At Funeral, Dog Mourns The Death Of Navy Seal Killed In Afghanistan

Jon Tumilson, a Navy Seal, was one of 38 Americans killed in Afghanistan on Aug. 6 when a rocket-propelled grenade destroyed a U.S. helicopter. He was mourned at a service in Rockford, Iowa, attended by 1,500 family members, friends-and Hawkeye, Tumilson's loyal dog.

The Labrador retriever was such an important part of Tumilson's life that his friends and family often referred to the dog as his “son.”

When Tumilson's buddy Scott Nichols walked to the front of the room to speak, Hawkeye followed, lying next to his “dads” coffin, letting out a big sigh, according to observers. Hawkeye laid by the casket for the entire funeral.

War is senseless in so many ways; I could argue 20 reasons why Jon Tumilson shouldn’t have been fighting this war but it wouldn’t matter. Tumilson’s family and friends will have to grieve for their fallen son, brother, uncle, cousin, friend, in a way that fits their individual personality.

For one lonely dog named Hawkeye, his suffering will be done in silence.

 

Lazy Lover

   THE EVENING WAS going so good I almost wished something bad would happen. He was smart, cute, sarcastic and had all his teeth; totally my type. When a drunken straight girl barged her way into our booth and made us sit closer I felt the electricity from his corduroy pants leg; this dude could be the jelly to my peanut butter; the Spam to my eggs; the Cipro to that groin itch.

In my bed after we exhausted foreplay; I asked him about his lacking “Monica Lewinsky” type skills; his reply, “I don’t really do it that well, so I always give up, my last three boyfriends cheated on me...you have a diet Coke?”

I let it drop and we finished our dance. Later when he was gone and I was brushing my teeth I had to think that was a poor answer. He is 32-years-old; when does one get good at such a thing; 80-years –old? And then you can take out your teeth; so it doesn’t mean you’re better at it; it means you’ve worked around your lack of oral talent.

I agreed to a second date, but my hesitation is, maybe he just sucks in bed. I definitely met people before that were great at everything but sex, kissing or intimacy. That my friend could admit his shortcomings was kind of refreshing, but disappointing that he couldn’t give it the old college try.

Our next date was scheduled 9 days later-thanks to his busy schedule. As the days drag on now I wonder how to make him better. Should I bring a cucumber for him to practice on? Maybe that’s too much; maybe I should start with a pickle or if he’s that much of a wuss; maybe a gherkin?

Saturday is only a few days away but seems like months. Will the second try be better or will he sink into oblivion like many others before him? When Saturday came he didn’t call me and I didn’t call him; so I made other plans. Later in the day he texted, “what was up.?” I thought it’s more like, what went down after his terrible performance.

I really think I should tell him how much he sucks in bed; I’m known to do as much with other people. I find it my duty to tell people what other people won’t say. I decide not to tell him; let him bore some other unsuspecting lover boy in the sheets; It also made me wonder how many lovers out there I bored in the sack. What's good to one person is bad to another; but dam at least seem like you're trying or caring if you're going to bother to get naked.

Do you think you’re good in bed? I thought I was but maybe it's just me who sucks at sex.

My Blind Date Was Disappointed; I Was Disappointed When He Showed Up!

A RECENT BLIND date remarked (with pursed lips) that he was disappointed when I made an off color joke on our date. I was disappointed when he showed up and looked nothing like his pictures. Disappointed? Please, I was disappointed I didn’t leave as soon as I saw him. I’m not trying to be mean but what a silly, delusional little drama queen this dude was.

It was a hot, steamy night. The sidewalks in Chelsea smelled of sweat, urine, Starbucks coffee, teeth whitener and a weird mix of cheap cologne-that’s only sold in Chelsea, and only worn by guys who don’t live in Chelsea. I made it through the long two blocks from my apartment; tired after a long day but determined to be positive about my blind date. I waited for Mr. Wonderful in front of a local booze and food joint that had a good bar to meet at. Sweat did a dance on my forehead but I waited outside in good spirits and watched the parade of bodies walking past me like random Picasso paintings come to life. I heard my name and saw a sight that was like a blurry vision of the pictures I studied on online, except this vision was live and in color and nothing like the 10 or so pictures he sent me.

I could run away from him but that would be evil; though when you think about it, anyone who misrepresents themselves is deceptive and should be taught a lesson. Some people could be naïve or dumb. I had a feeling this dude has a habit of being left on first dates (and would be there again) when he remarked, “I’ll understand if you buzz off.” What could I do? It was hot and I wanted a cold drink.

He wouldn’t let me buy the first round; which meant I had to buy the second round and stay for awhile. As he waddled over to the bar I studied him. He wore a too tight Pepsi T-shirt that showed his willingness at advertizing his muffin top (think I’ll switch to Dr. Pepper) A feminine guy sitting next to me drawling, kept laughing to himself watching my situation or maybe it was the expression on my face. Pepsi Tight came over with our drinks-my beer and his Jack Daniels on the rocks; Pepsi Tight was hitting the hard stuff. His man boobs pointed at me like two guns in a bank robbery and I was the main hostage. His perspective loot? I guess he fancied a second date; I should have worn jogging shoes.

He basically drank his drink in two minutes; talking about himself in fevered glory. Pepsi Tight was all eye rolling and hand jittering like Helen Keller on Crack. He seemed to be a nice guy, but if Google had an official picture for delusional it would be him. I bought him another round. We started talking to the guy next to us. Soon Pepsi Tight needed to go have a cigarette. The guy next to me asked,” You got out of bed for this?” I had to laugh. It wasn’t just that he looked different from his pictures online, but we had nothing in common; I thought Michael Jackson was black; he thought he was white; it wasn’t going to work.

Back from his cigarette break Pepsi Tight went to the bar and ordered another round; I couldn’t leave now with free, cold beer coming my way. Time went on and the air conditioner started to go out in the joint. Pepsi Tight went to the bar without asking me and got a fourth round; maybe he was trying to get me drunk; I guess it worked I slept with him.

Just joking; there’s not enough alcohol in the world for that. By the fourth drink I was out the door; he was drunk as hell and wobbled out after me like a fly chasing a dog that pooped too much. On the street I tried to think of something positive to say; i'm not a total heartless jerk but luckily he just walked away like nothing ever happened. I stood and watched him strut down the street like a whore who just made forty bucks. Maybe it’s good to be delusional; Pepsi Tight was disappointed in me, but something tells me he’s disappointed on an hourly basis; I’m just disappointed in blind dates, but I’d be more disappointed if I never tried.

Amy Winehouse Found Dead, Wasted Talent

Amy Winehouse has been found dead at her home in London, it has been reported; she was only 27-years -old. She only recorded two albums and was at work on a new one that had been in the oven for years, but never fully cooked thanks in part to Ms. Winehouse’s trouble with drink and drugs.

In a statement, the Metropolitan Police said: 'Police were called by London Ambulance Service to an address in Camden Square NW1 shortly before 16.05hrs today, Saturday 23 July, following reports of a woman found unconscious in her London home.’ She was pronounced dead at 3:54pm London time.

Enquiries continue into the circumstances of the death. At this early stage it is being treated as unexplained, but several sources say it was drug related.

I’m mad at her. She was talented and unusual and had many more years to sing and entertain. Sometimes I’d see pictures of her and think she looked terrible and doubted her worth; other times she seemed to have it together and looked pretty good, so I happily rooted for her like a father at his son’s first baseball game. Sometimes I wonder if humans get a sick thrill out of seeing other’s fall on their face.

I wish she could have killed the dragon that chased her daily; it made her his victim of highs & lows. Some people are able to come out of any situation and survive-head up, lessons learned. Some people give up, give in to their weaknesses and fall head first; maybe the only way for Ms. Winehouse to slay her dragon was to let it eat her alive.

Kim Kardashian’s Wedding Registry versus Prices Helping Poor Kids

UPDATED October 31, 2011:
Page 1 of Friday’s New York Times ran a color photo of a mother in Somalia trying to feed her baby suffering from malnutrition. Page 2 featured high end retail ads; one featuring a Chanel bag for $3, 200. It made me wonder; what could $3, 200 do to help? I made a chart comparing the needs of poor children and those of Kim Kardashian’s wedding registry list just for fun.

What Kim Wants                                                                   What Poor Kids Want

Silver serving spoon ($1,250)                                                Rice & Beans 375 lbs****($75)

Havana ashtrays ($840 each)                                                 Goat* ($120)

Christofle Vertigo small tray ($1,050)                                     Heifer* ($500)

Baccarat ice bucket ($635)                                                    Birth Certificate** ($25)

Lalique black clock ($1,115)                                                  Mosquito Net** ($30)

Nude black statue by Lalique ($325)                                      10 baby blankets** ($100)

Tourbillon black vase ($6,500)                                               Pig*($120)

Christofle Vertigo small tray ($1,050)                                     5 flu vaccinations*** ($175)



I’m not naïve to think if I handed over $3, 200 to poor children and their families, their pain & hunger would evaporate. You have to give money to organizations that can help the poor; it’s like giving $100 bucks to a homeless guy; is this going to get him off the street? No, he will probably use it on booze, broads or drugs. The homeless guy would be happy for a day, but this isn’t long term.

The poor need to eat, learn trades and get medication. I know this is controversial to say but I think they also should get birth control until they can help themselves; why have these kids if they can’t feed them? I don’t think rich people should have to give to the poor if they don’t want to, their money is their own; who the hell cares if they want to spend $2,000 on a pair of moccasins? I just find it funny when you compare the needs of gluttony to the needs of the unfortunate; it makes you see how stupid possessions are compared to a kid needing something to eat.

With a body like this, Kris Humphries will be OK;  who needs brains?

It would have been nice if privileged Kim Kardashian would have asked upcoming wedding guest to give gifts to charity, instead of asking people to buy her overpriced useless junk, that talentless; lard assed; fame whore celebrity doesn’t need. A smile of a once starving child brings me more joy than reading the extravagances of someone’s attention seeking wedding.






*UPDATE: October 31, 2011. Kim Kardashian is getting a divorce after only 72 days of marrige. Kris Humphries (the big, doe eyed goon who married her) had a suspicion his bimbo wife Kim Kardashian could be bailing on their marriage, but has told NBA friends he was “blindsided” by Monday’s divorce filing and learned of the news through a TMZ report like the rest of the world. Maybe Kris should have gotten a clue or brain cell and relized that The Kardashian's only do things for publicity; i'm sure the public will be force fed Kim's tragic side of the story like a Crack Whore being fed a pep talk.

Dear public; forget about these fame seeking gargoyles. I wonder if Kardashian will give back all the gifts? I doubt it, knowing the Kardashian's they will sell the stuff on Ebay or Craigslist just to get more money and fame.

*heifer.org

**planusa.org

***rmhc.org

****foodforthepoor.org

*****gearysofbeverlyhills.com

Trying To Lose Weight? Don’t Watch Late Night TV

We don't look like him.

   Late Night TV hopping had me bored, finally I found a TV movie with a woman being betrayed and thought it would help me sleep. Suddenly a Burger King commercial flashed on the screen; followed by Budweiser & Dunkin Donuts; I found myself wondering if there was a BK or DD open at 2: 00 A.M? How people are supposed to lose weight with food shoved in their face? Why don’t we ever see commercials celebrating the wonders of broccoli?

   I Understand It’s all a part of advertizing and it’s easier to make over processed crap than it is organic tasty delights, but how is a brother suppose to stay thin in the summer? (I won’t even mention winter and those damn tasty Chicken Pot Pies) Late night TV should be flooded with commercials featuring salad; that would make me fall right to sleep. I don’t need temptation; I need medication my Barnyard Friends. A cookie is good anytime of the day; but a cookie after midnight, even sweeter.

   According To Psychology Today, the effect of junk food ads is not simply brand preference: An ad for M&Ms did not cause people to go search for M&MS. The junk food ads just caused people to eat whatever was available. So if the Lay’s chips are in your house, and the commercial for Pringle’s starts blaring, don’t be surprised if you open that bag of Lay’s.

   So what’s The solution my Barnyard Friends? Give sugar and salty goodies up for good? I would say no, but if you must have them; eat them on the day you buy them. This way when you have the late night munches, there won’t be much temptation besides gadgets that cost 19.95 and require you to ACT NOW! By the way, anybody want to buy some handy gadget’s that cost 19.95? If you ACT NOW! I will give you a second one for free with separate shipping and handling.

Some People Don’t Want To Date…You

"I do not trust people who don't love themselves and yet tell me, 'I love you.' There is an Africansaying which is: Be careful when a naked person offers you a shirt."

— Maya Angelou

Trying to get your ass in shape at the gym is hard. Trying to get a second date in New York is like trying to find your underwear after an orgy-hard work. Why is it so hard to find that right girl or guy? it's like everyone you meet has a third eye; looking for a better upgrade.

New York can be hell for single people; most claim they want to meet a nice mate but the truth is they really don’t want to. A lot of people claim they want love and that there are no good men or women left in New York; bullshit, the majority of these single people don’t know what they want, and make it a hobby to make you believe they want a relationship, when they have no attention of going past 3 or 4 dates.

"Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean."
— Maya Angelou

Why do these singles fool themselves and you? Good question; sane people that enjoy being single have a goodtime and are honest about not wanting to get tied down. Players & fakers grab your hand on the first date; text you constantly and always tell you how cute you are. There’s nothing worse than someone holding you one day, and ignoring you the next day.

I guess you never want to give up when trying to meet your mate; but constant obstacles and let downs when it comes to love make it impossible not to explode sometimes. So how do you avoid the players and fakers? I’d love to tell you the answer my friends, but I can’t; some of these players & fakers don’t even know what they’re doing to people; so delete their number, and flush them out of your lives.

Actor Taylor Kinney seems to love him some Lady GaGa; will it last?


 

"Never make someone a priority when all you are to them is an option."
— Maya Angelou

The best advice is to dust yourself off and get back on your feet; we’ve all been burned and it eventually heals. Life’s a crap shoot, either learn to play or give up. I won’t give up and hope you won’t either. If a scary mess like Jonny Weir can get gay married; that means there's hope for all of us.

 

Maids Have Tough Ass Jobs

Cleaning after people is hard work; especially if you’re employed by a celebrity. If you work for Naomi Campbell you get the Tater Tots beat out of you when you can’t find your bosses size zero jeans. If you work for Arnold Schwarzenegger you get screwed; then re-screwed when his wife finds out. When I could afford a maid I couldn’t even get her to do windows, let alone bang me without a condom. I have to tell you, if I screwed my boss; I wouldn’t go back to cleaning toilets; didn’t Arnie have some filing work to do?

Granted there are maids who enjoy hiding the feather duster with their boss. For some of them it’s just sex, or even the thrill of a rich powerful man just wanting them. Some maids probably think their boss will leave the wife for them, fat chance.

Long ago the rich raped and abused their slaves and got away with it, maids or companions were not treated any better, often getting low wages, beatings and spotty time off. Luckily today, times have changed thanks to unions and teamwork. Some hotels have now agreed to install panic buttons for the maids. What happens when you’re a maid in someone’s home or traveling aboard with your boss? You’re screwed literally and figurally.

If you work in a hotel you get a lot of rich oily jerks manhandling you like a Rubik’s Cube at an 80’s theme party. Some people wondered why the maid didn’t fight off slimy French Monetary leader Dominique Strauss-Kahn; sadly a lot of people that clean toilets are foreign and come to the United States to try to make a better life for themselves, and their family. A lot of maids don’t have green cards, so they are scared to go to the Police. I bet a lot of molestations happen at these fancy hotels and are covered up with money and threats.

A good man is hard to find; a good maid, even harder; some maid’s suck and some take their job very seriously. Respecting people who work for you should be done professionally but with fairness and kindness. Remember, the woman giving you an extra towel, or that older lady making up your bed; are not only maids but someone’s friend, wife, sister or mother.

My Baby Has Died

    On this hot and hazy night I’m reminded of a hot June from five years ago. I sat in a cab going uptown. My mind raced with what could be happening to my little baby. As the cabbie yelled into his cell phone I blew on her face to cool her. Her eyes looked dead; moving, but not focused. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart and I was defenseless to help her. Uptown we went. The heat was so hazy that midtown seemed like it was in a fog with peeks of lightness.

When Nikki first came into my life; I didn't want her; didn't need something or someone to take care of. I just moved into my own apartment for the first time. I was free from my parents; free from the past that I ran from. Now here I was with this little person who needed me to take care of them and I wasn’t sure I could take care of myself.

When I first met Nikki there was a promise that she would only stay two-three days the most. One week later she was gone. I felt sad. I got use to coming home from work; Nikki sitting on the floor, staring at me; all green eyes and black hair. Then with a twist of fate I got to keep her. How could I not take her? Her family dumped her, just like mine.

As the years rolled on boyfriends, friends all faded from my life. Still Nikki was by my side, talking and acting like a dog. Now I sit in the waiting room; her hair and feces still on my shirt. I want to cry, sob like some soap opera actress does after she finds out her young lover is cheating. I hold it in, my Ex boyfriend, who has only known Nikki for over a year cries openly as he sits in his plastic ugly chair.

We say our good byes; Nikki stares blankly, paws trying to wiggle; alive but the brain will not let it happen. She’s had a stroke; it makes me think of how horrible it must feel for her; eyes open, seeing the world and your limbs, useless, dead, silence.

I want to bundle her up and take her home, but I can't. The doctor could be wrong. She is dying. I can't leave the room and leave her here. I know I have to because she is suffering. I can hear the nurses laughing in the hallway as sounds come out of me like pouring rain; how dare they laugh; live, when my child is leaving me forever.

A couple of weeks before this I bought Nikki her own bed. A rather soft and gaudy leopard colored thing. Man, it looked pretty gay. Friends told me she wouldn't lay in it but Nikki loved her gay bed; spent most of the last month in it. When I found her, she was laying in it. I spoiled her to the end and she died in gay fluffy style, and not a cold floor.

Saying goodbye to someone is hard. Only if you had one more day to tell them how much you loved them, you would. The second worst thing after someone dies is; their stuff. How can you throw away their things, like they were nothing? If you’ve never loved and been loved by a cat or dog I feel bad for you; animals can fulfill your heart and mind in ways you’d never imagine.

Yes, I took care of her; talked to her; bathed her; and loved her unconditionally; now I realize she did the same for me.

If God Is Coming Saturday, Should I Vacuum?

   The end of the world is coming Saturday 6: p.m; according to nut case Harold Camping, the Oakland minister who’s predicting the end of the world on Saturday, a great earthquake will first take New Zealand, triggering an apocalypse that destroys America city by city.

Are you kidding me? Hell no; I still have too many things to do. Justin Timberlake is hosting Saturday Night Live and Lady GaGa is the musical guest; that blonde guy with the big teeth is supposed to call me and I’m awaiting a package from JCrew; the rapture will have to wait.

Humans always try to predict things; the end of the world; the weather; Lindsey Lohan’s career. I believe things just happen. If the world ever comes to an end it will just end; no countdown, no repenting, no T-shirts that say, “The World Just Ended And All I got Was This Lousy T-Shirt.”

Camping says the quake will reach San Francisco around 6 p.m. PDT Saturday. The saved Christian souls will ascend to heaven, including those dead and buried, while all others will remain as the Earth falls into fiery chaos.

False prophets and dime store ministers will not sway me with their madness. I will awake Saturday with the same attitude. Coffee will be strong; clothes will be changed mutable time concealing any imperfections; work will be done in the same way as any previous Saturdays.

By 6: p.m I’ll be taking a Disco nap with cucumbers on my eyes; in my boxer shorts and an empty glass of red on the nightstand. If this is the end, it’s a great way to go.