms). On some level I presume I want that too. It’s seems to be at polar odds with everything that comes out of my mouth but on some elemental level I want to be someone’s wife…I think.

Well at least this week that’s what I thought about. Believe it or not people I even gave serious thought to being an ahemmom! (Shuddering a little in a corner, didn’t come to a conclusion) Nope you didn’t read that last line wrong. I actually sat down and had a one-on-one with Faith and said damn it don’t you think you have something to offer the world? When I take the long walk I don’t want a headstone that reads there lays a chica who had great taste in shoes and helped every insurance carrier and self insured develop efficient and effective claim processes. That life is hollow and superficial and quite sad actually…not to mention lonely as hell!

Don’t get me wrong…I wouldn’t categorize myself as lonely. And before you run off to prescribe some type of Lexapro for me I’m not depressed….at least I don’t think so…no I’m not depressed, just pensive. And honestly if I wanted a body just for the sake of feeling another person next to me I could have my bed occupied. (That’s not me being conceited; this post isn’t about inflating my ego.) Finding a body is simple. Finding that imperfect person to suit me perfectly…quite the pill to swallow without a chaser and personally I’m a fan of chasers. Thought I had a leg up in the race considering that I know myself but knowing me isn’t enough for this test it appears.

I’ve always been a great student but for whatever reason I’m failing these classes…at least that’s how it feels.

Sadly I can’t tell you where all this is coming from. I did over the weekend run into one of my exes. He still has the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen…hazel grey pools that are easy to lose yourself in if not careful. He’s married with children now…but wasn’t with his wife at the movies. I guess this is the way of the world today. Married is the new single!

I’m noticing many a wedding bell tolled for a number of my ex tools. When dating them I knew they were of the marrying kind. Maybe on some level I wanted them to convert me. Definitely boys to bring home to mom…I never did because I knew I wasn’t in it for the long haul. Does that make me selfish?

Several posts ago I said I noticed that a lot of my exes are selfish but like attracts like right? On some level I too must have a selfish streak. It’s such an unsightly personality trait really but the first step is admitting a problem exists!

The Spaniard told me I’m cold. Granted he doesn’t really have a true say but it’s not the first time I’ve heard this from a guy.

Me: You haven’t given me a reason not to be. When I was trying with you I was wrapped in a lie. Not only that if you really knew me I’m the farthest from cold. Ask anyone who’s behind my walls.

The Spaniard: I want to be one of those people, but I guess I deserve this?

Me: As long as you realize how I treat you now is a direct reflection of everything we’ve been through we’ll be fine. Don’t expect me to run into your arms like some damn romantic comedy because you’ve tried to weasel back into my life under the guise of friendship. This ain’t the movies and I’m not stupid. I won’t be mean to you because that’s not my way.

The Spaniard: My behavior has to change I know. The divorce will be final in two months. I will do anything.

Me: Please don’t feed me lines I’m not in the mood. Look I have to go to the laundry mat.

The Spaniard: Sure…it’s almost 9…you can tell me if you’re going out…is there someone else.?

Me: Good night!

Regression…I need to stop torturing myself. In the past I would have called him an asshole and never accepted another call. I need that Faith back…where has she gone….she was a bitch though!

Side note on my way to San Francisco (lay-over) I sat next to this Cute Elderly Couple, probably in their late fifties to early sixties. During take-off I noticed Cute Elderly Wife get a little antsy. Cute Elderly Husband responded by grabbing her hands and she laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. She stayed that way until we reached cruising altitude.

Maybe married isn’t the new single!

P.S. I’m kind of glad I’m going away for business…my mind will be so taxed with client work I’ll have little if any time to devote to this quarter life crisis.

Back to what I love most-est..and that would be ranting. Oh you don’t know how much I’ve missed ranting my little head off on this here thing I call my blog. Damn that Vancouver you get the forever stank eye o_0!!!!

Anywho back to the actual meat and potato portion of the meal shall we.

And yes I know I’m way late and a dollar short of 100 bucks but can someone please please please tell me why anyone took the Heene family seriously? OK granted I am a forever cynic and don’t really take anything anyone says at face value but a six year old floating away in a homemade helium balloon…to believe this you must be smoking crack! Not to mention that at the precise time of take off the two other children just happened to be recording it…coincidence I think wife swap not!

Not only that but this family already had glorious dreams of reality stardom. And side note when did being a reality star become the business (this is slang and it means awesome carry on)? Tell me reality star wannabes what exactly are you aspiring too? Oh that’s right you want to eat disgusting things for money, pimp out your man or woman parts for money, do borderline retarded things for money…does anyone see a theme here…if not it’s the for money part! So there you have it money is truly the root of all things Lil Wayne evil!

I can’t stomach this rant much longer so I’m calling it quits.

On to dumber pastures…well not actually dumber but even more depressing and depraved. If you haven’t heard this story let me be the first to introduce it to you.

Now at times I can be a bit uncaring but this bitch, yes I called her a bitch, is psychotic and needs more than the book thrown at her. If you didn’t read the story here’s my news byte; some gutter trash whore left her two and three year old nephews alone while she and the children’s mother drove a friend home. While carting said friend home the aunt’s house became engulfed in flames. As the neighbors listened in anguish to the little babies cries for help the mom and aunt were chillaxing on the drive back. Due to the amount of smoke and size of the flames neighbors were unable to get inside the home to rescue the children. Luckily firefighters were able to get to the kids and rush them to the hospital. Unfortunately one of the innocents didn’t make it and the other is in critical condition. Upon arrival at the scene the aunt had this to say after being asked if she regretted leaving the kids alone.

No, I really don’t because if they had been there by themselves, I don’t know if the boys set the house on fire or somebody threw something in there to set it on fire. I really need to get in there to see if my purse burned up. I had my Food Stamp Card and everything in there.

I couldn’t make this up if I tried. Need I really say more…OK I will. Is she kidding me? Now I get that some folks don’t actually process tragedy that well and maybe she was in a massive state of denial but WTF!!!!! Fits of uncontrollable tears and cries of pain I get but this I can’t understand on any level.

No seriously her food stamp card!!!!

On soooo many levels right now I want to inject her with a syringe full of hot battery acid. One of her nephews burned to death and the other is tapping on death’s door due to some janky behavior from both herself and the kid’s mom and this dirty hooker is worried about a damn food stamp card.

Priorities!

Can someone tell me why she wasn’t arrested at the scene of the crime?

OK giving myself a chill pill. I have one more item of contention folks and this is more of a personal pet peeve and a question than a rant rant. Do you like hairy men? I have all types of issues with hairy men. I think this stems from being picked up by a hairy dude as a child and accusing him of being a bear…it was hella scary. Anyway there’s nothing wrong with a little trim (ha ha that was hilarious and dirty all at the same time) gents. It doesn’t make you less manly to manscape. No one wants to rub against a burka. And not for nothing hair traps odors…ugh ugh and double ugh!

And that is all.

Traveling to Vancouver every week is getting to be a bit much. Any semblance of a personal life has pretty much been wiped clean. Not that there has been much going on around those parts lately. But I prefer feeling my options are wide open not closed tight due to work obligations.

In any event while in Vancouver you’ll never guess who dialed my number or better yet sent a random feeler text my way….OK I know all three of you are in utter suspense….The Spaniard. Now now before going ape shit on me let me at least explain myself.

There’s been a little bit of a time gap (the anger boiled down to nil) since my last encounter with The Spaniard. And rightly so given the state of our disjointed union (something about finding out your quasi boyfriend having a wife can do that, go figure) but I presume he got an itch. For that I can’t really blame him. Side note: Someone needs to hold me back from myself because at the end of the day I’m truly at fault for entertaining his nonsense.

What is my weird fascination/obsession with this man?

My first mind said Faith don’t respond. Normally the first mind wins these conversations but the second mind said I wonder what excuse/lie/story he will tell in an attempt at mending the broken fence. Second mind continued talking and said you’re bored and in Vancouver with nothing but work to keep you company why not just see where this goes you have nothing to lose. With that guiding assumption, I bit the apple.

So after trivial I’m fine what are you doing these days how’s the family type of convo I basically started laughing. The Spaniard obviously didn’t see the humor surrounding the situation. I told him that I found it utterly hysterical that he could actually call me and talk to me as if yesterday we were bussing it up BFF style. As if nothing shy of two months ago I hadn’t learned, pretty assbackwardsly, that he is in fact married.

Silence….it was so quiet on the other side of the telephone I could hear hair growing. After a minute of nothing I said something like did I lose you in the titillating conversation friend! Fumbling with the precision of a teenage boy unfastening his first bra he began to ramble I’m sorry and how his marriage dissolved years ago but he needed to maintain that status in order to become a citizen. He has pretty limited dealings with his wife and they are in the process of getting a divorce. For all it’s worth this might actually be the truth. Ha ha I had to laugh at the ridonkulousness of that last line myself. It still doesn’t really explain why he lied from the beginning but I didn’t have the energy to play 1000 questions.

After providing that half ass story, blabbing about how he can’t imagine being with anyone else and he would do every and anything he needed for me to take him back he proceeded to explain how he’d been by my apartment a few times in the past month hoping to “accidently” run into me. I mentioned that seemed a bit stalkerish. He just laughed…OK I wasn’t joking though.

By the conclusion of a very long emotionally taxing conversation he asked two still up in the air questions…do I still care about him….could I consider being just friends?

These are interesting queries even in their own simplicity.

Do I still care about him…on some level I guess I still do care even though what and how everything happened made me extremely mad. Over the last month, I’ve moved past my anger yet underneath it lay the pieces of something. Defining that something isn’t as easy given the history of events. Not to mention regardless of his level of contact he is still in fact married. Married men, do not pass go do not collect $200, point blank period….right?

Are there shades of gray here…legally separated…no no do not pass go do not collect $200!!

Could I consider being just friends….not sure if that’s even feasible. It’s hard for me to imagine us chilaxing over old episodes of Law & Order without some tension. In general it would be rather difficult not to slip into old patterns of behavior with him based on our prior relationship. It’s only natural hence so many folk causally sexing their exes, don’t act like I’m the only one!

Sometimes it does just happen!

Not to mention my male friends are all up and between my dating life and I’m all up and between theirs with reckless abandon…this wouldn’t be an option given his admitted “feelings for me.” I won’t pretend I would want to hear his sloppy vagina conquests any more than he would want to hear about casual hook ups and bad dates. Something about it doesn’t hold water for me…and just seems all types of wrong.

Outside of him carting me to and from the airport for business travel I don’t see where our lives would ever need to interface. To be honest we don’t exactly play in the same sandbox professionally or personally. We had a chance meeting, an interesting borderline manic relationship and maybe that is just that!

Where do I start…OK how about here, skipping town after pleading guilty to raping a 13 year old girl and never being held accountable. I assume in the eyes of Hollyweird’s elite it’s not really “rape rape.” WTF???? Of course it isn’t. I mean when a man drags a drugged/liquored up barely teen (13 year old) aspiring actress/model to the home of a famous actor, I believe the reports said Jack Nicholson, has sex with her on a coach that’s not Rape. Granted one might argue that no actual force was involved but whoever said force had to be involved in order to constitute raping someone.

By definition rape is the sexual assault by a person involving sexual intercourse with or without penetration of another person without that person’s consent. Granted Ms. 13 may have actually said Roman Polanski I want to have your babies…I don’t believe this because while drunk coherent sentences don’t normally escape the mouths of adults let alone stoned teenagers. For that matter teenagers aren’t really in the coherent sentence business when sober anyway, you know just my opinion.

Anywho in my mind, even if Ms. 13 were actually 21 it was still rape…hello while under the influence of a controlled substance or liquor one cannot fully give her consent to have sex which is why many a date rapist have been convicted. But let’s get out of the land of make believe and hop right smack dab back into the actual meat and potatoes of this situation. At 13 by law no child is capable of giving her consent to have sex with an adult….sorry Roman you can’t steal the cookie. I don’t care if Ms. 13 came into your room and hoped on it (now that’s just vulgar) as the adult in the room you have an obligation to right the wrong. Not only that but after the age of 25 there really shouldn’t be any interest in lying down with anyone who can still be put on my punishment by her parents.

Bringing your dates home before the street light comes on has to get old.

Now 30+ years later it does seem a touch late…but hell it’s better late than never in my book. And really I don’t think they’re going to throw this 70+year old man in jail after he’s extradited from Switzerland but if they do I’m not gonna shed a tear or run around wearing a Free Roman Polanski button like a lot of these Hollywood jackasses. Can you believe these folks actually have a petition going like Freeing Roman Polanski is the new green campaign or something?

Famous folk keep saying (in the whiny voice) he’s a cinema genius. He’s one of the world’s best directors….so what! Since I’m a work comp guru does that mean I can renege on all the laws that society sets before me…probably not my bank account don’t have enough zeros. Does being a cinema genius or one of the world’s best directors in some rindonkulous way entitle you to walking above the law? Did I miss a memo that said if you can run with a football or direct a movie better than Joe Blow Average its perfectly fine if you also murder your ex-wife or rape a 13 year old child?

Clearly I must be wrong because this surely wasn’t “rape rape.” And WTF does that mean exactly? Is that whole “rape rape” similar to being a little pregnant. Clearly this is a yes or no thing…either he raped a 13 year old girl or he didn’t…my money’s on he raped her otherwise this cinema giant would have appeared and accepted his Oscar for the Pianist in 2002. Oh yeah it was that little thing called jail time that halted his flight to the states.

And you know Hollywood never ceases to amaze me. Only there do we celebrate junkies, mildly deranged pedophile type characters because they can do what…entertain. It’s always slightly baffling as a society the one thing we place so much importance (being entertained) on is something that is at the end of the day means less than nothing. Why don’t you try being a good person!

Just a question…if Roman Polanski was a teacher would you want him arrested?

This video made my birthday pretty darn exciting considering how the car took me to the cleaners. I don't even wanna talk about it...no really I don't. Please look at this video and laugh viciously...I know I did. Seriously watch the whole minute and fifty four seconds please.

As you know my weekend went careening down the toilet after Juan’s little hiccup. No harm no foul he is back dragging me everywhere so I can’t talk about him too bad. And anywho this post ain’t about me…and yeah I’m late to the table with my VMA sum up but I has me a schedule around these parts and that’s the way I likes it. Without further ado…


Dear Kanye,

First let me be the 400th to say that you need a break, yes a serious break. I’m not talking about a celebraction where you sit on an island for a day to be photographed by the paparazzi you called to the secluded spot and can’t seem to understand how they found you, no not that kind of a break. Clearly as evidence by the crop circles etched in your hair you’ve lost touch with reality (and honestly I was concerned when you donned the old skool soul patch fro-hawk but you cleared that up). Now some might consider that creativity. I do not. I consider that a sign of mental unraveling. No worries it happens to us all at one time or another in our lives, hence my advice to you to grab hold of yourself and take a small hiatus from the lime light.

Second you need some real friends. Not talking about those nut jockeys who are along for the flash bulbs and left over 7 minutes of fame from simply smelling your cologne. (These fake friends could explain a bit of that Ego you’re carrying around weighing down your shoulders.) I’m talking about some real friends. What the Little Brother calls homies, dudes or chicks who say bro what the f*ck are you smoking? I know I know it sounds harsh but it’s oh so necessary. Remember not too long ago when Joaquin Phoenix decided he was gonna become a rapper, just think if he had real dudes beside him they would have pulled his coat tails and he would never ever have to relive this moment in his life. Amber Rose isn’t on her job. It doesn’t take much to put your arm out and just shake your head vehemently in the no motion.

Now clearly your behavior could’ve been brown juice influenced. The brown channels the ass within, seriously. No lie I’ve witnessed a few people get Henny-fied and almost lose their lives. Granted I thought it a touch ghettofab that you showed up on the red carpet Hennessey in the right and a chunk of Amber Rose hindparts in the left. Might I also add not a good look! And I so want not to like Ms. Rose but I do kinda dig her style. Now I wouldn’t show up to an awards’ show in a snake skin one piece, to each her own, but to her credit she didn’t have any bulge or camel toe so it was all good, I guess. She too was influenced by the brown as I watched her chug a taste when you passed the bottle. Try sober next time Sweetness.

For what it’s worth I actually like your music and think you’re really talented. But please do your mama proud take a much needed hiatus to mourn her passing and check back in less a$$hole. Clearly the combination of alcohol and your mammothly inflated ego can’t fit in one building.

With Genuine Concern,

Faith

Dear Lil Mama,

You’re border line mentally challenged aren’t you? This isn’t coming from a place of concern like my letter to Mr. West. You have a screw loose. First off at least you could have had on something other than your around the way clothes. I know this is the VMAs so no need to be shitty sharp (not like you were nominated or something) but for real jeans and a tank top, is that what it’s hitting for? But oh wait, I’ve seen you dressed to what you consider the 9s so maybe it was better that you played it way casual. In all honesty your stylist needs to take the long walk we give to over the hill pets, no offense.

Second you’re not a lady. Sorry it had to be said. No I’m not calling for a cootie check because I don’t mean it that way, what I’m saying is you have masculine mannerisms. I have trouble describing this but it’s all in the inflection of your voice and the way you hold your hands to the way you walk. I don’t know it’s like someone dunked you albeit briefly in a vat of testosterone, shook off the excess and put you in a skirt.

I’m getting off track.

Third and this is a question, were you trying to resurrect your “rapping” career. I mean it truly is on life support and it must be all types of hard not being one of the kool kids anymore…..in my small voice were you ever?

Lastly I am banishing you to the land of obscurity. You’re probably familiar already but still don’t come back until you can speak, dress and act all things lady-like. Ok Sugar Lump that’s all I got.

Shaking My Head in Utter Disgust,

Faith


And this is just a small note for all award shows going forward…get some real security this would never happen on my watch!

This post will be short and sweet because I’m on vacation and well that’s just it. If you don’t like it lump it.

Why did the Spaniard call me from an unrecognizable number?

Why did I answer and not hang up?

Why did he tell me he missed me and that his cousin died before the wedding, fell off the roof the day of the ceremony (I told him I didn’t believe him)?

Why do I sort of miss him?

Why am I mad at myself for feeling this way?

Why do emotions betray logic?

Why did the TSA worker make my morning by hitting on me when I was wearing a scarf (he was cute & the vacation is starting right)?

Why did the Russian Mafia chicks on the plane refuse to turn off their cell phones?

Why did Chunky Baby’s Mom have to ask the Russian Mafia Chicks on the plane to turn off their cell phone shortly before take off?

Why did half of the Russian Mafia chick lean her frigging chair all the way back while I was trying to finish work (oh yeah I was still doing work while officially off the clock)?

Why did Fat Dude near the window begin sending text messages mid flight (clearly he missed the memo)?

Why was Chunky Baby making swoon eyes at me all flight (he has baby rolls so cute)?

Why did London Badunkadunk put her arse in my face…granted she didn’t do it purposely but still spandex-ed ass isn’t what I want to see when I turn my face?

Why did London Badunkadunk’s Husband get a serious feel on mid flight that I caught out of my peripherals, ugh…this could be jealousy…not because I wanted him to feel me up but because it must be cute to be married for what 10+ years and still have a hubby that wants to cop a feel regardless of who sees?

Why did we hit turbulence shortly before landing and why did Random First Class Chick decide that was the best time to use the ladies room?

Why didn’t any of the flight attendants stop Random First Class Chick…could it be the first class status because we coachers were told to stay seated the plane was landing?

So there are some things I need to get off my chest.

Dear Mother Nature,

This I’m sure comes as no surprise, you’re a biotych. Sorry that’s probably not the best way to start a greeting but it is what it is.

Riding the crimson wave are we?.

I slave hours at work in the actual office even giving up some of my personal home time during wonderfully cloudless rainless days. The moment I attempt to steal my life back you decide to act all types of shifty. It’s really not appreciated. If you have a manager I would like to speak with him/her.

Understandably we can’t have blue skies every day of the week. Honestly I’m not even asking for that because it doesn’t always suit my mood. What I am requesting cut me some freaking slack on my vacation. WTH! You’ve known about these plans for months now and this I know because you and the Man Upstairs share similar living spaces so this didn’t blind side you in any way. You were given advance notice and should have planned your Weather Forecast accordingly.

Granted you treated me to stupenderful weather during my staycation which I would gladly swap for my actual leaving town vacation to Miami. For that I guess I should say thanks, however I’m not. What I wanted was you know fun in the sun, which doesn’t look like it will happen. Luckily your panties aren’t so far up your arse that you called Ms. Hurricane. If so this letter would be much nastier. At the same time it’s not unlike you to stoop to the lower levels of bioytch-ness and pull Mr. Tropical Storm out of your hat. Trust I have my eye on you.

Not sure where your customer’s relations department is but when I find it believe me this will get mailed.

Oh and I’d also like to thank you for the flying courtesy. Yeah thank s a whole effing lot. It wasn’t bad enough you invited Rain to my party (literally) now you’re also thinking about Thunder Storm as well. Come now what have I ever done to you? Ok I littered but that was in my past. I’m definitely on the going green wagon these days. My car is almost hybrid…well not really but its fuel efficient.

And lastly I would like to throw up in your punch for what you’re doing to my hair. Oh yeah don’t think I forgot. You stole the loveliness that is my locks. And yeah it hurt my feelings…a lot. Your cousin, Rain hijacked my luster and that wench Humidity I can’t even begin to talk about what that hooker did. Just know that if I catch either one of them in the street, it won’t be pretty. And that’s not a threat it’s a promise!

Regards,

What is a racial opportunist who seeks racial authenticity? Does President Obama fit the bill? Honestly I don’t know for sure because I am not 100 (this is slang it means sure, carry on) about what it really means. On a side note I do enjoy when people string together catchy phrases like these but I love it more when said person can explain it without going semi ape-shit. With that said you should check out the clip from the Today Show above it will shed some light on the post to follow.

Unfortunately the clip cuts off at the end and you don’t get to see Matt give Malkin the stank eye, which I thought was hysterical and had me laughing all the way to work…classic Lauer. I used to heart him when he had hair…I mean one morning Matt was finer than a glass of wine and the next day he was bald, WTF? Sorry I went on a small tangent.

Anywho, let me back track and say that after graduating from SJU I stopped having race conversations. It always gets out of hand and no one walks away feeling kum bah yahish instead everyone is agitated and I don’t like Agitation all that much. She’s an ugly biotch.

Here are a few reasons why I stopped knocking on Agitation’s door. One because I learned that a bigot will be a bigot until the cows come home, some people are bred badly. It takes a mighty big wind to change the direction of the storm and I don’t have wind machines at my disposal so I pick and choose my battles. And two, race much like religion and politics is divisive. Race clears a room faster than a whore can run out of Sunday school, figuratively speaking.

Amongst friends I share my little racial tidbits but even there I like to keep a tight lip because well I don’t enjoy going there anymore. I’d much rather talk about artificially inseminating rabid leopards or the joys of watching paint dry. (You get where I’m going with that I’m sure.)

But back to the matter at hand shall we. Was Barack wrong for saying he thought the Cambridge Police Dept acted stupidly, let me see…NO! Yep I said it dang it and I meant it. Let’s remove the elephant in the pinstripe suit from the room for a minute if a police officer arrests someone in his own home after he proves that he is not the burglar his neighbor thought she saw breaking into his home that smells a little stupid to me. Maybe I’m wrong.

It’s very possible I am wrong seeing I have no legal background whatsoever besides those four years of criminal justice learnings they gave me at SJU.

Alright I’m letting the pinstriped elephant back in but only briefly because he’s uncomfortable to look at. Do I understand Harvard Dude’s anger (yes I do). It gets real old real quick when you are accused of something for no other reason besides your skin color. (Trust it is not something you get used to and every time it happens it f*cks up your day) Sorry folks it just does. You know like when I went to purchase a Gucci bag from Saks (granted I was dressed very un-Saks like, what my fur coat was in the cleaners sue me!) and security was called to watch me shop. (This is ass biting I mean if I had a wedgie I now had an audience.) Maybe Harvard Dude jumped to an unreasonable conclusion….he might have been wrong…and he might have been right.

Unfortunately, we (general public) will never know because believe it or not neither one of their stories, Harvard Dude or Cambridge Cop is 100 (this is slang it means accurate, carry on). Yup I said it. (This might come as a news flash to some but people lie…I know it’s hard to believe…and here’s the topper Police lie too because guess what before they are cops they are people.) Not that I am calling either one of them liars because I believe each told his true perception of the situation. But that’s the kicker folks it’s a perception of the events not the actual events. Take for instance that the police report read that the 911 caller said two black men were possibly breaking into the home….transcript clears up this PERCEPTION as the caller never mentioned race until prompted and when she did she said she thought one of them (suspected burglars) could be Hispanic.

See that Perception is a sneaky little son of female pooch in heat!

It’s a clear case of cooler heads needed to prevail. Harvard Dude probably shouldn’t have spouted off at the mouth just because he felt some type (this is slang it means disrespected, carry on), assumed or real, and Cambridge Cop probably shouldn’t have arrested an old man who walks with a cane inside of his proven residence…it’s really that simple. The Pres probably should have kept his color commentary to a minimum and only in private said you know that was some shit, pushed it off and solved this here health care crisis. IDK those are just a few of my thoughts.

And to address the initial statement…racial opportunist seeking racial authenticity…that is just balls out dumb. If you want you can tell Michelle Malkin I said it. For one she makes the assumption that in order to belong to a race there is some sort of challenge of color. Hello I was born black no one had me fill out a questionnaire I’m sure the same rules apply for being white although I could be wrong…silly backwards broad. Second chica needs to get herself a dictionary (judging by her wardrobe she can afford it) opportunistic implies that someone derives personal benefit from a particular situation and that benefit is earned unethically…if I were to paraphrase dictionary.com and I am. Explain what type of racial benefit or any other benefit the Pres gets from making a rash statement like that….none and on top of that now he has to buy these two morons a beer and answer the ridonkulous question of whether he is racist.

Seriously Barack racist….I guess he wakes up in the morning and screams I hate you to half of his face.

Clearly I need to have some odd ball race issue happen to me and I will be one step closer to smelling Obama’s cologne. Oops did I say that out loud. Please no one secretly slip the First Lady my blog address, she might send the secret service after me.

Ok folks this was a little winded but I am now off the soapbox and Michelle Malkin, kick rocks…she’s a snippy little biotch isn’t she?

Did I mention I don’t like race talk…this is the last time…I hope!

Over the weekend I took a big girl pill. Seriously I swallowed that bad boy whole with no chaser…wait that’s a drinking analogy…you will get where I’m going shortly. So if you remember on Thursday the electricity mysteriously went out in my apartment. Unknown to me at the time, it was a total power outage on the block so I sauntered into work on one of the higher levels of pissed-off-ness. In particular because my lovely landlord didn’t feel it necessary to return my frantic calls, biotch!

In any event by mid morning (10AM) the problem was solved. I wanted to check my produce, you know just give them the once over to make sure they were still in fact fit for consumption. The Little Brother was under the weather so I needed to bee-line it home because he was in no state to sub for me. Insert The Spaniard stage left. Of late, I have been doing the slow fade, sort of well you know my issue. Anywho I ask him to give me a lift to my apartment after my webinar midday. He agrees with little coercion. This should have been the sign.

When he picks me up he asks if I need to go straight home. Considering my pit stop in the middle of his day I said that I was perfectly fine to make a quick run with him before he carried me home, I mean it was the least I could do. As we pulled up outside of the lawyers office The Spaniard said that he was dropping some papers off and needed to speak with the attorney about his mother’s visa.

Once inside the office I take a seat in the waiting room, you know how I feel about the mother situation, and I didn’t feel there was a need for me to be present while he spoke with the lawyer. Instead of letting me sit and chit chat with the receptionist he insists that I join him in the conference room. Why not, I go in, take a seat and only half listen while he and the attorney converse about this and that.

Attorney: This section is N/A, correct?

The Spaniard: What section, what are the questions?

Attorney: Marital status, date of wedding, spouses name etc etc etc.
(At this point my ears perk up a bit as I sense some hesitation in The Spaniard’s voice.)

The Spaniard: Uh, well no. I am married.

Now if I were a different person the bottlenecking, eye rolling WTFs would have started but that ain’t my way. As I mentioned I don’t go there. I did however turn toward him with a look just short of if I had a bat I would club you. Clearly the attorney has seen this look before. Not to mention he had that she’s a nicely dressed whore glint in his eye.

Attorney: Oh I see…well if you and she need to talk, I don’t know what kind of relationship you two (pointing at me) have…

Me: We (pointing at myself and The Spaniard) don’t have anything to talk about, we don’t have a relationship. (I believe I said that calmly although I imagine the tone was rather curt.)

The Spaniard did a half turn toward me but I guess me mouthing don’t say shit too me cued him that it was probably best to finish his dealings because clearly this wasn’t the time nor the place to discuss this matter.

Ironically around about this time I presumed the camera crew with overly hair gel host would jump from behind a fichus and scream something cliché like tell her what’s she’s won for participating Johnny…oddly enough it didn’t happen.

After dotting some more i’s and crossing t’s we walked out of the office. Immediately he began with the explanation which I just didn’t want or need to hear. I said completely emotionless as I’d already detached myself from the situation during the walk downstairs that he needed to take me home. No I didn’t want to hear about his on paper marriage, how it was just to get his citizenship and he was gonna tell me when the time was right, and the look at me when I’m telling you this, princessa por favor crap….just take me home before I get out and catch a cab.

Most days I hate driving in silence but somehow it felt oh so appropriate. So big girl pill swallowed, sometimes those signs of God really sting.

And that would make it official folks, The Spaniard sailed off the island, no life jacket and no preserver never to be seen or heard of again. If I speak his name or mention him I want someone to smack the eff’n taste out of my mouth, literally!

What a way to start the weekend, right. So how about Sunday, yes we bowled to victory yet again. We are now standing as the team to beat. I say shirts are in order. Granted this is a novice league and I guess getting a trophy in a novice league is tantamount to winning honorable mention at the science fair but I take winning where I can. And really we are relatively decent to be beginners.

While bowling it up, 21 Jump Street saunters into the alley. Nurse Friend spied him from the corner of her eye as he sat on the bench waiting patiently for who I presume was his date. Was I wrong for walking up and saying hi? Was I wrong for thinking (and laughing with my friends) that his date isn’t as cute as me? OK I wasn’t wrong I was petty, high school making fun of the misunderstood rejects petty. I admit it. It was juvenile and stupid but in my defense my weekend was pretty shitty and I needed a pick me up.

I caught him staring at me during his frames….alas he is already off the island.

So by mid-summer it appears The Spaniard forfeit the game leaving Mailroom Boy a clear opening to slide home and take the glory…but wait is there someone looming in the background to pick up where The Spaniard left off……

For someone who never wanted to be a parent Debbie Rowe sure is benefitting from it, and I’m not talking about the tax break. Honestly the thought of having children with Michael Jackson, before he died and became some sort of super savior, made my skin crawl, literally not figuratively but only because I found MJ to be a repulsive ass bandit. Hey love the music not the man. I mean I’m just saying….I know it’s wrong to speak ill of the recently murdered but it is what it is. Would you have left your eight year old son alone with the Gloved One and Bubbles (does anyone know what he did with the monkey) for any extended period of time? OK so point taken right.

But I am moving away from the initial purpose of my post, the child selling whore the lovely ex-wife, Debbie Rowe. She leaked the secret sauce in 2004 that dear sweet Michael Jackson wasn’t the biological father (was there any doubt in your mind) of her tickets to fortune and fame precious children only to be silenced by more money. Some sort of additional ex spouse support because clearly it wasn’t enough to take the 8million deal to slip into the night and never be heard of again. So I presume it shouldn’t be shocking that as the casket closes the glint of dollar bill signs rise yet again for Ms. Rowe. Of course in her defense she never wanted children, she was simply the vessel with which to impart the gifts. Debbie mentioned that once the doctors pronounced her utterly barren following the birth of Paris Jackson, Michael John Hancocked the final paperwork to dissolve the marriage.

One wonders if folks never consummate their marriage if you can even call it that. Personally Michael Jackson besides his alleged affinity for little boys appeared to me as one of those a-sexual types, more interested in grabbing his crotch than using it.

What we are left with now folks is the custody battle to end of all custody battles. I wonder if Katherine is up for the fight. Sources, the truth of this hasn’t been confirmed and Debbie Rowe denies it, indicate that the Breeder would be willing to accept an additional 4m to drop all her claims. Interesting, particularly because had the previous judge at the time of the 8m child auction allowed Debbie to dissolve all parental rights as she requested Katherine might not be in such a pickle.

Hey if all else fails the children will be in good hands with the diva, Diana Ross. She can teach them how to smuggle weed through the airport.

And this brings me to my point (took a minute to get there but you know how I am), WTF? Yes I had to say that. In my opinion (notice I prefaced this, it is my opinion) Debbie Rowe, if the reports are true 8m to release parental rights, undisclosed spousal support and possibly an additional 4m to relinquish the same parental rights from the prior deal, is a money hungry whore. And when I say whore I mean someone who is willing to set aside principles or personal integrity in order to obtain something (money in this case). Why upset the monkey cart these children call lives and try to yank them away from the freaks they call family. Granted the Jacksons are the only people the children know and familiar freaks are better than a mother, and I use that word loosely, willing to sell them to the highest bidder.

And if The Breeder’s a whore Michael Jackson was as dirty as a street peddler for getting in bed, well not literally folks, with such a revolting pig. Not that Debbie is in any way to blame for his behavior they both equally repulse me for this child auction. However, although Michael may have been the moving force without the vessel there would be no children. Money truly does make the world go round.

Of course, I could be being too harsh. Maybe The Breeder is no worse than a struggling college student who sells her eggs to an eager couple. And just maybe Michael Jackson was a misunderstood oddball due to circumstances beyond his control.

IDK but I am off my soapbox for today, what are your thoughts?

OK if I hear another ExtenZe commercial/infomercial/radio advertisement I will go barnyard mad. That is not my subtle take on exaggeration either, that is hell to the no real life. Am I the only one tired of it; can someone, anyone explain why these ads monopolize good radio and TV airtime. Given the sensitive nature of said ad one would presume a late night after the demons little angels turn off the lights (yeah Teddy Pendergrass, don’t act like I’m the only one who automatically hears the song) and hop in the sack might make better sense....

Granted I could be alone. Maybe you truly enjoy the sneaky innuendo, that certain part of a man’s anatomy because clearly someone might break into fits of uncontrollable pain to hear, dare I say penis. Uh oh the improper police are gonna arrest me, I said penis. Don’t push me I might say….vagina! Check me out...

Although vagina just sounds dirty. I don’t know why it does, but it does. Of course not nearly as filthy as say, c*nt or p*ssy. No lady would ever utter such blasphemy, it’s just crude. Personally I prefer cunny, which I learned from this super smart historical textbook I read, The Other Boleyn Girl.

And when you think about it, why are all the words for the female downtown bonanza all yucky (very technical term I know). Oddly I am ok with saying junk, balls, schlong, the little plumber….oh is that just me?

Of course when I was young the Man Wander Married called everything by code name. I was probably in middle school before I truly understood that wing wing wasn’t the anatomical word for a man’s junk. Ha ha do you like how I didn’t actually use the right word, subtle right? Although I knew the word for the lady parts I preferred to use the term pocketbook. Not that this was any better than my dad’s genius wing wing, imagine my confusion when Wander asked me to hand her my pocketbook.

Anywho my gripe or minor rant is about this ExtenZe airwave assault. Come now folks, what the frig is going on? Gone are the days when sexually dysfunctional men hid in corners hoping no one took notice. For some reason they’re brazen, proud even to get on the telly wagging a limp willy (Simmer down Faith that’s Viagra). Oh wait it’s their lack of girth this magic pill solves. Because as the commercial painfully points out, every morning interrupting my funlarious morning show Big Boi’s Neighborhood, women care about size (girth and width not length).

And it’s true maybe us womenfolk are making you men feel all types of inadequate. So much so you’re willing to get on national television and make an ass out of yourself to prove you can please your wife, girlfriend the slut in your office, whatever. So now when you stop at the gas station on a late night condom run you also pocket a little packet of ExtenZe for that extra fun. Did you know they sell those things at Sunoco? Clearly it packs a mighty punch and you will forever be remembered by that random hook-up girl from the bar as the widest no length penis having freak whose name she can’t quite remember.

It’s a competition, clearly a man thing. I mean how would it sound if you walked up on a group of unsuspecting females and one of them was bragging about the size of her vagina. Maybe in some sell it for money circles this is normal conversation, I wouldn’t know for sure having no first hand experience.

But really I wouldn’t be so bothered if the ads ran concurrently with programming of like content. I mean if say one of the commercials came on during Taxicab Confessions (does this show still come on) not while watching the NBA finals it would make perfect sense. Or if the half hour full on infomercial came on at three in the morning when the little tykes are sound asleep (seriously this is irresponsible, why not just throw them a party with a blow up doll and a dildo as a mascot…was that too far). It just gets under my skin.

Thoughts people, am I getting bent out of shape over trivial bullsh*t?



PS. Gents, size does matter, LMAO!

“Nothing’s going to ever bring those girls back but I think jury did say what we’ve been thinking all along that this was an accident, not a crime,” Higbee told reporters.

Honestly I can’t say I’m shocked. Law Enforcement Officers clearly adhere to lower levels of the law than the public they are charged with protecting and serving. Of course this comes at a time when I was recently wrongly profiled by some of Philadelphia’s Finest for driving with a black male, as you know this is crime punishable by ruining my whole friggin evening....

Anywho, New Jersey State Trooper, Robert Higbee heaved a huge sigh of relief upon hearing the verdict, not guilty of vehicular homicide. Vehicular homicide involves a death that results from the negligent operation of a vehicle. In general it’s a lesser change than say manslaughter. It is punishable by up to 20 years in prison.

Obviously the jury had some trouble comprehending these 7th grade terms. I on the other hand clearly see the trooper’s behavior as careless aka negligent. So while he likes to point out that this was a tragic accident not a crime I argue it’s both. Just because something happens unintentionally (by accident) doesn’t make it any less criminal. Take for instance if I’m watching my four year Godson and leave him in the room with my known vicious pit-bull to grab a soda out of the fridge and while I’m away the dog mauls him to death, I am at fault. Even though this is a tragic accident it was also careless since I know that my killer pet has the potential to harm a small child if left unattended. And while I didn’t intentionally provoke the dog into attacking my Godson I knew the threat was there if I left him unsupervised. The same goes for the Trooper. He knew there was a possibility that running through stop signs at upwards of 70mph could lead to an accident resulting in death.

Yes I know he was in hot pursuit of a fleeing suspect. In Philadelphia and I assume the same must go for Jersey it isn’t unlawful for police to chase suspects sans sirens or lights. In instances where they are raiding the element of surprise is necessary however, there’s no surprise when a criminal knows you’re following him. In instances where officers are chasing fleeing suspects its ass backwards. Not only is the officer traveling at speeds higher than the allowable limit so too is the suspect. In that case to protect the innocent public it’s in the best interest to provide the warning sirens and lights afforded the cruiser.

If the shoes switched feet and these two teenagers ran a stop sign at 79mph in a residential neighborhood and killed the state trooper, taking him away from wife and child not only would there have been public outcry tantamount to the crucifixion everyone would also be contributing to Mr. Higbee’s offspring’s college fund. I’m not making light I’m just stating the obvious here.

Maybe I’m looking at this the wrong way, someone please shed some light. I look forward to everyone’s opinion of the situation.

Friday started with a bang, and by bang I mean Philadelphia’s Finest slamming the back passenger side door of my car in utter dissatisfaction at the fact that The Little Brother wasn’t carrying any weapons. They, the police that is, were waiting outside of my apartment building I presume looking for a black male 4’0” to 7’0” aged 20-50 due to some unknown crime in the city. At the same time The Little Brother, Sister and I left my building on our way to my cousin’s 25th birthday party (odd it turned out to be a good time even though my cousin was over 1 1/2hrs late for her own event- colored people time in a major way ugh)....

Shortly after coasting through the stop sign at the end of my block, because I didn’t realize the Fuzz was in luke warm pursuit, my mirrors were flooded with the swirling red and blues. Instinctively I clicked my seatbelt in place and motioned for The Little Sister to do the same. No sense in adding an additional click it or ticket violation. As I began rolling my window down ready to address Dickhead Officer Number 1 I noticed he was violently trying to open my driver side back door. Dickhead Officer Number 2 stood ready directly behind Number 1 with his hand every so nicely on his 45. Even with DON 1 going barnyard mad on my back door I refused to unlock. And since he still hadn’t even addressed me as the driver I didn’t feel the need to aid his struggle.

Honestly it was more of a WTF moment than anything else watching DON 1 attempting futilely to open a locked car door.

After a minute of watching DON 1 fight the door handle, the Little Brother opened the door only to be patted down common criminal style.

DON 1: What do you have on you? (Continues to pat down everything minus the family jewels)
The Little Brother: Nothing but my cell phone, wallet and keys.
DON1: What is that a vest you wearing (Might I add a very nice fashion not bullet proof vest I selected from Urban Outfitters)? You got any weapons on you? What are you fiddling with in your hand? (Shining the fluorescent flashlight throughout the entire car)
The Little Brother: I just told you nothing. I don’t have anything on me but my cell phone, wallet and keys.
DON1: (Turns to me in the driver seat after realizing my brother only had a cell phone, wallet and keys) You should really think about getting your right tail light replaced.
Me: Uh-huh (No need for common courtesy at this point)
DON1: The right side light in the back is out, get it fixed.
Me: I heard you

Driving while black can be so frustrating!

On a brighter note, the Chrisette Michelle concert was fantabulous! Impressive vocals and entertaining company made for a good night and almost cleansed my mind of the utter ridonkulousness of the prior. The un-shining star, Mailroom Boy was an hour and a half late to pick me up. Since I know he is notoriously late I didn’t get ready on time. As fate may have it his lateness proved golden since the show started two hours late. Clearly the concert gods had my back.

This is one of the main reasons I could never actually date Mailroom Boy. I would literally rip his face off if he was that tardy for anything that I planned. Ok maybe not literally but you get where I’m going with that.

I won gold stars with his friends and was even invited to the bbq the following weekend. This isn’t surprising to me, I rock at first impressions! His friends are entertaining so if he extended the offer I would consider.

After the concert we lounged in a private room of the Foundation club which dripped of Bollywood décor. At any moment I thought belly dancers would dash in and begin performing on the tables. Did I forget to mention the wooden carvings of the Kama sutra on the wall? I imagine some interesting happenings taking place in this private room with oversized pillows and plush couches.

By the time I made it home it was close to 4AM. Sunday was game day (NBA Finals) and I invited The Best and Nurse Friend down for the festivities, mainly watching Dwight Howard in all of his chocolate-ness. Minus the Godson jumping on my last nerve, The Spaniard ditching to play soccer and the Best Friend locking her keys in the car a good time was had by all.

Oh did you notice how The Spaniard wasn’t involved in any of my post work plans. That’s happening more and more lately….

Under normal circumstances something like the flu wouldn’t necessarily get my panties in a knot. But with the CDC alert at 5, very Outbreak-esque, I must stand back, take notice and consider what bomb shelter type hide-out I want to secure before it all goes to hell. As it stands Granny SJ probably has the best stocked shelter-dodad and as such that is where I will hang until the contagion passes or is contained to one of the landlocked states I’ll probably only travel through but never stop, like Nebraska.

No offense to anyone from Nebraska I’m sure it’s a lovely place full of fun and fancy.

What I find troubling besides the fact that people are dying from a flu born of a pig is the precautions the government provided. Now unless it’s me the measures being asked of the general public are things that everyone should be doing on a regular basis. Let me refresh everyone’s memory just in case this CDC bulletin hasn’t gotten passed around your office cooler.

• If you or a family member has symptoms do not go to work or school immediately consult your family physician
  
• If you cough or sneeze cover your mouth and wash your hands asap
  
• Wash hands with warm water and soap
  
• Proper wash time is at least 20 seconds under warm running water
  
• Scrub with soap between fingers and underneath nails
  
• Completely dry hands and turn off faucet with paper towel
  

Nowhere does it mention don blue paper surgical mask for fear of catching airborne pork virus. Side note wearing said mask besides being completely useless looks so 17th century measles outbreakish!

Wait did they have those masks then, whatever you get my point, as far as I know there’s no pack of rabid piggies running the streets infecting passersby with their saliva.

Anywho why is washing your hands in particular after using the restroom such a foreign concept? I mean people really the sinks with fragrance filled soaps aren’t there for their health. Believe me it’s not just trivial bathroom décor you know like a full dinner setting in someone’s dining room there simply for shits and giggles. Wash your friggin’ hands and not just the infamous two finger spritzer.

OMG (yes I did just write in full on textese) this reminds me of a lady I’ll call Crazy Side Ponytail from my old job that would finish her lady business in the bathroom, check her makeup in the mirror spritz the tips of her pointer and middle fingers and trollop out of the bathroom. Do you know this dirty wench asked me if I wanted some homemade brownies one day? I wanted to scream of course not who knows what vaginal type bacterium is floating in the nooks and crannies you non hand washer you!

Was that too far?

Digressing I know. The point, people stop getting all crazy, less than .1% of the entire US populous has contracted this flu and no one besides a little baby (this is a tragedy no doubt) has actually died. Not that one death shouldn’t be taken seriously, however, we know or we should know that a baby’s immune system is weaker than a healthy adult. When lively twenty somethings start kicking the bucket that’s when I’ll lock myself in Granny SJ’s basement bunker!

Besides some nasty folk have gotten a lesson in hygiene I am nothing if not happy! See a silver lining exists in every rain cloud.

Unless you live under a rock, you’ve heard about the recent capture of the reported Craigslist Killer. Now I say reported because until twelve jurors (one questions if they will be of his peers since juries in general rarely reflect the accused peers could you imagine a jury composed of twelve med students, taint gonna happen folks) find Ricko Sauve guilty he is simply the reported or the alleged. You get what I’m saying; I won’t sing the guilty song just yet.

Granted the authorities found the victims’ panties in his dresser, planted no doubt by the panty fairy, that doesn’t independently qualify Mr. Markoff as a sex-freak murderer.

Anywho what I find interesting about this story besides the SVU-esque appeal is the lovely fiancée sticking by her man to the end. In the hood, she’d be considered a ride or die chick. For those out of the know that’s when a girl dates a bad boy and he gets arrested for crimes he no doubt committed and said girlfriend continues the relationship as if said criminal is not just that. She visits while in jail and once found guilty regularly travel ridonkulously far distances to out of the way prisons for conjies (conjugal visits) all the while putting money on his books so he can buy smokes and keep jail-gay dudes off his butt hole. (Did I go too far with that description?)

Side note I love it when mainstream goes all ghetto-fantabulous!

Back to my point, what’s with this support you until you drag to me fire breathing pits of hell mentality? It’s like the abused wife sticking with her abuser till death (his or hers, take your pick). Not that Ms. McAllister should pull a complete 180 on the panty bandit but come on now a show of complete support seems a bit too far, in my taste anyway. How does one explain the infamous panties in the bureau or the hollowed out Grey’s Anatomy textbook? Silly coincidence, I think not!

Reports indicate that Markoff told his family and friends not to think about him, if this isn’t an admission of guilt I don’t know what is. Of course he didn’t plead guilty so I presume he’s up for the long fight. With staggering (130K) student loan debt how he plans to pay for a proper Johnny Cochran-type defense team is beyond me. It will be interesting in the months to come to see the assembly of suits forming to make Markoff’s case.

By trial time I wonder if Ms. McAllister will have a change of heart. Probably not, because like so many in love folks blinders take a long time to fade away. I assume when your fiancée gets charged with murdering women (OK one woman and robbing another) he met on Craiglist (not even Facebook or Myspace) the blinders would immediately dissipate but love conquers all I guess.

And this proves the point that there’s someone out here for everyone even if you’re a sexual deviant freak who gets his jollies robbing prostitutes and keeping their panties in a drawer in an apartment you share with your girlfriend. Ain’t love grand!

Just the other day I heard a disturbing news byte. A registered sex offender was crying about his ruined life as a result of the undeserving label as a sexual deviant. Under normal circumstances my attitude; you got what was coming to you nasty bastard but I stifled that feeling for a minute to listen to the entire story. You make the decision folks because I could just be out of touch.

As I understand it kids are using their cell phones to send scandalous pics of themselves to friends, boyfriends, FWB whatever (sexting) and the penalty; being charged with disseminating child pornography. As a result of the prosecution they are forced to register as sex offenders. This monogram will follow them for life.

The sexting thing isn’t a new phenomena I guess parents are just catching on but I am digressing.

Digest this for a minute folks and while you do stew on this tidbit. If innocent teenager number one (Billy 16 for the sake of argument) were caught with innocent teenager number two (Claire also 16) having wild monkey sex in Claire’s parents home while angry parents would surely follow no charges could be brought against either teen. Following this line of thought means in the eyes of the law it’s perfectly fine for Billy and Claire to fondle and play just the tip but it’s completely unacceptable and quite punishable by law to e-mail or text body parts they’ve probably seen live and in color to each other.

Not sure about you but I see some problems here. Of course I’m not a parent so I might be way off base. However, I do think its funny maybe not ha ha funny that Claire and Billy can perform the act but can’t capture the goods in photo form. Even funnier or more appropriately odd, that one would go so far to call this child pornography. Granted, the picture is of a minor and satisfies some hormonal teenage sexual urge it’s very different from some crack pot manipulating a 13 year old to perform a taped sex act.

If I am not mistaken, and this is quite possible because I don’t proclaim to be any type of legal guru I just watch a lot of Law & Order SVU, the sole purpose of child pornography laws are to protect innocent kids from deviant adults hardwired to believe that watching ankle biters in the park is a form of erotica. Not only that aren’t we holding children (by nature immature and relatively reckless due to age) to a higher standard than adults.

For the sake of argument if I were to capture the midgets on film and send it to the Spaniard (you know just for the sake of argument) no harm no foul. This is equally immature and no less stupid than if a teenager did the same but since I’m over 18 my lack of maturity isn’t being questioned and no one would accuse me of a crime, just a lapse in judgment maybe.

Bottom line, I don’t get it. Aren’t there enough real criminals to prosecute? Not that this “deviant” sexual behavior should go unpunished. But wouldn’t it be more appropriately handled in the home by parents who should be monitoring their children’s internet and cell phone use anyway. Sorry I grew up in a home with very little privacy so I’m not used to these new parents who blindly trust their children allowing TV and the internet to raise them. Not saying that my parent’s way was the best to rear a child but it definitely stopped me from I don’t know sending pics of Ms. Woochie to horny little boys.

But who am I, just a raving and ranting quarter lifer who thinks scarlet lettering a stupid teenage mistake no more harmful than seven minutes in heaven pedophilia or trafficking kiddie porn completely ridonkulously asshole backwards. Of course I could be wrong and we should definitely seek out the sex crazed maniacs and fill the offender registries with 15 year olds sneaking a peek at their girl/boy friend’s goodies. Yup that makes sense, it’s not like rapists and murderers are running the streets. I know I feel safer knowing that Billy and Claire are getting locked up, don't you?

No need for applause I have reached the infamous 100th episode of Chronicles: A Quarter Life Crisis and would like to thank everyone who stops by every once and again to read and comment on my rants with atmosphere.

Now that the bureaucratic poppycock is out of the way let me get into the “seriousness” that is this blog. Health update, MNF is finished rehabbing in his aunt’s attic and quite possibly almost back to his 6 day a week intensive gym workout. God I wish I had his dedication. Side note I gave the bike a spring overhaul (Ok the bike shop overhauled but you get what I’m saying.) and I should be up and riding any day now if good ole Mother Nature comes to her senses and stops with the damn rain showers.

And when I say bike I mean bicycle you know the kind you pedal not the ones that go vroooom.

In true friend fashion I’ve been checking in with MNF every day since his release from the ‘spital just to make sure he hadn’t killed over in a corner somewhere. You know just doing my best to be the best friend I can be. And believe you me this took a lot of extra energy on my part because as it goes, I am not a phone person.

Everyone who knows me knows that although my life seems somehow to have morphed its way into a tiny maroon box of numbers and appointment dates I can’t stand answering the damn phone let alone picking it up to call someone else. After spending hours and I do mean hours of my day listening to people talk (mostly about nothing) I find it hard to stomach additional unnecessary voices. For this reason alone I avoid phone talk at all costs. I do text a lot though, it’s so much more direct and I don’t have to listen to filler conversation.

Maybe I should talk to someone about this problem..could I have some strange socialization complex along with my host of other undiagnosed issues?

Anywho Male Nurse Friend revealed a disturbing dream while chatting the other day. Through laughs and now that I think about it maybe I should feel some type of way he said something like, OMG how about last night I had the raunchiest dream about us having sex.

WTF, might I repeat WTF?

OK back story I reminded him the other day in joke of our college pact (we were dumb and 19 at the time don’t hold it against us) that by 27 (odd age I know) if neither of us were in a serious relationship we should have a child together. At 19 I guess neither of use considered that having a child together might also include seeing each other’s man and woman parts. Not that I haven’t bore sight to the magnificent package accidently spied his loins he’s never seen the goodies. And obviously at the time MNF was deeply buried in the closet by the piles of chicks he’d bedded. To be honest he was quite the man-whore back then.

But our child, God I imagine a devilishly cute kid, not to toot our own horns or anything. I mean so cute it would be hard to look at for fear of getting sick with cutabulousness. Wander might actually be happy for me for once as I think she fears I’ll never have children. (I don’t want kids) As I age she slowly sees her grandmotherhood fade away, luckily for her the Little Brother & Sister are here to preserve what’s left of it.

In any event MNF said the dream was super real. He woke up frantic screaming for me and slightly uncomfortable. My reaction, was I good? Is this wrong and/or vain?

Seriously if you’re gonna bed your best friend at least it should be good/weird not bad/weird right?

Emergency per dictionary.com is

1. a sudden, urgent, usually unexpected occurrence or occasion requiring immediate action.


2. a state, esp. of need for help or relief, created by some unexpected event

Interesting I was under the same impression. If for some reason you have an urgent situation that requires immediate action it’s correctly labeled an emergency.

By the end this will make sense just give me a little leeway folks.

MNF (Male Nurse Friend) became unexpectedly ill two weeks ago resulting in an initial hospitalization for five days. Before dragging himself there via cab he had a temperature of 103 with severe abdominal and head pain. After it was all said and done he was diagnosed with some unknown virus causing the fever that agitated a dormant migraine condition. I am no doctor but I guess this sounds reasonable. Of course MNF doesn’t agree. He believes there’s some medical conspiracy and he truly had viral meningitis.

If he did in fact have viral meningitis, I doubt this very seriously, he would probably be in a wooden box instead of stockpiled in his aunt’s attic until he regains his strength. Did I forget to mention he lost 12lbs during the whirl wind sickness? Obviously catching a life draining virus works better than hydroxycut, some non FDA approved pill schleppers might want to consider bottling that contagion and selling it to the fat masses. Of course in the fine print they will mention may cause week long stay in hospital. To some the pro might outweigh the con.

I’ve digressed right off the reservation, ok back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Unfortunately two days after the discharge from the suburban hospital, MNF was having pain fits coupled with severe weakness and light headedness. Since I am a stupenderful friend I carted MNF to the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania’s ER. I dropped MNF at the door figuring I could zip his little sister home and by the time I rounded back he would be in a room in the ER.

No such luck. When I returned to the hospital, 35-40 mins later (traffic) my friend was just getting triaged. Not to mention the ER was packed like the club. And when I say the club I mean just that no exaggeration. People were falling over each other and there was limited seating.

After MNF was given hazmat gear a face mask he shuffled back into the masses and we took a seat against the wall. Hours went by. Eventually my friend began to shake a bit and seemed close to passing out, which he confirmed after I asked. Being the good friend I am and considering no one had been called back since we arrived, not that you could really decipher who was a patient and who was waiting with a sick friend and/or relative, I decided to take some action.

Honestly 95% of the folks in the ER looked perfectly equipped to run a mini marathon.

Puzzling I thought ERs sole purpose was to prevent sudden and very likely death. Granted I didn’t see any gunshot or stabbing victims saunter through the ER doors so I was at a complete loss as to why this was taking so long especially since most of the folks were obviously there using the ER as a clinic and were not in need of any immediate care (I blame this on the recession). Besides my friend there were two other people there who looked close to keeling over. I kindly walked to the triage desk to get an ETA along with alerting them to MNF’s sudden shakes and concern of passing out. The man at the desk basically said that the normal ER wait is 2-4hrs and that given the additional info I just provided he would send someone over to check my friend’s vitals.

Interesting 2-4hrs debunks the whole concept of emergency but maybe it’s me.

We waited an additional half hour. No one came to check MNF’s vitals. Our total wait time before I rushed my friend to another ER, three hours and forty five minutes. I bolted to Jefferson Hospital’s ER. By the time we got there he could barely walk. After checking his vitals, pulse of 38 MNF was dispatched to a room, placed on an IV and pumped full of morphine, hmmmm I guess he truly had an emergency.

I guess we should have waited those 15 minutes, what do you think?