So I was really super excited about going out with some other persons of the female persuasion, as I haven't been to a bar since Jesus was a baby.  There was this bar that I didn't know existed (as the one place I used to frequent is no more and I don't think the girls would have enjoyed drag queens and girly men like I would have).  Anyway, the bar is in what used to be an elementary school, didn't look like it would potentially ruin my current reputation (note I say "current"), they had a band, a wide variety of libations, and wasn't too far from home.  The place was cool, if for no other reason than it used to have elementary kids running around inside it.  The band was great.  But FF1 was clearly not enjoying the music, as she only likes country and this was sort of a modern day Jimmy Buffett band kinda thing.  After the band finished the first set, FF2 said, "Well, I'm about ready to go.  I have two bottles of wine at home and I'm going to get toasted."  Say what?  Oh-kay... well I offered to go somewhere else, but FF2 said she preferred to get drunk at home and FF1 said maybe another time.  So we leave.  We hadn't been there two hours, mind you, and I'd only had two shots of tequila, and FF1 insisted on driving because she didn't think I was sober enough.  Come on.  Two shots?  Really.  So we left.  I got home, and the house was all dark - strange, since it wasn't even midnight.  I tried to get in, but the door was locked the way that you can't get in even with a key.  Knock on door.  Nothing.  Cursing and grumbling, I made my way to the back window that I know the secret was of getting into.  Dog 2 gets out of the gate, and won't come back.  Lots of profanity.  Fine, let's just get in first.  Squish.  Step in dog shit.  In heels.  Can the night get any better?  Apparently yes.  I manage to get in, go out to retrieve Dog 2.  Dog 1 gets out.  Fuck.  Lots of cussing and demands that Dog 2 return.  Dog 1 comes back in.  Dog 3 sticks her nose up my butt.  Dog 2 won't come in.  Finally comes back just in time for Cat 6 or so to walk by.  Dog 2 takes off again.  Finally, I get him back in, and in the process of closing the pain in the ass gate, I lose one of my rings.  I bend down to look for it in the moonlight, and get a hand full of worms and another nose up the butt.  Sigh.  I give up and come back in.  Sit on the couch, channel surfing.  Dog 2 barks loudly.  The Soninlaw comes down the steps carrying a sword.  You know, the night would have been perfect if he had stabbed me with it.  Damn him!

No, it's not Slim Shady.  Sorry to disappoint you.  It is I, Rowan, the mouth of Mouth of Madness.  I will pause while you cry with relief and delight.  Okay.  That's enough.

I would like to say that I am back for good, but you (and you) and I both know I'm way too flaky to be trusted, so I will say that I am back for a time to thrill and delight you with my questionable content.  Prepare to be amazed!

When you last tuned in (provided you did... if not, you might want to read back at least a little ways) I had decided to conduct an experiment in sociology which involved me writing to several prison inmates in order to learn... stuff.  Well, I learned stuff all right.  I learned that only a complete imbecile would marry someone who is in prison.  I won't mention the name of this idiot, but her initials are ME.  At any rate, I have been separated from my STBX (soon to be ex) for over a year now (and by separated I mean he has been back in jail for that long).  I am just waiting for my divorce to go through.  Hopefully, that will be the end of that fiasco. 

In other, greater, news - I am a grandma!!  The Girlchild married the best damned country boy you've ever met and they conjured me up a grandson.  Captain R. is the most wonderful, charming, cute and amazing baby this world has ever had the pleasure of meeting.  I'm not just saying that because he's my grandson, either.  If you don't believe me, just ask me.  I'll tell you.

But anyhoo, since I am no longer churning out quadweekly (yes it's a word, I just made it up) love letters and Captain R. has discovered this thing called sleep, I have a little time on my hands.  What better way to relieve stress and entertain two or three people than to snuggle back into the padded cell I call my blog.

Enjoy.  Or don't.  I really don't give a flying fuck. 

Yes I do.  But I can act like I don't.

So I was pissing around on Facebook, and came upon this group about the Free Credit Report commercials (I swear to God I am not endorsing the fucking FCR because it sucks balls. Sorry for the Tourette's moment).  Anyway, it made me realize that my old post about them was way out of date, so I thought I'd update it.  Well guess what, bitches?  If you cancel your Comcast internet account, they'll cancel your web storage account quick as fuck, too.  I only thought of this after the fact of course.  So yeah, if you're looking at this page?  It's all fucked up.  And I haven't really quite decided whether I give enough of a fuck to fix it.  It's not like I'm a what's his face - Perez fucking Hilton or something.  I'm pretty sure only 2 people even read this shit anymore, so... if you find anything in this blog remotely interesting or informative or worth a chuckle, let me know.  In the mean time, I'll be rotting my mind on /b/.

Things not allowed in the home or car of a person on probation in the state of Virginia:

Guns (including BB guns or Airsoft guns, paintball guns, or anything that resembles a gun)
Knives (unless they are deemed for use in the kitchen, and this includes knives for decoration, such as swords)
Drugs (of course - however, if someone else in the house is prescribed a controlled substance, that person must have said drug under lock and key)
Anything gang related (which includes Pirates t-shirts, Duke University sweatshirts, and paw prints - evidently The Girlchild and I are possible members of some gang out of Fresno with our paw print tattoos)

And how will determine that your home is free of said things?  Why by searching it, of course!

Places that may/probably will be searched:
Drawers
Automobiles
Refrigerator/Freezer
Under matresses

I'm not kidding.

Now before you go off on a "they're criminals, there should be restrictions, blah blah blah", cool your jets while I get to the point I am trying to make.

What prevents someone from getting a pocket knife?  Do they ask for ID?  Of course not.  Can you buy a BB gun without a background check?  Of course you can.  So what is preventing someone from getting any of these things after the inspection is over?  What's preventing someone from hiding all that stuff at Uncle Bob's house until after the inspection?  Nothing and nothing.  If you were going to hide a gun in the house, would you stick it in a drawer knowing someone was coming to inspect?  Only if you're pretty stupid.

Do you know how many places one could hide something in plain sight if they really wanted to?  Now honestly.  I've seen a lot of forensics shows.  I've read a lot of forensics books.  I haven't given the topic a lot of thought, but I can see numerous places just here in my living room where I could stash something and it not be suspicious.

Okay, rant over.  Gonna go get my nine out of the freezer so if I decide to kill something in cold blood, my gun will be cold and ready.  (Kidding!!)

So I was going to write a rant about this pompous asshole who thinks he knows everything there is to know about the type of person who wears tattoos (hint: we're all poor, uneducated, and most likely, criminals).  But since The Girlchild found the article and started a discussion on Facebook, I don't wanna steal away her thunder.  However, if you're tattooed and don't fall into those aforementioned categories, (or even if you do, who am I to judge?  I could care less.) you should go have a look at his article.  Here's the beginning of The Girlchild's Facebook discussion (transcribed with photos removed and aliases added where necessary), and if I remember (don't hold your breath – it's been a year since I've posted anything here) I will post updated copies.

The Girlchild: 

If you've got any tattoos, this is sure to offend. And for those of you who don't, what's your opinion? Click --> Professional dress code and Tattoos

The Boychild: 

To be honest, I'm in agreement with a good portion of that. My interpretation displays that a lot of places just aren't interested in tattoos being visible in the work place. Yes, we've come a long way with the availability of tattoos. Every class finds some way to afford a tattoo (if not several), but it doesn't mean that someone should hire you because you have a smiley face on your forehead. You do have to think about the location/subject matter these rules seriously apply to. The usual is going to be because of a profane image. And because we, as individualists, have different points of view on terms of what is acceptable. Someone might find a butterfly on the ankle provocative (stupid, I agree). People that find tattoos offensive no matter what they are subjectively will lead to the same crap. I'm all about being yourself, but my tattoo(s - provided Cory can do more) are on my shoulder, or will always be under clothing just because they're for me. Screw the rest of the world, if they wanna see -- they can ask. But that's just me.

The Girlchild:

I was more so referring to the part where the author was vehement in his opinion that tattoos are "more popular among the poor and under educated" and " tattoos are a sign of immaturity, bad judgment and bad taste", and the like.

BTW, late schedule tomorrow.                        < --- See?  Educated college kids!)

The Boychild: 

It's wrong to generalize tattoos with poor and under-educated. I've seen lots of rotten-tooth broke-arse people with them, but that doesn't mean it's the only populous. And as for the last part, look at the picture of that guy! He's an old fart set in his ways (like most). His opinion blows. Saying such a thing goes against the "1/4th of the population is retarded."

Thanks for the update, phone didn't tell meh!

Me: 

I think he's a pompous ass. I agree that tattoos are not appropriate in certain situations, and that companies have the right to stipulate a dress code. But what is under that crisp white shirt and tie is none of anybody's damned business. We are not poor and uneducated people. We are not criminals. To lump us all into one category is uneducated. Incidentally, for someone who claims to be so much better and higher on the food chain than we are, have a look at his blog. I guess it's okay with his consulting company for half naked women to be displayed on his blog, but it's not okay for someone to have a tattoo under their shirt. I would find the former more offensive than the latter.

The Boychild:

Owned

Me:

*bows*

As for the blog mentioned, here is the link.  I enjoyed what comments there were, and I would have left one myself, but it appears that Mr. Burleson disabled that option.  Per chance he will stumble across my blog.  He's welcome to leave comments.  He also might want to check out Ink meets Inc: Twenty Tattooed Professionals - that is, if he can stand being wrong.

PS  My current tattoo count:  10

... or so.  Guess last year's comeback wasn't much to get excited over, eh?  I really need to make this entry something special to make up for lost time.  Two seconds.  Damn.  I got nothing.  Let's just go play some video games in the shed. I'll be back when I'm not feeling like such a zombie.

So I haven't blogged since like what, April?  Feel free to invent a story to cover my absence.  Feel free to send it to me.  I like stories.  I'll post it if it's good.

So I just wanted to say thank you to the woman in the maroon SUV at the car wash.  Yeah, I know this isn't typical of me to thank someone, usually I'm bitching, but...  Maroon SUV lady:  You left enough time in the car wash for me to wash, rinse, and wax The Girlchild's car.  Muchas gracias.  The poor girl needed a bath.  And since my baby Frankie is broken down (again), I felt it only right to give Erin a good scrubbing. 

Not a very exciting way to make my blog comeback, but hey, at least it's something.  Right-O.  In other news, some of the local boys have been in a bit of trouble.  For shame.  Couldn't you do something more interesting than vandalize a mailbox?  Come on, show some spirit!  How about some graffiti?  At least we'd all get to enjoy it.  Speaking of, The Girlchild and I need to reclaim the tunnel.  Are you game, Purplekitten?

For your listening pleasure, a compilation of the free credit report dot com jingles, with lyrics:)  Don't be shy now... you know you want to sing along



Well I was shopping for a new car
Which one's me?
A cool convertible or an SUV
Too bad I didn't know my credit was whack
Cause now I'm driving off the lot in a used subcompact
F-R-E-E that spells free
Credit report dot com baby
Saw their ads on my TV
Thought about going but was too lazy
Now instead of lookin' fly and rollin' phat
My legs are sticking to the vinyl
And my posse's gettin' laughed at
F-R-E-E that spells free
Credit report dot com baby.


Well I married my dream girl
I married my dream girl
But she didn't tell me her credit was bad
So now instead of living in a pleasant suburb
We're living in the basement at her mom and dad's
No we can't get a loan
For a respectable home
Just because my girl defaulted on some old credit card
If we'd gone to free credit report dot com
I'd be a happy bachelor with a dog and a yard


They say a man should always dress for the job he wants
So why am I dressed up like a pirate in this restaurant?
It's all because some hacker stole my identity
Now I'm in here every evening serving chowder and iced tea
Shoulda gone to free credit report dot com (yee haw!)
I could have seen this coming at me like an atom bomb
They monitor your credit and send you email alerts
So you don't wind up selling fish to tourists in t-shirts

UPDATE:  If you're interested in finding out more about "free credit report guy" his name is Eric Violette, and here are some links:

Eric's youtube channel

Eric's homepage

Me:  Johnny Depp doesn't have a myspace.
TG: If you were Johnny Depp, would YOU have a myspace?
Me: *sigh* No.

So The Girlchild's birthday is coming up, and I was going to get her a Diary Queen ice cream cake with Sweeney Todd on it.  You know, they have that "put any picture you want on a cake" deal?  Well not ANY picture, evidently.  Only a photograph.  Regardless of the fact that I got the picture from the Sweeney Todd website where it was available as a FREE download, they still wouldn't put it on a cake because of "copyright issues".  Apparently, they once put Elvis on a cake and got fined for $500.  I told the lady that Elvis was dead, and could probably care less if his face was on a cake.  She said "They gotta make their money somehow."  I'm not sure who "they" are, but I bet "they" are the ones who take me from my bed at night and leave perfectly round bruises on my thighs.  No, not THERE, you pervert.

So anyway, this other DQ chick actually asked me why someone would want Johnny Depp on a cake.  Sweet Ra, why wouldn't you?!  I mean, a chocolately, ice creamy version of Johnny Depp would be the next best thing to the real thing.  Right?

People.  I swear.

And I really wanted to be Johnny's myspace friend.

I miss him

Ever have one of those dreams that you can't seem to shake when you wake up?  One of those that latched on to your emotions so hard, that you mourned the fact that the dream wasn't real?

I had one of those last night, and I can't stop thinking about him.  Not the band - although that would be a right fucking awesome dream.  Him - the man in my dream.

I don't know who he was.  I never got a name.  He looked like nobody I've met, his voice was unlike anyone I know, and he made me feel like I've never felt.  It was short, and oh so sweet.  I woke up missing him.  I've been thinking about him all day.

Life is one cruel bitch.  I found the perfect man in Sandland, and I'll probably never find that channel again.  That's probably a good thing.  Otherwise, I'd probably overdose on sleeping pills trying to spend every unwaking second with him.  The man.  Not the band.

Yesterday I had a long conversation with a relative of someone I dated.  It was mostly a question answer session - somewhat uncomfortable, somewhat not.  I promised to keep our convo a secret, so I won't say any more about it.  Besides, it's not the convo that is important.  The thing was, I got to thinking afterward about when the last time I had a phone conversation with a female was.  Other than my mother (and one liners with The Girlchild and The Girlfriend), I have not had a telephone conversation with another female since 1999.  That's seven freaking years for those of you who were in the LD math class.  Seven years. 

Most of the time I'm secure with my lack of intimate relationships, because they are usually more trouble than they are worth.  But here, in less than 24 hours, I got a not so subtle reminder of what is missing in my life.

It bloody sucks, dammit.

Since I'm in a fuckitall mood, and especially moody in the relationship arena, here is one of those survey things from Myspace, completed with a heaping helping of who fucking gives a shit and just a hint of sour grapes.

THE UNCOMFORTABLE SURVEY (note:  I don't see what could be so unfuckingcomfortable about it... it's not like they're asking if you spit or swallow)

1. Longest relationship:
12 years

2. Shortest relationship:
I have no fucking recollection - but unless something lasts a couple of months, it doesn't qualify as a relationship in my dictionary.

3. How many boyfriends/girlfriends have told you they love you?
All of those bastards

4. Have you ever thought that you were going to marry the person you were dating?
Yeah, talked about it with a couple of the no good mouth breathing shitlickers.

5. Have you ever liked someone so much that it hurts?
I liked someone so much that death seemed preferable to living without them, however, since death wasn't practical, I suffered miserably for a few months and just wished for death.

6. Have you ever made a boyfriend or girlfriend cry?:
Yes.  I wish I could make them all cry. 

7. Are you happier single or in a relationship?:
Single single single.

8. Have you ever been cheated on?
Does a bear shit in the woods?  By all but two.  I hope their dicks fall off.

9. What is your favorite thing about the opposite sex?
Usually they smell good.  That's the only positive thing I can think of right now.

10.Have you ever had your heart broken?
Do I really have to fucking answer this question?

11. Have you ever broken someone's heart?
Yes.  But not intentionally.

12. Talk to any of your exes?
Only the one that stalks me, and my ex husband, when I fucking have to.  However, the former is going to find his ass with a restraining order nailed to his door if he doesn't leave me the fuck alone.

13. If you could go back in time would you change things to where you could still be with one of your exes?
Sorry, I fell over laughing.  What was the question?

14. Think any of your ex's feel the same way?
I hope they all are completely and totally miserable wishing that they hadn't fucked me over.  Oh, and I hope that their dicks never get hard again.  Those that had a dick, that is.

15. Do you believe that you are a good boyfriend or girlfriend?
Yes, except for that one, and he just wouldn't take the hint.

16. Have you dated people who were not good to you?
Does Pamela Anderson have fake tits?

17. Have you dated someone older then you?
Yes. (but sure as hell not more mature)

18. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?
Hell.  Fucking.  No. 

19. Believe in love at first sight?
Yes.  It's called a puppy.

20. Ever dated two people at once?
No, and nobody with any morals at all would.

21. Do you want to get married?
Only if he's 104 with an estate worth millions and is leaving it all to me.

22. Do you have something to say to any of your exes?
I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

23. Ever stolen someone's boyfriend or girlfriend?
No, I'm not a vicious fucking cunt.

24. Ever liked someone else's boyfriend or girlfriend?
I didn't KNOW they belonged to someone else, because the rat bastards LIED and said they were SEPARATED, and my dumb ass fell for it twice... I hope their balls shrivel up into tiny raisin-like lesions, and a squirrel chews them off.

25. Does heartbreak really feel as bad as it sounds?
What the fuck do you think?  What a stupid fucking question.

26. Are you looking for a boyfriend or girlfriend?
No, and if I find one, I have mace, a box cutter, and a billy club embedded with nails.

Any more stupid questions?