December 31, 2006

Happy New Year!

I hope that all of you have a happy and safe New Year's Eve, and may 2007 bring you much love and happiness.

A video that truly bespeaks of hope. Amen.

December 30, 2006

Home Again Home Again

Well, the Hot Springs trip is over and here's how it went.

Yesterday morning we met Thomas' mother who was toting his daughter, 2 nephews and a niece. We waited 30 minutes for Thomas' sister to pick up one of the nephews, because he got sick. We drove. Then we drove some more. Hey! We're in Hot Springs. We stayed at the Arlington Hotel, which I absolutely love. We shopped a little and then decided to eat.

About 1.5 hours after we ate , I figured out the restaurant poisoned me. Now, I'm not suggesting that they did it on purpose, but the waitress did have shifty eyes. And, she kept telling me to eat more of the pork. "Really. You MUST eat more of the pork. The pork is very, very good for you. It will make you have power beyond your belief. " I spent last night curled up on the bathroom floor pondering whether it was possible for someone to accidentally expel a major organ from their body.

This morning, I'm pretty sure we went shopping at a toy store. Thomas kept showing me puppets, so we were either in a toy store or having freaky puppet sex...again. We then went to the Mid-America Science Museum. Everyone else had fun playing with the exhibits, while I sat on a bench in a stupor. And, I think I may have been slobbering a little bit.

Then we drove back home and I had 7-Up and french fries.

Now, I'm going to bed.

The End.

Scintillating, wasn't it?

Take Care,
The Bablatrice - who is too blech to think of a tagline.

December 28, 2006

Weekend Pass

Free as a Bird

Tomorrow I am getting out of bum fuck. I'm positively giddy. And, I don't do giddy often. Thomas and I are driving down to Hot Springs, AR. I know. It's still Arkansas, but Hot Springs is kinda like you're in Arkansas, but you're not. They actually have ethnic restaurants there that aren't Taco Bell.

I really should get out more.

They Call it News

It's time once again for news from the local paper, and I've typed it exactly as printed. Except for the italicized parts which are my smartass comments.

Try to contain yourselves.

  • Gertie Burnett and son, Marion Smith, went to the Senior Center Tuesday 19th for a Christmas party. They reported a very enjoyable time. Gertie would like to inform whoever it may concern that bought an EZ bake oven at her garage sale that she has found the little pans for it. I honestly can't put into words the immense relief I felt when I read this. Thank the powers that be that the little pans are no longer lost and will soon be reunited with their light-bulb heated oven.
  • In a panic, Kindergartener, Chase Boatright asked me to call his mother, Chonda to remind his mother to please bring his teacher, Mrs. Mosley her present for the Christmas party. Here comes Chonda with present, camera and camcorder in hand as she arrived for the event. What would we do without mothers? What does this even mean?
  • A man said that he had hired a neighbor to assist him with some labor and that when the neighbor left in a "huff" because of the work he noticed his laptop computer and tape measure were missing. I had to read this three times before I understood what the fuck it was supposed to mean. Well, duh! He had to take the tape measure. How else would he know what size laptop bag to buy?
  • While out enjoying the Christmas lights, Edna saw quite a site. Never before had she seen Christmas yard decorations and lights of four large green alligators with big teeth, long tails wearing red Christmas stocking caps. It was almost scary, she said! The caps were on their tails? Was Edna wearing the caps? Alligators as Christmas decor is almost scary? Why the exclamation point?!!!!?
  • Finally, a headline: Elkins seniors chase a rooster for Christmas. Hey. You guys celebrate Christmas your way. We like to chase farm animals as part of the festivities.

Do you see why I'm so happy about getting away?

Church Sign O' the Week

"Try God. If you don't like him, the Devil will take you. "

A contingency plan. Nice.

2 Must Read Blogs

The first is What is Hip, and trust me, Don knows what's hip. In fact, I think Don invented hip. He was at least one of the founding fathers of hip. He's also very funny, and he writes in complete sentences. Plus, he lives in a neighborhood, which makes me very jealous.

The second is Fantasy Writer Guy. He was nice enough to write a post about me, but this isn't a tit-for-tat thing. Dear god. Did I just use the phrase tit-for-tat? I'm not sure what possessed me to do that. Anyway, FWG has a fabulous blog. Seriously. If you can read his posts without laughing then there is no hope for you.

Take Care,

The Bablatrice - who is still giddy. Giddy, I tell ya.

December 27, 2006

Oh God Told Noah to Build Him and Arky Arky

There is a pastor in Frostburg, MD that is claiming he had a vision in which god told him to build an ark. And, he's doing it. Only it's not going to float. And, there aren't going to be animals inside. And, the guy's name isn't Noah, it's Richard*.

Oh my. His name is Richard*.

Well, you go, Dick*. You build your arky ark, and may the naysayers be damned to hell and back with western Kansas as a detour. I realize that you started building your ark in 1976 and it's still not anywhere near completed. It may have taken you 30 years to merely have the shell up, but patience is like totally a virtue, dude. Does it really matter if it didn't take Noah 30 years to build his ark? Noah wasn't hindered by modern tools like cranes and power drills and such. So, of course it didn't take him 30 years just to build the shell of his ark.

Who cares that the Empire State Building is way bigger than your proposed ark and only took a little over a year to build? The only reason it was built so quickly is because those heathens worked on the Sabbath. Which means they had Satan helping them with the erection of that very phallic-looking structure of evil.

No, Dicky Boy. You ignore those who would taunt and make fun. They won't be laughing when in another 30 years you actually have the sides of the ark on, will they? They'll feel pretty darn foolish in 60 years when you're dead, but someone else has carried on the task of building your a to the r to the k and the roof is not only on, but on fire. Yeah. On fire for Christ. And, just watch those hell-bound reprobates snicker when sometime in the next century your dream is brought to fruition. They'll be sorry then won't they Big D? Oh yes. They'll be sorry.

Actually, they'll be dead by then, but you know what I mean.

I wish with all of my heart and soul that I could drink an anti-aging potion so I could stay alive long enough to see Dick's Ark come to the fully erect stage. I'm sure it's going to be something just completely magical.

For those of you who wish to help in the re-building of the Ark, here is the link.

Take Care,
The Bablatrice - who wishes she could have grandiose visions of very large arks.
*Please note that I totally adore the names Richard and Dick, and will only poke fun if you're a Dick building an ark.

December 26, 2006

Thou Shalt Not

I received a comment on one of my posts challenging me to examine myself using the 10 Commandments as a checklist. And, as much as I deplore the phrase "let me challenge you", I'm going to take him up on his offer.

  1. Thou shalt have no other gods before me. I doth not believe in any gods, so I cannot be breaking this commandment. But, the nameplate on my desk at work reads, "The Goddess". I'm really not sure how this fits in.
  2. Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image. I hath never madest an idol. Unless you count that one time I licked a push-up pop into the shape of a penis. But, I did NOT worship the orange sherbet penis.
  3. Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain. I hath no lord nor doth I have a god to take their names in vain. What about "fuck", though? 'Cause I say fuck a lot and not always in reference to the act of coitus.
  4. Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy. I doth remember the Sabbath, because that is the day I doth not have to work. I'm not sure about the holy part. Does doing my husband count if he screams "hallelujah" during the act, and says "amen" afterwards?
  5. Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee. I doth not keep this commandment, as my parents sucketh oxen member. I guess my days are numbered.
  6. Thou shalt not kill. I hath not killed any person. However, I show no mercy to bugs in my house. And, when I was little I used to bowl with rolly pollies. But, I don't think that killed them. I think it probably just made them dizzy or gave them brain damage or something.
  7. Thou shalt not commit adultery. I hath not committed adultery. But, I know how you Christians are sticklers with this one and insist that if you even think about someone sexually, then you have committed adultery in your heart. I admit that I think about Johnny Depp sexually. I don't think about having sex with him, though - I just want to watch him pleasure himself. Repeatedly. Is this adultery? And is it really in my heart? 'Cause I'm thinking it's a little farther south.
  8. Thou shalt not steal. I hath stolen and am sorely afraid. I used to take quarters from my father's dresser so I could buy pop at school. But, only because I had a severe addiction to carbonation.
  9. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. I hath broken this commandment. I was 8 and called my neighbor, Ann, "white trash" and she really wasn't. I also punched her in the nose, but she deserved that.
  10. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbour's. I hath coveted my neighbor's ass. I've also coveted my neighbor's manservant. She called him her pool boy, but manservant - pool boy. Same thing in my book.

So, how'd I do? I realize that I used a lot of sexual references in this post, but that's only because I'm an unrepentant sinner who is extra-lustful today.

Take Care,

The Bablatrice - Who receiveth much pleasure in breaking the rules.

December 24, 2006

Merry Celebration of Whatever You Celebrate Day!

The obligatory mall photo.

Really. What could say Happy Holidays more than this?

I hope that all of you may be surrounded by love, happiness, laughter and then more love. And, may all of the annoying relatives consume a buttload of alcohol and pass out quickly.

Take Care,

The Bablatrice and Co-hort.

December 22, 2006

Temporary Pink Slip

I didn't go to work today, and I won't be at work until January 2nd. Why not? Because, our company closes between Christmas and New Year's.

Every year. Closed. No worky.

And, I'm going to get paid for not working.

I just thought you should know.

December 21, 2006

Holy Chocolate Foreskins, Batman!

Phone Etiquette

This is the kind of kinky conversations my husband and I have.

Me: Hi, Mister
Thomas: Hi, Sweetie. I can't hear you very well.
Me: Hello?
Thomas: Hello?
Me: Hang on. Is that better?
Thomas: No. I still can barely hear you.

Me: How about now?
Thomas: No.
Me: Just a minute...How about now?
Thomas: That's better. What'd you do?
Me: I had to clean the chocolate out of the mouthpiece on my phone.

The Bible Exotica

In this week's Northwest Arkansas Business Journal there's an article about a local man who publishes exotic King James Bibles. We'll call him Duane, because that's his name. Duane uses various animal skins for the covers of these Bibles: elephant, ostrich, lamb, alligator and other such vermin - hence the adjective "exotic".

The ostrich Bible will set you back a mere $325 and only comes in one color. I'm assuming it's the color of an ostrich. The alligator Bible is $1700. Seventeen hundred bucks for a book you can steal from any Motel 6 nightstand drawer? Duane also states that he can get other hides should a customer want one. And, then adds, "'Course a lot of people wouldn't want to put snake skin on the Word of God." Oh, Duane, stop it. You're killing me. You are quite the funnyman. Seriously, dude. You totally rock in the humor department.

I seem to remember a story in the Bible about David harvesting the foreskins of 200 Philistines as payment for Saul's daughter. That's what I want my Bible to be covered in. 200 little shriveled circlets of Philistine foreskins. How 'bout it, D?

Church Sign O' the Week

"Christ is the perfect Christmas present."

Well, that's a huge relief isn't it? We no longer have to wonder what to give those hard-to-buy-for people. Think about it. If you give JC as a gift you don't have to worry about him being the wrong size. The son of god is one size fits all. He'd be handy to have at parties, too, should you run out of wine. And, since he can multiply food at will, your grocery bill would plummet. Frisbee stuck on the roof? No worries. Jesus can just do that totally whack ascension trick of his and you'll have your Frisbee back lickety-split. That add-on to the house you've been longing for is no longer a problem, either. Christ the Carpenter has got yo' ass covered. Have a touch of the flu? Jesus H. Christ laughs at your flu. I mean he raised a man from the dead, for god's sake. I don't think he's gonna blink an eye at a few measly aches and pains.

I only have a few questions about this whole Jesus as a gift thing. One, should you be the recipient of Jesus, can you re-gift him? And, if you're giving him as a gift do you wrap him? Put him in a gift bag? Play it austere and only tie a bow around his neck, or do you go with my husband's suggestion that it's probably more appropriate to just hang him from the tree?

Take Care,

The Bablatrice - who puts the heat in heathenism.

December 19, 2006

Beep beep, beep beep, yeah!

A Conundrum, if You Will

The road I drive everyday to work is called a highway. Ha ha ha ha ha. Once you get to the part of this "highway" where there are housing additions on either side, traffic becomes congested. I always let people pull out in front of me. I'm just nice like that. The other day I was being all smug about my niceness and thought that maybe if I didn't let these people out, they'd be frustrated. Then when they stopped for coffee, due to their frustration, they would in turn frustrate the clerk. Then the clerk would frustrate the next 5 customers. Those 5 would each frustrate 5 people, and on an on until I've pretty much pissed off the entire Northwest Arkansas region all because I didn't let someone pull out in front of me.

The reverse of this, of course, is that by letting someone pull out they would be overcome by happiness. This unadulterated joy would then spread exponentially and I'd be responsible for making thousands of people feel as though they were walking around with little bottles of sunshine and rainbows in their pockets all day.

But, then I had an appalling thought. What if by being nice and letting someone pull out in front of me I was pissing off 20 people behind me?

The moral of this story is: I'm fucked either way, and I'm pretty sure I suffer from mild delusions of grandeur.

Bumper Sticker Spotted

"Redneck and Proud of It" And it was adorned with a Confederate flag. I don't know how to break it to some of you, but there are no longer any Confederate States of America. There haven't been in over a century, so you should really stop it with the Rebel flag thing. You don't see anyone from the north displaying the Union flag do you?

Wait a minute.

The Union flag is our national flag. You know why? Because the NORTH WON.

Do you really think the South will rise again? Because the way I see it, if you're living in a state who ranks in the bottom five in education and income level, but in the top five in teen pregnancy and crime - I seriously doubt that you're properly prepared for an uprising.

Besides racism is dumb.

Everywhere a Sign

Thomas and I went to Little Rock this past weekend. They have scrolling message boards on the side of the road and I swear to god it's like someone's mother is standing there shouting out instructions: Watch out for work zones. Buckle up for safety. Slow down. Speed kills. Brake for safety. Are you wearing clean underwear? Don't forget to floss. You're not really going to wear that are you? But he's such a nice boy. Don't sit so close to the television. Quit running in the house. That's gonna go straight to your hips. You're making a mess. Don't make me tell your father. Don't touch that. Don't play with that. You're going to go blind. Because I said so!

Take Care,
The Bablatrice - Certified Sunshine Spreader (at least in her own head)

December 18, 2006

Fa La La La La Di Freakin' Da

On the rare occasions I'm not being an NPR whore, I flip around radio stations trying to find something decent to listen to. With all this flipping I've heard a lot of Christmas songs. Unfortunately, most of them suck great, big, greasy, monkey nuts.

And now, I give you:

The Bablatrice's List of Christmas Songs That Should Be Held at Gunpoint Until They Surrender ( in no particular order, but #3 is the most putrid)

1. Santa Looked A Lot Like Daddy by whoever the fuck sings it
This one is a crime against humanity. I seriously want to gouge my eyes out with a spork when I hear this. And, eye-gouging is not an easy task while you're driving.

2. Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree by Brenda Lee
Reminiscent of fingernails on a chalkboard. I, for one, have never ever ever been the recipient of a sentimental feeling from hearing voices singing "let's be jolly, deck the halls with boughs of holly."

3. The Christmas Shoes by um..yeah.
Blech. Blech. Cough. Hack. Kckkkckkkkk. Excuse me, I was just coughing up a great big wad of dreck. The premise of the song is that some kid is buying shoes for his dying mother because "I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus tonight". Who knew J-Dawd had such a shoe fetish?

4. Grandma Got Ran Over by a Reindeer by Elmo and Patsy
Please, please don't make me endure this song ever again. It's like the Macarena of Christmas songs.

5. Feliz Navidad by Jose Feliciano
Jose is still raking in the bucks from this one. Unfuckingbelievable.

6. Jingle Bell Rock by anyone who sings it
Where is Jingle Bell Square, anyway? I only ask because I want to make sure I never mistakenly end up smack dab in the middle of it, and find myself surrounded by holiday revelers dancing and prancing in the frosty air.

7. Last Christmas by George Michael
Quite possibly the worst lyrics ever placed on paper: "A crowded room, friends with tired eyes. I'm hiding from you and your soul of ice. " Bahahahaha. You cruel, heartless beehotch who gave his love away the day after Christmas. Curse you! Curse you and your frigid soul.

8. Oh Come All Ye Faithful by Twisted Sister
That's not a typo. It's really Twisted Sister, and they have a Christmas album titled "A Twisted Christmas". Catchy, no? I've only heard this one song of their album, but I imagine all of them will have the same effect of making my spleen spasm.

9. Blue Christmas by Elvis
Most. Depressing. Christmas. Song. Ever.

10. The 12 Pains of Christmas by Weird Al

No more parodies of the 12 Days of Christmas. Stop. The original is unbearable enough. No one can make it better. Please, for the love of god, stop.

Take Care,
The Bablatrice, who has ALL of these stuck in her head now.

December 16, 2006

Santa vs. Jesus. Round 1

Baby Jesus MIA

A woman from Eureka Springs, AR ripped off the baby Jesus from a local nativity scene. This particular baby Jesus has been stolen every year since 1998 and this year's thief stated that she was only carrying on tradition. How can you argue with that logic? You can't. Christmas is all about tradition. The best part of the whole story is the Jesus-thief is 70 years old! Get your heist on, Grandma, and please rock on with your bad self.

Dear Editor, I'm Bitter and Bored

The following is a letter to the editor that was in today's Arkansas Democrat Gazette.

Holiday is not innocent. Something for Christians to think about: It’s that time of year. Nowhere in God’s word are we told to celebrate Jesus’ birthday. And he was not born in December; there were shepherds in the field. Most people, including Christians, tell their children that Santa Claus brings them gifts. Everywhere you go you see Santa Clauses. Move letters around in Santa and you have Satan. And all should do a study to see where the “mas” was added to Christ’s name. Then read in the Bible what happens to those who add or take away from the words in the book. The Bible also says to beware that no one shall be despoiling you through philosophy and empty seduction in accord with human tradition in accord with the elements of the world and not in accord with Christ. Many say Xmas is an innocent celebration. Yes, innocent poison. HERBERT PAGE

You heard it, people. Xmas = innocent poison. I think Innocent Poison would be a cool name for a band.

Herbie, you need to find a hobby. Model airplanes? Philately? (It's stamp collecting, H, not something dirty.) Online bingo? Just something to keep your mind off of how deviltry and Christmas go together like peanut butter and jelly, so we don't have to endure anymore of your letters. And did you stop to think that maybe they added "mas" to Christ's name because it means "more" in Spanish. Christ more. More Christ. Can we honestly have too much saviour, Herb?

I do have to say that I totally dig how you used the word "despoiling".

Church Sign O' The Week

"Sermon: Jesus or Santa?"

We get to vote on who we'd rather hear a sermon from? Oh, joy! Let's compare, shall we?

  • They're both imaginary entities. (If you're a child reading this ignore that last sentence, because Santa is definitely real. And, what the hell are your parents doing letting you read this trash?)
  • Santa is jolly, whose belly is shakin' like jelly. Jesus is self-righteous and thinks he's god. Jelly shakin' will get you invited to way more parties than pretentiousness. 1 Point for Santa.
  • Santa brings toys, Jesus brings eternal life. Which would you rather open on Christmas morning? Another point for Santa
  • Santa lives with elves. Jesus lived with 12 other men. That's a toss up.
  • Santa is an anagram for Satan. Jesus is an anagram for Sujes. We all know Satan could kick Sujes' ass in a street fight, so Santa wins this one, too.
  • Santa dons a bright red suit, with white fur (faux, I'm sure), patent leather belt, funky boots and smokes a pipe. Jesus wears a white tunic-like thing that's plain, and sandals that have subsequently been named after him. Funky boots win over Jesus sandals every time.
  • Santa eats cookies and drinks milk. Jesus wants us to symbolically eat his flesh and drink his blood. Um. Ew. Another point for Santa. (Somethin' tells me the big J didn't bring his A-game to this face-off.)
  • Santa's choice of transportation is a flying sleigh. Jesus walked a lot, and rode a donkey. One more point for Santa.
  • Santa isn't an expletive. Jesus H. Christ is. Jesus pulls one out!
  • Santa knows if we've been naughty or nice. Jesus knows if you're an unrepentant sinner. Another toss up.
  • Santa and his sleigh can be picked up on radar on Christmas Eve. Jesus hasn't been spotted in over 2000 years. Santa again.
  • Santa wants to come down your chimney. Jesus wants to come into your heart. That's just way creepy. I don't want anything in my heart except the occasional cheeseburger and fries. One more for Santa.
  • Santa brings up 236,000,000 pages when Googled, Jesus only 141,000,000. Another point for the fat, jolly guy.

The tally is: Santa - 10 Jesus - 1

Jesus H. Christ! You just got totally smoked by Satan Santa. He was all up in your face, fo shizzle and fo sheezy. Better luck next time, JC.

Take Care,

The Bablatrice - who will never tell where she stands on the naughty or nice list.

December 13, 2006

I'm Like Grody and Stuff!

You wanna know why I haven't posted in over a week? Of course you do. For the past week, I've only been able to type with my left hand. Wanna know why I've only been able to type with my left hand? Of course you do. I burned my right hand. Let me rephrase that. I burned flesh off of all four fingers on my right hand. And, I had to let the doctor cut off one of the blisters. With scissors. Do you know what scissors cutting through human skin sounds like? It's so not pleasant. And when she got to the edges where there was still viable, living flesh it was rather uncomfortable.

Which translates as: It fuckin' hurt.

I learned that if you should find yourself in public with your hand swathed in gauze, you will be asked by everyone who sees it what happened. This asking is purely morbid curiosity. Only one person out of the roughly 964 people who asked about it offered advice on how to ease the pain.

What the advice giver said was: "You should take Aleve for the pain. My son burned his hand really bad and the doctor gave him pain pills, but they're addictive so I made him stop taking them and then he took Aleve. Aleve is what I recommend to all of my burn patients."

What I heard was: "You should take Aleve for the pain. My son burned his hand really bad and the doctor gave him pain pills, and I swiped one. Then I found out what a good buzz I copped from them, so I stole them from my son and made him take Aleve. I don't know why I'm making a reference to "my burn patients" because I'm not a doctor. I'm a cashier at a grocery store, but I pretend that I'm a doctor. A lot."

Yes, I got pain pills and yes I took them. All of them. I'm sorry, but when my fingers are twice their normal size and look as though I could transform into a werewolf at any moment, Aleve just won't cut it.

I'm down to having only my middle finger bandaged, and I'm still getting asked what happened, but now I tell people I got bit by a rhinoceros.

Take Care,
The Bablatrice - who discovered it's tricky to wash her left armpit with her left hand.

December 5, 2006

Fun at the Office

Email #1
Somehow I got on Fayetteville High School's email list at the office. I'm not really sure how, but the other morning I checked my email and there was a string of emails that went like this.

  1. Due to inclimate weather, FHS will close one hour early today.
  2. Please remove me from the list
  3. Please remove me from the list
  4. Please remove me from the list
  5. I don't take care of this
  6. I wasn't emailing you. Please remove me from the list.
  7. This list is like the Hotel California, you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.
  8. For god's sake, stop this insanity. Take me off the list.
Email #2

"Old Man Winter is blowing in cold conditions."

I think that if Old Man Winter has to dole out blowjobs for a career he should join some kind of union so he doesn't have to put up with such crappy working conditions.

I was logging an expense today for a snow removal tool, but I typed snot removal.

Yeah, stuff like this really does amuse me. Especially when the snot removal tool is a shovel.

Finally, if you're bored at work can you think of anything more fun than leafing through the Yellow Pages? Of course not. Because you get to find ads like this one. Please note that the tacky scribbling is all me, baby!

Serving God's People Through Dentistry.


Somehow, I don't think they'd ever welcome me as a patient.

Take Care,
The Bablatrice - who is easily amused

December 3, 2006

Santa Baby

Dear Santa

In the local paper this week (yep - our town only has a weekly paper) there were letters to Santa from kids at the local schools. Here are a few of the better ones, with my comments. Did you really think I wouldn't comment?

Dear Santa,
Is it cold up ther? I am shr it is. dont wre it will be wrm in my house. there will be hot chaliket. i been bad and good sometimes. I hop I get the theng's I want for cricmus. I hop you will give me wut I want for cricmus.

Will- I hop you get what you want for cricmus, too - as well as a few vowels. You need them.

Dear Santa,
How are you and Mrs. Claus? Thank you for the gifts that you gave me last year. I would like to have pjs also a barbie. I will leve you cookies and milk.
Merry Christmas,

Jen - If Santa doesn't bring you pajamas and a Barbie, he's a big, fat mean bastard, and I will personally help you kick his ginormous, lard-filled ass.

Dear Santa,
I hope you and Mrs. Claus are okay. Thank you for the prezes. I wuld like to have for Christmas this year I'd like to have urk eestrik log shot. Id like to havv ddgn. I will leave kookez and nelk.

Um...Zak..are you an alien? 'Cause the last half of your letter sounds a lot like what I would imagine alien-speak to be.

Dear Santa,
I wont to send you a meshig. What I rillie want is a new puppy. Next, I rillie wont is a horse. Last, I onte is a nother puppy for crismus. I rillie want theshe things.

Kensey - you're entirely too young to be drinking. Lay off the sauce until you're at least in the 5th grade, okay?

Dear Santa,
My name is Autumn. I really want a baby bed for all of my dolls. I would like to say "I love you, and be safe, your going to splash your bottom going into my house."

Autumn, dear child, do you possibly live in a houseboat? Swamp? A raft in the middle of a pond? C'mon kid, I'm dyin' to know exactly how Santa's going to get a wet tush going to your house.

Dear Santa,
I hope you and Mrs. Claus are don w wenl. Thank you fur the presents. I would like to have for Christmas this year is a makn chrowch chok. And I wont is a now viteo gom. And the last sta I kan am irtnel is I wont a I wont a naw bike.

Yo Gabe! Are you by any chance related to Zak the Alien?

Dear Santa,
Emily is my name. I would love to have a yellow moon shape touch light from the dollar tree. I would like to say "Merry Christmas and tell the rain deer hi for me."

It just breaks my heart that Emily only asks for one thing from the Dollar Tree. The Dollar Tree, people, where everything's a fucking dollar. Emily, if I knew who you were, I'd go to the Dollar Tree and buy you every single yellow moon touch lamp they had.

My Buddy

I got a phone call tonight from my buddy, Stace. He's one of the best guys in the whole entire solar system. Seriously. He's just...well, he's Stace. Anyway, he has a son, Jess...and Jess is a complete angel. We're quickly learning that Jess is a very intelligent angel. He turns 9 tomorrow and he's already reading at a 10th grade level. He loves Lord of the Rings and was so disappointed that there weren't more books, he's decided to write his own sequels. But, what really makes me love Jess even more than I already did is that he turned in some homework and he'd written it in Hobbit. How fuckin' cool is that? The kid wrote his homework in Hobbit!!!!

One reason why Stace is my friend is because tonight he told me that if I ever wanted him to build me a bomb, all I needed to bring him was a tampon and a book of matches. How many of your friends tell you that? Not that I'm ever going to need a bomb, but it's still good to have friends like that, isn't it?

Take Care,
The Bablatrice - who is starting her own letter to Santa.

December 1, 2006

How Lame Can I Get? I'll Show You.

Let It Snow

We were fortunate enough to have been blessed by receiving sleet, freezing rain and snow yesterday. The good news is - no work. The bad news is - I've been stuck at home for the past 2 days. I already have cabin fever. And, it's cold. It's going to be below 20 for the next night or so. I think that anytime the temperature is going to get below 20, the forecasters shouldn't even tell us a number - they should just refer to it as "fucking cold". I hate cold weather. Even though I was raised in the Midwest, I was meant to live somewhere warm - by the ocean - with fruity drinks. *Big huge sigh*

I did venture out this morning and took a picture of some very phallic looking icicles. However, Blogger has decided to be difficult and I can't post the pictures. Penis envy, maybe?

Church Sign O' the Week

I've once again been betrayed by church sign guy. Nothing even close to being good enough for Church Sign O' the Week was to be had. Words cannot even begin to describe the disappointment I feel. Why, oh why church sign guy? Why do you take my love, spit on it and then throw it back in my face? What did I do to deserve this? Sure, I make fun of you on a regular basis, and I once mentioned that your IQ wasn't higher than a bird's. But, sweet fancy Moses, man give me somethin' to work with. You're killin' me.

You notice how I wrote that as though church sign guy really reads my blog?

I amuse myself.

Phone Guy Pervs

The phone company has a substation on the property at the office, and there are roughly 10 trucks in and out every day. Do they really have so many repairs in a day that they have to have 10 different trucks in and out? Sometimes they even set up a canopy. It's like they're having a picnic. I think the reason there are so many visits to the substation is because all of the phone guys hack into the system and make free international calls.

Either that, or they're calling porn lines. And, I really don't want to think about the phone guys jerking off right outside my window. Even if they are under a canopy.

The Bohemian Butterfly

You remember how about 20 posts ago I mentioned that I was trying to come up with a new name for my art store on Etsy? Well, I finally have one. I am now The Bohemian Butterfly.

I just thought you should know, 'cause I know there are some of you who have probably been losing sleep just waiting for me to come up with a new name.

Rest easy, tonight, my friends.

Well, I'm going to wrap this up before this post gets any crappier than it already is, although I don't know how that could be possible. I'm going to blame it on the madness that has began to set in due to being cooped up.

Take Care,
The Bablatrice - who is longing for the sand between her toes.

November 28, 2006

Does Jesus Prefer Birch or Ash?

Blinded by the Light

With Thanksgiving out of the way, the Christmas decorating has started in full-force. Not at our house, mind you, I haven't been kicked in the ass by the Christmas-spirit fairy, yet. However, our fellow-Arkansans seem to be completely full of Christmas joy and goodwill. And, what better way to show their love for this festive time than to litter their lawns with tacky, plastic Virgin Marys and blinking lights? Of all the Christmas displays I've seen so far, 95% of them are horrible. I passed one house the other night, and I swear it looks like they took one end of the lights and plugged them in, and then got their dog drunk, gave him the other end and turned him loose in the yard.

And even though it pains me to mention it, I feel I must. To all of you who live in portable housing and have old cars and discarded living room furniture scattered on your lawn: 1. You should probably be spending your money on something other than Christmas lights, and 2. The lights aren't going to make your lawn look any better. They aren't going to hide your white-trashiness, oh thou who hast copulated with thine cousin. And do you know why they won't? Because, the plastic nativity scene in your yard already gave that little secret away. Not to mention the cars, furniture and the fact that you still have your Halloween decorations up.

Even the town square in Fayetteville is a disappointment in the Christmas display department. I expected white lights strung gracefully on branches in a tasteful display, but instead my sense of style was assaulted and violated by a plethora of multi-colored lights that were strewn about. That's right, people. Strewn. They were horribly strewn. There were trees with multi-colored lights up top and then red or green or blue lights on the trunk. Blue lights, red lights, orange lights, pink lights, green lights. Thousands upon thousands of lights in every shade of the rainbow. It was as though I'd stumbled into Liberace heaven.

Even the romance is gone from the town square Christmas debacle display. In previous years, there was a horse and carriage ride for the more amorous among us, but this year...there's a camel. Yeppers, you can ride a live camel. And, really, what bespeaks of love more succinctly than camel sweat?

I'm sure in some cultures it's an aphrodisiac.

What Wood Jesus Do?

The Guy Who Thinks He's Boss went to southern Arkansas over the Thanksgiving weekend and he brought this back just for me:

Well, we are apostrophe happy, aren't we? Do you suppose that maybe Joe and Wanda have this huge stockpile of cabinets behind their house waiting for Jesus to return? What on earth do they think Jesus would do with cabinets? Is this some new cult I don't know about? What would the saviour of mankind possibly keep in cabinets? I mean besides the wine, bread, fish and holy grail.

I really shouldn't make fun of Joe and Wanda, because Jesus was supposed to be a carpenter. So, they're just furthering the Lord's work in bringing the joy of cabinetry to the world. Praise Jesus for wooden repositories that hold our dishes and foodstuffs. Amen and again I say, Amen.

Take Care,
The Bablatrice - who isn't multi-colored, blinking or plastic.

November 23, 2006


Happy Thanksgiving!

That is all.

I jest. Of course, that's not all.

I have much to be thankful for. And, even though I think it's more fun to be cynical, I'll set my cynicism aside for a minute and give you my short list of things I'm grateful for.
  • Kids who are amazingly funny, smart and beautiful people.
  • A husband, who in spite of my "gift" of being a total nutjob, tolerates my nuttiness.
  • The functional portion of my dysfunctional family.
  • My husband's family - and that they have accepted me as one of the mob.
  • Good food, good health, good music.
  • Friends who take me as I am.
  • Warmth on a cold night - which is quite the task in the house we live in.
  • Nature and all of it's amazing beauty.
  • That I'm finally getting comfortable in my own skin.
  • Achieving clarity and possibly attaining a little bit of wisdom. A very small bit. A teeny-tiny bit. An almost microscopic bit. But, it's more than I had when I was 20.

I could go on with my list, but that'll do for now. I'm starting to feel the cockles of my heart beginning to warm, and warm heart cockles will never do.

Just for you - a horribly bad turkey joke.

What goes gobble, gobble, ha ha ha, plop?

A turkey laughing its head off.

Hey, I warned you it was bad, didn't I? But, you just had to keep on reading. It's your own fault.

I hope all of you have a safe Thanksgiving surrounded by those you love. If you're unfortunately surrounded by people you can just barely tolerate, I wish upon you copious amounts of alcohol.

Take Care,

The Bablatrice - who is more potent than tryptophan in putting people to sleep.

November 21, 2006

Sex, Love and Peace.

Speak Louder, No Habla Engles

At the office we have a Hispanic cleaning lady. I know that "cleaning lady" isn't politically correct, but what the fuck. She's a lady. And she cleans. Her name is Maria, and she's one of the sweetest people I've ever met. Maria doesn't speak English so well, and some of the guys at the office seem to think that because of this, they need to speak louder to her than is really necessary. As if the louder they speak, the better she'll understand.

Um. Guys, she's not deaf. And, screaming at her will not magically make her fluent in English.

However cool that might be if it were true.

Coital Cease-Fire

I read an article today about a California couple that have decided that we should all have orgasms on December 22nd. And we're supposed to have orgasms as an anti-war demonstration, because "The orgasm gives out an incredible feeling of peace during it and after it," Reffell said Sunday. "Your mind is like a blank. It's like a meditative state. And mass meditations have been shown to make a change."

Um. Yeah. Mushroom tea anyone?

The article goes on with, "The couple have studied evolutionary psychology and believe that war is mainly an outgrowth of men trying to impress potential mates, a case of "my missile is bigger than your missile," as Reffell put it."

So, there you have it. The reason we're in Iraq is because George W. has a little weenie.

Jamaican Java, Mon

I bought Thomas some Blue Mountain coffee, which is supposed to be this super fantastic coffee. I'm pretty sure you're supposed to masturbate while drinking it so you can enjoy the full essence of the bean. Anyway, he's going through this huge production out of making this coffee. Because it's that damn good, people. He's making sure everything is just right, and talking his way through this process. I think it's kinda cute, and I just thought you should know.

Church Sign O' the Week

"There's no wrong place to share the gospel."

Oh, church sign guy. So deluded, you are. There's a place that I can think of where sharing your gospel would be inappropriate. Like where you ask? Well, let's just say hypothetically you're in a hotel room, and you're a televangelist and you're butt-fucking a male prostitute who is also your meth supplier. That would be an inappropriate time to share the love of Jesus. Don't you agree?

Can the Ted Haggard jokes ever get old? I hope with all my being that they can't.

I promise after the end of the month I'll quit making closet-gay preacher jokes.

Unless another gay preacher gets booted out of the closet. Then I'm all over that shit. Fo sheezy.

And now, I'm off to be a baking fool.

Take Care,
The Bablatrice- a little dab'll do ya.

November 17, 2006

For Jeff.

I consider all the guys I work with to be either my younger brothers or sons- and all of them my friends. Today we lost one of my boys. Jeff was only 27. He was the most laid-back person you could ever meet. We used to joke that we could tell him that his ass was on fire and he'd very calmly look back, stroke his chin and say, "You're right. I should probably put that out." I never saw Jeff mad. Ever. In fact, I don't think you could catch him when he wasn't smiling. He was solid. You never had to guess what his mood was going to be like when you greeted him in the morning. He was one of the special guys, and one of my favorites.

The sadness hung over us today at the office, and I watched as we were gentle with each other. The normal banter was quieted. Voices were lowered. Tears were shed. We were reminded of the fragility of life. 27 is just too young. Especially for such a great guy. My heart goes out for Jeff's parents and brother. I can't imagine the pain they're going through.

I saw Jeff for the last time yesterday morning. I had just pulled into the parking lot and he caught me primping in my car and he proceeded to mock me. Then gave me one of his big grins. Had I known it was going to be the last time I saw him, I would have jumped out of my car, given him a great, big hug and let him know that I thought he was one helluva guy.

Jeff, I don't know if there's an afterlife, but I hope there's one for you. One that has great beer, good golf, beautiful women and Jerry Jeff Walker on the radio.

We'll miss you, but we'll never forget.

I promise.


November 14, 2006

Zen-Like Cynicism

Riddle Me This

What's worse than Phil Collins singing?

Phil Collins singing a remake of "True Colors."

What's worse than Phil Collins singing a remake of "True Colors"?

Him singing it in my living room while naked.

What's worse than Phil Collins singing a remake of "True Colors" in my living room while naked?

Doing the above while touching himself.

What's worse than Phil Collins singing a remake of "True Colors" in my living room while naked and touching himself?

Absolutely nothing.

No Soliciting. Really. I Mean it This Time.

We get solicitors at the office from time to time. When I first started working there, I put up a "No Soliciting" sign. That didn't work. So, I made a new one that read, "No Soliciting. Not even a little bit." That didn't work either. So I made a new one that read, "No Soliciting. Not even a little bit. That means YOU, the person trying to sell us something." Still no success in keeping the blood-sucking sales people away. So the current sign reads, "No Soliciting. If you are rude enough to disregard our sign, please don't be upset when we're rude enough to ask you to leave." Guess what? It STILL doesn't work. I have to say, you outside sales people are some tenacious little fuckers. I'm at a loss as what to do next. A trained attack dog? A chalk outline with a sign that reads, "This is what happened to the last salesperson, capiche?" Remote-controlled electric shock? I think next time one of them ignores the sign, I'm just going to sit there twitching and flash 'em the crazy eye and then say, "My stapler's talking to me again, and I'm really having trouble hearing it over your spiel and the tape dispenser's incessant chatter. So, I think it's best if you leave before I start having another 'episode'. "

Toys for Tots: 1 Talking Jesus: 0

Once featured right here on Flumadiddle, the talking Jesus doll has been rejected by Toys for Tots. Bill Grien, the vice-president for Toys for Tots stated that, "Kids want a gift for the holiday season that is fun."

Sorry JC, I know it's supposed to be your party and everything, but you're just not nearly as fun CooCoo-The Rocking Clown. Maybe if you just loosened up a little. Put your hair in a ponytail, wear some leather - anything other than that tired, white dress. Maybe a tattoo? How about some piercings...oh...nevermind.

Finally, a Moment of Zen

Take Care
The Bablatrice - who is feeling more than peaceful right now.

November 13, 2006

38 Years Combined Experience

Let's Dumb it Down for the S---L---O---W People

The other day I heard an advertisement on the radio and the business was touting its 200 years combined experience. You know what? I don't give a green monkey's butt about your combined experience. You could have 200 employees with one year of experience. Or 400 employees with 6 month's experience, or 800 with 3 months. Okay, I think you get the picture. This kind of advertising is saying, "Attention. Can I have your attention please? General Public...we think you're a bunch of fucking morons, and we are going to trick you into thinking we're the company for you by using asinine terminology such as, "combined experience". We'll also make sure we talk really slow so your under-developed brains will be able to grasp the concept we're trying to get across. And, we'll use small, Dick and Jane words, because chances are you're driving while listening to our ad and we don't want to overload you with too much sensory stimuli. You may now resume being tard muffins, and we thank you for your support."

It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas

Driving home tonight, I passed a house and the owner's already had their Christmas lights up. People, it's only November 13th. Really. Do we need Christmas lights so soon? Isn't it bad enough that the stores have Christmas stuff in by Labor Day? As if early lights weren't bad enough, they were multi-colored lights. I absolutely abhor multi-colored lights. What purpose is served in making your yard look like a Tijuana brothel? The only thing worse than multi-colored lights are lights that blink. They're on. No. They're off. Wait. They're back on. Now they're off again. What's really sad is I can imagine dim-witted families sitting around making a game out of when the lights are going to come back on again. Listen, if you can't decide whether you want your lights on or off, then your Christmas light displaying privileges will be taken away - as well as all of your Bee Gee records. Because, I happen to know that the only people who are amused by the blinking lights phenomenon are disco people.

And, disco people are evil.

And, they wear polyester.

If they were any younger, we'd be eating pea embryos.

Church Sign O' the Week

"Aspire to Inspire Before you Expire"

And, if you're on fire, you might perspire - unless it's just your pants on fire, then you're a liar. I wonder if church sign guy's a friar, or maybe has a spare tire, or wears funny attire. Do you think his last name is Meyer or Pryor? Are his clothes hung on a line or placed in a dryer? What do you think would transpire should church sign guy step on a briar? Do you think he sings in the choir? Does the entire church worship this sign-posting plier? Do they really admire this word-spewing sire? If I were to make a church sign guy flyer, I'd write that being a church sign guy doesn't require a higher IQ than a bird on a wire.

And now, I think I'll conspire to retire.

Take Care,

The Bablatrice - who probably read too much Dr. Seuss as a child.

November 11, 2006

I May Be Weird, but I Don't Pee in Public

I'm Weirder Than You Think

Here are a few little tidbits about me that will make you realize just how strange I am. By the way, doesn't the word "tidbit" sound like it should be dirty?

1. I always get the third newspaper from the top, 2 paper towels when drying my hands and 5 ice cubes to a glass. I don't think anything horrific is going to happen if I don't do these things. They're just what I do. Quirks, if you will.

2. I sometimes get strange urges.

  • When I'm on a business call, I always write down the name of the person I'm talking to so I can say, "thank you, Whoever" when we're ending the conversation. For instance, if the person's name was Michelle, I'd say, "Thank you, Michelle". But, once in awhile I get the urge to say, "Thank you, Michelle...if that's your real name".
  • When I pull up to the speaker at a drive-thru and the ever-friendly, fast-food employee asks, "May I take your order?", sometimes I want to answer with, "No thank you. Can I take yours?"

3. I have to have the toilet paper go over the roll. And, if I wanted to make a bad pun about it, I'd say I was anal about it. That was so not funny. Anyway, I've even been known to change the toilet paper in public restrooms if it's not on correctly. I think this is kind of a psychopathic, "laces out" thing.

4. I like to smell clean laundry while I'm folding it. Um, yeah. My name is Rachel and I huff clean clothes.

We Will Play Dirty to Get Your Money

I received a letter from Arkansas Children's Hospital wanting a donation. At the top of the letter this is written: "I want to make sick kids smile". And, it's in cute little kid font. The only thing that was missing was the backwards "s". You people have this thing nailed, don't you? I mean, only a total bastard would deny making sick kids smile. Yep. I'm sending a check.

The Indignities of Voting

Thomas told me that when he went to vote, there were two guys in the parking lot standing by a truck. One was leaning over the bed and the other one was taking a piss. You read right. Dude was taking a piss in the voting place parking lot. At what point do you lose so much of your mind that you piss where people can see you? Voting people, at that. I guess his excuse was that he'd had too much beer and he's a fucking moron.

Take Care,
The Bablatrice - If that's my real name.

November 8, 2006

Blue Skies and Bilious Outpourings

Rock the Vote

So, do you think the Republicans bent over and grabbed their ankles when they got spanked yesterday? The Democrats have control of the House, possibly the Senate, we have a Democratic governor AND Rumsfeld is out. This almost makes me re-think the god concept.

Not really.

But it does make me think that there may be a small glimmer of hope for the American people.

I'm wondering how long it's going to take before all of the election signs are down. I think they should have been down by midnight last night. I had the urge to vandalize the non-winner's signs today by writing "Way to go, loser" on them. But, I didn't have a marker in the car.

Curse You! Curse You All!

You know the people who are holding a conversation with someone else, and then inject something "witty" into the conversation but look at you while they're saying it to make sure you noticed them being witty? I've come to the following conclusions about these people: 1. What they're saying is never even close to being witty, and 2. I hate them.

You know who else I hate? People who tailgate even when I'm going 5 mph over the speed limit. Listen you tailgating swine, there's just no reason for you to be 2 feet from the back end of my car. I could understand it if I had an ingeniously clever bumper sticker that was written in teeny-tiny letters, or a picture of Johnny Depp in the buff in my back window, but I don't. So, for fuck's sake, back off!

Church Sign O' the Week

"Be an organ donor. Give your heart to Jesus."

Okay, church sign guy...this is just creepy. Really. I get this image of preachers in bloodied lab coats, laughing maniacally while pulling hearts out of church members. And then these de-hearted church members become zombies and hunt down us heathens and eat our spleens while telling us the plan of salvation. But, then they realize that even though we're spleenless, we're still alive so they have to kill us by making us listen to tapes of Jerry Falwell and James Dobson. Oh, disillusioned church sign guy. Do you really expect to get people into your church with this kind of advertising?!?!? Besides, I'd bet Jesus would much rather have skin grafts.

Take Care,
The Bablatrice - who is good to the last drop.

November 4, 2006

Diverse Confessions

Well, well, well, Ted Haggard confessed to sexually immoral conduct. Which to me translates as: "I really dig me some man-on-man butt-fuckin' ". Here's part of what he said about it:

"... from time to time, the dirt that I thought was gone would resurface, and I would find myself thinking thoughts and experiencing desires that were contrary to everything I believe and teach,"

News flash for you, Teddy. You're gay. Gay. G-A-Y. You are a homosexual. And, since you're pretty much out of the closet now, run with your gaydom. Be free, Teddy! Be FREE! Go buy yourself a Judy Garland CD, and by golly, you sing along at the top of your lungs, girlfriend. You grab that great big shiny rainbow and you hang on to it with everything you're worth. (Can't you just hear Richard Simmons saying that last part?)

You know how I predicted that the church members would say that Satan had been tempting Ted because he was such a go-getter for their g to the o to the d? ? Here's a quote from one of the members:

Church member Christine Rayes, 47, said the congregation had hoped the allegations "were all lies."
"We all have to move forward now," she said. "This doesn't make what Ted accomplished here any less. The farther up you are, the more you are a target for Satan."

I shoulda made bets on that one. I could have probably made about five bucks or somethin'.

Since I'm on a church vein, here's the Church Sign O' the Week.

"Satan pushes, Jesus guides."

Satan also cuts in line, bullies you out of your lunch money and gives wedgies to all the nerdy kids.

Alright, enough church and god stuff, already.

Here are a few of the phrases that people have googled which led them to my blog:

  • "my husband's penis" - which is quite popular, actually.
  • "skoal ring Wranglers"
  • "redneck list skoal ring"
  • "high school girls pee" and
  • "church sign holy ghost halloween"
All of the above is definitive proof of how diverse I really am.

Take Care,
The Bablatrice - who isn't at all well behaved.

November 2, 2006

The Devil's Music is in 4/4 Time.

Look who made it onto That's right. I submitted this a long time ago, and had forgotten about it. Sigh. The things that bring me joy are so simplistic.

In other breaking news, I was organizing my favorites file, and I came across
this website. I have no idea how this got to be in my favorites file. I don't remember ever reading this, nor saving it. It is a Christian fundamentalist's take on good music vs. evil music.

Here's a quote from this website: "The devil is our adversary. He is against us, because he is against God. This is the basis of march music. God has given us wonderful march music, so the devil says, "If that is what God is for, then I’m against it," and the devil puts the accent on a beat opposite from that of march music. Dance music and march music are direct opposites, because their basic beat is the opposite."

So, see people, when I slam Christians, THIS is who I'm slamming. The fundamentalists who have to make everything evil. I think that they're all a bunch of deviants who pop boners whenever they get to think about how "dirty" something is. And, then after masturbating while reading the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, they punish themselves by reading
Chick Tracts and setting themselves on fire, just so they're reminded of just how uncomfortable hell will be.

Speaking of fundamentalists. Who didn't giggle while reading about Ted Haggard, who has been outspoken on the gay-marriage ban, but ironically (and allegedly) likes either taking it or giving it up the ass while hopped up on meth? Now that he's admitted to buying drugs and getting a massage from a gay man, what are his minions going to say?

Oh! I know what they'll say. That Satan must have had a hold on poor, closet-gay Ted because the devil knew that he was doing important work for the Lord. So, he had to tempt Ted with the allure of men's hairy asses and methamphetamine. Which is always a volatile combination.

My prediction is that Ted will be superficially contrite and will beg forgiveness from the church, and the memebers will just stare glassy-eyed at him and agree with everything that he says, because they don't have the balls to think for themselves.

And, for the rest of you who have yet to realize that homosexuality is as natural as heterosexuality - C'mon. Don't you think it's time you let go of the archaic notion that gayness is a sin? That's just one more example of the Christians making something dirty, when it's really perfectly natural.

Take Care,
The Bablatrice - who puts the fun in fundamentalist slammer.

October 31, 2006

I'd Vote for Zotz and Sweet Tea.

Zotz. Who remembers them? I loved them as a kid, and now I can buy them again. I'm filled with a mix of unadulterated joy and trepidation. Joyous because their fuckin' ZOTZ, people! The trepidation kicks in because I'm scared that I'll try them and they'll suck smelly ass. I've tried other foods that I loved as a kid, and I was severely disappointed. If I buy Zotz now, and find I don't like as I know it could be over. I just don't know if I can handle Zotz disappointment. How would I ever get over finding out that what I thought was the holy grail of candy really wasn't? What if I found out that the only reason I liked Zotz as a kid was because they had a slightly futuristic sounding name? The blow I would suffer would be nearly unrecoverable. Do you think there's a special therapy group for those suffering from Zotz disappointment? I didn't think so. I just don't think I can risk it.

Elections. I will be so damn glad when the elections are over and done with. I'm tired of the ads, the news and the signs. THE SIGNS!! They're everywhere, and they're annoying. Why does every politician think it's necessary to use only red, white or blue on their signs? Are we really so programmed as to think that if a candidate used pink or orange, or god forbid, purple on a sign that we wouldn't vote for them, because subconsciously we'd think they were anti-American, flag-burning, non-apple-pie-eating, basement Nazis? I, for one, would vote for the first person who dared to not use the colors of Old Glory on their sign for the simple fact that they weren't like everyone else.

Unless they were a Republican.

Birthdays. My husband turned 42 Sunday, and he still has the body of an 18 year-old. An 18 year-old Greek god, at that. Except that he's not missing any important parts of his anatomy like a lot of Greek god statues are.

Another birthday meant another night with his family. Have I mentioned his family is nuts? I have to say that the highlight of the birthday soiree was when the not-quite-three year-old niece summarized her thoughts of the evening with a very distinct, "goddamn". And, while she was being chastised by the grandfather figure, I was agreeing with her summation and laughing behind Thomas' back.

Once again, my maturity reigns supreme.

Sweet Tea. I love the stuff. If I could figure out a way to be able to inject it into my veins and still be able to taste it, I would. I'd walk around with a 5-gallon bag on an IV pole, mainlining sweet tea until I was delirious and speaking in tongues.

Until I moved to the south, tea was simply either 'iced tea' or 'hot tea'. But, everyone here calls iced tea, 'sweet tea'. It's one of the very, very few Southernisms I've picked up. In fact, it may be the only one. Because, I will not tell you I'm drinking coke when we all know I'm really drinking a pop. I will never be fixin' to. I will never call you guys, y'all. I will never go down yonder, nor be back directly. And, I absolutely will not eat me a mess of grits.

And, that's a campaign promise.

Take Care,
The Bablatrice - who dressed up as a witch today, but somehow ended up looking like Alice Cooper.

October 28, 2006

I Put the Wee in Halloween

Due to some kind of conspiracy against the Bablatrice, all of the church signs I've driven past this week have been either unchanged from last week or completely mundane. So, I'm afraid there will be no Church Sign O' the Week. I mean, what the heck am I supposed to do with signs that just have stuff like, "Fallfest" on them? Sure I could make fun of the church people for being too weenie to celebrate Halloween. And why don't they celebrate? Because, Halloween is the time when we unrepentant heathens worship our dark lord and master, Satan, and cavort about engaging in various manners of perversion and general shenanigans. Not to mention the virgin sacrifices and the whole summoning demons thing (which is a LOT more fun than you think it'd be).

And, I could mention that the children of these Fallfest goers will probably resent their parents when they get to be adults, because they never got to celebrate Halloween. Of course, I'm just guessing on this part. It's not like I know first-hand how much it sucks to have never been allowed to go trick-or-treating, even though it was perfectly okay for us to hand out candy to the other hell-bound children. Who knows what horrors would have occurred had we dressed up in costumes and snagged some free candy one lousy night of the year. Trick-or-treating probably would have introduced me to the powers of tobacco, which would have led to pot, and then to heroine and then I'd be mixing up a concoction of pixie sticks, Brasso, and silly putty and shooting that up my veins, struggling to fight my addiction and pass the 5th grade. All because I dressed up and got some free candy.

I could also mention that the Christians don't have any qualms about stealing other pagan holidays like Easter and Christmas, so I don't know why they just don't thieve this one, too.

But, I'll refrain from all that, and move on.

One thing about living dead center of bum fuck, is that we don’t have any trick-or-treaters come to the door. This is good and bad. Good, because I don’t have to buy the little beggars candy. And, bad, because I don’t have to buy the little beggars candy. You know, it's just no fun decorating for Halloween if there aren't kids to scare. I mean, what's Halloween without getting to see at least one kid pee their pants?

I guess this year the main-squeeze and I will have a quiet, non-scary night at home. Of course, we could always dress up like
this and go down to one of the local churches' Fallfests and harrass the Christians. Bwahahahaha!

I'm kidding. I would never do that.

Seriously. I wouldn't.

Mostly because if I get within 10 feet of a church it bursts into flames.

Anyway, I hope everyone has a good time celebrating October 31st. Whether it be at some lame church Fallfest, or a totally rockin' Halloween party where everyone is costumed and drinking some wickedly alcoholic brew out of a cauldron while singing Monster Mash off-key. Oh yeah, and selling their souls to Satan.

I know which one I'd rather attend.

Take Care,
The Bablatrice - who doesn't really worship Satan. He's just so last year.

October 26, 2006

Fish Poop = Nutritious Goodness.

The small town we live in has an ordinance that doesn't allow any form of merriment, and has about 10 job opportunities. (Actually, we don't live in the town..we're about 5 miles outside of it which puts us dead center of bum fuck. ) So, Thomas and I both work and play in Fayetteville, which is about 25 miles from our house. Now, Fayetteville has its good points. It still has somewhat of a "free-thinkers" subculture which makes me quite happy. I have found some cool shops, and even managed to locate one or two good restaurants. But, one of the downsides to Fayetteville is that about 80% of the time, the water completely and utterly sucks. And, not just a little bit. It sucks, well, a great big buttload. 80% of the time, the water tastes like part of the treatment process involves dumping large amounts of potting soil into the water.

When I first moved to this area and experienced the potting soil flavored water, I asked one of my fellow diners what the hell was wrong with the water. His reply was that the "lake had turned". What? I grew up in a city, and know of no such phenomenon. So, I looked up what happens when a lake turns. Fascinating reading, really. Well, fascinating if you're really bored.

What amazes me about the whole water tasting like dirt thing, is that that the people here are just so lackadaisical about it. They just take it in stride like their water tasting like dirt is perfectly okay with them. I am not like these people. My concern is that if the water treatment facility can't manage to get the taste of dirt out of the water, what else do they leave in? Fish turds anyone? How about a little water with lemon and just a hint of human waste? Mmmmmm. Yumminess, itself.

You know what the funny thing is (and I mean funny in a completely seventh grade way), the lake that Fayetteville gets its water from is Beaver Lake.

I reek maturity sometimes, don't I?

Take Care,
The Bablatrice - who strongly suggests you don't drink the water.

October 22, 2006

And of Course a Cake, I Guess.

I thought I'd share a few tidbits I found from our local small-town paper. Just so you know, I am not making this up. I really, really wish I was. Everything is exactly as it was printed in the paper - punctuation, or lack of, included.

Tidbit #1 - Bob and Joan Grigg attended a homecoming at Boxley Church Sunday. There was a very good singing and eating. Saturday, they cut wood, so they wouldn't get cold this winter.

Tidbit#2 - Leo and Carolyn Bowen went to Harrison shopping Saturday. They ate breakfast at Shoney's. On Sunday, they helped Bethaney Hawthorn celebrate her 12th birthday with a family dinner and of course a cake I guess.

Tidbit #3 - The Kingston First Responders have had two calls this week. The fire department had one false alarm call.

Well, what can I say? Welcome to 1893, and may the day when I can flee this place come quickly.

Every morning I stop at the same convenience store. There's a chick who works there and I'm guessing she's in her mid to late 20s, and every morning she's wearing a tiara. That's right. A tiara. A sparkly, rhinestone tiara. Now, if she was the type who was fun-loving and happy, and was a general goofball, then I might be able to understand why she's sporting a tiara while turning on gas pumps. However, I've never seen this woman smile. Ever. Not even a slight smile. Not a fake smile. Not even a smirk. I think it's physically impossible for the corners of her mouth to move north. She's not the type to wear a tiara in a jocular manner and pull it off. I've racked my feeble brain trying to figure out why the hell she feels possessed to wear a sparkly, rhinestone tiara, and I can only come to one conclusion.

She's mentally disturbed.

I know what you're thinking. You're wondering why I just don't ask her why she wears it. But, not only does she walk around as though she's awakened every morning by rabid, howler monkeys, she's also twice my size. And, I'm a weenie when it comes to large women hurting me.

Speaking of large women, Thomas has a new cell phone. I'm pretty sure he really, really likes it because tonight he described it as, "that tiny fuckin' piece of fuckin' shit crap". And I think that phrase just screams love. The reason he adores his phone so much is that it's tiny, and his hands aren't. So, he has trouble pushing the buttons. I think it's rather amusing to watch. Sadly, he doesn't share in my amusement. And, in case you're is true what they say about men who have large hands. He really does have a hard time finding gloves that fit.

Did you see that, Sweetie? I somewhat alluded to your penis without just coming out and saying, "my husband's penis". And, from what I remember about the penis rules, I am allowed to allude to it, so you shouldn't get all wild-eyed about it. By the way, here is his wild-eyed look

Lest anyone think I really married a psycho, here's a picture when he's not flashing the crazy eyes.

I however, look frightened with a touch of nausea.

Take Care,
The Bablatrice - who hasn't been photogenic since she was 4.

October 19, 2006

Church Signs and Pickled Okra

Do you know that this week I've managed to get ZERO pieces of art completed? Of course you didn't know that. How could you know that? I mean, yeah sure, now you know, because I just told you, but until then you didn't know, did you? If you did, that means that you're either stalking me, or you're in my head, and neither of those could be very pleasant for you.

Things I've Experienced This Week:

  • A woman and her two sons eating pickled okra out of the jar while waiting in line at the grocery store. Pickled okra...out of the jar...while the jar was still on the conveyor belt. This pretty much sums up the small town I live in.
  • One of the commentators on our local NPR station try to say, "make a smart investment", but instead, it came out, "make a fart (slight giggle) investment"
  • Subway restaurant employees that were friendly. And they smiled. And they even looked me directly in the eyes and then they greeted me! Eye contact AND a greeting??? Do you know how rare this is? I felt as though I was wrapped in a warm cocoon of fresh baked bread and pure joy.
  • That people can be catty, men and women included, and it's just not very attractive. It's not nice, either.

And now it's time for, Church Sign O' the Week. Actually, this week there are 2. Bonus!

"The only ghost here is holy." See? They even have to be pious about their ghosts. Oh wait, do you think they were having a go at a little Halloween humor? Do you think they were talking about the Holy Ghost? As in, the third guy on the right in all the trinity photos? And, is this considered blasphemy of the Holy Ghost? Because, as an ex-Christian, I know that blasphemy of the Holy Ghost is the one thing that will for sure guarantee me a direct route to you-know-where. And, going to you-know-where is definitely on my to-do list.


"Dear Father, can you hear me now?" This is on the church whose signs usually try to tie in with current trends. But, um, church sign guy...the whole "can you hear me now" thing has been dead for some time. Do you people have to try and resurrect everything?

Take Care,

The Bablatrice - who has a lot to talk about in therapy tomorrow.