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Archive for July, 2001

 
|| July 30, 2001 || 4:41 pm || Comments (0) ||

Ahhhh….Jett begged for me to come back. Isn’t that sweet. Bah! The way she hectored me for the timerity I had in going to the STRIP CLUB with a buddy, his wife and my Significant Other™ (SO™ hence).

Huh? Whut WHUT?!? DIRK™ goes to “tittie bars” with his girlfriend?!?!?

The short answer is “Yes.”, but there’s an entertaining story behind that….

…which you’ll have to WAIT for!!! HA!!!

(Off to play Max Payne, for a good dose of the old ultraviolence. TTFN and STFU!!!

 
|| July 30, 2001 || 12:38 pm || Comments (0) ||

I wonder what happens to all the extra characters that you type that end up nowhere. Is there a little secret compartment my keyboard that holds all those misspent letters, numbers and symbols? Hmmmm….

 
|| July 29, 2001 || 12:44 pm || Comments (0) ||

..::and now, I will take my leave with one of my favorite songs::..

i was wasted in the afternoon / waiting on a train / i woke up in pieces and elisabeth had disappeared again / i wish you were inside of me / i hope that you’re ok / i hope you’re resting quietly / i just wanted to say

good, goodnight elisabeth / goodnight elisabeth / good night / good, goodnight elisabeth / goodnight elisabeth / good night

we couldn’t all be cowboys / so some of us are clowns / and some of us are dancers on the midway / we roam from town to town / i hope that everybody can find a little flame / me, i say my prayers, / then i just light myself on fire / and i walk out on the wire once again / and i say

good, goodnight elisabeth / goodnight elisabeth / goodnight / good, goodnight elisabeth / goodnight elisabeth / goodnight

i will wait for you in Baton Rouge / i’ll miss you down in New Orleans / i’ll wait for you while she slips in something comfortable / and i’ll miss you when i’m slipping in between / if you wrap yourself in daffodils / i will wrap myself in pain / and, oh, if you’re the queen of california / baby i am the king of the rain / and i say

good, goodnight elisabeth / goodnight elisabeth / goodnight / good, goodnight elisabeth / the moon’s a satellite, yeah

why don’t you fall down on me now / won’t you fall down on me / come, come, come fall down on me now / wontcha fall down on me

cause I’m all alone / and you ain’t coming home / we just settle down, down, down into bone / hey i said cause I’m all alone / and you ain’t coming home / we just settle down, down, down into bone

// Counting Crows, “Goodnight Elisabeth”

 
|| July 29, 2001 || 12:42 pm || Comments (0) ||

I can’t even get the mouse to work right anymore! But by God, I made it, and I feel pretty damned good.

Thanks to all those that helped me by blogging or putting out the word or pledging or just finding me out here on the web and introducing yourself to offer words of encouragement. I appreciate your giving of yourself in whatever capacity you could/did.

Thank you, oh pretty ones, for helping me to support something so close to my heart. You will be richly blessed.

 
|| July 29, 2001 || 12:00 pm || Comments (0) ||

I have started to hallucinate, swear to all that is Holy. Really strange things are writhing around the periphery of my vision. I wouldn’t be able to take this for 3 or four more hours, but I may go ahead and stay longer just to see what happens. *evil grin* Glutton for punishment, I am.

Sometime before I leave I have to remember to throw the last 24 hours up here. It may take longer to load, but no one will have to go scratching for it. I feel like my face and eyeballs are made of clay.

 
|| July 29, 2001 || 11:43 am || Comments (0) ||

9 things about me that are true and one that just ain’t:

// When I was about 12, I caught my 9-year-old sister selling peeks of me sleeping in my bra and panties to the neighborhood boys for a quarter. ~TRUE~ I was during summer break and I awoke to find three faces in my window. Cherie already had about three bucks in change.

// I was once offered a test shoot for a ‘prestigious’ men’s magazine. ~TRUE~ I was living in Alaska at the time. I was 19 and working three jobs to dig myself out of a hole that someone else put me into without my knowledge. One of the jobs entailed me waiting tables for wealthy gentlmen while wearing a tuxedo shirt, bow tie, cumberbund, black mini and heels. I pondered it hard, I really did. Eventually I turned it down.

// I once hung out with Pauly Shore and did vodka shots with him. ~TRUE~ It was when he was doing the big tour thing with MTV in the the way early ’90s. My PR agency was handling his press and I showed him around town before he was slated to tape at Chilkoot Charlie’s. His sister was a real douchebag asshole and my friend Kathy ended up clocking her.

// I was a U.S. Marine. OORAH. ~TRUE~ But they screwed my contract up and had to turn me loose….

// I had the chicken pox no less than THREE times as a child. ~TRUE~ The doc said that I just didn’t get them well enough the first two times. The third time I had them everywhere, even on my eyeballs. Ick.

// I dipped Skoal one time to win $40.00 ~TRUE~ Sometimes guys are immensely stupid. They will shell out perfectly good money whether they can afford it or not to be entertained in any ole inane way.

// I Q-tip my ears religiously after every shower and I floss every single day. ~FALSE~ While I DO Q-tip like a maniac, I only floss a couple times a week. I used to do it every day….

// I have written a check for one million dollars twice in my life. ~TRUE~ Once was when I was about four years old. I rummaged out my ma’s checkbook and then carried the check around in my little purse for a couple of weeks before losing it. A very nice lady returned it to mom, who gave me a sound thrashing. The second time was when I was living in Hawaii, working for an escrow company. That timeshare bidness sho’ is a racket!

// I was nearly strangled while rappelling a few years ago. ~TRUE~ The elastic loop on the hood of my gore-tex jacket got caught on some scrub as I swung out and I got turned around and kind of left hanging. If Biff hadn’t shinnied down so fast with knife in hand, I would be wormfood now. I still have the jacket. It’s been a good friend, despite the attempt on my life.

// My great-grandfather died on the day I was born. ~TRUE~ About an hour after I came along and about ten minutes after my father told him.

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|| July 29, 2001 || 11:01 am || Comments (0) ||

I was five-and-a-half and it was a family ritual; a rite of passage, if you will. When she got old enough, every single female member of my extended family entered the Little Miss Phillips County Annual Beauty Pageant. Hell, it just wasn’t my family, it was every fucking family in the county. This was a carefully-orchestrated event, by nobody moreso than the mothers of the little entrants.

I recall getting the dress around four to five weeks before the pageant. It was lilac with a princess bodice and adorned sweetly with white lace and bows. My mother had to go all the way to Memphis (an hour away after crossing the Helena bridge) to find me a parasol and little lavender tap-panties with white ruffled lace on the hiney to match.

I was a grand devotee of Shirley Temple, believing her to be the mecca of all entertainment at the time. My talent was to sing “On The Good Ship Lollipop” (‘hap-pee landeeng ahn a chock-oh-lut BAR’), accompanied by requisite tap dancing. Mom even had a new set of taps put on my shoes for the occasion.

The day before the pageant, my long, extremely thick and heavy hair was rolled scorchingly tight in metal curlers. My mother’s theory was that if it had 24 hours to set, my ‘do would withstand the summer humidity and my hair’s own weight pulling against it. I swear I still have little divots dug into my scalp to this day.

Zero hour approached, and we went ahead to the convention center where the pageant was to be held, dress and accessories in tow, my hair still tight in the ugly wire rollers. My dad and baby sister and assorted family and friends were to arrive later, just before the show started.

After I got dressed and Mom was scavenging rollers from my hair, I voiced a concern.

“Mommy, these panties are loose.”

“No they are not, Elizabeth. They are fine.” My mom only called me Elizabeth (Beth was the going moniker of my childhood) when she was highly annoyed, and she reserved a special sort of venom for the four syllables. I fidgeted and tried to voice my concern about the oversized undies. All those ruffles weren’t helping. They were weighing the panties down immensely, with their stiffly starched lace.

My whole extended family showed; all eight of my mom’s brothers and sisters were there. This pageant was sort of the practice run for the coming out parties and balls 11 or 12 years down the road. It was the step in, whether you ever chose to participate in another pageant again or not.

I was sort of the surrogate daughter to many of my relatives, as I came from a family of many boys. I was also the pride of Mr. and Mrs. Goings, our neighbors since before I was born. So I must reiterate: everyone was there.

The plan of action was for each girl, with her numbered bib across her chest, to cross from stage left to stage right, where we were to be asked a few cursory questions (to rate the level of cuteness in our answers, I would imagine). On the way there, we were to pause at a mic at front center stage and announce our names and the names of our parents, then curtsy deeply. A full-bodied deep curtsy was some kinda fucking art, let me tell ya. You practiced until you could deliver it deftly and impeccably.

I was number twelve outta the gate. At quarter-stage, I felt those fucking panties beginning their descent. Immediately before stage center they were in full-on slide mode. By the time I stepped up to the mike, the evil undies were puddled around my ankles. I smoothly announced my name and those of my parents.

I am told that there was a brief moment of pause, presumably because I was deciding the best course of action. I suddenly bent down, scooped up the errant lavender underwear and yelled “SOUVENIR!!” into the mike as I flung them wantonly into the audience.

Everyone LOVED it and laughed uproariously. The exception was, of course, my parents. My Aunt Sarah says that they shrank further and further down into their seats.

My problem over according to me, I proceeded to the Question Lady, who remained unflummoxed and delivered the questions as planned.

When all was said and done, I came in first runner-up. I was pissed because Karen Anderson, the girl who won (and coincidentally, lived down the street from me) was hairy like a monkey. She had thick hair on her arms and even on her back and I remember thinking, “Who ever heard of a monkeygirl winning a pageant??!?” My ego was salved, however, when I got a somewhat smaller tiara (but no scepter, BOOBOOHISSSSS), a chest ribbon and a hugeass box of bubblegum.

And of course, I got another entry in The Book Of Foolish Things Beth Has Done In Her Stay On The Planet.

But somebody’s gotta provide the entertainment, right??