Homosexuality. You Are Or You Aren't, It's That Simple

I was the first born daughter of a first born daughter. Which means that when I was young and we went to visit my Gramma, there were teens in the house. To this day I suspect my youngest Aunt harbors a small grudge against me. It may or may not have something to do with her saying Shh, don't tell Gramma, and me promptly telling Gramma that my aunt was smoking.

My Uncle had a friend who used to live at my Gramma's. He's behind my attraction to dark handsome men. I don't care if I was only five or six, when he came out of the bathroom in his tighty whities, you're fucking right I looked. It was whole hell of a lot more interesting than my Ken doll. Too bad I made the mistake of asking what that bump in front was. After that I never got to see him come out of the bathroom in only his underwear again. It was a better lesson on the value of keeping my mouth shut than my Aunt's ire over the smoking thing.

Then there were the older boys who lived next door to my gramma. One of them is the reason for my attraction to handsome blond men. My lascivious thoughts may have been mostly unformed, I have hazy memories of thinking that a piggy back ride on his shoulders would be dreamy. Even so, I can clearly remember the attraction I felt.

These vague childish memories of finding men attractive have stuck with me for almost forty years, leading me to believe the attraction was strong.

So doesn't it make sense that people are born with their compass already set and pointing in the direction that is right for them? What gives anyone the right to say different?

I'm linking up late with Yeah Write. It's a super community for bloggers who write and writers who blog.

 

The Pride And The Fall

I've mentioned that I'm supervising solo while the other supervisor is on vacation. It's all good though since we aren't busy and I figure I'll learn a lot. My biggest concern was The Swinger, because he's not a fan of mine.

Friday and Saturday, The Swinger wasn't feeling well. Which is fine - except he kept wanting me to feel how cold his hands were.

My Brain: Dude, you're a swinger. I could watch you wash your hands in bleach and I still wouldn't want to touch them. Now you're sick and you want me to touch your hands! Are you nuts? That's like swishing my hands around in germ stew. 

Finally, I touched them. They were a fuck of a lot warmer than my hands. Then I walked to the washroom like a doctor who had just scrubbed in, and scrubbed my hands with a vengeance.

So Monday, he called in sick. I should have been all Oh my God, how am I going to do all the stuff he normally does. Instead I was all Good, one less day for him to get all pissed off on me.

I learned how to call for a trailer and turn on a reefer. The day went great.

Tuesday he called in sick again. No problem!

My Brain: Yesterday was fine, what's one more day?

This is the stacker - after it was fixed.

Then the stacker got stubborn and wouldn't drop a pallet. The stacker has gears and moving chains and shit.

I have a fear of getting my fingers pinched, or I don't know - severed? I called maintenance.

No more than 30 minutes after maintenance left - the strapper vomited.

I hit the emergency stop and started hunting for a manual. I mean seriously folks - I can thread a Serger so how fucking hard could it be?

Not hard at all. Except first I had to get that carriage way up there to come down. Touch screen computer programming makes it simple, but every time I turn the machine back on it starts spewing again.

What seemed like miles of strapping vomit later, I called maintenance again.

I know how to do it now.

The Swinger is supposed to be back tomorrow. If anyone breathes a word of this to him, I might have to run them through the strapper.

I promise, I'll never run you through the strapper, so go vote for me at Circle of Mom's Top 25 Funny Mom's contest. Maybe get your friends and family to vote too - since I'm nowhere near my goal of making it into the top 100. You can vote your favorites every day until February 13th. 

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Trying Something Different

Usually the first thing I do when I get home from work is start reading other bloggers.

That's usually about when everybody decides they need my attention. It's exactly like being on the phone. I think there's some sort of pheromone mom's exude when they are engaged with other things that makes them irrisistable to teenagers bent on aggravation.

Once they start pestering me, they start pestering each other and I start getting twitchy. Once I get twitchy, I get bitchy. I may or may not even get a little itchy and scratchy.

Either way, any chance I had of being entertained by what I'm reading and writing my own post is pretty much gone.

So rather than fight a losing battle, I'm going to feed the Asshats first, fold a little bit of laundry and maybe even wash some dishes.

Then I'm going to lock myself in my bedroom and play some music.

Plus today's real post has pictures of vomiting strappers and stubborn stackers, and lately Blogger has been an asshole about uploading my pictures.

Asshats plus Blogger being an asshole together requires medication which I don't have because you know - Doctors office = germs.

But hey, while I'm cooking dinner you could go vote for me at Circle of Mom's Top 25 Funny Mom's contest. Maybe get your friends and family to vote too - since I'm nowhere near my goal of making it into the top 100. You can vote your favorites every day until February 13th. 

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PS. That really is vomiting strappers so if you're hoping it's a typo and the post will really be about vomiting strippers sorry about your luck.

If You Don't Know What You're Looking For, Google Can't Help You

Friday I was risking lifetime mental scars and searching Google Images, trying in vain to find a picture of a scooter. I was willing to settle for remotely similar.

I was not willing to settle for this.

It might be pretty snazzy with the senior set, but it is NOT the scooter I was looking for. I should be grateful that I didn't get back a bunch of pictures of dogs scooting their butts around.

By the way, don't search that ever unless you want to see lots of dog assholes.

So I tried searching by the brand, which I had made note of. Too bad it was only a mental note.

Hmm, it was something to do with moving.

Was it telecommuter? Nah, that's not even close and has nothing to do with moving.

Commuter? Nope that one isn't working.

Transporter? Nope.

This is why my posts usually have no pictures.

Today I took pictures of the actual scooter. It's a Nomad. You can see them here - Does This Scooter Make My Ass Look Fat?.

Now that I knew the right name, for shits and giggles I searched it.

There it is! I guess it helps if you know what you're looking for.

Vote for me at Circle of Mom's Top 25 Funny Mom's contest. Maybe get your friends and family to vote too - since I'm nowhere near my goal of making it into the top 100. You can vote your favorites every day until February 13th. 

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