I had a choice: write a blog entry, or fix the reCaptcha thing so that boots could have his precious "preview" when he deigned to leave a comment.
So the comments should work now, with the reCaptcha spam-avoidance thingie, whether you are self-secure enough to just send your words winging through the wires, or like bootsie and you have to review them before you can let them go.
Maybe I'll write a real blog entry tomorrow.
Least I have one. boots isn't man enough to have a blog ... <grumble>
In spite of boots's bitching, my blog software does not suck and I haven't been poasting because I have been busy, lazy, and not very blogative.
Busy: had a visitor last weekend, went to a NASCAR race. Never been to any kind of auto racing, mostly because when I took auto shop back in high school the teacher would play Indy films (as opposed to Indie films) when he didn't feel like actually teaching us anything or letting us loose in the shop. I got car sick watching the cars speed round and round and round so I figured I'd get car sick at a real race. Anyway, my friend came to 'Zona just to see the Sprint Fresh Fit 500 race and I went with her. Had a good time, especially when the car I chose to follow ended up winning. I figured I couldn't go wrong with a guy named "Jimmie Johnson" because that is so NASCAR-esque sounding and his car was just kind of gradually overtaking all the other drivers, one car at a time, making it kind of interesting to watch. His car was blue-ish. Lowes. And I don't mind Lowes all that much, mainly because their logo is blue instead of that pukey orange that Home Depot uses.
Lazy: strained a muscle or tendon or something in my right elbow so I've been trying to take it easy. Makes shopping really really difficult, but I managed it, and now have a noo pair of shooz for the summer. DSW rocks, shoe-wise. Top labels for discount prices, oh baby!
Blogative: my computer was misbehaving. No, not the blog ware :: glaring at boots ::. Windows Installer stopped working, and none of the solutions offered by Microsoft or all the bloggers and forums (who merely parroted Microsoft's solutions) fixed it. I ended up reformating the hard drive, reinstalling everything, and now it's all back up and running, but damn!
Anyway, the news is boring because we've all been there with Obama saying what he really thought but getting slapped for it, and Hillary lying about what it had been like in Kosovo or wherever, and earthquakes here, tornadoes there, I mean <yawn>. There's only so much you can say about this stuff, y'know?
I'll be fixing tofu tacos tonight (thanks UV!) only they'll be burritos with rice and black beans instead of tacos. Same deal, though. Fry the tofu chunks, make the taco seasoning sauce to saute them, then use that instead of ground beef. Sounds faboo.
I have been called "a man with boobs." I take that as a compliment because it was a guy saying it, and we all know how guys think that guyness is all that, and boobs are really terrific, so the absolute best thing in the whole universe would be to be a guy with boobs.
Okay, maybe that's second best. Perhaps the bestest of the best things in the entire male universe is to be a double-jointed-from-the-waist guy with boobs.
Yet, in spite of my guyness, and maybe because of my boobulous qualities, I have to confess that I am somewhat unsure what is meant by this quote:
You know he just plain needed it. Raise your hand if you don't know what I mean by that. You liars.
The fabulous, hipper than a lizard, Don penned that in his blog recently (see cite) while talking about "The Curious Calamitous Case of the Congressman and the Call Girl."
I have my theories, however, and I'm gonna share 'em with you before Don calls me a liar, 'k?
Gotta warn you, I really am a woman and not only that, but I was an impressionable child in the late sixties as well as a teen in the heady seventies. That means I interpret Don's statement, "You know he just plain needed it" through my own girlie filters that include a vague and fuzzy rendition of "all men are pigs" absorbed from my younger years when exposed to the bra-burning women's liberation movement through sit-coms and media.
What I think Don meant by that is that there are, and always will be, men who just plain need down and dirty sex for the sake of sex. Maybe it's all of you, except for Don and maybe one other guy. We're talking risky sex. Sex that means -- to you pigs -- power. Sex you probably are not getting at home because what you get at home is safe, accepted sex and probably even predictable sex set to some rules the little woman has crafted and you comply with because, hey, it's sex, man. There is some rutting animal need inside of each microscopic drop of your testosterone that is grunting right about now, dreaming about dirty hot weasel sex in the grime of your grandpa's hay loft and, man, you don't even have a grandpa with a hay loft, but you dream it anyway.
That's what Don meant.
How'd I do?
'Dust asks this question in his blog. I don't think I've ever done one a these, but seein's how I'm looking for reasons to not work on my taxes ...
I'll poast part of it -- got 132 songs in it right now -- so here's the top 40 that came out of the most recent shuffle:
And there you have it.
whoozTalkin?