Last night “Maggie” (tingle tingle) “worked” me upstairs at Lady Ann’s for 3 hours. Geez I was a puddle. Also there was a puddle on my chair. It was so hot, and I can’t even explain why. Trust me, I was so aroused I could have gotten off if someone had touched my cheek.
Which is why it was so disappointing when Scott woke up and jumped up, got in the shower and scooted out to go shoot hoops instead of giving me a slow (or even quick) rogering like I deserve. Oh well. I had work to do, and now it’s time to dream of Maggie and get out the buzz lover.
People think of “evangelicals” (when I say “people”, of course I mean the news media which is very odd) as conservative, right leaning religious people. This is based on the term “evangelical” to mean a (politically) right conservative Christian. Isn’t that a circular definition? But a lot of evangelical Christians just might be personally morally conservative yet politically liberal. Witness the evangelicals who are against the death penalty. Look at the C of C people who pray, not for our troops, not for our president, but for our planet.
God isn’t only on “your” side. Would Jesus be a Republican? Would he be a Democrat?
Get real, people.
And when the media talk about evangelicals in support of Bush, they are referring to a branch of evangelicalism that tends toward the fundamentalist (strict definition) end of the spectrum. They tend to take the Bible literalistically not literally, as the word of God handed down. But didn’t the authors of the Bible actually sign their work? That’s why it’s called “the book of Daniel” – Daniel’s book. “Paul’s Epistle (‘Letter’) to the Corinthians” – we’re reading other people’s spam and they call it the Word of God. There’s no record of what the church in Corinth wrote back. Maybe “Remove Me” then “UNSUBSCRIBE”.
I hereby categorically state that I am totally sick of drunken frat-boy (AND girl!) wannabes drinking and partying out on the lawn, nearby balconies, all over the apartment complex; spreading out over three courtyards, drinking, saying wooHOOO!!! and peeing in the bushes. Is the view out on the concrete that much better than inside your dingy, puke-covered pile carpeted living rooms and your drab crusty-floored kitchens? I guess it is. Maybe if you live in an apartment you shouldn’t invite 150 people to your party. Maybe you shouldn’t buy a keg at all.
I went out and told them to plase stop standing outside of our bedroom window. “WooHOOO!!!” they opined, “Let’s see your nightgown!”
There were a couple of girlie la-las with them, giggling blearily.
Where the fuck is Scott? Why should I have to deal with this myself?
I had my phone with me and I turned it on, put it to my ear and as I went into the apartment, said, “I need to report a noise disturbance, really a loud party in my apartment courtyard.”
I hated to do that but they weren’t going home anytime soon. Their parents probably would have grounded them if they did.
A dishwasher broke his thumb really badly today. Someone closed the walk in door just as he was reaching around it to turn on the light from the outside. It is crshed. He went to the hospital. He is now out of work — they didn’t fire him but since he can’t work, he won’t get paid — and the restaurant, out of the generosity of their hearts, and the fear of any lawsuit, will give him $1000 not to sue them.
I was listening to the management talk to the owners and they were trying to figure out how to work out the “total risk of injury” among their employees.
At the risk of sounding like a complete Bolshevik, it seems to me that they figure in the total risks involved — in terms of lost time and higher insurance — of avoiding a safe workplace. It’s too expensive at $5,000 to put in a safe door, so we’ll go with the cheaper one and hope that if someone gets hurt, it will cost us less than that.
The compensation system seems biased away from safety because the manager can weigh the sure thing (reduced costs by cutting safety programs and maintenance) against the probability (which is less than a sure thing) that the reduction of safety programs will lead to more accidents.
And, should the shit hit the fan, and someone gets hurt, then the owner/investor can blame the management – whose job is is to cut costs – and fire him/her for not training employees well enough.
Happy Columbus Day. The Irish discovered North America, (link: http://www.castletown.com/brendan.htm) and then the Norwegians followed. The Italian explorer Colómbo (who we call “Columbus” in English) who was working for Spain wasn’t even looking for new land. He was looking for a shortcut to the Spice Islands. That’s right. He was on a grocery run and would not stop for directions. Éireann go Brách!
Mae closed, and my fac advisor loved every minute of its run. I feel like a star. The author gritted her teeth. See previous posts re: her being against a white woman playing the part.
Work, work, work. I work in a restaurant, and also in a sports bar. I’m amazed at how hard cooks work for a living. I read somewhere that it takes about 5 years for a top-level cook to be trained before they can really go on the line by themselves and be expected to work without direct, constant supervision by a manager. And the pay just can’t possibly compensate for it. I know that a lot of them are immigrants and perfect English is not really a job requirement. Hell’s bells, a lot of the wait staff are immigrants and the pay is way better. Most of the bus staff is made up of non-English speakers and they make tip percentages. So how do the cooks survive? I don’t understand the native-born cooks, why they put up with it. They maybe make $8 an hour, with no tips. They work their butts off. The heat is intense, the pressure unreal. I thank them every day. They seem to do it just for the appreciation. I know that the Hispanic guys could work construction, could coop to own businesses, and could do a million things that don’t require a high level of formal education or English skills. But they cook, instead. It amazes me.
The Xians wrote something in the UMKC paper protesting the degenerate state of the arts that are supported by taxpayers.
They mentioned the “rumor” that the department is featuring a show “glorifying” prostitution. I sincerely hope they’re talking about mine - you can’t buy publicity like that.
I get raped, beaten, abused, treated like livestock by the social services, then I get my ovaries dug out by a heartless gang of assassins with rusty Exact-o blades.
We’re talking serious glamour. I have no doubt that otherwise stable 19-year-old girls are gonna rush right out and sell themselves into slavery after they see this one.
(I exaggerate. Mae has some fun. She enjoys herself, her youth, her sexuality … at first.)
Which got me thinking … if prostitution were not only legal, but admired … actually considered a valuable part of the community, for both men and women to do, well, would it be so bad?
I know I’d be good at it. Not that I’m the greatest in bed, but I know I can take a serious pounding. And if I had someone to look out for me, to make sure I wouldn’t get hurt.
Which brings up the fact that if prostitution were as highly prized, say, as virginity … then beating up a prostitute would be as bad as beating up a little girl.
Which got me thinking (I know, I think too much) … I think I’d like to go work at Lady Ann’s. For M. (For “Maggie” - tee hee!!) And for the thousands of guys out there who can’t get it at home, because they’re fat, ugly, married or a combination of all three.
(I think it’s kinda sad that all people really want is to be thought of as glamorous, exciting, sexy; and the only thing they have to look forward to for the rest of their lives, if they live long enough, is losing their looks.)
M’s not asking me to. There’s no pressure, I can hang out there and listen to her play piano online (she’s really - no really - good, you wouldn’t believe how good she is until you hear her) and watch all the guys go crazy for her and the girls creme for her, but … I kinda want to.
Like I said, I think I’d be good.
Online, even better since I don’t have to worry about people who don’t bathe as often as they should.
And, it might kinda spice things up for me with Scott. Actually I know it would. On a good night, like tonight, I get hot just watching it going on.
And Scott would love it … he’d reap the benefits anyway. As long as he didn’t find out.
Born on a farm in central Kansas; my dad lost the farm during the 1980s farm crisis. I grew up yearning to be a famous actress, and got a degree in theatre. A few weeks after I graduated, I went to visit my beautiful friend in Texas, and she died suddenly - leaving behind her beautiful husband and her three beautiful boys. I decided to stay, and care for them. I fell in love with them all, and after so much yearning, I am now the woman of this man. This is the story of how the heart approaches what it yearns.