More Father Time Than Baby New Year



Hmm, I had big plans to drive up to Austin and join my Big Sis, her partner and all her partner's family and lovers-in-law for dinner, then I decided I'd rather spend New Year's Eve in my cozy little home.
I don't like being away from home on Amateur Night--too many nitwits outdoors, not just driving but out being crazy in general. A friend of mine caught a bullet in the head one New Year's Eve while she was in the back yard of another friend's house. The bullet fell straight down out of the sky--some asshole from up to three miles away shot his gun in the air to "celebrate."
Last night was a New Year's Eve-Eve party at the local lesbian cultural center.
I skipped that this year, too. I went last year and had to smile at and chit chat with a lot of people I didn't like, drink cheap wine and listen to amateurish live music provided by some kind of local lesbians with guitars band. Ugh.
I make a lousy lesbian.
I only like the sexual part of homosexuality--the social part makes me want to scream. I can't relate. Just the haircuts alone make me want to run screaming from the room.
I found out recently one of my ex's from a few years ago and the oafish, loud, obnoxious, pretentious asshole she ended up with broke up a few months ago. I had to chuckle. They are both control freaks and notoriously selfish, so I knew they'd eventually be at each others' throats.
I just wondered who'd dump who first, but I always gave the edge to my ex. She likes to empty people out, then dump them unceremoniously without so much as a glance back.
My ex was one of the obnoxious one's patients before they started fucking. I love a professional with integrity, don't you? Heh, heh, heh.
Anyway, I have made better use of my time tonight.
I am baking a pan of cheesy grits- my latest passion. Later on I'll have them with some thin slices of hickory smoked ham and a little salad. Mmm.
Then at midnight, I'll put on my bullet resistant Kevlar helmet and go outside to observe my lawless neighborhood's annual fireworks extravaganza. Seriously, these monster truck driving motherfuckers spend entire paychecks on arsenals of weapons grade fireworks. I'm talking those enormous chrysanthemum explosions that light up four square blocks. I may take pictures just to prove it.
My kitties kind of like the explosions. See, they love to jump up on stuff and topple it to the floor and make loud booms. So the explosions outside make them envious that they aren't making the noise.

I am so thrilled 2007 is almost over. My thick black cloud of depression is slowly lifting and I just know 2008 has to be 100 percent better.

Well, I may be a lousy lesbian but I still love a gay show tune, so I'll close with this one. Happy New Year, my dear friends and readers. All the best to you.

The sun will come out, tomorrow
Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, there'll be sun
Just thinking about, tomorrow
Clears away the cobwebs and the sorrow,
Til there's none.

When I'm stuck with the day, that's grey and lonely,
I Just stick out my chin and grin and say,

Ohhhhhhh
The sun will come out, tomorrow
So you gotta hang on til tomorrow,
Come what may,
Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow
You're only a day away

The sun'll come out, tomorrow,
So you gotta hang on til tomorrow,
Come what may,
Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow,
You're always a day away,
Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow,
You're only a day away.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow,
You're only a day-a-way!!!

Final Rant o' the Year




It's been, as Queen Elizabeth once said, an annum horibilis for me, especially the last three months.

Between the scorching resentments I still have toward my ex-boss the Devil Wears Payless and that Pussy of a Mormon, no-nuts havin' CEO, and my sweet Mama passing away three days after that debacle ended, I feel as raw as a bug sprayed with RAID.
I am so depressed and easily annoyed right now, virtually everything (besides my siblings) I encounter outside my front door bothers me.
To wit:
-Turkeys should not be fried. It's wrong and I want it stopped.
-Those fucking renters next door have installed a regulation sized basketball hoop next to the tin garage doors about 12 feet from my office window. The BANGS, the screaming, the smack talking and the hip-hop on the boom box- sometimes as late as 11 p.m.- are driving me insane.
-I went mall walking this afternoon before meeting a friend for an early movie. The stores were all very messy, especially Burlington Coat Factory, with shoes scattered all over the place and a bunch of lazy, fat employees standing around ignoring the mess and gossiping about the hickies they got last night from their felonious slacker baby daddies.
-All the Christmas shit everywhere was half price but you can tell they jacked up the original prices before they halved them. Crooked bastards!
-The theater we went to used to serve these fabulous burgers and fries for about 7 bucks. Now they jacked the price up to $7.62 and replaced the delicious fries with a miniscule bag o' chips. A Diet Coke was $3.21. What's with the odd prices? What kind of fuckery is this?
-I went to a holiday dinner last night at the local AA/Al-Anon joint (I'm sort of in Al-Anon) and those fucking recovering drunks showed up all dirty and unshaved and ate like pigs. My chair was jostled about five times by enormous stinky people as I tried to eat. I left the nanosecond I was finished, still chewing on the way out to my car.
-Clerks in convenient stores are either rude Indians, chattering Pakistanis or stupid gang banger chicks with their eyebrows drawn in with Sharpies. It took one of them about 60 full seconds to figure out how to give me 92 cents in change tonight. I wanted to tell her to stop talking to her stupid coworker and just give me my fucking change, but I thought she might come over the counter and punch me.
-I hate those new diamond "journey" necklaces that start with a small diamond and end with a big one in a little swivel. What a gimmick. "If you really loved me, you'd give me a journey necklace." People fall for that shit. It's the diamond tennis bracelet of the 2000s. Cliche, mass marketed jewelry equals a mediocre romantic mind to me.
-Retail stores are getting out of hand with the mailed Christmas catalogs and e-mail offers. This season I received a pile of catalogs about four feet high- all from the same three or four retailers. Hey LL Bean, Eddie Bauer, J. Crew, Land's End and Coldwater Creek-- I knew your entire inventory back in October, so there was no reason to send me 20 variations of each catalog every fucking week.
-If people have children, they should not be allowed to take them out in public unless they have first trained them not to issue blood curdling screams whenever they feel like it. It's not cute, it's not funny and something is wrong with anyone who thinks it's okay.
-Big pick-up trucks do not need extra high tires, and anyone who thinks he needs them has a 3" penis and parakeet balls. It's called over-compensation, needle dicks.
-What was Benizar Bhutto thinking exposing herself to that throng of madmen?
-The only thing worse than holiday music is Country Holiday Music. Toby Keith can suck that little drummer boy!

Whew. I feel a little better.

Now I will mention the people and things I loved best this year.
-My big sister and brother and my other sister have all been very gentle with me (and each other) since Mama died. They have been such a comfort.
-Big Sis bought me my dream boots for Christmas and they fit like Mr. Lucchese descended from Heaven just to customize them for me. I love them!
-I had my first taste of cheesy grits with mild jalapenos last night and I swear they are my new favorite food. I plan to get the recipe and make a bathtub full of them, then jump in with a big spoon.
-My brother got me a remote control helicopter for Christmas and my kitties went berserk. Nick the baby was so excited, his teeth were chattering like when he sees a squirrel outside the window.
-Amy Winehouse's Back to Black CD has prevented me from possibly driving off a cliff this year. She's a lot crazier than me, and I found that comforting.

Now let's all go have a happy fucking New Year.

My New Column for 2008
ASK AUNT KAREN

What to Tell Your Teens About Jamie Lynn's Pregnancy



Dear Parents of Teenagers,

Many of you have allegedly written to me to ask, "What should I tell my teen about Jamie Lynn Spears's pregnancy?"

That's very simple.
Jamie Lynn is a millionaire who has her own popular television show on Nickelodeon TV. She makes more than your teen's mommy and daddy--and their bosses--combined.
When Jamie has her baby, she can hire a nanny to take care of the baby. She can even afford 'round the clock registered nurses to babysit.
She can still go out and party, afford the finest clothes and accessories, live in a swanky house with a nursery and have a maid keep the place clean.
She can hire a wet nurse to feed the baby so she can still drink and do cocaine to her heart's content.
Basically, Jamie Lynn can use her baby in photo ops and only play with her when the media is watching, like Paris does with her Chihuahua.
So, tell your teen when she makes the kind of money Jamie Lynn makes, go ahead and get knocked up at age 16. And don't forget to remind your teen to create the baby's trust fund!

Merry Christmas to All


I didn't put out Christmas decorations this year. Nick my cat is only two and he still cannot resist messing with lights or shiny things. He would have a Christmas tree totally dismantled in fewer than 10 minutes, then he'd drag the tinsel & broken ornaments to my bed sheets and want to be rewarded for his hard work.
So instead I offer one of my Holy Rollers- hubcaps I've turned into religious icons.
This one one of the few I've kept in my collection.
Tomorrow night begins The Official Events- dinner at one of my sisters' houses for Christmas Eve, then up to the Hill Country to my brother's house for Christmas Day, then finally home to try to get my glucose levels back to normal until New Year's Eve.
Like the orphans we are, my siblings and I have apparently gone overboard buying gifts for each other this year, which is always a good thing.
I hope you can all forget about Bush and his band of criminals for just a few days and enjoy your holidays.
What are your plans?

Jesus, Give Me a Break



I read a story on AOL tonight that said many high-end hotels no longer stock guest rooms with Bibles.
I have to say, I'm not a Bible reader. I don't own a Bible and have only basic familiarity with parts of it, like a psalm here or a nutty story there.
I have never needed one when I've stayed at a hotel or motel, nor has any companion I've known needed one.
The story to me reflected an understanding that the Bible is not every person's book of faith, and that the better hotels are more likely to offer hospitality to an international clientele of varying religious faiths. No problem.

The problem started with the comments section under the story. So many tight-assed "Christians" said they wouldn't stay in a hotel that lacked the requisite Bible, and from then on they'd ask before they made reservations.
1. If they are that hot for the Bible, wouldn't they carry their own?
2. Do these narrow-minded hillbillies even stay in 5 Star hotels?
3. As long as Motel 6 and La Quinta still have Bibles in every room, what's the problem?

As a lapsed Catholic, I have to say I've had a lot of fun in various hotels with a Jew or two. Did they bitch because the room lacked a Torah? Uhh, no.

Hotels are good for two things: traveling and sex.
If God wanted us to read the Bible in a hotel room, they'd remove the beds and install pews or rocking chairs. Then after a good long session of reading scripture, guests can turn on Fox News or AM Radio featuring Rush Limbaugh.

Dale and Jack Sittin' In a Tree





How delighted I was to find that Dale from last season's Top Chef and Jack, who left Project Runway early because of a contagious staph infection, are a couple now.
The infection is all cleared up.

Aren't they cute together?

My Lucchese Boots



In response to Lulu Maude's request, here's a pic of my less spectacular than my all time favorite Lucchese boots. Well, it's just one boot but you get the idea.

While Christmas Shopping Online



'Tis the season for giving, so naturally as I carefully sifted through dozens of websites searching for gifts for my loved ones, what do I spy but my all-time favorite color and style of Lucchese cowgirl boots? Yes, with their tan suede rough-out bottoms and perky turquoise shafts, they just scream authentic, rodeo goin' Texas girl.
Not that I am an authentic cowgirl who attends rodeos, but if I were these would be the only boots I'd ever need.
Lucchese boots, as you may not know, are hand-crafted in Texas. So carefully are they crafted, the moment you slide them on they take on the shape of your foot and Become One with you. They fit snugly around the instep for stability, with a little bit of room for the heel to move, whether bronco busting or busting a move at your local saloon.
But wait, there's more.
When I was a mere girl of 18, I worked the summer before college as a classified ad taker for the San Antonio Express News. One day, a charming older man with a soft Italian accent called to place a help wanted ad. His name was Mr. Lucchese and he owned a local boot-making business.
Shocked that I did not recognize his name or his company, he patiently told me the story of how for decades he'd carefully and lovingly crafted his boots, for real cowboys as well as presidents and kings throughout the world. He described the lushness of the leather, the delicate hand stitching and the hand-rubbed patina on each and every pair.
He was so sweet and I remember years later when he died how kindly he explained his life's passion to me.
Of course I couldn't afford a pair back then; in fact I didn't even see any of them up close until about five years ago when I discovered a Lucchese boutique in an ultra fancy shopping center. In I walked to a leather scented wonderland of the most gorgeous collection of cowboy boots imaginable. Some cost upwards of $10,000, but most fell into the $500 to $1,000 range.
Last year, I finally ponied up the money for my first pair- an on sale, smooth medium brown leather pair with rather plain stitching up the shafts. They were not my first choice, but they were affordable and beautiful, so I settled.
My first choice is pictured above. Were it not the season for giving and had I not just quit my job, I'd buy them immediately and never look back.
But I have my dreams, and maybe one day I'll be strutting around town in my own pair of turquoise and brown rough-out leather Lucchese boots.

***TELEVISION ADVISORY***




Thursday, 7 p.m. CST Survivor CBS (yes, our manipulative, deliciously devious diva Todd Herzog is still in the game)
Thursday, 8 p.m. CST Top Chef Holiday Challenge Bravo (featuring favorite chefs from previous seasons battling it out for holiday cuisine supremacy)

Don't anyone bother calling me tomorrow evening. Thank you.

A Very Uplifting Story



Today I read about Brad Pitt's new plans to help rebuild the Lower 9th Ward of New Orleans. I was uplifted when I read the plans and visited the site and I want to share it with you.
For those of you who haven't had the good fortune of visiting New Orleans, it's like stepping into an early European village, filled with gorgeous architecture and historical significance.
Like most cities in the Deep South, there is a large African American population and most are poor. They comprise a large part of the service industry and they uniformly show great hospitality, warmth and charm- without being obsequious or disingenuous.
The lower 9th Ward is not a tourist destination. It is where the poor of NOLA live and as such, has been a very low priority for post-Katrina FEMA.
Brad Pitt has worked with several architects, designers and environmentally conscious organizations to create The Pink Project, which describes a master plan to enlist Americans' help in creating a beautiful new 9th Ward that will become an inspiration for rebuilding ghettos and barrios throughout America. Be sure and check out the various architectural drawings for proposed homes. Incredible.

Ho Ho Ho, Y'all



This antler chandelier is just one more item I do not want for Christmas, but tomorrow off I go to meet my favorite cousins and Big Sis in a little town called Fredericksburg, where this beauty is for sale.
The town is a large German settlement, meaning there's a micro-brewery and a bakery on every block, along with a zillion little shops that feature the same Texas-themed tzachkes.
I love taking out-of-state guests there just to see their faces when they see how many things can be made with cowhide and deer antlers. Seriously, you can buy a damn coffee mug wrapped in cowhide with a deer antler handle.
Also, because the state flower is the bluebonnet, you can also buy virtually anything that belongs in or around a house with bluebonnets painted on it. They even sell old hand-saws with bluebonnets painted on the blades.
The coolest place to visit there is an antique store where they sell old, 1940s cowboy fabrics like Roy Rogers or Dale Evans would like. I don't have any use for them, but I like to pretend I have a lake house decorated in 1940s Texas kitsch, with big leather couches and chairs, deerhide throw rugs, cowboy fabric throw pillows and a big old antler chandelier.
Hell, I may wear my Lucchese boots tomorrow.

Are You Fuckin' Kidding Me?



"KHARTOUM, Sudan (Nov. 30) - Thousands of Sudanese, many armed with clubs and knives, rallied Friday in a central square and demanded the execution of a British teacher convicted of insulting Islam for allowing her students to name a teddy bear "Muhammad..."

Can you believe this bullshit?
I'm all for religious freedom, but this Islamic rule about not depicting the Big Mu in cartoons or drawings or naming teddy bears after "him" is nuts.
What kind of religious prophet would dictate that a dowdy, middleaged school teacher from the UK should be put to death because she let her students name their teddy after this spook?
Why are we at war with people this back-assward?
Had that idiot Bush spent a quarter of the money he's pissed away in Iraq looking for alternative oil resources, we could have told the entire Middle East to blow it out their crazy Islamic asses.
Oh, Oh! But what about Israel, you say?
Bush would still have had enough dough left over to donate a missile system positioned every 10 feet of Israel's borders.
One of the craziest Islamic nations is Saudi Arabia. Their rules and laws rival that of the Sudan. And guess what?
They own Bush.

The Gloves Came Off at the GOP Debate



No, Karl Rove wasn't a part of the GOP debate, I just like to think of him as the face of the Republican party. I love his latest whopper-that Congress rushed Bush into war with Iraq. Uncredible!
As for the GOP debate, I was delighted to see Mitt Romney and Rudy Giuliani going at it like the two little bitches they are.
Plus the topic of what is and isn't torture was instantly smothered by former POW Walnuts McCain- who wisely said the use of torture by Americans against enemies was simply unacceptable.
Again, GOP Ron Paul made the most sense. He's the only true Republican in the race.
If I had to vote for a Republican, he'd be the one.
Most of the rest are just fascist bastards looking to continue the insane policies of Reagan and Bush. P'tooie!
Surprisingly, Baptist Minister Mike Huckabee came off like a gentle soul with deeply ingrained beliefs that clash with some of my own, yet I think he's sincere and consistent. He's sort of a Jimmy Carter type, but the neo-cons and neo-Christians won't nominate him--they like their Christians a lot meaner.

Enough of that.
I am in the midst of television bliss this season.
Project Runway is back with some fabulously lousy designers. Last night's challenge was to design a TV-appropriate outfit for former football player Tiki Barber. Some of the designs were dawg ugly- hilariously so.
Survivor is still plugging along, this time they are in China and the cast is a lot of fun, including a deviously delicious gay flight attendant named Todd Herzog.
Dirty, Sexy Money is a wonderful new show on ABC. Peter Krause from Six Feet Under stars along with Donald Sutherland, Jill Clayburgh and Billy Baldwin.
It's sort of like "Dynasty" without all the civility.
Dancing With the Stars ended this week, with Indy 500 champ Helio Castroneves winning the hideous mirrored ball trophy. He beat out Mel B. from the Spice Girls, which I think was a bit of a ripoff because Mel really threw down. At least they finally got rid of the horrid Marie Osmond, whose freestyle performance was hysterically awful. She dressed as a big baby doll and her partner basically dragged her around like a limp dishrag.

The worst show for 2008 had to be HBO's Tell Me You Love Me. It's the saga of an older female sex therapist and the lives of her patients. The casting director should be shot. The male characters are especially unattractive--one has a pointy face, one looks like he has retardation, one needs a good bath, ad nauseam.
The sex scenes contain full-out nudity, including one episode which featured a close up shot of one of the guy's huge red balls as he's mounted atop his fiancee. Ugh.
Plus the kissing scenes have very loud smacking and sucking noises, which is not an attractive sound unless I am making it. I just hate that show.
To make it worse, they have three or four real-life couples (including the token lesbian couple) discuss the show afterwards. I pity the poor men, having to rehash the ridiculous scenes that even Oprah would find too insipid to discuss.

Coming soon!

My take on the GOP debate and (more importantly) the current slate of watchworthy TV shows.

Happy Thanksgiving



...And while you're giving thanks this Thanksgiving, please include the tattered remains of the U.S. Constitution and whatever sincere legislators we still have in office after that fascist Bush and his friends launched their bloodless coup d'etat against us back in 2000.

And please give thanks for those former Bush zombies who finally are coming forward to tell the truth about this savage, scofflaw regime.

Another One Squeals Like a Pig



It seems in advance of his book slated to hit the stands in April '08, former Bush SpokesLiar Scott McClellan has leaked a few excerpts. Turns out that Bush, Cheney, Rove and Scooter lied to him and claimed they had nothing to do with the outing of covert CIA Agent Valerie Plame.
Scotty believed them and went forth spewing those lies on their behalf to the unwitting Whitehouse Press Corps.
I wonder if Scotty thinks by saying he was lied to, it will somehow indemnify him against perjury charges after Special Prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald grilled him?
I wonder if this will re-open the investigation and McClellan's modified testimony will seal the deal on Bush, Cheney and Rove?
Before he became president, George Herbert Walker Bush was the CIA Director. When he "served" in that capacity, he said publicly that the outing of a CIA Agent was tantamount to treason.
He was right. Without protecting our nation's CIA agents, our international spy network is compromised.
Valerie Plame's cover was blown and any CIA agent who was associated with her had their cover blown, too.
Treason occurred, and Bush, Cheney and Rove intentionally committed it.

Meanwhile, McClellan either unwittingly lied then, intentionally lied then, or he's lying now. Or just maybe...he's telling the truth now. It's hard to say which BushCo scumbags are honest and which are not. Anyone who'd work for Bush has to be at least a shady character, including McClellan. But he might be telling the truth.

If he is, and let's hope he is, a new Special Prosecutor should be appointed immediately. Bush, Dick and Rove should submit to polygraph testing. If they refuse, that's a telling enough sign to start immediate impeachment proceedings.
Once that's accomplished, they should be tried in court as traitors.

And if the penalty for treason is death, then so be it.

Clothes I Do Not Want for Christmas

More Things I Do Not Want for Christmas

Things I Do Not Want for Christmas

Things I Do Not Want for Christmas

1.

2.

3.

1. Everyone loves gummi candy but I draw the line at gummi haggis.
2. While 3-D camo might be a hunter's dream, I prefer to hunt naked.
3. I prefer to do my pole dancing in clubs, not at home.

A Dearth of Good Blogging Material

Sorry folks, I've been leaning into grief and inertia the past couple of weeks and today I realized how important it is to give my readers fresh meat.
Please stay tuned for my first annual, "Things I Do Not Want for Christmas" blog.

Scram, You Stupid Asshole!



Swell. That idiot Bush showed up in San Antonio this afternoon, purportedly to visit mangled Iraqi veterans at the Center for the Intrepid at the Fort Sam Houston Army Post. He didn't mention that the $50 million it cost to build the center came from private donors such as Rosie O'Donnell and other Hollywood lefties.
He did say this, however: "I am pleased to be here in my home state of San Antonio, blah, blah, blah..."
After his cursory 10 minute visit where he had to strain to seem concerned, off he dashed to local lawyer John Steen's mansion to appear at a fundraiser for Republican Senator John Cornyn, another neo-con shitlick. Steen was named by Bush as Chairman of the Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission- a cushy, Mafia style gig that controls who gets permission to sell alcohol in Texas.
Cornyn is a cross between Alberto Gonzales and Ann Coulter in terms of being obnoxious. As former Attorney General of Texas, he set records in okaying executions.
Anyway, when you crunch the numbers, tax payers picked up the tab for Air Force One, the shitload of Secret Service agents accompanying Bush, and countless SA cops who had to protect the bum as his entourage made the trip from Ft. Sam to the mansion in Terrell Hills to collect a million dollars for Cornyn's campaign.
Yes- we taxpayers probably paid more than $2 million so Bush could scam $1 million out of his criminal cronies here in the state of San Antonio.
Pardon me while I projectile vomit.

My Inspirations



I always wondered what James and Nick did all day while I was at work.
Well, this is pretty much it.

Back to the Snark!

Now that Mama has had her beautiful send-off and life is returning to normal, I have to discuss a new topic that's been gnawing at me for a while now.
The Mormons.
It turns out I am incredibly intolerant of the most intolerant "Christian" religion I can name. You know why they call it the Church of the Latter Day Saints? Because the men think they are saints. No, really.
This recent disgruntlement has been prompted by two things- the CEO at my former job Mr. Schmutz was a pissy little Mormon and so is that phony Mitt Romney.
Both are richer than hell Republicans because they worship MONEY more than anything else. Neither of them gives a shit about people, unless those people are in lockstep with them and accept their authority without question.
Before I made the final decision that I can't stand Mormons, I took the time to read about them on their own web sites. I wanted to be fair.
Here's what I discovered.
1. THEY REALLY DO WEAR MAGIC UNDERWEAR. Yes, they wear special underwear under their real underwear because it gives them x-ray vision, allows them to fly and gives them the power to detect lies. Their magic drawers have all kinds of mystical embroidered patches on them that boost their superhuman powers.
2. When a Mormon man dies, he inherits his very own planet that he populates with his progeny. That's one reason why they multiply like deranged rabbits.
3. A Mormon woman cannot get into Mormon heaven unless the man who owns her (aka her husband) says her secret name upon her death, which is basically a backstage pass issued by Jesus to the woman's owner.
4. Mormons think they are the only Christians who have the inside track with Jesus, therefore they have preferred status in Heaven because they are already saints by the time they get there. Women Mormons don't have the same status, but they are special just by proximity to their saint husbands, kind of like a rock star's roady.
5. They not only think homosexuality is an abomination, they devote entire web pages with messages to Mormon boys cautioning them not to masturbate. They suggest cool showers with the door left ajar, sleeping in pajamas bottoms that are hard to undo, brief time spent on the toilet, singing hymns when the urge to jack off hits, sleeping while holding a small Bible, and consulting with a Mormon Bishop after an unfortunate nocturnal emission occurs.
6. They think sinners (aka non-Mormons) deserve to be taken for all they're worth, using their own vices against them. Take the Mormon owned Marriott hotel chain, for instance. They have no qualms about offering in-room porn movies because they make a mint from it.
7. They pretend that polygamy no longer exists, yet the Mormons basically run the Utah government and tacitly approve of the tens of thousands of practicing polygamists there by refusing to enforce the laws against it.
8. The incidence of statutory rape and incest against young Mormon girls by adult males is as high or higher than the average in the general U.S. population. Same goes for domestic violence.
9. You cannot attend a temple service or even enter a Mormon temple unless you're a member who can prove membership. The hierarchy is so exclusionary and white, older male dominated, even those born into Mormonism can't rise to the highest levels of the church leadership without an invite from the Big Men. They all wear white from top to bottom (shoes included) to church...no exceptions.
10. Women cannot assume leadership positions in the church. They are slightly better regarded than blacks, but not by much.
11. If your child is a Mormon and you are not, you are not allowed inside to witness their temple wedding.
12. Temple weddings are done in large groups, without flowers, music or celebration. Just solemn mumbo jumbo from the old, white men officiating. Ceremonies are very fast and receptions are out of the question. A bride over the age of 21 is considered an old has-been who's lucky to get ANY Morman man to marry her.
13. Mormons are not allowed to swear, drink alcohol or caffeine, no smoking and no close dancing. Even most music is considered sinful. They are encouraged not to socialize with non-Mormons. All that's left for them is marital sex, which they consider a marathon event. A Mormon man with fewer than five kids is considered a real failure, so they fuck themselves silly and breed with their wives until their uteruses fall out. An elderly widower is encouraged to remarry quickly and start breeding immediately.
14. They are chock full of secret handshakes, manly secrets, gibberish code words, covert rites and rituals that make the Shriners and Knights of Columbus look like gossipy blabbermouths.
15. Unless you're a conservative, repressed, white male you simply cannot become an important Mormon. Therefore, your Christian religion and connection to Jesus is negligible at best.
And Mitt Romney has the colossal balls to think he can legitimately sidestep questions about his insane cult membership. Must be his magic underwear that makes him so fucking special.

El Dia de los Muertos

In Mexico and parts of South Texas, Nov. 1 is called el dia de los muertos, or "the day of the dead."
It's the time of year when people honor their dead ancestors by visiting the cemetery, making altars to the dearly departed that contain flowers, their favorite foods, toys, photos, etc.
Mexicans really know how to celebrate their departed loved ones.
Mama's grave site today will be festooned with flowers, helium balloons and other colorful tributes left over from yesterday, in addition to zillions of new floral tributes just for her.
Today also is my mother's mother's birthday, so we figured Mama planned on this day to be interred as a tribute to her mom.
My siblings and I did a lot of pre-planning for this day, so we've had the luxury of adding a lot of little touches at the last minute.
My sister Jan arranged for an opera singer to perform "Ave Maria" at the end. For the "ashes to ashes" part, I mixed up some soil from Bethlehem, sand from a Southern California beach and some dark purple glass glitter.
I think all of my siblings purchased some serious bottles of aged whisky, rum and wine for the wake. A friend of the family produced a fantastic video tribute to Mama that we'll view at the wake.
The funeral is in four hours.
I feel like I'm going to a party celebrating the merry life of my Mom.
I'm in a state of grace this morning, just waiting for the miracles of the day to unfold.

Ave Maria
Gratia plena
Dominus tecum
Benedicta tu in mulieribus
Et benedictus fructus ventris
Tui, Jesus
Sancta Maria
Mater Dei
Ora pro nobis peccatoribus
Nunc et in hora mortis nostrae
Amen.

See you soon, Mama.

A Poem by W.H. Auden, adapted for my beloved mother

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message She Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

She was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

My mother passed away this morning, peacefully and without any pain.
I loved her more than words can describe. She was 94. She had a wonderful life, filled with love and laughter.
Please pray for her safe delivery.

I KNEW IT!!!




I have a theory that deeply suspicious, secretive people are themselves up to no good. Well...
Tonight at the psychiatrist's party, the hostess cornered me and told me that she has on good authority that the DWiP is having an affair with a board member.
Yes, the "good Catholic" is sneaking off on all those three hour lunches, day-long trips to Austin and morning breakfasts in order to bone some old doctor.
No wonder she's been such a bitch--she's been walking on the wild side, balancing Catholic guilt with middle-aged titillation.

Isn't it too delicious?

The Long Nightmare is OVER!!!

Thank God, Schmutz finally figured out that he'd wrung out about as much work as he was going to get out of me, so he sent notice to my acting supervisor to let me know today would be my last day at work.
Yep- no more dreading having to show up until next Wednesday. I am free!!!
Though I felt like storming into the DWiP's office where she hid while I was packing my shit to leave, I resisted. However, just before I left I couldn't resist leaving a long stemmed black rose (someone had given me for Halloween) on the floor outside her office door.
She's a small town, superstitious Hispanic Catholic- that kind of shit really scares the bejeebers out of them.
Anyway- my aches and pains are gone, my brow is unknitted, the smile is back on my face and I am free, free, free.
Tonight, I'm invited to a party at a very cool Hindu psychiatrist's home. I met her while I was working there. She was vice chair of my publications committee.
I imagine every Hindu physician in town will be there, so I am already rehearsing the shtick I plan to do about the Mormon CEO and the repressed Catholic DWiP witch.

I am so relieved and happy!!!

Bye bye, you psycho bitch!

AH-OOOO!




It must be the full moon, because this morning at work was very strange.
Lots of office doors were closed, lots of odd, furtive looks were being exchanged in the halls and the DWiP was overly chirpy when she arrived at the office.
Around 9 a.m. was the monthly Director's Meeting, which takes place in the smaller conference room next door to my office. The walls are paper thin and I kept hearing the DWiP's fake laugh piercing the air.
You know how movie psychopaths laugh or smile? The mouth looks happy but the eyes look angry. That's how the DWiP looks.
My spies told me she was asked during the meeting what the status was on hiring a new editor, and she demurred and said she first needed to discuss it in private with Mr. Schmutz. Eyes rolled.
Later, another spy told me to walk by the larger conference room and look through the window. There were the DWiP and Schmutz. Her face looked pained and her body language was ramrod stiff, and Schmutz was talking like Ward Cleaver when he's lecturing the Beaver.
Meanwhile, my allies were gathered in various offices planning tonight's going away bash for Carol and me at a local TexMex place known for their lethal Margaritas. They told me they were torn between wanting to seem all-inclusive in their invitation and wanting to avoid any margarita-induced confrontations by inviting the DWiP, Bitsy von Schtup the duplicitous CFO and Schmutz.
I said not to worry-- those chickenshits would rather die than subject themselves to potential public humiliation. Besides, the last thing I'd do is justify any of the DWiP's insane allegations about me.
Apparently, the loss of Carol and me has divided the company very severely. Half the directors and most of the staff are furious at the DWiP and Schmutz, and those who support them are feeling the chill from the others.
By 11 a.m., I got antsy and told the Operations Manager (and interim supervisor) my cracked rib* was really hurting and I needed to leave for the rest of the day so I could rest up for tonight's tequilapalooza.
By then, the IT Manager was in my office sending my files to the Operations Manager, at Schmutz's insistence. The IT guy was very pissed about it. He thought Schmutz was intentionally trying to humiliate me, but I assured him there was nothing left for him to find, not even any funny e-mails people send each other in any office.
I hate vibes like I felt this morning.
All the secrecy and paranoia felt sticky and cloying. The DWiP's latest plan to hire one person to do Carol's and my jobs has spread like a California wildfire. Everyone but the DWiP and that cheapskate Schmutz know that one employee trying to do both jobs will only end up fucking up two offices and cause all of them to have to pick up the inevitable slack.
I have a sneaking suspicion that Schmutz is gonna tell me to go ahead and leave (with pay) before the end of the month because he's afraid I might say something to further divide the office. He's too isolated and stupid to realize the horses left that barn a month ago.
But even he can no longer ignore that his stupid decisions have created a deep chasm in the office, and he must know on some level that the DWiP's stupid plan to hire a twofer will save money in the short run but sacrifice quality in the long run-- and the members we serve will end up being pissed off royally.
He brought in three dozen Krispy Kremes yesterday morning "in thanks for all we do." Everyone knew it was a phony, half-assed attempt to try to soothe the angry masses. For him to think donuts will take the place of integrity and honesty just shows what an imperious, out-of-touch asshole he is.
And the DWiP knows she's been exposed. It shows in her fake laughter and tension-filled neck veins, and she must know on some level that she'll be on very thin ice if she runs off a 13th employee.
It must be hard to maintain a shitty personality while still expecting a huge paycheck.
And for a "devout" Mormon like Schmutz, it must be even harder to hide the fact that he worships money more than he worships Jesus.

*my latest pseudo-ailment

Scrooged!!



Here's the latest in my rapidly dwindling saga at work.
By now, nearly everyone knows I gave notice because my boss The Devil Wears Payless was a bitch and the CEO Mr. Schmutz is too afraid to do anything about her tendency to run off employees. I was #10 and my colleague Carol was #11. Yes, the DWiP has run off 11 employees in only seven years.
Like me, Carol was in mid-management. I was the magazine editor, publications manager, graphic designer and chief copywriter and she was the marketing manager and events planner. Her job included planning and executing two major fundraisers a year-a winter formal gala and a spring golf tournament. She also led the scholarship committee and acted as the liaison between our company and the ladies' auxillary.
Between the two of us, we worked our asses off while the DWiP took all the credit.
Well.
It seems they've had a bit of a problem recruiting our replacements, so the DWiP came up with a brilliant plan that the cheapskate CEO apparently loved. She has a "friend" she wants to hire to replace both Carol and myself. Yes, she wants to roll two 45-50 hour a week jobs into one, presumably for the same salary either Carol or I got.
Carol, whose last day was today, and I howled with laughter at the different skill sets each job requires. Anyone who would sign up to do both would have to be too green to know the difference, meaning both departments will end up turning to shit in no time.
Meanwhile, the DWiP failed to debrief Carol even one iota about the status of the upcoming December gala. And needless to say, the DWiP hasn't asked me a thing about upcoming magazine issues because we haven't spoken since late September.
I hope the woman the DWiP has recommended for the double decker job can hit the ground running, without any questions or need for guidance.
But gee, think of all the money the CEO will be saving!
His Christmas bonus will be huge.
Good. He'll need it for medication once he realizes he let the DWiP run an entire department into the ground and he has to answer to 4,000 pissed off members.

Dumbledore is Gay!

Sorry, I had a photo of Albus Dumbledore all set to upload but Blogger is having some technical problems that won't allow uploads for now. Hey, it's a free service, they deserve a break.
Anyway, at a speech given recently in NYC, Harry Potter author J.R. Rowling said Hogwart's Headmaster Albus Dumbledore is gay.
I love it.
Rowling has made billions off the Harry Potter book & movie series, so why the hell not say a major character is a gay man? The Jesus Freak homophobes don't let their kids read Harry Potter anyway, so where's the harm?
Hopefully, evolved parents will explain to their kids that the beloved character is gay and it's no big deal.
But of course, the Fox News crowd will raise hell about this, hillbilly churches will burn books and neo-con pundits will make it a big ass story.

KarenZipdrive's Fall Cornucopia Blog



I haven't got enough for a full blog on any particular topic, so I've decided to slop them all together and call them a cornucopia.
TV:
Dancing with the Stars: Now that they've jettisoned the paralyzed Kodiak bear Wayne Newton, the show has regained its legitimacy. Look to Elio the racecar driver or the little chubby blonde chick Cheetah Girl to win.
Cavemen: I watched it once and it's actually worse than the GEICO ads. Rather than dressing like preppies, they should just shave, get a haircut and disappear.
THE ECONOMY & WORK:
-Early this month at the monthly staff meeting, the CEO Mr. Schmutz hastily assembled some happy good time economic reports he found on some Republican web page and explained to us that inflation was down and our cost of living increase would be 2.5 percent. Obviously, he's about as familiar with grocery shopping as George H.W. Bush 41. He also suggested that we all pay off our credit card balances monthly, to avoid costly finance charges.
-Later this month, he broke company rules by mass e-mailing us some kind of Focus on the Family petition request that God's name not be omitted from governmental ceremonies, literature or other state business.
-Our Marketing Manager Carol, who's far sneakier than I, had been secretly looking for another job. She found a directorship at a non-profit for $18,000 more per year and gave two weeks notice, effective October 24. That leaves the DWiP with exactly zero employees.
-I got a firm job offer as well, editing a glossy magazine. The problem is it's in Denver, which is in Red State Colorado, which may as well be Texas. I considered it for a day or two but I'm not going to take it. If I want to be around pretentious assholes, I'd move to Dallas.
WEATHER:
It's October 14 and 86 degrees outside. Early Halloween decorations on homes in my neighborhood are starting to fade in the sun.
HEALTH:
I am depressed and I think I have PTSD after all this corporate torture. I think I may sleep from Nov. 1 to the 15, then wake up and start looking for a job. So far I have managed to stave off acting on vandalism fantasies I have about the DWiP's car and home. Also I have ruled out punching her in the face. She'd tattle for sure.
MUSIC:
If you haven't heard anything about Amy Winehouse besides her unfortunate love for liquor, drugs and domestic battering, check out her CD Back to Black. I bought it and love it like crazy. She's like Etta James meets Janis Joplin. Buy it and learn to love her music before she OD's and leaves us.

Help Me Think of New Ailments



The HR Director (who loves me) mentioned that salaried employees can show up at the office for five minutes, then go home sick for the rest of the day without having to take sick leave.
So far since my resignation, I have taken about four days, leaving for lunch then calling in sick. First it was a migraine, then it was allergies, then anxiety. On Wednesday it was "explosive diarrhea." The receptionish laughed out loud at that one.
I need some new ailments. Can you help?

Adding Insult to Injury



The DWiP and our CFO Bitsy von Shtup must be very busy finding new ways to drive me crazy before I leave.
Last Friday, after I was gone for the day, they reassigned my covered parking spot to another employee, who drives a banged-up piece of shit with sun damage and a bashed in rear end.
They couldn't wait till the end of the month, they had to do it NOW.
I guess it really chapped the DWiP's ass that my spot was two rows closer to the building than hers. She just couldn't resist...with the CFO's help.
Meanwhile, the CFO is telling her whole staff how hard she fought to keep me there.
As you may recall, she was the lone NO vote I got from the directors.
How petty can these people get???

Forget the DWiP, That Was So Last Week
Meet Todd Herzog, my latest new soon-to-be buddy from Survivor China



All right, I admit Survivor was getting a little dullsville and even I was starting to lose interest. That is, until I watched the premier of Survivor China and saw all the stuff I like about the show: great scenery, plenty of stinky Alpha Male assholes, a traditional hayseed wimp, some cute chicks and yes, a classic little gay boy named Todd.
Todd Herzog is a flight attendant, about 5'9" and cuter than a bug's butt.
Best of all, he's very bright, slightly arrogant, sneaky and conniving!
Surrounded by obnoxious Neanderthal He-Men, Todd is not at all intimidated by their chest beating and knuckle dragging.
One of his opponents, a super creepy pro poker player (aka: bum) named Jean Robert, stared Todd down on episode #1 and said, "You're smart. I'm gonna have to watch you."
Todd reacted to him like one might react to a haughty Great Dane whose slobber just landed on his own paw.
Anyway, the plot thickens.
Last night I was on Pogo Games, an online service that offers all sorts of games like poker, mah jong, dominoes etc. I was playing Dice City Roller, in an uncensored room with a lot of drunks and potheads cussing and having fun. We all have "mini" cartoons of ourselves that show up when we win. So this woman named Sharon won and her mini showed her in a blue bathrobe with a scowl on her face. I loved it and complimented her on it.
We started chatting and it turns out she's Todd's Canadian Aunt.
I didn't know the kid's name, but she described him and I thought, jeeze, her nephew's the gay kid with the smarty pants 'tude.
You old timers may recall when I interviewed for this blog Sandra Diaz Twine, the winner of Survivor from a few seasons ago.
Well, I'm hoping Sharon will get Todd to give me an interview, too. How cool would that be?
The taping is over and a winner has been selected, but of course the cast is sworn to secrecy, so Aunt Sharon doesn't know if Todd won or not.
But she does know he's got Hollywood sniffing around and gay boys are barking at him like he's a poodle in heat.
Survivor China is on CBS on Thursdays at 7 central time. You better start watching.

I Think I Have a Going Away Present for the DWiP's Car