RIP, Bitches

A walkman with this song playing got me through my first cavity filling at the dentist.

This week was not a good one for entertainment icons. First, we lost Ed McMahon. Then, Farrah Fawcett lost her battle with cancer. And now, the King of Pop is dead.

Venturing out

I'm venturing out on my own. If you haven't noticed, Sukie hasn't been posting lately. She's super busy, and I'm not sure when she will make it back over here. I still love being part of The Bitches of Eastwick, and we will keep the blog up. In fact, some of my posts will still be made here. I had noticed that most of my posts were personal, so I'm going to organize! Come see me over at Alex in Eastwick. Oh, and Jessie, I need a new header. ;)

Don't be a Hatersexual

My dad had a request for Father's day this year. He wanted to march in the first ever Pride parade in my hometown. My family still lives there, and I'm the only one that doesn't. This place is not as bad as Eastwick, but it's still in the Bible belt. So, my 60-something raised in the south dad wanted to march. People were very nervous about what to expect. Baptist churches had obtained permits to protest on the sidewalks. In fact, one Baptist preacher was caught on tape trying to get people to follow the parade and taunt people. The police, surprisingly, put him in his place. I noticed that the protesters were very concerned about people getting it up the butt. This kind of freaked me out. In the end, there were around 700 Pride marchers and 100 protesters. I was very proud of my dad and my hometown today. I have friends that have to say things like, "Well, I'm not excusing my dad for feeling the way he does about gay people, but he was raised in the south, and he is from a different generation." You know what? My dad is too, and he wore the most colorful shirt he had today and marched. I don't have any family members that are gay...at least that I know of. My parents just raised us to believe that you should treat people with dignity and respect. It was just a great day, and I will remember my dad marching in the Pride parade for the rest of my years. It just makes me smile.

Highlights from the West Coast

I had to travel for work recently, and these are some of the highlights.

1. It sucks to travel with a ton of people from work. I was ready to go out to eat at some cool local places. For most of my colleagues, this meant going to Applebees. Hmmm. I love sampling frozen, processed food.

2. I stepped out on my shared balcony, and I found a man sipping his morning coffee, while wearing a lady's nightgown. I stared at the view for a minute, and then I went back in. I peeked out of the curtains a few times. Odd.

3. I don't recommend sitting in front of the three year old wearing cowboy boots on the plane. She's a bitch, as is her mother.

4. I also don't recommend sitting behind the two year old screaming her head off. Her mother then decides it's a great idea to give her THREE hard boiled eggs! That child was cutting sulphuric farts all the way to the east.

5. Do not sit with your drunkard of a boss at dinner. He will tell you secrets you don't want to know and stare at your breasts.

Weight Loss Challenge

It's almost over. I have 7 more pounds to take off, and I will have reached my goal. It's taken me awhile, but I think that's a good thing. It took me a long time to put the weight on, so it shouldn't just fall off of me. I've noticed that it's easier to get ready in the mornings. I don't have to dread going into the closet and not having my pants fit. Everything just fits. Also, I'm not so damn uncomfortable in this heat. First of all, I have never been and never will be the girl that has thighs with that little air triangle between them. Mine touch. I think this is natural. At least now I don't feel like I'm going to start a forest fire, if I wear corduroy pants. See, all of the swishing...and the chunky legs...you get the picture.

I'm trying to change up my exercise routine. I like to run, and I like to use the elliptical. I'm trying to do a little cross training. I bought some new music.

Tell it to my Heart by Taylor Dayne (yes, I'm admitting it)
Some Sugarland song (they're kind of interesting)
Vintage No Doubt (excellent)

Any other suggestions?

Dr. Jerry

You know how you have lots of teachers, and then there are a few you remember? Dr. Jerry was one of mine. He taught me freshman biology, and I was terrified. I was an Arts major, and science was not for me. On the first day, we filed into the huge auditorium, and The Grateful Dead was playing. I couldn't tell you what song it was, but he would change it up a bit. Sometimes a little David Bowie would be playing. There were over 100 students in that class, and I just knew he would never know who I was. By the second week, he knew my name. He also knew I was struggling in the lab that was taught by a TA. How in the hell did he know that ? He cared. I was so terrified that I was going to fail biology. I didn't think I was capable of understanding anything related to science. Dr. Jerry tried his best to change that for me. He would meet with me in his office and go over the lab for that week. I would cry sometimes because I was 18 and didn't want to let everyone down. He would calm me down and start again. I didn't make an A in Dr. Jerry's class, but he didn't care. He was truly more concerned with me enjoying science and knowing that I was capable of understanding it.

Dr. Jerry died recently. He left behind so many loved ones. I never told him how much it meant that he took the time to just know who I was. I never told him that I appreciated the time he invested in me. I haven't thought about Dr. Jerry in awhile, but I cried at this news. His students meant something to him, and I hope he knew that he meant something to us. So, Dr. Jerry, I want you to know that, "When I had no wings to fly, you flew to me." Peace.

Monday Morning Madness

I woke up this morning and was dashing around the house at top speed. I hate Monday mornings. I ran by the television, and I heard Poison playing. I ran back, and I saw Bret Michaels being clotheslined by part of the set at the Tony Awards. My first thought was, "What in the fuck is Poison doing at the Tony Awards?" My second reaction was to laugh so hard that I think I peed on myself a little bit. I know you've probably seen it, but I just coudn't keep my mouth shut. Here it is. The only thing left was a straw cowboy hat from 1983 and a few strands of acrylic hair weave. So sad.

This I Believe...

The This I Believe project is very cool. If you have never heard of it, please click the link and read. I had to write one of these for an organization that I do some volunteer work for. I sat down to write it, and I had no idea what to say. I looked up, and I saw a picture of my beloved doggy, NJG. Some of the long-time readers probably remember when my dog died of cancer a few years ago. I was devastated. I've never loved anyone like I loved that dog. She was just very special. I thought I would share my This I Believe statement with you.



I believe in trust.

During my second year in college, I met my best friend. NJG was a terrier mix, who I found at the local animal shelter. She was shaking and thin when I met her. I took her home, and I had no idea how my life would change.

It wasn’t long before NJG stopped shaking and became my constant companion. We would go on long hikes throughout the South Carolina and North Carolina mountains. Something would pass between us during those hikes. It was not anything I can even give a name. I wanted to let that “something” in. On one of our hikes, some friends were trying to convince me to rappel off of a mountain. I was terrified. What if someone did not tie the ropes correctly? What if I did not secure myself before beginning my descent? The “something” that had passed between me and my beloved puppy took a hold of me. As I allowed a friend to prepare the ropes, I looked down and saw that NJG was sitting at my feet. I knew what she wanted. My friend strapped her to me, and we both rappelled down the side of the mountain. We were a sight, me with my teeth chattering from the fear, and my sweet puppy with all four of her legs sticking out stiff and straight.

Years later I found out that NJG was suffering from Mast Cell cancer. I was going to lose her, and it was going to be fast. I looked around my home, and I noticed all of the photos and memories that surrounded me. By my bedside table, there was a photo of NJG bounding through the waves at The Isle of Palms in South Carolina. She had no fear. It was just trust. In my home office, there was a photo of her staring happily into a sunrise in Boone, North Carolina. Again, there was no fear. It was just trust. Had NJG, who started out as my shaky and thin companion, taught me how to trust? She had.

As her days with me began to slip away, I wondered how I would ever be able to cope without her. During her last week, we had started to take afternoon naps together. I would pull her close to me, and I would fall asleep to her soft breathing. The “something” I had felt in the woods that day came over me again. It was trust.

X-Files

My x-files have been closed for a long time. The x-husband showed up at my office today. He works for the same employer, but our offices are located in different places. Anyway, he shows up to talk. I don't talk to him...ever...so this was weird. He sits down and says, "I'm getting married on Saturday, and I wanted to know if you had a reason that I shouldn't." My response was, "No." He went on to talk about how he wasn't sure, and he wishes things had worked out with us. I wanted to know what marriage he had lived in because the one I had been in sucked ass. I told him that everyone knows how wishy-washy I can be about decisions. I followed this up by saying, "Divorcing you was the one decision I have made that I never waivered on, and I never regretted it." I got up and went to a meeting that I was running late for. Oh, he asked me if I was going to call "her" and tell. I don't even know who "her" is, but I wouldn't do that. That's "her" shit to deal with. What the fuck is wrong with him? Now I'm stuck working with this dumb fucker. Ladies, be so careful of who you marry.

Neighbors

I bitch about my neighbors a lot on here. Kelly posted an entry the other day that reminded me of my old stomping grounds. When I entered grad school, I had NO money. My parents were kind enough to help me out with rent, but it wasn't going to be much. I really wanted to live by myself because I knew I would be studying around the clock. Plus, sharing a bathroom with someone you're not sleeping with or related to just sucks. It was the late 90's, and I had $200. Not only did I find a kick ass place to live by myself, I also had money left over. How, you ask? I lived in the ghetto. It was the old people ghetto, and it fucking rocked. The projects were across the street from my place, and it was always hopping. There would be slews of octogenarians around the laundry area and scattered throughout the porches. Some of the people I met through school were scared of my place. There was no reason. I would come home from a long day at work and school, and I would know the color, make, and license tag number of every car that had even thought of slowing down near my place. I couldn't even get out of the car before one of them was shuffling over there to give me the dirt. It was fantastic. It did suck when the grandkids would visit. They would come over and ask if I had cable. I'd just tell them that my mom wouldn't let me have visitors. They went away. I did have a crack whore knock on my door in the middle of the night. She needed a ride to pick her kid up. Being the kind hearted dumb ass that I am, I took her. She was terrified of my sweet doggy, so I insisted that she come too. My dog sat in the front seat and would growl at her every few minutes. Do you know she actually just needed to pick her kid up? I didn't get mugged or beat up. Poor crack whore just needed a ride.

Now, I live in a nice neighborhood, and I can't seem to get the stupid fucking assholes next door to understand that it is unacceptable to sit in your driveway with music blaring at 2:00 in the morning! That's ok, though. I'm sure they didn't like it when I leaned out of the bedroom window at 6:30 in the morning with my megaphone. Rise and shine, motherfuckers! I miss the projects.

The Great Knife Debacle

Mr. Bitchford's birthday is on Tuesday. I went shopping this morning, and I wanted to make sure I bought something from a shop downtown. I wanted to spend my money locally. I settled on the idea of getting him a nice chef's knife. He's been wanting one forever, and it's one of those things that you won't buy for yourself. We happen to have a locally owned kitchen shop, and the owner is super nice. I popped in and was instantly annoyed. There was a very loud woman on her cell phone. She was screaming about not getting a receptionist position. After the screaming woman finished her call, she asked the owner for a job application. By this time, I had selected a knife and was having it wrapped. The screamer was being told that the shop was not currently hiring, but she could leave her name and number. The screamer went on to talk about how hard it was to find a job and how badly she needed one. I get it. I have friends that have been affected by the economy. I read the paper and listen to the news. I'm not stupid. I am also very grateful that for the most part I haven't been affected. I hope this continues.

Back to my story. So, the shop owner gives me my total. It was a lot, but I knew it would be. I wanted to get him something really nice. The screamer let out a gasp. She turns to me and says, "How can you justify spending that on a stupid knife, when I can't even feed all of my children?" How in the fuck does one go about answering a question like that? I stared at her. She followed up by saying, "You are just flaunting the fact that you can spend that much. This is just stupid." Off she went out the door. The shop owner was horrified. I told her it was fine. While I think this woman was blaming the wrong person, I do understand her frustration. There was that evil side of me that wanted to ask her one question. Who did you vote for in the last national election? I had a hunch about her answer, and I might have slapped the shit out of her. But, what do you do? Can you really be angry at a woman who just wants to feed her kids? I don't know. Any thoughts?

Jessie's Question

I would like to know if you would ever just up and leave eastwick and move somewhere better. Why or why not? Support your argument.

First of all, I think it's funny that you realize somewhere else would equal better. ;) Seriously, that's my plan. Mr. Bitchford has to finish school, and I need to finish too. I have no real attachments to Eastwick, but I do have real attachments to my southern roots. I can't leave the south. Sweet tea was running through my veins when I came into this world, and it will still be there when I leave. The older I get the more I realize how attached to my southern roots that I am. This does not mean I'm attached to religion, conservative politics, or the rebel flag. I just love the slow ways of the south. With that said, I would totally blow this town.

Here's my plan. I would love to move to Black Mountain, N.C. It would still have those southern roots I speak of, but I would lose some of the hateful politics of Eastwick. It would also have more of those slow ways I speak of. Oh, and it wouldn't be so damn muggy and hot there either. Mr. Bitchford is a mountain man at heart, so he would love to live in a place like this. When I was younger, I wanted to live in the middle of everything. These days it sounds appealing to be so far out in the wilderness that I only grocery shop once a month. Don't think I don't have a career plan for my move.

One thing I've noticed is that even if people tend to have more liberal leaning ways, they are still fucking obsessed with their children. I would be moving to a place that was part home-grown boys and part yuppies. This is where The Learning Community comes into play. No, I don't want to be a teacher here, but I do see an opportunity. I would move to Black Mountain and strip the yuppies of their cold-hard cash. I would help parents get their children into The Learning Community. How would I do this? Follow me.

I would start out by befriending some of those crunchy folks that are featured on the website. Organic Gardening Teacher to those kindergartners? Watch out! You won't know what hit you. I also might seek out this school's diversity token...Hui Te Lee. You will notice that the children and the parents must go through a lengthy interview process. If there is one thing I know, it's how to interview. I'm not sure why, but I'm excellent at it. I think I read people well...or it could just be my big tits. Anyway, I have a gift, and I'm willing to share it with the yuppies for a fee.

What would Mr. Bitchford be doing? Probably making moonshine and wearing overalls. So, would I leave Eastwick? Absolutely!

Ask Alex a Question

As you can see from yesterday's post, I have been questioning everything lately. In fact, I have a new list for today. I actually kept some scrap paper with me today and jotted a few down.

1. Why would someone want her armpits to smell like cherries?
2. Why are my panties up my ass?
3. How did I manage to mistake a leg of my panties for the waist? (explains #2)
4. Why do people send you emails that they need to talk, but they never tell you what it's about?
5. Should I be embarrassed that I like to blast Jimmy Buffett on my ride home?
6. Did anyone just see me fall up the stairs?

Ever wonder what my opinion on Prop 8 is? Ever wonder what truly evil things I have done?
If you would like to ask Alex a question, please send an email to alexbitchford@yahoo.com.

Pondering

Things that have run through my head today:

1. Why aren't hairy legs acceptable?
2. Why am I not hungry for breakfast when I have all day to burn that food off?
3. Do people really not understand what a four-way stop is?
4. Did I hit her or did she just run into my hand?
5. Shouldn't being a bleach blonde be much easier?
6. Those might possibly be the largest natural breasts I have ever seen.
7. Where is my flying car? Isn't it 2009?
8. Does my cube mate really think I want to hear him cough up a phlegm ball and spit it into the garbage?
9. Are dirty tennis shoes acceptable work attire?
10. Should I tell the office manager about the goopy mascara that gathers in the corners of her eyes each day?

Fuck you, Eddie!

Mr. Bitchford and I went out for a night on the town to celebrate a friend's 30th b-day. We had a great time, but I was a little nervous about what the night might hold for us. The last time we went out with this group, we almost ended up in a bar brawl on the sidewalk. Basically, some frat boys in pink polo shirts tried to break in line, and Mrs. Flax and I got really pissed. Plus, we had been drinking. Not a good mix. Long story short, the fratastics and the guys in our group sort of circled each other. I got pissed because one of the frastastics pushed Mrs. Flax. I began to verbally attacked him, shove him, and then tried to nail him in the head with my high heel. Not one of my finer moments. So, you can see why I was a little nervous.

Back to celebrating J's 30th b-day. J wanted to go to a mojito bar, which sounded really cool. We all walked in the rain to the bar, and there was a bad vibe when we walked in. Everyone turned to stare, and everyone was drinking water. What the fuck? Isn't this a bar? Have a drink! I spotted an empty couch, so we headed over. There was a group to our left, and they immediately got up. Mrs. Flax noticed a reserved sign on their table. It was reserved for Eddie. A minute later, a waiter came by and said we were in a reserved spot. Well, there was no sign on our table, but that's cool. We decided to move on. Once we were outside, J told us that Eddie's group had gotten up to tell on us. Again, what the fuck? Why wouldn't you just lean over and say, "I'm sorry. This spot is reserved." No big deal, right? It really made me want to go back and scream at Eddie, but I wasn't drunk. Thank God. We moved on to a better bar and had a great waitress. She played with us and didn't care how loud we got. The night ended with public school pizza and shots. I know you remember the square pizzas from elementary school. These were very similar and excellent bar food. We had to walk past the mojito bar to get to our car. It looked like it sucked in there. Of course, I had to yell, "Fuck you, Eddie," as we walked by. Even though I had several leis tied in my hair like a sweat band, no one blinked an eye. Overall, it was a good night, and I realized that I've grown up a bit since my shoe throwing days. This is probably a good thing. Happy b-day, J! :)

The "Nerve" of Skinny Jeans

I just read this article about how skinny jeans can cause temporary tingling thigh syndrome. The solution to this stupid problem is not to wear your pants so tight that I can see your lips that don't sing. Know what I mean? I will never suffer from the TTS because my legs are actually built for carrying me around. I don't have large legs, and I don't suffer from the cankles. I also don't have legs that belong on a spider. Mine do NOT go on forever. If I wore a pair of skinny jeans, I would look like a webble wobble. This is not a good look for me. I would say that a small percentage of women should even be wearing the skinny jeans. Let's say 5% of women actually look good in the skinny jean. Does this constitute an article on how they are suffering? How about an article featuring the suffering that normal women go through because stupid skinny jean wearing bitches try to make you think that they are the norm? Where is that fucking article? I've just had my ass on my shoulders all week, so please excuse this empty, ranting post. Later.

P.S. I will be attending a friend's 30th b-day bash tomorrow night. I'm hoping to snap some inappropriate photos and possibly catch a cat fight or two on tape. This can be a wild bunch, so I'll report back.

Ethical Responsibility or Not

I have a huge dilemma, and I have no idea what to do. I'm in a graduate program with several people that I work with. There are two people that are behind me in classes. They both just finished one of the more demanding professors that we have. For the purpose of this post, let's call these two folks Dip and Dope. So, Dip emails me to ask about borrowing a book. I email Dip back and say congratulations on finishing the battle axe's class. Dip sends me the following email back.

"I will call you in a bit....let's just say, I wrote Dope's final for him on a laptop on the way to class and didn't quote anything....unlike mine where I spent 2 days and quoted EVERYTHING, and Dope made a 34 out of 35, and I got a 31.5 out of 35! You do the math."

They cheated in graduate school! This is just a huge no-no. I don't condone cheating, but it does happen in high school and undergraduate school. People are young and stupid. They tend to learn. By the time you are in graduate school, you should know better than to pull this bullshit. It sounds corny, but you should really respect the institution, your professors, your classmates, and your degree more than this. Oh, and respect yourself. Mr. Bitchford thinks I should just suck it up and move on. He says the world just doesn't care. It really bothers me that my classmates and I have worked our asses off, and these two cheat their way through a course. Will they keep doing it? Who knows? Did they really even earn the degrees they currently hold? I have no utterly idea what to do...if anything. Help.

Tiny Dancer

Mr. Bitchford and I are babysitting this weekend. We are keeping one of Mrs. Flax's little ones. Our bedroom door swung open at 6:45 a.m. There was a little voice that squeaked, "I'm awake...GET UP!" I felt a large thud on the bed, and then there was a knee in my kidneys. The dogs started raising hell and jumped on the bed. The Tiny Dancer then requested pancakes and sausage for breakfast. We stumbled out of bed and headed towards the coffee pot. There were several high pitched squeals as we shuffled towards the kitchen. Mr. Bitchford started breakfast, and I began to unload the dishwasher. Do you have any idea how hard it is to unload someone else's dishwasher? Mrs. Flax will probably never find her measuring cups or whisks. Who has more than one whisk? I digress. Mr. Bitchford made some pretty good pancakes and some turkey sausage. We ended breakfast by putting little pieces of sausage in between the Tiny Dancer's toes. We proceeded to let the dogs loose. More high pitched squeals of laughter. It was a good morning.

UPDATE: I spoke too soon about the good morning. As I was posting this, I heard the Tiny Dancer screaming for me. I found him in his bathroom. He was bent over holding his ankles with his butt cheeks spread. He needed me to wipe him.

The Mail Saga

The US Postal service (in Eastwick) sucks ass. I don't understand what the problem is. Can they not read? I'm constantly getting other peoples' mail, which makes me think that my mail is going to other places. I've affixed a giant sticky note to the inside of my mailbox. It has my last name in bold print. If the mail doesn't say Bitchford, then why the fuck am I getting it?!? I received someone's unemployment check today. This shit is serious. There is some poor man waiting on his check, and I have it. I can't decide if I should take it to his home, or if I should put it back in the mailbox with a note. I would hate for the man to miss some of his bills or something else important. I've lodged so many complaints, and I just don't think I should have to pay for a PO Box. Also, I doubt I would make it by there very often. My favorite piece of misdirected mail was from a prisoner. It was a sweet, little St. Patrick's Day card. It had a cute mouse on it and said, "Top O' the Day to You." Then I read it. Some of my favorite lines were:

"Baby, I hear that ass is so fat!"

"I know how you do, Boo."

"I heard you were a flip mode girl. Why don't you answer the phone?"

My brother-in-law ended up naming a band The Flip Modes because of this card. In fact, every New Year's Eve someone pulls it off the fridge and gives us a little performance. My favorite is our friend J.A. He adds a little Irish accent to it. So, while this particular card was a true gem, for most part, the US Postal Service still sucks complete and total ass.

P.S.
Continue to send good vibes. My first class meeting is Friday!

A Good Idea at the Time

As I sit here reading page after page of law definitions, I wonder why in the hell I thought it was a good idea to go back to school. The last time I walked across the stage I just knew that was it for me. I had gone as far as I wanted to go, and I was satisfied. Wait. I started to remember the fancy velvet hoods that the graduates before me were getting. Damn it! I really wanted one of those. So, here I am. I'm drowning in text that the normal person would consider mind-numbing, but I actually find it interesting. I can't wait to bust out in a meeting with some of my new knowledge. Our first official class meeting is on Friday, and I'm nervous. According to the syllabus, the professor kind of sounds like a dick. He doesn't allow drinks in his classroom. WTF? Plus, I've seen him. He wears a bow tie. I generally hold that against men, and I do not know why. Maybe it's because these same men probably wear sun visors and play golf with the likes of Lovey Howell's husband. *sigh* I guess I'll suck it up. Send some good vibes my way.