When it comes to the world of romantic relationships, I’m a complete and utter dunce.  I honestly don’t know what qualifies as flirting.  I always assume guys are being polite and making small talk; that’s what I was doing.

Remember when your Mother told you that when boys pick on you at school, it means they like you?  I never bought this for second.  “No, I’m purty sure they were just being jerks.”  Personally I know when I pick on someone it’s because I really don’t like them.  Well apparently that rule only applied in grade school; I’m more than certain when high school boys were shouting wonderfully colored phrases and obscenities about my weight, it wasn’t because they had a woody for me.

And yet through all this; do you believe I was actually accused of trying to steal men from other gals?  We can roll around on the floor laughing for hours over that one.  What in God’s name would they want with me?  But to my utter disbelief, it did happen.

In high school my friend Gigi and I were always looking out for my Cousin Amy’s best interest.  Amy was sweet, fun and the prettiest lil thing (and she still is), but unfortunately she had inherited that miserable trait from her Mother: Must always have a man.  And so obviously Gigi and I took it upon ourselves to approve of her boyfriends, and if we didn’t, we’d find another suitor. We never had much work to do in high school anyway, and playing matchmaker was much more fun, or fending off jerks from the mentally challenged kids.  

Well here was Amy with a new boyfriend; there was nothing particularly wrong with him except that he was incredibly dull.  But somehow, and from where is beyond me, tension began to mount in this relationship – on dull boy’s side of course.  He confided in our dear Amy that he was considering dumping her.  The next morning when we pick her up for school out she came, skipping along inna short skirt and her shirt only halfway buttoned.  Gigi said, “Oh no,” and quickly buttoned her shirt all the way back up to her neck nearly chokin her.  

It was time for a new boyfriend hunt, and we didn’t have to look far.  Gigi and I had a mutual acquaintance, our darling boy Josh.  In fact Gigi had found him first and couldn’t wait to show him off, he was just the cutest thing.  And lest I forget the most important part of this scenario; Amy and Josh had dated previously, in fact I never understood why they broke up.  Amy still held a torch for Josh that lit up the night sky and quite frankly he was the only guy we approved of.  One small hitch though, Josh had a girlfriend.  Gigi’s plan was simple; bold but still simple: Anytime one of us saw Josh with his current, we would run up to him, squeeze between the two and rub all over him.  Not surprisingly this plan worked like a charm, and the current What’s Her Face was no more.  But oh pooh, Dull Boy decided he liked Amy again.  Now we have double duty; breaking those two up while keeping Josh occupied, and that’s where it backfired.  For a short, 350 pound 16 year old it’s impossible to believe that an actual man might consider you more than just a friend, and certainly that man would never be a darling blonde headed boy with the most devilish of grins.

And there it was: Josh was no longer interested in Amy, he wanted me.  Where the fuck did that come from?  It was purty damn hard to hide my giddiness, until Amy’s Mother found out.  Amy’s Ma always favored Josh too, but to understand this we need a lil backstory.

When Amy’s Mother, Kaye, was in her early twenties she screwed everything in sight.  When she entered the room, even the furniture ran from her.  My Mother was on the opposite end of the spectrum; she was shy and thought she was too fat.  Obviously from the pictures I’ve posted we know that’s bull.  Often when Kaye brought guy of the week back to their apartment he would find Mother much more appealing and interesting. Like me, Mother never understood but Kaye always saw it as a challenge.  There was an Air Force base in town and all the boys there knew about Kaye.  I’m sure there were lovely things about her scrawled about the walls.  I should go back to Forbes Field and check it out someday.  One night Kaye brought a very handsome and devilish man home who also would screw anything that didn’t run from him.  That man took one look at my Mother and completely lost interest in Kaye.  That man later married my Mother then had a kid.  Hi! *waving*

When I excitedly told Kaye about Josh she was beet red with anger, but calmly said, “That’s nice.”  Then proceeded to remind me how much Amy loved him.  Surely you’ve figured out by now that I was racked with guilt and with much disappointment told Josh no.

Interestingly enough Josh is gay now, Gigi is married and has a lil gurl, Amy is married to a very handsome and wonderful man and Kaye is terminally ill with a rare disease and has to live in nursing home.

A few years down the road I got caught up in that low fat craze; lost my gallbladder but also lost 200 pounds.  I was actually under 200 for the first time in years.  We’ve seen the photos; I was darn cute.  And here we go again:

There’s only one gas station in town that still has Full Service, and there’s a young man whom Amy adores.  They told me tales of his beauty, like he was a throwback to the forties.  Instead of trying something normal like letting Amy talk to this boy herself, Kaye concocts a most embarrassing and manipulative plan that’ll make you cringe.  She decides they’ll bake him cookies, then Kaye will make a big deal of Amy writing the check for gasoline.  Kaye points out that Amy’s phone number is on that check and then the boy will car her.  I was invited to this lil expedition and accepted cuz I wanted to see this purty boy myself.  

My God was he a sight!  He honestly looked as though he’d stepped out of some old rebel without a causish movie- sans the poofie hairdo.  

Kaye starts her plan in action, but it sounds rehearsed and cheesy.  I feel so embarrassed for Amy.  Because Amy is the most darling of girls and even though I was much smaller than I used to be, she always insisted I sit up front.  The very purty boy was washing the windows and when he came to mine I couldn’t help but grin.  How could you not?  God he was gorgeous, how could you not.  He smiled back at me then opened the door.  Freaked the shit outta this fat chick.  He said the windows were dirty on the inside too and proceeded to reach over me and start cleaning the front windshield.  He smiles at me again and says he’s gonna reach over to a spot way on Kaye’s side.  This Adonis is now sitting on my lap.  I am in complete and total shock.  When he was through they did the embarrassing cookie bit and Kaye made a big deal that it was Amy’s check.

As soon as we drove off I could breathe again.  I lost so much oxygen to my brain that day and most likely needed to change my underwear.  And then of course what could the giddy fat gurl do but gush.  Kaye intercedes and says, “Now Brooke, he’s Amy’s man.”  Sweet lil Amy says, “Brookie can have him if she wants.”  Now I’m all aboard the guilt train once again.

That handsome boy never did call Amy and I guess that meant the door was open for me, but I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do. One thing I knew for certain is to steer clear of the cookie idea.  Do I go in there and say, “Hi I’m the gal you gave a lap dance to the other day?”  Today I could do it, but back then I was never so bold or confident.  Besides, a gorgeous guy like that; what would he want with me?  A few months later he moved to Arizona.

Even in my thinnish and utterly cute days I never quite knew what to do.  There were times at the grocery when I had one measly bag and this guy was determined to carry it out for me, but what was I supposed to do beyond that?  I remember the time Snookie was visiting me in St Louis.  We were strolling around a store at Union Station and I swear this guy asked me at least four times if I needed any help; I finally just left so he’d stop bugging me.  Sitting in the car waiting for the traffic light to change and I lick my lips because they’re chapped, some guy in the car across me nods and blows me a kiss.  Maybe that’s why I gained all weight back.

I went on my very first date ever last summer with someone I’d met online.  At the last moment he mentioned he would be bringing his son along, I figured that was some sort of test so I just agreed.  We went out to lunch and then to the aquarium.  He was a really nice guy and we seem to connect so easily.  I was also excellent at halting any possible tantrums the four-year-old was ready to bring on; no, not punching him.  The kid in the end was tired and actually screeched the entire walk through Cannery Row – that was a fun moment in history.  However when we got back to the car he fell asleep and we were able to just drive around and talk.  It was getting later; I was feeling very bold and asked him, “So ya wanna take me to dinner now?”  So we went to Phil’s and still had a lovely time.  While there he said he’d like to take me out again, minus the kid.  When he finally brought me home and got out of the car to see me in, I thought sure he was gonna kiss me.  He shoulda kissed me, the dope.  A six hour date, with a kid and it was still fabulous!

I never saw him again.  He called a couple times, but seemed to have lost total interest.  Beats the shit outta me.

So now here I am:  I still don’t know what defines as flirting, and I ain’t that cute, thinner and younger gurl anymore – I’m older, fatter, less cute and a helluva lot more bitter.  Pray tell who in God’s name would want me now?

As mentioned previously; Death hangs out in my dreams.  I don’t know if it’s actually Death or an idea I could never possibly understand.  The most logical explanation is that it’s all in my head.

But tonight I asked him, “Look, if Death truly is an identity or idea; then why do you keep visiting me?”  “Is it all in my head?”  “Are you trying to tell me something?”  “I’m not scared, and if you do exist then I realize you’re a very busy man, and it certainly can’t be a fun job.”  Well if you don’t feel comfortable showing up in public then perhaps we can chat in my dreams.

Every man I’ve ever loved is either dead or was snatched away from me by that slut God.

I’ve been shamelessly pimpin myself out all over the Internet, or at least wherever they’ll take me.  For instance: Cranky writers?  Yes.  Conservative lesbians for George Bush?  No.

I’m not sure if signing up with all these directories is helping, and damned if I know what the hell my RSS feed is.

Also the most efficient and cheap way to increase your traffic is to visit other blogs, but I’m not interested in anyone else.

You know those jackasses who say, “You can sleep when you’re dead”?  They only say this because they’ve never had the pleasure of sleeping inna good bed.   And I sure as hell won’t be able to enjoy sleeping when I’m dead.  

We spend nearly half our lives in bed, and so it’s only natural to make this our number one priority in expenditures.  I’ve spent more on my bed than most Americans’ yearly salary.  I always take my pillows with me to hotels and hide ‘em in the closet from the housekeepers; two hundred bucks a pop and I’ll be damned if they get near ‘em.

Stop sleeping on shitty mattresses, it’s old; get a new one – an expensive one!  Buy a featherbed, a down topper and a couple of those thick memory foam pads (the good kind, not that cheap shit). Throw out all your cheap sheets; they’re like sleeping on sandpaper.  300 thread count is ok, but I suggest at least 600 –1200 if you’re uppity like me.  Buy only Hungarian goose down pillows, firm fill and at least a 300 thread count covering, plus another high thread count pillow protector.  Pillowcases must be at least 1000 thread count, no skimping on that one.  Once again; Hungarian goose down comforter, at least 600 fill power, baffle boxed to keep the down from shifting and at least 600 thread count.  Now you need a duvet cover for your spiffy new comforter; once again at least 600 but I personally recommend 1000.

After all this: I dare you to try and get out of bed again.

I do believe my Father is trying to get rid of the one cat I have left.  He NEVER bothers to shut the door and Miss Molly is the epitome of curiosity.  It’s happened several times; she’s darted out and I had to coax her back inside with numnums.  I think I’ll break this bottle and shove jagged edge into his face or maybe just mine.  I’ll let Molly decide.

After someone dies I always dream about ‘em, but I’m the only one that can see ‘em.  It’s very unnerving and aggravating trying to explain to everyone around me that the supposedly dead person/cat/dog is standing right there.  I touched them!  They talked to me!  I try and persuade these people I’m not losing my mind, but in the end they either have me locked up or have me so convinced that something terrible is happening that I launch myself from a high distance.

I dream about Allie every night; he’s just suddenly there.  I grab him, I hold him, I pet him, I talk to him; and then my parents start to wonder what the hell I’m doing.  Clearly I’m petting Allie.  Don’t you see him?  He’s right there!  Look, even Molly sees him.  They tell me they see only one cat, and that’s Molly I’m petting.  No it’s not!  Molly’s over there!  Can’t you see this Allie?  And it goes on and on.  The problem is when I wake up, I’m unclear as to whether that was a dream or a memory.

It would seem my dreams and starting to meld in with reality.

And yet I’m such an attention whore; what an annoying conundrum.  

What the hell is a BlogRoll and how in God’s name do you make it work?  I just want something idiot proof where all I gotta do is copy and paste.

I don’t want to drive and I’m tired of everyone tellin me to do so.

My therapist says the world is lost without me and needs me desperately.  I always thought my isolation was for their protection.  Why should I go out into the world and spread my knowledge and attempt to help others?  It would seem none of the assholes are ever grateful and in the end come after me with torches and pitchforks.

Everybody’s terrified of rocking the boat; people would rather get swindled or suffer at that hands of a self-appointed authority figure.  And that’s just their own skin we’re talking about.  Somebody else?  You can just forget it.

Contrary to popular belief there’s no master plan or outline for life.  Perhaps six months from now when my last tether to this world has been severed, I’ll go in search of inspiration elsewhere.  If none is found then I can take a running leap off the cliffs of Point Reyes, and dive head first into the jagged rocks below.  

It’s my life and it’s my choice.

I always say this to Molly when I’m bummed, fortunately she always complies.

There was this big black guy in Petsmart the other day while I was looking at the kitties.  He came over uninvited and said, "Yuck cats.  Only good things cats are for is feedin to my dog."

I replied, "Oh my God I so understand what you mean!  I've always felt every black man should be in jail."

I'm obviously tossing self-preservation out the window.

Just how I like it.

Or at least to a bare minimum.

No fancy ad campaigns or products to sell.  

When I was fourteen and walkin around in Jr. High I was absolutely grossed out by the invasion of pimples on everyone’s face; I was determined never to look like that.  So I went to the library and found a book on acne written back in the 70’s by Dr. Fulton.  He said Benzoyl Peroxide inna water based gel was the key to getting rid of acne.  Depending on the severity of your acne you needed a different percentage of the Benzoyl Peroxide on your formula: 2.5% 5% 10% and sometimes even stronger for those who suffer from cystic acne.

Another key to this regime is ice.  After washing the face, rub an ice cube over face; this helps the Benzoyl Peroxide penetrate quicker and also tones the facial muscles giving you a sweet dewy complexion.

What to use to wash your face?  It doesn’t have to be expensive.  I’ve always been a personal of fan of neutrogena.  I also just recently happened onna product by Dove which is simply a soft foaming facial wash.  Use whatever your comfortable with just stay clear or creams and oils.

Stay away from Clearasil; it has ingredients that cause pimples.  Oxy 10 is a great product and also a water based gel that comes in 10% and 5%.  For those with minor acne I recommend this site: http://www.acnesupplies.com/  They sell a water based product with only 2.5% Benzoyl Peroxide, and it’s very reasonably priced.

As with any acne medication your face is going to dry out; it’s normal.  The medication is working on excess oil and shrinking sebaceous glands and preventing future breakouts.  It’s a good idea to exfoliate once or twice a week to slough off the dead skin.  Be sure to find a light and oil free moisturizer.  I use DDF’s Ultra-Lite Oil Free Moisturizing Dew, but I understand it is on the pricey side, and there’s many other cheaper products at your local drug store.

It’s also a good idea to combine Benzoyl Peroxide with Glycolic Acid.  For instance: Also use a toner after washing your face.  Once again I do tend to fall under the expensive category with DDF’s Glycolic Toner, but you will more than likely find a cheaper brand.

On more thing: I implore you to wear sunscreen daily.  Both Glycolic Acid and Benzoyl Peroxide tend to speed up the sun crisping experiences.  And nooone likes wrinkles.

My Father always had the worst acne and still does, but with this regiment my skin is nearly perfect and it doesn’t cost me an arm and a leg.

Hi my name is Elizabeth Lee and a month ago I killed my cat and I've come to collect what's left of him.

Hi my name is Elizabeth Lee and I've lost the one thing that kept me tethered to this world, could you please bring him to me.

Hi my name is Elizabeth Lee and I wish I were dead, instead my cat is so I've come to claim him.

Hi my name is Elizabeth Lee and I brought my cat Allie in here a month ago.  He's a beautiful cat with green almond shaped eyes, black and grey tiger stripes and a freckle on his pink nose, however now he's nothing but dust and housed inna lil box.

Hi my name is Elizabeth Lee and I'm dead inside.

Hi my name is Elizabeth Lee and my one true love is sitting back in your storage department.

Hi my name is Elizabeth Lee and I was hoping to meet my fate inna horrific car accident before arriving here.

Hi my name is Elizabeth Lee and I don't wanna open the fucking car door.

Hi my name is Elizabeth Lee and I've been putting off this journey for more than a month for fear that I'll never see, hear, feel or ever dream about Allie again.

NURSE: Can I help you?

ME: Hi my name is Elizabeth Lee and... I... *nervous chuckle*  Ummm... about a month ago..
Then I lose the ability to talk and pointed to the lil urn and choked,  I've come to pick up one these; it should say Allie on it.

I liken this movie to viewing 2 ½ hours of C-Span.  There was something about clones, but since I wasn’t paying much attention I couldn’t tell ya whose side they were on.  Yoda insisted on talking like a dyslexic.  There was a luv interest plot.  Bless Natalie Portman’s heart; she tried her best at salvaging this flop.  Ewan McGregor seemed rather sullen over starring inna movie that won’t allow him to show his penis.  Samuel L. Jackson constantly had his head in his hands realizing his shame over agreeing to this movie.  The bad guy also happened to be the bad guy from the Lord of the Rings and he had to hop inna transport to finish filming the trilogy.

The good news about this movie? JarJar Binks had much less air time – if you closed yours eyes, plugged your ears and ignored him, he’d eventually go away.  It would seem George Lucas actually made a wise decision in switching the comic relief back to the gay robots.

Still if you must watch this movie I recommend Xanax coupled with copious amounts of tequila.

I was perfectly content with Fox's House finale airing next week, but only because I assumed Nip/Tuck would start inna couple weeks.

Now what the hell am I supposed to do with my Summer?  I think I'll just sleep.

IT'S HOT!  It feels like 83 out there.  I'm melting.... melting....

These are the days I wish there was a pool in the backyard, instead I'll have to make do with a tub and some ice.

‘Member my post way back in February about receiving unsolicited emails that claimed I had bought some Xanax?  Well I never received the Alprazolam (generic for Xanax) but they did charge my credit card; twice.

Well I’ve noticed quite a few Google searches for their number 866-869-6497, so I’m definitely not the only one gettin screwed.  So if you’ve received a similar email claiming they’ve charged you for such and such drug with the same telephone number; please report the hell outta ‘em and check your credit card (or God forbid, bank) statements.

So much for staying Indie.  He’s shooting a *shudder* Disney movie; he was recently caught onna episode of Punk’d whining about his precious Porsche and he’s the bloody voice over for the stupid Cottonelle puppy.  Next thing ya know he’ll be starring in the prequel to the prequel of Star Wars.

I’m so disillusioned.

It took me awhile to figure out what syciatric meant.  Your sciatic nerve? Then it dawned on me:


Actually I guess it should be sad, but unfortunately the spectacular spelling errors make it so comical.  My favorite was tippicle.

I'm needy.

And if you don't I'll kill your puppy.

After all, I've had nearly 10,000 people nosing around this site; you have no excuse for not singing my praises.

I’m such a Californian.  Remember the days when the only reason for gathering cans and bottles was to get some cash for ‘em?  *sniff* Those days are gone…

Now I actually rummage through our trash and pick out the recyclable items; Mother’s purty bad at throwing away her water bottles, empty Kleenex boxes, etc.  However inna hotel room they bag up all your trash together.  I suppose they could have some sort of system, but it’s a stretch of the imagination to picture immigrants digging through the trash just to find the recyclables.  

I realize a recycling system would be a bit costly, but it seems an awful waste and what’s the point of my recycling when nearly one hundred rooms from each hotel (This isn’t even including Las Vegas) toss away countless empty water bottles? 
Isn’t that terrible?  I actually feel guilty throwing one damn water bottle in the trash.

Course I hang out on this site all hours of the night, but it's mine; it gets a lil strange when someone obsessively combs my site at three in the mornin their time.  I'd venture to her website, but she's not even remotely interesting as me.

As predicted I was thrown off of obesityhelp.com because of my knowledge of their more than ample finances.  If you kids wanna copy of the PDF document email me at narf@networksplus.net

Will this trainwreck ever end? 
Will George Lucas ever stop pimping out his Muppet characters?
Will geeks everywhere finally lose their virginity?
Will JarJar Binks go off to work on other great projects and keep his career alive?  Perhaps he could revive the classic: Mr. Smith goes to Washington.
Will starring in these prequels damage Natalie Portman's career?
Will there be dancing in the streets and a national holiday declared when finally this whole Star Whores fiasco is put to rest?

And you wonder why folks hate America.

Hey who's the private IP Address Lan that keeps poppin on here?  Just curious.

Is Henry Rollins married?  If not, can I have him?  I find myself dry humping the television every time Henry’s Film Corner is on IFC.  What a wonderfully hot, angry and opinionated man.  He seems like the type who enjoys spanking the occasional woman, and I wanna let him.

Throughout my five plus years here in California my evening viewing of The Simpsons has been constantly interrupted with Breaking News Stories; which is always a car chase in L.A -- I never understood why, they’ve never been entertaining.  That is until last week…

Wow!  That bastard had no regard for human life, not even his own!  This became purty evident when he crashed into the guardrail.  

Honestly it was the best hour of television I’ve seen inna good while.  110 MPH, swerving all over the freeway then driving on the wrong side of the road in residential districts; it reminded me of playing every racing video game ever invented.  

Of course the best part of this live onscreen drama was the end:  When oops, the cops shot him dead inna El Pollo Loco parking lot for the entire world to see.  You could tell he was dead by the fact of his non-movement and the helicopter camera quickly panning off his corpse. *thumbsup*  And what did this evil and dastardly person do that warranted such an ending?  He stole that car.

Now the police are fussy with the news feeds for showing the fatal shooting because it’s hard to cover your own ass when it’s hanging out in front of a 50 inch plasma television.

In the end the guy I feel sorry is the fellar who owns that particular El Pollo Loco.

I’m not as nice as I used to be, not that I was ever much before but… *shrug*  
I’m a lil less tolerant and a lil more irritable.
I’m a lil less interested and a lil more indifferent.

The truth is I no longer care about being fat or thin, rich or poor, to drive or not; ambitions, aspirations, hopes and dreams… No, I find nothing inspiring.  In fact the only thing that even remotely warms the cockles of my heart is the idea of bringing someone to their knees and causing them to curl up inna fetal position whimpering softly.  I suppose that should be cause for alarm but please to notice the lack of expression on my face.

Barely two weeks out of surgery and Mother’s already bumbling around, managing to disobey nearly every one of the surgeon’s orders.  She doesn’t bother to walk, always sits with her legs down, tries to nigger out of her protein drinks and is already eating solid food.  I suppose I should be concerned about this behavior and the serious risk of blood clots, but I honestly don’t care.  I am that bloody indifferent.

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I started this blog so I would no longer need to speak with people directly.  Besides, they're all a bunch of goddamn whiners anyway.

Stop downloading my pictures and savin 'em to your hard drive; it's weird and just a tad bit creepy.

Tonight Mother and Molly conspired together to try and kill me -- a perfectly timed sequence of events leading to my demise or at least severing a limb.

The subjects below are considered armed and dangerous.

Mother	Molly

I’d ask you their whereabouts, but they’re both just in the other room.

The scene of the crime is the computer room: It started out innocently enough with Molly being a lil hyper and Mother suggesting, “I believe someone needs attention.”  Mother asked me to fetch a tissue.  After supplying her with exactly two Kleenex I then bend over to pick up Molly.  At the precise second when my hand touches fur on her belly, Mother then sneezes causing Molly to rocket in the air; thus slitting my arm wide open.



Oww.