April Showers

It is raining like hell here today. We needed it so I’m not complaining, but the gutters need to be cleaned out again, dammit. There’s a river running down the front of the house, no doubt forcing its way under the concrete pad so that the house can sink a little right there.

Bob’s son is waiting impatiently for his girlfriend to arrive. Many heavy sighs and much pacing going on. I expect she’s probably late due to the rain.

Being the progressive person that I am, I said she could come and stay with him for a few days while he’s here visiting us. He’s known her since high school. He’s 21, and getting his ashes hauled seems like a reasonable thing for him to do. Somehow, I doubt his mother lets him have overnighters.

Since both “kids” are deaf, I will no doubt need the super power ear plugs tonight. 🙂 I imagine it’s hard to tell how much noise you’re making when you’re doing the wild thing but can’t hear. AND … I doubt either of them will worry much about it. That’s a good thing.

UPDATE:  She can’t come, her sis got a DUI (stupid to drink and drive) and her mother wants her to stay home (don’t know why, but I don’t know their situation).   Poor Tim.

Sexual Intelligence

“Reprinted from Sexual Intelligence, © Marty Klein, Ph.D. (www.SexualIntelligence.org).”

I think Marty Klein makes *a lot* of sense. You can subscribe to his newsletter here.

1. City Collapses Over Sex-Change Operation
After 14 years, excellent performance ratings and another raise just last year, the Largo, FL city manager was fired for announcing his upcoming sex-change operation. The City Commission fired him because he had “violated their trust” and “caused a major disruption.”

What the City Commission members mean is, “Wow, you’re confusing me! Making me uncomfortable! Making it impossible to ignore my own sexual beliefs! If you don’t stop, we’ll, we’ll, we’ll send you away so we can zip our existential terror right back up.”

These five men and women actually think they have the right to vote on Steven Stanton’s gender. They’re demanding protection from their discomfort with his personal choices. Of course, if they weren’t so obsessed with his personal choices, they wouldn’t need quite so much protection from their terror.

And these people are actually willing to sacrifice Stanton’s high-quality managerial services just so they can pretend the world is never going to change. Do you know how hard it is to find a decent city manager?

Well, Commissioners, you can ditch Stanton. But you really blew it–Stanton was your chance to develop a little tolerance and self-soothing before being challenged by someone you really care about: your son coming out as bisexual. Your wife saying she’s been faking orgasms. Your fantasies about being spanked by both Barack Obama and Condi Rice. It will be great sport to watch you squirm when it’s your grandkids or nieces or best friends challenging the dominant paradigm about sexuality instead of a guy you can just send away to Fire Island.

Sexually, the world isn’t really divided into gay and straight. It’s divided between people who can tolerate others’ sexuality, and people who can’t. People who may think about others’ sexuality, and people who judge others’ sexuality. That second group seems obsessed with others’ sexuality. Who else spends every waking moment thinking about homosexuality, sex-change operations, prostitution, orgies, premarital sex, and porn, porn, porn, porn, and porn?

You want a city manager you can “trust”? Try drug addict Rush Limbaugh, extortionist Jack Abramoff, attempted child molester Tom Foley, compulsive gambler Bill Bennett, or the unemployed Tom DeLay–all eligible by virtue of keeping the gender they were born with. Ann Coulter has no managerial experience, but she obviously loves being a woman, so she’s safe, too.

Oh, the Largo city motto? “To provide superior services that enhance the quality of life and community pride.” Well, In one gesture, the city has

  • gotten rid of the guy who coordinated the superior services,
  • undermined the quality of life for all tolerant people, and
  • smeared the community’s pride with shame

Hate and fear–undoubtedly the two strongest forces on earth. Besides sexuality, that is.

2. Gay Or Irish? Parade Organizers Force Choice

“Buy some corned beef,” my local butcher smiled on March 17. “Today, everybody’s Irish.”

Well, apparently not everybody. In New York City–home to 2 million Irish-Americans, half as many as in all of Ireland–organizers of the huge Fifth Avenue parade have once again banned Irish-American gay groups from marching. And so the city’s most powerful Irish-American politician, City Council Speaker Christine Quinn, is boycotting the parade.

As every Irish person, gay and straight, should. Unless, of course, hatred, exclusion, and obsession with others’ private lives is truly what it means to be Irish.

How anti-Irish is being gay? Last year, John Dunleavy, a leader of the Roman Catholic group behind the parade, actually compared the exclusion of gays to barring the Ku Klux Klan from marching in Harlem, or Nazis from joining an Israeli parade. I guess he forgot to add, ‘like inviting child molesters to a cub scout camp.’

In one sentence Dunleavy managed to insult every living person. He should be barred from singing or hearing Danny Boy for the rest of his pathetic, frightened life.

Today, if anyone tells you they’re proud to be Irish, ask them why. People typically say it’s the culture–the music, food, lust for life, melancholy attachment to a rugged land, an old-world spirituality, a tradition of surviving. Throw in some red hair and a couple of pints.

My butcher told me that even though I’m Jewish and have never set foot on the Emerald Isle, today I’m Irish. Well, no thanks. I’m with Christine Quinn. Who, by the way, is marching as a lesbian in the St. Patrick’s Day Parade in Dublin, Ireland, sporting a shamrock and pink triangle.

3. Newt: Hypocrite, or Opportunistic Hypocrite?

Newt Gingrich now admits he was having an extramarital affair while he led Congress in impeaching President Clinton for getting a few blowjobs from a consenting adult.

Ho hum, another “family values” hypocrite. Ted Haggard, Ralph Reed, Mark Foley, Lou Sheldon, Bill O’Reilly, Paul Crouch, Rush Limbaugh, Randall Terry, Robert Livingston (who was supposed to succeed Gingrich as Speaker of the House)–the list of “family values” leaders whose family values include divorce, infidelity, gambling, and embezzlement is getting so big, they could form their own political party. Oh wait–they already have.

Republicans really face a dilemma this Presidential season: three of their four most prominent candidates are divorced. The fourth is–gasp–Mormon. And you know how wild and liberal those desert swingers are.

Serendipitously, Arizona Senator John (‘Jerry Falwell is intolerant except when he’s considering supporting me’) McCain pleaded that “gossip–‘family issues’–should not enter into this campaign.” That was in response to Rudy Giuliani asking for privacy as he apparently deals with estrangement from his children.

In a better, more civilized world, of course our leaders’ private lives would be private. We wouldn’t even know that Gingrich had had extramarital sex with an employee 20 years his junior. And except for a bit of schadenfreude, we wouldn’t care.

But the “family values” crowd has relentlessly shrunk everyone’s zone of privacy. Your sex toy–illegal in 6 states. Your prescription contraceptives–subject to a pharmacist’s “moral refusal rights.” Your private, adults-only strip club, swing club, erotic bookstore–crippled or closed in every state. And so this crowd deserves no privacy whatsoever.

I personally don’t care if a politician is divorced, bisexual, or unfaithful–can any President cause more “immorality” than our current non-drinking, monogamous, Church-going fool who brags about not reading the newspaper? But these people have earned our complete contempt for their private lives, their human struggles, their family dramas.

You know that cliché, live by the sword, die by the sword. Well, you get votes by trashing others’ private choices, you lose votes because of your own.

And Newt? Now that he’s acknowledged “There’s certainly times when I’ve fallen short of God’s standards,” will he do the Godly thing and stop bashing other people’s sexuality and lifestyle?

On Sex in America

Miss USA: Alcohol Trumps Sex

Tara Conner retained her Miss USA crown when pageant co-owner Donald Trump “forgave her” for drinking in public while underage. The question came up because Miss USA is supposed to be morally pure (that’s why Trump is in charge, see).

In contrast, a few weeks later Katie Rees lost her Miss Nevada crown–after the internet featured photos of her exposing her breasts, passionately kissing other young women and simulating oral sex with some friends. It all took place when she was over 21. But Miss USA contestants are supposed to be morally pure, and hot sex isn’t.

So if you’re keeping score at home, breaking the law is acceptable, while having too much fun–legally–isn’t.

One hesitates to point out the obvious, but Miss Nevada–morally pure? The world capital of prostitution, gambling, and tasteless gold jewelry can’t abide a little girl-girl action, a little boob flashing? Presumably the problem is that she’s an amateur. When there’s money involved, it’s commerce. Without money, it’s just sin.

The Miss USA program isn’t outdated at all. It still reflects American values–moralism, hypocrisy, and salacious disrespect for sexuality.

This is from Marty Klein’s Sexual Intelligence newsletter
Marty Klein,Ph.D.

Marty’s kind of ‘out there’ on some issues but I think that’s where change starts ….

All About ME

What a week! My helper at work has been gone, and I get to do his work and mine. Funny how that only works one way. OTOH, it makes me appreciate how he runs interference for me. Usually.

Bob and I were rolling around in bed this morning, and I ribbed him with, “You’re sure not getting much done in the yard today.”
Without a blink he replied, “Technically, I DO have a finger in a bush, though.”

Quote o’ the Day

In her later years, actress Sarah Bernhardt lived in an upper-story apartment in Paris. One day a visitor arrived, out of breath after a long climb. “Madame,” he asked, “why do you live so high up?” “Because,” she answered, “it is the only way I can still make the hearts of men beat faster.”

On early morning shock syndrome

[Or, “Why I Don’t Keep Sharp Implements By My Bed”]

I’m going to try and tell this story in such a way as to not come out looking too stupid or perverted or cranky, but it may be a stretch.

Know first that I sleep with earplugs because Bob can snore like a freight train going 90 miles an hour through your back yard. It’s a gift. But earplugs confuse things for me.

Know also that I get what amounts to a chemical wake-up crankiness that is intense when it happens and then evaporates, completely unaided, in two or three minutes. It’s weird and feels like uber-fast PMS.

Another “You Should Know” -ism, last one, I promise: My gadgety husband bought me one of those Bose Wave Radio/CD players [except that it’s a different brand with better ratings -Go Bob!] to replace my one-button blue and yellow plastic SpongeBob alarm clock. Can I just say here, that while it was very nice of him to get me that nice unit, it’s really, really hard and complicated to work in your sleep? Yes. I can say that.

Yesterday morning at 5 a.m., I was awakened by a big dog nose in the face. I was too groggy to remember what part of the face, but it was a big jolt because for once I had been sound asleep. I figured out that Sissy thought it was time to get up. I looked at the clock and it was an hour early, God Forbid. I heard a buzzing sound and went to turn off the alarm.

I reached over and poked the round spot where there should have been a light telling me the alarm was set and/or going off playing the FM radio to wake me.

Notice I said the *radio playing* was the alarm, not a buzzer. When I poked the button, the radio came on, and the buzzer kept buzzing. I decided in that addled moment that Sissy [of the big dog nose] had messed with the buttons on the radio. AAAARRRGGHH!! Quelle Horror!!! How will I ever reset it! You DO have to be a rocket scientist to control it!!! I had my wakey-crank on big-time and hollered at Sissy and took an earplug out. Bob wanted to know why I hollered at her, and I said “Because she screwed up my radio settings!” or something to that effect. “And I can’t get it to turn off!”

Meanwhile, I am punching random buttons and have not altered the buzzing or the song that was playing, but I DID manage to reset the time. Go, me!

And Bob calmly says, “You know, the radio wasn’t on until you touched it.” And I have to stop and take out the other earplug and stare at the possessed radio. I feel for the remote for the radio under the bed and hit the lights so I can find the off button. [Are you getting this? My ALARM CLOCK has a remote!!! AAARGH!!] The music obediently turns off.

The buzzing is still audible, however, and I figure out it’s in the nightstand drawer. You guessed it, a random vibrator incident, the kind usually confined to the airport security line. I had recently relocated my sex toy stash from the sock drawer to the nightstand, and Voila! I was being rewarded for it.

I was still convinced Sissy turned it on somehow by knocking against the nightstand or something, but maybe it was really more random than that. Bob thinks I’m nuts. I think it’s Back to the Sock Drawer for those particular implements of joy. My crankiness evaporated and we both laughed at the utter slapstick absurdity of the whole event. What a way to start the day! In case you’re wondering, no, I couldn’t get back to sleep. Big surprise there, eh?

Just to round this story out: My son and his girlfriend house-and-animal-sat for us last weekend while we were on our Crappy Cruise [maybe more on that, later]. They slept in our bed.

I sincerely hope they didn’t look for the instructions for the radio, because they would have gotten a nasty (pun intended) surprise. But they probably did, because I’m fairly certain I left the alarm set for 4 a.m. to get us up for the airport. Noon is closer to when they roll out of the sack.

I feel a little bad for them because some things, once you’ve seen them, just can’t be un-seen. I’m guessing Mom’s dildo collection would fit that category. Ewwwwww!

Spring has sprung, the grass is riz

I wonder where the birdies is?

That would be my ATF ode to spring. I’m easy that way.

So, driving up our little street with the windows down, finally, I’m hit with the wonderfully overpowering smell of orange blossoms. Oh, heaven! Is there anything better in nature? Besides lilacs, stargazer lilies and iris, I mean.
Everyone on our little block has at least one orange tree in their front yard so it smells divine this time of year. Everyone, that is, except us, we have hideous ornamental plums and pears, which are as messy as a flock of crows. They are gross.

One interesting thing to note: the pears, when they bloom, smell like cum/spooge/ejaculate whatever you call it. Really. You walk out the front door for a few days each spring and start looking for copulating males. That’s pretty much the only thing I like about those damned trees. They’re not really very pretty, the fruit is (naturally, as they are ornamental) completely inedible. They stick like superglued bird crap (or rotten fruit, which is what they are) to my car. Okay, one other good thing, they do attract birds.

I often wonder what Bob was thinking when he planted those ornamentals. The side yard has cherries, peaches, and nectarines, he did so well over there! And now an avocado which has grown [I am not making this up] six inches in three days. It was obviously waiting for a little sunshine.
I love fruit trees.

Fruit trees=good, handicapped ornamentals=not so much.

We pruned the old peach and nectarine too hard this winter, they’re not going to have much fruit this year. But it looked like it had been 5+ years since their last trim job, and branches were breaking. Whomever lives here next year [please, God, don’t let it be me*] will have a nice crop. When those peaches ripen up and you eat them warm off the tree it’s better than a lot of sex I’ve had. Not all, but a lot. Mmmm, juice dripping down the chin, so sweet and fragrant it makes your eyes water.

I’m sure glad it finally quit raining.

*[nice house, nice yard, city sucks major ass wind]

Top 5

March 22, 2006

Subscribe to Club Top Five – Best comedic bang for the buck on the internet 🙂 Hi Chris!

Today’s list was originally published on December 15, 1998.

The Top 15 Christian Coalition-Approved
Nicknames for Breasts

15> Democrat Catchers

14> NFRU (Not for Recreational Use)

13> Pastor Baiters

12> Mounds of Shame

11> Heavenly Canteens

10> Pearly Weights

9> Hooteronomies

8> Pizza Pizza

7> Sweater Undulations

6> The Daughters of Lactiticus

5> Racks of Lambs of God

4> Communion Woofers

3> First and Second Mammalonians

2> Pamela 36:D

and Top5’s Number 1 Christian Coalition-Approved
Nickname for Breasts…

1> Beelzeboobs

[ The Top 5 List http://www.topfive.com ]
[ Copyright 1998, 2006 by Chris White ]

Christian Coalition-Approved Nicknames for Breasts
RUNNERS UP list — Lacking Support

Big Honking Deuteronomies
(Sam Evans, Charleston, SC)

Condiment Containers for the Non-Aborted
(Dennis Koho, Keizer, OR)
(Patrick Major, Dallas, OR)
(Blair Bostick, Alexandria, VA)

Noah’s favorite thing that comes in twos
(Jeff Scherer, Brooklyn, NY)

Proof Positive of God’s Existence
(Rich Taylor, Arlington, VA)

Satan’s Scatter Cushions
(Lisa Oliver, London, England)

Scylla and Charybdis
(Duncan Carling, San Francisco, CA)

The Holy Twintitties
(Perry Friedman, Menlo Park, CA)

The Lord’s Pair
(Rich Taylor, Arlington, VA)

Those Which Begat My Woody
(Jim Rosenberg, Greensboro, NC)

(Larry G. Hollister, Concord, CA)

Two Horsemen of the Apocalypse
(Duncan Carling, San Francisco, CA)

Runners Up list name
(Larry G. Hollister, Concord, CA)

Christian Coalition-Approved Nicknames for Breasts

A loaf of bread, a jug of wine and thou — minus the “a loaf of
bread, a of wine, and thou.”
(Peter Bauer, Rochester, NY)

Anteriorly suspended dietary calcium sources
(Alan Wagner, Pittsburg, KS)

Bell Towers
(Marsha Clodfelter, Corpus Christi, TX)

Cain and Abel
(Tim Blankenbaker, Washington, DC)

Chest Cheese
(Carla Brandon, San Diego, CA)

Corinthians One and Two
(Andrew Thomas, Omaha, NE)

Don’t call them anything. If we ignore them, sex will go away.
(Jon Litfin, Columbus, OH)

(Eric Huret, Atlanta, GA)

Glory to God in the highest, and fullest
(Ann Bartow, Dayton, OH)

Headlights of the Soul
(Paul Schindler, Orinda, CA)

Knockers on Heaven’s Doors
(Rob Seulowitz, New York, NY)

Mammies from Heaven
(Ed Brooksbank, Sacramento, CA)
(Lloyd Jacobson, Washington, DC)

Onward Christian boulders
(Bill Muse, Seattle, WA)

Pope Hats
(Kermit Woodall, Richmond, VA)

Sweet Moses with Noses
(John Hering, Alexandria, VA)

The Devil’s Other Playthings
(Brian Jones, Atlanta, GA)
(Perry Friedman, Menlo Park, CA)

The Eyes of Satan
(Jeff Downey, Raleigh, NC)

The Portion of Your Torso at Which Jesse Jackson Would Be Staring
if You Were a Woman and He Were Speaking to You
(Matt Loiselle, Detroit, MI)

The Two Enormous Grapes of Wrath
(Fred Hesby, Portland, OR)

Things Jesus Sucked, But Only for the First Few Months of His Life
(Yoram Puius, Bronx, NY)

Those which our tight-sweatered fifth-grade French teacher caused
us to commit sins of nature unto
(Blair Bostick, Alexandria, VA)

Tweedledee and Tweedledum
(Ward Bahner, Kansas City, MO)

Two Peas in a Pushup Pod
(Marsha Clodfelter, Corpus Christi, TX)

Quote o’ the Day

“I haven’t trusted polls since I read that 62 percent of women had affairs during their lunch hour. I’ve never met a woman in my life who would give up lunch for sex.”


The trick to that is to hit the drive-thru on the way back to work. Don’t ask me how I know that.