Saturday, July 09, 2011
Guess who's back?
No, it's not Slim Shady. Sorry to disappoint you. It is I, Rowan, the mouth of Mouth of Madness. I will pause while you cry with relief and delight. Okay. That's enough.
I would like to say that I am back for good, but you (and you) and I both know I'm way too flaky to be trusted, so I will say that I am back for a time to thrill and delight you with my questionable content. Prepare to be amazed!
When you last tuned in (provided you did... if not, you might want to read back at least a little ways) I had decided to conduct an experiment in sociology which involved me writing to several prison inmates in order to learn... stuff. Well, I learned stuff all right. I learned that only a complete imbecile would marry someone who is in prison. I won't mention the name of this idiot, but her initials are ME. At any rate, I have been separated from my STBX (soon to be ex) for over a year now (and by separated I mean he has been back in jail for that long). I am just waiting for my divorce to go through. Hopefully, that will be the end of that fiasco.
In other, greater, news - I am a grandma!! The Girlchild married the best damned country boy you've ever met and they conjured me up a grandson. Captain R. is the most wonderful, charming, cute and amazing baby this world has ever had the pleasure of meeting. I'm not just saying that because he's my grandson, either. If you don't believe me, just ask me. I'll tell you.
But anyhoo, since I am no longer churning out quadweekly (yes it's a word, I just made it up) love letters and Captain R. has discovered this thing called sleep, I have a little time on my hands. What better way to relieve stress and entertain two or three people than to snuggle back into the padded cell I call my blog.
Enjoy. Or don't. I really don't give a flying fuck.
Yes I do. But I can act like I don't.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
For Fuck's Sake
So I was pissing around on Facebook, and came upon this group about the Free Credit Report commercials (I swear to God I am not endorsing the fucking FCR because it sucks balls. Sorry for the Tourette's moment). Anyway, it made me realize that my old post about them was way out of date, so I thought I'd update it. Well guess what, bitches? If you cancel your Comcast internet account, they'll cancel your web storage account quick as fuck, too. I only thought of this after the fact of course. So yeah, if you're looking at this page? It's all fucked up. And I haven't really quite decided whether I give enough of a fuck to fix it. It's not like I'm a what's his face - Perez fucking Hilton or something. I'm pretty sure only 2 people even read this shit anymore, so... if you find anything in this blog remotely interesting or informative or worth a chuckle, let me know. In the mean time, I'll be rotting my mind on /b/.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Don't forget to check the back of the toilet
Things not allowed in the home or car of a person on probation in the state of Virginia:
Guns (including BB guns or Airsoft guns, paintball guns, or anything that resembles a gun)
Knives (unless they are deemed for use in the kitchen, and this includes knives for decoration, such as swords)
Drugs (of course - however, if someone else in the house is prescribed a controlled substance, that person must have said drug under lock and key)
Anything gang related (which includes Pirates t-shirts, Duke University sweatshirts, and paw prints - evidently The Girlchild and I are possible members of some gang out of Fresno with our paw print tattoos)
And how will determine that your home is free of said things? Why by searching it, of course!
Places that may/probably will be searched:
I'm not kidding.
Now before you go off on a "they're criminals, there should be restrictions, blah blah blah", cool your jets while I get to the point I am trying to make.
What prevents someone from getting a pocket knife? Do they ask for ID? Of course not. Can you buy a BB gun without a background check? Of course you can. So what is preventing someone from getting any of these things after the inspection is over? What's preventing someone from hiding all that stuff at Uncle Bob's house until after the inspection? Nothing and nothing. If you were going to hide a gun in the house, would you stick it in a drawer knowing someone was coming to inspect? Only if you're pretty stupid.
Do you know how many places one could hide something in plain sight if they really wanted to? Now honestly. I've seen a lot of forensics shows. I've read a lot of forensics books. I haven't given the topic a lot of thought, but I can see numerous places just here in my living room where I could stash something and it not be suspicious.
Okay, rant over. Gonna go get my nine out of the freezer so if I decide to kill something in cold blood, my gun will be cold and ready. (Kidding!!)
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Don Burleson: Educated Nincompoop
So I was going to write a rant about this pompous asshole who thinks he knows everything there is to know about the type of person who wears tattoos (hint: we're all poor, uneducated, and most likely, criminals). But since The Girlchild found the article and started a discussion on Facebook, I don't wanna steal away her thunder. However, if you're tattooed and don't fall into those aforementioned categories, (or even if you do, who am I to judge? I could care less.) you should go have a look at his article. Here's the beginning of The Girlchild's Facebook discussion (transcribed with photos removed and aliases added where necessary), and if I remember (don't hold your breath – it's been a year since I've posted anything here) I will post updated copies.
The Girlchild:Professional dress code and Tattoos
To be honest, I'm in agreement with a good portion of that. My interpretation displays that a lot of places just aren't interested in tattoos being visible in the work place. Yes, we've come a long way with the availability of tattoos. Every class finds some way to afford a tattoo (if not several), but it doesn't mean that someone should hire you because you have a smiley face on your forehead. You do have to think about the location/subject matter these rules seriously apply to. The usual is going to be because of a profane image. And because we, as individualists, have different points of view on terms of what is acceptable. Someone might find a butterfly on the ankle provocative (stupid, I agree). People that find tattoos offensive no matter what they are subjectively will lead to the same crap. I'm all about being yourself, but my tattoo(s - provided Cory can do more) are on my shoulder, or will always be under clothing just because they're for me. Screw the rest of the world, if they wanna see -- they can ask. But that's just me.
I was more so referring to the part where the author was vehement in his opinion that tattoos are "more popular among the poor and under educated" and " tattoos are a sign of immaturity, bad judgment and bad taste", and the like.
It's wrong to generalize tattoos with poor and under-educated. I've seen lots of rotten-tooth broke-arse people with them, but that doesn't mean it's the only populous. And as for the last part, look at the picture of that guy! He's an old fart set in his ways (like most). His opinion blows. Saying such a thing goes against the "1/4th of the population is retarded."
I think he's a pompous ass. I agree that tattoos are not appropriate in certain situations, and that companies have the right to stipulate a dress code. But what is under that crisp white shirt and tie is none of anybody's damned business. We are not poor and uneducated people. We are not criminals. To lump us all into one category is uneducated. Incidentally, for someone who claims to be so much better and higher on the food chain than we are, have a look at his blog. I guess it's okay with his consulting company for half naked women to be displayed on his blog, but it's not okay for someone to have a tattoo under their shirt. I would find the former more offensive than the latter.
As for the blog mentioned, here is the link. I enjoyed what comments there were, and I would have left one myself, but it appears that Mr. Burleson disabled that option. Per chance he will stumble across my blog. He's welcome to leave comments. He also might want to check out Ink meets Inc: Twenty Tattooed Professionals - that is, if he can stand being wrong.
PS My current tattoo count: 10
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
It's only been a year...
... or so. Guess last year's comeback wasn't much to get excited over, eh? I really need to make this entry something special to make up for lost time. Two seconds. Damn. I got nothing. Let's just go play some video games in the shed. I'll be back when I'm not feeling like such a zombie.
Friday, January 23, 2009
So I haven't blogged since like what, April? Feel free to invent a story to cover my absence. Feel free to send it to me. I like stories. I'll post it if it's good.
So I just wanted to say thank you to the woman in the maroon SUV at the car wash. Yeah, I know this isn't typical of me to thank someone, usually I'm bitching, but... Maroon SUV lady: You left enough time in the car wash for me to wash, rinse, and wax The Girlchild's car. Muchas gracias. The poor girl needed a bath. And since my baby Frankie is broken down (again), I felt it only right to give Erin a good scrubbing.
Not a very exciting way to make my blog comeback, but hey, at least it's something. Right-O. In other news, some of the local boys have been in a bit of trouble. For shame. Couldn't you do something more interesting than vandalize a mailbox? Come on, show some spirit! How about some graffiti? At least we'd all get to enjoy it. Speaking of, The Girlchild and I need to reclaim the tunnel. Are you game, Purplekitten?
The Prey Hardcover Gift Collection by John Sanford : 6 Book Set : Mortal Prey / Easy Prey / Chosen Prey / Naked Prey / Hidden Prey / Broken Prey (The Prey Collection, (First Edition, First Printing))
By John Sandford
Thursday, April 10, 2008
I heart the free credit report dot com guy
For your listening pleasure, a compilation of the free credit report dot com jingles, with lyrics:) Don't be shy now... you know you want to sing along
Well I was shopping for a new car
Which one's me?
A cool convertible or an SUV
Too bad I didn't know my credit was whack
Cause now I'm driving off the lot in a used subcompact
F-R-E-E that spells free
Credit report dot com baby
Saw their ads on my TV
Thought about going but was too lazy
Now instead of lookin' fly and rollin' phat
My legs are sticking to the vinyl
And my posse's gettin' laughed at
F-R-E-E that spells free
Credit report dot com baby.
Well I married my dream girl
I married my dream girl
But she didn't tell me her credit was bad
So now instead of living in a pleasant suburb
We're living in the basement at her mom and dad's
No we can't get a loan
For a respectable home
Just because my girl defaulted on some old credit card
If we'd gone to free credit report dot com
I'd be a happy bachelor with a dog and a yard
They say a man should always dress for the job he wants
So why am I dressed up like a pirate in this restaurant?
It's all because some hacker stole my identity
Now I'm in here every evening serving chowder and iced tea
Shoulda gone to free credit report dot com (yee haw!)
I could have seen this coming at me like an atom bomb
They monitor your credit and send you email alerts
So you don't wind up selling fish to tourists in t-shirts
UPDATE: If you're interested in finding out more about "free credit report guy" his name is Eric Violette, and here are some links:
Eric's youtube channel
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Conversation Between Me and The Girlchild
Me: Johnny Depp doesn't have a myspace.
TG: If you were Johnny Depp, would YOU have a myspace?
Me: *sigh* No.
So The Girlchild's birthday is coming up, and I was going to get her a Diary Queen ice cream cake with Sweeney Todd on it. You know, they have that "put any picture you want on a cake" deal? Well not ANY picture, evidently. Only a photograph. Regardless of the fact that I got the picture from the Sweeney Todd website where it was available as a FREE download, they still wouldn't put it on a cake because of "copyright issues". Apparently, they once put Elvis on a cake and got fined for $500. I told the lady that Elvis was dead, and could probably care less if his face was on a cake. She said "They gotta make their money somehow." I'm not sure who "they" are, but I bet "they" are the ones who take me from my bed at night and leave perfectly round bruises on my thighs. No, not THERE, you pervert.
So anyway, this other DQ chick actually asked me why someone would want Johnny Depp on a cake. Sweet Ra, why wouldn't you?! I mean, a chocolately, ice creamy version of Johnny Depp would be the next best thing to the real thing. Right?
People. I swear.
And I really wanted to be Johnny's myspace friend.
Monday, October 08, 2007
I miss him.
I miss him
Ever have one of those dreams that you can't seem to shake when you wake up? One of those that latched on to your emotions so hard, that you mourned the fact that the dream wasn't real?
I had one of those last night, and I can't stop thinking about him. Not the band - although that would be a right fucking awesome dream. Him - the man in my dream.
I don't know who he was. I never got a name. He looked like nobody I've met, his voice was unlike anyone I know, and he made me feel like I've never felt. It was short, and oh so sweet. I woke up missing him. I've been thinking about him all day.
Life is one cruel bitch. I found the perfect man in Sandland, and I'll probably never find that channel again. That's probably a good thing. Otherwise, I'd probably overdose on sleeping pills trying to spend every unwaking second with him. The man. Not the band.
Yesterday I had a long conversation with a relative of someone I dated. It was mostly a question answer session - somewhat uncomfortable, somewhat not. I promised to keep our convo a secret, so I won't say any more about it. Besides, it's not the convo that is important. The thing was, I got to thinking afterward about when the last time I had a phone conversation with a female was. Other than my mother (and one liners with The Girlchild and The Girlfriend), I have not had a telephone conversation with another female since 1999. That's seven freaking years for those of you who were in the LD math class. Seven years.
Most of the time I'm secure with my lack of intimate relationships, because they are usually more trouble than they are worth. But here, in less than 24 hours, I got a not so subtle reminder of what is missing in my life.
It bloody sucks, dammit.
Since I'm in a fuckitall mood, and especially moody in the relationship arena, here is one of those survey things from Myspace, completed with a heaping helping of who fucking gives a shit and just a hint of sour grapes.
THE UNCOMFORTABLE SURVEY (note: I don't see what could be so unfuckingcomfortable about it... it's not like they're asking if you spit or swallow)
1. Longest relationship:
2. Shortest relationship:
3. How many boyfriends/girlfriends have told you they love you?
4. Have you ever thought that you were going to marry the person you were dating?
5. Have you ever liked someone so much that it hurts?
6. Have you ever made a boyfriend or girlfriend cry?:
7. Are you happier single or in a relationship?:
8. Have you ever been cheated on?
9. What is your favorite thing about the opposite sex?
10.Have you ever had your heart broken?
11. Have you ever broken someone's heart?
12. Talk to any of your exes?
13. If you could go back in time would you change things to where you could still be with one of your exes?
14. Think any of your ex's feel the same way?
15. Do you believe that you are a good boyfriend or girlfriend?
16. Have you dated people who were not good to you?
17. Have you dated someone older then you?
18. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?
19. Believe in love at first sight?
20. Ever dated two people at once?
21. Do you want to get married?
22. Do you have something to say to any of your exes?
23. Ever stolen someone's boyfriend or girlfriend?
24. Ever liked someone else's boyfriend or girlfriend?
25. Does heartbreak really feel as bad as it sounds?
26. Are you looking for a boyfriend or girlfriend?
Any more stupid questions?
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
I feel Fluffy.
Last week I saw an exboyfriend's truck parked a few houses away from where I work. I don't know who lives there, but his truck stayed there several days, and had me wondering what he was doing. It's an interesting house, in that their entire front porch is covered with unidentifiable pieces of junk, and their grass is always high. At any rate, I didn't dwell on being nosy too long, but I did have occassion to reminisce about our short relationship. Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking when it comes to men.
This guy, who a friend and I used to refer to as "Aneurysm Boy" after the breakup, was one of the flakier guys I've ever dated. The friend and I met him at a club one night. It was karaoke night, and the friend fancied that she could sing - which she could, don't get me wrong, if you happen to like Broadway hits (which I don't). She could turn Mary Had a Little Lamb into a Broadway soundtrack.
I recently ran across a YouTube video of hers. We haven't spoken in quite a long time... the last being at the wake of her aunt, whom she had been waiting on to die so she could sell her house and hook up with some guy from Alaska she'd met on the internet. It seemed that her plan worked, because she was married and video blogging from Alaska.
I stopped associating with her after she began proclaiming to whomever cared to listen that I was a slut. This came about after a guy she liked showed some interest in me. I wasn't interested in her guy, but evidently, she wanted to discourage him from any further communication with me, and I guess she thought that my being the proposed slut would put him off. Hey, I'm not the one that showed up at his place the morning after their first date for a booty call. No, I am not. I am also not the one that on another first date with some internet dude, gave him oral pleasures in the mall parking lot. Okay?
Be that as it may, we did have some interesting times before the fallout. She was an odd one, to say the least. She had a thing for Queer as Folk and the Beatles, called herself "The Fluff" (because she was "fluffy" not "fat") and had a hysterectomy at the age of 30 (I think) because she didn't want children. She also had her appendix removed at the same time, since she didn't need them. What kinda quack doctor agrees to cut someone open and remove things just because the patient had a whim? Then again, maybe he figured this chick shouldn't breed.
She was constantly on some sort of medically supervised diet, and taking those diet pills that block the absorption of fat, but which also will cause you to have "leakage" if you consume too much fat. She called it "orange oil", and would loudly proclaim that she had it. I think someone should have told her that the diet pills wouldn't counteract 12 Fazoli's breadsticks.
You had to feel a little bad for her. She had a confusing childhood. Her real mother gave her to her grandmother, who she thought was her actual mother for a long time, and then found out that her real mother didn't want her, and her mother was her grandmother, and her father didn't want anything to do with her. She was spoiled beyond belief, and was such a total bitch to her aunt, who took her in after her grandmother/mother went a little nuts. This aunt practically raised her, gave her everything she could ever want and more, and "The Fluff" would scream at her and call her names - it was horrible. And then the whole "I was just waiting for her to die so I could sell the house" thing. Sheesh.
My first ever memory of this girl was her coming to visit my neighbor. I happened to be there, too, and Fluff was all decked out in a pretty little dress - you know, her family had money, and she had all the best. Anyway, she bounced about the yard, and I followed her around to the back, where I saw her reach down and pick up a nice piece of dog poop.
Some interesting memories in her teenage years were of her sticking her fingers into a fan to see if it would cut them (it did) and snorting Doritos. Another time, she volunteered to drive me up to see a boyfriend, and somehow managed to run over into a ditch and smash her other aunt's car. Oddly enough, I got blamed for this. Of course I did. The Fluff never did any wrong, at least in her aunt's eyes.
Where was I going with this? Oh yes, I was speaking of the exboyfriend. At any rate, he was most a most flaky character. He was rather cute, a bit round, and most anxious to show me off to all of his friends. Our first date ended up being a double date at Macados with two of his friends, one of which flirted with me the entire evening. XBF didn't seem to notice. The next "date" consisted of us riding around in his truck from one of his friend's houses to the next, to "introduce me". A little odd, but somewhat flattering, too. We spent a considerable amount of time on the telephone. He worked for the railroad, and was gone 5 days a week. We would get together on weekends.
Our most "memorable" date was spent drinking sodas in K-Mart parking lot after dark, because he was "broke". Ah... so romantic. Eventually he started acting really weird, and making up stories about his sister that I still can't make any sense of, but the point of which was that I shouldn't call his house. Once he called me and asked if I could meet him in a few minutes at Walmart. I said yes, and went to the designated spot, only to have him not show up. He eventually called, and had an excuse about being delayed, and asked me to meet him in Arby's parking lot (which, incidentally, was where we met up on the first date, prior to Macados). I went there, waited... once again, no show. A call to him only gave me voice mail, so I decided to go home. He had the most wonderful excuse that a naive woman like myself ate up like candy. So the next time he called me to meet him somewhere, I went again, like a lamb to slaughter. Of course, he didn't show, and I didn't buy the excuse this time.
I can't remember the exact details of our breakup, but there was something about calling him from a club and having his mother tell me that he was out with his girlfriend. Ahem. I told her this WAS his girlfriend... and shortly thereafter he called me, whereupon I told him to blow it out his ass. Not really, I can't remember what I said... but it had the same sentiment.
I later found out from his cousin (with whom I was attending college) that he'd had an aneurysm when he was a boy, and hadn't been right sense.
I know how to pick 'em, all right.
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