Oh, I was just reading old journal entries and grieving over losing my little dog who recently died, and losing my closest friend whom I may never see again. Hard to conceive that a love burning brightly can be snuffed out so abruptly, even by a breath of easy laughter. But somehow I am still here, and I am glad of it.

Love I am thankful for today:

• BUTCH-FEMME.COM, sometimes known as bitch-fume.com. I have met so many amazing, wonderful people. How much has changed in a decade with Chris and me? Our web site has changed too, but the effort and the reward has remained the one constant. Amazing we have managed to do this together, as much as two generals can battle with no soldiers. LOL I can’t be thankful enough for how much the love behind computer screens has strengthened my own marriage.

• FRIENDS. Man, in all of my days, I have never been blessed with so many amazing people in my life. Truly. I think if I was gazing out over a crowd and I didn’t know any of you, the eye of my heart would be drawn to those few quietly shimmering strangers. Today those are my friends. Thank you for seeing me, too.

• CHRISTINE. She is so much fun. Such a stout heart. So full of life. So full of love. So full of BS! She makes me laugh. She makes me cry. She is still a mystery. She stirs my passions and my dreams. We both thought every person was solitary until we met each other. To love a woman like her, I knew right away I would have to be the best person I can be. I have no idea how I scored, but I am thankful every day for the bratty, bratty girl who makes my life so sweet.

• ME. When I was a younger, people who cared would tell me cheesy things like, “You can’t carry the world on your shoulders”. “You can’t love others until you love yourself.” In the angst of my youth, I had no idea. But damn, it is so true.

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I-be-fuckn-gotdam

These beastly lumps are not Photoshopped.

Photo in handcuffs after getting arrested for steroids, not even flexing.

Linky

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CAN YOU SING THE BLUES?

Answer “Yes” if:
a. Your first name is a southern state -— like Georgia, or the name of a US president.
b. You have a physical infirmity that includes: blind, crippled, or asthmatic.
c. You shot a man in Memphis.
d. You can’t be satisfied.
e. You’re older than dirt — teenagers are not ‘fixin to die’ yet.

Answer “No” if:
a. You once were blind but now can see.
b. You’re deaf.
c. The man in Memphis lived.
d. You travel in an SUV instead of a Chevy, Cadillac, broken-down truck, Greyhound bus, or southbound train.
e. You are a singer with the name Muffy, Sierra, Auburn, Alexis, Gwenyth, Sequoiz, Brittany or Rainbow — no matter how many men you shoot in Memphis.

The best places to have the blues are Kansas City, Dallas, Memphis, Chicago, St. Louis, and New York City - but not in Brooklyn or Queens. Hard times in Vermont, Tucson, Conneticut or North Dakota are simply depression. You can’t have the Blues in an office or a shopping mall. The lighting is just plain wrong.

Most Blues begin with ‘woke up this morning.’
After you have the first line right, repeat it. Then find something that rhymes. Sort of.
‘I got a good woman—with the meanest face in town.
I got a good woman—with the meanest face in town.
She got teeth like Margaret Thatcher and she weighs 500 pounds.’

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I love shoes, but styles for guy’s shoes are so sucking ass for me lately. I must be an old Daddy cuz my style just ain’t in style no mo’. I like simple cleanly designed white or black hightops, not all that crazy zigzaggy stitching and mix of colors. Black soles so they look sturdy, yanno? And I can’t do all these slender 70’s retro sneakers that make your feet look like a gazelle. Most of all, I like chunky cruel ass stomping boots that make my feets look BIGGG! I got my eye on some farmer’s boots on Ebay, just in case I ever drive a tractor. And not so much trendy construction boots — I like me some real ones that just look better when you scuff ‘em all up!!!!!

No offense to any gazelle wearing bruthers…

but kin

n-e-1

out there

git me?

Simple old kicks, I miss ‘em.

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This morning a friend sent me a link to a journal by some idiot… we’ll call him airsuckingshitter. Fucking hilarious! I have gotten this kinda shit for years and usually skip it on by with without so much as an eyeroll. Usually haters try to fill me in on the fact that I am fat, or that my name is “Rhonda”. But this one provided a knee slapping chuckle over my coffee this morning.
Rich news release:
____________________________

So I heard through the grapevine bullshit-fraud.com has been turned into the IRS!!!! And all I can fucking say is, its about fucking time! Based on what I was told I did a tad bit of research myself just to verify said info and sho’nough! The server they’re running to buy outright cost $160 bucks with a $30 buck monthly maintainance fee. I also checked some other shit out there that I was told and low and behold these cheatskate fucks are trying to raise what amounts to a fucking years salary claiming they need it to run said site! Not to mention what they have bilked out of members for yearly gatherings while they pay nothing! Also if you’re a member, whatch what you say and who you say it to, the FBI is a constant presence there now.

A. S. Shitter
____________________________

To supplement research for a boi who obviously has a little crush, my public reply here in my own journal:

d00d. Laughable nonsense doesn’t hurt my feelings. You’re just so fucking stupid. Or maybe you have a magic keyboard.
Over the last decade, Butch-Femme.com has cost me out of my own pocket at least the price of a new Harley, but I don’t mind! Haters don’t get under my skin. Despite a handful of nut jobs, bringing the Butch-Femme community together has been a pleasure. My life is sweet and I don’t eat sour grapes m’kay?

JUST SO YOU KNOW: You and I are not having a relationship. You aren’t even a fly buzzing in my ear. I don’t think about you at all. Aaiight? Hope that’s clear. You should be ashamed for trying to get attention through me because you won’t get any attention unless I gift it to you. So here you go, fool. Free of charge! Enjoy.

Do you think any of this is really your business, or that anyone other than you stays up all night thinking about my web site? Do you think the *F-B-fucking-I* investigates H&R Block? LOL Do you really think I have three servers kicking out well over a million requests a day sitting here next to my laptop? Do you really believe Butch-Femme.com is on DIALUP from AOL, or do you assume I have a bursting backbone connection to the internet automagically buzzing through my Tivo? Do you really think I need $20k to supplement my yearly fast food salary making french fries at McDonald’s?!

Probably… NOT.

Now I have to get back to super-sizing these Happy Meals.

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My poor, poor waterey eyed Chihuahua known as Wasabi Breath Chuy is about to be in boot camp.

Chuy was abused and we got him from a rescue. Christine and I love our troubled son very much and the little dog totally scored getting adopted by us. In time he learned to love and be very affectionate. He is still very sad and suspicious and unsocialized. I am pretty good with dogs but because of Chuy’s history, I have been reluctant to discipline the little guy. Therefore, in the doggy realm of pack hierarchy, Chuy has made the assumption that he is alpha and I am just here to pick up his doodoo. He has gotten worse since his sister died and there is now no respectful beast for him to mimic. Our boy is basically an asshole.

For 5 years, this little bastid has been running thangs, barking madly at the doorbell, growling when people stop petting him, and doing bad bad bad at every opportunity. I can’t have it. No more.

I think he has had his share of love. Sympathy is no longer retroactive. I am going to take Chuy to obedience school and then I am going to come down on his tiny ass until he learns to toe the company line around here. It’s over! No more. Wish the poor little lump of fierocity luck.

He is crying for my sammich right now. Do you see me in his food bowl?

He isn’t going to like boot camp much.

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I have always been kinda smirky, but never in a mean way. When I am slightly amused over the ridiculousness of us all… well, one side of my mouth just automagically convulses right the fuck up. Suddenly my fat cheeks resemble the ends of french bread. Duct tape could not cure this smirk. I can’t stop it. I can’t hide it. I can’t help it!

For those times when jaunty garden gnome expressions are ACUTELY inappropriate, I try to do this offhand thing where I ohhhh-soooo-casually blow my cheeks randomly in and out. Like a cartoon of the north wind blustering over a birthday cake? Pfft. Yah, that diverts attention.

I live in the moment. I almost always see the irony. I *AM* amused, gotdamit. Often.

I fucking smirk! I can’t fucking help it!!!

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Hawt Bunions
The most strange fetish ever…

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