Literally.  I want to let you all in on a revolutionary fitness breakthrough!!  Just play!  You've all read about my jump roping in the driveway, and hopefully most of you have recovered from that stunting visual, well I bought hula hoops for all of us earlier in the week, discovering that the amazing skill I had with the hula hoop as a girl has since faded.  However, I am determined to get it back through hard work, lots of laughter, and some mocking on the part of my buttless wonder of a son who can hula hoop FOREVER and a day it seems.  Still unsure as to how he keeps the hula hoop up, since the boy certainly doesn't have my ass, I am nonetheless inspired by his ability.  I have practiced every day this week, and as of tonight, I could keep my hula hoop going for almost 30 seconds, whee!!  But why Raven, why are you engaging in such childish acts so unbefitting a woman of your age and bust size?  I'll tell you why, because it's really great exercise, and the best part is, I don't even realize I'm working out!! 

     This morning, after spending an hour last night watching TV and attempting to get my hula-hooping groove back, I woke up and my abs were a little sore.  It was then I said to myself, "self, I think you're on to something", then I rolled off my husband and got out of bed, thinking about the health benefits to playing like a child.  To further test my theory, we bought 3 of those skip-ball things, you know, the ring with the plastic cable with a ball on the end of it?  You whip it around your ankle, skipping over the cable each time it comes around, in sort of a hopping motion....getting the idea yet?  Now imagine me, in a low cut clingy wrap top and cotton skirt doing that in the living room in front of the television.  I got laughing so hard it was difficult to maintain my rhythm, plus my husband's shirt was quickly becoming drool soaked.  When I finally stopped, he shook it off, leaned around me to check the time, and noticing that he only had 5 minutes before he had to leave for work decided that perhaps watching me skip to my lou this time of night isn't the best idea, although it was one hell of a send off for him. 

    So to recap, jumping rope, hula hooping and using the skip ball thingamajig is great for my husband's health as it raises his heart rate, even though he claims I'm trying to kill him, and...it's a great workout for me too.  So imagine how much more fun working out would be if someone opened a gym for adults that got them moving and sweating and working without them even realizing it?  I mean really, monkey bars are great for your arms, climbing up jungle gyms is great for your whole body, throw in some handball, dodgeball, bounce houses, zip lines, trampolines etc, set it all to some great music, and before you know it, you've got a great body and a whole new outlook on life.  Who wants to play? 

    Remember when I said I was going to try to get 8 hours of sleep each night to see if I feel any differently?  Well apparently, just the act of putting that wish into print ensured that it wouldn't happen, at least not this week.  Monday night successfully began my experiment, falling into bed after a day at Sea World and logging a stellar 8 solid hours of sleep. Tuesday morning I felt great!  Tuesday night I fell into bed around midnight, racking up a whopping 6 hours of sleep.  I didn't feel tired it just wasn't the 8 my experiment needs for comparison.  Then last night, when my mother and sister called from the freeway at 10:40pm, you read that right, 10:40pm, to tell me they were on their way to my house, I knew another night was shot to shit.  That was eloquent, I know, thanks for noticing.  Figuring they must need something important from me to venture down at that hour,  I attempted to remain upright and conscious until they arrived, out of a morbid curiosity more than anything.

    Imagine my surprise when my front door opened to reveal my baby sister, still wearing her name tag from work, and my mother, still not clean.  At this point, painfully aware that being sleepy lessens my already limited ability to play nicely with others, I remained on the couch until they both schlepped into my living room.  I did get up to give my sister the "what's for dinner?" tour of my kitchen since I always have something to her liking available and the added bonus of not having a sink piled a mile high with molding dishes like my mother does at her house.  My kitchen must have seemed like an alien planet to her, the cupboards and refrigerator stocked with not only usable, but healthy AND vegetarian friendly foods as well as clean pots and pans and a selection of plates and bowls at her disposable, oh and did I mention that there is no nasty food clinging to every surface of my microwave either?  Luna has just thrown up in her mouth a little and is running for the Clorox wipes and Purell thanking every deity or higher power in the universe that she is, what is it again...3000 MILES AWAY!!!

     After the obligatory chit chat I despise so much, I had to get this wrecking ball swinging, so I escorted my mother into the playroom and, while holding my breath or breathing only through my mouth, got her set up at the desktop to check her e-mail, switch insurance carriers, blah blah blah...While I was trying not to breathe in my mother's noxious funk, and I'm not being cruel, my mother actually smelled quite, ummm, well...I will opt not to be that descriptive at this time, you can thank me with inappropriate touching and comments of a sexual nature later.  Or cash, cash is always welcome, oh, and Jelly Belly's, those are worth more than flowers to me, especially if you take the time to pick out all of the black licorice and skin colored dirt flavored ones, commonly known as peanut butter.  Hmm, did I go off topic again?  You should spank me for that, no really, please, spank me.

     Since a great majority of you now have your eyeballs rolled back in your heads pondering that request, I'll make the rest short and sweet....my funky dysfunctional familial units ended up staying until 1:05am, which means that right now I'm operating on right about 4 hours of sleep, 2 cups of coffee, and countless glasses of water.  I keep going into the kitchen and lustily eyeing the Red Bull, but so far I have resisted the temptation.  Did you hear that?  That's my bed calling me...soon my darling...soon..... 

     I spent all day yesterday at Sea World.  I know what you are thinking, last week Legoland, yesterday Sea World, and yes, it is good to be the Queen, thanks for asking.  Now I know that just the name Sea World may give people  the impression that water is involved, no, water is inevitable, and  yes, you are correct.  Sea World does have millions and millions of gallons of water, but unless you are a killer whale, dolphin, or one of the many other sea dwelling creatures residing there, you won't be submerged, splashed, sure, but submerged, probably not.  Why is it then that so many men were wearing mandals, flip flops or the worst thing I saw, rubber manclogs!!   That's right, I actually saw a man decked out in shorts (it was about 60 degrees, cloudy and misting off and on) and those rubber clogs you see in the gardening department.  As far as I know, those are not men's shoes, but I suppose if you are one of those men with freakishly dainty feet, you can cross dress, I mean shop in the women's shoe department.  But why?  Why would any man, or woman for that matter, want to leave their house clad in rubber shoes?  Not even shoes, rubber CLOGS!!  That really wasn't even the worst part, the worst part was seeing the man's son, who was about 5 or 6 years old, clad in bright red rubber clogs as well!!

     Disliking sandals on men is one of the bizarre and irrational issues I have.  I just don't particularly want to look at the hairy toes of a man I'm not seeing naked on a daily basis, thank you just the same. Oh let's be honest, I don't even want to see my man in mandals or flip flops, and if he ever came home with rubber clogs, oh the mocking would be vicious and eternal.  But since he's mine, I'd fetch him his journal so he could write about my insensitivity and callousness.

     Flip flops on men are even worse, but then I don't like flip flops in general, something about having that thing wedged between my toes just irks me.  Does anyone other than me and my family remember when flip flops were called thongs?  That does give folks just cause to stare when you inform them that you just bought some leather, or rubber thongs, which may, or may not be true in my case, but only a chosen few of you will ever discover the truth about my....collection?  Now that butt floss undies are called thongs, we call thongs flip flops, and flip flops are called whatchamacallits, wherefore you add the circumference of Venus to the sum of XXX=NE146T9 and that leaves you standing in the middle of Wal-mart without your pants wondering why you are wearing those Speedos on your head? 

     Ok, I have no idea where to go from here.  Yesterday I began a new experiment.  I have decided that I am going to get 8 hours of sleep every night for a month and see if I feel any differently.  What does this have to do with manclogs?  Absofuckingloutely nothing!!!  But men...or women, please tell me:

     If you do enjoy the wind whipping through your toes, why?  And ladies, how do you feel about men in footwear that allows the wind to whip through their toes?  Inquiring minds (ok, just MY inquiring mind) wants to know. 

     I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and GAY (hmm, how does gay feel?)!!! Ok, I'll stop now, but let me tell you, I've had the most glorious 24 hours!  I'm not generally prone to having lots of bad days, but they happen, oh how they happen, and there's a logical reason.  I'm sorry, did you want me to tell you that reason?  I will, just give me a minute to continue my random acts of nonsense with a delightful interpretive dance to accompany it.  *humm mmm mmm, la la la la, doo doo doo shoobedeedoo* (I'm almost done) *kick ball change, and bam, jump up and pow-jazz hands* (now for the big finish!)  come dance with me...

     Whew! That was fun.  We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.  I leapt out of bed smiling yesterday morning, partly because I had just been quite improperly *ahem* well, let's just leave it at that, and partly because, no, I hadn't been drinking, but because I was just happy.  Pure unbridled unbearable lightness of being happy.  Sick, isn't it? About half way through my day, I wondered (why I didn't start using my caller ID to avoid my mother's calls last week) why every day couldn't be this happy?  The answer was so simple.  If every day were like this, how would I know to appreciate these glee-filled days?  Then I continued to sing and dance my way through all the normal Saturday schtick until my spouse stopped me in the kitchen, remarking, "you are frighteningly happy today", as he walked by and smacked me on the ass.  Don't you love the way 13 years of marriage leaves the affection level at "ass slapping", not to mention the way my hubby loves to run across the room every time I bend over to pick something up, whoops, almost caught a bit of that TMI syndrome, let me just...unh, oh, crap, what? Luna is laughing, she knows, hee hee, naked nobody's home....wild monkey....oooh oooh oooh ahh ahh ahhh!!  Did I say that out loud? 

    My happy day continued as I bounded through it, flitting from shop to shop, getting everything on the place where my list would be if I made one accomplished.  I'm not much of a list maker, well, unless it's adding to the list, better stop, right Ella, don't want to give it all away, then I'm ALL over that!  Even the offspring were happy all day, which made me even happier.  Who wants to slap me now?  Any volunteers?  I know you are still scratching your watches and winding your butts trying to figure it out, but you won't.  My day ended just as well as it started, but this time, I was the only one involved, well, not the only one, but the only one laying naked in the center of my huge bed as I watched one of my favorite people in the whole world via his webcam.  I love to watch him laugh when he reads the words I'm pecking, and I love how he kept putting his hands up and laughing, and seeing his eyes crinkle up in the corners when he smiled broadly at me, oh I just melted.  Now THAT'S how we were meant to chat! 

    Damn, see what I've done.  I've fawned and gushed.  Ok, I'm going now.  Here's a kiss for your cheeks, and two more for your face. May your day be free from arrows grazing your heads!  Again, Luna is laughing. 

     It seems that syndromes are all the rage these days.  Syndromes range from something as serious as Down's syndrome to the ridiculous hypochondriac's cry for attention, "I drink too much caffeine or smoke too much crack and can't keep my legs still", otherwise known as Restless Leg syndrome and everything in between.  Tonight I want to explore a phenomenon that seems to be sweeping the planet, a syndrome that, while not dangerous to the actual patient, is excruciatingly painful to those around them.  That syndrome is: TMI syndrome, or Too Much Information syndrome.  Don't despair, TMI syndrome is not terminal, it's simply irritating.  While many people successfully manage to mask this syndrome, bamboozling the less intelligent members of society into thinking that they are just being open or honest, they are in fact in denial.  TMI is very serious, and if left untreated can lead to stinging pain in the face, throbbing ass cheeks, the taste of shoes in your mouth, and at it's worst, verbal diarrhea. 

     Today, when I was doing my standard Friday banking run, I had the misfortune of witnessing a young man with a fairly severe case of TMI syndrome.  When approaching the teller, the young man began the tell tale nervous rambling, inquiring as to how long it takes for his deposit to be available. Seems harmless, right?  Not when afflicted with TMI syndrome.  In the throes of a TMI episode, the afflicted person begins to divulge entire too much information, and this escalated into a full blown spilling of one's guts.  After the teller concisely answered his query with, "the first $100 is available immediately, the rest will be available on the following business day", the man then stammered, "Well, I only have $20 in my account.  I'm a college student, I go through my money really quickly.  I want to go make a purchase when I leave here, and I don't want to be embarrassed at the register when my debit card is denied, that's so embarrassing, you know.  So let's see, if the first $100 is available, then I should be ok, I'm going to buy some computer equipment, nothing fancy, just a hard drive, so then I'll have..." at which point the teller, who had been showered in his verbal diarrhea, broke in, "do you want to know your balance?"

    The young man nodded his head yes.  "You have $29.58 in your account right now".  At this point I was prepared to offer the young man a crisp new $20 bill if he'd just shut the hell up and leave.  Unfortunately, not knowing when to shut your cock holster is also a symptom of TMI syndrome, so, the spew began again.  "Ok, so then I'll have plenty of money to go to Best Buy.  You're sure about that $100, because even though I'm not buying a lot, $29.50 won't be enough, so I don't want to get up to the cash register and, well, you know, it's just that it's embarrassing, you know?" 

    The poor teller was looking quite uncomfortable, so I, being the good customer that I am, crossed my eyes and stuck my tongue out at her.  This caused her to laugh aloud, subsequently embarrassing the TMI inflicted young man and fortunately for me, hastening his exit.  Goodness I hope TMI isn't a contagious disease. 

      My sisters and I are making plans to have my mother either committed or euthanized for mother's day.  The screw in the place where her mind would be if she actually had one has finally worked it's way out, fallen by the wayside and was subsequently run into the pavement by an eighteen wheeler carrying a gross of straight-jackets bound for the asylum. 

     My mother's slow and painful boat to Insanity Island set sail back in our childhood, although it took V, Luna and I having our own families to raise to see just how infrequently our mother actually remained vertical for any notable length of time.  Phone calls peppered with laughter that bubbles up in part from relief to find out we are nothing like her but deep down masks the underlying fear that our mother's condition could possibly be genetic leaves the three of us deciding via unanimous decision that the crazy gene will go to the baby sister.  Whew! That's a relief!!   

     Today I was blessed with the honor of trying to help my mother pay her phone bill.  After looking up the nearest payment center for her, naturally inquiring why she didn't just pay the bill online or over the phone, I shook my head in disbelief at her answers, kept my mouth shut and simply provided her with the address.  Flash forward an hour, the phone rings, it's my mother from her cell phone and she sounds like she's about to cry, AGAIN!  Mustering words as soothing as my acid tongue can, I found out that she was in the parking lot of the payment center after being told that her bill couldn't be paid there since it wasn't a normal looking phone bill.  Now wondering what the bloody hell my mother has taken with her, I, yet again, go to the AT&T website to search in vain for a solution.  Finding a "you and your bill" guide for the mentally deficient (I added that part, keep reading to see why), I ask my mother what the name is on her account and then ask her for her customer ID number.  "Oh, that's just my phone number" she tells me.  Again, shaking my head, this time a little harder in hopes of losing my balance and falling out of my chair thusly hitting my head on the computer desk rendering myself unconscious, I patiently asked her for the numbers that followed her phone number, in my best school teacher voice, "there should be 3".

    "Nope", is all she says, I don't have those numbers, all I have is my phone number.  Glancing at the clock, damn, only 10:30am, is it too early to drink?  "Ok mom, let me call the customer service line and see what I can find out, I'll call you back".  Mom agrees, informs me that she is going to run the rest of her errands and then go home, so I can call her on her cell phone or at home (genius I tell you), I hasten her off my line and get to calling AT&T.  Just as I suspected, after wading through all the automated mumbo jumbo, I am now speaking to the elusive and endangered, dunh dunh dunh.....customer service representative, and a rather friendly and jubilant one at that!

     After the standard exchanging of information and names, Keith and I are now BFF's and I believe in some cultures,we may be betrothed, in any case, he is looking up my crazy mother's account to see how it is that SHE got the golden ticket.  No, wait, that's Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory...so we're trying to figure out how mi Madre loco has gotten herself an abnormal bill.  "Hmmm, well....now sweety (we're intimate now, he can call me sweety)  I don't show your mother as being one of our customers".  Fuck me running!  "Are you serious?" I asked, now lustfully eyeing the bottle of Malibu rum sitting on the counter.  "Let me ask my supervisor what I can do" says Keith. 

     Keith comes back, I have successfully managed to fight off the urge to swill rum directly from the bottle, the prognosis isn't good.  As it turns out, my mother hasn't had an AT&T account since, wait for it....wait....2003!!!  "ARE YOU SERIOUS?"  I say quite passionately into the receiver, hoping that my new loverman isn't turned off by my tone.  That's when I heard the most beautiful noise, Keith was laughing, and this time, someone was laughing WITH me, and not while walking behind me pointing at me.  "Oh Raven," he purrs...."I've been through this sort of thing with my mother, can you imagine what they'll be like when they are old?"  I wipe the tears of laughter out of the corner of my eye with the back of my left hand as my right hand is reaching for the rum, "Oh god, I can't think about it" I confess softly.  "Keith", "yes Raven, I'm still here".  "Keith, I'm scared. My mother has just spent 6 days trying to find a way to pay a phone bill for a carrier with whom she doesn't have an account".   "It's ok sweety," he reassures me, "she's lucky to have you".  

     After chit chatting a bit more, we politely thank each other and hang up the phone.  Standing strong and still not drinking the rum, I call Luna to tell her Happy Spring and give her the latest in the Crazy Chronicles.  She inundated me with evil, maniacal, head thrown back gasping for air laughter accompanied by a delightful, "I'm 3000 miles a-waaay-aayyyy!!" song and ass slapping dance routine.  She's not mean, she's lucky. I miss Luna almost as much as my mother will miss wearing shoes with laces when we have her committed. 
          

     Somewhere in the alley between the high road and the point of no return, I lost my ability to form a coherent thought.  I have been extreme multi-tasking all weekend, including throwing in giving my dad a haircut while listening to him go on and on and on and on about everything wrong with my mother.  It's not that I don't want to hear it, or even that I don't want my dad to vent, but I know. My mother is crazy.  Oh, you were thinking about the haircut?  I'm a hairdresser, you didn't know that? In any case,  I played the good daughter and had one of his favorite Filipino desserts made when he got here, my house was clean and my kids weren't fighting.  I even had college basketball play-offs on the television.  I'm a Daddy's girl, what can I say?   

     This is where the incoherent rambling begins.  Things just wandering aimlessly in my head that need to come out for some air.  How does being friends with someone interfere with starting a new potential relationship?  I LOVE the thought that I am irresistible, but in reality I know I'm just a quick fix for most people, a person to bounce naughty thoughts and ideas off  or bolster your ego until a "real" woman gives you the time of day, but come on.  I'm a good friend, men can't be just friends with a woman (especially a woman online) AND date at the same time?  Why? Women have male friends, and no, not all of our male friends are gay and not all of them want to sleep with us.  Do you?  I'm going to pretend I didn't ask that and move on. 

    I can't begin to describe how many things are going through my mind at this very moment.  It's like watching an entire DVD on 8x's fast forward.  Words, thoughts, images, memories, voices, all racing to see who will be the first to drive me to the point I snap, strip off all my clothing and run naked across the golf course singing "I feel pretty".  Who wants to be camera man for that moment? 

     One last thing before I go.  CHRIS!!! Where the hell are you?  I know, you told me, you've been busy, and I know you are thinking about me...I also know you are trying to get in bed earlier, and I do understand, I've been there too,  but come on...you know my mind wanders off, and it's too little to be out on it's own for very long...Don't make me start stalking you (too late)...CALL ME!!  Oh so much has gone awry in the years, ok, in the 4 days since I've heard from you.  (I was making a point, sheesh!)  I'm not going to spill it here, you'll have to call, or at least sign your ass into messenger once in a while, but let's just say...oh these words sting...I, I, I'm not sure if I can say them, so ugly...so...vile....but since you and I have been friends for what is it 20 years now, no, that's right, almost a year and a half...I'll whisper them in your ear...come closer sweets...closer....here goes:

you were right (ouch)

Ok my lovelies...I'm going to take my addled brain and get in bed with my man on his very rare Sunday night off.  Tomorrow we are taking the offspring to Legoland!  Wheeeee!!!!  Oh, the wheeeee isn't for Legoland....gotta go! 

     Dear Diary,  ummm, I mean, Dear black leather-bound journal I use to keep track of the people who must be punished later,

     I really thought tonight was going to be a crappy night, but after icing my knees (I used french vanilla) and loosening up my neck I realized that people might think my injuries were a result of performing exuberant fellatio, but sadly, they were only from karate.  Usually, if I'm going to end up with bruises on my knees and a stiff neck,  there should be a Dick involved (smile for the camera baby), and later, there might be.  Moving through my normal routine, I checked my messages which inspired me to pick up a pair of scissors, run into my kitchen to fetch the carton of milk and then, leaving the light on when I left the room, I passed the tree where money does in fact grow on my way to sit entirely too close to the television and swill directly out of the carton, all the while tempting fate and making a face, knowing full well that if I didn't stop, it could stay that way forever!!

     Worried that I might forget my mantra, "always grease the pan before cooking the meat", I opted to use my big girl words and be a good person and a good friend, typing out some messages containing generic albeit heartfelt wishes for life, liberty and justice for all, no, wait, that's not it?  And the pursuit of sexual gratification?  Still doesn't sound right...well, I wrote something friendly and proceeded to press send. That's when it hit me, and when I find out who threw it I'm going to crack open a can of whoop ass.  Anyway, that's when I came face to face with the grim reality that after years of trying to pretend that I am made of tin, it is now patently obvious that I have a heart as big as my breasts, and even worse...oh how it pains me to type these words...brace yourselves friends, lovers, stalkers, and complete strangers who like to masturbate while looking at my photos and screaming my name out in the moment of release....

I'm nice

     There, I said it.  Now go ahead and mock me, I deserve it.  I mean sure, I can kick some serious ass without so much as smearing my eyeliner, and yes, I am prone to bouts of unbridled anger, but I also love like a hellcat, I'm fiercely protective, I'm more than a little addictive,  and I have a quick smile that will make your dick hard and your heart soft.    My ugly secret is out.  Tell anyone and I'll be forced to add your name to the list...that is, if it isn't already there.  Will you look at that, I'm a little evil after all.  Ok fine, more than a little...but who's keeping track, right?

     5:30am-My alarm goes off, for the first time anyway.  Hearing the first few chords of a song I love but am not quite ready to listen to in it's entirety, I sneak an arm out from under the covers and press the snooze button, 9 more minutes.

     5:39am-Ok, my little snooze was just enough to make waking up at this horrendous time of day nearly bearable.  Deciding to let the CD play, I roll over onto my back and let the music wash over me.  "As I sit here, and slowly close my eyes, I take another deep breath and feel the wind pass through my body"...even though I know all the words to this song, this morning the meaning consumes me.  To get my blood flowing, I begin to wiggle my toes, then my feet, legs, and eventually, every muscle from the tips of my pretty metallic red toe nails to the top of my mass of rebellious curls has been flexed and relaxed as I continue to sing softly.

     I sit up in the center of my huge bed, grabbing the corner of my curtains and pulling them back to gaze outside.  The sky is sapphire blue this time of morning, my favorite shade of blue.  A few birds are beginning to sing but otherwise the world seems to be standing still.  It's peaceful, at least for now.    Closing my eyes, I roll my head in slow circles to stretch out my neck and get some blood flowing to my brain.  Still not completely convinced that my mind is awake, I roll over onto my hands and knees, letting my hands slide out in front of me until my arms are outstretched completely and I'm sitting back on my heels resting my forehead on the soft cotton sheets.  "I need serenity, in a place where I can hide"....Drawing in several deep breaths, I curl my spine, vertebrae by vertebrae,  towards the ceiling like a jungle cat, exhaling steadily until my head is dangling between my shoulders, delighting in the absence of tension in my neck at this moment. 

     Lifting my face towards the sapphire sky outside my window, I arch my back this time, squeezing my shoulder blades together while smiling to myself at the thought of my spouse coming through the bedroom door to be greeted with this delightfully unobstructed view of my ass.  He'd hustle home from work every morning if he only knew.  My body is beginning to feel energized as the song winds to an end.  More awake now, I return to a sitting position,  folding my legs into a proper lotus pose as I fill my lungs with a long, deep,  slow breath and hold it for just a few seconds before exhaling.  Now fully awake, I begrudgingly leave my pillow-topped sanctuary. 

    The sky is now a lighter shade of blue, and my clue to get myself in the shower before the window of opportunity slams shut.  Looking over at the clock, the song has long since ended, but it's lyrics are still playing in my mind as I slip out of bed and make my way across my bedroom floor.     

     Ami James and Chris Nunez.  Those are the main, ok, the ONLY reasons I still watch Miami Ink because I tell you, if I have to watch one more koi fish or lotus flower, Japanese style dragon or tiger, or traditional tribal work tattooed on pasty white kids and empty headed silicone filled spray tanned whores, I meant...fuck it, let's stick with whores, I'm going to, ok, I have nothing dramatic I'm prone to doing as a result of a television show...but I'll stop watching, I swear I will!!  Let's show some originality people!  I'm a smart woman, I understand the symbolism of the various and assorted Japanese flora and fauna, but doesn't anyone want something a little less...mainstream?  And what's with the tattoos in languages you don't speak or read?  For all you know your kanji is the Japanese translation for "dee dee dee" adding for interest, "I'm an asshole"  just because? 

    Run on sentence anyone?  So, back to the show that I watch for purely perverted reasons; tattoos, guys, and guys with tattoos, does EVERY effing tattoo need to have some deeply philosophical meaningful tear jerker story attached to it?  Does anyone other than myself and Luna get tattooed purely for the hot searing pain and delightful gift with purchase that is a permanent ink, sorry, that's Luna's fault...she heard that just as I intended it, I meant beautiful picture permanently emblazoned on our skin? No?  No one?  You in the back row, did you have something you wanted to say? 

    I LOVE tattoos (oh especially tattoos on men...mmm hmm, tracing them with my fingers, softly placing a kiss on them...oh yeah) CRAP! Look what happened, I got distracted again...never fear, the train of thought always returns to the station, eventually...*waiting...waiting...* OH I REMEMBER!!  I know that although I should be able to approve every visible tattoo on every human in the entire universe...sadly, I do not...yet, but come on people, seriously!  Does it seem rational to have your dead dog's name etched forever in the skin on your chest?  I even saw one episode with a whore having a tattooed portrait of her dead dog sitting in a lotus flower (the dead pooch, not the whore)...puh---leeeese...And these black and white portraits immortalizing your wife on your wedding day (even though she's not dead) or better still, pictures of your dead family members,  living relatives, famous people or pets inked into your skin forever?  I love my family, but I can honestly say that I would never have their likenesses tattooed on me, hell I wouldn't even have their names tattooed on me, but that's just me.  If I have offended anyone....oh were you waiting for me to add something to that? 

     or: Social intercourse without the aid of proper mental stimulation

~with my mother on Sunday-  "I talked to Luna this morning, she called to see if V is in the evacuation zone for the fire", no Mom...I called you this morning, you said you didn't even know there was a fire and could I call you if I heard anything..."Umm NO, I DID NOT talk to you this morning, it was Luna"....are you serious?  I called you this morning.  " Really?  Hmm, I don't recall talking to you at all today."  That's going in your file Mom.  " How scary is it that I don't even know who I'm talking to on the phone?"  Scary in a way I can't express in words, do you want a room with a window when we have you put away? 

~With the mother in law at 1:45pm Monday-  "So, did you take the kids out of school and go to Legoland today?"  Obviously NO...since I just answered the phone AT MY HOUSE!!  "Oh (nervous laughter)  that's right, I called you"...not to mention the fact that the kids get out of school at 2:05pm and Legoland is a 2 hour drive from our house, which means we would have spent less than an hour there...DUH! (yes, I say "Duh" to my mother in law)

~with my mother in the Jack in the Box drive through- "Do you want a drink or anything?"  No thanks mom, I picked up a drink a the grocery store.  *3 seconds later*  "Do you want anything to drink?"  No, thanks, I got something at the store.  *A few seconds later*  "So, do you want anything?  A drink or something?"....Screaming in my head at this point-NOOOOOO I GOT SOMETHING AT VON'S!!!!!.....mouth saying, Um..No Mom, I just bought something at the grocery store, you know, when we just there, together, remember?  "So, you don't want anything then?"  *checking my watch* is it acceptable to drink at 11am?

~with my spouse earlier today- I made some chocolate cake this morning,  "What kind of cake?" *wondering if I am speaking aloud*  I said chocolate, I made a bundt cake  "What kind of frosting?"  It's a bundt cake, it doesn't need frosting, just dust some powdered sugar on it  "So you'll frost it when it cools?"  No, I'm not going to frost it at all, please remove your ass hat before continuing to speak to me  " When will it be cool enough to frost?"  GRRRRR, why do you speak out loud at all!!!

~on the phone with a girlfriend-  I dropped that box you had delivered to my house off on your front porch.  "Why didn't you knock?"  You weren't home, I called and left a message on your machine.  " Was my car there?"  No, it wasn't, but I called first, that's why I just left it on the porch.  "Oh, you should have called, I wanted to visit with you when you brought it over"  I did call, you weren't home 

    Is it a mystery to anyone why I just dropped it off?  Can you imagine how painful conversation is face to face? 

     That's only a few of the delightful conversations I've had with the people around me....how is it again that I don't drink heavily? 

    Oh, I see you are still reading despite the title.  Glutton for punishment are you?  Well why don't you just come close enough to feel the heat rising from my ugly mood swing directly caused by my current job dissatisfaction.  The whole domestic gig is sucking the joy clean out of my life today.  One day, I will find the mother fucker who coined the clever term "stay at home mom" and I will kill them with my bare hands and then eat them.  I'm a vegetarian, but I'll make an exception.  Slave at home mom is more accurate.  I guess the problem lies in the fact that I once had a very free and exciting life. Sure, it was selfish and a tad indulgent, living by the beach, driving the fast little sports car, out dancing all night every weekend, sleeping as late as I wanted, being my own boss, making great money, cooking food that only I ate, picking up messes only I made, and only washing clothes that I wore...it was a good, no...it was a GREAT life.  Nights like tonight, when my kids have gone completely stupid, PAM is at work and I am stuck at home, I miss that life. 

     I can't figure out those women who go on and on and on about how perfect their lives are, perfect kids, perfect husbands, perfect spot on the closet floor to sit rocking and crying waiting for the Zoloft to kick in while the perfect husband who never passes gas or leaves his shit laying about the perfect home is at his fulfilling job he just loves and the perfect children are at school getting straight A's while you are home darning socks and single handedly putting an end to the war in Iraq, world hunger and finally determining just who really is the father of Anna Nicole Smith's bastard child.  Delusional bitches.  "Oh my husband and I never fight"  uh huh, did you know that when you are laying there motionless waiting for your husband to finish the obligatory anniversary or birthday sex, he is thinking about the heated words he exchanges with that mysterious woman right before he gives her a good and nasty fucking?  Passion.  That's what make us fight and fuck like wild beasts, not perfection. 

     I thought about channeling some of this passion I have into something domestic, but I got over it.  The words passionate and house cleaning should never be used in the same sentence.  A clean house is a sign of a wasted life...or something along those lines.  I've got an itch...who's brave enough to scratch it? 

     Last Friday, as we were heading back to our home, a mysterious force pulled our car into the parking lot of a small neighborhood liquor store.  What could it be?  My husband, deciding to be the scout for our investigation into the strong vibrations being given off by this shop, opened the door and bravely stepped out of the car.  Casting one last glance at his family he left behind, not knowing what was to be found within the double doors a few feet ahead, he tried his best to appear at ease as he reached for the door handle, dutifully obeying the sign that said, "pull".  In an instant, he was gone, surrounded by Johnny's and Jacks, Captains and Millers and various and assorted weapons of mass consumption.  The air in the car was icy cold and wrought with tension as we all shared a common worry, none of us wanting to voice it aloud.  Suddenly the doors flew open and my spouse sprang forth, breathless and flushed.  He exuberantly yanked open my door exclaiming, "THEY'RE GIVING AWAY SOMETHING X-RATED!!  I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT IS, I'M NOT SURE, I, I......"   he struggled to catch his breath before continuing, "do you want to try it?"

     "Oh Big Man" I said reassuringly as I bolted past him, tossing over my shoulder as I sprinted into the magical portal to happiness and peace, "I'll be right ba-aackkk"  Once inside I waited for the harps to quiet and the bright golden light to dim.  There, sitting on a table just beyond my grasp was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.  It was long and sleek, smooth and pink, and it was beckoning to me.  My tongue involuntarily made it's way between my parted lips, running seductively across first my top lip, and then stopping to moisten my full bottom lip before catching it in my teeth, struggling to suppress the urge the urge to reach over and take that magnificent pink object in my skilled and loving hands, drawing it to my mouth and letting the liquid within quench my thirst.

     My vision was obscured when a woman stepped between me and the object of my unbridled lust.  "You want some?" she cooed.  At this point my desire left me barely able to nod my head yes.  She lifted the beautiful pink package and placed it in my hands, pointing out all the different ways I could enjoy it, should I agree to take bring it home with me.  Hesitantly, I fondled it, turning it over in my hand, running my open palm against the length of it, purring softly as I did.  "yes" I said quietly, "I want it".  To reward me for my bravery and willingness to experiment, the woman gave me a fuchsia tank top emblazoned with a bright glittery "X-Rated" scripted across the bosom.  It was a deal I couldn't pass up.  With a broad smile, I kindly paid the shopkeeper and returned to the car with my treasure. 

     X-Rated Fusion Liquor....yes...yes....oh baby give me some more....YES YES YE-ESSSS!!!!   

According to X-rated, here's my signature drink: 

 And here's what that drink says about me:

You never enter a room unnoticed, and your fantastic personality causes a stir wherever you go. Although you really don't mean to cultivate all the attention, there's no denying that you are ridiculously charismatic. People are drawn to you, and why wouldn't they be? Plus you love it.

The X-Rated^® Kiss & Tell celebrates you and is your Vivacious Pink Drink. It is your signature Pink Drink because, like you, it is fun and has masses of personality. Buy yourself and your admirers a round of X-Rated^® Kiss & Tell and toast to Drinking Pink

Shlingen!

Love, Raven

     I didn't win last night, so I guess all of you that were sticking around to see just how generous I really am are now free to go.  I'm sure I can fulfill another purpose in your life, even without millions of dollars, right?  Hey, don't walk away while I'm talking...now that's just plain rude!  My millions are out there waiting to be made, I just have to find a sugar daddy to help bring my ideas to fruition.  Any volunteers?  Show of hands? Feet? No? FINE!! 

     I had a long and tiring day today...so I'll wrap this up and let you get back to writing about your feelings in your journal, calculating the circumference of Venus or continuing your endless searching for free internet porn.  I'm off to get a little X-rated.

     Smooches and Spankings! 

Kisses~*Raven*~ 

 "The only way not to think about money is to have a great deal of it"

Edith Wharton

     The mega million lotto jackpot is up over 355 million dollars tonight!!  I'm not a big fan of gambling as I truly enjoy having something tangible to show for my money spent, but this afternoon, on our way home from an afternoon spent swimming , we stopped at the corner liquor store and bought $5 worth of tickets for tonight's drawing.  5 chances to win $355 million dollars, what the hell, someone has to win it, right?  Why not me?  That's about 10 million dollars a year after taxes for 26 years.  I think I could budget that.  Just under a million a month, can you even wrap your mind around  the possibilities.  I'm not one of those people (liars) who strap on their dildo of self-righteousness, ramming it up the asses of the masses claiming that money wouldn't change the way they live.  HA-BULLSHIT, oh, bless me, I sneezed.  Who can honestly say that an annual income of 10 million dollars wouldn't change anything?  Ok, perhaps someone who already has an income that high, but the rest of us, I'd say it's safe to say some changes would be in order.  How many times did I type change so far? Anyone counting?  Moving on------>

     So let's pretend for a moment that we have won a lotto jackpot worth $355 million....first thing I would do is the standard buy homes and cars for all my family members, pay off their debts and all that jazz, set up custodial accounts for all of our offspring, blah blah blah....you know the drill.  But what about now? What about the kids, school, etc.  How would daily life change?  I would hire world class tutors and take my family traveling.  Yes, school is important, but the education life could afford you while traveling all over the world would be more impressive than even the best schools could offer.  *Sigh*, it's a good dream.  What would you do with a really large sum of money like that?   

     That's what my fucker, I mean husband, said all day today every time I wasn't Ms. Mary Fucking Sunshine.  Ooooh, there are sooo many days that I simply hate him down to the core of my black little heart.  Sure, last night, after a decade of indentured servitude, I got to go out with my sisters and cousin, aunts and uncles and a couple of stray humans that we call friends.  Apparently, in the PAM to Intelligence dictionary, that means that all acts of stupidity and general fucking up are to be over-looked by said slave-at-home mom for a period of 72 hours. Fucker.

   So to get back to my night out, the night itself was a blast!!  The Queen Mary is an amazing ship, the history, the legends, and all that, but the actual burlesque show was just sad and pathetic.  Of the 4 performers plus the Queen Bee and the token male, the best part of the show was the comedian who came in for 10 minute increments while the worker bees were having a break.  Oh, I forgot to mention the comedian, sorry.  Anyway, 2 of the Bees I am not completely certain were women, despite being assured that they all were, one of the Bees should rethink doing so much crack before taking stage, plus she had a nasty scabies looking rash across her entire back, and the one fairly attractive Bee was that kind of person who just looks dirty, not in a "needs to shower" kind of way, but more of a Courtney Love kind of way.  I guess it's safe to say that IF I were ever to entertain lesbian thoughts, I'd be one very picky bitch!  

     The show, thankfully, only lasted about an hour, but it didn't start until almost  Midnight. The baby sis and I arrived at the ship at 9pm, plenty of time to find some good trouble, I mean times.  We investigated the various decks until finally making our way to the Observation Deck, which is the name of a bar on the nose of the boat, and yes, I am aware that it's not called the nose, but maybe you could fuck off for being a detail oriented prick? Ok? Ok?  We watched some people get their geek on and stand with their arms outstretched exclaiming that they were the king of the world.  At least it was kind of them to draw attention to their stupidity and save us all the trouble.  After the show ended,we closed down the bar and then set out to find some of those legendary ghosts on the ship. 

    In case you are too daft to notice, I'm supremely foul tonight.  PAM spent all day pointing out that since I got to go out last night, I SHOULD be more grateful and not so grumpy.  It's not a mystery as to where he got his delightfully passive aggressive nature, his mother, knowing that I was at a show that started at midnight and was staying out until I picked up the spouse at work at 3:30am, decided to call me around 11am to tell me that they were at McDonald's having lunch, oh she was even kind enough to tell me what ALL of them were eating.  That was her passive aggressive way of letting me know SHE felt I should be awake.  I told her I didn't get home until after 4am, and I was going to sleep a little more, eat and then I'd call her.  What the fuck is her problem?  She can fly to New York at the drop of a dime to watch my nieces when their useless mother takes to her bed with a little stomach bug but I am begrudged one night a decade out?  Fuckers.  Obviously she and my fucker, I mean husband, shared their theories on that.  Fuckers.  

    We went over a few hours later to fetch the offspring only to be met with Senior Nasty saying, "it's about time you got here!"  I responded by telling him that I never get to go out alone so if he'd like to bring it, I'd be glad to throw down with him, but just be warned, I'll wipe the floor with him.  Of course mother of PAM quips, "well, he was well behaved ALL day, don't know what's wrong now?" Yeah, it's just me, I bring out the worst in everyone. My daughter spent all day shrieking and whining about everything.  Fuckers.  So....my day went from bad to worse to unbearable to screaming like a demon that I hated them all. I told my fucker to pack his shit and get out, but he just sits on the couch watching the world's worst television shows on Sci Fi channel.  I'm glad he's at work tonight, but I think maybe the next time I get a chance to go for a night out without the fucker and ungrateful children, I just won't come back.  See what happens when you let the bird out of the cage?  

    11 years...that's how long it's been since I've had a night on the town without the husband or kids along.  11 YEARS!!!      It's a wonder I haven't snapped and taken a grocery store hostage armed with a samurai sword.  Disgruntled domestic goddess...that's what the hubby calls me lately.  Of course I call him PAM, which stands for Passive Aggressive Man, so we really are a match made in hell, but never at a loss for things to do at home *wink wink*.  Even still, a woman needs her freedom once in a while to remind herself that she was a woman long before she was a wife or mother....this is what I'm doing tonight.  If you live in Southern California, you might want to stay in for the weekend, as me and 2 of my 3 younger sisters, along with 2 other female family members, a few girlfriends and the gayest straight man ever to live (we call him El Dandy) will be descending upon the Queen Mary for an evening we hope not to forget, well, except for the ones that drink so much they end up face down in the restroom at Denny's clad in naught but a swim mask, duct tape and a party hat, they may wish for amnesia tomorrow!

     Now I am quite aware of all the fun I poke at people for relating the miniscule details of their sheltered lives in an endless torrent of meaningless chatter, so feel free to mock and ridicule me at will.  I'll be out having one hell of a time tonight and frankly, I just don't care.  "What's the occasion?" you might be wondering, or more likely you are wondering how many drinks it takes for me to end up naked and dancing on stage with the Queen Bees at Vamp?  Well now, I do get free drinks with our VIP package we booked (yes, we're a bunch of bitches, but VIP is the ONLY way to go!)  although *sigh* I am driving myself, so one drink will do me just fine.  For those who know me, the possibility of me ending up dancing, well, anywhere at all is VERY LIKELY, no alcohol is necessary!  Look how I violate my kitchen, living room, stripper pole and shower, taking my ass outside the house to do my thang is just a gift I am going to bestow upon the public at large tonight. 

     I'm still not entirely sure how we ended up choosing a burlesque club, I don't recall this being put to a vote, but it's not my 21st birthday party, so fuck it, I'm up for just about anything at this point.  The spouse will be at work, the kids are sleeping over at the in-laws and I will be out until the wee hours of the morning!!! It's good to be the Goddess.  Don't wait up for me tonight. 

      At a loss for something productive to do for a few minutes, I decided to meander around the Windows Live Spaces thingamabob doohickey to see what's up.  Well fuck me running...I found just the damndest things, and by damndest I mean relatively useless.  They are calling these waste receptacles, "gadgets", and they range from Hangman to a clock that shows your moods and every insipid idea in between.

    One of the gimcracks available for space pollution now is called the "What I ate or drank today" gadget.  That's right, as if the ass numbingly dull view into most folks mundane and uneventful lives (not ours though, we're facinating *nodding head yes*) isn't enough for us to fill the bathtub with ice water and stock up on razor blades, now MSN is perpetuating the subsequent boring to death of intelligent people by allowing the attention whores to share just exactly how many cheetos they stuffed in their cock holsters or tracking how many bottles of beer are no longer on their walls. Why do we need to read your personal food and beverage diary?  Seriously....who is so vapid that itemizing what they consume daily is an activity in which they feel we must all share?

    Can you imagine what that would look like?  Let me give you a virtual tour into the life of such a person:

5:30am-I preformed fellatio on a man I just met last night, how many calories do you think are in a serving of man gravy?

5:47am-Chased man gravy with a swig of flat beer I found on the nightstand

6:00am-While using the showerhead as a water pick I inadvertently swallowed some water

6:30am-Finished off left over take-out Chinese directly out of the container, but ate it standing up, so calories don't count

9:30am-Ate a power bar at work, hate the taste but it's all for show anyway

12:30pm-Went out to lunch with some women from the office, ordered a small salad with non-fat dressing on the side, really wanted a bacon double cheeseburger, bitches!

4:00pm-knocked back an energy drink, damn salad burned off around 12:50pm, Bitches!

5:32pm-I'm having a bacon double cheeseburger mother fucker, will do line of cocaine later to make up for it

7:00pm-beer, beer and half a bottle of whiskey, questionable left-overs and 2 Rolaids

9:57pm-DAMN, forgot to do line of cocaine, fuck it....I'll start that lifestyle change tomorrow

     Maybe, if we are lucky, MSN can create a "What the hell did my cat eat" module so you can chronicle your litter box findings.  Oh happy day!!