I'm down on humanity today

No fluff. A bare bones approach to this post. I'm down on humanity today.

As a nation, we have no survival skills. We are creatures of comfort. And in a time when a great number of our countrymen are suffering, I'm finding myself pissed off at how we deal and cope.

Granted, I'm sitting in a comfortable chair, with coffee, good music playing, electricity and toilet paper readily available, so when those affected by Katrina stumble across this post a year from now, they can say, "You stupid bitch, you have no idea what we went through." They are right, I can't fathom what they are dealing with. My heart is heavy today, and I am sad.

And angry. Maybe I'm angry because I feel helpless, so in turn, I'll open my wallet and give because I can afford to do so. However, I think I'd be a better person if I left my home for a few weeks and went down there to help because I need that kind of reality check. Or maybe I'm angry because I see looting on the news.

I stepped back and assessed the situation. Never having lived in a major city, I don't truly comprehend what it's like to not own transportation. So for those individuals who didn't heed the warnings and decided to stay in the city because they couldn't afford transportation out, or for whatever reason, I feel for you. Now you're stuck in a city that is under water and you have nothing. So you go into the local Wal-Mart and take whatever you can. I guess if I was in your situation, I would too, because basic survival skills have kicked in.

But if you're a wearing a shirt that says, "Bad Girls Suck, Good Girls Swallow" and you have your cart full of electronics and other nonessential items, I hope you rot in hell. When you passed by the medications and water for the $39.74 boom box, and you find yourself with nothing to eat and dehydrated, good luck trying to hock that boom box for something that could possibly sustain your life.

I'm done writing now. Like I said, I'm down on humanity today.

DMB Shizzle

Check out this article from the Onion. Too good for words.

Dave Matthews Not That Into Himself Anymore

The World is not your Ashtray

I don't get on a soapbox very often, because frankly, I try to mind my own business. Occasionally I succumb to the temptation of gossip because, well, it's fun, and I'm a mean girl.

Today I'm stepping out of my element. I get annoyed with people who preach their opinions as if what they say is the "end all, be all." Hooray, I'm happy you have an opinion! Yes, I'm polite and I listen! But secretly I'm saying STFU in my head and finding ways in which to leave your sorry ass in mid-sentence. That being said, you have my permission to stop reading this gripe-post at your convenience, no skirtation necessary. (I think I just made up a new word.)

Smokers, the world is not your ashtray. Yes, you are driving a new 2005 model of Car and Driver's latest "Best Of" series, and yes, an ashtray coming standard in a vehicle is a thing of the past, but that does not give you the right to clog our thoroughfares and sidewalks with cigarette butts. Butts = Asses. Get it? Please do us all a favor. Go to the local KMart or the White-Trash-24-Hour-Open-For-Billy-Business-Megaconglomerate and purchase yourself a $4.99 car ashtray that will fit nicely in one of the 18 cup holders you now possess.

Hey, I'm all for smoker's rights. Smoke away. Suck hard on that little white stick, it's your right. Just put your butts where they belong, and NOT FLICKED OUT YOUR CAR WINDOW. That just pisses me off. It's rude, not to mention nasty. It wasn't long ago that some joker in his POS sports car flicked his butt out his window and it hit my passenger's side window. Amazing, sure, there were some g-forces at work there, but my point is, what if that window was open? What if someone was sitting there? You effin asshole.

Warning, warning, something disgusting this way comes. You may want to stop reading NOW.

I started to think long and hard about this cigarette dilemma, and contemplated what might be considered as foul and nasty as butts being tossed haphazzardly across our nation. I decided that the next time some nutsack tosses his butt out the window, I'm going to follow him until he parks, and then casually toss my used tampon out my window, just to see his reaction. And I hope it lands on his car, coagulating nicely on his paint job. I bet a riot will ensue. Seriously, what's the difference? I surely don't want to clog up my cupholder/ashtray/changeholder with used tampons, so I'll just toss them out the window. I swear people, I'm this close. This close!

There's a simple solution. Don't litter. I'll keep my used tampons where they belong as long as you properly dispose of your butts. We'll all be one big happy family living in harmony, safeguarding one more avenue for the government to steal our DNA.

Rant finished.

Booger Eaters

My next door neighbors moved in almost a year ago. They are Kansas homegrowns. Having been born and raised in Ohio, I was thrilled to have some "midwestern/southern culture" in the neighborhood. Boy did I get it. Enter Cody and Lori.

I'm writing a book about my experiences living next door to Cody. I have a whole list of codyisms that I've collected over the last several months. Don't get me wrong, this isn't a Cody bashfest, this is written with nothing but admiration and respect. Cody and Lori are great friends. Good, honest, cornfed people.

Cody and Lori came here from Texas, having spent a year in Dallas. Lori, although born in Kansas, grew up in Oklahoma, and Cody, bless his heart, didn't venture much out of Podunktown, Kansas. His hometown has one intersection and about 50 people. And - he has a vocabulary all his own.

Cody claims to be a "real cowboy," not one of them thar booger eaters. Yes, I said booger eaters. According to Cody, booger eaters are guys who claim to be cowboys but don't really fit the true cowboy definition. As defined by dictionary.com, a cowboy is "a hired man, especially in the western United States, who tends cattle and performs many of his duties on horseback. Also called cowman, cowpoke, cowpuncher, also called regionally buckaroo, vaquero or waddy." Apparently wearing a hat and some Wrangler jeans won't get you into the Cowboy Hall of Fame.

In Ohio, we don't get many cowboys, and if we do, they are, for sure, booger eaters.

Today, I saw the ultimate booger eater truck. It was this gargantuan Ford truck. How did I know it was a Ford truck, you ask? Well, by God, it must have had 20 stickers in the windows pimping the fact that this truck was a Ford truck. I wasn't able to get a good look at the driver because the sun was glaring off his windshield. However, I'm picturing a Toby Keith wannabe because I caught a glance of his white rolled-brimmed cowboy hat. I also thought I faintly heard the words "I'm a Ford truck man," but I could be mistaken. But what really gave away the fact that this was, indeed, a booger eater, was the, not one, but TWO (thatsalatta commas) longhorn steer skulls gracing the front of his Ford truck grill, much like this one:

Shock and awe, people, shock and awe. You just don't see sights like this in suburban Ohio. Yeah, we're hickish and all with our soybean and dairy farms, but wowza, this was a beaut. The first thing out of my mouth was, "Holy shit, look at that booger eater." The second thing out of my mouth was, "Holy shit, now I sound like Cody." I'm not sure which was worse.

This individual did the booger eating world justice. He was an excellent specimen. For a split second I wished the light I was approaching would have turned red so that I would have been forced to stop and gaze at the fine craftmanship of this booger eater and his trusty Ford steed.

And once more, I'm reminded that I simply must replenish the batteries in my digital camera and to carry it with me at all times.

Bus Stop Follies

First, I need coffee. Clandestine pixies, vivify me!

Ok I'm back, sufficiently caffeinated.

So today is the first day of school. Believe me, it couldn't have come at a better time. Summertime, with my husband who is a teacher and summers off, and my 7 year old son, who is as stubborn as his father, is, how should I put this? It's a bit much. By August, we're all ready to kill one another. Suffice it to say, there's a little too much quality family time going on. We all need a break from each other. Thankfully, school started for my husband yesterday, and started for my son today. Hallelujah!

The bus is due at the corner of our street around 8:25. Joonya was geeked and wanted to get there early so we arrived around 8:15. Since we were early, we were able to enjoy a few minutes of fun chit-chat and warm mom/son kind of stuff.

Then the MILFs arrived. In full Edie Britt attire.

One was dressed as though her Harley Davidson riding boyfriend was about to take her to work in the red light district. The other, while very sweet and cute, was dressed like an 18 year old with her low rise hip hugger jeans and midriff tshirt, and could actually pull it off.

Then there was me. Since tonight we have an orientation event, I was dressed in what we call our "uniform". Khakis, logo polo and sneakers. I looked pretty darn dumpy, and mom-like. It was a humbling experience. And I was pissed because the bus was 20 minutes late, thus, dragging out this ordeal.

The best part of the morning was watching the man pigs drive by. Hey, I can't fault the male gender for wanting to ogle over the hunnies on the corner. However, have some tact when doing so. I mean, a couple of times, they were gawking with such wild abandon that they easily could have lost control of their cars and plowed into the three 2nd graders who were innocently waiting for the bus. And to the two guys who drove the garbage truck by four times, don't think it went unnoticed. I hope you have neck pain for the next three days.

Yeah, say what's on your mind. Indeed I was experiencing pangs of jealousy over these women. I sure as hell don't look like that. Clearly, it was a desperate housewives moment. But, I took the high road and marveled at my son who was chattering away like nobody's business, goofing off and making fart noises in his armpit. Now that's what I'm talking about. I couldn't have been more proud.

Blogger's Block leads to Name JMR's Car!

Crikey, I have a good case of blogger's block. I have nothing to write about. Well, I do, but it involves work and having been taught proper blogging etiquette by none other than Bimmergeek, I'm sitting here with nothing to write about.

Nothing interesting, that is.

My weekend was drab. I spent a good majority of it battling a migraine, and sadly, the migraine won. Although, before the migraine squatted, I did manage to get my Trailblazer all spankin' clean. That's such a good feeling. I love having a clean car. It even smells clean, which is no small feat. At any given moment there is the faint aroma of melted crayons, smushed Bugles, stale spilled coffee and moldy baseball cleats. Put that all together and you've got yourself one foppish smelling automobile. I am proud to say, however, that is no longer the case. It smells jim-dandy right now. Just the right concoction of Armor All and carpet cleaner, with the emphasis on the carpet cleaner. Armor All doesn't smell all that great, but my leather seats are loving it. Techtard was in my truck today when we went to lunch. She was sliding all over the place. That made for interesting conversation, none of which is proper for this family friendly blog. (chortle)

Are there others who covet thy automobile as their sanctuary? I sure as hell do. It's my cocoon, my happy place, my chariot. Yeah, I spent $47.00 filling her up this morning, but do I care? Not one bit. She treats me like the queen that I am. She's my armor and she doesn't criticize my smashing singing voice.

And I just realized she needs a name. I had one car I named Sporty Boy, but I've never named my Trailblazer. Ok, I'll need some assitance, folks. Let's play "Name JMR's Car." Here's what you need to know to form an educated opinion:

2003 Chevy Trailblazer LTZ, red with silver trim, pimped out with all the amenities including heated leather seats, which, I must say, my winter ass loves. Not so much in the summer when my chucklehead husband turns them on unbeknownst to me. Not cool, especially when I'm leaving a thin layer of burnt skin behind on the seat. But I've gotten off track.

Name my car. One name I know for sure is off limits, so please, please, Techtard and Co., don't go there. I beg all of you. Other than that, anything is fair game, subject to my approval, of course.

Songs for Shitbags

This post will cover several subjects, so I apologize up front. I first want to make a submission to my blog feature - If I Had My Own Theme Music. Today's selection is "Smile Like You Mean It" by the Killers. This little diddy goes out to all the people on this planet who don't exercise proper shitbag etiquette. If you're going to be a shitbag, at least LOOK like a pleasant person while doing so, hence, Smile Like You Mean It. Is my point lost? I'm sure it is. And mostly on the shitbags. Oy.

Subject 2: How funny is this? If you haven't noticed, I take an unusual sense of pride when posting to my blog. I'll waste precious time scouring the Net looking for images that mimic my topics of discussion. If I can't find a suitable image, I make one myself. Call me crazy, but I totally dig doing this. I'm a creative creature by nature. It adds to the visual appeal of my blog and breaks up the text. So with today's post theme being shitbags, I googled shitbag. I love getting the results. Typically, the first images are of some sort of porn because porn has cornered the market on every conceivable searchable key word out there. Need an image of a cracker? Here, have some porn. Looking for a picture of a garden in full bloom? Have a little more porn. You get my point. This shitbag image was a total delight. I didn't expect it and I haven't done anything to doctor it up. What you see is what you get. And I love it.

Subject 3: I completely forgot what else I wanted to talk about. Looks like I need to go drink a little Shitbag wine.

Today's Lunch: Two sugar cookies and a granola bar

Where it's at!
I got two sugar cookies and a granola bar
Where it's at!
I got two sugar cookies and a granola bar
Where it's at!
I got two sugar cookies and a granola bar
Where it's at!
[robot vocal effect] I got two sugar cookies and a granola bar
Take me home in my elevator bones!

What I'm listening to these days

I decided to use the $50 Best Buy gift card I got for Christmas and went old school, I actually bought three CDs. Shocking, I know, but I'm not yet wired for ripping stuff off online. Here's where Techtard and I see eye to eye. Or tard to tard. I'm not savvy. I still have a drawer full of cassette tapes, and nothing to play them with. Yes, I'm ashamed, as I should be.

I'm totally crushing over these CDs.

The Killers remind me of when I was toying with the whole punk scene back in the early 80s. Even then, I was old school, not getting into the scene until long after it reached it's peak. Let just say I like to mull things over before making a decision. Sometimes it takes years. At least this time I figured it out before I turned 40, so I'm still cool. (snicker)

An old bud of mine was Better Than Ezra's biggest fan, and now I see why. Good tunes for good people. And museum curators. I'm listening to them now as I blog.

Is Gwyneth Paltrow the Yoko Ono of Coldplay? I don't know, but I finally got over my problem with her hooking up with Chris Martin. I actually held it against the band. It's really stupid, I know. I get all miffed when something I hold in high regard goes Hollywood. I made the assumption that Coldplay went Hollywood, and even if they did, so what? Their music is still fabulous. And I really have nothing against Paltrow. I just put myself in a snit over it. Funny how that happens. I denied myself months of good music over something as silly as that.

Now I better go. I'm behind on reading People and Us Weekly.

Too much of a good thing

Holy coffee bean, Batman! Looks like I went a little overboard on the caffeine intake this morning and now I'm jittery and edgy. I thought I was being proactive with my morning mainline, but apparently I let it flow too vigorously. Now I'm twitchy. And bitchy. And I'm a poet and I didn't even know it.

Bah ha ha ha ha, I am my own best audience.

Out of Blogmission

I won't be around for a few days. Ahmina eat my weight in chocolate at the Sweetest Place on Earth. See you on the other side of the Reeses Cup.

Mahoning Valley Darling and 50 Wack Hairstyles

I picked this article up from Exclamation Mark and I was ever so pleased to see that Jimmy T made the list. And at slot 13. How appropriate. I'll never fully understand the voters in Mahoning County. What in tarnation were you people thinking??? But that's not what I'm here to promote.

Regardless if you love or hate James Traficant, this Phatphree site is fun for the masses. A while back, Techtard bought me these magnets for my desk. Let me just say this. To all you Mudflaps, Squirrel Pelts, Kentucky Waterfalls, Shorty Longbacks and Tennessee Top Hats, the "business in the front, party in the back" era has ended. For the love of God and Country, please cut your hair.

Enjoy folks.

The 50 Worst Hairstyles of All Time

Attitude

Enough said.

Ahmina and SONSO!

Having just visited Techtard's site again, I realized that the Techtard uses many of our silly interpretations of words and I feel I must do justice to our region by explaining them.

Today's first word lesson is "ahmina".

No, you won't find it in the dictionary but it does exist, at least in Ohio where it's spoken nearly every second.

Ahmina is how we say "I'm going to." You pronounce it like this = ah-meh-na. For example:

Ahmina pick up Joonya from school and then ahmina stop at the store.

The second word lesson is "SONSO." It can be capped or uncapped, depending on your passion for using the word at the time.

Sonso is simply short for "sons of bitches"
pronounced like sunz-a-bitches
and eventually shortened to Sonso
pronounced like sun-zoh

More word explanations forthcoming.

Hell Reason #136

Driftwood

Shitmouth

Pilgrim




These are nicknames we've given a few people we know.

Am I proud of this? No.

Is it wrong? You bet it is.

Do I care? Not really.

This is one of the many, many reasons why I'm going to hell.

JMR's Own Theme Music

Yeah, I stole this idea from the ING commercials...

Woman: "What's that?"
Man: "That's ING."
Woman: "I know what ING is, but what is that?"
Man: "Oh, that's a guy with his own theme music."

If I Had My Own Theme Music is a new feature on my blog. As I hear music that relates to my mood, personality, disposition, insanity, what have you, I'll update the title under this category.

Today's Theme Music choice is Better Than Ezra's It's Only Natural. I just picked up Before The Robots, Ezra's newest CD, and while listening, I was immediately drawn to this song. It's so damn funky and fun. It's a nice distraction from the other songs, which are really good, don't get me wrong, but this one stands out because of it's trippy style. Reminds me of some of the early 70s songs you'd hear on the static ridden AM/FM radio while riding in Dad's Chevy Caprice Classic station wagon in the rear seat facing the other direction.

Good times, people, good times.

Light and Fluffy

Props to Yoplait for it's Key Lime Pie Whips! yogurt. Those little 4 oz. buggers are good eatin'! My suggestion to the company is to package it in half gallon containers, much like you'd find in ice cream. Why? Because I would get the same satisfaction consuming a half gallon of Whips! as I would ice cream. Ladies, we've all been there, especially when Aunt Flo visits each month. We'd be much better off consuming a half gallon of Whips! over a half gallon of ice cream, right? Or would I want to consume a half gallon of Whips! and a half gallon of ice cream and an industrial sized Hershey's with Almonds and...

Yoplait, hear my cries!

Ron Mexico

I just stumbled across this site while reading a skillfully crafted blog by Stray Dog. I remember all the buzz when this story broke but I really didn't pay too much attention to it. I also recall Pav and Co. discussing what our Ron Mexico names would be.

Now we'll know for sure.

Come one, come all, get your Ron Mexico name! It's fast, it's free and it's completely useless, unless you plan to randomly expose people to herpes and try to thwart law enforcement officials. I'm sure our men in blue have teamed up with gorillamask to supply a reverse Ron Mexico generator. Put in the Ron Mexico name and you're given the culprit of the crime. Now wouldn't that be a cold corndog.

Ron Mexico Name Generator

Con amor, Natalie Costa Rica

White veiny legs, biker boots and a Vino

Of all days not to have my digital camera on me!

I left work around 11 a.m. to go to an off-campus appointment. As I was sitting in the usual traffic near the Strip, I was blessed with a vision from the heavens above.

Scouring the Net, I was able to piece together what this man looked like. He was riding a green Vino and his attire came straight from the Goodwill catalog.



The boots against his white veiny old man legs were an added touch. Oh, and the yellow and orange paisley shirt. It reflected nicely off the green hue of the Vino. And it got better.

As I was sitting at the red light with my mouth agape, the male 20-something in the To-YO-ta truck in front of me must have caught my gaze because just as I glanced up in front of me, I caught him turning to the left, struck by the sight of Vino Man. His full belly laugh was worth the price of admission and more! He could barely drive when the light turned green. It was one of those rare, priceless moments when all the planets align and the world is filled with fairy dust and unicorns. Granted, we were laughing at Vino Man, and I realize that is wrong, but for that split second, I was happy and that happiness was caused by Vino Man. The 20-something YO and I ended up next to each other at the next light and we shared eye contact, both laughing uncontrollably.

I will forever be on the lookout for Vino Man. He gave me some sunshine on a rather sunless day.

Motor on, Vino Man, motor on.