NOTE TO SELF: When removing the thermometer from the turkey that has been in the oven, wear protective equipment. That bastard is HOT!!! You'd think a safety professional would be aware of something as trivial as this. I swear, safety people are the worst when it comes to safe behavior.

This is not my first run-in with safety stupidity. About 2 years ago, I was in Chicago on a business trip and my sweater seemed awfully wrinkly. I got out the handy dandy handheld steamer that I carry with me, filled it up with water and plugged it in. Now, I've used the thing with clothes hanging on a hanger and frankly, it didn't seem all that hot to me, so I figured I'd just save some time and steam that sweater while it was still on. Held the sweater out away from me and the first blast of steam went right through the sweater and steamed my hip. It was a little shocking at first how hot it was. Yes, there was a big tag that said "Do not use while wearing clothes." BUT I AM A SAFETY PROFESSIONAL.

My hip looked a little red, but I thought that was it, so off I went to the meeting. It was pretty painful by the end of the meeting and when it was over, I went back to my room and looked. There on my hip were 4 perfectly round blisters. If you look really close, you can still see the scars.

Call me a dumbass if you will, it's not like I haven't done it myself.

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THIS DAWG? I have 2 terriers (or terriorists, as terrier owners like to say), Ed and Elvis. Elvis is a wire hair fox terrier, 8 years old and Ed is a dog of questionable parentage (mostly Jack Russell/rat terrier), age about 4.

All of a sudden, Elvis has turned into a puppy again. Getting into trouble--a lot. His latest thing is pulling all the tissue out of the trash and shredding it into minute pieces that the vacuum won't pick up. Every effin' night this happens. Every effin' trash can, but especially the one in the bedroom.

Now I am used to crazy behavior by terriers. My former dog, Jack, a welsh terrier that was the victim of my split up with the pita, ate a pair of my underwear. I had to make a visit to the emergency vet on a Friday night at 10 pm. The vet made Jack puke it up and then brought me said underwear in a plastic bag. I took one look at it and said "No thanks". The vet said--but IT'S EXPENSIVE UNDERWEAR. Frankly I don't care how much it cost, I'm not wearing it again. ick.

This morning, I dropped an english muffin and Elvis was on it faster than ugly on an ape. I managed to get half of it picked up, but he hauled ass with the other half and tried to bite me on the way. bastard. Ed just looks at me like "I'm the good one, aren't I, Mom?" Even on our daily walk around the park, Elvis has been uncooperative. Ed has bit him twice trying to get him to straighten up. Just like kids. But I do have to say that they are entertaining. I am getting sick of picking up shredded tissue though. Somebody is gonna be put in time out if he doesn't knock it off.

THIS IS WHY I DO NOT SHARE MY EFFIN' FEELINGS

As you probably know from previous posts, I have an issue with sharing my feelings. I just don't have many beyond "Happy" and "Not so happy". Well, twice in the past week, thoughts other than those two slipped out--quite beyond my control. Not really, but it makes me feel better to say that.

I would also have to say that these two separate incidents would have to be the biggest eff ups I've had in quite a while. The first one, the words just came flying out of my mouth before I could stop them. I'm not going into detail about this one, but suffice it to say, it was almost as bad as dropping the eff bomb in front of my mom. Not nearly as obscene, but more shocking and the response was even more shocking. I will have to pretend it never happened unless the other person involved brings it up. Then I may have to acknowledge it. Outloud. And come up with a damn good explanation for it.

The other incident has ruined something really wonderful, I fear. When someone asks me something, I need to tell them what THEY want to hear, not how I really feel. Herein lies the problem--when I am compelled to SHARE MY EFFIN' FEELINGS AT YOUR REQUEST--PLEASE DO NOT FREAK OUT. And this is why I don't share my feelings. I told someone that I really like exactly what I thought about him. I don't think he expected it, expecially because I meant every effin' word. So I have learned yet another crappy life lesson. When someone asks about your feelings, don't tell them what you really think. It could ruin the greatest friendship between the opposite sexes ever.

From this point on, I will NOT be sharing my feelings with ANYONE. I am either happy or not happy and will remain this way until further notice. It's safer that way and no one will be uncomfortable about it afterward.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD--IS THIS NOT JUST COMMON SENSE?

I spent the last 5 days in Washington, DC. The flight out there isn't so bad, but the flight home lasts approximately 12 hours. Sometimes longer if you have a dumbass sitting next to you. I had an aisle seat coming home, which was good because I'm semi-claustrophobic and it was a FULL flight. The dumbass, I mean woman, sitting next to me takes foreffinever to settle in. Then she has the volume turned up so loud on her headset that I swear they could hear in in the cockpit. But the pee-ess day resistance was when she took her lunch out of her briefcase. She brought SUSHI on a plane. Sushi stinks and on a full-ass flight where there is no where to go, it stinks even worse. What the hell would possess you to bring raw effin' fish (bait) on a flight that lasts forever and no fresh air to get rid of that stench. I'm just sayin. I wanted to yak.

Now I'm not gonna begrudge anyone what they like to eat, but for the love of God--do NOT bring BAIT on a 12 hour, okay 4 hour flight. She was a damn lawyer for crap's sake. (I saw her 'stationary', she works for the city of Sacramento.) Never mind. Lawyer. Most of them aren't exactly mindlful of other people that have to breathe the same air as them. But really, consider what you are gonna be putting into the airwaves before you decide what to bring on a plane. And if you are sitting next to me--you better have the barf bag ready if it's sushi.

THERE ARE FRIENDS, THERE ARE GOOD FRIENDS AND THERE ARE GREAT FRIENDS. And this becomes very apparent when you haven't seen someone for over a year and you pick up where you left off and everything is just as effin' funny now as it was then.

My friend Erika came over last night, bearing likker--always a good sign--to see my new house. She got to listen to the drama which is my life and I got to listen to some of the funniest shit I have ever heard. She's always telling me I'm funny, but she can hold her own--believe me.

Most of last night's conversation centered around sex. Now that right there makes her a good friend, but when she told me about getting busted at 16 by a cop behind a convenience store--that makes her a great friend. The tag line of the story was "OF COURSE I'M HERE OF MY OWN FREE WILL. I WAS ON TOP, WASN'T I?" i swear to god, I have never laughed that hard in my life.

Great friends also have your back. Even if you could possibly be wrong in the matter. But they don't care. You are always right to them. Great friends sent you snarky shirts to wear in appropriate moments. You also return the favor by sending a box of crap--literally-- to someone they hate. Actually, it was the other way around, but we are partners in snark. Great friends talk you into going to a business meeting a day early so you can stay with them. Great friends eat waffles in your honor. Great friends call you a couple of times a day. Great friends can quote movies and know what the hell you are talking about when you in turn quote movies.

I have a friend that I think is a good friend. It is a relatively new friendship, but I am comfortable telling all kinds of stories about myself. I see the potential for a great friendship and possibly more. A foundation of friendship is going to be important in the relationship. It is the strongest bond because people who are truly your friend will remain your friend, no matter what.

PMS or Why the Stupid People of the world must be locked up away from me.

My ex-husband used to tell me that PMS was just an excuse to be bitchy. It's not an excuse, I warn people and not just everyone draws my ire. Just stupid people.

For example, I was discussing a moron with a friend of mine. This particular moron is the most insensitive jackass I know. On the outside, he seems pretty nice, but honest to God, he lives in his own little world where he is never at fault. But that little world is going to come to a crashing end today when I point out his lack of sensitivity toward other people and not only is he insensitive, he doesn't have any effin' respect for anyone else either. What the eff is up with that?! See--it's not everyone who draws my double barrelled shot gun--really just the people who deserve it.

My little world is certainly not perfect, but it is good on most days. The people who I count as friends completely understand why I would want to smack the aforementioned jackass and never want to speak to him again. It's like when you say you hate someone and they say I hate them too. There's no explanation necessary. They just hate them because you do.

A very brave man dared to poke at me today and lived to tell about it. But I like him and he is one of those people who keeps me interested. Therefore, he can live to tell his tale about making fun of me when I have PMS. Even after he has been warned. He may be worthy after all.

But back to the stupid people. They are every where. I used to work with a woman I called the Rocket Scientist. For the life of me, I could not follow her thought process and after spending more than a month fixing one of her data bases, I was ready to track her down and slap her for being stupid. If I had to deal with her today, I would probably make her cry. I'm not proud of this and all I can say is Thank God it is only 2 days out of every month. In my own defense, I do warn the people who matter to me. But God help the jackasses that I don't care about. I wonder if I can make a grown man cry. But I'm not apologizing. Anyone who is that stupid and insensitive needs a clue by four between the eyes. I may be doing him a favor in the long run. Or I may be doing someone else a favor. I'm just sayin.