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Tinkle Bell

Issue Date: Thursday, Mar. 20, 2003

Oh good Lord it is all downhill from 30 years old, I swear.

I just had this monster sneeze fit a few minutes ago and lo and behold (I have to start talking like an old blue hair sometime, right?) I actually felt a drop of tinkle squink past the security guard of my girl downstairs.

My cuda now has a full time security guard? My, my, my, Miss High and Mighty with her own posse’ and everything. Next thing you know, she’ll be on E! Hollywood Story waxing poetic about the good times when she was just a wee (ha!) lass, frolicking in the wheat fields of the high country.

Oh, I’m sorry. What was I saying?

Ah, yes… I tinkled a little during a prolonged sneeze fit. Is it normal to be incontinent at 30? I have laughed so hard I almost tinkled before. And if Mister gets on one of his rants (or tangents), goodness me, that man is funny. Not to mention if he tickles me and chases me around. I squeal and laugh,… and try not to pee.

I have been exercising my Kegels forEVER. I can control my tinkle flow and all that. Are my sneezes that powerful?

Eh. Enough of that.

Guess where I am heading in less than 8 hours? Yep, it’s time for the New Orleans jaunt. YAY! Me & Mister in the Big Easy! Woo hoo! He’s never been, and I am so excited to take him all over. I am glad that we are not going during Mardi Gras. I have heard some major horror stories about the state of the streets with trash and ankle-high sludge. Ick. Hence, I have never been during Mardi Gras.

We are meeting up with some of my colleagues tonight at Pat O’Brien’s. I know it is a tourist trap, but those hurricanes are worth it. I spoke to my mother yesterday and she warned me about their potency. Apparently after two of them my father (Scotch/Irish) was hanging off of a lamppost out front. I don’t think I’ll be hanging off of a lamppost in the middle of the French Quarter… but I may sling a jauntily colored feather boa around my neck and sing on top of a piano. Ooh, ooh… or play one of those metal washboard thingies that zydeco music people play.

I am so not the Cajun Queen.

But I’ll tell you what, when I was 21 years old I went down to Houston to visit my best girlfriend (LuLu). She had our whole Saturday day and night planned out. We started out by going to the Cajun Festival in south Houston and drinking mucho beer. I was watching the bands on this grandstand thing. LuLu had a man friend with her and they were conversing as opposed to drinking or dancing, so I stood on the edge of the dance floor to watch. This large black man with 3 teeth in his head came over, bowed and said, “Hello, pretty lady. Would you care to dance?” Ya’ll I danced with that man, his friends, his family members and anyone else they passed me to on the dance floor that day. I have never had so much fun. They taught me the Cajun two-step and generally wore my ass out. I was one sweaty white girl with filthy feet.

We were supposed to meet one of her dance partners in a few hours, and about an hour south of where we were. So, we stopped into a Chevron station that was on the way to change clothes and freshen up. LuLu had to tinkle and so did I but she beat me to the potty, and wouldn’t get up. Ya’ll, I tinkled in the sink at a Chevron in south Houston. (Not to mention the time I bathed in the sink at a Burger King just outside of Galveston… but that is a whole other story.)

The dance hall in Alvin, TX (*shudder*) called Hall 10 VFW, or something like that, was mighty scary. Mostly an older flea market crowd with their children runnin around and babies in carriers… under the tables! Babies in bars are not a phenomenon that I am fond of.

Ah… such is youth.

Favorite quote read in the past week: by porktornado (crush crush)

Arguing on the Internet is like competing in the Special Olympics.

Even if you win, you’re still retarded.

Love that!

I didn’t sleep very well last night. Mister was up and down. He couldn’t sleep either. He kept getting up to go watch the news to get the latest story on the bombings in Iraq.

To be honest with you people, I really don’t know how to feel about this. This is the third time we have been to war in my lifetime. Vietnam was ending when I was born, Desert Storm, and now this. I want to pray for our troops and their families. I want to do something positive for this effort, but to be truthful… it doesn’t seem real. Am I that much a product of a TV generation, where we are so desensitized to everything?

Take care of each other ya’ll.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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