'Tis Monday

Don't aspire to anything or you might fail

My mother, ever the Queen of Denial, has decided that my father was Irish and that he was a bastard child. I informed her that my sister's genealogy research has found conclusively that he was both Cherokee and English, not Irish. There may be some Irish in there somewhere, but his mother was English and his father predominantly Cherokee. She insisted that because the Irish and English and Scots all live close together that probably his mother was actually Irish and surely lower-class and people just don't know the difference. In fact, research has found that his mother was upper class and 100 percent English. Also, she was married to his father, but my mother has taken to calling her 'Miz Jones' despite the fact that she referred to herself as 'Mrs Jones' all her life and would be insulted at the 'Miz' snubbing of her marriage. But my mother has taken to shitting on all marriages now, referring to her elderly married friends as 'Miz' even when it pisses them off.

Those Irish eyes are not smiling

I've just finished reading the book "'Tis" by Frank McCourt. If ever there were a better description of an Irish mother I haven't seen it before. He does a fabulous job of making clear the frustrations of dealing with someone so bound and determined to make themselves perpetually miserable and poor. My own mother, when I refer to her as Irish, shouts "We're SCOTTISH!" No Mom, you are Irish to the bone.

Eat it, biatch!

I think I'm going to mount a baseball pitching cannon onto my 4x4. I'll need to add a laser site to it and an electric motor for proper aiming, but once I have it properly set up I plan to use it on every single car running those fucking blinding Xenon headlights that are just as blinding at low beam as they are on high beam. I have actually flashed my brights at them only to have them click over to high and low beam, which looks EXACTLY THE SAME and I have concluded that, in light of the refusal of our busybody Federal Government that regulates anything and everything, yet refuses to regulate this shit, I am going to start taking care of the problem myself. I am going to shoot the fuckers with baseballs and bust them out. Legally, a cannon that isn't powered by gunpowder isn't a firearm and therefore not subject to any sort of BATF bullshit or anti-gun laws. This is how Taser International gets around the fact that their torture guns are, in fact, deadly weapons and yet anyone, felon or otherwise, can buy and carry one anywhere and everywhere. A baseball firing cannon is similarly considering 'non-lethal' and is not actually even classified as a weapon. So bring it on, blinding bitches! I'm gonna knock your lights out!

Workout class

I'm trying out a new gym. I've never done a workout class before, other than martial arts classes, so this should be interesting. If it works for me then I will switch to this and part ways with my trainer, saving me money and a great deal of frustration at the way he actually slows my workouts down while he talks to me about conspiracy theories involving the British Royal Family, bankers, and George Bush. It isn't so much that I'm unable to cope with conspiracy theories. I hear them all the time on CNN and HLN reported as news. Its the fact that my time with this guy is one continuous monologue featuring him talking and me listening. Whenever I try to speak, he talks over me or dismisses everything I've said. I don't need that shit. My father used to do that and it annoyed me to no end. In fact, it annoyed everyone because it's just plain rude. I have enough aggravation in my life without paying someone to give me more.

Just right

I have purchased a new CD for myself. I discovered this entirely by accident, but I think I'm in just the right mood for it. It's Duffy, a blond-haired English girl who sings like a '60s throwback black girl. You may laugh, but I think I like it.
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