T Minus 30

This blog will self destruct

Fin

Well, here it is. Exactly one year from the day I learned about pussy, which inspired me to begin this daily venture. I haven't made any money from it yet though. Yet, I say. But I did make some new friends, as well as lost a few, and perhaps even gained a little more closeness and respect from people I already know.
And I had a great time.

So here, for the last time, is what I learned today.

I'm still freaked out by that tape in my pocket thing the other day. What does it mean, and how did it get there? I'm still not entirely sure, so I went to see my Tarot card reading friend, who is also one of my ultra confidants. I just had to see what she thought about it. She knows I don't really believe in card reading, and it kinda creeps me out, but after a bout of begging, I let her pull a few cards for me.

I got "The Star", the "Seven of Swords," and a "Cups" card. She said what she gets out of this combination is that I need to be careful and to take care of myself, that someone is watching over me, and that I'm a messenger from the heavens to the earth.

I think I know what she means.

Then about 30 minutes later, the woman cutting my hair said something to me about Pluto moving into Sagittarius this coming September, which is a time for coming into my own and defining myself. And it means I need to take control of my life.

Let me tell you, I don't believe in any of this shit, but I'm pretty amazed at how perfectly all this stinky stuff describes what's going on with me. Yeah, I know, I took that psychology class too, and I know how easy it is to believe what you hear about yourself. But fuck, some unseen force put that tape in my pocket, and I'm starting to believe anything and everything is possible.

Oh, and I also learned today about an artist who had an 8 inch piece of her skin removed so she could cover a plastic gun with it and make a "skin gun." See it yourself here.

So that's it for today, but I have a few last overall lessons I'd like to share before I go.

-Don't try to do a daily blog. It's fun, but it's difficult, irritating, and nearly impossible.
-Pay attention. Just try it.
-Listen to your gut. It knows more than you do.
-If you ever get a feeling like you should do something, do it. Don't ignore those little thoughts that run through your head. Except of course, if murder is involved.
-Leave before you say too much. That's it.

Heal Thyself

I can't believe that it's almost my last day of blogging and I don't feel like writing today. I feel more like watching a dumb movie, so I think that's what I'm going to go do. But first, a little something I might have learned.

I visited an old friend today, who has finally started taking the herbalism classes she's been talking about for years. Now she's on her way to becoming an authentic witch doctor. I'm very proud of her. I asked her lot's of questions about it, and I learned a bunch of stuff that I've already forgotten. But I do remember one thing- flower essence therapy.

By leaving an untouched flower in some spring water for a few hours in direct sunlight and asking it to share it's healing powers, you can capture it's vibrational energies. Then you mix the water containing the flowers vibrational essence with a little brandy, put a few drops of it in something to drink, and voilà! Freedom in the 4th dimension.

Actually, truthfully, I find something real and beautiful in the idea. So much of reality exists in our own minds, that I believe the psychological effects of something like this could actually be helpful in removing mental blocks on our roads to health and happiness. Call me corny and tell me to shut up.

Walk Into the Light

I am so glad to be back home to my own dirty mess. It's funny to me how someone else's muck is gross, yet your own is so comforting.

Anyway, something really weird happened to me this morning. I woke up with a strange cassette tape in the pocket of an ultra comfortable dress that I slept in last night. I don't know if it was there all night or what, but I do know that everybody I know, including myself, swears they didn't put it there. And honestly, I don't know how the hell anybody would have been able to sneak it into my pocket without me noticing.

So, I listened to it when I got home this afternoon, and heard a rather funny man speaking to a crowd at an AA conference in 1978. It was pretty interesting so I listened to one whole side of it. Now I'm not sure which of the following two things I learned today.

A ghost at my aunts house thinks I'm an alcoholic.

Or

I'm a sleepwalking, amnesiac, kleptomaniac.

I used to wish I had some kind of drug problem so that maybe I could find a name and a support group for what's wrong with me, but nothing I ever read about seemed to fit. I've even been to a few AA meetings with friends, and I remember feeling a little left out and envious that I didn't fit in. I'm pretty sure I'm not an alcoholic, and I'm pretty sure that's not denial speaking. I do drink alcohol, yes. And sometimes way too much of it. I'm certainly retarded, but I don't think it has anything to do with whisky. Most of the time. Anyway, I'll pay more attention and see if I can find a reason to call myself an alcoholic.
I also don't think I've ever walked around in my sleep. At night anyway. Sure, I've worked full days at the office while sleeping, but nobody in my house has ever mentioned that I get up and do shit at night. And as far as I know, I have a memory so good it's creepy. I may have blacked out a few things, but done so pretty much on purpose, as far as I recall anyway. I also don't have random things lying around my house that I can't place where they came from.

So that only leaves one possibility-

I was so drunk last night that I don't remember stealing the tape.

Fresno Sucks

Fuck! I've been trapped in Fresno HELL with no internet since Saturday. Now the battery on my laptop is about to die, so here are a few little tidbits to make up for the lost days.

Don't EVER offer to help somebody move. Especially when it's 200 miles from where you live, and the person, my mother dearest in this case, is already gone.

Black Widow spiders can get VERY VERY big.

Finding free wi-fi in Fresno is nearly impossible.

Shit, the battery is going......

Daily Candies

I guess it's a good thing I'm down to my last week of this blog, because I've been pretty flaky with it lately. It's not that I don't care, I've just been a little preoccupied. Some big changes are coming up in my life, and I've been thinking more about the future than the present. As much as I'd like to, I can't really say I learned anything today that I didn't already know, but I did waste some time at work today catching up on about 80 old Daily Candy emails I've been ignoring. Most of it was shit that I just deleted, like ads for "handbags" (I totally hate that fucking word) and designer clothes, but some of it was fun and interesting. And lame.

For about 2 seconds about a year ago, I had this crazy idea to make a website showing good, clean places to take a piss away from home, as well as ones to avoid. But apparently someone else had the same idea and didn't dismiss it as another stupid idea. Check out MizPee- Where to go on the go. I'm not kidding.

Have you ever dreamed about peach flavored water right out of your tap? Me neither, but you certainly can have it if you want to. Go to Pur Flavor Options- Where filtered water now has the option of flavor. There's even a game and a quiz to help you decide which flavor is right for you.

Sometimes I'm sitting at my computer for so long that my ass really starts to hurt. Sometimes I have to drive long hours to shit holes to visit relatives and the same thing happens. Why O why can't there be some kind of ass massager I can just plug into my computer or the cigarette lighter in my car to get a little below-the-waist relief? Oh wait, there is! The USB Massage Ball bring you relaxation. (that's not my typo by the way) But don't use it on your hamster, as it's for "human body" only. And it's not for medical treatment, in case you wondering.

Now here's an idea that I almost like. Bookswim claims to be the Netflix of books. Just like DVD's, you can rent almost any book you like and keep it for as long as you want. I love used books, and I like the idea of recycling and reusing them. However. I know when I read a book, it's pretty much wasted by the time I'm done with it. It's folded, ripped and food stained by the time I get to the end. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't want a book back that I've had for a month or so, which is about how long it takes me to get through one these days.

And finally, something I really love, the Pooled Blood Pillow. It speaks for itself. With several drip patterns to choose from, I'm really upset that it sold out in May. And it was only 13 bucks!

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I'm feeling bitchy and retarded
and I don't feel like writing right now.

Jeu Sous la Pluie

I was just laying out in the backyard and it started raining on me. I wasn't really expecting that to happen, but I'm going to go enjoy it while I can.

Parthenogenesis

Once upon a time, a few female soil mites sat around complaining about the male soil mites, and after lengthy conversation decided that they had had enough.
"Fuck 'em," they all said.
"Or not," smiled one particularly bitter yet clever she-mite.
And without realizing it, those two little words started a revolution, and the female population started reproducing without putting out.
The males grew furious, then desperate. They moved quickly from cursing to begging.
"Come on baby. Please? I need you."
"Not in a million years," echoed through the dirt piles.
And the males began to disappear.

Then one day, almost exactly a million years later, a bedraggled male was seen crawling over a dirt clod in the distance.
"What about now?" he choked out.
When the females finally stopped laughing, a silence spread over the crowd. They all looked at each other, afraid to say what they were thinking. Then one brave and lonely female shrugged her little antennae and said, "Eh. Alright. Sure. Come on over."
And the Crotoniid mite fuck-fest began.

This is a true story. Here's proof- I Give Cloning for Sex

Love and War

I just didn't feel like sitting in front of my computer last night, so I flaked on my blog and sat outside for a few hours. It was the first time I'd been home alone at night in months, and it was too good to waste doing what I usually do. Instead, I looked at the stars and made up a few more Donnalations- constellations a la moi. Now I have a dragonfly and an alligator to add to my list, and I saw the most amazing shooting star ever.
Now that my excuse is out of the way...

Today I got stung by something! I didn't get to see what it was, but since there are a lot of wasps building nests in the backyard, I'm assuming that's what it was. I came inside from lying in my hammock and I felt something on my arm. Without thinking, I brushed it off and immediately felt the worst burning pain, and it got worse by the second. I knew right away that I'd been stung, and I was pissed! I felt so violated. Fucking wasp. What did I do to you? Have I knocked down your ugly little paper nests? No. Have I sprayed poison all over your incubating larva? No. Have I let you eat my food right off my plate? Yes! And this is what you do to me?
A few minutes later I felt all shaky and anxious. The bump started getting bigger, and then it started to swell. It burned. It hurt. A lot. Then I was nauseous. It felt just like love.
So what did I learn from this?

Wasps are assholes and venom makes my stomach hurt.

Tabasco Saucy

Today was another one of those glorious days of volunteering at the museum. Three precious hours of quiet solitude, just me and some pretty amazing art. Expect for that freak who spent 15 minutes telling me he was an artist because he used to make origami mobiles. Fucking paper birds. That's not art.
I did get to meet one of the actual artists though, who came in to show her painting (of a naked woman with trees growing out of her body while lying on a bare foot running coffin with dripping candles all over the place) to a friend. I was glad she did, because I got to ask her what the title of her piece meant. We spent quite a while talking, and now I know what La Malinche means.

La Malinche was a mistress and translator for Cortes as he conquered Mexico. Also known as Dona Marina, she is pretty much the Mexican equivalent to our American Pocahontas or Sacagawea, but instead of the reverence our Native American heroines receive, most Mexicans despise her. Not realizing that by utilizing her multi-lingual skills she probably saved thousands of lives with verbal negotiation, she is thought of by many as a traitor.

It's not exactly like it's her fault that Cortes took over Mexico. Even though he said himself, "After God we owe this conquest to Dona Marina," he probably would have done it anyway. She just happened to be the hottest of 20 slaves girls given to him and his men to "grind their corn," and she spoke a few languages his translator priest did not.

She is also considered the Eve of Mexico, since Cortes knocked her up with a son, creating the first Mestizo.

When I came home and started reading more about her, I got all excited about the possibility of making a movie about her story. Then I read that Antonio Banderas is already doing a film on Cortes called "Conquistador," and Ron Howard is working on a similar tale called "The Serpent and the Eagle." At least I'm in good company.

Freak Without Warning

If you drive really fast, you save gas.

It's true. I just did an experiment and proved it. I had to pick my son up from work about 20 miles away, which usually sucks an hour and 10 bucks of gas out of my tank by the time I get home. But today I was feeling a little more wild and reckless than usual, and since it was just me in the car I put the windows down, the music up, and drove as fast I could. It was really great speeding just for fun, instead of being late which is my usual excuse. It was almost as thrilling as that Sky Swing thing I did in Reno a couple of years ago. I felt so bad-ass with my hair flying and AC/DC pumping out of my momma van.
What a retard.
Most of the time when I go pick him up, the little orange gas light has been on for 3 days, so I'll have to put in $10.00 on the way out of town. By the time I get back home, the light is on again. But today, no orange light. See what I'm saying? It's totally true.

I also learned something else that's good to know.

You can do 85 in a 45 in a small town and not get caught if you drive a momma van.

I suspect it's because cops aren't really on the lookout for innocent looking blonde's driving recklessly in minivans. Another one of my theories I've been testing for the last few years now.
I wonder how far I can go with it?

My Favorite Holiday

Things falling out of the sky have always turned me on.
Especially fireworks.
I love everything about fireworks.

Every single little thing.
The echoing booms in our little valley.
The explosion of light and color.
The smell. Ahhh, the smell.

In fact, I love fireworks so much that I'm going to be them someday.

Check this out. Angels in Flight. This is the corniest one so I put it first.

This one is slightly better. Heavens Above Fireworks.

Why do they have to have such lame websites for such a great product?

I really want to go on and on today about how much I love 4th of July and why, and how it isn't about America and freedom for me, but gathering and community and a common bond, but I've got too much to do right now.
Then I wondered if maybe those things are what the United States is actually about.
Or would be, could be, should be.

Then I realized what it's really all about.

Beef.

Hamburgers, hot dogs and sausage.

Artificial Intelligence

I picked up an old newspaper at work the other day, and a headline saying something about firstborns having a higher IQ caught my eye. I really wanted to read it, but I was too busy at the moment so I put it into pile #C-332812 of things I needed to do. Today, almost 3 weeks later, I finally read it. Basically, it said that children born first get more attention, are treated as leaders and live with higher expectations from their parents, resulting in higher intelligence levels.
I really can't understand why it took some Norwegian doctor studying IQ tests taken by men joining the army to figure that out. I knew that shit when I was five. But that's probably because I'm the big sister.
Then I did some more reading about it, where I learned something I found kind of interesting.

Teaching benefits the teacher more than it does the student.

I love that. Here's a great explanation from Stanford psychologist Robert Zajonc.
"Explaining something to a younger sibling solidifies your knowledge and allows you to grow more extensively. The younger one is asking questions, and challenging meanings and explanations, and that will contribute to the intellectual maturity of the older one."

So, my little étudiants, I'd say that even though you probably didn't learn anything from today's lame posting, after 329 daily lessons here at What Donna Learned Today, (minus a few bullshit days) not only are you smarter, but so am I. By about 3 points, to be sure.

The North Wind

I just woke up a few minutes ago. Something came over me earlier today, and I couldn't keep my eyes open. My legs ache and I feel weak.

"For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth, so is he for your pruning.

Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,

So shall he descend
to
your
roots
and
shake
them
in
their
clinging to the earth. "

For years I had that written on the wall above my bed. Some passion came over me and I did it without even thinking. I finally painted over it a few years ago, but it's still there. I can't see it, but I can smell it.

I don't know if this counts as what I learned today, but I had a realization right before I crawled out of bed just now.

I'm sick of poetry.

I'm sick with poetry.

I'm sick.
I need to eat a steak.

For the rest of what Kahlil Gibran has to say about love, click the X below.

X

And I absolutely love this.

Mental Savasana

I don't know if I really learned anything today, but I have developed a new theory for myself this morning.
Back when I was either smart enough or stupid enough to do Bikram's Yoga, there was a pose I absolutely loved, #13. Savasana, also known as the corpse pose, is when you're allowed to lie completely still on your back while your body "enjoys the benefits of all your hard work." A brief savasana between every pose ensures maximum integration of the benefits, or so they say. All I know is that I loved it.
Lately I've been feeling the need for a little time to sit and sort out all of the shit going on in my head, and piece together all of the little flying things buzzing around in my life. I want some time to digest everything, as well as enjoy all the benefits of my hard brain work.

So my new theory is thus-
Everyone needs to make time for a little mental savasana in their lives. Some time in between major events, and minor ones too for that matter, to enjoy the benefits of all their hard work. To ensure maximum integration of the benefits of whatever the hell it is they do that gets them through the day.

Namaste.

Takk Fyrir

Today I learned how to say thank you 465 different ways, because I'm 465 times grateful that I don't have to babysit my mother's stupid ass dog for the next two weeks.

The one she calls my "beautiful and smart 4-legged sister."

Bioluminescent Brain

So I was searching around the internet for a picture of a brain today, when I found this website.

The Icelandic Phallological Museum

I only wish each image had a description under it.

I seriously was looking for a picture of a brain though. Today I interviewed my amazing neighbor, who just wrote a book about his theory on the development of the conscience in the brain. I thought I'd just skip across the street for an hour or so, but two hours later I was still in his backyard and my own brain was spinning with enlightened thoughts and possibilities.
I've read a fair amount on brain development and how the brain works, and I find it absolutely amazing. But usually when I think about it too much, I get the same kind of empty feeling in my gut that I get when I think about the size of the universe, and the possibility that there might be something outside of the universe as we think we know it. It was strange though that after talking with David today, (not the one in this picture) I felt surprisingly calm and peaceful. Maybe it was because he helped me understand how we actually do create our own reality, and how every 10 seconds (or something like that) we completely recreate ourselves.

At least according to his theory.

Here's his website if you're interested.

Psychespalace.com

A Grand Grand-Opening

If you build it, they will park illegally and ram into you with their teeny little carts.

Today was the grand opening of Whole Paycheck Market here in town, and you would have thought from the stampeding crowd that they were giving away free organic, fair trade coffee beans by the ton. I couldn't believe how excited the entire town was over the opening of a simple grocery store. I love Whole Foods, don't get me wrong, but it's not like we used to have to walk miles and miles in the snow to find a Paraben-free bar of soap.

Ah, but they had Indian food. And warm naan. And spicy chocolate. And bread pudding covered with whiskey sauce.
And my favorite shampoo was already on sale.

Diva Donna Day

Today is National Columnists Day!



Thank you.
Thank you very much.

Just Another Crack Kase

Today I learned...

Or should I say didn't?

Tartar Control Alcohol Free Mojito

If I was fried yesterday, then I'm charred today. Burnt and crispy. But I had a great time abusing my media privilege's, taking pictures and eating free food. Now it's time to pay the piper, as they say, and I've gotta regurge some of what I took in these last two days, which means I'll have to make this a quickie.

Don't buy the $8.00 Sprite/Mouthwash combo they're calling a Mojito at the next NASCAR event.

You're much better off with a $12.00 beer. Just don't bring it into the media room.

Decadent and Depraved

I. Am. Completely. Fried.

Physically and mentally. What a day. I could only handle about 4 hours out at Infineon Raceway today, but not for the reasons I expected. I'm very surprised to say that being there was a completely thrilling experience, especially being down in the pit area. For the record, I am NOT a racing fan. But, as my informative and knowing companion today Mr. JMB pointed out, hanging out in the garages with the NASCAR drivers and their pit crews was like being backstage at a Led Zeppelin concert, and I couldn't help but get off on it a little bit. Ok, a lot. I loved it. I learned so much today that my head is spinning. But, since I'll be writing all about my experiences with NASCAR for the newspaper, I'm going to share my other newest favorite addiction I picked up today- the press room.

Ahhh, the press room. Or as they call it out at the former Sears Point Raceway, the media room. I couldn't wait to see it. I admit, the main reason I agreed to this adventure was hopes of experiencing something like chapter two of The Great Shark Hunt by Hunter S. Thompson. But sadly, or actually more likely luckily, they no longer serve alcohol to the media. Oh well. They had just about everything else though, just there for the taking. A huge refrigerator full of food and drinks, baskets of candy, trays of cookies and cheese cake, and Red Bull everywhere you turned. I had 2, so this might be a really long posting tonight. Oh, and let me never forget the beautifully catered lunch tent, exclusively for the media peeps. Sweet Gonzo, what did I do to deserve this juicy reward? Just hanging out in the company of the Associated Press, ESPN, TNT, and every major newspaper I've ever heard of, was excitement enough for me. I know, I'm completely weird. But I just love the press atmosphere and I felt so, I don't know, pleased or something to be a part of it all, even though I'll probably only get out 600 words to a weekly small town rag.
So I was happily enjoying the little room with the big windows, my mouth full of M&M's, when I peeked my head into an adjacent room and discovered something even more magical- the Deadline Room. The best thing I learned about today.

Posted outside the Deadline Room a seating assignment listing the names of major newspapers, television and radio stations, and more. Inside was a giant wall of window, lined with rows of laptop covered tables and chairs. Each workstation was equipped with individual electrical, phone and internet outlets. The Boardroom of the Non-conferring Gods. This is where those hard working, well fed, lucky people get to puke out what they see to the rest of the world, as fast as technologically possible.

Somehow I didn't know such a place existed, and I'm not exactly sure why I'm so enthralled with it. Today wasn't a big race day, but tomorrow... Tomorrow is the Superbowl of racing, and I can't wait to see that room in action.

Reclining Nude

I'm not a huge Matisse fan.

I mean, I like his work, but perhaps in his case, less would be a lot more. I spent today at the MOMA in the city, where I saw so many nude sculptures, drawings, and paintings that they all started to look the same. I stopped seeing them. Maybe if I cared enough to read every little description under every "Reclining Nude," I would have appreciated them more, but I just wasn't interested enough. I liked them, but how many do I need to see in one day? And why did he have to keep doing the same thing over and over and over? I started to get a little uncomfortable thinking about this guy sitting there killing the same dead bird again and again.

But I did love his gouaches découpés, which were like kindergarten construction paper cut out collages. Very much.

Now I feel like eating paste.

And this was AMAZING! I can't stop thinking about it. Check out Anthony McCall for more information.




It was like a dream. Like dying in a good way. I'll never forget those moments or that indescribable sensation. I hope this is what the end is really like.

Discovery Kingdom Indeed

I think the flat tire this morning should have been heeded as a warning to stay home today. But no, Miss Persistent and Determined had the nail pulled out and the hole repaired so 3/5ths of her family could be 5 dollared to death at a "Theme Park," or whatever Marine World, I mean Six Flags, I mean Discovery Kingdom qualifies as. It should be called Six Minutes, which is exactly how long it took me to remember why I don't go to places like that anymore. The people, the lines, the ricockulous prices. After the second ride, which lasted about 1/10th the time it took to wait in line to get on it, I started questioning the intellectual capabilities of the employees whom I just entrusted with the life of my baby. What kind of questions does this place ask during the hiring process these days?
Wait, I don't want to get into this right now. What I want to get into, or onto or under or something, is the shark. THE shark, in the Shark Attack, underwater exhibit thing.
Wow.
I thought the thing had legs. Seriously. I was confused. (wow, i haven't heard that phrase in a while.) I honestly (really, truly, not kidding) thought this was a walking species of sharks that I'd never heard of because I don't really pay much attention to trendy, blown out of proportion scary things. See this picture here? That's nothing. The shark I fell in love with, which was called a Longnose Sawshark, was the Ron Jeremy of the giant aquarium. Which reminds me of a new favorite blog I found, Weird Meat. Go spend some time there. Anyway, when I came out of my stupor, I realized it was pretty unlikely that this shark could walk on land and that these were probably just his extra giant reproductive organs. Plural. Double. Dos. Two.
But, I wanted to be sure, so I came home and immediately image searched "shark penis," which wasn't as interesting as it sounds.

My gentle giant's "legs" were in fact, a dual set of peni called "claspers."

I'm starting to feel like I should be doing a blog titled, "Weird and Hot Ways Animals Get Laid." Check out my spider sex lesson, and lobster love and you'll see what I mean. I wonder if I could make a career out of it?

Ok, I'm done with what I learned today, but I somehow feel the need to blahhg about how the power went out a few hours before the park closed, and how we all had to leave early, and how I'll never forget the look of "Now what?" on all the newly freed faces leaving the turnstiles, and being caught in the fleeing crowd with the feeling of marching in Exodus through the hot and dry land of Vallejo, California, with 40 lbs strapped to my back while I tortured my 3-day chain smoked lungs uphill to our $15 parking space Six Miles away.
Wow. I think I need another cigarette.

Room 108

If the hotel you're making reservations with suddenly offers you a 40% discount for no apparent reason, it isn't because they value you as a frequent visitor.

It means they already knew that room 109 was planning an all night raging party and that room 107 is undergoing some pretty serious reconstruction. It also means the vending machines and all the safety lighting and munchy-needing party traffic are directly outside your door. It almost goes without saying that Big Bertha is taking dance lessons up in room 208. It most definitely means that the bathtub plugger-upper thingy is broken and you'll have to keep the water running constantly if you want to take a nice relaxing bath, which sorta ruins the spa-like atmosphere you're desperately trying to create. And it obviously means you'll be on the floor crying while searching for an outlet to plug in the teeny tiny little one cup coffee maker, and when you find it, it will be just about an inch too far away from actually making the necessary connection.

The good thing is that the black-out curtains worked really, really well. Or maybe it was the wine. Anyway, I slept great. There were 2 big beds, and with the exception of about 45 minutes, I had an entire queen-size all to myself. Somehow I managed to sleep more hours during the last 3 days than I did the entire month of May.

Black Water

I'm on vacation this week. I wish I could say I was spending a few months in Greece, but I've only got a week so I'm just hanging locally. We just got home from a little camping adventure in our "White Trash Weekend" trailer. It's been years since we've taken that thing out, and it's the first time my 4 year old got to come along. It was quite the learning experience for all of us. Here are some examples-

All of the other camper-trailers made in the early 1970's have been destroyed by now, or are living in hidden places guarded by guns and dogs.

Surrounded by newer and considerably bigger versions of the RV family, we stood out like a hitch-hikers thumb. I loved it. White trash power activate!

If some day you find an extra can-opener in the kitchen drawer, it probably came from the camper.

Few things suck more than trying to open a can of baked beans with a Diva Picnic army knife, so I pussy'd out and went to the on-site general store to buy a replacement can-opener. (Yeah, this wasn't a real camping trip.) For some backwards ass reason, there were plenty of apple corer's, measuring spoons and potato peelers, but not a single, useful can-opener. I couldn't believe that I could buy an ironing board cover and gerbil food, but nothing to open my can O' vegetarian beans. So then I had to crawl barefoot over to the urban professional campers next door to borrow theirs. When I was done, I scratched my ass and farted and left without saying thank you.

Crapping in a real toilet is a privilege I've been taking for granted.

I'm currently living with 4 year old who is completely enthralled with all things potty. Everywhere we go, we have to check out the bathrooms. I'm certain that the biggest thrill of this whole camping trip for him was the toilet in our camper. We've never even used it before, but since that's all he's been telling his friends about, we indulged him with a little pee-pee a la closet. I have to admit, it was kind of convenient not having to walk way down to the public bathroom and wait in line. And it was great when I was too chicken to walk down by myself in the dark when the urge to purge struck after dinner. BUT. It also totally sucked. My ass is too big to squeeze cheese in a Barbie sized throne that doesn't really flush. Every 2 seconds or so, a preschooler would open the unlockable door to see how everything was going. And then there's the end-of-trip emptying of the cache, which leads me to the next thing I learned- the smelly, frightening and comedic technique of dumping "black water," and about a product called "Break-Up Plus" which is a "solid waste liquefier" you're supposed to add to your whatever-you-call-it so it empties easier. We didn't do that. Fun.

Just wear the fucking sunscreen.

I love the sun. I hate sunscreen. I don't know why. It's kinda like wearing a condom or something. When I'm in the sun, I want the sun in direct contact with my skin. Yes, I know the sun rays can be damaging and I could die from skin cancer, blah blah blah. I've been good about protecting the innocent and vulnerable skin of my children, but I just don't want it for myself. Now my shoulders and thighs are totally fried after spending all day kayaking on the river yesterday, and it was painful sleeping last night. But it IS my own fault so I'll not complain. Too much.

Now I'm going to go shower and try to get the campfire smell out of my hair before I run off to do some kid-free gambling, drinking and smoking for a few days. And crapping in private.

Pole Position

I've been asked to write about the "NASCAR fan encampment" next weekend, over at Infineon Raceway. There's so much more to say about this, so I'll come back here to finish this posting and bag on race fans, but right now I've got to get to a few other things.

I have to spend next weekend at the Blue Lizard Sunscream 200 and the Toyota/Save Mart 350, whatever the fuck that means.

I just got an all-access media pass, and I don't even care one little shit about racing. I'm sure there are people out there who'd trade a truck of Coors Lite and their 2 remaining teeth just to get in, let alone have all-access, but I guess the spoils are wasted on the spoiled.

I wonder if my editor has any idea who he's sending?

Brut Sauvage

There are 56,000,000
bubbles in a bottle of champagne.

I know, 2 days in a row with the champagne.
I've been working in the city.

Grease Me

Some sweaty guy told me today that a little nose grease will make
the foam on your cheap plastic cup of champagne go away.

He was right.

Then I didn't want to drink it anymore.

But I did.

What can I say? It was good champagne.

The Un-funny Joke of the IWC

It's been a long day today and I still have too much shit to do. I'm totally tired, but a bitch's work is never done, so I'll just keep going. I suppose I could have been getting some of my shit done while I yakked on the phone for a few hours this evening, but, well, I didn't. For reasons soon to be disclosed (I fucking hope) I had to do some ass kissing on some guy who may hold the key to my near (again, I fucking hope) futuro chango, so I had to give him some undivided attention. And then I talked to my cousin for a while, and for some reason I need to lay on the floor and play with my hair whenever I talk to her. Some kind of teenage regression takes over me that I can't explain.
So what I'm trying to say in these wasted 150 words is that I don't have time for this, but I learned something interesting from Cousin Jenn today.
She told me the whale tale where that 100 year old weapon fragment was found embedded in the blubber of a recently killed Bowhead whale off the coast of Alaska. In case you missed it like I did, read it here. I didn't know people were still killing whales, so today I learned...

People are still killing whales.

Why? Does anybody use whale oil anymore? Are we so hungry that we need to eat whale meat? I love whales, but I'm not one of those whale-loving freaky chicks getting my panties pulled too tight (mainly because I'm usually not wearing any). I just thought whaling was an out-dated, old fashion practice that was banned a long time ago.
So I did a little research. Admittedly little, but here's what I found.

Whale oil is rarely used anymore.

Obesity is a global epidemic. 1 in 10 children are obese. Even developing "starving" countries are starting to show percentages in their overweight population.

The International Whaling Commission is about as effective as our current immigration system.

Basically what I got out of the 4 minutes of scanning the IWC on Wikipedia is that participation by countries in the organization is voluntary, the IWC has no authority to enforce whale killing quotas, and even if they did have authority, there are two HUGE exceptions to the rules, which basically leaves the whole idea of regulation as water tight as swiss cheese.

Too Busy to Hate

It's 85 degrees in Atlanta right now.

For some reason, I can't seem to write anything else right now.
I think I'm lost.

Zoogleal Mat

What a fucking day.

It's been a non-stop cluster fuck. I've been running around like crazy, just trying to keep up with myself, let alone my special needs family, (just kidding guys) and I'm still not there yet. It doesn't help that I'm PMS bitchy either. I usually look forward to the day before I bleed, because I'm a total hardcore bitch and I get shit done. But not today. I'm just cunty without a cause. Or effect.

Have I accomplished anything other than hating, carpooling and barking commands all day?
Yeah. I finished my article for the paper. I'm happy about that, even though it was about my ex-husband and his wife. It's nice too, if you can believe that. Yeah. But the "great pictures" they said they have are crappy and the wrong dpi so I can't use them. Of course.

I did have a nice little respite this afternoon though. Since it's near impossible for me to get any writing done at home during the day (and I'm now 2 days late on my promised deadline) I took my laptop up to the coffee shop with hopes of getting something accomplished. I felt completely pretentious walking in with my bag slung over my shoulder. I hate those people who sit in public and write. Go home and take up your own space with all that shit. Nobody cares that you're a writer. Except I totally get it now. These poor hacks have children.
Anyway, would you believe that when I finally got over my apprehension about walking into my sanctuary all uppity writer like, I am met with a loud ass band playing? Where was my quiet little sunny table, with the hot, other-writer guy sitting across the room? Where's my jasmine green tea? And who the hell are these well dressed people clapping at mediocre music? FUCK.

Luckily, amazingly, thankfully, the owner of the tattoo shop next door was standing in line. As you may know if you've been a faithful reader, or even a semi-faithful one, Jim has become a friend of mine since I've been spending some time in his shop with my tarot card reading friend. He invited me to come use the old piercing room in the back, to which I nearly got on my knees and started kissing his cool shoes.

So I stayed until they closed. It was heaven. My own little room with power, internet and cool music. And cute chairs in my favorite shade of green, and a picture of Johnny Cash staring at me. The only time I was interrupted was when he gave me a beer, and told me about something I'd never heard of. I nearly cried out in orgasm.

Wait a minute. What am I writing here, a diary?

Well, now that I've wasted all of my time just getting to the point and I still have my column to write, I'll have to be brief with what I learned today.

Jim let me try some new tea thing he had, called Kombucha. It's a fermented, sugar sweetened black tea. It's made by throwing in some wad of yeast culture science project thing and sitting for a week. It's supposed to be really healthy for your body, for reasons I'm too tired to explore. Here are a few links if you want to read it yourself. You'll see stuff like "a bacterial product from the gut microbiota that can cleave the glucuronic acid conjugates."

Kombucha.org

Kombucha on Wikipedia

The Sorcerers Apprentice. That should tell you something.

I'm afraid to post any pictures, as the ones I found look like abortion, or liposuction byproduct. But what did it taste like you ask? Well, it was weird. But, as someone just recently pointed out to me, "weird" describes nothing so I'll see what adjectives I can come up with.

Bitter.
Acid.
Alcohol.
Vinegar.
Wrong.
Addicting.

I'm going to go buy some tomorrow.

I Can't Think of a Good Title Right Now Because I'm Fighting With My Kids

I just got home from my first day as a volunteer at the art museum and it was fantastic! I clicked around in my cute little shoes and pretended it was my very own gallery, just like I've been dreaming about. It was just me and the security guard there, so I was the one in charge of the entire building. I loved everything about being there, especially discussing the exhibit with visitors as they left.
And it was quiet. Very quiet. I like quiet.
I got to sit and do nothing for a little while. Then I did some reading. Goya. Amazing man.
Spain in the early 1800's. Strange time.
The volunteer guide book. Interesting read. There was a whole page on multicultural manners, listing things to do and not do with people from other countries and people with handicaps.
And then I did some writing, because I promised I'd turn in two articles on Friday. The day before today.

So today was a day FULL of learning, but I'm heading out to a party and I don't have much time.

The art museum is my favorite place in town. It's also the best place for me to write.

Francisco Goya was deaf.

Spain was a horrible place to be in the early 1800's. The nobility to commoners rate was about 27 to 1, and crime was out of control. Look it up sometime. It's interesting.

In most other countries, it's rude to give the thumbs up sign. I'd love to elaborate, but I've gotta run.

Win-Win

Last night I took a $50 dare to wear my tiara for an entire week, wherever I go. Shit, doesn't he know I'd wear it every day for nothing? Then I traded my 50 bucks for a pack of smokes, 7 days early. Plus, now I have a legitimate excuse for wearing it in public.

I didn't learn anything today, but I thought I'd share how much fun it is riding my bike on the highway, wearing my beloved tiara.
Well, I guess I could say I learned a few things.

Like:

It isn't generally accepted by the public to wear a tiara for no reason.
At least 10 people asked me what the occasion was. I just said, "Shut the fuck up and fetch me my slippers."

and

If you really, really need some attention, put on a tiara and stand on a corner waiting to cross a busy street.
At one point on my way home today, at least 5 people were staring at me at the same time, for what seemed like an hour.

and maybe even

If you're some kind of freak and like having long, meaningless conversation with the woman working at the bank, wear a plastic tiara with the gold paint chipping off and missing a few fake gemstones when you make a deposit.
She'll tell you ALL about the "real one" she bought herself for her 40th birthday, and wore again on her 50th birthday, and everything that happened in between. When you've had enough, show her how the last pink, heart-shaped jewel on your "fake one" flashes when you squeeze it. That'll shut her up.

Legendary Legacy

Today is Daniel Boone Day.

So I think as his great- great- great- great- great- great- great granddaughter, I should get some special love. I wish I would have learned this a little earlier today since there's only 2 hours left to grovel at my feet. But I'll take it.

I know, I should probably spend a little time talking about the iconic stud, but I've heard all the stories a thousand times so it wouldn't really be like something I learned today.

Beware of Yourself

Your shit catches up with you.

Some day in the future, some little dumb-ass shit you do now will lay down on the railroad track and stop your happy train. You'll be fucked and it will be your own fault. A little gift to yourself for being so stupid and irresponsible.

Crack Habit

A miracle happened this morning. I got up early and rode my bike to work. Ok, maybe it's not so miraculous. I haven't been sleeping well, so getting up early was no big deal, and it's barely over 3 miles from my house to the office. It only took about 5 minutes longer to get there than if I drove my car, which was totally worth not getting all road rage-y about lame ass drivers in this town, who for some reason don't understand the concept of merging. Yeah, I'm kind of a bitch.
So by 8:45 this morning, I learned 2 things.

1. It only takes about 20 minutes to ride my bike to work.

2. It's a good idea to wear underwear when you ride your bike for 20 minutes or more. Your crack gets kinda sweaty and there's nothing there to really absorb the moisture.

Blah. I hate wearing underwear. Besides, all of mine somehow disappeared. Seriously, I have only 2 pair now, out of the 2 dozen I bought not too long ago. WTF?

And speaking of crack, this picture here is an ass painting. Male, obviously.

Read more about the art teacher who got suspended for selling these beauties, right here.

Cell Phone Rude-iquette

Today I spent half of my lunch standing in line at the bank. Apparently one of the entire crew of two tellers working was new and couldn't figure out how to use the computer, and the supervisor couldn't be disturbed while she performed the important task of inhaling smoke right outside the front door. So not only did I learn a great way to run a bank, I learned that some people are worse with their money than I am, and just about everything I might want to know about the girl ahead of me in line while she yakked to her boyfriend on a cell phone. Her friend Randy was just diagnosed with something terrible, she's going to Europe in three days, and the ATM machine at another bank ate and then shredded her bank card. There's more but I'll spare you. But what I really learned today was,

It really is rude to talk on your phone inside the bank.

I do it all the time, but I never realized how damn irritating it was. Thanks for the lesson, Brian's girlfriend.

I wonder why it's so irritating though. Would it be any different if Brian were standing in line with her while they discussed her stupid job? Is someone on their phone in a restaurant any more irritating than a large family having casual conversation at the table next to you? I don't know. Somehow it is, but I can't really figure out why.

And I thought this was interesting even though it's a bit dated.
Cell phone health risks for children.
(and rats)
(who are notorious for using their phone's while standing in the cheese line)

Sunshine on my Heart

I got a terrible sunburn today, right over my heart, but I sort of like it. I'm going to wear it with pride, like a badge of honor for my beloved sun. Or maybe like a badge of stupidity for not knowing when enough is enough. Perhaps I'll wear it like a badge of infidelity, for betraying the security of the moon. My son thinks it looks just like a butterfly, so maybe it'll be a badge of metamorphosis. Or something.

Besides realizing today that the sun has awakened a poetic streak in me lately, I learned from my four year old the true definition of perfection.

per·fec·tion /pərˈfɛkʃən/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[per-fek-shuhn] –noun

1. sitting naked outside in the morning sunshine, in front of an easel, thoroughly immersed in the pleasures of spreading color on every inch of white paper with a paintbrush. 2. being a mother, sitting quietly and observing this beautiful scene. 3. eating Chunky Monkey and listening to your favorite music while writing and reliving the beautiful moment.