Saturday, January 31, 2009


Colorado is a beautiful state. There are mountains and perfect summers and gorgeous snowfalls. There are gorgeous fields of wildflowers that merge into cold, swift salmon-filled streams. There are mountain goats and grizzly bears and then there is the woman who was appointed by the Colorado prison system to mentor an inmate. Her job was pretty easy: Just watch him, get him to court, get him to his probation hearings and don't have sexual relations with him. She failed on the last rule.

This woman not only had sex with the man, she WROTE IT ALL DOWN.

Somehow word got out that there was an inappropriate relationship going on. Knowing how bright some criminals are I suspect he told his best friend and probably former cellmate how in luv he was and like most rumors that get started, it grew, until there was a knock at his lover's door and surprise! It was the cops.

"What did I do?" she most likely asked, as she kicked her detailed diaries and explicit photos under the nearest chair. "You've got it all wrong!! He's my soulmate!"

Stupid Mentor. Of course, we have to give kudos to the judge who sentenced the woman who likes to have sex with inmates to prison with, well, inmates.

Keep em coming. Send your submissions for "Stupid People" to me via e-mail or MySpace Mail and I'll get them on this blog. The above one was submitted by Tracy. Thanks, Tracy, for giving me this interesting Stupid Person heads up!


First of all, I could use breast implants so I could find a bra that fits, and because, let's face it, cleavage is nice. I finally found a bra that accentuates that, but I will definitely never be any Mary Carey. I wouldn't mind kicking it up a notch, but not to the point of going through a surgical procedure to get it. I'm just hoping in my next life that gets taken care of.

Anyway, there is a woman in California who had breast implants and her husband paid for those. Now, I don't know what happened between the time she got those and he probably started enjoying them very much, and the time he tried to perform his own surgical procedure to remove them, but I can almost bet it had something to do with her new, gorgeous boobs attracting attention from other people who wanted to also enjoy them.

She was going to visit her mother one day and now being EX-hubby, he decided to ambush her and just slice those saline implants right out and who knows what he wanted to do with them? Maybe he wanted boobs of his own or more likely, he was going to try selling them on the Boob Black Market to recover the substantial amount of money he put into them. It's pretty obvious he never got past the divorce and blamed those salt water-filled bags of plastic for all his troubles.

Stupid Ex-Husband! He somehow managed to stab his ex-wife in the head but the implants remained undoubtedly in place and now he's in prison, probably really glad he doesn't have those breasts, if you know what I mean.


It was a gorgeous day, blue skies, almost uncharacteristically blue, and the date was 9/11/01. My first granddaughter was due in a couple of months, and life seemed good. I was working in my home office where I had the TV on and suddenly I saw it: That first plane hit the World Trade Center. I was stunned and all I could do was sit with my hand over my mouth thinking what a horrible, horrible accident I had just witnessed, when I saw a shadow on-camera and watched in horror as that second plane hit the other tower, and I, like millions of others, realized this was no accident. America was under attack, and surely thousands of people were dying in front of my eyes. Suddenly another plane was involved, heading for Washington and my heart stopped beating for a few seconds as the implications of what was happening took me to my knees. I ran up the stairs, woke my son, turned on his TV and we sat there and held each other and cried, scared, shaken to the core, sickened.

Anybody who flies frequently knows how security changed immediately. First, every plane was put on the ground, and days went by without one jet stream visible, a surreal silence from noise we never even realized we noticed it was so common. Suitcases were searched thoroughly, I was pulled out of line often and wanded, probably because I was doing some flying one-way, with only a carry-on bag, but one thing was certain: I would not ever, in a million years, try sneaking even a toy weapon onto a plane in my carry-on bags.

January 15, 2009, at LAX. Not much has changed. It's still a royal pain in the ass to fly. Take off your shoes, bag up your liquid makeup and your toothpaste separately, remove your laptop computer from its case and be sure to take off your jacket, all to be put through x-ray. it takes three times as long to get through Security now even when things go smoothly and nobody causes any glitches.

Hopefully you don't ever have Johnny Knoxville in front of you with his carry-on bag with a GRENADE packed in it. He forgot it was in there. It was a prop from a movie and he just happened to forget it was in his bag because Security has become so much more lax since 9/11 that you might just think it would be okay to drop a grenade into your bag and then try to get through there.

The star of "Jackass" really made one of himself. Everything came to a screeching halt. People were held up even longer than normal and I am pretty sure most everyone behind him in line thought exactly what I am about to say here...STUPID ACTOR. Get a damned grip. Nobody cares you were in a movie, I've never even heard of that movie. Just because you are a stupid actor does not mean you are going to get the nod to take a hand grenade through Security at LAX. Jeez.

I don't know...I think it's going to take awhile for me to find someone to overtake this guy for the Stupidity Award.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009


This next few days, or weeks, or years, because let's face it, there are a lot of stupid people out there, will be dedicated to stupid people. We had the stupid princess a few days ago and now we have this story:

A man from Indianapolis was having some problems in his life. Wah. His wife divorced him, and for good reason, most likely, and he was in a little financial hot water like most of us have been and might be, given these tough economic times.

He probably could have gotten away with faking his own death. He was a pilot. He was just stupid. Somewhere over Birmingham, Alabama, he set the plane on auto pilot and steered it toward the Gulf of Mexico, which was a good idea, had it reached the Gulf, but it ended up falling a little short and almost into a group of houses surrounding a lake. At least that part worked in his favor, it missed the homes, thus avoiding murder charges for him.

Probably had he just parachuted out in Alabama instead of making a huge production of it, things would have worked out better, but diva that he was, he had to call the airport and tell them that his windshield had blown out and he was bleeding profusely. He underestimated how caring American people are. Immediately two F-16 fighter jets were scrambled to try to help. The idea was for them to get next to him and try to orient him, wake him up if he was unconscious, and lead him to an airport to land. Boy were they surprised when they got up there only to find that plane empty. Of course, being the people that they were, they called the police, etc. They still thought the guy might be in the plane, but laying down from his injuries, and of course there was a giant bruhaha on the ground when the plane fell from the sky, and the police were not too happy when they got to it and found it actually missing a pilot.

To make a pretty long story short, this guy went to a hotel in Alabama somewhere, having told whoever took him there he had been in a canoe accident?? I mean, a canoe accident? And things sort of progressed from there. He had hidden a motorcycle in a shed in the woods there, so this was pretty well-planned out, just not very intelligently executed. And this morning they found him in a campground in a pup tent in Florida where he had slit his wrists. I guess he realized by then that things didn't quite go as planned for him. And he couldn't even kill himself right because they found him before he bled to death and fixed him and now he is in jail.

All I can say here is Stupid Pilot!

Sunday, January 11, 2009


Something very upsetting has happened.

Princess Beatrice had her BMW stolen in London. Wah.

The thing is, you see, is she and her bodyguard were shopping in downtown London, and the brilliant Princess Bea left the car unlocked with the keys in the ignition. Now, she is "very shocked and upset."

Duh, you stupid Princess! It was a BMW! And you pretty much just yelled out, "Here, crooks! Come and get this BMW! I've left it unlocked for you...oh, and the keys are in it!"

Some princesses are very smart, some princesses not so much.

Saturday, January 10, 2009


My neighborhood has cats roaming...lots of cats. And for some reason, they all seem to stop in my yard to take a dump.

I have Dachshunds, two of them, Missy and Annie. They are adorable dogs, all pumped up and full of energy. They sleep peacefully in a large kennel at night and in the morning our routine is always the same: Straight from the kennel to the yard for their morning elimination of waste procedure (pooping and peeing for anyone who doesn't understand that). The excitement as they go bounding down the steps is contagious. "Come on girls! Good morning girls!!" They dance at my feet, asking for belly rubs, then rush out into the yard which, this time of year, is usually wet and cold, to get their business done in a hurry.

The other part of our routine is, after I see them both go, I rush back to the back door saying things like, "Come on girls, brrrrrrr...let's get inside and get breakfast!" But they never show up behind me because they are off around the side of the house hunting up the latest fresh pile of cat shit. If the temperatures are above freezing, they gobble down this gourmet delight before I can get to them with the fly swatter, but if it's frozen up over night, oh the GLEE!! They pick up these poop-sicles and head for the back door with them, thinking that I might actually someday say, "Oh, you are such gorgeous creatures! Of COURSE you can bring that pile of frozen cat dung into my house!" They stop at the back door and look up at me with it propping open their mouths, wagging their tails, knowing the fly swatter is coming, then they drop it on the patio to save for later.

I was thinking this might be a nutritional deficiency but then I thought, not true. That is WASTE. There isn't anything nutritious in that. And then I had to come to the grim and embarrassing realization that they just like to eat cat shit.

The second thing you probably don't want to know is that I now have a burning desire to shoot cats that come into my yard. Discharging a firearm in the city limits is, of course, prohibited and frowned upon, especially by your neighbors and especially if you aren't a real good shot. But sometimes I think that a couple of days in jail would be worth it to take the Dachshunds' snacks away from them. It's that pesky court date after the jail time that would make me nervous. I don't do well when faced with irritated authority figures.

Every now and then I get out a hammer and want to start knocking the walls out of my house. Not all of them. Usually just the one between my dining room and the bathroom. I've always wanted a big bathroom with a stand-up shower and a bathtub (Jacuzzi), big plants, a place that I could live in if necessary...a TV, etc. But the problem is, people want to charge money for knocking out walls, and I don't have any.

I am living in fear that if my life doesn't settle down soon, I will be having to live by making tunnels through the clutter in my house, like the old man who they found lost in his own maze. Of course, I could never let actual garbage accumulate like that, but I'm tired, dammit, and I come home and drop everything on the nearest surface and think, "Tomorrow, clutter, tomorrow, you go." Then the phone rings and my plans are foiled.

And last but not least: I am addicted to the blog Fuck You, Penguin. It's hilarious and I keep coming up with my own animal scenarios in my head and say things constantly now like, "Fuck you, cat!" (Only I don't mean that in a cutsie way).

Back to work I go. I have 13 hours to make up this weekend from all the running I did all week, so as tempting as it is to say, "Fuck you, work!" I won't. Yet. Not until later this afternoon. Well, maybe I'll do it now, just to make myself feel good.

Friday, January 09, 2009


When I was younger, I fell in love so much and so easily. I loved boys when I was supposed to, starting in about fifth grade. I loved guys when I was supposed to, starting in high school. I loved more mature guys when I was supposed to, starting in college. I have loved men throughout my life.

But when I was born, I loved one man who has continued to hold my heart and my hand. My dad. And I realized a few years back, that he was the only man who ever showed me what true love was, the only man who never walked away from me, and maybe the reason I never was successful in love was because I was trying to find that guy who was just like Dad. It never happened. I have never loved any man the way I love him, and now he's leaving me.

There's a difference, though, in losing a lover and losing a love. Only death could separate Dad from me and death has come knocking. I don't think we ever thought that would happen, and we're both fighting it pretty heatedly.

And so this blog is in honor of my dad who has loved me unconditionally according to the Webster's definition of that. A beautiful man with a big heart and a soul like gold. I'm gonna miss him but am going to hand him over to the angels so he can find Mom and find peace and watch every game all at the same time.

Peace to you, old man! And I love you unconditionally.


I awoke this morning to another day of pleasant news: There's a new Salmonella outbreak. Well, not really "new." They have pinpointed the dates to somewhere between September 3, 2008, and December 29, 2008. That should make it a lot easier to figure out what food has been sending hundreds running into bathrooms and slamming the door shut behind them.

Myself? I think it is really pretty obvious what is happening: Cows are just frickin' sick of being butchered. They have finally had enough and are plotting to take over the world. We have been chasing the wrong terrorists. The real culprits are those big sad-eyed mooers that we all point at and say, "Oh, look, COWS!" when we drive past their seemingly free-roam homes. (We seem to think that if we make the hot wire thin enough, cows won't realize it's there and will feel more free before being herded off and made into T-bones). Somehow, they have developed a Salmonella gene that is heat resistant.

That's my theory.

Well, that or the rocket scientists working at McDonald's don't heed the little warning sign in the bathroom: "All employees must wash their hands before leaving the restroom." First of all, if you have to have a sign reminding them of that, then really, know what I mean? And second, do you really think that big bad sign is getting sharp teeth and growling at them as they get up off the toilet, forcing them into submission at the sink? I doubt it.

Then, though, if that sign IS working, you have to wonder if there are cameras maybe hidden in the bathroom...criminy, I'm never eating or peeing at McDonald's again!

Sunday, January 04, 2009


I've neglected my blog for a long, long time, and my cousin has dragged me back with one of those question and answer things I think I'll never get involved in but do anyway. This one is called 7 Things. Here's what I'll be doing: Telling you 7 things about myself that people might not know. So here goes:

1. I believe in ghosts.

2. In 1976-77 I played on the men's tennis team as the sixth seed at my junior college. They didn't have a women's team (how progressive was THAT??) and though they tried to find every possible loophole to find a rule denying me, they couldn't.

3. I am addicted to TV. My favorites are "Brothers and Sisters," "Heroes," "American Idol," "New Adventures of Old Christine," and "The Big Bang Theory."

4. One of my favorite places in the world is the Sault Canal at Sault Ste. Marie, Canada. I could stand for hours and hours and watch the ship traffic in and out of the canals.

5. My biggest dream is to someday make a living by writing.

6. I am petrified of the dentist.

7. I was chosen to sing in the Illinois State Choir three years in a row in 6th, 7th and 8th grades. The first year I was a second soprano and the other two years I sang alto.

And that's it. It took me hours to come up with this and so I'm passing the torch on to a few other people.

Here are the rules: * Link your original tagger(s), and list these rules on your blog. * Share seven facts about yourself in the post - some random, some weird. * Tag seven people at the end of your post by leaving their names and the links to their blogs. * Let them know they’ve been tagged by leaving a comment on their blogs and/or Twitter and/or Plurk.

I got this from Cousin Tracy and here's the link to her site:

I'm going to tag my daughter, Jamie, my son-in-law Shane, my friend Syra and my friends Barb, Betsy and Robert.