The Many Lands of Penny's Brain

Three Two Four

Hola Blog Monkeys! 324 profile views... Jess says "Get a counter" Then I can keep track of who is looking and when and why and from where and with what delicious snack foods while they surf Penny's sub-consciousness. I am not certain if it matters, really, who you are or why you're here. I do know with certainty that I do not have time to keep actual track.

Yesterday sucked. SUCKED I SAY! And I am gonna tell you all about it. But first I have to say that this is my first test of Penny Blog utility in light of Jackass having read it. We'll see what comes out here. Truth, Justice and the American Way? Or ingratiating drivel...

J is off to Florida for his cousins wedding. This is nice. He's happy to be participating in this important event. He's made efforts to look nice for the photos ("Show them your tan line!" Twitters Penny... "Um. Sure. They'll love hanging that memory on the wall.") Its all good. BUT HE'S GONE! Ack.

Now J will have some suffocating response to this. (Imagine that this is being said from under a smothering pillow and sounds all breathless and half dead..."Penny, baby girl. I know I told you I'd be your cabana boy. What more do you want from me!?!") I do not mean to suffocate. I only mean to figure out what Penny's deal is. I think I must be depressed again. No matter where you go, there you are. Let a smile be your umbrella! Turn that frown upside down. Make like a tree and leaf but don't let that door hit you in the ass.

Introspection is a pain in the ass and I'm sick of it.

I said to my father --maybe it was on Monday-- "I don't know how much time you spend thinking about yourself and why you do what you do, how much time you spend in introspection." He just laughed at me. I guess that means he does it, or he doesn't do it, or I'm funny. It means something I'm sure. Something secret which I can not extract from the laughter. Aw, crap.

Jackass called me on Tuesday. Turns out that if all of the circumstances were just right, which IMAGINE THIS!, they weren't... he was gonna ask me if I wanted to have lunch with him. Why does this fuck with my head the way that it does? Because it sends me straight into the Land Of If Only... Lets visit together:

If Only Penny had known, in a psychic flash, that Jackass would call and offer lunch (time together in that way that makes me happy) Penny would have done the appropriate prerequisite ground work. What is this ground work? Why it varies from day to day. Tuesday it was already have a sitter and be out of the house. Apparently getting a sitter after the call is not good enough. If Only Penny knew this, Penny could have prepared.

Preparation Is Half the Battle!

Now, if you are confused by just reading this imagine how hard it is to be me.

I guess I am contemplating the contours of my relationship with Jackass again. Nothingness sucks. I can not stand nothing. Its like living with just enough air to stay alive but not enough to quit feeling like you're about to die.

And as long as I can stay in this "Jackass & Penny" Land I am fine. The problem is that it's not JUST Jackass & Penny, is it? So here is the truly terrible thing that I do not know what to do about. We are sitting together, eating dinner, and his phone rings. He takes the call, has the conversation, it's obvious it's a call from home. It's obvious it's vacation plans. It's obvious that this other life exists, this Not-Jackass-&-Penny life.

(You = "Penny, you seem like such a smart chick. How is it that you can continue to be surprised by the fact that life exists outside your visual field?" Me = "Such a good question. Thanks for stopping by.")

Listening to this conversation made me physically, actually, literally nauseated. I felt like I wanted to puke. I honestly don't know if I want him to know this. Which is where my Blog Utility issues come in. Even if he never reads this I might just imagine that he did.

And, I know that he suffers in the same Limbo-Land. The Land of it's all good if we can just pretend nothing else exists. So, we suffer together. And we indulge together. And we introspect together. And we stand around together sucked into the gravity that is "US".

It comes to me, now, what my struggle is. Sometimes I feel so overwhelmed by the hugeness of this thing between us. Drowning in a literal depth that I do not truly comprehend. And in those times he is as necessary to me as oxygen. He fills a space inside of me that is barren and desolate when he is gone from it.

Other times I am Veruca Salt. I want what I want and I WANT IT NOW.

Will today also suck? Why, we'll never know if I don't get off my ass and on with it.

Penny Feet

Hi my Blog Monkeys!

I started with shower feet. Now here's my bondage feet. Keep your eye on me! I'm tricky...

Bondage Feet 

Kids!

This morning Number Three Child says this to me:

"I want to eat this waffle with Ranch."

Is this the most disgusting thing you have ever heard of eating (Well, Fear Factor aside... I'll re-phrase) Is this the most disgusting thing you've ever heard of wanting to eat? Why do kids want to dip everything into ranch dressing?

Makes me think about the genetic time bombs ticking in my children. This gross food thing? That comes straight from Scoots half of the DNA. He has always eaten truly disgusting conglomerations of stuff never meant to be mixed up together. Waffles and ranch? Scoot would say "You bet! but... throw in some peanut butter and a heaping spoonful of salsa!"

Then there is Number Two Child who wished, fervently, just yesterday that her teacher would send week-end home work with her on Friday. "I could do one page on Friday, one on Saturday and one on Sunday and bring it all back on Monday!" Couple that with this interesting exclamation "If kids ruled the world I would go to school EVERYDAY!" and you get my genetic input.

I had a buddy tell me the other day that I am like that Old Navy commercial where the girl stands up in history class and screams "Let's Study!" Apparently I have passed this birth defect on. At least to Number Two. Number One has the capacity but she resists it. Wonder if it'll spring up in her little baby, her little Number One?

All this lovely geek-gene stuff aside I am really, truly and honestly worried that I've done a terrible thing to my kids. Scooter is nuts. And I made two babies with him. It would be lovely if DNA always combined to express the BEST traits and tendencies. However, as Mendel will attest, this is not always the case.

Hindsight is 20-20 they say.

Number Three, right this very second, wishes that I would allow her to clean the fireplace. This is some rouge cleaning trait which flows from neither her mother nor her father. There is hope. Perhaps sanity will also crop up in there. Recessive yet expressed anyway...

This has been a science moment ~ I'm Bad Penny

The Pressure is Crushing...

As my profile views rise, so does my anxiety level. Who is reading this? Who are you? What do you want...

No longer is it acceptable for me to just vomit some arbitrary thought on to the page. Everything is VIEWED. and READ. and, apparently, analyzed.

Jackass thinks I have my "How Hard Up is Penny" Poll in an effort to get some support for my latent lesbian tendencies. Crap. Here I was, coding up the poll, thinking... "Tee-Hee... this is pretty funny." Giggle, snicker. Tee and some more Hee. That's it, blog monkeys. That is ALL. Penny was just cracking herself up. But now Jackass has gone all Freudian on me. He calls this my porno-blog. Double-crap.

So I sit here, bleary eyed on the heels of never-enough-sleep, coffee in hand and fingers on the key board wondering what to say now. The entire point of my "Porno-Blog" was to provide some outlet for my Penny-ness. The entertainment value of Penny-ness is just incidental. You are an unintended third party beneficiary of my deal with Blogger.

So, here are my poll results:

5 are for switching teams.

2 are for staying hetero and maybe dating the vote-caster.

J voted hetero and I count him + 5

So... That's 5 for "Just Make Out with Angel" and 7 "For We Love You Just the Way You ARE".

Thank you J, for believing in me...

Bag Full 'o Sex Toys...

First, if you got here by googling "Bag Full 'o Sex Toys" I have only this to say ~ WOW. You're hard up too!

Okay my voyeuristic little blog monkeys... I just got home from Angel's house. If you don't know who that is then clink the link and read that before this... I'll wait right here. Don't be lazy.

Done?

Good. Just got back from Angel's house with a bag full of sex stuff. DUDE. It is the truth. She used to have a sex toy party business and, rather like tupperware, she had an inventory. Now, she's feeling bad for me so she's given me a bunch of stuff. Should I inventory it for you? I am not even sure what all is in there.

OMG.

There is a pair of hand cuffs. Fuzzy but quick release with no key. What good are cuffs if your detainee can escape, right? So, also got a pair of black restraint straps, nice and fuzzy. Less escaping likely.

A little mini kama sutra kit with all the good kama sutra stuff inside (feather thing and honey dust and a little tub of something... "hey what's this?" "you put it right on your clit, it gets hot.")

2 little bottles of lube and a big pink watermelon one. Watermelon lube. A lot of that.

This pink jelly butterfly thing with straps and a remote... 2 bullet vibes and a ... ahem... a blue jelly bumpy cock-ring thingy ("don't you need a penis for that?" "well yeah." "i'm not currently using one of those." she put it in the bag anyway.)

AND... drum roll please... not one, but two -- count them! TWO -- vibrators. One is just a regular thing. The other is deluxe, it's got bits that stick out and bits that twirl 'round and it's filled with these pearly pink beads. It is something else. Truly. and the color scheme of this thing? Shiny and pink and girly. It's what a vibe made by Barbie would look like. There's a boutique market for you ~ Barbie Sex Toys r Us.

Friends, I would truly love to stay and blog with you. But I have to run out for batteries.

Punctuation Humor

It is a whole slew of things that bring me to my new idea... I don't want to start crediting anyone for anything. So, I will say this;

There were others involved in the evolution of this idea but I now reject them, disregard them and move on as though they never existed. They are the little people. I trod on them.

On with the story. I propose a new punctuation mark. The Sarcasm Mark. It'll work like quotation marks to indicate that a word, series of words, or an entire sentence should be read with a sarcastic inflection. For instance, should we have a conversation about your new pants it'll go like this:

you "Hey, Penny! Check out these rad pants!"

penny "Wow."

you "Don't I look swell in my plaid checked duffer slacks?"

penny "**Oh sure you do.**" (Notice the addition of a new type of punctuation here)

you "Do you think they make my ass look big?"

penny "** Not at ALL. You should wear them everywhere.**"

Do you see the utility of this new punctuation? It is BRILLIANT. A pure stroke of evil genius.

So naturally I am telling people about it. I tell J. He says, and I quote "**Good Idea.**" Ah. Impaled on the horns of my own punctuation mark.

I tell jackass. He thinks that sarcasm is only funny when he and I get it but no one else does. The addition of the sarcasm mark will only interfere with our superiority by letting others in on the joke. "When they don't get it, that's the funny part. You'll ruin it. STOP."

I am now 0 for 2.

Yesterday I am driving with number one daughter. She is hostage in my moving car. So I am regaling her with stories about my punctuation plans.

penny/mom "Would it not be a really cool thing to be known as the creator of an entirely new type of punctuation?"

#1 "Sure mom. Whatever you say. Watchout for that truck."

penny/mom "I don't know if it should be asterisks, that gets a little busy with the quotes! Or maybe those less than greater than symbols..." (like this: <>)

#1 "Um Ok mom. Shouldn't we have turned there?"

penny/mom "Oh my GOSH! This is an even better idea. The HYPERBOLE mark. I'm a genius!!"

#1 (Stunned silence. This means YES, mom, you're a genius.)

penny/mom "Actually, I think that the use of 6 exclamation marks is technically a hyperbole mark. Drat."

#1 (Actual, honest and loud laughing. Genuine 'hey that's funny' laughter)

penny/mom "You were worried about being a freak before... Now you're laughing at Punctuation Humor! You're a dork, Number One, just like your mother."

#1 "Now I'll have to throw myself off the roof!!!!!!"

I did edit this conversation for publication.

This has been a punctuation update ~ I'm Bad Penny

Interested Girl

Hey ~ 263.

Profile views... two six three.

Dude.

I am interested in your opinion... I added a poll (Look right) to answer the current burning question:

Just how hard up do you think Penny is?

Please vote.

Girl of Interest Reprise!

two two two.

I just had a look at my profile views and its astounding. 222. WOW.

I have a sneaking suspicion that I can count some of my friends among them. I have a voice that is easy to recognize, I think. Scooter will know me for sure, when he comes round cyber-tailing me. Cyber spying like a sneaky peaky child, too immature to know that he only hurts himself.

But yesterday I had a strange moment. Jackass and I are engaged in an activity that I am enjoying completely... NO DETAILS HERE but I will say that it is something which one does in front of others and with clothes on. I swear. Fully clothed. (sigh)

Anyway, this activity needed naming. We are a team. We are doing this together. So, we're throwing out name ideas. He likes Latin. I don't blame him. Latin is cool. It has a certain "I'm smarter than you'll ever be" quality that makes it attractive. But it also lacks, many times, a musical quality that I enjoy and it lacks certain alliterations. I LOVE alliterations. Alliterations are absolutely artful.

So, we're kicking around names for this thing that were doing. Frolic & Detour (mine) is high on the list. lex coupled with a few different things. (Penny says "Lex Luther!" and jackass says "I'm being serious.") How 'bout this? How 'bout that? Quid Pro Quo? No way, too unoriginal. Then he says this:

"alter ego?"

um. I know this could just be a coincidence. That he would toss out a name which I have chosen for my super secret blog. If he'd thrown in catharsis (LEX CATHARSIS! That is pretty good...) I'd have known for sure. But he just said alter ego. That is something that he might have just offered, just cause. Or maybe its a hint that he's been here and knows my secret places.

Now the time has come to decide if it matters... and I think not. It's not as though he dug through my underwear drawer, found my diary, (I found her diary underneath the tree, and started reading about me, the words she'd written took me by surprise, I'd never seen them in her eyes...) jimmied the lock and broke into my thoughts. It is here where 222 of you were able to just walk right inside and have a look. There is so much of him in here that how could he resist reading and finding out what I say in my super secret heart of hearts. The fact that there is so much anger to go with the angst? (Oh, another good name Anger & Angst... maybe I'll change my blog name) Well, that's just a fact like all other facts. Its just the truth.

What worries me, though, and here it is RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND, is the idea that wondering if he will read what I write will change what I write. Is all the utility of my super secret blog gone when I edit with scooter and jackass and J in mind? (J, baby, you have always been permitted)

I guess that remains to be seen. I know that if he came looking for me he would recognize me the second the page loaded. He recognizes my name, and my voice, and my feet... I think I'll just ask him tonight. Then I'll know.

Meanwhile, here is what I have to say publicly:

scooter - I love you. Please grow up and quit being a jerk.

jackass - I love you.

J (cute J) - I love you. Don't make me break up with you. Ever.

This has been a really strange post ~ I'm Bad Penny

How Many Times is The President "Up For Re-Election"??

"These are the same old recycled attacks that we see every time that the president is up for re-election," White House spokesman Scott McClellan said Thursday.

Is it wrong for me to demand that persons who speak for the president actually understand the election process? Oh, this article also gets into some "missing" military service records... but geeze. Those Liberal Pussies bring that up every time W seeks re-election as POTUS.

CAN'T A MAN SEEK RE-ELECTION IN PEACE?!?

Why Am I Pissed When Other People Get Laid?

I am thinking about sex. I have been told that I just need to get laid. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't this something that people say to other people who are too uptight and tense and bitchy... wait. OK. I see now.

Anyway, I'm talking to J who has ended his period of celibacy and therefore distanced himself from me now in a fundamental way. Will we ever be the same again? Who knows. I mean, I knew J was gonna get some sooner or later. But I had no idea how JEALOUS I'd be. I'm not jealous cause J is sleeping with some woman who is not me. DUH. I'm jealous cause J is sleeping with some woman and I'm not sleeping with anyone. It's not fair.

Really GOOD friends hang in with you. Really GOOD friends say "You're on a diet? Well, me too then!" or "Chemo therapy? I'll shave my head!" But not my J. My J says "Tough cookies, Dottie. Go get yourself laid and quit harshing my mellow." Crap.

OK. So why can't I just take some good advice. Practically everyone is giving it except for my sweetly naive friend from school... We'll call her An. She is Iranian. She speaks Farsi. She has some language hang ups with English.

"Don't you have to get divorced before you can have a boy friend?" An asks.

"Well, no. There's no law."

"Isn't that bigamy?" An wants to know. "Wait. What's the word? Don't you have to get a divorce first?"

"No An. If you can date while you're married you can certainly date while you're separated."

"But that's bigamy."

"NO, It's adultery."

"Yes, I knew there was a word..."

So, An doesn't think I should just get laid, at least not without finalizing my whole marriage to scooter thing. But everyone else says JUST DO IT.

But I am not that kinda girl. I need a little more than working parts, you know? Then there is this other thing. I have the sneaking suspicion that my girly friend (Lets call her Angel since she is a biker chick) Angel is hitting on me. Just kinda dipping her toe in the "Wonder if Penny would be open to making out with me?" Pool. This really throws me a curve. Since I get the same freaking advice.

JUST DO IT.

Jackass says "How did you know you liked tofu before you tried it? Do you get my point?"

"Um yeah. I get your point. Somehow all these years of feeling pretty damn heterosexual have mislead me into thinking I am not a lesbian!"

"Yes. That's right. Now. I'll be the guy in the closet with the camera..."

So I run it by J. He is on the exact same page as jackass. Go for it! It is the perfect solution to your problem. Just give it up to Angel.

"If I were a woman I would make out with her. Women are great. All soft and curvy." says J.

"Men are great," says Penny. "All hard. and manly."

"Ew." J sees my point I think.

"And If I were a man... well, I would NOT make out with men. Dude, I'd be all over women."

In all honesty I'll have to say that J never mentioned he'd work the camera. But if I sent him a plane ticket I bet I could talk him into it.

Where does all of this leave me? Still alone. With no one to sleep with and lick and bite (In a very sexy way, not a painful way, I swear) and squish up against in the early morning half asleep but half awake and glad not to be feeling like THAT by myself. Still. Alone.

It's not that good friends don't get laid... good friends just don't rub it in.

More Shower Stories

Two days ago... I am happily in the shower where I do my absolute best thinking. And a big ole spider joins me. My first instinct is to scoop big handfuls of water on it and wash it down the drain. That way I can make it go away without squishing it first. But there is always that fear that "what ever does not kill you makes you stronger" also applies to spiders and maybe it'll come back later, stronger for having survived the drain but really pissed at me. However, I do not wish to squish it. So I decide to just let it be.

So, I am showering and spider is hanging out by the hot water tap. Hanging on really. But hanging in there. It hasn't tried to kill me yet. We have developed a kind of wary respect for each other. I am digging my one-with-natureness. Just look at how tolerant and cool Penny is. She's just letting that spider do its thing. No sweat. All is well with Penny's Karma.

But then disaster strikes. Actually it's pretty funny if you think about it. I was literally 10 minutes into being really proud of myself for not killing the spider when I was rinsing my hair with my eyes closed (contacts) and reached down to turn off the water, still eyes closed (contacts) and little spider dude jumped on my finger...

I SCREAMED. Blood curdling Psycho in the shower screaming. Slapped at the creepy feeling on my hand and flung that spiders broken body into the tub while trying to crawl OVER the shower doors to get away from the damn thing.

So much for Penny being a cool nature chick. But I bet that little dude does not get stronger offa this encounter. I think he's pretty well toast.

My New Neighbors

Well, gentle reader, you may not know me that well. So I'll tell you most clearly and with sincerity... I am a live and let live girl. I do not have the worst house on my street, but I sure don't have the best one either. I have a kind of lazy "The leaves will eventually turn to mulch" yard care philosophy. I cast no stones with in my glass house.

BUT.

Oh man today was the end... The guy across the street from me put his giant house up for sale at a high price. He had lived there alone, and very quietly, for about 2 years. He bought it at auction (The previous owners breaking up house when the hubby started dressing as a woman and dating a transgendered "girl" from group therapy) My old neighbor, he was an odd one. The point of much speculation. He NEVER had license plates on his cars... came and went at odd hours. Never had women around. Had a few gatherings which seemed to include nothing but adolescent men. But hey, he kept the place nice.

He had no luck with selling. One day the sign changed to include "NEW Lower Price!" but still no luck. Then, one day, the sign was gone. Next day he was gone and that night the new neighbors moved in via a caravan of over loaded pick-up trucks, under cover of darkness.

There are like 472 of them. A bunch of dirty children, running about in a great herd. Not a single one in school for the last week and a half. A dilapidated and seriously Craptacular trailer is parked in the drive. People living in there. The garage is starting to look like a trailer park rec room (WRECK ROOM) with various pieces of scavenged from the dump furniture... I bet someone's living in there as well.

I came out of the gate the other day to this lovely tableau ~ Woman in the garage, her arm in the air... SHAVING HER PITS. Perhaps they came from a place where there were no bathrooms, showers and private places to shave your girly parts but I know there are two bathrooms over there.

Today is the topper. The icing on my "I gotta get the hell out of here" cake. Some sort of party I think. Truck pulls up with a horse trailer on the back. I leave for the store. When I return there is mariachi music blaring from a boom box (remember those?) with the scratchy have the crappy speakers too loud quality that makes it especially nauseating. Two guys (Caballeros?) on horses skittering around in the street. These are not happy horses. These are not well behaved horses. Number two daughter wants to know why that man is slapping his horse with a branch...

All 472 people from the house and trailer and garage combo living arrangement are on lawn chairs and various upholstered furniture in the drive, drinking beer (this is an everyday thing but usually without the horses) and watching the equine abuse/show/spectacle. The back of the trailer is down and the effluent that's run from inside (OH ITS GROSS) is puddled on the street.

Even now, as I write this, I can hear that most annoying of musical styles beating its way through my windows and into my poor beleaguered brain.

One of the herd of children whips out his little manhood and pees on the back of the trailer. (This boy looks to be around 9 or 10, surely old enough to know he should go around to the non-street side before peeing on the trailer)

I fear that if I mention my displeasure with any of this that I will be branded as a bigot. ("Hey, Chica, you just do not like the Mexican people.")

My only solace is the thought that they must surely be renters...

Penny's FIRST link...

One Simple Question

This is the first time I have directed your attention to anything but my own sweet self. I have linked but it was only to show you more of me only in other locations.

Have a look and maybe if you're feeling funky you can throw a buck that way.

Bad Penny ~ Girl of Little Patience

I need a boyfriend.

I can admit it. That's what I need. Not a husband but a boyfriend. Someone to just make out with at the movies.

I am not a big fan of this single-ness. I am even less of a fan of just WANTING to mitigate this singleness through the judicious use of jackass.

We're sitting in his car last night. (The car is funny, it's not a car its a Range Rover. I remember telling my friend last year this time that I spent three nights a week in the parking lot at school not taking my clothes off and climbing in the Rover. From that day on she's called jackass Rover Man) ANYWAY...

We're sitting in Rover Mans sport utility vehicle, listening to Bad Religion (Track 14 reminds me of jackass *temptation, revelation, you decide*) and doing that thing we do where we just hang out in proximity cause neither one of us wants to go home with out the other. It's like spending your days in a donut shop because the diet has made you so damn hungry... I miss him. I wish I could just stuff him in my trunk and then keep him locked in the basement.

Anyway. We are adults and we know we can't just hang out like this forever. We gotta go home. Sometime. So he says "Hey, you gotta get out of the car right now cause if you don't then we'll just have to make out." (Remember, casual voyeuristic friend, Penny just really wants to make out)

So, you can imagine what I did. I took this rather blatant statement as an invitation, jumped on him and kissed his brains out. Shoved our shirts up so we can press our skin together, in the parking lot, like horny teenagers...

No. Not really. What I really did was get out of the car. Huffed with total pissed off resignation. ("IT IS JUST NOT FAIR!!") Slammed the door. Got in my car and drove away. I drove away unkissed and ungroped and unhappy in the truest sense.

Why oh why does Penny do this to herself?

It is a mystery. A rank whodunnit.

He called me. (Status check? pissed at me? you slammed the door... maybe I shouldn't say these things to you but tell me you're not feeling the exact same way... I am oh I am.... so no problem cause we cant help how we feel... blahdy blah blah blah.) I ended that conversation with the unmitigated statement:

"Thanks for nothing."

and that's really how I feel. J says "You're just looking for some companionship, not a man to marry..." His suggestion is well intended, I know. But if I don't want marriage then why not jackass? If not now then when?

There are no conclusions and there is no punch line. I am just frustrated and I want you to suffer, too.

A Mommy Moment

I am in the bath room, doing my hair... when I hear number three daughter, yelling from the family room "WAKE UP!"

There some laughing. More wake up yelling. Some more laughing.

I wander out. And here is what I see...

Number three, perched on the edge of the couch, both hands on the swelling belly of my number one daughter. Head bent down to talk real close to that baby in there. "Hey! Wake up!!"

A mommy moment. I got the camera...

"Wake up in there!"

Bad Penny "Girl of Interest"

Well kids... I am astounded to notice that I have 160 profile views. That is 100 plus 60 people who have wondered enough about me to clink that link and view my profile. What the hell are you people thinking? Don't you have better things to do?

On Monday in class with a new prof that I will be calling (affectionately of course) Mr. Rogers ("Can you say 'Vituperate'? I knew that you could.") we did the stupid lets all introduce ourselves thing. I say stupid because I have been in school with these people for more than two years now. We freaking know each other already.

When it got to me I considered waxing poetic about my many domestic talents (I cook the food I eat, and I keep my kids alive and I clean up the dog crap often enough that the city wont condemn my homestead...) but instead I said this "I write." Well, I do. I write constantly. I have two blogs (unlike this one the other is written with care and viewed by people who actually know me... or at least want to know me) which I have put more words into than you can shake a stick at. I write long and winding emails (J once said "Damn, baby, you wrote a book" and that clings). I write shopping lists and notes at school. I write letters to my grandmothers (those girls are Old Skool, word) in long hand with pen and paper. I write briefs for class and law school essays and that is just the regular stuff.

I write.

Seems like something which takes up the vast majority of my waking time (Perhaps I read more ~ if you count proof reading what I, myself, have written) ought to earn me something other than carpal tunnel. I guess it has. I have a new friend courtesy of my blog activity. I have my first unsolicited request that I send some nakey fresh photos of myself to a friendly reader. I have the unfortunate side-effect of my relationship with jackass... Would he love me if he did not receive the hundreds of thousands of written words which I've offered to him? Mostly I have this self image which includes "Writer".

Incidental "Project" tie-in: My self image is starting to include "hot when naked". Some day it will look like this ~

"HOT WHEN NAKED WRITER CHICK"

This has been completely without point or purpose ~ I'm Bad Penny

Tucker Max is the Devil

Ok. I admit I laughed. But I am not sure why. It really wasn't funny. Not really. It was just a horrible story about one "man"s selfish and puerile exploitation of a gullible girl and most of a bottle of astro-glide. I put "man" in quotes to denote my sarcastic opinion that Tucker Max may well look like a man but he's really just an over grown boy of the ant-burning persuasion. Not really a man at all. Perhaps he's a changeling and not really human at all.

Don't argue with me about this. Because I am firmly teetering on the edge of despondency right now. One little "All men are really like that but most just wont admit it." and you will send me plunging over the edge. I NEED to deny. I NEED to wish away the darkness.

Because if this is how men really are then I am going lesbo.

Seriously. This is my worst nightmare. This manipulative, selfish, sociopathic user of women's bodies. This stunted and heartless trophy collector who will not only do the ugly things he brags about but then will go on to BRAG about them.

The Player.

Is this inside of all men? Inside there lurking under their disparate and varying exteriors. What I am asking is this:

"Are all men capable of this, just brimming with MOTIVE and merely denied the opportunity?"

Lets face it. Not all men are created equal. Some are far better looking than others. Some have musical skills (Chicks dig guys in bands) and some are artistic and sensitive (Some chicks dig this too, but not this chick). Some drive that yummy car. Some SEEM smart but it could just be a ruse... Are they all just Tucker Max longing to escape? Some how denied the access but ready to join the club if only someone would let them in the door? God help me if this is true.

I ask for devine help not for myself... I am the mother of three daughters. Wanna put the kibosh on your own prurient interests? Just think about your sweet little girl, the apple of your eye, going on a date with Tucker Max. This is the psychological equivalent of being thrown headlong into the polar bear tank at Sea World. At first, you're thinking "Oh holy hell! This is freaking COLD!" That's bad. Then you realize that it's both cold and brimming with polar bear crap. That's worse. And then you realize that those polar bears have always longed to just play with one of the leering things which parade by them 14 hours a day. Always wanted to just check that shit out.

But, all this time, they've lacked opportunity.

Perhaps Tucker is an aberration. I certainly hope so. But I am actually more fond of this notion. He's making this crap up. He has to be. Cause there is a veritable ARMY of women out there who could probably get out of the murder charges by merely directing the jury to their individual stories written by Tuckers hand. Or by pointing to the others.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, how can you be certain it was my client who skinned Tucker Max alive, dipped his flayed body into rubbing alcohol, then sugar and then dropped him headlong into the polar bear tank at Sea World? There are hundreds of women far more likely to have done this. Lets just review the evidence ... (3 days later and one juror is excused for vomiting) So, you must see -"

The Jury makes an unprecedented move here, interrupting the attorney to assert "We do not need to hear any more. While we are not certain that the defendant, in fact, did the acts alleged, we are certain that she could have... and therefore offer her our sincerest thanks and send her home with this small token of our appreciation." The jury then awards her a prize of $327.86 (all the cash they have) and a pile of assorted watches and pieces of jewelry, applauds her, then stands up and applauds her some more as she exits the court room in a Miss America type sash quickly assembled from the flag and the bailiffs hand cuffs.

This is the REALITY behind the Tucker Max infection. I hope I've been a shot of penicillin in your ass.

Penny the Vituperate

I just sent off an email to a new blogger friend, one equally appalled at the sad state of most blogs. Generally, I just ignore those that seem like journals, written just for the writer. Even though these are published (You can elect to keep yours private and therefore shield yourself from me) I give them a break since they are clearly personal to the writer.

But I ran across one that was clearly written with the intention that it be read by others. This boy thinks he's a humor writer, a Dave Barry wannabe or perhaps, judging from the latest post, a political commentator. You can read it, and you can read my comment HERE, LOOK HERE!

Now, this is all part of the cathartic experience that is MY BLOG. Penny is reinventing herself, coping with life, and having some deep, deep thoughts. What I am not doing, apparently, is becoming less vituperatory.

Which begs the next question; Should I?

I have very little patience for the degeneration of the English language. Any language really, but this is the only one I know -- besides Pig Latin -- so I tend to focus on English. Number One daughter is presently at the center of a struggle for her... um, there's not really a good word for this so (GASP!) I'll just make one up!

Number One daughter is presently at the center of a struggle for her literativosity. She is a bright girl, honors English (She can define hyperbole! Couldn't you just die!?!), yet she has friends of the dimmer variety. Recently I corrected her casual use of the evil double negative. Big mistake. Not only is she gone from my care and custody she thinks she's some sort of adult. I tried to defend myself with "Honey, when you talk like that you sound stupid. I know you're not stupid but other people? Honey! They'll judge you based on how you sound. They'll think you are an idiot..." (The ellipsis denote trailing off wistfully) She contends that her friends will think she is a freak if she talks like me. Given a choice between "Stupid" and "Freak", she chooses stupid as preferable.

(For you fans of the SAT I'll put it this way: Stupid is to Freak as Tolerable is to PAINFUL DEATH BY POKING W/ SHARP STICKS)

I am truly conflicted. I do not want my child to be a freak. We all want our children to be better, to have it easier, than we. Yet, the urge to defend my Grammer Freak nature is almost irresistible. I want to tell her "Be proud of who you are! Your grandmother uses the word "ambliance" (for ambulance) yet look at me. I ESCAPED! You can, too. Run, Number One, run like the wind!!"

I think I may be on the losing side of this fight. Wont you stand with me? Stand of for thoughtful word selection, spell checker use each and every time and Save The Apostrophe !

This has been a special report ~ I'm Bad Penny

Next BLOG Button

That button up there.... it's got me under a terrible strain. I feel the need to entertain. Afterall, it's not your fault that you ended up here, looking into this dark little spot in my brain.

The least that I can do is make it funny...
or informational...
or GRAMMATICALLY FREAKING CORRECT!

But really all I have for you is the proclamation that I am HOT -- HOT BABY -- to be back in school. If the Socratic method of teaching (read public humiliation) is SADISTIC then I am a MASOCHIST. I just plead "please, please, please give it to me." NOW!

Spent today at the library, nose in a book. Oh how innocent and harmless she appears. Some old guy, looks homeless-like and I've seen him there a bit with grocery bags of mystery stuff, says to me "You think you're a lawyer?" and I say "Well, no, I am a law student." He develops a quick appreciation for me. Why? I have no idea. I guess if I was CAUGHT PRETENDING to be a lawyer then that's bad. But I was caught being an ACTUAL STUDENT. Now that's good.

OK. Hope that entertained you.

Evil Shower Moments

What is it with me and the shower? Something womblike and warm. Maybe.

Stood in there today and just cried. And I can not even figure out why I am crying. I am mood-swing-city again, but JEEZE... that hardly surprises you anymore, does it?

I have some concepts at war in my brain. One is the idea that neediness is bad. The other is the idea that neediness is not bad, its just a matter of fact to the human condition. But neither one of these ideas is superior to the other. So they are in constant conflict. Do I banish the neediness? Do I banish the need of people who can not be needed by me? CRAP. I think I ought to banish something, damn it.

I had a truly irreconcilable reunion with jackass. It was all of the good parts and all of the bad parts, keeping me in this realm of 50/50-ness that is so freaking bad for me.

He called me. He's not supposed to do that. But how mad can I be? After all, if I didn't answer or just said "Hello, rule breaker, don't call me." then that would be that. How reasonable is it to try to make him be responsible for me? Not very. But on the other hand, HEY, shouldn't he at least try not to get to me like that? Again, tho, putting it on him...

And in his illicit call... he tells me that I'm gonna have to start going to the donut shop with him again. WHY? Because that is a little bit of me that he wants. And, slap me with a splintered ruler, I want to give it up. What's wrong with just walking to the donut shop? Absolutely no possibility that we'll just drop in the middle of the street and screw like bunnies, now, is there? So, what's the big deal after all?

But in the shower I am thinking I'll just TRADE him something that he wants for something that I want. It'll go like this:

"Penny, you're gonna have to start going to the donut shop with me some time."

"Sure, I will. But only if you'll squish me."

"OK. I'll squish you on Mondays. Donut shop three days a week."

"Nope, one squish for one donut shop escort. No negotiations. If you don't like it, give up donuts."

"Aw, crap, Penny. If I squish you then I'm gonna want to put my hands in your pants."

"Well, fine. But only in the back, over the panties, no cheating."

"Do you have any idea how hot your ass looks in those pants?"

"Wanna skip the donut shop and just get a room?"

"HELL YES."

Game over.

Jackass Update

Tonight I start my first class of the semester. With jackass. Gonna see him. and smell him. and listen to him say things that remind me.

It is so good (miss him like crazy, I do!) and so bad (can't lick him, nope!) that I am just about as spun as you can get. Perhaps if I maintain this manic level of dread and anticipation I'll be so exhausted by 6:45 that I'll just put my head on my desk and snooze.

Cross your fingers that I do not drool and snore. You never get a second chance to make a first impression... (on my evidence prof)

Project Update

Well, my voyeuristic little blog monkeys...

The project turned a corner yesterday when I some how managed to share a "scary" pic with J. Um, maybe it was the Nyquil. That must of been it. A crazy night of flem and Nyquil shots and the next thing I know I've zipped off a nakey fresh shot...

Anywho ~ It was OK. I was flinchy, really flinchy, and I think I might have crawled under the desk at one point but here I am today. Psychologically intact. So the project is right on track!

Did some more today. Not so successful I have to admit. I had the "OH MY GOD!!" send it straight to the trash reaction. Was unable to over come it. I think I kept one. BUT today was belly day. Did I really think that the belly demons would be so easy to banish as the others? I am actually quite certain that they are never gonna be banished but I will still give it the old college try. May linger there though, cause boobs are next. SCARY. and then that little spot where your thigh meets the rest of you...

This has been a project update ~ I'm Bad Penny.

Music 4 Today 4 Johan Von Whatshisface

Deep Water ~ Jewel

You find yourself falling down
your hopes in the sky but
your heart like grape gum on the ground
and you try to find yourself
In the abstractions of religion and the cruelty of everyone else
And you wake up to realize
your standard of living
some how got stuck on survive
When you're standing in deep water
And you're bailing yourself out with a straw
And when you're drowning in deep water
And you wake up making love to a wall
Well it's these little times
it helps to remind
It's nothing without love

You wake up to realize your only friend
has never been yourself or
anyone that cared in the end
That's when suddenly everything falls
or fades
away
'Cause the chains which once held us
are only the chains that we've made

We've compromised our pride
and sacrificed our health
We have to demand more
Not of each other
but more from ourselves

Well it's these little times
that help to remind
it's nothing without love

Number One Daughter

#1 is asleep in my bed right now. 4 1/2 months pregnant, done with her baby's father once again, at such loose ends... How to even describe the heart ache you feel when you can not just bundle your babies up in your arms and keep them safe forever?

Talking with J, trying to figure out how it comes to this. Why? With this girl, I blame myself. I was too weak and too stupid to protect her when she was small and now I have to figure out how to help her learn to protect herself. She is not lost, I know, because I was not lost.

It is most useful, I imagine, to turn my mind to the future and think about her little baby. Will #1 be strong enough, in the places where I was so weak? The best thing to do, the thing I think I have to try to make her do, is the most painful thing I have ever contemplated. But isn't that the true measure of love? To be able to unselfishly take into yourself the pain that you do not wish on another?

Hey Jess...

I read what you wrote about locking up my computer. I'm not going to and here is why: I am an adult, I do not sneak and hide, and I am doing nothing wrong which I think I need to hide.

There is a certain level of privacy and respect that we have a right to demand from others. Right now Scooter is in a very serious state of depression because he is a sneaky, peaky spier. He saw my project, decided that it means something and then proceeded to feel really bad based on what he thinks it means. NOTHING has changed for me, though. My project remains my business and I know that I am not selling naked pictures of myself to sex starved prison inmates or anything nutty like that. But even if I were that's my business. The only one hurt by his spying is scooter.

Now since I am a human being with feelings, I feel bad for him. But his pain is his own fault. And if he had learned at YOUR age to have respect for both himself and for others... well he'd be happier today because of it. So, I take the time to cyber-mama you by saying

"Jess, dear boy, neither a spier nor a hider be."

Oh, crap! I almost forgot... Don't be a dish breaker either.