Saturday, June 25, 2005

I am a karaoke goddess!

We went to this karaoke bar in the French Quarter called "Cat's Meow." Go to and click on the karaokecam at night hehehe. I haven't quite decided how the bar got that name but I have 2 pretty good guesses: (1) people sound like cats in pain, and/or (2) there is a whole lotta pussy there.

There was wall to wall people. a shitload of freak-dancing, and people wayyyyyyy past fucked up. I mean, how much alcohol does it take to get wasted before it becomes a waste of money and/or good alcohol???

There was a bachelorette party. The MOST fucked up one was the bride, getting married the following afternoon. She had some tiara thingy on her head with a small lace train on it. She had about 60 bead necklaces on over her strapless dress. Three guesses on how she got those beads. The last time I saw eyes that glazed was after my son stuck his face under the Krispy Kreme conveyor.

ZombieBride & her cohorts took the stage for a song. I must say that it was truly THE most unattractive wedding party I have ever seen. ZombieBride just rocked back & forth smiling, carrying an inflatable monkey. Tourette's-like, she kept blurting out, "I'm spanking the monkey! WOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" She seriously looked like a tard. For real! Then she collected more beads when she flashed her nips for the audience. Her mother must have been so proud! Oh wait, ZombieBrideMama showed HER hog-tits too. Day-um. They resembled 2 grapefruits dropped into 2 knee-hi nylons stapled to her chest, just a-SWINGING there! I wish I'd taken a picture to have emailed to ZombieBride's fiance,but I figured he was probably getting his dick sucked by some transvestite on Bourbon Street.

At the table behind us, there were 5 black girls-gone-wild and 1 black guy. My guess is mid 20's-30's. The women all wore micro mini's and commenced to freak dancing one by one with the dude. One actually had to hold down the front of her skirt at the crotch cuz it was all the way up over her naked ass in the back. For the record, she lets the jungle grow wild.

When this skinny, fucked up white dude saw them, he came over & lifted up his wifebeater T. He was rubbing his nipple with that hand and holding the front of his shorts away from his body so anybody could see what he was offering. Then he joined the freak dancing. He stumbled around a lot but I have to give him props--he never spilled ONE DROP of that beer he was holding up next to his nipple.

The black guy moved back to the table (one of the tall ones with barstools) and began rubbing his crotch on the leg of one of his girls. Another one reached under the table and started cupping his package. They were all laughing like hell, and thinking they were pulling some big secret off, not realizing that the action was right in my line of vision. I started laughing and they looked in my direction. I gave them the "2 thumbs up" salute & they cracked up. They carried on wit bidness & I got bored & went back to drunk patrol.

There was a group of 5 underage girls from Texas freakdancing each other onstage behind the hot-probably-gay DJ. Seems that the only things that grow big in Texas are the Whores. Ahhh, sweet youth. One of them started freaking him, simulating oral sex on him. He jumped back, joking "My pants are too tight for THAT tonite!" That wasn't true--he never even got CLOSE to sporting wood in those tight jeans. Now if some GUY had done that to him, I'd have had my eye poked out, we were that close to his crotch.

Finally it was my turn ot take the stage. Here I was, some middle-aged fat chick in typicial fat chick clothing going up to sing. I don't know what people were expecting but I seriously kicked some ass singing "Independence Day" by Martina McBride. When I finished, people had thrown money at me. ROFLMAO. This fat girl scored 7 bucks, which was 7 bucks more than anyone ELSE had gotten LOLOL. If they had tossed beads at me, I would have blinded them showing the scars and tattoo that remain from having my boobs whacked off due to cancer 8 years ago. Man o man, I was hoping for some beads hehehe.

We left shortly after that when some drunk wannabe rock & roller tossed the mike out into the audience, intending to pull it back quickly. It ended up knocking over my friend's drink and when he tried to pull the mike away, he dumped my 32 oz Hurricane as well. We got soaked, but at least it didn't look like we'd pissed ourselves.

There were OTHER chicks who obviously HAD out in the street. I really don't like Bourbon Street. The only really memorable thing for me was the smell of vomit & urine everywhere. I can go to a nursing home if I wanna smell THAT.

Good times!

The Evils of Gambling

I am reallllllly glad that I have SOME semblance of self-control, or I'd go broke. Harrah's in New Orleans (oops, "N'awlins"--my bad) is a really beautiful place. That being said, it is tighter than a nun's twat.

I set a limit per day on how much I will spend. When that is gone, stick a fork in me. Somedays it lasts through the night. Other days, like today, it is gone in a couple of hours. I wander from machine to machine, sniffing for one that is attractive to me. I feel like a dog sprinkling my money into various slots, marking where I've been.

I used to kick ass in Black Jack, but I just can't remember all of the tricks, like when to stay or when to hit. And the tables move VERRRRYYYY quickly down here. I don't even have time to add up the value of my cards before it's my turn to bet. Heh. I STILL blame it on the chemotherapy I had 8 years ago, no matter WHAT the studies say about it not affecting the brain.

I haven't been able to find the "Black Jack Table for Retarded Folks" yet. I might stand a chance, although I would NEVER be able to tell any of you that I got my ass seriously kicked by tards!

I HAVE, however, found an African American Dwarf Convention down here. No shit! I don't know if there is a formal association, but I have never seen so many tiny black people in one place. Ever. Come to think of it, I haven't seen hoards of that many tiny people EVER, with the exception of "Wizard of Oz." They were all falling-down drunk too, though. How ironic is that?

I really need to get out more.

Friday, June 24, 2005

People Watching at the Boo-fay

You can see the most interesting things in the buffet area of a casino. Man o man I didn't realize that there was such a HUGE array or barely functioning fucktards allowed out in public without supervision. I SERIOUSLY wish I would have brought a digital camera to add a certain "flavor" to this post.

First, in the dessert line was this...this...mutant inbred fuck (from somewhere in Appalachia, I'd bet). Sorry if I offend any "normal-NON-inbred mutant fucks" from Appalachia. She was as wide as she was tall, but that isn't all that unusual at a boofay. Hell, I am a fat ass myself. What I found MOST interesting, besides the 3 partial front teeth that seemed to be dangling by rotting tooth pulp threads, was her hairstyle.

She had long dark hair, probably past her shoulders, I'd guess. She had about 3/4 of it pulled into a loose (read: sexy) pony tail directly on top of her head (think: I Dream of Jeannie-style"). Except that it was CROOKED, so it was in the 1 o'clock position on her head, if you were looking at her from the front and if her face had been shaped like a clock


It was rather full, but lonnnnnngggg. Kinda like a plumped out Twinkie. Or a pear. Or the Elephant Guy from the movie "Mask" (NOT the Kim Carrey one). In addition to the rotting, dangling tooth threads, she had a jutting jaw (think: Jay Leno on facial steroids). I had to force myself to not stare, since I thought she might be retarded, or that she was deformed. And I have never really been able to get used to people whose teeth moved in & out when they talked. Sorta resembled Chiclet-sized bamboo windchimes.


Then I saw her mother/sister/aunt. I don't know who SHE'D been fucked by in the family to breed THAT, but mother/sister/aunt looked almost IDENTICAL to JeanniePearTwinkieHead. Except she was much shorter, like 4' tall. And her front teeth were GONE. I couldn't even THINK about her eating that fried chicken she'd piled onto her plate. On the positive side, having no teeth probably makes her an excellent fellatrix (is that the official word for blowjob giver? LOL). Think about it. No, don't. (runs to wash her eyes out with Drano after THAT vision)


I moved away from JeanniePearTwinkieHead because her hair looked soooo dirrrrrrty. I couldn't be sure that the cinnamon sprinkles on the flan were supposed to be there, or that her tiny friends had jumped ship for the sweeter pastures of custard.


But, HEY, those two had NOTHING on the 2 females who wanted the booth behind us, Shaniqua and ShaNayNay. Wow.

First of all, we were seated in the "premium" dining area, for players who spend enough money to get all of their shit (food, airfare, hotel, gifts, shows etc) comped. Let me state that I was only a GUEST of such a player. I am definitely small-time. Thank God for gambling-addicted pals! But I digress.

The poor waiter was bussing that booth when he was assaulted by those 2 sullen hootchies, carrying their silverware. He looked at their receipt and attempted to guide them back to seats for "outsiders."

"uh uh. Mee-in my fren wanna sit here."

Again, he looked at their receipt and timidly but persistantly attempted to guide them to other seats. An added bonus for HIM would be that they'd be out of HIS section. Nope.

"ah SAY_ED, MAH FREN WANNA SIT HEEEE-YA!" and they plopped their asses down into the booth he'd just cleaned. He slinked away, head down and tail between his legs to get their drinks. Two "co-colas."

Then we had to listen to them bitch amongst themselves, and to anyone in earshot:

"Mutha fuckah was fuh-in wid us cuz we black!"
"What iddat Dy-min Club shit he wuz talkn?!
"He bedduh BRING dat fuh-in co-cola hee-ya, I gots me some TIRST!"

The seating hostess, who'd looked rather surprised since she'd seated them on the OPPOSITE side of the dining room, stopped by to see why they were so unhappy (and at the top of their voices). She had to listen to:

"He fuh-in say-ed we cunt sit in dis Dy-min sexion. whuuda fuckiss Dy-min 'bout it enny-ways? It just be some seats closer to da boofay."

The hostess, smiled and assured her sistahs that they could stay there, using her own GhettoLingo: "Umhmmm, girrrrrllllll, you all kin stay right he-yah. He still be takin care uh you, 'kay?"

This whole exchange reminded me of Debra Wilson's Mad TV character, Bunifa Latifah Halifah Shareefa Jackson. "Ohhhh, I see hah itiz, iss cuz AHM BLACK iddint it?" Um, NO, GhettoFucktard, considering you were SEATED by a black woman, and then you intimidated an ASIAN man.

I would have gone right to their level: "Get your skank-asses back to the cheap seats, before I "thow" yo asses outta here! Ya wanna sit with the big dogs? Ya gotta spend MONEY like the big dogs, mmmmKay? Now shuttup an' go stuff your face."

Good thing I am not in customer service at a casino. I don't think they make an industrial sized vat of Chapstick big enough for my swollen lips, after all the ass kissing I'd have to do. FUCK no.

As the waiter brought their 2 cokes (AS ORDERED), the skinniest GhettoFucktard shrieked, "I wannnn-edd some WAH-TER TOOOOO, DAY-UM! Can't you unnastant no ing-lish?"" Slinky moved away to get their water.

I will never complain about my job again. Wait. Yes I will.

Northwest really packs em in or...

I'm looking for a T-shirt that says:

"I took a trip to New Orleans and all I got was an imprint of your ass on my knees."

I had the great misfortune of being in the center seat, meaning I had absolutley NOWHERE to stretch my not-so-incredibly-long legs. I had been running on only about 3 total hours of sleep in a 38 hour period (work, insomnia, blahblahblah). I began to doze off almost immediately upon belting in, with my knees wedged firmly into the seat in front of me.

Within minutes, the dumbass biyatch in front of me (traveling with 1 small-but-well-behaved child, and an empty seat next to her) reclines her seat all the way back. I mean ALLLLLLLL the way back. An immediate pain shot from my knees up my thighs (not in a GOOD way, I assure you lol). I reacted by sticking said knees firmly up into her rectum, at LEAST to the kneecaps. SHE reacted by squirming a little. Practically grinding her ass into my knees through the thin upholstery. I considered buying her a drink.

Any CONSIDERATE person might have said, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize my seat amputated your legs at the knees." She was SOOO not considerate.

I had the metal bar from the magazine-holder-flap thingy imbedded just under my kneecaps. I tried to straighten my legs underneath her seat, only to actually touch the back of her feet. I would have kept them there, just for shits & giggles except that the metal bars down the back of the seat and underneath it were causing extreme shin pain. FUCK.

I brought my legs out from underneath her seat and shoved them as heard as I could into the back of her seat. Wiggle wiggle squirm squirm went she. "Houston, we have entry," thought I. All the while this coy biyatch pretended to be asleep.

That's when I figured SHE owed ME that fucking drink. She must be used to really thick dudes entering her poop chute cuz both knees slid in without ANY lube, as far as I could tell. Christ, I wasn't even using any protection except for that nasty upholstery. We all know how often they clean THAT shit. I hope I don't catch a disease.

Meanwhile, the HellSpawn from 1 row back was shrieking (as only 2 year olds can), "I STUCK!!! I STUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!" Correction, oh little HellFuck, you are merely restrained by a SEATBELT. There is a distinct difference. Namely, STUCK is what you would have been if I'd been able to dislodge myself from my seat an place your head gently but firmly into the toilet-vac of that smelly closet we were sitting near.

Remember this, my weary fellow travelers: The only reason to EVER sit at the back of an airplane is if YOU have diarrhea, or wish to meet OTHERS who do. 'Nuff said about that one.

whine whine, shrieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek, grind grind pretty much covers the 2 hours of my life on that plane.

I seriously thought of fondling the biyatch's ass on the way to baggage claim, but I know she didn't clean herself up after our little public woohoo. On the other hand, I was REALLLY hoping she would give me a kiss, a wink, or at the very LEAST a soft sigh or a "thank you" for all the pleasure I gave her.

Christ, it's not even like I had a fucking CHOICE in the matter. She TOOK me. She took my innocence. It was my first lesbian experience and I didn't even get OFF. Now I am in tears. This was NOT in the brochure!!! Where was the soft skin? Gentle caresses? All I got was rough grinding. And I didn't even get WET. Sigh. Maybe I should ask for a center seat on my NEXT flight & hope for an improved experience.

But it's all good. I am having a great time in New Orleans losing money as expected. I wish I could just win enough to cover the cost of my daughter's upcoming grad party, but I'm not counting on it.

Oh, here is the source of most of my stress lately: Look under "new house"--my daughter is NOT the cause of that stress LOLOL. I am simply an idiot for planning a grad party at a place where I cannot guarantee running water, electricity or toilets by July 9th LOLOL. Must be my masochistic side coming out hehehe

Monday, June 20, 2005

A brief hiatus

I'll be back with more "tales from my 'hood" ASAP. I am in the process of planning my daughter's grad party at our new house which is STILL under construction. I sure hope we have running water and toilets by July 9th. I'd hate to have to rent a Port-a-John..... Trying to do all this while NOT having heart failure lol. Wish me LUCK!!!!

Be back soon--I'm working on completing the Spring Break stories and adding to the "Fugly Chronicles" lol.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Come into my lair, said the spider to the fly (or, How My Brother Met Fugly)

I have to give her credit for her ingenuity, although these days she probably would have been fired for going through his personal records. He was a student at a local university, she was a secretary in the computer lab.

He was and is a MAJOR computer freak (not to be confused with "geek," which he is NOT lol). As such, he spent hours in the computer lab. He has never been big on relationships, as they take too much work on his part. The women he has dated have all pretty much made the first move. He is handsome, 6'5, average build (working out would have also taken too much effort), funny and intelligent. Also narcissistic and lazy. Quite the catch, eh ladies?

Fugly is short, and rather non-descript if you want to be nice & not notice that she could eat apples through a fence. She is a shrew who always has an ulterior motive for doing things; they must be of benefit to HER in some way. Sad. Her personality is rather brash, and she often says totally stupid and intentionally hurtful things, in the guise of humor. I could have easily overlooked her LOOKS, had she ever been a NICE person. But I will get to that in a moment.

She kept "running into" him. When he would need something, it was always she who would be there to help, even if it wasn't her area. She would "accidentally" bump into him or just "happen" to pop into his elevator at the last minute.

Those things could have been perfectly innocent happenings, had she not actually had the balls to tell me what started all of it. I instantly hated her for that, but she didn't tell me until they'd married. That's when HE found out too, although he was flattered. Idiot.

Apparently, she really liked what she saw. Blond hair, blue eyes, tall, good looking. This is where her ingenuity came in. Looking at his lab sign-in sheet, she found his name and social security number. She then proceeded to search his personal records for information. She obtained his address, phone numbers, major (read: income potential), class schedule; every bit of his confidential info. She would show up outside of his classrooms at the end of class to "accidentally" run into him.

He asked her out because, with HIM, she was perky. Sickeningly, what KEPT him (according to HER) was her blowjob talent. Yes, she actually TOLD ME THAT. EWWWWWWW. That is a fucking image I did not NEED to have burned into my brain. My eyes are bleeding.

I hate to burst her bubble, but it wasn't just her special talent to not nick his dick with those bucked teeth that kept him with her. It was his hatred of my dad. He hated my DAD more than he liked HER.

My dad & bro NEVER got along well, and my brother hated living in our house. My dad was an oppressive asshole fireman (think: major power trips, delusions of grandeur, quite full of himself). My brother was a rebellious hippie-type, who smoked weed, played Zeppelin too loud & stayed away as much as possible.

Fugly had her own HOME. Hmmmmmm.....move in with her & receive regular BJ's and home cooked meals without being bitched at or stay at home and be harassed by the man... tough choice. NOT.

When he first started dating her, he brought her home to introduce her to us. She was quiet and bird-like, and obviously nervous about meeting us. I thought she was probably just shy. We did our best to make her feel comfortable. I thought that he could have done much better in the looks department, but I figured she must be a sweetheart. Wrong. That shy/sweet act was a disguise to help her gauge us.

About 2 weeks later, we were in my parents' family room/dining room (it is one long room separated by a room-length step. My bro was reading the paper at the dining room table. I was sitting on the couch next to my boyfriend watching TV. Fugly was standing next to my brother as he read and, unbeknownst to me, staring at me.

"Your brother is so GODDAMN good-looking, what the hell happened to YOU?" she blurted out. I just looked up at her, incredulously. I had to shake my head for a second to make sure I'd actually HEARD right.

"Excuse me?" I said to her. She actually repeated it! Well, my Miss Nice Girl politeness took a major hike.

I asked her, "Do you value your life?" She looked a bit perplexed and cocked her head slightly.

"Because I'll knock your ugly ass through that wall, bitch," as I glared at her.

She did a little curtsey-duck-in-next-to-my-bro-thing. He never missed a beat. Not even looking up from his paper, he said to her "She means it, too." That let the air out of her balloon.

And so began my "relationship" with Fugly (the Glamour Shots pic in the previous post is actually HERS). I will amaze and astound you with tales of her (and her mother, Jabba's) stupidity in posts to come. I will also have to link to some more pictures, just so you can compare our looks at the time she SAID this shit to me. I haven't always had great self-esteem, but I CLEARLY am more attractive than she. At least I can close my mouth over my front teeth. Bitch.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

My Fambly, part 1

I am envious of those of you with wonderful extended families. I really wish that I could say I am close to my relatives, but I can't. This entry isn't about pity. It's about the strange, fucked-up "family" known as "mine." I know that I am not alone in this, and that some of you had it much worse than me, but here is my story anyway.

Unfortunately, my most favorite family member, my beloved mom, died of a rare leukemia in 1997. We didn't even know she was sick, got a diagnosis and 5 days later she was GONE. Three weeks later, I was diagnosed with breast cancer at 36. Couldn't even cry on my mommy's shoulder. A real tragedy since she and I had been thisclose.

That left me with my dad, who had been a turd for most of my life and now needed my "care," since he was virtually an invalid who'd been burped & powdered by my mother and I am a nurse and the only daughter. Greaaaaaaaattttttt. Fuck. The promise I made to my mother on her deathbed (when she asked me to move my dad to MY house) was carefully worded as, "He will be taken care of."

Can't forget my older brother! He used to beat the living shit out of me daily when my parents were at work. I had bruises. LOTS of them. BIG ones. As I would try to run & call my dad at work, he'd pick up the extension so that I couldn't dial out. And then he'd laugh maniacally in my ear. This went on until I was about 13 and nearly killed him when I turned on him suddenly as he was chasing me upstairs. I'd had enough and just SHOVED him with all my strength. He's lucky I hadn't broken his fucking neck.

He hadn't been treated well by my dad EVER. No beatings, but psychological abuse at its best. My brother always thought that my dad loved ME more, but I knew better.


When my dad FINALLY died in 1999, and we officially became "orphans," I really thought my brother and I would become closer. We live less than 10 miles from each other, but only see each other when I make the effort. Same with phonecalls. Oh well, maybe it's for the best.

There are no such things as "family gatherings" anymore, since my mother was the ultimate matriarch and held us together. When she died, that glue dissolved. Oh, we TRIED to make Christmas Eve work for 2 years but failed miserably for the following reasons:

1. The traditional prime rib dinner was NOT the same without my mom in her light-up blinking apron. I am a great cook, but couldn't duplicate the atmosphere that she created.

ummmm--the rest edited out to preserve fambly relations :)

Wednesday, June 01, 2005

The ULTIMATE revenge story

While this was actually quite a painful time in my past, this story is friggin' hilarious. Really.

A little background: I dated my first husband for 5 years, married him at age 21, and bore his child at 27. He is 4 years older than I. It was a planned pregnancy. It had been thoroughly discussed prior to conception. It was NO surprise. Things were awesome during the pregnancy & we talked of all the things we wanted to do with this child, whom we found out at 20 weeks was a girl. We were thrilled.

Unbeknownst to me, my husband got a girlfriend when our baby was 10 weeks old. Someone from work. Someone 10 years younger than him. Oh, did I mention she could fit her ass into a size 10 leather skirt? I found out that the ultimate reason was that "I felt like you didn't neeeeeeeed me... you were always with the bay-beeeeeeeee. I was loooooooonely." blahblahblah. Fucker. Forgive me for nursing and caring for MY little one, for cooking and cleaning while you worked & then came home & went to sleep. Asshat.

I began having suspicions that he was cheating on me when our baby was about 4-5 months old. Ladies, if you don't know some of the signs, I'll give you a clue: new cologne, being really cheery at home (unusually so), working out, new underwear, all of a sudden there are a TON of retirement parties throughout the week when previously there were 2. In a YEAR.

I found out for certain when our baby was 6 months old. I was told, "treat me like I'm single...this is something I have to go through...I'll be back..." Yeah, fucker, but I WON'T.

Fast forward a couple of weeks:

I was sitting on the basement floor, crying pitifully on the pile of dirty laundry(that I was doing for HIM). I looked up at the ceiling, wailing "What am I going to dooooo? How will I raise a baby on my own??"

Now comes the funny part. Really. There IS one lol.

As I am sitting on the dirty laundry pile, crying, looking up at the bare bulb of the ceiling light, IT HIT ME. Through my snot and my tears, behind that bright shining light, like a beacon from GOD, I found my answer.

Surrounding the basement window, glistening in the light was pink insulation . I put on a pair of latex gloves, climbed on top of the washer and pulled out a HUGE hunk of it.

I then proceeded to insulate the inside crotch of his clean underwear. Every fucking pair. Everyday. For TWO WEEKS. I was never so eager and happy to do laundry as I was then!

I rubbed that shit into it, from front to back. Then I moved on to the jeans and insulated the inside seams of those from crotch to knees. His shorts didn't escape me, nor did his bathing trunks. I left enough fibers to get the job done, but not enough to be noticed.

Then I folded them all up and put them away, like a good little wifey.

I wanted him to think that bitch GAVE him something. It was the hottest summer on record in 1988. I knew he'd be sweating like a pig and I wanted him to itch and burrrrrrn.

Sure enough, after 2 weeks of daily insulating, he called me at work (I worked with OB/GYN doctors). This really took balls (pun intended LOL) on his part, lemme tell ya. He told me that she was "having some female problems" and "needed a good doctor." I stood there, holding the phone with my jaw dropped open to my navel. What fucking NERVE! I told him I'd have to call him back.

I grabbed the yellow pages and looked under "Veterinarians." I figured that since they were both PIGS, this was the obvious choice. I picked out a name and called him back, telling him, "Dr. Davis is the best in his field." I never did hear back if they made that call or not. I'd wager not, since I am sure it was just a way to torture me.

Now I wonder, what exactly do insulation fibers look like on a pap smear slide?

God, indeed, works in mysterious ways.