eb

almost kill her. More news at 11.

Ok, I’m sorta back but let me just point out that I did suggest I might be back before the end of the year. Also, five bucks? Five lousy, stinkin’ bucks? That’s it? As I said to weese - I’m so undervalued. Weese said I was worth $20. At least some people know the value of quality blogging.

I won’t be here every day. Maybe twice a week. The rest of the time I’ll be over at Emerald pillows. Come over and visit. Everyone is welcome, even straight men who shoot guns. In fact, straight men who shoot guns might even end up in some fictional story. Stranger things have happened.

Right at this very moment, I’m Aunt Betsy The Great babysitting my nephews. My sister and my bro-in-law are at the Texans game and I’m hoping David Carr KICKS ASS!!!!!! My sister set up her laptop so I can watch Big O get squashed by the Rudeboys in Fantasy Football. As I’m sitting here, my foot moved a skosh (that’s a little more than a smidge) and I engaged a Wiggles toy into singing some Wiggles song and I so want it to stop because my nephews are transfixed on the tv and I don’t want them to become untransfixed.

My younger nephew wants a skelekon. Earlier he was watching Bear In The Big Blue House Halloween episode and he just announced he wants a skelekon.

Considering the trend these days is to recount an actual conversation, I’ll be trendy -

An Bessie, I wan a skelekon
You do?
Yep
An Bessie
What babe?
Where’s An Bessies car?
It’s out front
An Bessie’s car out front?
Uh huh
I wanna go An Bessie’s car.
But it’s raining out.
(older brother then chirps - It’s not raining and An Bessie shoots him a “YES it is raining look” but that doesn’t work on a 5 year old)
Well, it’s cold outside and Aunt Betsy doesn’t feel so good.
Ok.

It’s all about honesty.

 

 

 

You might think I’m back but I haven’t really gone anywhere, sorta. But I’m back here to fill you in on sumthin’.
Guess, what? There’s a new Friday Pulp, Baby!

But Elizabeth, where is it?

You’re smart. You can figure it out.

Have a good weekend, y’all.

Like a dirty shirt.

Ok, I know it’s early but I need to focus. Focus, y’all. This is what I need to do. I’ve got a ton of shit to do and I just might break down and make a list. A list! That’s how much shit needs de-shitting. Enough for me to make a list.

I might make it back here soon. I might not. If I’m actually focusing on my soon to be list, I won’t be back until the new year. Otherwise…see ya in a couple days.

But, if I don’t make it back then have a wonderful holiday season doing whatever it is you choose to do during this festivey time of the year.

Here I go. To get things done. Yes, eb will be finishing things. But first, I have to think…no wait…not thinking, just doing. Do be do be doooo do do do do be.

Later y’all. Be good.

xxooeb

Because, as we all know, if we don’t say ‘nigger’ all the bad shit will go away.

I think most of us know that disposing of the word ‘nigger’ will not make any of the bad shit go away. In fact, it might make it worse.

Jesse Jackson and Rep. Maxine Waters have urged us all not to use the ‘n’ word. Nigger. Don’t call it ‘the n word.’ Say it. Nigger. Say the word. Putting the word behind shadows does absolutely nothing.

Words are powerful. If words weren’t powerful there would be no blogs. There would be no books. There would be nothing. We all know the power of words. The term ‘African American’ came about as an evolution of words. Negro. Colored. Black. African American. I know why black leaders urged people to use the term ‘African American.’ It was a way of manipulating the languge. It was a way of trying to integrate blacks into American culture - a culture they’ve been a part of for more than 400 years. How is it that a group of people whose ancestors helped build a country still feel like strangers on the outside seeking shelter from some neverending storm?

That is the real question and stifiling the word nigger will never answer that question.

When Michael Richards went on his tirade at some comedy club, the word ‘nigger’ took center stage because words are powerful. But, ideas are more powerful. Words are the appetizers. Ideas are the meal. Stating that 50 years ago two black men would be dragged out of that club with forks up their asses is more notorious than shouting the word ‘nigger.’ In fact, 50 years ago two black men wouldn’t be able to attend such an event. 50 years ago two black men wouldn’t be able to drink at the same water fountain attended by the people at the event - certainly not in the American South.

Yet, it’s words that are hunted. You can’t kill ideas by killing words. That’s like trying to kill cancer by putting a Band-aid on an open sore.

I certainly understand the concern. I don’t like the term ‘nigger.’ Not many people do. But the race problems in the United States run far deeper than a single word and they are not the burden of white people alone. When black comics joke about CPT and rap stars boast about their ‘niggahs’ and prominent black people like Bill Cosby have critical things to say, there’s some looking in the mirror that needs to be done.

White people already know what they have to do. It’s black people who don’t seem to have a clue and killing the word ‘nigger’ is not the answer.

Greetings Gentle Woodland Folk of the Blogisphereâ„¢. I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving break and are feeling full of good cheer and whirled peas and squishy niceness.

We had a lovely, quiet and quite delicious Thanksgiving. Apparently it’s not officially over until the payment of one washed car is anted up. That’s what one must pay if one wants to watch football on Thanksgiving in the living room of Chez Queenmaxine. This would have already been done except for one thing, I did not have soap to wash the car and I refuse to wash a car with shampoo. I simply won’t do it. If it was a furry car, I might consider it. Otherwise, I will not wash a car with shampoo. I know it’s soap. It’s soap for hair. No. No ma’am. I will not wash a car with shampoo.

On another note, an expensive note, ‘tis the season to spend shitloads of cash, and since we’re in this cycle of having to spend lots of said cash on Unexpected Fucking Occurrences (UFOs), why break the pattern now, right? (UFOs can also be U-F-Os…knowhadimean? Like, hey baby let’s fuck in the Uhaul, on I-10, between Looziana and Texas in the middle of a raging storm with four twisters dancing across the sky in front of us. UFOs can be good things too).

Back to the other UFOs, for starters we spent $700 for plumbing. While I didn’t want to spend $700 right before the holidays on plumbing, at least this UFO was actually needed and every time I step into the shower (think Angelina Jolie…yes I’m that hot), I thank the little baby Jesus for people who know how to be plumbish. It’s kind of like being Amish only a lot more water and no cow shit is involved.

Then there was the $300 to replace car windows that got shattered. One from the great BB-gun, suburban shoot out incident that occurred recently and one from the key-got-locked-in-the-car-and-mom-decided-to-channel-McGyver incident that happened last year. Might as well get the second window fixed and out of duct tape and plastic hell.

Now what? What’s next eb? What could it be now?

What could it be knocking at my door?
knock knock knock
Go away, don’t come ‘round here no more
Can’t you see that I have no cash
I’ve spent it all, and now I’ve got a rash
All I want is to not be poor
If this keeps up, I’ll have to sell our door
Ask your God if I pray will he

Let me - win the lott-er-y

What can it beeeeee now?

Ah yes, this morning I decided to look at our cell phone bill. I don’t usually look at the cell phone bill because the charge is the same every month. It’s very consistent and I figure everyone is being good and not using excessive minutes – until now. Our cell phone bill this month is $700. Yes, that’s right. $700. We have four cell phones on our plan. We get a bank of 850 minutes every month. We had, at one time, a ton of rollover minutes in our nice, little cell phone stash. Those were halcyon days indeed.

I had 2.5 pages of calls equaling approx 200 min. Max had about the same. Thomas had approximately 400 minutes of use. He’s more of a text guy anyway so we do have a text messaging plan for him. And then there’s Connor. Max’s 16 year old. Mr. Smoove. Mr. LL Cool C. Connor had four THOUSAND minutes racked up on his phone.

He’s had the phone for a while and then all of a sudden in September Connor’s social world expanded exponentially. Can you say ‘girlfriend?’ We’re not sure if he has a girlfriend. I’m assuming he does now. Either that or he’s a pimp.

He doesn’t live with us. He lives with his dad in Virginia.

Now, he lives with his dad sans cell phone. We live in Texas sans $700.

I believe it’s Newton’s fourth law - for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction and that’s when the money gets cut off.

Hope y’all have a great holiday. Cya next week.