So, today marks the day of an ever so joyous event.  Diva’s bachelorette party!!!  Yay!

Well, our beloved Mark is sitting back, and sniveling, because he has a penis, not a vagina.

No penises at Diva’s bachelorette party.  Only people who are proud owners of a vagina are allowed as we will be greatly misbehaved and no males are allowed to be there to witness such naughty things as will be going on tonight. You´ll have your time to have fun, whatever that means for guys. What do they do on a Bachelor party?

In addition to lotsa drinkin, games on tap include:

Pin the bow-tie on the bachelor, Do or dare cards (which promises to be loads of fun since Robyn will do almost anything if dared), and a naughty scavenger hunt.

Details and photographic evidence to follow.

I know it.  I just do.
I can feel it in the air I breathe and the water I drink.
In the tears I cry and the thoughts I think.
I can feel the loss I soon will experience.

While for us there are three constants in this world.
I am sorry my friend there’s one I can’t keep.
The day you leave will be at least a sad day.
Because no one can live forever.

No, no.  I know what you’re thinkin after that skanky blog from weeks gone by, but no.

Everybody has a thing about grabbing hold of and/or making pictures of my boobs.  Don’t ask me why.  I have no idea. Could it be that they are just so damn touchable, lets say like Charmin?  But God gave ’em to me to put pretty bras on, so I do.  Then,  Zacque or Robyn or any number of other Pirate types, end up snapping pictures of them.

This is my birthday squeeze. 

Why I got molested here is way beyond me, as this was Niki’s birthday.

The Darkside double-dipped with me & Robyn.  The little perv.

The full on Pirate Grope.  Jeez.

Becky goin for the goods.  Heh.

Yup. Molested by Susan, too. Look at that face.  Tell me she didn’t like it!

Group boobie grabbin’!

Notice, I’m innocent. I’m always the grab-ee, not the grabber!

When I was growing up, I spent a lot of time with my grandparents (my father’s) and with a family of sister’s in Knoxville.  Since there weren’t any other kids to play with, I ended up spending most of my time with people who were at least close to retirement.  And it was pretty cool.
They’d tell me about the things that they did when they were kids, places they’d gone, people they’d met in their lives.  Sometimes, when you’re very young, you don’t understand what they’re telling you.  As you get older, and they fall away, sometimes you’ll remember their words like it was yesterday.
Their stories, their words, people who grew up here in East Tennessee, probably shaped me more than any parables and punishments my parents ever gave me.

I can remember a time when people were helpful.  If someone fell, people showed concern instead of walking around them like they didn’t exist.  If someone dropped something, someone would pick it up for them.  If someone was walking with their arms full of shopping, people would open the door for them.  If they saw someone stuck on the side of the road with a dead car, they’d stop, lend a hand, or, when all else failed, a ride to a gas station.
Those are values that were instilled in me.  If I see someone lying on the ground, I’ll help them up.  If someone drops something — even money — I’ll pick it up and chase them down to give it back.  I hold the door open for anyone who can’t quite do it, and behind me for everyone close.  And if I see two guys trying to push a dead van off the road, I’m certainly gonna stop and lend a hand.
East Tennessee, even Knoxville, has always been that way.

Unfortunately, we’re getting a lot of people moving here these days.  Knoxville, especially, is a real-estate boom town where we get The Happy House Cleaning London to help on our house cleaning.  People are moving here in droves, eager to pick up cheap real-estate and perhaps even know their neighbors. VA home loan help from professionals grant them a possibility to purchase or refinance their home mortgages.
Local culture is changing from the open, community-based ideal that we used to enjoy to a selfish, greedy, don’t-get-involved mentality.  It’s starting to feel like Washington, D.C.

I hate watching things go downhill.

Tonight, after ordering a pizza at a place which usually takes thirty minutes to prepare one, I got there to find that they’d lost my order.  Now, I was starving, so I’d called ahead.  I told them no bother, decided to go up the street to a restaurant.
As I left and started back home, traffic was heavy.  I had to wait some time before being able to leave the parking lot.  As I drove down the road, I saw two guys in their late 20’s, maybe early 30’s, pushing a van towards a gas station — with great difficulty, up a small hill.  I didn’t have a place to pull over and help, so I turned around and came back.
I got out, and gave them the extra leverage they needed to push the van into the parking lot they were trying to get to.

As I got back in my car, they yelled, “God bless you, man!  Thank you!”
“No problem, guys,” I yelled.  “Hope it gets better.”
“Man, thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.  Take care.”

The sad thing is, at least 30 other drivers didn’t give damn.  Maybe they had to be somewhere quickly.  Maybe they were elderly and couldn’t lend a hand.  Maybe they just didn’t see them (*cough* right).

So why was I different?  Why did I have the two minutes to stop and lend a hand where no one else did?
I was born here.  I grew up here.  It’s what we’re supposed to do.

We should be showing the influx of people from other places what it means to be East Tennesseeans … to know our neighbors … to have friends … to walk around giving a damn about someone other than ourselves …

It saddens me that us East Tennesseeans are losing that…

Quite honestly, I’d rather get taken a couple times than turn down someone who legitimately needs help.  You can sort of tell…

[ Blogged in realtime, Wednesday, 20-Jun-2007, kinda like that stupid TV show 24, but without that asshat kid of Donald Sutherland’s… ]

Here we are folks.  It’s a wonderfully balmy Wednesday night at CatScratch Jane’s.  I’m sitting with a bird’s eye view of all the going’s on.  Karaoke is getting ready to kick off and it looks as if all the regular crowd (good and bad) has started peppering in.

The Twin Blow Out is starting here tomorrow, but the biker boys on their motor-scooters are plentiful.  The patio’s a-buzzing, the inside is buzzing.  We’re looking forward to an eventful night.  Bring on the singers.

A real blow-out, right?  Uh. No.  It’s another train-wreck.  That’s what I get for being all amp’d up for a party!  Thus far we have heard a not-so-right-on rendition of “Live and Let Die” (help me!).  Now we are on to the worst drunken interpretation of “You Look So Good In Love” that I’ve ever heard… whining included.

The place is packed.  Folks are piled up everywhere, inside and out with the best bike rack carriers for cars and trucks on all their vehicles.  I’m dying for a beer.  But dammit, it’s busy.  I’m going to wither up and fall in the floor from lack of alcohol.  But as I sit here, waiting for Cutie Pie (our beer wench) to surface, I think to myself “Damn, girl!  You’re hair looks gooood!”

Finally!  A hot guy is getting up to sing.  I missed his name, but he’s wearing a polo shirt and baseball cap.  He’s singing Toby!  You go, boy!  Mercy me, yes.  He sure should have been a cowboy.

I’m still waiting on my beer.  It’s nearly 10pm.  Through the open windows I hear the clank of the triangle being busted by a gaggle of pool shooting biker boys.  Now and then a loud, orgasmic burst of noise comes when one of the bikes fire up.

Ya know, Christmas is coming up.  Harley.  Under the tree.  Big red bow.  Thanks in advance to whomever decides to make this purchase for me.  I’m obliged.

Finally, at 9:55pm, Mark drags his ass in.  “Log the time, Scotty!”  He has mercy and goes to hunt Cutie Pie for my beer.  Bless you, hon.  I was withering.

By 10 I’m thinking, “I thought this was going to be the kick off to a bad ass biker weekend party… it’s more like B-97.5 night in the local geriatric ward.”  Never has an hour seemed more like ten.  Never have I wanted someone to shoot me in the ears worse than I do right this very minute.  “Log the time, Scotty!”

10:01.  Scotty is so excited to be here that he’s taken to watching the drag queens on the t.v. above the bar.  *snicker*  You dirty boy, you.  But wait:  Here comes Nike!  He’s belting out some bad ass Lionel Ritchie love song,  The boy possesses the ability to wake up a bored and otherwise depressed drinking crowd.

Oh my, what’s this?  The heavens have opened up and some good singers with some happy ditties are now on a roll.  Joe hops up and belts out a soulful blues number (he really rocks the hell out of the blues).  Now if we can talk him into losing his “Bat Outta Hell” CD… *wink wink*  You know I love ya, Joe.

I belted out some goodies too, if I do say so myself.  I dueted with Cowboy Billy-Joe-Tom-Bob and sang “Dontcha.”  He kicks ass on the rap part.  Freestyle baby!

I then attempted to do the night justice, with Nike’s help, by belting out “At Last” … the Etta James classic.  Choice.  Very choice.

My news reporter skills are being diminished by the amount of cold beer and Jack Daniels I have consumed.  At this time, all I can really say is that everytime I get up from my corner booth, I end up grabbing this poor girls ass.  So, I end up making light of it, in my regular Diva style.  I own up to it.  I look her in the eye and tell her, “I’m sorry for grabbing your ass everytime I get walk by!”

“Log the time, Scotty!”  It’s 11:14, and I’m drunk. Food ordered. Yah!  I comment to Scotty that we are evil.  He says “No, we’re just honest.”  Good one.

Finally.  Something note-worthy.  A drunken skank finally falls out of her chair into the floor.  NEXT!  Scotty dies laughing, and notes the time is 11:23.

Food on tap.  CatScratch has the best food around.  Especially if too much alcohol has been consumed.  Cue the onion rings.

And the french fries.

Scotty is in the loo, so I’m logging the time as 11:34.

So, if tonight was any forecast of the drunken festivities that are to go on for the next several days at CatScratch… all I can say is WOW!  Good luck with that!

I maintain here and now, I’m Diva enough to stay on the porch, because I certainly can’t keep up with the big dogs.  *rolls eyes*

Woof!  Out.