What Is It?

I took this photo a couple of weeks ago on a really hot day.



The stuff is not ice cream, it's thicker and taking too long to melt.

I started thinking of that old SNL skit - I think it was Bill Murray and Billy Crystal - they'd walk up to things and one would say "what the hell is that?" and the other would respond "I don't know but don't touch it" and this would go on for a bit and then they'd move on
Don't know why but it was hilarious.

What can I say. It's all I got.

Positive Day

Positive Day is the idea of the 12 year old daughter of DUST BUNNY HOSTAGE. She believes she will be President one day and I believe her.

I found out about Positive Day from TRAVIS who designed the badge. Trav is a great guy who always reminds me to be more even tempered plus he loves sports and dance – what more could you ask for.

I have been thinking about being Positive and I looked up the DEFINITION.
There are many. The one I most relate to was where positive was described in relation to confidence and affirmation.

I think a lot of people misunderstand being positive. They view it as ‘if you have nothing nice to say then don’t say anything’ – and that’s not true.

It is a sign of being a positive person to question things. To offer up alternate points of view.

If you weren’t positive that there was a different way then you wouldn’t bother talking about it. Right?

I think I am a positive person. I love a good rant. I am positive about the things I “hate” and why I “hate” them.

Injustice. Bigotry. Cruelty. Ignorance.

I’m positive those things need to be spoken about. Aired out for all to see.

I am right now watching a silly morning news report about President Obama throwing out the first pitch at a baseball game. The report is part of a segment advising men about what type of jeans they should wear.

I remember when the President appeared that evening. There were all these blogs and reports about how he was wearing ugly “Dad jeans” and how he “threw like a girl”

See now, that’s negative. That’s a perfect example of being negative just because you don’t like someone. Plus what’s wrong with throwing like a girl?

Silly example? Probably. But also a simple example of misplaced negativity. There’s nothing wrong with “hating” a President’s policies but the positive way to deal with that is to stick to the subject. And have some ideas of your own.

In all the years I eviscerated George W I never once made fun of those things that were uniquely human about him. He loved his ranch. He loved his girls. He was probably a great guy to have a beer with and talk about cowboy movies. That’s all good.

Cheney isn’t human so the things I said about him don’t count.

I want to go on and explain how I feel comedy and snark and sarcasm are not negative but I’ll save that for another post.

I hope the beautiful, delightful, smart and sassy daughter of DUST BUNNY HOSTAGE approves of my view of being positive.

And as always, there is Hope …



She is POSITIVE she can reach that nipple thingie.

Simply Joyful

Cute Baby Laugh @ Yahoo! Video

I love the Dad's reaction almost as much as the baby.

I'm off to rip up some newspaper, join me.

Move Over Baseball - Fear is the New Pastime

I’m working on my THINK GREEN THURSDAY post but this is too priceless not to share.

David Letterman had this wonderful bit of the Lieutenant Governor of Iowa during her swine flu press conference.

For some reason embedding just doesn’t like me so go HERE to see the clip.

I saw my first mask wearing geniuses today. A gaggle of clucking loons exiting their Hummer (which is far more likely to kill them - and the planet) in the strip mall parking lot.

Little boy passing says to his Mom – “Are those ladies going to paint something?”

My candidate for Mom of the Year replies – “No, they’re just idiots.”

You may notice that I’m posting at 2 AM. I just finished duct taping all the windows and burying all the bacon and boiling my hands so I’m a little wound up.

Good Lord America! Calm the “F” down!!

I used to think context was America’s lost art. But then I read THIS at Bailey’s Buddy.

Perspective America, perspective. Gain some.

You want to live longer? Turn off the freaking news and go outside and stand in the sun.

I’ll be back later today with my THINK GREEN THURSDAY post. Check out the site. Get in on the ground floor.

Unless of course someone within 3 miles of me coughs – Or – a plane flies near a building – Or – a meteor passes millions of miles above – Or – a gay couple marries and Jesus’ tears drown me – Or – my Muslim neighbors of 6 years suddenly Jihad my ass – Or – the recording breaking April temperatures cause me to combust – Or …

We Have Urine!

How's that for a title?

Never ever a dull moment folks. The vet gave me this stuff called 'NoSorb' to get a urine sample from Mia. It is supposed to mimic the feel of litter but it won't absorb the liquid.

Well that's just fine if cats weren't suspicion squared and psychotically addicted to habit. Then again - think about it - how would you feel if you walked into your bathroom in the middle of the night and someone had swapped toilets. Cause for pause?

I emptied and cleaned her litter box - which is a lot like trying to make a sandbox spotless. And then I sprinkled in the magical crystals and held my breath - asking the goddess of urine samples for a good one.

Since I never sleep I'm aware that 3 AM is usually one of Mia's favorite litter times. At 3 on the dot I set up my stakeout at the litter box - which involved draping myself over my bed post in exhaustion while trying to look casual - cats read body language. All I could think of was - blend Dianne blend, followed by - pee Mia pee.

After 15 minutes my back couldn't take the position and Mia was freaked out by my casualness so I left. At 4:30 - I must have slipped into a coma - I hear tiny scratching sounds and I run (which is a comical sight on its own) to the litter box.

There is Mia - outside the box - scratching her little daisy covered litter mat and staring into the box like a woman who has just discovered her home has been robbed. She stares deep into my eyes and the conversation goes something like this ...

Me - Just go in and pee, it's OK

Mia - this is NOT my litter, haven't I been through enough?

Me - I need a urine sample Mia - we have to make you better

Mia - well figure out a better way

Me - well then pee in a cup! we'll have a sample and we'll get to go on Letterman

Mia - I thought you loved me

Me - Yeah!? Well I thought you loved me

I put her in the box and she freezes. Then she tries to jump out. I put her back in. She gets out. I put her back.

This entire dance is made even more comical by the fact that both of us can barely move.

I ease myself down onto the floor - with a lot of murmuring "Oy" and then a sudden thump as I realize how hard my hardwood really is.

Mia is intrigued. Perhaps the person will pee in the foul new litter and that will be that.

I put her back in the box and grab her favorite mouse toy and begin to do a "pee-pee" song for her. I channel Babs Streisand and belt out - "On a clear day, we can pee forever" while I make the mouse do a dance over her head.

The sheer beauty of my performance, the touching poignant quality of my song made her bladder release in joy!

The sun was rising over the hilltops (rooftops of the trailers behind my house) and the birds were singing (garbage trucks) and all was right with the world.

We have urine!

The goddess is good.

Snarking With The Stars

An episode of Dancing With The Stars needs to be reviewed with grace and knowledge. The dances should be introduced and described. The strengths and weaknesses of each pair’s performance should be covered tactfully and respectfully. If you really want to stand out as a reviewer you could include some carefully chosen clips to highlight the dances. That makes for a good DWTS post.

And that’s not what I’m going to do.

If you want quality go to TRAVIS’ PLACE and read his weekly DWTS post. Travis is a gentleman with class and a keen eye for good dancing. He is kind and even tempered and a pure example of the “F” word. Yes – he is Fair.

And that’s not what I’m going to do.

I am going to share with you the twisted thoughts that went through my mind as I watched last night’s episode.

I will be, to steal a line from a recent TV show, your ‘Mistress of the Dark Observation’.

Let’s meet our stars – in no particular order.

Shawn …



This child reminds me of a Muppet. You’ll have to guess which one; it’s not in me to be cruel. If she tells us one more time that she’s “only 17” she’s not going to make it to 18 with a full head of hair and an unscarred face. And what’s with all the talk of “age appropriate”? It’s dancing, not pornography, and it’s on network not cable. For god’s sake! My niece did more suggestive dancing at 12 when she was part of Miss Susan’s School of Dance and Gum Popping. Then again Brooklyn has its own standards.

Chuck …



First of all he’s dancing with his real life girlfriend, a gorgeous blonde with amazing moves. I hope she has someone on the side; if this guy makes love the way he dances … Oy!
The Osmonds have so many freakin’ kids they didn’t realize they misplaced one. Yo Marie! Get the tear ducts oiled up for the reunion. Maybe you can make a doll in Chuck’s likeness or at least knit him an ugly ass sweater for the next “last time we all perform together” extravaganza. This guy is so white he makes Wonder Bread look ethnic.

Ty …



The only cowboy I appreciate is the one wearing ass-less chaps in a pride parade. I despise rodeo. I root for the bull. Actually there’s a good chance this guy has more than his share of horns stuck up there. It would explain the way he moves.

Lawrence …



Fierce. Fine. Ferocious.
On the football field.
I adore you LT. This is not your thing. Let them bring Warren Sapp back to step in for you. Hell, a huge part of the country thinks all black men are interchangeable anyway. As they say in show biz – it’ll play in Kansas. And the rest of us will keep the secret.

Melissa …



You sweet girl you. You bring back such memories of high school. How the cheerleaders were so lovely and perky – and hateful and annoying – and fake and flighty. Every time I catch myself liking you I dig my nails into the fleshy part of my thigh until I draw blood. Then I’m OK again.

Steve-O …



You can’t dance kid. But as Carrie Ann said you’re genuine and honest and touching and lord knows that’s so much more endearing than a lost Osmond or an animal torturer. I hope you stay until only the real dancers are left.

Lil’ Kim …



Props to my girl from Brooklyn! You are looking and dancing like high class royalty Miss Thing. Long gone are the days of Diana Ross tweaking your nipple and in those costumes you sure as hell ain’t carrying.
Keep on keeping on!

Giles …



OMFG! Hotness has a new face – not to mention a tight ass. He is sexy and charming and funny and down to earth. His wife beams and his little boy calls him “Poppa”. Every self destructive woman with no self esteem wants to be his mistress, how could you not!? If you need any more evidence check out his scenes from the ‘Sex and the City’ movie. Just fast forward to the beach resort setting and then look for a giant cock doing a rumba.
10-10-10 Baby!

And there you have it …

LIVE from New Jersey! It’s Snarking with the Stars.

Good Stuff ...

You have got to READ THIS ARTICLE

It flows like wine and is funny as hell. And click the links he embedded, makes the entire feast even more delicious.

I have read this guy before but now - well - I'm in love!

Brilliant!!

Two Stories: One True - One Wordzzle

For months now I haven’t felt much in the mood to write any fiction. I have barely had the concentration required to read fiction.

Life is just too real.

Thankfully sometimes the reality is also hilarious. Hilarious and stranger than fiction.

Yesterday morning the PC started making odd sounds and freezing. Then I got messages about over-heating and voltage out of range. Finally it shut itself down (suicide?) and a few moments later the power strip tripped.

I’ll spare you all the tech talk. Let’s just say my house was wired by an electrician who is a frustrated quilt maker.

So I climb under the desk, belly crawling thru the jungle of boxes and cat toys and dust tumbleweed. I trip the power strip back into position. As I back out – no my butt was not making that backing up chirping sound, it’s not a new model – I misjudge my position, raise my head and smash it against the edge of my desk.

The power of my big ole, hard ole head hitting the fine faux wood of my desk caused such a shudder that my coffee mug flipped up and over and drenched my keyboard. As I back out the rest of the way, head reeling, coffee rolls off the desk onto my head. It was soothing.

I recover.

An hour later I am in the parking lot of Staples. As I lean into the open passenger side door of my little car to gather up my keyboard pennies the Hummer parked beside me flings open its door and smashes into my door. My door is so startled and upset that it lashes out by bashing me in the head.

Old dudes in Hummers – please! – get penile enlargement surgery or pay a 20 year old for sex and leave the freakin’ Hummer home.

I recover.

Back in the relative safety of my home I change into my favorite sexy lounging sweat pants and prepare to tackle the back of the CPU. Keyboard surgery is a simple procedure – millions are done yearly, the survival rates are high.

As I make my way to the basement the cuff of my sexy lounging sweat pants catches on the protruding frame of the fourth step from the bottom – the guy who did the stairs was the electrician’s cousin – and I begin to free fall through the air.

As my head heads toward the very firm frame of a filing cabinet I plead with God to let this last blow to my head kill me.

I don’t have health insurance anymore but the life insurance is still paid up.

God spares me. I am his/hers/their favorite sitcom.

Since I’m on the floor anyway I clean up the coffee.

And on I go …

I managed to write a WORDZZLE for this week before my coma set in.

Ten Word : We were born on the same day in the same hospital, Weeping willow, Two for one sale, Highway robbery, Burial ground, roll of paper towels, gospel singer, gallows, weirdo, volcano
Mini Challenge: Symbiosis, Sagging breasts, Navaho blanket, Frogmen, Who says I got no heart?

For all that is good and holy! Sweet Mary – Mother of Jesus! Would you just shut up!”

And with that blessing another day began in Room 216 at Weeping Willow Senior Center. Better known as the ‘Gallows Ghetto’ Weeping Willow was home to 106 elderly citizens, most of them poor and sick.

Soledad Symbiosis laughed out loud at her roommate’s blathering. “Oh Mary Margaret Mary - such language. And coming from a pious woman such as you no less. Get a grip girl. Heave up those sagging breasts and greet the day with some joy”.

”Joy!? You want joy? How can I greet the day with joy when I share a room with a weirdo who starts every day wrapped in a rag and uttering nonsense? How?”

”And stop mocking my name”

Soledad just laughed even more. “I’m not mocking you Triple M, I love your name and enjoy saying it. It rolls off the tongue and conjures up such memories – church bells and pretty little penguins all in a row and all that jazz. What’s the point in having a cool nun name if you’re not going to sport it? And my rag is an authentic Navaho blanket. I always wear it when I do my morning recitations. You know that.”

Soledad went to the window and threw open the curtains. The sun was bright and glared off the façade of the Volcano Diner across the road. She glanced back at Mary and smiled. “It’s a beautiful day and the diner is still running their breakfast special – two for one sale on all the pancakes we can eat. How ‘bout it Sister Triple M? I’m buying.”

”As long as you’re buying” Mary said. “Even when they charge just one of us for breakfast that place is highway robbery.”

“I’ll gladly pay for your breakfast Mary.”

Mary feigned exaggerated shock. “And to think they call you heartless.”

Now it was Soledad’s turn to act surprised. “Who says I got no heart? Not anyone here. I’m very popular you know.”

Mary’s laugh came out like a snort. “Popular? Is that what you’re calling it? “

“Yes MMM that’s what I’m calling it. I am as popular as the gospel singer at Tallawachee Burial Grounds.”

Mary was shuffling toward the bathroom with her Sunday clothes in hand. “They really do a nice service over at Tallawachee, don’t they? Pity I’m going to be buried by the church. I love that gospel singer.”

Soledad gave Mary’s arm a little squeeze. “I bet I could get her to come to the church Mary, you know the Baptists love to show the Catholics how it should be done, don’t worry about that right now. Just get dressed. And wear your good bra, you really are sagging girl”

Another snort laugh from Mary – “Oh please! The girls are in fine shape! I bet I could still pass that pencil test they did on Oprah.”

“Pencil” Soledad shrieked. “Girl you could carry a roll of paper towels under there! Jumbo size even.”

Mary pushed Soledad away gently and closed the bathroom door as Soledad was still speaking…

“And hurry up. I want to get to the diner before it gets crowded. I love watching those little plastic frogmen in the lobster tank.”

A short while later Soledad and Mary head down the hall together, arm in arm.

At the entrance they run into the center’s Director – Felicity Fithearty. “Off to the diner ladies?”
Mary nods as Soledad pulls her along. “Keep moving, we’ll never get out of here if she starts yakking it up. And she always asks the same question. How is it you ladies get on so well?”

Mary chuckles. “And we always give her the same answer.”

“We were born on the same day in the same hospital” they say in unison.

Coverage of an American Tragedy

My pal Jay over at Bailey's Buddy has posted the most wonderful, hilarious video.

You must stop by and ...

CHECK THIS OUT!