..And then. A new issue. I have been sweating a lot in strange places.

Seriously.

Luckily since I use baby wipes after using the can, there is no smell -- just sweat. I’ve heard that botox cuts back on perspiration in certain areas, but what do you do when the area in question is the top of your arse crack?

It’s not that I am overweight. I mean, shit – I’ve dropped a few pounds recently, and made quick close friends with a size 5.

*pose*

Yesterday, when I tried to get out of my car, after a mere 30 minute drive up 66, my legs were almost fused to the leather seat. Of course I was wearing khaki shorts and they no longer fit as nicely as when I sat in the car because of perspiration.

*bummer*

Granted, I had the top down, but the very top of my arse crack, and legs have been giving a bit too much lately – I am not sure it’s all about the sun and the leather combination.

Maybe it’s my recent increase of water intake. I haven’t the slightest f*cking idea.

I mentioned this to an associate, and she suggested I place a cotton ball in the top of my arse crack. Another associate suggested I not lotion the back of my legs.

I had visions of me forgetting about the cotton ball and making a sudden move at happy hour causing the cotton ball to pop out and hit the floor.

Though my friends and associates realize I have a few screws loose, I think that a cotton ball popping from my arse crack would be a bit too much for them to see – even from the likes of me.

This is about as confusing as when my breasts grew at age 22 and then I found out the hard way that you have to clean very well under your tah tah’s or that area becomes a quite unpleasant place. This may sound crazy for those of you who have always had breasts – but coming from a less than A cup to a C was quite traumatic for me and I had no idea I was sweating under there.

But arse sweat is far worse than tit sweat.

I truly think that arse sweat is the devil's spawn.

*someone help me please*

So the other day, I worked a tad bit over and headed to the garage for my car. It was a very stressful day so I really looked forward to taking the top off and heading home while playing my old Les Nubians CD.

*Si Je T'Avais Ecoute…*

I cruised slowly down U Street enjoying my busy neighborhood and came to the red light at 13th. I sat in the right lane in front of Rite Aid waiting patiently for the light to change – enjoying what was left of the beautiful day.

And then it happened.

The Collision.

A green RAV 4 ran into the driver side of my car.

I took a deep breath; turned off my engine; got out of the car and motioned for the woman to not move her car. She pointed to the right and moved anyways. I left my car there and took a look at the damages.

…this is a new car mind you.

The woman said goodbye to a man who got out of her car. He hugged her and walked away.

Her first words to me? Sowwwy, but yooo car so leetil I couwld not see yooo.

*huh?*

She then removed her large jet black sunglasses and I thought to myself beotch, your eyes cant open wide enough and get enough sun to need those f*cking huge black sunglasses. It was at that moment, that I realized if she said one more thing, I would surely stab her with my pencil right there on the spot.

Instead. I dialed 911 and waited for the officers. I realized that I was at an anger point of no return and didn’t really trust myself to talk to her long enough to get her information.

I then dialed the number for my auto insurance in an effort to stay on the phone so the beotch would just stay away from me.

She then walked over and informed me that she was running late for a dinner appointment and was leaving the country for a few weeks the day to follow.

*Huh? Don’t let the seersucker suit fool you beotch. I have 6 brothers, eight uncles – almost all of them have military backgrounds, and right this moment, I have the strong urge unleash my advanced pencil fighting force – in the most destructive way against your face out here*

My thumb brushed across the eraser of that pencil again and I spoke to my inner beotch “don’t say anything to her and don’t poke her with that pencil” .

The cop came and we did the report.

Luckily, we share the same insurance company, but now I have to take time off to get to the dealer – AND my car is fairly new, so parts pricing is not yet in the insurance systems, and most are just not available. There is no f*cking telling when I will be able to get any replacement parts for it.

So.

To sum it up in one of the shortest sentences you may ever see me write – I’m screwed, in a bad way.

..off to the serious beotching session…

Grab your note pad boys and girls -- and pay attention.

Its Ugly Stereotype Time!!!

I have many Ethiopian associates and friends who can’t drive very well, but will park your car on a dime effortlessly. So – the doro wat and kitfo eating drivers have something to bring to the table.

I have Latin associates who will drive too drunk to see, but know the best hookups with mechanics – that is, if they don’t fix it for you on the spot. So – the beans and rice and taco eating drivers have something to bring to the table.

I spoke with my friend Thong last night to express my frustration with him and many other kimchee eating drivers. That’s right – the Asians. Just paramount bad f*cking driving, parking, direction giving. Anything whatsoever to do with a car – they suck rancid arse at.

Each Asian associate I have fall under one of the following 1) they cant drive; 2) no understanding or want to understand driving laws; 3) EXTREMELY too passive on the road; or, 4) EXTREMELY AGGRESSIVE and prone to serious ROAD RAGE using those cars like they are nun chucks and the road like a set for Kung Foo Action Theater.

This beotch? Just plan old bad driving. She tried to make a right turn from the left lane while I was sitting beside her.

WTF?

And then had the nerve to talk about being late for dinner? That beotch is lucky she was able to eat her dumplings at all – she could have been in the emergency room getting my pencil removed from her mouth instead.

..And her comment that my car was small and she didn’t see it? Beotch, you are NOT driving a Hummer and furthermore – you mostly have tiny f*cking cars in your country so you would think you and your people would be accustomed to driving around them.

OPEN YOUR F*CKING EYES PEOPLE!

..if you can.

F*cking Asian drivers – I swear.

*I feel sooo much better now that I've released that energy*

Yes beotch, I will turn you on, warm you up and get to baking for a change. I know you are tired of red hot broiling, but you KNOW I’m just that kind of girl.

*azz pat*

I read somplace of a woman’s late-night urges for a lemon poppy seed muffin of much larger size as so not to feel badly for eating two or three of them at a time. She also admitted to keeping a canister of white icing nearby so that she might smudge ungodly amounts of that cheap sheeit all over the store bought muffin.

First, I wanted to puke. Second, I felt her pain. Third, I imagined what I would wear while smudging icing all over a big plump…

Pause

*getting back to the REAL subject here*

No worries.

Help is on the way.

I plan to solve the three muffin issue for me’self anyways. Ie searched and searched and found a few suggestions (including one from an old Martha Steward magazine) and pulled together a good start on my right-sized delightful poppy treat.

I plan to tweak and tweak until I get it right and then will post the final recipe: A CAKE not too moist for breakfast and not too dry for snacks. The PERFECT big assed SCRATCH lemon poppy seed cake with the purrfect SCRATCH cream cheese purrfect topping.

I might have to call my mother for this one!

I know I said I’d never put one in the oven again, but I suppose there is always an exception.

…will keep you posted.

I picked up a new bird feeder and am considering getting a birdbath.

I mixed my salad greens with wonderful fiddlehead ferns and asparagus tips and topped it with homemade spicy avocado vinaigrette. I ate it outside alone while watching my neighbors enjoy their new fire pit.

Today, I am headed to yet another terrace lunch with fantastic friends and associates.

Ah.

Spring is in the air and I love it!

It’s a never-ending cycle.

Maybe we are afraid to get exactly what we want – happiness in the next phase of our adulthood. The phase where we settle down (not settle for) so that we might enjoy the prime time of our lives. The time where after working hard at the workplace and to keep family together, happy, and successful – that it’s really become time to enjoy our lives with a special person – one we might give our undivided attention to.

Real sh*t folks. No half stepping.

Maybe we are afraid to show personal flaws that we really wish to change. I mean, while personally, I wear the majority of my flaws proudly on my arm like a Semper Fi tattoo, I have “secret” imperfections still.

Maybe the character flaws we point out in our partners are really flaws we find unacceptable in relationships. Or maybe the character flaws we point out in our partner are really reflections of ourselves, which could actually mean our partner and we have very close likenesses allowing understanding not easily found with “others”.

We are all screwed up in our own ways, and while I don’t think many have the disillusion of finding “perfection” in our partner – we do search for certain strengths in our partners where we are weak; tolerance of our imperfections; and a partner who is able to stand justly on the pedestal on which we want to place them.

I’ve learned one thing that’s for sure – people are like a bag of mixed nuts; some more salty than others. And while I like a good unsalted peanut and the occasional macadamia; brazils, pecans, almonds, filberts and cashews are definitely not my thing.

Those of us who have great partners and still feel the need to search the bag of nuts really need to understand which “maybe” we are dealing with.

Recently I reached into a bag of nuts and met an arsehole so big that you could land a jumbo f*cking jet there. I am normally really good about spotting them, but in this case I didn’t. I really should not have been in a situation to meet this person. Maybe I don’t appreciate what has been given to me. Maybe I am afraid of success.

There are a million maybes but one thing that’s for sure is the bag of nuts is always calling. This weekend, I decided to try a no-salt diet for a while.

She truly needs meds.

She claws away the carpet outside of closed doors.
My carpet outside of my first floor bathroom, daughter’s bedroom, third floor bathroom and my bedroom are in constant danger. Don’t make the mistake of closing the door to take a nap, bath, or poop. She claws constantly until the door is opened for her very slow, intentional, grand entrance – so you can imagine what several hours of nonstop clawing during a nap has done to the areas near the bedroom doors. Don’t dare sit on the toilet and forget to crack the door! Because of her I have taken to speed pooping instead of hearing her clawing and seeing her paws poke beneath the door. There is no way I can stand up after starting. Right?

She walks around the bathtub while it’s full.
She paces nonstop around the tub unless I strategically place lit candles in certain areas. She found out the hard (and hot) way what sniffing lit candles does to a little kitty. When candles are lit, she sits on the toilet whether the lid is up or down. She also makes a jump for my chest if it’s above water, so I must be sure to keep any area large enough for her to jump on and stand beneath water. We run the tub extra full at my house.

Rubber and plastic are part of her food groups.
She eats rubber bands. I found out about this in the very worse way – someone gave me a huge ball of rubber bands. I found it behind my computer desk with most of them eaten away and some shreds on the floor. She will also chew at a rubber band that’s keeping your hair together. She also loves cell phone charger cords – luckily not the larger ones for Blackberry units; but my sister has been out of a charger too many in the past year. I’m thinking maybe she buys the cheaper chargers that remind the cat of the rubber band ball I confiscated. If she fancied high-end leather things, her arse would have been thrown out of the front door by now.

She goes out of her way to walk over others.
She walks across me while I am sleeping or awake even if walking across me is the longest path to where she wants to go. I elbowed her just last week for walking across my ribs while I was sore and suffering from the flu.

She jumps on my lap while I am using the toilet.
Because of her I have taken to speed peeing in the mornings. When I am not in speed peeing mode, I keep my elbows on my thighs so there is not enough space for her to jump and land. At times she makes a go for it anyways, and when she does -- damn her claws hurt!

She wants to sleep on top.
Its one thing for a pet to want to lie on your tummy every once in a while but having to constantly push her from lying on my breast area so that she might place her face around my neck area is just beyond irritating. If you try pushing her away, not only does she return, but you might catch a claw. I oftentimes end up lying on my side because she is relentless.

She likes watching “things” go down the hole.
Be it cigarette, turd, or just plain old toilet paper – she sits there until everything goes down toilet. She also hangs her head far in once the water levels are low so that she might watch the water stream down along the inside of the bowl.

She desperately needs the attention of strangers.
She rubs all over strangers and jumps in their laps. It matters not to her if they are cat haters or just plain old scared sh*tless of her. She also crawls around their necks and claws and purrs. A friend asked if I’d considered Prozac.

My mini blinds have no strings.
She claws away and eats at the strings to draw the blinds.

She is in “heat” for several weeks at a time.
She has no shame about rubbing her arse against the chair for several minutes – mostly in front of company (or maybe that’s the only time I take notice). She howls all night long and makes attempts to run out the front door though she is a total house cat. A good rub against the dog is not out of the question for her. She also likes to sit her arse high in the air and rub it on the shoes and legs of strangers. Now, while I for one am not against a good foot job, its just plain old embarrassing.

Kinda turns you off to in-house puss huh?

Oh. Anyone who has experienced my puss is more than welcome to add other crazy things about it.

*snicker*

*snicker*

I called Dean and Deluca yesterday and requested they order for me a fresh (same-day slaughter) rabbit from a nearby farm – all natural and organically fed of course!

My grandfather prepared rabbit for me, and now that he’s gone, I’ve decided to prepare it myself. Half and half – his style with a French/Virtues twist.

Here is my recipie - Wish me luck!

Rabbit Stew

Bacon (6 slices, chopped)
Bay Leaves (about 3 leaves)
Broth (beef, about 1.5 cups)
Celery (1 stalk including leaves)
Flour (2 tablespoons)
Garlic (4 cloves, chopped)
Leeks (2 stalks)
Mushrooms (about 2 handfuls)
Onions (3 large sweet, chopped)
Rabbit (divided into four parts)
Thyme (about 3 springs)
Wine (red, about ½ cup)

In Dutch oven, cook bacon until done, remove and cook onion and garlic in bacon drippings on low heat until translucent. Add rabbit pieces and cook until golden brown, placing small dustings of flour on chicken for darker browning as necessary. Add beef broth, wine, onions, mushrooms, and remainder of herbs and veggies (tied in cooking string) and slow cook for about an hour. Add more broth if necessary.
Wine: Chinon

Don't take life too seriously. You'll never get out alive.
-Bugs Bunny

Some are just paranoid they are being dissected. Others are have such feelings of inadequacy they feel the need to first analyze their own response before providing one. I’m not that complicated. It’s not that serious. If I ask who won the World Series, it’s truly because I am not aware and simply want to know.

You telling me who won the World Series won’t help with some database of questions to be answered so that I might compile them for workable data and run a covert operation to take over ruling all men. I already understand how stupid most men are -- the stress of taking on a job ruling all men would just kill me dead.

I am the type of person you can share random and raw thoughts with. Odd even. You can share with me things you’ve only thought about. Mention to me that when you close your eyes, at times, it looks like little squiggly things are moving around under your eye lid. Talk -- about matters most significant OR insignificant in society. I can even entertain “what if” exchanges. I don’t need an issue to arise and a researched formal report to communicate.

Your babble or opinions don’t have to be perfect, but just speak in English please.

…clear English if it’s not too much of an issue.

And you can change your view mid-sentence. You can forget where you were taking your point and laugh about it. You can take YOUR thoughts and views in a different direction. I don’t care. I won’t judge you. I will instead enjoy the exchange. It’s all about mental stimulation.

It’s all about mental stimulation.

It’s all about mental stimulation.

It waters the roots of my soul.

It’s not as if I am the type of woman to ask where my partner went and what they did the evening before. I’ve already figured out that if they are out with someone else, it will just make them want me even more. I think it’s healthy for them to get out a bit and see what they are not missing.

…and I hope I am not asked where I was the night before either.

I’m not overly-analytical by the time I reach my partner because I’ve had enough to process reading minds, clearing messes, and making things fit seamlessly all day at the workplace. I also try to write in my journal daily to dump thoughts and stress to make my home life a peaceful place.

I’ve said a million times – I want the perfect June Cleaver and Heather Hunter type of situation at home. I am both. What’s the issue? Why can’t I just get it from the rear while reading my National Journal, wearing my black leather apron, making a perfect soufflé and asking who won the World Series?

With my partner -- it is what it is. I say what I mean. There are no hidden meanings or agendas. Pinch me – I am real. I know it’s a rarity.

Don’t obsess yourself with my next “move” – it would have been to your crotch if you had anything of interest to discuss outside of World News or been able to just answer a question without a question.

I just wish that folks would stop being paranoid or intimidated with the train of thought they may witness me use with others in business and some friendships. The way I handle business has nothing to do with my personal relationships - the person I want to unwind with should be and is handled in a very different manner.

It’s amazing how intimidated some can become when dealing with a strongly opinionated woman. What’s even more surprising is that are attracted to my type, hunt us down forever, and then when you decide to give them a roll – they end up in a mental fetal position just overf*ckingwhelmed – insecure. Walking on eggshells they put in place themselves.

My friendships are important to me, but a really smart match for me would understand that if I put half of the criticisms that MATTER into my relationship as I do with my platonic friends, I would likely not want to have a partner at all.

In relationships, extra points are given because there is the thought of entertaining some growth together. Taking a journey together. All of that pink sh*t that happens in healthy relationships. Oh – there are also extra points allowed because s*x is in the equation and this clouds thoughts a bit.

You want friends to be almost flawlessly good crazy because they have to deal with your shit when you talk about the “other” crazies you meet. That’s why MOST people have fewer current and former friends than former partners.

Can I please have a healthy f*cking exchange with someone I am f*cking?

I am exhausted.