Toothpaste On My Belly

(I got nuttin' today.....so this is a re-post from 2008, enjoy!)

Did you know it was possible to get toothpaste dribble on your belly?

It is.

Especially when you've just gotten out of the shower, your buck ass nekkid, you're in the middle of brushing your teeth and one of your cats (yeah, I'll call him out, it was J.D.) comes by and bites you on the ankle making you jump right as you're about to spit.

Yeah, it's possible to get toothpaste dribble on your belly.

Later,


Mama Dawg

Conversations With A Lesbian Demon

Mama Dawg: So, Ms. Lesbian Demon…may I call you LD?

Lesbian Demon: Actually, you can call me Ellen. That’s my God given name.

MD: Really? You know, there’s an actr…

LD: Yes, yes I know. I hear about it all the time. Keep in mind, I’m waaaaayyyy older than she is, so she actually has MY name. Not the other way around.

MD: Sorry.

LD: That’s all right.

MD: So, anyway, I was at work yesterday and my co-workers were having this HUGE conversation about sins and what is and what isn’t in the bible and then….I don’t know how this happened, but they started talking about Lesbian Demons.

LD: ? Go on.

MD: Well, it got me to thinking…what if there really IS a Lesbian Demon? How cool with that be?
LD: Very cool. And, there is one. Me!

MD: I know! I didn’t believe at first. In fact, I wanted to get real snarky and say something like “Call Buffy to come slay the Lesbian Demon” or “I bet on Angel they never had to fight one of those”.

LD: Didn’t they fight something like that in Charmed? Maybe I’m wrong.

MD: You watch Charmed?

LD: Hello? Alyssa Milano? Major hottie!

MD: Yeah, you’re right. Remember her as Sam from “Who’s The Boss?”

LD: Yeah….sigh…she was so young and innocent then. And rather flat-chested. I’m so glad she finally grew some boobs.

MD: Ermmmm….okay.

LD: I’m sorry. I got distracted. You were saying?

MD: So, as I was saying, I thought it would be cool to ask a Lesbian Demon some questions. Is that o.k. with you?

LD: Sure, as long as they don’t get too personal. I do have a rep to protect, you know.

MD: Really? Like what kind of rep?

LD: You know, cool and hip and with the times. Please don’t make me confess that I actually loved “Little House on the Prairie” when it was on.

MD: Um, too late. You just did. You did know I was doing this for my blog, right?

LD: Uh, yeah. Can we scratch that?

MD: No, sorry. I need to fill up space and that takes up like 10 spaces right there.

LD: Sigh…..o.k. If you must, leave it in.

MD: Thanks! Anyway, I wanted to know why you choose some women to be lesbians and not others.

LD: Depends. I mostly look at their personality and determination and ability to weather harsh words and bigotry.

MD: Huh? That makes sense. How come you didn’t choose me to be one? I think I’d make an excellent lesbian. I love boobs, I have short hair, I like sports (somewhat), etc…

LD: My dear, those things a lesbian does not make. And not all lesbians like sports and have short hair. Those are just surface qualities…wait, you like boobs?

MD: Yeah, who doesn’t? They’re fun!

LD: You mean you like some other than your own?

MD: Again, who doesn’t admire a nice rack?

LD: Oh, you’re talking about admiring….that’s different than liking them. Anyway, my child, it was not your destiny to be a lesbian in this life.

MD: Why not?

LD: Don’t you know? You were destined to be the mother of the most wonderful girl who will grow up to change the world one day.

MD: Really? LOML is going to change the world? Boo-Yah! I knew she was destined for greatness.

LD: Yes she is.

MD: So, is she like gonna be the President or discover the cure for cancer or some sort of humanitarian?

LD: That’s for me to know and you to find out, my dear.

MD: Are you like in 3rd grade or something?

LD: No. Why?

MD: Never mind. Continuing my questioning…

LD: Sorry to interrupt dear, but a new soul just came into this earth that has the exact qualities I’m looking for so I must run for now.

MD: Oh, hey, no problem. Talk later?

LD: Most definitely.

To be continued……

Oh, and for the record, there really was a conversation at my place of business about lesbian demons. It's what prompted this little incomplete Q & A. There are truly times when I actually say "WTF" in my head at the conversations I hear around here. *shaking head in dismay*

Later,

Mama Dawg

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall...

Have you ever really looked AT a mirror? And thought about all its uses?

For instance, a twelve year old boy can find many uses for a mirror. One of them being putting a compact mirror on the tops of their shoes and then standing REAL close to a girl with a skirt on. If he times it just right, he can place his foot directly beneath her skirt and can catch a quick glimpse of some white cotton panties. Hopefully. And I mean hopefully she’s wearing underwear.

In addition, magicians have been known to use them in magic tricks. Hence the phrase “smoke and mirrors”. In some fiction books I’ve read, they’re used for transportation between two worlds.

Drug users use them to cut their cocaine to makes lines. Practical, if illegal.

Fun house mirrors have their uses as well. Think of all the entertainment you can get from laughing at your 6’1” 180 lb boyfriend who all of a sudden looks 5’4” and 300 lbs. Hysterical, I tell ya, hysterical.

Disco balls. Where would society be today if disco balls using mirrors to reflect light all over the dance floor had not been invented? In the shitter, that’s where.

They’re also great for spotting a nasty crusty booger that flies out of your nose without your knowledge and lands on your chin.

Thank goodness I spotted it before I left the house for work.

God bless mirrors.

Later,

Mama Dawg

My Raisins Are Mocking Me

I was sitting here eating a box of Sun-Maid raisins and noticed that when you lift the lid, the little flap that tucks into the box says “Work hard. Play fair. Sleep well.”


I didn’t think much about it at the very second I read it. It just kind of made me smile and I went back to reading blogs working.

A little time goes by and I start thinking about this “advice” from my box of raisins.

I started to get pissed.

Who the hell does this so-called “Sun-Maid” think she is to give me advice on my life?

I mean, for God’s sake, she’s a cartoon “maid” on a box of raisins. There’s some big Aztec-y looking sun type symbol behind her and she’s wearing a red bonnet that’s loosely tied ‘neath her chin.

First of all, honey, that look went out like in the 1800’s. Get with the program. Cut your hair, put some product in it and ditch the bonnet. That bright red lipstick does nothing for your complexion and your eyebrows need plucking.

Second of all, all you do is stare vapidly out into space from a box of raisins. When have you ever worked hard?

As for play fair? I don’t think so. I get the feeling you’re a cheater at Monopoly. You probably slip yourself a few extra $20’s when you’re playing the banker. Yeah, you do. I can see the guilt in your eyes from here. Not only that, but you totally sell yourself as a “healthier snack” than other crap out there in the stores. You’re 130 calories for 1.5 ounces of dried grapes. I need to eat like 5 of you in order to satiate any hunger I might be feeling between breakfast and lunch. That’s like 650 calories just for a snack.

No, my dear, you don’t play fair.

As for sleep well?

Yeah, it’s time to call the cops on your smiling raisin sun-maid ass. There’s no way you could know that unless you were peeking in my windows at night.

And last I checked, that’s illegal.

I do have a question for you though. How did you get by the amazing Barking Max? He barks at his shadow or if the wind blows in from the North. He totally would have busted you. Ninja like skills you must have, princess. Ninja like skills.

I think you should go back to what you’re good at and leave the advice giving career alone. You’re not any good.

Later,

Mama Dawg

P.S. When did they decide to put the California Raisin on the top of the box while little Miss Vapid is on the cover? The double pop culture references are making me a little dizzy.

The Real Me

Okay all you people out in blogland.

I need your opinion on something.

I'm about to show you pics of the real me.

Naked (not really....I mean in a vulnerable way).

I got a new hair cut and some glasses as well as a new outfit.

Tell me what you think.






Shit, that's a bad picture. Let me try again.

Dammit, Max, get out of the picture!

Ahhhhh, finally. A full length body shot.

Be honest, tell me what you think.

Below is the Wii Me real me.

Do those shorts make my ass look big?

No? Thanks!

Later,

Mama Dawg

Guess Who Got Lucky Last Night?

*Edited...I forgot to add that the pic request was for you to pick up a camera at that instant that you read the tag and post it. Not just any pic...it's one of you...raw.

Yep. I did.



I sure did.



At least.....I think I did.



I don't remember it really.



But I'm sure I did.



When I rolled drowsily out of bed this morning, I noticed he left his calling card.

He must of been a leprechaun.

That explains the lack of memory.....he must have been too "wee" for me to feel.

I apologize in advance for this next picture. Both MAW and Churchpunkmom tagged me for this one.

Please excuse the lack of a haircut. I'm in dire need. Quit yelling at me.

Yes, I know I have disgusting habits. Bite me. Or should I say...pick me.

I wanna see pics of Rhea, Kat, Mariah, Irish Gumbo and Captain Dumbass.

Oh, and one other thing.

I'm so late on this....but....yesterday?

Was my one year blogiversary!

Yay me! 418 posts, 22846 visitors and countless new friends later...I'm just getting started.

Have a good Tuesday everyone!

Later,

Mama Dawg

A Cautionary Christmas Tale by Dave and Bob

Dave and Bob decided that they wanted to go out and cut down their own Christmas trees for their families at a local tree farm. They trudged through many, many acres of trees and saw a stand of trees far off in the distance that looked perfect.

Dave and Bob made their way to said trees and stood around admiring them in all their glory.

All of a sudden, Bob said, "Dave, do you smell something? Holy crap, what's that stomping noise?"

Dave, being clueless as usual, heard and smelled nothing and continued on admiring the trees.

A shadow looms over the dandy duo as they start to get out their equipment.

Suddenly, Bob feels something rather large breathing down his neck. He turns and sees Missy the Moose bearing down on their rather tiny bodies.

Bob starts screaming like a little bitch, "Run Dave, for God's sake, run like the wind."

Alas, Dave wasn't quite quick enough. As Bob stood there screaming like a little girl at Dave, "Run to the fucking trees, you moron!", Missy the Moose raises her rather large size 400 hoof and proceeds to step on Dave's head.

Bob just stands there in disbelief. His friend had just been stepped on by a rather disproportional moose that had an idiotic grin on her face.

Moral of the story:

Don't let Mama Dawg get within ten feet of a camera when she's been making a bazillion cupcakes for various parties and there are all sort of goodies in the kitchen that she can play with. Especially keep her away from icing, die cut sprinkles and giant mooses (moosi? moose?) that, no kidding, shit jelly beans.

Later,

Mama Dawg

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

I know, I know. I'm late.

But that's okay. You're known as the miracle worker, so it shouldn't be a problem.

What's that? You're not known as the miracle worker? The miracle worker is Annie Sullivan? Who's that? I thought it was you or Jesus. I get you two confused all the time. With all the mixing of the pagan and Christian holidays, you know.

Anyhoo, sorry for the mistake.

Since I got off to such a bad start, let me start over.

Dear Santa,

I know I'm late. Please forgive me oh red hot jolly one, sir. (a little ass kissing never hurt anyone, am I right?)

There's a few things that this Mama Dawg would like for Christmas this year and since they're not really things you can purchase in a store or online (yes, yes, I know...if you can buy a piece of ABC gum from Justin Timberlake on eBay, you should be able to buy ANYTHING on line, but I promise you, you can't buy these presents), I thought I'd turn to you. Cause you know, that whole miracle worker thing.

Dammit, did it again.

You know what, you're just gonna have to accept this letter, mistakes and all. Cause that's what I'm all about. Accepting people, mistakes and all.

I'll get off my own soapbox about acceptance and get on with the show.

Here's my Christmas Wish List:

1) I'd like someone to scoop the cat litter for me. This is a chore that I ABHOR with my whole being. I'll clean the box and put in fresh litter, but I HATE scooping it.

2) I'd like 50 followers by the end of the year. Yeah, I know. Blogging isn't about "popularity" but that's not the reason I want 50 followers. I just think 50 is a better number than 42. More round, ya know?

3) Ever since I did that post on women in my office whose va jay jay's smell like lilacs and roses and vanilla, "Betty" has become increasingly jealous and would like her own signature scent. She's torn between the smell of warm freshly baked bread, filet mignon or Opium perfume. I'm trying to dissuade her from anything that smells edible.......wait, maybe not. I need to re-think that one.

4) I'd like my sales on etsy to increase. So, can you spread the word for me? Does Mrs. Claus need a lanyard or an eyeglass cord or a pair of earrings? If so, I'm your gal.

5) I'd like for a special baby to be born. One to save all humanity from one of life's most horrible of atrocities. I'd like this baby to grown up to attend MIT and to invent an on command, self heating toilet seat. Cause when I get up in the morning (or as I'd like to refer to it...the middle of the night), that seat is frickin' COLD. I can't be the only one that feels this way, right?

6) I'd like for Britney Spears to get better and be happy and healthy in 2009. Yes, I know. She's trash. But, my heart bleeds for her. It really does. Plus, I truly think that in order to improve living conditions in Louisiana post-Katrina, they really need someone to rally around. And since she's a homegirl from Kentwood, who better to rally around than Ms. Brit?

7) I'd like for Max (my dog) to learn to come when called.

8) I'd like for someone to make a non-foul tasting Germ-X so when I eat something with my hands right after using said Germ-X on my hands, I don't have ethyl alcohol tasting brownies.

9) I'd like to be able to wish away extra pounds. Just wish them into thin air.

10) I'd like all my readers and followers and friends to have a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah and all that jazz. Cause they all deserve it.

If you could get on this list chop-chop, I'd appreciate it. You're da bomb, Santa. You truly are.

Later,

Mama Dawg

I Have a Strawberry to Pick with You

This is gonna be a totally random post. Why? Cause I’m tapped out in the creativity department.

Bite me.

---------------

I was just in the bathroom.

Eh, hmmm…lady that was the bathroom ahead of me?

Did your “bidness” really stank that much that you had to spray an entire can of air freshener RIGHT OVER THE TOILET?

Really? Cause if so, then you need to get yourself to a doctor, cause that ain’t right.

If not, then please limit yourself to one maybe two spritzes of that high octane industrial quality air freshener that is SOOOO concentrated that it comes in a 2.4 oz can.

That way, I can breathe when I go in to see a man about a horse.

While we’re on the topic of bathrooms….

---------------

….raise your hand if your, ummmm, nether regions smell like strawberries? No? What about watermelons? Still no? Roses? Vanilla? Lilacs?

I would love to find a woman who’s snatch actually smells like a fruit or a flower.

I’d actually consider batting for the other team if it truly did smell like this.

Yeah, don’t act all shocked that I said that. Pick your jaw up off your keyboard and delete all those b’s and n’s that are running across your screen right now.

You know you’d totally do it, too.

Who wouldn’t? I mean, those are some pleasing smells.

Not that the female secret spots…nah, I’m not going there. It’s getting too hot in here as it is with the topic.

So, just to keep me from vagina envy, please leave your feminine hygiene sprays at home or use another potty, please. Cause my vagina (her name is Betty if anyone is curious) is jealous and I just can’t make her understand why she has to settle for the body wash I use in the shower instead of a fancy, schmancy spray like the lovely ladies who use the potty before me do.

---------------

I opened up my spam e-mail the other day and was astounded at the Kreskin like abilities it has.

Here’s a sampling of the goodies my spam (not to be confused with Spam…yummy, yummy fried Spam) offers me each and every day:

Breast implants-Dude, how DID you know? I mean, not so much implants, but, yes, the girls could use a little lift. I mean, I did have a baby and all.

Black singles-Ok, now, I’m not against inter racial dating, but I DO live in Mississippi. It’s still verboten in some remote areas. So, I think I’ll skip this one. But thanks so much for thinking of me.

IRS tax relief- Well, you’re close. However, it’s more like YOU owe ME money, not the other way around. There are some highlights to being a poor single mother who owns nothing but the clothes on her back.

Dr.’s Office- Yeah, yeah. I know. I need to go see the doc. I got a coupla moles that need to be looked at on my back and I need to get one of those horrible, horrible silver things inserted into my non-vanilla smelling nether regions to make sure things “down there” are hunky dory. Quit yer bitchin'.

Skinny Boost- Who you calling fat? Oh, yeah….me.

eHarmony- While I appreciate your attempts at setting me up, I can almost guarantee that the nearest single male to me that happens to be computer literate is probably, at minimum, 150 miles away. Makes for awkward dating, no?

JENN “WANNA SEE MY PICS”- Steenky Bee, is this you? If so, sure, I’ll look at your pics. If not, then bitch, back off. I don’t know you. Therefore, I don’t want to see your pics.

Can’t Afford School- Uh, no. Did I not mention the part where I’m a poor single mother? Even if I could, the nearest school (besides the big ass university near my place of business) that I could potentially attend is 30 minutes from my house and 90 minutes from my place of business. I couldn’t even if I COULD afford school. Plus, I don’t see my kid enough as it is. I’ll wait til she’s in college before I contemplate that time suck again.

Ebay “dumb and poor” – Well, you’re half right. And I’m not gonna say which half.

Hotties Looking For Dates- Can’t be too hot if they’re trolling for dates on the ‘net. Nuff said.

And this one made my day….

….e-card “(firsntname) your e-card is waiting for you”.

First of all, it’s FIRST you dummy (are you from eBay?) and second, I’m offended that you don’t even know my first name. Cause Jenn from Wanna See my Pics does and so does Can’t Afford School. Get with the program, eCard.

---------------

I’m still livid that Urban Dictionary has not accepted my word for their site. I mean tragiversary is a profound and accurate word. Especially with today’s tragedies. Right? Right.

---------------

You know that you’re reading a book originally written in the 1940’s when you read this passage:

“…and two open windows with net curtains that puckered in and out like the lips of a toothless old man sleeping.”

I’m currently reading “High Window” by Raymond Chandler. Not too shabby so far. It’s a Philip Marlowe book. So, that’s a plus right there.

---------------

I found a bunch of old dime store pocket books (literally books that can fit in your pocket) at the rummage sale where I volunteer. I have like 30 of them. I’ve already read one and it was a hoot. The phrases, descriptions, wording, etc…..I’m in hog heaven.

---------------

I’ve discovered Archer Farms Cherry Pistachio Dark Chocolate granola bars. Yummmmmmmmmy in my tummy.

---------------

When exactly did I become a grown up? I'm still diggin' the Facebook phenomenon and I've been looking at pictures of people I went to high school with and they're all grown-ups (well, most of them are). They got, like respectable jobs and husbands and wives (not at the same time, I hope) and kids and a mortgage and cars. They've gone on trips out of the country and work as assistant producers at Disney and have met celebrities and started companies and sold houses.

When did this happen?

One minute, we're all giggling and laughing and eating lunch outside of the drama room and the next, our kids are puking and walking and talking and making their own lunches.

I've never pondered the concept of time before now. But Facebook has bitch slapped me and made me realize that I'm an adult. An honest to goodness adult.

And, I don't think I like that.

---------------

That’s all I got peeps. How about you? Anything random happen to you lately?

Later,

Secret Lover

He’s absolutely gorgeous.

Deep brown eyes.

Black hair.

He’s a big boy.

He listens to my every word (mostly).

He brings me presents.

He's a leg man.

And…he loves sex.

Yes ma’am (or sir).

He sure does.

Wanna see his a picture of him?

Sure you do.

Yeah, it’s my damn dog.

His little balls have dropped and he’s discovered how good it feels to hump my leg.

Time for the vet, I guess.

Sigh……too bad he’s a dog. Otherwise, he was sounding pretty great, huh?

And no, I’m not into lap dogs. You pervs.

Such is my life.

How’s your Tuesday?

Later,

Some Funny to Break Up the Serious

Be warned...these are not really safe for work.

I've been laughing for the past 20 minutes or so.

Thanks to Cary over at List of the Day.

Weird Urinals

Corn Nuts Radio Ad

Very Un-PC Engrish Humor

Later,

Oh, the Habits of Hobbits

So, I took a long hard look in the mirror the other day and came to a decision.

I’m a Hobbit.

Yes, you read that right. I’m a Hobbit. Most likely related to Samwise Gamgee. Partly because I have that same sense of self-entitlement that Sean Astin seems to have. But mostly because of his self-determination to complete the task no matter what.

However, this post is not about self-determination. It’s about me resembling a Hobbit.

For those of you not in the know, a Hobbit is a mythical creature that lives in the Shire or, as Peter Jackson imagines it, New Zealand.

In doing some Hobbit research on Wikipedia (don’t you just love Wikipedia?), I was startled to find many, many similarities between myself and the Hobbits.

Observe, if you will.

1. Fattish in the stomach…um…check! Yeah, like most Americans out there, I could stand to lose a few…or twenty. Oh, who am I kidding. Thirty. Yes, I said it, thirty. Now, shut up and go back to eating your Ho-Ho’s and Krispie Kremes you bastards.

2. Hair is short, curling and brown…check! Well, at least the short and brown part. I can make it curly if I try, but I’m too damn lazy. The laziness could explain why I can associate with #1.

3. Big feet with hair...check! Yeah, I can associate. I wear a size 9. That makes for some slim pickins when it comes to cute shoes. And again, due to laziness, I don’t always take care of the minuscule very few hairs that show up on the feet. Seriously, who cares? I don’t want to know why someone would want to look at feet anyway. Unless that’s what gets you off. And if that’s the case, you’re at the wrong blog.

4. Leather soles…check! As a child, I lived BAREFOOT and never, ever, ever got ringworm or cuts or stings. I even extended this habit into my teen years living in Florida. Yeah, I was that psycho that ran to get the mail across the street BAREFOOT on hot asphalt in Central Florida in August. Never felt a thing.

5. Adept at throwing stones…check! Yep, I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I’ve been known to throw stones. And I’m not speaking literally. I’m working on it, though.

6. Comes of age at age 33…check! Here’s a link to the post I did about growing up. I feel like I’m just now making it to adulthood…at age 31.

7. Eats 6 meals a day…check! Hobbits eat breakfast, elevenses, lunch, tea, dinner and supper. I eat breakfast, elevenses, lunch, snack, dinner and then dessert. This could also explain my association with #1.

8. They eat bread, meat, potatoes, cheese and have a passion for mushrooms…check! I love my starches and meats. I especially love vegetables. Again, see #1.

9. They like to give away gifts…check! That’s my favorite part of gift giving holidays and birthdays. I LOVE to give.

10. They give presents many times over…check! Yes, I’m guilty of re-gifting. Constantly. Hey, give me a break…I’m poor. And I really, really, really don’t like getting angel statues or smelly lotions or body washes for gifts. So, I do what any good poor single working mother does. I re-gift. Now, leave me alone.

11. They live in hillsides and holes…check! I’m southern. It’s not unheard of for southerners to live in bunkers and homes that should be classified as hole in the walls.

When you look over this list and really give it some thought, you’ll come to the same conclusion as me…I’m a Hobbit.

Good thing, too, cause I got the hots for Frodo.



Later,

Who Would You Do?

It's Monday morning once again...quit those groans...it comes around once a week...get used to it.

Here's your question for the day:

You've just moved into a sprawling eight-bedroom home, but the realtor neglected to inform you that it's located in a clothing optional community and your neighbor loves to mow the lawn in the buff. Who would you rather see riding a John Deere sans clothing: David Hasselhoff, Melissa Gilbert, Lorenzo Lamas or Valerie Perrine?

You can click on the names to see pics of the choices.

*Editor's Note---You HAVE to pick one or the other. Even if you're a guy and the only choices are guys...same for girls...believe me, there are lots where it's only girls to choose from.

LOL Sunday

One day last week, I let one rip while in the car...it was loud, I'm afraid.

After a seconds silence, my daughter spoke up and said....wait for it....wait for it....


"That's gonna leave a mark!"

Smart ass, I'm raising a smart ass.

See why I love her?

Later,

Mama Dawg

Wild, But Not Wet, Willies

This happened either late 2006 or early 2007. I know it was after I moved back to New Orleans from being in exile due to Katrina.

My old next-door neighbor, R, is one of my closest friends. She’s this big ball of energy that infects you if you get too close to her. If I’m having a crappy day, a nice word or a smile from her always makes me feel better. If I’m low on energy, just 5 minutes in her presence makes me want to get up off my ass (that was for you, Debbie!) posterior and DO SOMETHING!!!

The thing with R is…you never know what’s gonna happen when you go out with her.

Now, normally, nothing real big happens. Just lots of drinking (not her, she doesn’t drink that much…natural DD!) and laughs and drinking and laughs. Did I mention drinking and laughs? If not, those are always had by all.

R is the best at hook-ups. She works for a HUGE corporation that includes ownership of places such as oh, let’s say, The Chicken Ranch and Larry Flynt’s Hustler Club and Déjà vu. Yeah….she works for them.

But not as a “dancer”. No siree, you’ll never catch R up on that nasty, nasty pole.

She has family ties that go way back and is connected to some very notable people in New Orleans. Such as Dr. John (he’s her godfather) and Andrew Jaeger (one of her bosses).

She runs a hotel in the French Quarter and has run several of the many, many restaurants Andrew Jaeger has “owned” and “operated” throughout his years in NOLA.

She has connections out the wazoo when it comes to clubs and casinos and bars and restaurants.

If that wasn’t enough to make you want to be friends with her….she’s funny and generous to a fault and is just one of the best people on Earth. Don’t even get me started on her husband and son. You will never meet better people.

Having said all that….R sometimes comes up with “interesting” things to do and it usually has to do with her connections to various places in the city.

Her uncle is a cross dresser and has/had access to plays and clubs of the “alternative” kind.

One day, she asked me if I wanted to go see a play that her uncle either put on or ran…not sure which. It was in the Marigny and since I had never been there after dark, I said, “Sure”…plus…free play!

She said that her mom and grandmother were attending and we would be able to get front row seats!!!

Awesome!!! Score!!!!

New Orleans is known for their art productions of all kinds so I knew that the play would be entertaining. Either because it sucked hard core and we could make fun of it or it would be great.

All she would tell me about the play is that it was called “Take Me Out” and it had something to do with baseball players and it was a production of all men.

Ok, cool…I was down with that. I love me some men.

So, we get in her Dodge Charger and drive down to the Marigny. We park the car and go into the theatre. R talks to the man behind the curtain and we go all the way inside and find our table at the very front . Not even 5 feet from the stage.

It’s one of those small theatres that holds about….50 people or so. Very tiny.

We’re sitting at a round table with normal chairs. You know, the kind you find at reception halls and the like.

R’s mom and grandma show up and sit right behind us. We’re all chatting away and the lights go dim.

All of a sudden…….




…..there’s like 20 NAKED swinging willies in my face…of all sizes and shapes and colors.

All the men were nude. It was a nude play.

A play of naked men.

Nude males five feet from my face.

On the one hand, it was like a gift from God.

Except…they were all gay.

On the other hand, it was hysterical.

But it wasn’t supposed to be.

It was supposed to be art.

But, c’mon. Willies 5 FEET FROM MY FACE!!! How do you not laugh? Seriously, how do you not laugh?

To this day, I still don’t know what it was about. Something about race and homosexuality and prejudice and yada yada yada.

All I took away from the whole thing was 20 willies hanging free in the wind with me only 5 feet away.

This is the reason I love R and New Orleans (except to live there).

Later,

Mama Dawg

P.S. If you want a link to the review (no nudie pics….sorry!) click here.

You Must...

...click here for some VERY un-p.c. fun. Please, no comments or e-mails from politically correct asshats. I really don't care. It's funny stuff.

If you thought that was funny...this one's weird. Click here. It's very graphic...so beware.

What's funny about this one though, is when I started reading it...Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire" started playing. That's what set me off!

Later,

Mama Dawg

P.S. Thanks to Tracey and her hubby, St. Richard for the word asshats. I have to say, it's probably my new favorite word.

Brad Pitt's A Slut

I never knew that so many people have had Brad Pitt. On the post below, go back and read the comments section.

Man, he gets around.

Later,

Mama Dawg

My Haunted Car

My car is haunted.

I know this to be a fact.

So is my uterus.

But that's another story.

This story is about my haunted car.

Except it's gonna be a short story cause I have the attention span of a gnat. (nat? knat? mnat?)

I have a weird history with cars. Well, it's not really weird, I'm just trying to draw you in to the story.

My first car was a 1991 Geo Storm. My mom decided it was time to get herself a new car...she got a Camaro...I think I got the short end of the stick on that deal. It was teal in color and I called her the "Teal Mobile". Yeah, you can now bow down to my creative genius. Accolades more than welcome.

I was a Coca-Cola freak. Not to drink, but to collect...memorabilia, I mean. I loved to collect all things Coke.

I had a Coke vanity plate that went on the front of my baby. I had the requisite crap hanging from my rear view mirror that expressed how truly cool I was. In my case, I put up things that "made me stand out" from the normal pack of too cool for school teenagers. I had a turtle charm on a string that an ex-boyfriend gave me, I had a Mardi Gras necklace that I caught by flashing my boobies did not catch but thought was cool and some other pseudo cool stuff.

I LOVED that car. It was tiny and tight and I could hug corners like nobody's business. Plus...it was teal. Such a gorgeous color. I loved being the one that picked up all my friends and took them places. I loved filling up the gas tank (remember when putting in $5 could get you...well...farther than it could now?) and checking the oil level.

When I was about 18 or so, the engine failed completely and instead of getting a new car, mom had a rebuilt engine put in. This took care of the problem and got me 5 more years out of the car.

I had this car all through my teen years and up until after my child was born. I went back to work at 8 weeks after having her via c-section. About 2 weeks after I had returned to work, I was running errands on my lunch break and pulled into a drugstore parking lot. As I was driving straight in the parking lot to get to the store's parking section, a truck that was parked in a side space backed straight out right after the front of my car passed the back of his. As a result, he hit me on my right rear panel and spun my teeny tiny car 180 degrees. All I can say is, thank goodness light of my life was not in the car at the time or you would have seen a VERY pissed off and ape-shit Mama Dawg.

My beautiful baby was totaled and I had to have therapy to get over my fear of driving. Yes, I had some issues after this accident. Physically, even though I was 10 weeks post-partum, I was fine. But whenever I drove, out of my peripheral, I would see imaginary cars driving straight towards me and I would freak out. I would either slam on the brakes or have an anxiety attack in the car. I had to have therapy to help me get over this. Of course, it didn't help that I was under so much stress being a newly separated single mom with a newborn baby. But, I digress.

As a result of the accident, my Teal Mobile (this is not my car, but a picture of one that looks like mine...except mine was cooler!) was totaled. I got about $2000 for it but was able to get it fixed for about $1000 due to some connections I had...yeah, I'm cool like that.

This would have naturally bought me some more time with my beloved vehicle, but while it was being repaired, mom and I discovered that it was easier for us to car pool to work. We both worked at the same company and she didn't mind going to the daycare before and after work to pick up her beloved granddaughter. She's seriously ga-ga for this kid.

We got so used to this that my Teal Mobile was rarely ever driven. It got to the point that it would no longer run and due to some cracks somewhere, it got all mildew-y and moldy inside.

Hurricane Katrina came along and with that, an opportunity arose for us to get rid of the car for good. A friend of a friend came along and towed it out of the back yard where it had resided all moldy and white trash-y for 5 years.

While I was evacuated, I decided to put on my big girl panties (no, not the ones with the stretch marks...the peach silk ones) and plunk down my hard earned tax return on a new car.

Turns out, I couldn't afford a new one so I got the next best thing...a used one. Yep...a car that's been sat in and used by God knows who.

I remember being in the lot and a really, really young guy approached me to assist me in my purchase. He was so young, he was the Doogie Howser of car salesmen.

Y'all remember Doogie? I loved Doogie.

Eh-hmm...back to my story.

He tried to talk me into a GOLD IMPALA. Seriously, what screams southern white chick who can't sing or dance or is even remotely cool, like a GOLD IMPALA?

Yeah, I managed to talk him out of that one.

Instead, I got a 2005 Pontiac Grand Am V-6 dark grey in color. Not too shabby. It gets great highway gas mileage but crappy city mileage. All in all, not a bad car.

I purchased this in April of 2006. In August of 2006, some IDIOT woman ran a red light and hit my car on the front left side. Yeah, that was fun. I had a strained shoulder and was again scared poopless but this time I managed to get through the trauma without the help of a therapist.

My car was in the shop for a long time. It was almost totaled. Which would have sucked because at that point, I had only made 5 payments on it.

It was fixed and things were well. One day, I was cleaning out the car and was shoving my hands in the crack where the back of the seat meets the seat bottom in the back of the car. Lo and behold, guess what I discovered?

This and this (except mine had weights in grams on it).

Yeah, my baby's tushie had been sitting mere inches away from an instrument of death and a shit colostomy bag.

When I took them in to work to show them to some of my co-workers, one of them mentioned that it was drug paraphernalia.

First of all, WTF? What is this kind of crap and what is it doing in MY car? After doing a little research, I found out that my "new" car was a car that was used by a "businessman" that traveled a lot between Mississippi and Florida. Hmmm.....I wonder what "business" he was in? To this day, I'm scared to get into another accident. Who knows that kind of "substances" I'll find next time.

Of course, with today's economy, I'd be better off selling it and making sh*tloads of money...but that would be illegal and I'm not about that. Weeeellllll....nope, I'm not about that.

Second of all, who knows crap like that? Needless to say, that told me a LOT about that particular co-worker (which explained SO MUCH) and her extra-curricular activities.

I guess you're probably asking yourself at this point, "Self, when is Mama Dawg going to get to the part that has to do with the actual title of her post".

Well, I'll tell you.

Ever since the accident, if I'm driving by myself in the car, I will sometimes feel this "phantom" kick in my lower back. You know, the kind that comes from little kids repeatedly kicking the back of your seat?

Yeah, I feel that. I keep thinking it's all in my head but it happens too often and with so much force that I can't go on thinking it's all in my head.

So, I've come to the conclusion that my car is haunted. And I think it's haunted by the ghost of my beloved Teal Mobile because, what other explanation is there? I think it's getting me back for the years of neglect and forgetfulness and selfish behavior.

Seriously, I'm asking, what other explanation is there? Randy squirrel stuck in the seat? More drug paraphernalia that's moving around? Ticking time bomb a la "Squirrel and Moose"? (for those of you that didn't get that, I'm referencing Rocky and Bullwinkle).

Sigh...such is my life.

Later,

Mama Dawg

Totally Random Monday

Did you guys miss me? Didja even know I was gone?

*said in a tiny, sad, pathetic voice* You didn't?

Well, why not? *said in a LOUD angry voice*

Ahh...just teasin'.

Most of you probably didn't even know I was gone since I used that handy-dandy blogger post thingie that allows you to post a post without even being near a 'puter!

I had Friday off of work. It was nice.

I got a whole bunch of nothing today. I'm working on some posts in my head, but it takes me forever to articulate meaningful posts so it'll be a while.

John Deere Mom taught me how to widen my blog column and my header. She ROCKS!!!!!!!!!

I leave you with the following bits of flotsam and jetsam.

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Light of my life got a new beta fish this past weekend. She named her Monica after Monica from Friends. Yeah, we love that show. So much so, we're contemplating buying 5 other betas to round out the group. Light of my life is mad that Mike (Phoebe's boyfriend) isn't considered a "Friend". She gets way too emotionally attached to Friends.

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Speaking of emotionally attached to TV show characters, she also cried when Stephanie from Survivor was voted off. Remember Stephanie? And Bobby Jon? She LOVED Bobby Jon. I, personally, got emotionally involved with Ozzie (from his first stint, not the second) but for totally different (read: dirty, nasty, HOTT) reasons.

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I took out a pair of panties the other day (clean from my drawer) and noticed my panties have stretch marks. Is that possible? And if so, what does that mean for or about me?

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I was driving home from the vet's office a couple of weeks ago and laughed when I spotted an entire unopened non-flattened package of hot dog buns in the middle of the road. Some poor schmuck is going to get home and say "Well, Ethel, I could have sworn I bought a pack of them hot dog buns...I dunno" all the while Ethel is yelling "Jethro...we cain't eat no hot dogs without them hot dog buns".

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I laughed harder a couple of miles later when I saw another package in the same condition.

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Yeah, I have actual thought process like that in my head while I'm driving. You should see the looks I get from my daughter if I accidentally slip and say something like this out loud.

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On this same driving trip, I saw a little old black man with no teeth (you know what I mean...like this) driving a white Chevy Malibu (the old model, not the new one) that had these god-awful FLAMES painted all over it. I wondered out loud (to absolutely NO ONE in the car) about the story behind that.

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Do people who pronounce oysters "ersters" know that they're saying it wrong? And when they hear someone say it the correct way, do they think WE'RE the stupid ones or do they know they're pronouncing it wrong?

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That reminds me of Dooce and her whole pronunciation of the word "crayon".

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I feel guilty when eating sugar-free rice pudding and tossing it away cause it taste nasty when there are people in Haiti eating mud cookies.

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When listening to the song "Making Love Out of Nothing At All" by Air Supply, I always feel the urge to sing this part out loud:

"And I can make you every promise that has ever been made
And I can make all your demons be gone".

-------------------

I think ending on an Air Supply song will be sufficient.

Have a good Monday, Internets!

How was your weekend?

Later,

Mama Dawg

I Am Sitting At My Desk Crying...

...from laughing so hard.

Please, please, please, go check this and this out.

You won't regret it.

Unless you're secretly not 12 years old deep down inside like I know most of you are.

Oh, and you're welcome.

Later,

Mama Dawg