Spelling is hard

The good Lord does not wish me to spell certain words. If he did, he'd have given me the ability to do so. The "list of the damned" grows every year, sometimes exponentially. And the sad thing is, I always think I have a chance to get the word right. I try so hard...but I'm like a puppy in that regard. Good-naturedly trying so hard, but invariably ending up pissing on the carpet anyway. And being surprised by it. So far, the list includes:

Museum
Restaurant
Guard
Inconvenient
Misspelled (funny, eh?)

I guess I could take the pussy way out, and blame my dyslexia, but I ain't about that. Damn, I should add "dyslexia" to the list, cause you know I can't spell that shit either. God bless the good people who created Spell-check. They are Angles from Heaven. I bet most of my handwritten text is misspelled to some degree or another, but it just seems like spelling is something I don't need to concern myself with. Kind of like long division. I mean, why bother the learn how words are constructed when every computer application I will ever need to use has a spell-check function? Sure, it's lazy of me, but also, kind of efficient. I mean, why waste that brain space on spelling when I could use it to know all the lyrics to "Sister Christian"? Come on, you know I'm right.

You dig me!?

I've been thinking about my Pop a lot lately. He's been on my mind cause he's been having some health problems, but he's okay now. And let me tell you, my Pop is cool as hell. He's got a really twisted-weird sense of humor that me and my brother both get, but that baffles my Mom. And he's a damn good person too, so it's pretty easy to love him. But one of the coolest things about my Pop is that he incorporates slang or popular gestures from a few years ago into his vernacular. It's charmingly embarrassing to watch. For instance, about 4 years ago, my Pop all the sudden stuck his fist out for a "pound" when I was at his house. Stunned, but also a little impressed, I gave him a "pound". So that was cool (even though "pounding" had been deemed passé years earlier), but my favorite of his appropriations reared it's head when my brother and I were really young. Back in like, 1982-1983 times, Pop was yelling at us for one thing or another (we could be complete pricks back then, so I'm sure we deserved it)...but, end his yelling, he says, really loudly,"YOU DIG ME!!??" Holy shit! "YOU DIG ME!!??" That phrase hasn't been cool since the mid seventies! And he was really pissed, so I could tell he really meant it. We had better goddamn dig him, if we knew what was good for us. It was so hard not to giggle at him, but I couldn't giggle...I think Pop would have exploded where he stood if I had even smiled. He was that mad. And, you really have to know my Pop to really appreciate how scary he is when he's yelling at you. He's 6'4", very solid, and he has these steely blue-gray eyes that could stop a man in his tracks. He has this one awesome expression where he just stares at you...without blinking...and he's not quite frowning, but not quite grimacing...but you know he ain't pleased...and he's dead silent...that one is great. It's what I call the "you're fired from the family" look. I've broken that one out myself in one or two circumstances, and it's highly effective when you're trying to make some one feel about 2 inches tall. Anyway, the point of that sidebar was to illustrate how damn imposing my Pop can be. So, picture that guy...yelling at you (and you're about 6 years old)...and he ends the rant with "YOU DIG ME!!??". That's funny. It's like all the badassness just drained out of the man the minute he uttered those words. But you can't laugh...that would be like asking him to destroy you. But secretly, I always laughed a little bit later. Behind his back. At the other end of the house. Into a pillow. My Pop is so cool, you know you're jealous.

It's official, I'm a good kisser

Something has been bothering me for a few years now: all my lady pals talk about how much they love wild, nasty tongue-kissing, but I've never been into it. This horrified my ladies. I mean, I really dig soft, little dry kissing, that's the bee's knees as far as I'm concerned, but I couldn't help but wonder why I never got that into real kissing. One of my girls suggested that maybe the problem was that I was a bad kisser, thus unable to enjoy the act itself. Now, Blogda is a chick, so of course she's insecure, and this idea seemed to have some merit. I mean, I really haven't kissed that many boys in my short life, so I really didn't have much of a basis for comparison. I've had bad kissers kiss me, so I know when someone really stinks at kissing me, and once in high school, I was kissed by a boy who made my knees go weak (that, my friends, was the shit). But, nothing about kissing since then has really revved my engine. My lady friends decided that I needed to get an outside opinion on me technique. Great idea, but the problem was that I was in a steady relationship with a dude at the time, and I didn't think he would be honest with me about my kissing prowess. I tried to get one of my lady friends to kiss me, but none of those skanks would do it (and I'm cute, so what gives?). They kept saying I should kiss another guy, but Blogda was with her gentleman friend at the time, so I couldn't just go kissin' on any fool just to test my theory. So, the assumption became that yes, I was a bad kisser, but it was never really confirmed. But, as they say, time changes everything. My gentleman friend and I parted ways a while back, and I was finally in a position to test the "bad kisser theory". A buddy of mine came onto me last night, and we got down. Again, I was not into the kissing. After the naughtiness, and without any prompting, he told me I was "a really good kisser" (he also said some other things that a lady won't repeat). So ha! I'm not a bad kisser, I just don't get into kissing...which is cool, cause I'm the shit.