the108

Inside the mind of America’s (raunchy, foul mouthed, overly opinionated, sexually aggressive, incredibly offensive, fly by the minute, ridiculously absurd, often times erratic, psychologically questionable) Sweetheart.

Mrs. Little Richard November 30, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 6:57 pm

So, I have a five month old daughter named Emi and yesterday I discovered that she’s got it bad for Little Richard. REAL bad.

You know those Geico commercials they have on tv now where they’re all like, “this is so and so and he sucks so we brought someone way cool in to speak on his behalf”? Then, some celebrity stands there and speaks for the uncool person and tells us all why Geico is awesome. Some are funny and some suck. Just sayin’.

Well, one of these commercials has Little Richard in it doing what Little Richard does best: Acting insane.

Raise your hand if you love Little Richard. Yeah. Me, too. I could care less about the music but he cracks me up because he never makes a lick of sense and he’s always saying really strange shit and then following it up with even more strange sound effects. It’s no wonder that Emi loves him to death.

“Mashed PO-tatoes!… and Graaaaaavy!… WaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaH!!!!!!!”

Oh my god. She goes ape shit over this. Here comes Little Richard (WaAaAaAaAaAah!!) and here comes Emi (WaAaAaAaAah!!!)and for, like, twenty seconds, she is the happiest child on the planet. Holy cow, you should see her groove out to this shit. Her little legs just go crazy kicking the air like some kind of strange, baby Michael Flatley and there go her arms waving around and her face is about to burst open and she is just enthralled by this.

“WaAaAaAaAaAaAaH!!!!!!!!”

She fucking freaks out. It’s very interesting.

Now, Emi is having issues as of late and has made me her bitch. She, unlike my other three children, is none too happy with the situation unfolding in her mouth. Teething seems to be hurting her far more than the older kids who all sort of popped out teeth with grins on their tiny faces. Not Emi. She’s more like, “This shit hurts!” and thinks that maybe the pain will be alleviated if I hold her. All day long.

Holding her does not make her happy, though. Really, nothing does other than bouncing and Little Richard. She doesn’t want to eat or sleep and she’s just plain grouchy. I feel bad for me her.

I’m a mom so I know all the tricks and every one of them has been used on the baby to try to bring her some relief but none of them works. The only thing that works is me bouncing her on my knee all the while saying, “bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy….!!!” over and over again in a really goofy voice or… the stupid Geico commercial.

You know, parents are always recording shows that their children are particularly fond of so that they can be entertained by them for hours on end but I think I might be the only one who has had to record a commercial and play it on a loop for a baby. Yet, there is just something about Little Richard that Emi finds very appealing and I do sort of understand this. The man is a freak.

Did he die recently? I think he may have, but I can’t keep them all straight.

At any rate, he is alive and well in our house having a sordid love affair with my youngest daughter who thinks he’s just the bee’s knees.

“WaAaAaAaAaAaAaAah!!!!!”

**Thanks to Bond we now have the youtube of this commercial… Thanks, Bond!!**

 

manic monkey

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 4:22 am

Someone you know by acquaintance is moving overseas and has to get rid of their beloved pet because of quarantine restrictions and stupid laws and a whole list of bullshit. They approach you looking for a new owner to their pet and introduce you to this:


What do you do?

Do you take one look at this adorable face and immediately swoon and say something weird in baby talk like, “ooooh… c’mere you wittle snooky wooky snookums!” and make the grab? Or, do you allow the tiny voice in your head that says, “Hey, jack ass. Yeah…you. That fucking animal is gonna piss everywhere and throw it’s shit at you and attack you when it’s horny and try to hump your kids all the time. Do NOT even think about bringing it home.” smack some sense into you?

Be honest.

Personally, I’d easily end up bringing that goddamned thing home. I am well aware that when it comes to owning a monkey, the cons far outweigh the pros. Sure, it’s going to eat all of my furniture and completely wreck my house but… look at it! It’s fucking adorable!

The possibilities are endless as far as what you can do with a monkey. Just wandering nonchalantly through a store with that son of a bitch is going to garner you some attention. Also, you will get an oddly appropriate excuse to ask people if they’d like to touch it.

“Hey. Wanna touch my monkey?”

Who wouldn’t want that opportunity??? Me? Fuck yes, I would! That monkey would make my life miserable but long before I got bored with it, I’d still really enjoy the thing. Maybe it’s just me or maybe it’s a woman thing but I simply could not deny that thing right there above in the picture looking all scrumptious.

I have a whole laundry list of things I would do if I had a monkey and almost 85 percent of them are legal. How ’bout you?

What would you do?

 

practice makes perfect November 29, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 9:29 pm

My runway walk is a bit stiff. I have a hard time making my top half do what I want it to do at the same time as my bottom half. Just when I get the stomp down the way I like it, I notice that my arms are just sort of hanging there. I get the arms going and my feet stop working. I try different shoes and the walk gets better but then I forget to work my face.

Sigh.

 

tiny, little requests

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 7:14 pm

Dean and I are so very different and if I’m going to be completely honest with myself then I have to give him a little bit of credit for the way he has learned how to deal with me and my… eccentricities. It is not uncommon that I engage him in strange tasks solely to amuse and entertain myself.

I used to give Dean lists and send him to the store to pick up items that I knew would make him very uncomfortable. Not like Tampons or anything as that doesn’t bother him so much, but I would spend a great amount of time in thought coming up with the perfect list and then I’d shove it into his hand and push him out the door.

Dean,

Run by the store on your way home from work and pick up the following:

Fish hooks
a tub of lard
rubber gloves
a hamster
condoms
one large squash

Thanks!

-Kyra

Dean would absolutely panic at the sight of these lists. There would be times when he would shove them back in my hands as if he had been burned upon touching the paper. “Fuck no, Kyra! You go and get your weird ass shit yourself and leave me the fuck out of it!” he would often say. I would pout and ask him what the big deal was and act very melodramatically until he finally stomped out the door with the list and, boy, would he be mad.

I also like to do things slowly to him. I requested a ferret, begged for weeks for one and as soon as he agreed I informed him that we would have loads of fun with the ferret.

“Um. What kind of fun?” he asked looking a bit apprehensive.

“I’m going to dress the ferret up in clothes and carry it around with me everywhere I go like those retarded celebrities do with their tiny dogs.” I replied.

“Oh. Okay,” he said with an amused look on his face.

“And you’re going to be my handler.” I explained.

“Come again? Your handler?”

“Yeah. I’m going to have you follow us around everywhere we go and frequently pass the ferret off to you to hold while I attend to things. You can walk, say, four feet or so behind me all day and carry my ferret who will be dressed like Zsa Zsa Gabor. It’ll be fun. I’ll wear huge sunglasses.”

“Jesus, Kyra. Are you serious?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied.

It took about ten minutes to get him to agree to this which is a big improvement because he used to hold out for much longer. Then, last night, I hit an all time record:

“Hey Dean,” I said.

“Yes, my darling?” he replied.

“I want you to take Sonic to Petsmart and have his picture taken with Santa.” I said.

“Oh. Okay.” he answered. “Wait. Who in the hell is Sonic?”

I get a bit annoyed and answer, “Ummm… SONIC??? You know…. our FISH???” I roll my eyes a bit to let him know that I think he is an idiot.

“The fish is named Sonic?” he asks looking puzzled. “When did that happen?”

“The kids named him the day we got him, you turd.”

“Oh, okay.” he says.

“So you’ll take him then? Thank you.” I reply.

“The fish?? You want me to take the fish to go and sit on Santa’s lap and get pictures, correct? How much is this going to cost???”

“I dunno.” I say. “It can’t be much.”

“I’ll call Petsmart and find out but just for the record, I am going to feel like a total douche walking in there with a fucking fish to see Santa. This is bullshit, just so you know.”

I am offended by this and the lower lip comes out. I look at Dean. He looks at me. He is trying not to laugh and I ask him what the fuck he finds so funny.

“You just asked me to take the fish and have him photographed with Santa. That’s ridiculous, Kyra.”

“But, will you do it?” I ask.

“Yeah. I’ll take the fucking fish.”

I was very impressed with the lack of argument that I usually get in response to my outrageous requests. It would appear that Dean is getting used to me after all these years and realizes that it is much faster to simply oblige me instead of arguing. Perhaps he thinks that I will lose interest and stop asking him to do weird shit or something. I, however, am going to have to get a lot more creative.

There was only one time when Dean absolutely refused to pull some stunt that I asked him to do. I was aggravated by some dumb bitch I knew and so I asked him to climb up onto her roof in the middle of the night and toss a bag of manure into her air conditioning duct. He was horrified that I had asked him to do this and stubbornly refused. Like a pussy.

“You’re a pussy.” I told him.

We argued over that one for a week and he finally agreed to don the black sweats and ski mask I had acquired for him and dump the bag of shit into the air conditioner. But then, something told him that he oughtta find out what would happen if he did that and so he researched it a bit and discovered that he could potentially kill the people living in the house with carbon monoxide poisoning.

“Kyra, I have no interest in killing anyone.” he says.

“Yeah. I don’t want to kill anyone either. What are the odds, you think, that they’ll wake up and smell the shit and get out before they die?”

“Kyra!”

“Fine. They have small children anyways.”

And so we mutually agreed to not accidentally kill anyone on purpose but I admit that I was very disappointed that tossing a bag of shit into someone’s a/c duct could do such a thing because it really would have been very funny and satisfying if it didn’t kill people. Who would have thought?

So, I brainstormed and discovered that tossing dead fish in there would be just as fun and wouldn’t kill anybody at all. When I went to him with this new proposal, he stubbornly refused and so it never got done. Oh, well.

The good news is that Sonic will get to have his picture taken with Santa.

So, that’s cool, at least.

 

K-Fed, a shetland sheepdog, a dumb ass and Hannibal Lecter walk into a bar….

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 2:00 am

Owen, for some reason unknown to me, has started dressing like K-Fed. It’s his new “look” he says. This look means pairing expensive pants with wife beaters every day and making damn sure that his underwear is visible at all times. He thinks he looks extremely hardcore, however, I’m not sure how hardcore someone can look in Underoo wife beaters and Spongebob underpants.

Seriously. Maybe it’s just me.

I worry that the next thing I’ll be seeing is him strapped with a loaded water gun tucked into the waistband of his Osh Kosh B’gosh pants or maybe one of the random objects that he pretends are guns. Like the toilet brush.

Olivia has developed a strange habit herself that involves running around the living room in perfect circles like a sheepdog. She just runs and runs and runs all the while screaming, “my legs are tired!” over and over again. Your legs are tired? No shit!

Matthew’s good behavior streak ended abruptly yesterday when I got a call from his teacher because Matt called him stupid. We now have a meeting with the teacher on Friday and Matthew’s ass has had a meeting with the corner wall of his bedroom. It was a very long meeting.

I swear to god the minute that boy walked in the door after school yesterday he knew what was coming. I could not believe it. Never in a million years would I call one of my teachers stupid to their face. Behind their backs, yes- all the time- but to their face? Fuck no!

He is very grounded right now.

Emi bit me on the nose the other day and she has been grounded as well. She bit me hard, too, with her one, little, sharp ass tooth. My eyes watered. I went in for a kiss and was immediately assaulted and I’m not going to lie here: it hurt like a son of a bitch. Baby teeth are sharp.

In her defense, she has a couple of other teeth trying to burst through her gums and so I’m assuming that she simply saw an opportunity for relief and took it. Surely she underestimated the power of her tiny, gnashing jaws, though because that baby put down some force and I honestly wondered if I was going to require stitches.

You know those parents who try to break their children’s biting habits by biting them back? Those people are retards. I just thought I’d give my opinion on that for no real reason.

Any ways.

 

deep thoughts November 28, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 7:00 pm

I can’t help but notice that a lot of witches and wizards are butt ugly and I have to question why that is. If I were a witch I would most certainly transform myself into an extremely thin and attractive woman and I would stay like that all the time. Instead, you always see these fugly, old witches with stringy hair and giant warts on their noses or old, fat wizards with ten foot long beards and bony fingers. My question is: Why?

In wizard and witch society, is it acceptable to be ugly? Preferred? I am wondering if perhaps they simply don’t care about looks at all as we humans do. Maybe this is because they are smarter and wiser or maybe it has to do with the fact that they have super powers and pretty much know that they are awesome regardless of what they look like.

But then you see those magical folk who live in society with the rest of us and they always wear funny clothes and act sort of eccentric and don’t exactly blend in. If they are trying to blend in and look human then you would think that they would at the very least want to be an attractive human. Maybe it is how they are raised. Since they are like this from birth, it is simply not in their nature to care as it is in ours. We have been brainwashed since birth that we should look a certain way and maybe they just had it a little better in regards to that.

I suppose had I been born a witch I may not care either but the fact remains that I was not born a witch at all and so I do care. Maybe this is why I firmly believe that if I woke up tomorrow and discovered that I could snap my fingers and suddenly transform into a figure of great beauty then I probably would. And by “probably” I mean “definitely”. And, I don’t think I’m the odd man out, here, either. I think that anyone who had been born a human or born with magical powers and was unaware of this who suddenly discovered they could transform themselves into something else… would. As humans, most of us are unsatisfied with at least one area of ourselves physically that we find needs improvement.

Imagine how liberating it must be to be a witch or a wizard and feel totally okay with being ugly. I wonder if you are an ugly wizard if you are attracted to ugly witches and vise versa. It makes me wonder what in the hell they are attracted to since they are all pretty much awesome anyway.

On a sort of related note and only because all of my talk of warts has got me thinking:

You know those famous, beautiful women who have what they call “beauty marks”? Like Marylin Monroe or Cindy Crawford who have big moles on their faces that they just love and think are ridiculously hot? I wonder if one day either of them went to the doctor and were told, “That’s a melanoma. You have cancer and will most likely die.” if they would consider them to be “beauty marks” any more or if they would feel like morons. Can you imagine making your career off of a mole only to discover that that mole had it in for you from the beginning? That would be something right there.

Boy do I have a lot to think about today.

 

I love my shrink

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 2:57 am

My shrink, Dave, used to be friends with Squeaky Fromme. As in Squeaky -follower of Charles Manson, tried to kill President Ford and is serving life in prison- Fromme.

Yeah. That’s right.

He tells me this with a sort of “down memory lane” expression on his face. I will quote him here and what he had to say about her was this:

“Yeah, she was one strange sort of chick and everybody was pretty mean to her. I tried to be nice to her and we’d hang out in the basement and smoke weed and talk for hours but in groups she was real awkward and everyone just thought she was a weirdo. Then, she just disappeared and about two months later I see her on the news because she tried to kill the President. It was like, holy shit… I KNOW her!”

Yeah. Squeaky Fromme.

I love my shrink. I love him for many, many reasons. The fact that he used to be friends with a psycho murderer intrigues me even more. As much as he intrigues me, I apparently intrigue him Just as much as today he informed me that I am “a curiosity, smart as hell and one of the most fascinating people I have ever met with a mind that works in unbelievable ways.” This guy knows a Mansonite and he thinks I’M interesting??

This intrigues me. Oh, yes.

I don’t think Dean likes that I like my shrink so much. He asked me if I’m going to leave him for Dave and, of course I’m not going to ditch my husband for my psychologist but I do so enjoy our little chats. Today was an energizing one and I left feeling hyperactive.

In our session this evening we discussed sociopathy, narcissism and the line diving those psychological traits with that of normal male emotional mannerisms. He was describing how most men’s emotional balances function and I immediately told him that he just described sociopathy. He thought about it for a minute and agreed which brought on a discussion about how it would seem in theory that the line between the two is very dark but when you delve deeply into it as we were, the line got more and more faint. To put it bluntly, it can be very hard to discern between the two.

Also quite similar to sociopathy is someone with a narcissistic personality. We were discussing this because last night I informed Dean that I think he is a sociopath but Dave thinks he suffers solely from narcissism. Once again, we felt compelled to compare the differences in the two and then we discussed how much damage can be caused in relationships between someone with a narcissistic personality and someone with extremely low self esteem.

He asked me to explain what I meant by this and I told him that people with narcissism don’t necessarily present themselves as being arrogant and that it has little to do with ego itelf. In fact, most narcissistics don’t even realize that they are making everything about themselves and it is done very subtly. When you are in a relationship with this type of person you are frequently left feeling as though your emotional needs are not being met because everything you are feeling is being countered by what the narcissist is feeling and it pushes you out completely. You are forced to fulfill your emotional needs outside of the relationship and once this happens, the relationship ends. You cannot quench your emotional needs with the narcissist and so you cling elsewhere in hobbies and in outside happiness and it is a form of emotional survival.

This is interesting because to a narcissist, physical self survival is most important but it is also the first step to stability for most people. Once you have reduced the worry about physical survival, you then move up the ladder until you reach emotional survival. It is the last thing you worry about. But. What if you are trying desperately to aim at emotional survival and your loved one is still back there dealing with physical survival? It is inevitable that if you and the loved one do not get to the same level quickly, then the relationship will not work.

My problem is that I have been surviving since birth and am past that stage. I am confident in my ability to make it through anything physical and so now I am left trying to battle my emotional demons. Since Dean is just now learning how to make it work, he’s not at that emotional point yet and the longer there is such a huge divide, the less chance there is that we will work.

Because Dean is a narcissist and I have no self esteem, I will be forced to conquer my emotional demons without him, thus creating the great divide. This is what me and Dave talked about today. Maybe it doesn’t make sense when I write it, but it was a wonderfully rejuvenating discussion.

And, he was friends with Squeaky Fromme. No shit.