Me-Me Monday -- A Bit of #57 for your Halloween Spook-musement

Hey kids! My hubby is soooo sweet to post for me whilst I'm on my death bed. I'm feeling like a pile of poo, which would make a great Halloween costume if I could manage to get to the door and hand out candy. I had this Scary Me-Me all ready to go, but just couldn't drag my dying carcass to the computer to post it.

I think I'll leave this up through tomorrow and return to bed. Thank you so much for all your get-well wishes. I'm going to take your get-well advice, but I may have to spread the alcohol out over a week-long period.

Until I feel better, I leave you with my Scary-ass Me-Me Monday (and then some) post.



Welcome to another installment of, "Come ON -- tell me the WHOLE story!" otherwise known as "I love to talk about myself", and in a pinch can be called Me-Me Monday. The object of the game is to refer to your 101 Things About Me list, pick one of your "things" and tell the whole sordid tale.

I've had some requests for the image, and to make life easy for you, I've put it on my flickr page. Here's your sign ;)

Make sure you replace the parenthesis with < > .

(a href="http://funkybug.blogspot.com/")
(img src="http://static.flickr.com/29/43386062_d480de8e1d_o.jpg" border="0")(/a)

Remember... no "()", but "<>"

In honor of Halloween (Happy Candy & Boo! Day to you all!), I present #57 on my 101 Things.

#57 -- My husband saw Aileen Wuornos hitchhiking in Florida on the night she was executed.




Here's the story, as told by LoveBug:

"I was driving home late on the night of October 9th, 2002 -- on the backroad late at night with a co-worker. Along the side of the road I caught a glimpse of a woman. As we passed, I realized her face looked familiar and said to my co-worker, 'Did you see that woman? That woman looked just like Aileen Wuornos,' to which my co-worker replied 'Who?' I then told her that Aileen Wuornos was a highway prostitute, who lured her male victims with promises of sex. Once off the highway, she shot them, robbed them, and left them to die. She was convicted of six murders, and was currently in Starke Prison awaiting her execution."

"I didn't think any more about it until the next day, when you told me that Aileen Wuornos had been put to death the morning before -- on October 9th. After a bit of frantic researching, I found out the road I was driving on the night before -- the road I spotted the familiar woman on --it was just off that road that she committed one of her last murders."

Is it possible that after her execution, Aileen's restless and tortured spirit returned to walk the backroads that led to her demise? Was she re-living her life, or was she returning to a pattern that defined her existance?

LoveBug goes on to say, "Make sure you tell your readers that I don't believe in ghosts." I assured him that fact was #56 on my list. Then I smiled and said, "Yes Honey, you don't believe in ghosts... but it really doesn't much matter to them if you believe or not."

Have a happy Halloween, and if you live in Florida, might I suggest you stay off the backroads (insert scary music soundtrack here).

Funky's Sick

Greetings Funkyfans,

I am writing this for Funky, who is feeling sick. She has decided that it is either Bird Flu, SARS, or the Martian Death Flu.

Hopefully, she will be feeling better and back to posting. Meanwhile, why don't you give the girl some love and post a "get well" in the comments.

Thanks. Lovebug.

Random, Incohesive Post and WTF

Shew! HNT is a LOT of work! It's hard work -- it's almost as hard as being President! I just spent the last three hours sending back some comment lovin'! May I make the following suggestions? I mean, it's Osbasso's game, but we're all one big family, right?

Leesa suggested last week that for one day -- one lousy stinking day -- you turn OFF the verifuckation! I delete maybe five spams per day from my blog, and most of those have hit OLD posts. However, I probably type apoisdh soien zytcnwp about 200 times during HNT. Come on -- let's share the love and get rid of the fucking. Well...the bad kind of fucking, I mean to say! If you're so a-scared of spam, Haloscan Baby! Just one day? Pretty please? Okay -- but I'm NOT waiting for the "word" to load up, and I'm NOT going to "try again" with a new set of fucked up letters.

With HNT being so wildly popular, cretins were bound to crawl out from under the rocks and start hitting our pictures. Don't let them upset you. That's their game. HOWEVER, if you're a regular HNTer and you don't like something, how about SKIPPING it! No one likes to be insulted. Play nice, or take your ball(s) and go home.

That's pretty much all I've got today, kids. Stuff Portrait Friday is all about the Halloween decorations and costumes, and...um...we sort of ain't gone none yet! I've got a great parting WTF for you though:



That's my desk, after ONE week of blogging. Lordy lordy...

Speaking of blogging -- for Monday's Me-Me, might I suggest that in honor of Halloween, you pick a number from your list that might be kinda scary or otherwise apropos?

Have a fantastical weekend, Kids. I'll see you on the flip side of it!

Halloween Edition HNT

Get it?

It's a BOO! b

Goddammit I crack myself up.

Happy HNT -- if you're still trying to figure out why I keep showing you my nekkidness, click here:

Conversations (The Fountain)

Outside the courthouse is a fountain I pass daily. It's not so much a fountain as three descending pools of the clearest water you've ever seen. The water pours from the top pool, over the slate to the next pool, and into the third where it's pulled under to be recycled again and again.

pool, pool, pool, pull...

Every day I pass this fountain, and every day I long to fall into it. I ache to fall into it. I don't mean that I want to dive in, or step in with one foot; I want to fall into it, slow motion... a graceful, weightless liquid...each drop of purity covering my arms, my back, my hands, my face, until I'm buried underneath the quiet, gentle flow.

pool, pool, pool, pull...

"So, you want to jump in the fountain?" says the Voice.
"no..." says i, "...you're not hearing me."
"I heard you. You want to jump into the fountain" insists The Voice.

I do not want to fall into this fountain. I want to live in a world where a woman in a business suit outside of a courthouse can hike up her skirt and sink into a public fountain without anyone thinking it odd. I want to return to my desk and drip dry while I go about my work. I want my co-workers to blink nary an eye as puddles of purity fall to the floor in a pool beneath my feet.

pool, pool, pool, pull...

"That's craziness!" says The Voice.
"now you're hearing me." says i.

So, How Was YOUR Weekend?

Wilma, sweet Wilma. I hope my fellow Floridians in Naples are doing as well as we are here in Central FL. Wilma was all bark and no bite...in fact, she didn't even take the bark off one single tree. I'm grateful for so many reasons -- mostly because I never made a water & battery run. She DID however, kill my Ponytail Palm. Bitch



Saturday I took CuddleBug and three of his heathen friends to Clearwater for the day. Word gets around in a small, small town (props to Mellencamp) when a new skateboard shop opens up, and these boys were itchin' to break a deck. If you've ever been to Clearwater, you'll realize there are exactly two things to do there; beach it, or pray to the aliens (it's a Scientology reference...keep up). Since I was not in the mood to do either, I strapped on my Nikon (the second best electrical thing I strap on) and played sport photographer.

Once inside the park I realized I was not going to make it a full four hours. It was hot -- extremly hot, and it smelled like sweaty boys. CuddleBug thought it was cool to have his own photographer, and I was amazed how many kids tried to sneak into the shot. After a few test runs, I managed to capture these.




This last photo is a test of my dedication as both a mom and a photographer. I stood ready to snap my son flying into the air and landing in a pit of foam. As he came off the ramp, I shot from instinct, then let out a loud, "Oh CHRIST!" He continued his journey through the air, landed butt-first in the foam, and pronounced, "I meant to do that. I, uh, saw it on a video." I'm not sure what feels worse; seeing my child hovered over a wooden platform, or downloading my photos and realizing I shot first and swore second.

A girl can only smell so much boy sweat before she has to go shopping. I wandered a miscellaneous mall in Tampa for a few hours, then realized if I hurried, I could make sunset in Clearwater. I hit the first strip of beach just in time to watch a couple geting married. It was a beautiful, quiet, private moment, and NO I did not take pictures. (Okay, I did snap two, but they didn't turn out). The sunset was not as beautiful as I had hoped, but I did manage to capture a few nice images.





I had a few spare moments before heading back to the skateboard park, so I sat in the Jeep and looked at my pictures. I did notice the pick-up truck pull in beside me, and I did notice that the driver left the engine running. I didn't get nervous until he rolled his window down. My "ruh roh" alarm went off, and I packed the Nikon and pulled out of the parking area. As I backed away, the driver stepped out, dropped the elastic wasteband of his shorts, and showed me how exciting my photography really is. Note to self: never shoot pictures at sunset off the Courtney Cambell Causeway, unescorted.

Sunday, sweet Sunday was a day for more yard work. My husband has made me his garden bitch, and I'm loving it. Here's what we've accomplished in our pink wonderland of a backyard.

This is a shot of the dry river bed we cut, leading from the patio to the gate.


Here's a closer view of the path winding toward the gate.

Right up TO the gate...

Leading away from the gate...

A close-up of the dry river bed, nicely pedicured toes and all...

AND a funky-assed plant thingamabob that DID weather that bitch Wilma.

Next weekend I will attempt to take more pictures; it's good for my soul. I will not, however, be viewing any wangs I do not hire and pose myself. Seriously.

Me-Me Monday -- #24

I'm blogging during Wilma just to let you know that your comments regarding our safety are so appreciated! We're doing fine so far -- she's barely roaring, and as you can tell, we still have power. Rock on a/c. Rock on bloggin!



Welcome to another installment of, "Come ON -- tell me the WHOLE story!" otherwise known as "I love to talk about myself", and in a pinch can be called Me-Me Monday. The object of the game is to refer to your 101 Things About Me list, pick one of your "things" and tell the whole sordid tale.

I've had some requests for the image, and to make life easy for you, I've put it on my flickr page. Here's your sign ;)

Make sure you replace the parenthesis with < > .

(a href="http://funkybug.blogspot.com/")
(img src="http://static.flickr.com/29/43386062_d480de8e1d_o.jpg" border="0")(/a)

Remember... no "()", but "<>"

I'm actually skipping around on my list this week. In honor of my son's 13th birthday, which just happens to coincide with Me-Me Monday (Mother, were art thy priorities?)...

#24 -- My son is 13 and wants to be a writer


This is the most recent photo of my Cuddlebug, taken on the dawning of his 13th birthday. Look at those eyeballs...he's a heartbreaker, and he's always been so.

This baby went through a great deal in his first two years. He was constantly getting sick, the kind of sick where you rush him to the emergency room with a 103+ temperature. Within a few months, his pediatrician realized something wasn't right. He underwent test after test, being poked and oogled, until it was determined that he had asthma.

I can remember placing my baby in his car seat to give him his breathing treatments. His little face would wiggle back and forth, trying to shake the mask that delivered precious medication. We discovered that singing "Ga-GO went the little green frog one day..." appeased him quickly. He would smile beneath the plastic, inhale, and relax. He was a pleasant baby, full of giggles and gurgles and hugs. Oxygen may have been in short supply, but congeniality was not, and it would remain that way long after he outgrew his asthma.

When CuddleB was in first grade, we got the shock of our lives. Someone actually DIDN'T like him. That someone was his first grade teacher. This relationship between teacher and student destroyed his self-esteem. He began to feel as if he could do nothing right. I spoke to the teacher at great length, but little could be done. CuddleB's grades fell, and his spirit fell with it. At one point his teacher sighed and said, "I give up on your son. It pains me to say this, but he'll never amount to anything."

At the end of the school year, this "teacher" (those of you who really ARE teachers will know why I put that in quotation marks) was forced to say something nice about my son on his year-end report. Beneath all the "less than satisfactory" and "below expectations" remarks was this phrase: "Writes interesting stories." My boy held that piece of paper like an acceptance letter from a major publishing company. "Mom, she thinks I'm a good writer?" The sparkle in his eyes was unmistakable and I quickly said, "Yes, baby. She KNOWS you're a good writer." He was stunned, and excited. We stopped at Walmart on the way home from school and purchased several journals, notebooks, pens and pencils.

From that day on, CuddleB has done exactly two things with passion and ferver; He skates, and he writes. If there's a room to be cleaned, homework to be done, or chores to complete, you will find him either out in the street, or curled up in his room, writing and writing and writing. He says he wants to be a writer when he grows up. I've read his stories; he already is. What this "teacher" didn't realize when she threw him a bone, was that she had accidently gotten exactly one thing right; the boy can write.

Happy Birthday, CuddleBug. I pray the next year brings you as much joy as you've brought my life. I pray you never break a bone grinding a rail, and I hope you always know that you ARE a writer.


Love,
Mommy

Google Me This

I just don't have the energy to play SPF or WTF this week. Sorry y'all, but I'm backing down this time. I've got to batten down the hatches and pray Wilma doesn't visit me this weekend! So, here's a quick little meme to hold the blog down until Monday. Hopefully the electricty (and the computer and the roof) will be here on Monday. Sigh.

I stole this from Osbasso (see's he's got more than the nekkid thing goin' on) awhile back. Go to Google Images, type the following catagories, post pics, lather, rinse, repeat. Play if you want - tagging is "so old school".


- The name of the town where you grew up


This is only part of Bloomington, but it's a lovely part. This shot is also across the street from an area where I really grew up -- socially and psychologically. It's smack-dab downtown Bloomington. Are ya feelin' me, Townies?

- The name of the town where you live now



I swear to GOD nobody has taken a shot OUTSIDE of this park in Lakeland. It's so much prettier than just this park. I think I just got my next photo assignment.

- Your name



I'm not kidding - this was the second photo that popped up under my name. This is SO not me, that's it's perfect.

- Your Grandmother’s name (pick one)



My grandmother's name was Flora. She would never have shown her breast. She was as beautiful as this work.

- Your favorite food



Cheese, glorious cheese! Any kind of cheese -- bring it on. The more the merrier.

- Your favorite drink



I got addicted to "water with gas" while we were in Italy a few summers ago. You can have "natural" water, or "water with gas", which is frizzy water. Honestly, anything you can order that comes with gas -- where you can say, "I'll have the gas, please" is alright with me. Tastes right good, too!

- Your favorite song


"Allison" by Elvis Costello. This is not the "Allison" in the song, but this is the way the song makes me feel.

- Your favorite smell



I once told my bestest girlfriend Jodi that when we were old, we would sit outside Wal-mart and wait for the bus. When we are old, and we are waiting on the bus, we will smell of rose water.

HNT, Oh Glorious HNT

My Eyes Are Up Here...No, Higher...HIGHER!!!

When you're a mere 5'2", that's all men ever see.

And yes, I CAN tell the difference between someone engaged in conversation and someone struggling not to visually plunge head-first into the depths of my golden cleavage.

Not that I've ever minded...

Didja play?

*Which version do YOU like better?

Fuck

Did I clear the room? Damn.

Please grab an adult beverage (or spike your coffee if you're at work) and enjoy the show. Today we are discussing cursing.

Four-Letter Word

So is that it? Really? Fuck. Shit. Damn. Piss. Hell. Yeah, they all have four letters. So is that the qualification or the limitation? Can I just take four letters, throw them together, then yell them out the car window when my road rage kicks in?
ECOP!
FUGU!
BOHY!
ZIGZ!
If that's not the qualification, it must be the limitation. But if so, where does that leave, bastard, asshole, and bugger? Not to mention bloody, the worst of all curses... not even close to four letters.

FUCK

I had some lady tell me that 'fuck' was an acronymn standing for Fornication Under Consent of the King. I call bullshit. Elvis wasn't even alive when this word started making the rounds.

Kids and Cussing

"That's MY fucking phone!" I hear her scream from the other side of the room. Yes, that's the lovely mouth of my fourteen-year old daughter. Other than telling her to GIVE her brother her "fucking phone" I have to smile just a little bit. Years ago, "poop" would have garnered a mouth full of Dove. So why do I let my kids cuss? Well, it's not so much that I let, as I don't forbid. Yes, I tell them to mind their mouths around their mother, but aside from that, there are no penalties for uttering profanities in my house. I want them to understand the power of words -- fully comprehend that each selected syllable carries a weight that is not recognized by a great portion of our neighbors and countrymen. Additionally, dropping a hammer on your big toe demands an explicative. "Fuzz-Bunnies!" just doesn't help the pain go away.

So, if you're ever in the neighborhood and you hear a stream of sailor-worthy words stream forth from my humble abode, please don't run in fear. Sticks and stones may break your bones, but "monkey-fucking moron" will never hurt you. Unless of course, my kids follow it up by flinging sticks and stones at you.

Random Updates

Remember THIS?


The damned thing WORKS! I swear to you, I'm sleeping better than I ever have, AND my husband reports zero disturbance on most nights. Surprisingly, this has improved our sex life...yes, you CAN take it off in a jiffy ;)

Remember THIS?


Well, it's been two weeks, and I'm meat-free. I do need to clear something up; I'm NOT a vegan. Silly me. I didn't know being a vegan was different from being a vegetarian. I do in fact LOVE my leather, and have no intentions of giving it up. Also, I'm a Lacto Ovo Vegetarian, which means I consume eggs and dairy. No one shall come between me and my cheese. Eggs I can live without, cheese I cannot. It's actually not been as difficult as one might think, mainly because I don't care for red meat, and only ate chicken mixed into things. I can do the same with tofu quite nicely. My appetite has decreased dramatically, and the weight is coming off (6lbs as of this morning)...plus I have a ton of energy. I did not know that McDonald's bathes their fries in animal fat -- so I fell off the wagon once, but I'm thinking ignorance doesn't outweigh intention. Speaking of intention, there is such a thing as a pepperoni plant, right?

Remember THIS?


Well, now that I've got a new computer, I can get back to playing Sims2 and reporting your stories on Adventures in Cyberia. If you aren't already a Sims2 character, and would like to be one, please let me know and I'll get you all borned up and stuff! The website hosted by my pal PantherGirl and designed by the ginormously talented Xtessa is a blast! Plus, all Blogger Sims get that linkage lovin'!

Remember THIS?


Well, NOLA is officially off, onacounta there really isn't a NOLA at this time. My heart, she is a-breakin' as I do love me some Cajun hospitality. Plus, my husband totally needs a shot at redeeming himself from the last New Year's Eve in NOLA, where he passed out before midnight after drinking the equivalent of four bottles of wine in just under three hours. All is not lost, however, as we are now headed here for New Year's Eve:

I'm so excited because I do love me some NYC, and some cold, cold weather. This is really a dream come true because since I was little, curled up with the mom and Dick Clark, I have wanted to be in NYC when the big ball dropped! The bestest part is that my brother-in-law and his wife are going to be there with us. They are more my family than my own family, and I am blessed, I tell ya, blessed to have them with me on my vacation, and in my life in general.

Remember THIS?


Yeah -- it's gone. I don't know if it's seasonal, hormonal, or biophysical (shit, did I just make up a word? Oh well.)... but it's gone again. I feel tons better, thank you very much! No really, THANK YOU VERY MUCH for all your words of wisdom my funky bugs, your well-wishes, your prayers, thoughts, and jokes.