At Last, A Temporary Respite

Well, the election results are in for the judicial races and the Democratic and Publican primaries. I held my nose and voted for the unopposed Democrats. I voted "for" because Vic Snyder was listed. I held my nose because Republican-lite Mark Pryor was there too.

Looks like the voters rejected the challengers who weren't informed on county issues like protecting Lake Maumelle, our drinking water, from threatening developments. Gosh, gonna run for office? Try reading up on the major issues first. Then ask for my vote.

Overall, it looks like progressives won most of the races, which is nice.

Now we can gird our loins for the onslaught of political candidates who want to trim fat from budgets and want to eliminate waste in government. I always have to wonder where they were last year and the years before that when those budgets were being discussed and debated and voted on. But, enough of that is to come. Now I can bask for a short time in the lack of robo-calling to my house in support of one nabob or another.

BLOPS Grilling Accessory

Shit.

That's how I feel.  Where the hell is Edna.  My mind is turning to mush.  EDNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNA???  Come home.

A Rough Ride

Right Out Of The BLOPS Latrine

TEN HUT you pussies

The Colonel here.  This war must end.  We must not elect John McCain who will simply be more of the same.  Hill Ain't Bill and Barack are ripping each other to shreds.  People's emotions are on edge.  We must not forget what is important.

Get some tissues and click here for a very well done video by one of our soldiers far from home.  

At ease.  

From The Holy Freaking Shit Files

I admit it. I am a shoe whore. But these -- they are reportedly Japanese designed. Anyone interested in a pair? These are not what threw me for a loop. Scroll on down to those shoes worn by the Geishas...








Unbelievable huh? You ain't seen nothin' yet. Behold a retired Geisha....

Unbelievable. Unfreakingbelievable.

Even Dogs Won't Do Some Things

Too Cool Food Art

The FireSnatch Chronicles 042308

Sunday brunch was a riot this past weekend. The sister girls had a few mimosas beforehand and were feeling no pain. Lilly broached the recent controversy over the proposed Cupid’s in Park Hill. One-third of us live in Park Hill, and she was incensed that one day she heard the store was going in and then the next day a church mob had formed and promptly scared them off.

That opened another kettle of fish. “Religious fanatics! Why would people be scared of Cupid’s?” she demanded. “It’s a clean store. Pervs don’t hang out there. I love that store. Have you seen who goes in those places? Women. Lots of women. I know why those Park Hill prudes (hey now) ran them off. The church men are afraid their wives will find out they like sex toys more than them! They would find their mission-style-only asses kicked to the curb. Those women probably never even had an orgasm. They just think they have. Or they fake it. I’m sure their husbands never saw When Harry Met Sally. A bunch of religious fanatics!“

No more mimosas for Lilly. We don’t normally talk about such things as we agree what two (or three if you’re so inclined) consenting adults do and what they do it with behind closed doors is their private business. Sex is a wonderful gift that should be enjoyed as long as you are physically able. I personally wish the store had gone in, but putting a sexually oriented business on Church Row? What were they thinking?

That reminded me of a day at my mother’s around Thanksgiving a couple of years ago. She and the little stepdad “got retarded” and moved permanently to their kicked up fishing shack on the lower Saline River. What goes on there, stays there, they always say, and a large time is usually had by all who visit. One of Mom’s best friends from high school, Mavis, was home for the holidays. It was early afternoon. I was passed out on the couch after drinking way to many coffees and Bailey’s Irish Cream. Don’t judge me. Sometimes it’s the only way I can cope being at my mother’s.

Now I wasn’t intending to eavesdrop, but I woke up while they were sitting on the back porch swilling Old Milwaukee and getting drunker than shit. I laid there listening to them, wishing I had a tape recorder. Mavis always cries on Mother’s shoulder. This time she was complaining all Harley (her husband) did and had done for years was watch porn. She said she often cried herself to sleep and “just clawed the bed” because she needed him so bad.

I couldn’t take it anymore. “FOR GOD'S SAKE MAVIS, BUY A VIBRATOR!”

She looked like I just told her she was dying. My mother yelled “Young lady, what’s the matter with you?” I said, “Mother, first of all, I’m not a young lady, and Mavis you know I love you, but Mavis and Harley have been married 45 years, and she has been miserable for most of them. Second, because of that Catholic shit, they can’t get a divorce and she has to live with him anyway while he spends his time watching porn with Mother Thumb and her four daughters. At least if she had a vibrator, she wouldn’t be clawing the bed anymore and would be in a much better mood to deal with Harley and his shit.”

Mother and Mavis were both speechless. I couldn’t help it. I started laughing hysterically. “Hell, I’ll even go buy you one. Nothing fancy. A real basic model. But please don’t ask me to show you how to use it. Just point it in the general direction and you’ll figure it out."

Mavis’s ability to speak returned. “Just who IS Mother Thumb and her four daughters?”

She was kidding right? This was going to be harder than I thought. “Don’t worry. You know them intimately,” I assured her. “I’ve been thinking -- Harley’s so anal, he could use a butt plug.”

“A butt what?” Mavis asked. “Oh no, he’s constipated already.”

Mother was mortified. “Y’ALL QUIT IT!” “I DON’T BELIEVE THIS!”

“Mother, now don’t you be gettin’ all uppity and stuff, because I remember not too long ago, after “4 or 2 beers”, you pooted in the produce section at Wal-Mart and then LOUDLY announced to all within earshot that you had stepped on a carpet frog. I'm sure that poor guy you gassed nearby has still not recovered. I can’t even go in there anymore because the checkers in the first three lanes all recognize me and point when I come in. I am known as The Daughter of the Carpet Frog Lady. My humiliation is complete.”

I was promptly banished to the smaller kicked up fishing shack next door reserved for company. The Dew Drop Inn. I was crushed. Can you tell? Peace at last.

Get this. I did send Mavis a little present in a box with a brown wrapper. The next time I saw her, she sat down and put her arm around me. “Thanks,” she said. And winked.

One of the most ridiculous moments in this campaign

It was so crazy to see Hillary knocking back a shot and chasing it with a beer? And then she talked about going shooting with her father on the farm? Jeez.

What's next, sucking on a big ole bong to try and get the old hippie's votes? She is such a pandering politician.

Plus I'm listening to one of Hillary's people on the televsion talking about how the polls are not reliable. This after being quizzed about some of the polls now showing Obama ahead of her in Pennsylvania. Funny how they say that now yet when Hillary was ahead they consistently talked about how well they were "polling".

I'm about sick of Hillary's desperate attempt to circumvent the will of the people.

Winning the War on Drugs---Right...

The Best Birthday Present. Ever.

It’s official. Delish’s fat ass is 50.

The moment I stepped in my office, I knew the birthday antics had commenced. I found this when I opened my office door –

Someone bought me my latest Mini Cooper obsession. Isn't it cute?


And more balloons – My girlfriends are the best. Note BIG 30!

Cake too. Red Velvet. Ummmm...

And look what work bitches did to my Jeep:






I had to drive home with it like this. Almost had two wrecks. Paybacks are hell.

The sister friends chose this evening for our night out. They didn’t want to have to get up and go to work after a late night. We’re supposed to go to the Electric Cowboy. I protested (we’re probably going to die) but they insisted I needed to at least go in the door once. I've lived in the metro Little Rock area for 28 years next month, and I have never set foot in that place, BJ's or otherwise. Things don’t even get going there until about 11:00 p.m. PM FERFUCKSAKE. They are picking me up at 10:45 p.m. P.M. FERFUCKSAKE. Although I never really wanted to, I guess I am going to have to go. Once.

So birthday happy hour beers and shots were going to be with my guys. The best guys. My favorite men in the world, most of whom I’ve known 20 years. Every once in a blue moon, they let me, a FEMALE (a/k/a an NBNB - that is "No Balls No Brains"), crash their macho, men-only “choir practice.” We met at Rocky’s in the Indian Hills shopping center, one of their favorite stops. It sure made points with me when I discovered they had Fat Tire on draft! Rocky’s authentic Philly cheesesteaks are becoming legend, and it’s going on my regular chickenrun.

I'd been warned by the sister girls not to get drunk because they knew I was already in bad shape and a late night could be the kiss death to the sister girls’ monumental birthday night out. I promised I would behave. Choir practice normally doesn’t run past 6:30 or so (choir members are old). We lost a couple about then, but the rest of us headed to My Friend’s Place to shoot some pool and sit a spell because, well, it was a nice night to sit a spell. My Friend’s Place is a great little neighborhood bar. Check it out sometime.

We sat down at a table outside on the patio, and a couple of girls and a guy were sitting at another table fairly close to us. One of the guys at our table said something about it being my birthday, and then one of the girls at the other table asked “It’s your birthday?’ “Yes” I said, “my 50th”. She says, “you’re 50?” And then all of a sudden the guy at their table looked at me and said “You are BEAUTIFUL!” Was he drunk? I'm sure he was well on his way, but his timing was impeccable. There is no substitute for those words, the words you usually hear from those who love you, but rarely from a total stranger. It was the best birthday present. Ever.

I think I’m going to be okay with this 50 shit. Maybe the day just had to pass. Maybe it was the hot monkey sex. Maybe writing about it helped/helps me. I’ve been toying with the idea of posting The FireSnatch Chronicles somewhere else since MARs may not be the appropriate forum. I’m sure our three readers will let me know or I'll hear from those who share Melroy's fat chick obsession.

Oh, and as a side note, senility has already begun to set in. Last night when I crawled my drunk ass into bed AT 12:45 A.M. (Dear God), I made sure I set my alarm. I don’t know what time I finally fell asleep but it seemed like it had been just five minutes when that BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP scared me awake. As it is my routine every morning, I roll (this time stumbled) out of bed, open the bedroom door, my two cats rush my feet, I do a small hurdle over them to the bathroom to tweedle, feel my way around the kitchen for Fancy Feast (the fucking fluorescent light over the sink takes 3 minutes to come on – one of several projects my brother has on his honey-do list), feed the cats, and since the light still hasn’t come on, I feel my way to my office computer to check my email. My vision begins to focus on the time in the lower right-hand corner, and much to my chagrin, it is 4:03 a.m. and I am wide awake. Somehow, when I set the alarm, I also set my clock time ahead. One hour. I sure needed that hour. I'm old. Damn.

About the Debate Last Night-

ABC should be ashamed. Stephanopolous should be fired. Period. 'Nuff said. You figure out why. Edna, cram it. Hillary is done. Even with the media bias.

Found Cat- No, Not That Kind!