Send your love electronically HERE We will read it. Platonically.
The Public Blogging of Pomosexuality, Homotextuality, Homophobiaphilia, and Drear Theory (aka Career Theory) [aka Gay4Pay]. We also read the Corner and OpJournal so the right buttock will be punished as well.
All comments subject to publication. Or dismissal. Or Both.
You might know this, you certainly wouldn't admit to not having known it after you've read this story, and it's perfectly obvious to me in retrospect, but a baseball rolling around the driver's side floor of a moving car is pretty spectacularly dangerous. I only just learned this too little emphasized life lesson when I went to hit the gas as a stoplight changed to green and there no longer appeared to be a gas pedal. It was night and I couldn't see where the hell the pedal might have gone, I just kept searching with both my feet, in a sort of sit down riverdance, for something that would make the car go when I stepped on it. There was nothing down there that would do the trick, either in the general vicinity of where I last remembered seeing it, or in the more remote and admittedly unlikely areas of the car floor that I was now slamming my frantic boots. I had almost convinced myself it was a dream and probably the cat was biting my feet so I better wake up, when I reached down to continue the search with my front paws. That was when I found the baseball wedged under the gas. A baseball I'd thrown in the back of the car the day before. Round objects never know their place (the hubris of the spheres), so he had made his way up front, rolling forward under the cover of darkness and of the blasting radio. I was glad he made his move to the gas pedal as I was leaving a light instead of to the brake when I was trying to stop at one. I didn't have time to tell him that as I was throwing him out the window, though.
Hi, this is Kathleen replying back. You were referred by a friend of the website. Are you new to dating housewives? They'are some pretty hot girls in there but I'd like to show you what I'm about on my webcam first. I live in your area so we could hook up after as well. Anyways, hope to hear from you soon...
ps. I'd like to get some "time in" with you over the next week. I also have pics available unlike some of the girls. I have nothing to hide ;)
Yes, the housewives thing is kinda new to me. I'm an old hand at the husbands scene, so maybe it is time I give the ladies of the house a shot. Always good to try something new in the new year. It's great that you are close by, since I am a firm believer in the only-date-within-your-area-code (and-any-contiguous-ones) rule (with the cell-phone-exception codicil). So yeah, let's cam first, then hook.
ps. My "time in" is your "time on" I always say. The next week sounds good. I usually put off everything till the next week anyway , so I'll just add you to my "to do" list : p
It worries me a little that you have nothing to hide. I don't usually trust anyone with nothing to hide, but who said I had to trust you ;)
Keep the oven warm and the vacuum humming.
What does you husband look like, btw. Just curious :)
Any voting-age sons kicking around the place? I'm one inquisitive tomcat >*-*<
LOS ANGELES (AP) - Details of a record $100 million settlement between alleged victims of priest sexual abuse and the Roman Catholic Diocese of Orange were unsealed, with church leaders saying it would make the diocese a ``holier, humbler and healthier church.''
The Diocese of Orange, lovely. That's an interesting alleged, too. Does the AP have a cat in this fight?
Check out the two outliers in the perp walk parade:
The settlement resolves 90 lawsuits against the diocese that included allegations against 31 priests, 10 lay personnel, one religious brother and two nuns.
The stories, please.
The agreement also calls for the release of nearly all confidential documents from diocesan personnel files of the accused after a judge's review; attorneys estimated the first records could be released within two months.
A swing through the orange state blogs is a reliable technique for quick mood elevation lately. I especially liked this insight from Le Sabot:
The oligarchs could have won fairly.
Now that we've won, this is something my Ukrainian friends have talked a lot about lately. If Kuchma had only picked someone more respectable, someone with even a shred of dignity, he could have won without even falsifying the election or poisoning Yushchenko.
That's the great irony in all of this. Kuchma and his people had the administrative resources, the financial power and the media monopoly to win this election fairly, if they'd picked a decent candidate. Witness the meteoric rise of a thug like Yanukovych -- from basement-level public opinion to near-parity with Yushchenko. A similar makeover on someone like Tyhypko would have turned him into a saint.
But Kuchma wanted the whole pie -- someone utterly dependent on the oligarchs for survival, someone without the initiative or mental resources for independent action. And so Yanukovych got tapped.
Like Orange Ukraine says, the democrats only win in the former Soviet Union on errors. The ruling powers have to overreach for us to score a victory. Thank God they did this time.
Time (and his fraternal twin, Natural Death), and stupidity (aka human error--the other guy's) and me against any army.
Unnatural death sometimes lends a clammy hand, too. Orange Ukraine has many interesting things to say about the Ukrainian knowledge problem here. I enjoyed his aside on the death of Heorhiy [chuckle] Kirpa, the old regime's Transport Minister and all-around, super-connected sumbitch:
The thing that we kept coming back to was that there wasn't much information on Kirpa. On 30 Dec, Prosecutor General Piskun said "as things have developed so far, all of this looks most like suicide"... But then, when the news broke on the day after his death, reports indicated that he'd died from multiple gunshot wounds, putting him among the most determined suicides.
*The only poem I know by heart. Take it away Mr. Keats:
This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy stillness of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience calmed, see here it is
I hold it towards you.
(I improved it for JK. I checked my version against an online Keats archive. He had silence where I wrote stillness. Call it a mashup.)
Why have I never watched Bad Day At Black Rock? Because it has never before been presented to me with a synopsis as hypnotic as the one the Direct TV scroll now displays:
A one-armed stranger gets off the train in a dusty town and starts asking questions.
*The bartender says,"Hey stranger, why the long-sleeve?"
The one armed stranger says, "Ha, good one. But I'm supposed to be asking the questions."
The dusty beer jockey says, "Sure, fire away." So the lop-sided stranger shoots him dead with the gun he was holding in his good hand. Then he says to the dusty decedent, "Where's the one-armed, little boys room?"
If you turn on your TV at some point in the next two hours you can catch a part of (you wouldn't want to catch the whole of) Mel Brook's History of the World Part 1 on Fox Movie Channel. I saw the Roman section once. The only possible excuse for it that I could come up with while watching it was pandemic cocaine poisoning of the movie's writers, director, producer, cast and accountants.