Princette

2004-03-27T23:30:00.000-08:00

Okay, it's Saturday afternoon, and I have kids. So, I go against the odds, and decide to go have a pedicure with a 7 and 8 year old in tow. Surprisingly, they are angelic, and I am ecstatic, enlightened, you name it, I am so happy! Then we go to the mall, and I buy a couple of tee-shirts to wear to my Mom's in Arkansas, and pushing my luck, I decide to go to Target for some staples, and a pair of thongs. Shoe thongs, you perverts, what else?

That song, "Toxic" by no one else than Britney Spears is playing, and my 7 year old is talking about sexy women. I decide right there and then to tell both of them what sex means. Mind you, I also decide to pluck the hair off both my big toes with my fingers. The pain of this somewhat dulls what I am thinking and saying. So, I explain the penis and vagina meeting up, the sperm, the egg, and pregnancy. They both fall out in the back of the car, laughing and carrying on. But I am determined. I have the SEX TALK, which I don't remember my mother ever having with me, well, kind of... I grew up in the country, and we had dogs, and the best thing I remember about finding out how sex worked was the male dog was humping the female, and I locked them both in our horse trailer to see what would happen. Well, they got "tied up" and I tried to get them apart, but that wasn't happening, so I just watched from the side of the trailer. It was really cool, in a gross, fantastic sort of way, and I realized what was going on at that time. I will never forget that as long as I live, who ever forgets their first knowledge of sex? I don't remember how old I was, but I guarantee I was much older than both of my sons.

It is sort of sad if you think about it, they now know what sex is, but still believe in Santa Claus. As Prince would say, I guess it's a sign of the times. I honestly think the demise of Santa will be harder to explain than sex. Go figure.

2004-03-27T09:38:00.000-08:00

Just mopped the floor, and folded the 5th load of laundry. All in panties and a tank top. White cotton, mind you. I hate being domestic, but if I don't do it, who will?

I have my radio tuned into 109.1, having been advised that this is an all Prince weekend. So far, I have heard Gwen Stefani, Madonna, and Natalie Merchant. Shit. I guess I have to go back to Emancipation and just CD the rest of the day away. I hear that Madonna is contemplating another tour. Well, thank God for that, because we have all missed her nasty ass, huh?

I have hair on my toes. Does anyone else have this problem? I don't know whether to pluck or shave. I really need a pedicure, but after two years of not having one, I am too embarrassed. They are really funky, I think the cuticle on my smallest pinky toe has overgrown the toenail itself. Thank God for Doc Maarten's. No NG kitten heels for me, not sure about Callipes, but I imagine my toes would be exposed.

I wish I had Johnny Depp's home phone number. I wish I had hairless, pedicured toes. I wish I had a babysitter. I wish I had dogs that didn't feel the need to mark their territory after ALL this time. I wish I had a Camaro SS, midnight blue. I wish I had another gallon of Seagram's vanilla vodka. I wish I had some paper towels. I wish I had access to NG's closet.

The bathroom beckons. I wonder if CLR would take the hair off my toes?

2004-03-25T09:01:00.000-08:00

I just realized there are toenails in my ashtray. As my cigarette was resting its tired little body, I noticed a strange aroma coming forth. I look over and see roasting toenails. Large ones.

All of you single girls out there fighting the valiant fight of singledom versus relationship, please remember this. Sometimes it's nice to be alone.

2004-03-24T09:25:00.000-08:00

So I hear on Kiss FM today a story about a lady that called 911 on her cell phone while being kidnapped and locked in the trunk of a car with another woman. Blue saturn, license plate VMW..., or VWM... and you think you're having a shitty day.

2004-03-24T08:36:00.000-08:00

I have so much to do today, and I am just sitting here blogging away. Southwestern Bell is on my shit list right now. I hate those assholes. Long story, not very entertaining, I will spare everyone the gory details.

My oldest son, the floor pisser, has a science project due tomorrow. Which means, in no uncertain terms, that yours truly has a science project due tomorrow. I truly hate school. That's why I dropped out of college and became a flight attendant. And now, it is all returning to haunt me. Math, science, spelling, book reports, the list goes on and on. The current project is: make a chart/graph on posterboard labeling the three resources of ROCKS, PLANTS, and WATER. Then cut out or draw (ha!) pictures showing how we humanoids utilize these resources. Well, neither Glamour or Instyle magazine have much to offer. I guess I could cut out ads for David Yurman, (ROCKS) Gucci,( jungle PLANTS scene with naked, anorexic woman wearing kick-ass shoes looking like she wants to (a) vomit or (b) fuck a monkey) And those slimy, orgy versed Versace ads where everyone is sweaty and look like they need a drink of... WATER. Yes, that may be how all of this goes down.

I remember a long time ago, I had a project due in Girl Scouts, it was some type of poster. Well, of course my mother did the entire thing, and I ended up winning an award for it. Why anyone would think that an 8 year old is capable of doing this shit is beyond me. So, I guess the ball has been passed and another generation has come. Sometimes I don't feel like an adult, much less the ONE that HAS to do the projects now. I guess I have grown up. Shit. I had no idea how nice it was to be young, free, and irresponsible. I miss those days of coming home from school, and having dinner served to me, taking a bath and homework, nothing more, nothing less. No SWBT that I was aware of, no doctor's appointments to make, no errands to run, just plain and simple small town country upbringing, riding horses, playing in the barn, baton twirling, having my clothes for the next day laid out for me, having my mom brush my hair and curl it, no financial worries, no vehicle registration, no laundry, no cleaning house. Okay, I was spoiled as a child, but I sure do miss those days. They are gone forever. I am the adult now, with responsibilities, deadlines, science projects, and bread to buy. And I will carry on.

2004-03-23T21:52:00.000-08:00

So this woman gets on the plane today. Dallas to Oklahoma City. She's probably a little under 6 feet tall, older, (not elderly) and I see that she is having a conversation with the flight attendant in the first class galley. Well, I see her attention shift to me, as I am standing at the closet behind first class. And here she comes. She stops in front of me and says, " Can you help me with my bag? I can't lift it by myself." Standard response # 19; "I am so sorry you can't, but we're not allowed to lift passenger's bags. If you can't lift it yourself, then you will need to check it." She: " the girl up front told me you would help." This, I know is a lie, because said girl up front is even bitchier and more tired than I. So, instead of bothering more than I already have, I point out big, burly man in row 14 and tell her to ask him.

I once flew with a girl that told me this story. She said it was the end of a long day, and all the crew wanted was to get off the plane and go to their hotel room. A male passenger was frantically and unsuccessfully trying to unlodge his suitcase out of the overhead bin. He had crammed it in during boarding, and now could not seem to get it out. The flight attendant I speak of was so damn tired, she watched him for awhile, then finally said, "here, let me do it." She proceeded to climb up in one row of seats, and gave it several mighty pulls. Finally, the suitcase flew out of the overhead bin so suddenly that it pinned her to the overhead bin on the opposite side of the plane. It was very sudden, and she told me that she felt a searing pain in her neck that radiated down her back, but by God it was out, and on to the hotel they went. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and lay down. The next morning she stumbled out of bed, and passing by the bathroom mirror, she stopped short. The entire left side of her face was sagging horribly. She had broken her neck and not even realized it. And you know what American's response was? Well, you shouldn't have pulled it out. She was off work for six months with no pay.

So, please don't ask us to help you with your bag. We are not the ones that decided to pack the heavy, too big thing, and bring it on board. If you can't lift it yourself, or it won't fit into the overhead bin, then it ceases to be carry on luggage, and you need to check it.

All we are required to do is find you a place to stow the damn thing, not lift it ourselves.

I once had a grown man walk up to the aircraft door, tap me on the shoulder and point over his shoulder at a tote bag on the jetbridge. he said, "Can you take care of that for me?" "Sure I can." So I checked it to Portland. We were flying to Minneapolis. Bastard.

I do, however, make exceptions for elderly people and the unaccompanied children that fly with us. I'm not a total bitch.

2004-03-22T08:27:00.000-08:00

Word to the wise, never dye your hair before a trip. I don't care what the picture on the box looks like, it is not the correct color. There is a disclaimer on the Loreal carton that says 'actual shades may vary.' Well, good for them. They should have one that says, "no matter what pleasing shade of irridescient nut brown this promises to be, please do not be alarmed if your hair turns; turquoise, magenta, or baby-shit brown. Corporate assholes.

Oh well, I don't know anyone at work. That is the best part of it all. They have no idea what my hair looked like yesterday, or the week before, or if I am bloated. Let them think I have eaten too many pretzels. I am SO past giving a shit. The 33% paycut I took last year pretty much summed it up for me. I think I will wear the rhinestone stud in my nose today, instead of the teeny, tiny silver anti-ball. I was told once by management that
"that's very UN- American." This was long ago and the subject was an upper ear piercing. Funny thing, passengers don't recoil in horror. They say, if anything, very positive things about my piercings, " I like your look" "Did that hurt?" "Way cool!" "Got any more that we can't see?" That, of course is my favorite. So American can either get with the times, or leave me alone. I am good at what I do, and I definitely don't need shit from their end.
What a lovely day! And I am headed for Tulsa. With fucked up nut brown (sort of) hair. Damn.

2004-03-21T20:36:00.000-08:00

I like Mexicans. I really do. They are very well behaved. They say "gracias" for the smallest favor on the plane. I never hear, "what's for dinner?" or "Ya got any magazines/blankets/pillows/aspirin/band aids/playing cards/tampons/candy bars/mosquito spray/lip balm/a pen I can borrow/moisturizer/shoe polish/peanut butter? Well do ya? Huh huh?"

They are quiet, polite, and very self sufficient. They never ask for Diet Black Cherry Slice, Fresca, or Frappucinos. They ask for Coke or orange juice, usually with no ice (less work for me.) If they are really feeling frisky, they might ask for Sprite. None of that pompous, spoiled American 'what can you do for me'? bullshit. Just nice, well-dressed, happy, smiling, look out the window and leave me the fuck alone, kind of folks.

I think I should start bidding Mexico trips. I would be a lot more happy. And the duty free liquor is cheaper.

2004-03-21T09:54:00.000-08:00

I have figured out the mystery pool of urine in the boy's bedroom. For the last two nights in a row, I have walked in and found a huge puddle snaking its way from under the desk on the side of their bunkbed where their desk is and coming to a tentative stop under the ladder. I have blamed my largest dog, Ollie, for this and thought he must have a huge bladder.

Something wasn't right, however, and I could not figure it out. This morning, it hit me. I calmly asked my 8 year old about it, and he confessed. Seems he gets enthralled in the video games so much, he has found it easier just to pee right there from his chair in front of the desk. That silly toilet is like at least 20 feet away, and the trip there might break his video trance.

Is that not the most disgusting thing you have ever heard? When asked, he says he gets it from his Daddy's side of the family. I'm most certain of this because I know them well.

This child came out of me, so there must be some blame on my part. Same DNA, but I have never pissed on the floor because I was too damn focused on something to go to the toilet. Think I will just start now. Blogging and pissing on the floor.

Going to work so I can get some rest!

2004-03-20T08:14:00.000-08:00

I am so impressed by the literary genius of some folks. I guess it would make me seem more intelligent to be reading Melville, or all about Dante's fabulous descent into the Netherworld, but here I am reading a book I found on the plane called "The White Road" by John Connolly, and let me tell you boys and girls, it is damn good. I am on page 8, and can really feel that this will be a fascinating read.
Just finished "False Memory" by Dean Koontz. It was wonderful, I finished it in 3 days. I gave it to another flight attendant only when she agreed that Stephen King is a very nice substitute for God. She also commented on my Prince symbol/sign/pin that I am wearing at all times right now in honor of the sacred April 2nd concert date, even on my blue polyester uniform. I have my standards, believe me.

I can't get into books that are so heavy with journalistic prose and meaning that you have to reread the same paragraph over and over to ponder the full meaning. I don't have time to ponder. I have children. I am lucky to get a bath or shower in once a day, okay? Yes, I have Tolkien stacked up in the bookcase. I read Jane Eyre in high school. And Tolstoy. On Hawthorne, I was fascinated by the Red "A". I appreciate all of the masters, I just have no time for the heavy shit.

I love my fiction, take me away literary Calgon, take me the fuck away. Give me murder, mystery, seances, cars that come to life, dogs that go frothingly mad, and trees that have a death smell. That is what I need.

Maybe it's my job, no genius IQ required there. Although when I started my career at age 20, you had to have completed at least two years of college. Now you just have to have a full set of teeth. Well, almost. I just wanted out of the small town atmosphere and the dead end Community College. This was a cool job. I went to New York for a year, then transferred to Boston for two. I have seen a lot of the world, and have been paid to do it, I deal with different situations on a constant, evolving basis. No, it doesn't take a genius to do this job, but it does require a chameleon's sense of change and grace. I even know how to shock people when their heart stops, so there.

One of my old flight attendant girlfriends bought a book about Hitler .

Rise and Fall of the Third Reich: A History of Nazi Germany

She would read this on the plane so everyone would think she was really smart. She actually got about a fourth into the book before giving up. I have never done this, but I can see why someone would. Some professions promote and demand intelligence and respect, mine doesn't.

And I have no idea who Donnie Darko is.

2004-03-20T06:53:00.000-08:00

What is up with all of this Spring Break nonsense? I never got to go anywhere on Spring Break. My parents never booked a flight for me to Ft. Lauderdale or Cancun, handed me spending money or a platinum credit card, knowing that I would be drinking myself silly and flashing my tits, perhaps even securing a spot on one of those "Girls Gone Wild" videos which my husband so adores.
For the second time, I will be working a flight bound for Cabo San Lucas full of college kids wearing Lacoste and Ralph Lauren (nothing but, it does look like that Abercrombie shit is on its way out) carrying loads of Louis Vuitton carry ons, going to party their thin, rich little arses off. I just don't get this. Was I not raised properly? Was I suppressed as a young adult? It is not the money that gets me riled, it's the sheer unknown that their parents are sending them off into (don't they know what little Cory and Kristen will be doing?) and the fact that they are financing the entire sex/booze fest. This generation has entirely too much power if you ask me.
The coolest thing that ever happened to me in high school was I got to tag along with a family of Mormons on their way to Mexico City, to check out their eldest son's new missionary position. It took 23 hours on a train to get us there, and there was no air conditioning on the train, or much of anywhere in that damn country. They don't even have ice there. I drank orange juice one morning (lots of it), and we went to check out the pyramids. We were on a bus with locals, crying babies, chickens, (I swear) and the heat, oh God the heat. I got nauseous and proceeded to projectile vomit OJ in the bus, on the pyramids, on my friends, anything in range was an unfortunate target. I still can't drink OJ to this day.
And I think this was honestly during Spring Break. I just wish I could have slipped off and exposed myself to someone. That would have made it even more perfect.

2004-03-19T10:24:00.000-08:00

I say, maybe you should take a look at your happiness factor. If you are not as happy as possible, ditch the weak link. You deserve better. Better is out there. I promise.

2004-03-19T09:39:00.000-08:00

I used to be a horrible mother, but since I let my kids hang out at the house for Spring break (their school operates during breaks like this,they call it "play days" and I surely could have taken them), now I am the most FABULOUS mother around. And, let's please not forget the two Game Boy SPs that have been purchased last week. Oh, and the trip to Chick Fil A yesterday. I had a coupon and thought we would try something new. My oldest, 8, just HAD to have the chicken "pattie" sandwich. I tried explaining that it was not a pattie, rather a succulent breast part coated with dreamily fried yumminess, I just love this sandwich, the pickles, the mayo, the cole slaw... but I had a feeling, since it was "different" that he might not. Well, he ate like 3/4 of the sandwich under duress. I just hated knowing that I would have to finish it for him. I had already had one. But all in all, he really did well. Power to the COWS!
My youngest however, 7, was forced by me to eat about three of the nuggets in his meal. He didn't want them, said they tasted funny, but at my insistence, and amidst threats of torture, no toy at Wal-Mart, (which we still had to conquer)and no TV or video games later that evening, he fussily tried to chew them up. Chased them with Sprite, even, lots of it... so when he leaned over to the side of his chair and vomited the nuggets, what looked to be about a gallon of Sprite, and a couple of half chewed waffle fries, onto the floor, instead of being horrified, I hurried over with lots of napkins and cleaned it up, laughing the whole time. We are through with exotic and new dining experiences. It will be MacDonald's or Burger King from now on. Damn.
So on to Wal-Mart, oh enchanted store in which I would live. White trash, maybe, but even Paris Hilton loved the place down in rural Arkansas, had never been in one until then, can you imagine? Anyway, as we walked through the clothing section on our way to the groceries, I turned just in time to see my youngest holding up a woman's bathing suit to the clerk at the fitting room door. He said in a voice only an angel could muster, "Does this make my butt look big?" She laughed so hard, I swear she farted, and I quickly grabbed the suit and hung it back up.
After 20 minutes spent at the lobster tank, this fascinates them for some reason, even after I sweetly explained that the lobsters are boiled alive, and you can hear them scream for days after. After walking by the beer, and having my youngest again say, "Mommy, there is that stuff you love to drink ALL of the time." After they both started barking like wild dogs in the appropriate section of the store, the dog aisle, we avoided a breakdown as the toy aisle neared, they have enough shit, believe me. After my oldest needing to hear an explanation of the Astro glide I quickly threw in the cart, "But Mommy, what's it FOR?" We finally got to leave the premises, unharmed, and unscathed and $200 poorer.
Ahh, the miracle of birth, the joy of children, the completely unmatched feeling of lying down beside a sleeping child and stroking his hair, telling him you love him, and the smell, God, the smell of a child sleeping. I remember just holding them as babies and SMELLING them. Sucking it in like the best bouquet in the world, having them look at you and tell you they love you.
I will surely win no awards for my mothering skills, nor do I need to. Sometimes it is just enough to know that they are here with me, if only for a short while.

2004-03-18T11:52:00.000-08:00

Sitting here eating Cheetos out of the 10 pound bag, wishing I could find a grocery delivery person. I HATE going to the grocery store. I used to love it when I was single, because I didn't even need a buggy, well, maybe for the suitcase pack of MGD light, but now, I could honestly utilize two buggys, and since it is Spring fucking break, my kids are coming with me. I always end up spending about $100 more than I would if they weren't there. Yogurt, bologna, corny dogs, cheese pizzas, Chef Boy R Dee ravioli with meatballs, M&Ms, Starbursts, you name it, I feel obligated to buy it. Not that they don't understand the word, "no", just that they would starve to death if I didn't buy the things they like.
They are watching Monty Python, "The Meaning of Life" in the living room right now, so I am putting this trip off as long as I can. Oh wait, there are ladies with their titties exposed in that movie. I am such a horrible mother at times. Whatever. I did cut their toenails today in the bath, so that must count for something.
Would anyone care to tell me how to make this site more fascinating? Like, you know, links and comments, and normal like everyone else has "shit"? I don't have the foggiest idea how to even do this.
Comments to improve are always appreciated.

2004-03-18T09:03:00.000-08:00

Well, last night was strange. I said some things I shouldn't have, probably did some things I shouldn't have as well. That's what happens (a) when I drink and (b) when I actually get to go somewhere. I never get to go out so when I do, I always try to make the most of it. I apologize to anyone I offended, and that is all I am going to say about the matter. End of story, water under the bridge, let's move on, shall we?

2004-03-16T08:21:00.000-08:00

Chicken,
I am really sorry about the witch hunt. Unbelievable, what petty little minds can compose on their own volition. Fuck them all, take a deep breath, and please believe me, I did not intend for this to happen. I have lost one dear friend in the past two years, am in the process of losing another, although post before last will explain why, and am not really excited at the prospect of losing yet another. S can go to hell, and take her last email with her. I am sure the dark one would appreciate it, it reeks of insanity. Who ever thought the world of dog rescue could be so mad?
It is NOT more fun this way.
I am flying a charter to Cabo, San Lucas today. Maybe this can cheer me up. Maybe not.

2004-03-16T08:11:00.000-08:00

Shit, shit, shit, I am having babysitter trouble, and night of all nights, April 2nd, which happens to be the most anticipated night of my year, because the ONE, the Master, the oh so highly regarded by yours truly, Prince is coming to town. My two normal babysitters have plans on this sacred night. I could always get a really good Master lock for the closet door, put some blankets, pillows, Cheetos, and a couple of Game Boys in there for entertainment, but I think that might be considered child abuse. Damn.

2004-03-16T07:33:00.000-08:00

So, I get a phone call Saturday night. It goes something like this. "(Insert my real name here), this is D, (one of my best friend's husbands) I just wanted to thank you for fucking my life up. Click.
Hmmm. So I am sitting there, wondering how I could fuck his life up anymore than he has, and I don't have a clue.
Let me start at the beginning. This friend of mine (Let's call her K)has been an alcoholic since she was, let's say 13. She used to get grounded, so 80's, and get her buddies to drop beer off at the end of her driveway, then sneak out her window, grab the six pack and sit in her room to drink. She is one of those people that is always obsessed about something, be it drugs, alcohol, facial peels, her body, etc... she is an absolute beauty, modeled a little in her younger days, bone structure, beautiful skin, tall. BUT she has always been a card short of a full deck. Not the most engaging conversationalist, actually quite ignorant of all things that go in the world that don't pertain to her everyday life. She doesn't work, because D thinks this would make him less of a man, actually because he might lose control of her, and she might begin to start thinking for herself, something that is grossly foreign to the situation. He is a richie rich wannabe, they always have a plan or scheme that is going to get them rich, let's not even mention the drug lab in their attic.
I have known her since 1999, we met through our kids, they both go to the same school, or did at the time. I have watched her battle the urge to drink, smoke, do drugs, always something.
As everyone knows, I drink. This is not something I have ever hid from D, I have shown up at their house with a six pack or a bottle of wine to while the night away, and K has always abstained.
Since looks are the only thing that she really has going for her, and since she is getting older, she has started to panic. She started that HGH hormone therapy shit, and now talks like a man, and has hair growing out of odd places. She also has a dick. I swear. A she-dick. A mound of flesh that has started to form for whatever reason, but by God, her thighs are tighter, and she can eat whatever she wants...Jesus.
She has also started drinking again and doing cocaine, so she can be thin for her upcoming amateur Playboy shoot. Her once beautiful face is so stressed from facial peels, and tatooed eyebrows, lips, you name it, whatever she can do to herself to ward off the aging process, she doesn't even look like the same girl. I have started distancing myself from her, not because I don't care about her anymore, I just don't need any more shit in my life, and she is getting stranger, not the person I used to work out with and tell all of my secrets to.
So, she comes to my house one night maybe a month ago, starts to drink, ends up getting plumb goofy, then wants to have sex...with me. We won't even go into that. Seems those hormone shots make you horny. Anyway, she ends up spending the night, because she is too drunk to drive home, next morning rolls around, she promptly calls her husband and confesses that she drank all night and has been addicted to pain pills for over a year. Of course, since she has been at MY house, I am blamed by the husband. He gets me on the phone and reams my ass out for not being a better friend. I sat there and took all of this, perhaps because I am in such a state of shock, and have been trained over the years to not be confrontational. She finally goes home, a month passes, he gets over it, life has once again moved on.
So now this sneaking of alcohol, right under his own damn nose, in his own house, the cocaine, the daily HGH shots in her stomach (that he knows nothing about), the Playboy shoot, her undying wish to be young and thin and pretty. And the phone call to me. Seems he found her cell phone and called everyone on the damn thing, and left them the same message. Do I need this? I think not.
Why do some people feel the need to blame others for their own self induced woes? I honestly think he fucked his own life up when he walked down the aisle with this psycho bitch. Leave me alone. I am getting ready for the showdown. I think I should call him back and tell him what I really think. Problem is, we might not ever be friends again afterwards, because I can be rather ugly when I finally am pushed to the edge.

2004-03-10T15:16:00.000-08:00

Hello chicken,

I have decided to stop smoking, and it is hell, let me tell you. I bought Commit lozenges, a $7.00 bag of Dum Dum lollipops, and I am REALLY trying. I have had two cigarettes since 9:00am. That is really f'ing good for me. Those lozenges taste like glue, and it says on the package that they dissolve in 20-30 minutes. Well that is HORSESHIT. They linger around for about 2 hours, unless you suck them like they are made out of Prince dick.
Anyway, have really made a commitment here, I have spent $30 on an anti smoking aid. That would have bought me a carton and a pack.... 11 packs of stress relieving jewels, that is 220 cigarettes. Maybe like 7 days worth, unless I am really stressed... God, please help me.
I don't want to be old and wrinkled and not able to breathe. Why is this hold so strong? I know it is psychological, but dear Jesus, it feels like I want to gnaw the hair off of a bear foot, I want a cigarette so bad... I actually called M, my husband, and told him to come home early, I NEVER do that. I just need reinforcement, and anybody or everybody can help.. I AM listening to Prince, the KING, the wonderful soulmate that I have come to love, so that might help. He, for one, has never smoked or done any drugs, and I am really going to try this time. Please wish me luck. I think it would be easier if I was addicted to heroin or cocaine. This fucking nicotine is killing me...literally.

2004-03-06T19:20:00.000-08:00

OKAY, here it is with warm flesh and flowing blood. I go out of town a lot and lose the flow, but I will try and keep it going.
I have Prince tickets, good seats, I will just go insane during the show, I am sure, since I have already dedicated EVERY motherfucking day from here on out as PRINCE DAY. From March 6th and on, I declare every day as PRINCE DAY, bow down and pray to the SUPREME being, am playing the most obscure and annoying brand new Prince music on the stereo every day until the big event. This is my thing, and I truly believe in him and his music. I have really "felt", you know, "had feelings about", for the idiots amongst us... (1) my 1998 Camaro Z28, when I started the engine, I actually felt close to orgasm... (I had to give this sweetie up because I had two children, and tried to get a standard vacuum cleaner in the fucking trunk one day at KMART, wouldn't fit, so I had to litter and leave the GD box in a cart in the parking lot, just so we could manuever the vacuum in the trunk. I got rid of my sweet baby girl shortly after.) I have hated my kids ever since... (2) Whataburgers with cheese,mayo and jalepenos around 3:00am (3) PRINCE, who won my heart over in the early 80's, and has continued to DO ME BABY ever since. International LOVER, let me take you for a ride.... how many positions in a one night stand? 24...Next question.

All for now, I promise to write more and more...

2004-02-21T08:35:00.000-08:00

I have a date tonight. With my husband. Imagine that. He is working, (running sound for a band) at Bronco's in Bedford. I get to go and see this great band, "The Heat". They play all kinds of really great dance music, I get to get dressed up, and kiss my children, and LEAVE!!!! I can't wait.
There is one guy in the band, a black guy with dreadlocks, (happily married) that just makes me crazy with that NIN song, "Animal". Yegads, I feel like I am on the verge of becoming a woman every time I hear this, he squats down on the front of the stage, and sings it, and it is all I can do to keep from exploding. HHHMMMM. I have a thing for black guys with dreadlocks, like that Green Bay Packer guy. can't remember his name, but he got my attention allright.
I sure wish the chicken could come tonight, I feel that she needs some out of mind, out of body experience, and I feel quite compelled to mention that this is what I am planning. Double Skyye and tonic, please. Belly up to the bar. Come one, come all. God, I feel like John Wayne right now. Tomorrow morning I may REALLY feel like John Wayne, but who cares?

2004-02-21T07:59:00.000-08:00

Ten things I hate about my job:
1. Passengers
2. being handed wet tissues, banana peels, and dirty diapers, and automatically saying, "thank you"
3. Short layovers
4. Passengers with HUGE bags that wouldn't fit into a Winnebago. "But it fit fine on Continental" Then fly Contintental from now on.
5. People that put their luggage in row 7, then head back to row 31 to take their seat.
6. People that ask for three drinks on a 30 minute flight to Oklahoma City, hell, people that ask for ONE drink on the same flight.
7. Flight attendants that "decorate" the lavs with dried flowers, air freshener, and ivy.
8. Call buttons
9. Passengers
10. charging $5 for one beer

Ten things I love about my job:
1. Free soda
2. Being alone in a hotel for 17 hours at a time, with no kids, a bathtub, and a bed all to myself.
3. No boss
4. If you don't like your coworkers, you don't have to see them again after the trip for maybe three years.
5. deplaning
6. working three days, then being off for five.
7. helping nice people, (it's all in the attitude!)
8. knowing that I have access to flex cuffs
9. telling the security folks that my nipple rings may set off the metal detectors, and seeing their faces.
10. the fucking glamour of it all...

2004-02-15T11:40:00.000-08:00

Here is my motto:
"Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming WOW-----what a ride!"
I'm really working on it.

2004-02-12T14:19:00.000-08:00

Why is it that when you are young, you fight like hell to not take a nap, scream, cry, kick, threaten, etc... and when you are older, it is the most luxurious thing you can do for yourself? I have the day off and just woke up from a two hour nap, Judge Judy is on, I want to be her when I grow up, or at least borrow her diamond studs.
Now I am torn between going to the liquor store and replenishing the stock for the coming weekend, or finishing up the laundry so I can act like I have been doing wifely things when my husband gets home. Hmmm. I wonder where my keys are. I hate car keys, it is like my body has an anti-key force comparable to some magnetic resistance between flesh and metal, I lose those GD things all of the time. Thank God I have an extra one under the frame of the car itself, it is usually the only way I can drive. Headed to the liquor store now, duties be damned, I will feel much more like putting laundry away when I have a vodka tonic close at hand.

2004-02-12T10:45:00.000-08:00

Hello to the Internet world and beyond! This is my first post EVER, and it hopefully only gets better from here. A friend of mine, B (de pollo), turned me on to this wonderful world, and I have thought for awhile about posting my own, so here goes...
I worry a little about posting certain things since in the future my pride may be so much that I want to share it with my mother and father, and I am not sure what they would think. I have lots of skeletons, and many closets they hide in and would certainly hate to taint the "good girl" image (although I think that they gave up long ago.) I still rely on my parents in emergencies, and I really hate that. If I had listened to them long ago, that might not be the case, but saddeningly it is at this time.
Let me introduce myself: I am Princette, I am 36 years old, have worked for American Airlines as a flight attendant since '88, you do the math, I still am fuzzy with this, am married , have two gorgeous, though stubborn, children, a husband that is shaping up after all, (Paxil helps very much, but that's a whole post unto itself). I am TOTALLY into dog rescue, (miniature pinschers), have four amazing black and tan min pins, although one of my favorites is leaving next weekend for her forever home in San Antonio. Best damn one, too. I smoke, I drink too much, I swear, I fart really loudly,(especially after trips, it is amazing what air pressure at 35,000 feet can do to one's insides, I have been likened to a water buffalo at times by my loving husband) I love Prince, hold on, I LOVE PRINCE, he is the sexiest, androgenous being I have ever beheld in my entire life. Probably has a weenie the size of a vienna sausage, but who gives a shit, he makes me FEEL! I am coming into my own after what seems an entire lifetime, I feel that I can say what I want and do what I like, could be the vodka, but hey, sometimes whatever helps, you have to go with. I love to read, but rarely have the time, Stephen King, Nelson Demille, Ken Follet, Dean Koontz, nothing hardcore intelligent, but I have my preferences. I am completely addicted to American Idol, actually called in sick to work to watch who won between Kimberley Locke, Clay Aiken, and Rueben.
My parents are my true idols, they sacrificed so much for me during my upbringing, and now they are the happiest people in the world, retired, living on a mountaintop in Arkansas, playing folk music, and just generally loving life. I owe them my existence, and I wish sometimes I could just go back to being a little girl, shirk my responsibilities, go home, and let my Mama make me food and tuck me in.
I can't cook very well, I hate laundry, I hate tomatoes, love Whataburgers with cheese, onions, pickles, and jalepenos, Sonic also has a very well versed version of this...I love Diet Dr. Pepper and Godiva chocolate, except the hazelnut shit. I miss my ferrets, Elvis and Cilla, they were the next best thing to dogs for a single travelin' gal, I love Louis Vuitton, Christian Dior, Ralph Lauren, Target, and yes, Walmart. They are all relevant.
My husband is a musician at heart, but had to get a "real" job with children on the horizon, he is a great and very devoted man. We have had some hard times, but I think, just maybe, that it is going to work. He is a much better parent than I, he does homework, baths, and reading so patiently while I drink wine, talk on the phone, and basically shit the night away. It's not that I am a bad mother, it's just that I am a much better thug and conversationalist. You should always find your strengths and go with these. I deal with whiny people all day long in my job,(hundreds of them) and it is sometimes the legendary "straw that broke the camel's back" when I come home, and hear kids whining. He is a very sexy, sweet man, though, and I will srite more about him later.
I am much more multifaceted, or so I like to think, so I will stop for now, or I might not come up with a future post. Thanks for your time reading this, and I promise to try to entertain. Or enlighten, or just make myself happy writing, fuck what you think.