gra-tu-i-tous |grəˈt(y)oōitəs|
{ORIGIN mid 17th cent.: from Latin gratuitus ‘given freely,spontaneous’}
1. uncalled for; lacking good reason; unwarranted : gratuitous violence.2. given or done free of charge : gratuitous advice.
vi-o-let |ˈvī(ə)lət|{ORIGIN Middle English : from Old French violette} adjective:
1. a bluish-purple color seen at the end of the spectrum opposite red.
2. a herbaceous plant of temperate regions, typically having purple, blue,or white five-petaled flowers, one of which forms a landing pad for pollinating insects. Genus Viola, family Violaceae.
3. ME.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Gratuitous Step-by-Step Guide to Violet's Shit du Jour

Weather got ya down?

Lost: power, lights, heat and sanity?

Fear not, you can waste time in new and improved ways!
Enjoy this gratuitous step-by-step guide to the shit you didn't know you could do or not do!

I'm FUN!

Step 1- In the midst of the Franken-storm, you can pack up to move your residence. In the middle of that, freak out and play with toys instead. Because you own fun shit. And who packs consistently? People whose shit it isn't that's who!

Candles don't help if you pack them BEFORE the power fails...
 especially if you do not mark which box they are in.

Step 2- Enjoy the power/heat/etc outages for a week, since you love the ocean and live by it. Do not forget to continue working your jobs so that you are forced to pack or ignore the packing process- by romantic candle light. When you finally get the new house keys, hustle to get a mere smattering of your crap over there. Make sure that you have exhausted your friend-cards for helping you out when you move this time, so you get to do it mostly solo. And having an un-drivable car helps too. Fo-sho!

Stairway to Heaven... or the rest of the apmt!

Step 3- Get as much done as you can, fuckin' relying on the care and concern of the only two people who offer assistance and then you three can schlep up 2 flights of [18] stairs. Enjoy the burn. Hug your friends, because you are sweaty and smell funny. People love that shit. Then play with magnetic poetry instead of unpacking. You will be glad you did! 

Let Me Put My Poems In You

Step 4- Do not watch or believe the news. Ignore the meteorologists and politico. Gasp as your teeth chatter, but say a thankful prayer that you didn't have to work today, even though your evening class ended up getting cancelled due to Mother Nature and your boss of the day gig said some shit about not coming in. 

Liar. That shit's 10" away from the hot water heater. Really! Who does that?
62 degrees- my butt!

Step 5- Freeze for four nights concurrently since the local gas company lies to your face about fixing the broken shit. Curse the heavens. Miss out on hours of work and play running home & waiting for invisible/imaginary service techs. Burn a technological/preordained hole through your cerebellum with excess cellphone usage. Have a sandwich.

Almond/flax butter with wild blueberry preserves- on toasted hippy bread.
Poop-tastic 1st meal in my new place!

Step 6- Cry as you missing your ex, even though you know it is completely the healthiest thing for you to be- solo. Done best in a cold shower, because you didn't turn up the hot water heater and the apartment has been vacant for over 2.5 years. Swear at the ceramic tile floor, even though it is pretty and you wanted one exactly like it. Swear more because were too frugal to flip for the bath mat you saw at Target (TM) but you wanted to buy your cat a Halloween costume instead. Then when Halloween gets cancelled twice, you curse the bath mat, the ceramic and the sales clerks at Target (TM) for only charging you 1$ for the cat's batty costume after you forgot what isle you left the bath mat in in the first place. Leave the store thirsty. Get your moon visit a week early. Crave chocolate.


Step 7- Cry about being cold, then sing Paula Abdul song about it and laugh at how silly you are. Forget which one it is, so you cannot relay it in video form, but assure people that it was appropriate and funny. See if they care or believe you. 
Have another sandwich.

Can't find a cup? Drink from a bowl! Tres Foreign!
I feel international already!!!

Step 8- Tell the gas man to keep your number since you enjoyed conversing with him. After someone finally got there to service the furnace thingy and heating system, and you were forced to risk brain cancer and peace of mind in the process, you feel endeared to the live human who cared to help- even if it IS his job... 
After all- he was also handsome. 

He exited that-a-way...

Step 9- Ignore the fact that your shit is split between a storage unit and at a family member's house. Bug out when a friend tells you to get yo' shit to your house! Write a blob about it and pour some scotch in a cup for yourself. After all, it's a fuckin' blizzard out there! 

Maybe I do need some furniture!

Step 10- Become startled back onto a memory train when your feet touch the cold tile floor simultaneously as your ass touches the arctic toilet seat, and at that exact moment start singing "Cold Hearted Snake." All vocal parts. Laugh at yourself until your pee sounds horse-ish and you splash your bum. 


Sunday, August 19, 2012

You've Got Some Nerve... The Tootie Edition

Yo, look at that dude hanging up there... creepy!

I was in third grade when my mother decided to enroll me into Catholic school. Moved around from CT to SD and back again, we moved into a low-rent apartment in a small town by Bridgeport after my father left us for his brother's wife. (Another fucked up story for a later time.)

Times were tough with mom left to raise two young children alone. Although we didn't live in a “bad” part of town, for some reason, my mother didn't want me to mingle with other “poor” kids. She forgot her Bridgeport roots. Can you say denial?


So, what did she do?

Naturally, she enrolled me into the parochial school across town, in the North end.
I was the only kid of a divorced family, the others' had remarried, and therefor were exempt from the automatic shame that befell my little head. Child of divorce- GASP! Here we were, on housing assistance, getting food assistance and such, and I was in school with the wealthiest kids in town.
Fuck me.

Future Fuckwad of America

The day after Christmas break ended was the worst. The fucking penguins would actually go up and down rows asking each kid what gifts they got for the holidays. Like they earned it or some shit. I dreaded that day.

Jason got a boom box and an Atari ™ system and this and that, beaming as he shared. Gloating fucker. Tracey got another Barbie Dream Castle ™ and a record player and 11 albums. Twat. Paul got a new 23” TV set and G.I. Joe gun play-set. Show-off.

Oh shit, don't call on me. Oh shit, don't call on me. Please don't call on me.


Penguin: Ms. H.
Me: Yup.
Penguin: It's YES, not yup. What are you, in prison?
{What the fuck was that bitch even talking about???}
Me: Pass.
Penguin: You cannot pass! I asked you a question!

Oh I passed alright. I passed gas.

I tooted aloud, right then and there, out of nervousness- and ran off to the girl's bathroom, mortified.

That was just the beginning.

Hard wooden benches make me nervous, apparently.

The entire student body had to go to mass every Friday morning. To cleanse our original sin or some shit. Something about that unnatural sin idea bugged me right the fuck out. Or perhaps it was the cold sterile slate and wooden church we sat in all lined up in pews that was so odd to me. But inevitably, when we were supposed to be praying, kneeling on those archaic wooden thingies, I got the heebie-jeebies.

Jesus is watching.

Oh crap, what did I do now???

It wasn't bad enough that the eyes of my all-seeing mom were constantly on me, be she there or not, but now this omnipotent motherfucker was oogling me too. I was doomed. I farted. So what?!? Sometimes it was audible and funny, other times, not so much... I had to blame that smelly kid, R. because everyone blamed him for any grossness. Poor fucker!
P.S. I'm sorry R.!

Seriously, I was a mess when I had to do my first confession. I mean other than Jeffrey Dahmer ™ types and other shitheads who are cruel to animals, what the hell does an eight year old have to confess?

So what did I do? I made shit up.
And maybe passed a squeaker or two.
You're welcome Father!

America's Favorite Tootie

Nervousness = Tooting.

Fast forward to not so long ago. I was taking some rad anatomy and physiology classes and had this sexy ex-dancer-turned-professor for my instructor. Dang he was hot! The day of the final exam, he pulled us aside two at a time and asked us A&P questions, using one person as the body/example and the other person naming muscular functions and stuff, as he pointed to them and moved their limbs and shit.
I was both farty and sweaty. I couldn't talk. The poor chick who was my partner was embarrassed for me. Fuck her.

1] it was my final exam
2] he made me nervous in the tingly way.

I had so many colorful naughty thoughts about Mr. Sexy pants. So many flexible poses ran through my mind. Did I mention his being a dancer? Not a stripper, a modern dancer. Yum!
Needless to say, that day was not a pretty moment in my career as a student.

Regardless, I still got an A.

It's nice to know I leave a lasting impression on people. Some more than others, obviously.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Wardrobe MalFUNction: The Summertime Edition

Ohhalalalaalaaaah deee daaah, Bitches!

It's Summertime, and you know what that means, right?
And opportunities for many obvious wardrobe malfunctions.
Think about it. *

After many many moons sans respite, a much needed mandatory vacation was upon moi, thanks to my employ. I pack myself, some clothes and my cat and we head a few hours due North to S. an P.'s place.
Take a day to be stoney and leisured to the maxx and play it by ear.

Monday, wake up, but no too early. Coffee and some editing and P calls out of work, and we all decide it's the perfect day for the beach.
Perfect day.

Pack up the car again and head North to Rockport, a quaint little seashore New England town. Tasty treats followed by a day sunning and swimming was just what I needed. There was a floating dock a few hundred yards out, for sunning or diving off of. I love that shit.

Something about my little ocean visits with S brings out the best in me. Salt air and saltier water on my skin and hair does me good. My body thanks me afterward. For a few summers, he and I have taken to the water and the meandering swims have proven to be prime time for dick talk. Old-School girlfriend time dick talk.

Can you see the floaty dive dock? 

Usually starting with...
"I am not one to tell dong details, and he would hate it if I said a word, buuut..."
To which I usually reply...
"Oooh, do tell!"

Oh, how I adore our sacred-oceanic secret chats.

I was swimming out to the floating dock when a small flock of 7 white Trumpeter swans flew over and landed near me. In a few seconds, they were heading over to see me.
"Hi there y'all!"

I tried to swim behind their cue but they had speed on me, being more aquatic than myself.

Did you see his flippers? Impressive!

We bid them adieu and headed for the dock. A little chatting, a little sunning and more folks kept joining in on the floating fun- it was time to jump. I decided to wait for no-one, so I took what seemed to me to be an elegant dive off into the ocean. The water was a lush green and didn't sting when I opened my eyes underwater. I felt like a kid!


We splashed about for a bit before coming back to shore to see what was up with our other vacationer. He was macking on his chaise lounger with his i-pod playing, in his own world. Some more sun, followed by some more sunny sun and it was time to go back in the water.

No swans this time, but we raced over to the dock seeing that it was almost empty now. I climbed on and found a primo spot to baste. The last intense rays were eeking through the atmosphere requiring us to stay in the water. I had to jump.

Taking what seemed, again, a perfect dive, I became a mermaid at home. And when I came up to the surface, my breasts had made way out of my suit, like 85%.
Nip slip.

I swam for a half an hour before I realized, and my bear-gay friend was pretending he:
A) Did not notice
B) Is grossed out by everything female- including boobs.

Which is a fucking lie...
EVERYONE loves boobs. 
Come on!

I righted the situation after a few laughs and forcing my friend to look at my exposed titty then went on my merry way.

The little town was lovely. It has many art galleries and performance venues and yummy places to get sweets and goodies. I found a new rad metaphysical shop called Dark Star and got some jewelry- which I needed. Heard a sexy saxophonist playing a sad ballad. I am sure whoever was blowing that tune was nude. Convinced of it, actually.

Finished my editing this afternoon and had a lax day today- Tuesday...

My car broke down en route home. Waited a long time for a ride to rescue me and kitty.
And when the tow truck driver arrived, he was smokin' hot.
And married.

Either way, here is a gratuitous cleave shot, backwards and not swim-suited, but enjoy anyway.

New Tank Top.

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Keep It HOT & Sexy, Bitches

Ahhh, the Summer. 

It is Hot.
It is Heavy.

So keeping with the theme of steam, I will share this little find with you all.
No, I am not Blobbing anywhere else, although I do appreciate other formats via which my fellow humans share thoughts and ideas and interests in cyborgland. 

Let's just say I was surfing for some erotica. 
Let's say that, okay?!?

SEE? Even puppets fucking know.

I am not going to call it porn, per-se, but some of you might.
So don't get all prude on me and unsubscribe because you haven't been laid in a long time.
I love you all anyway.

Not safe for work.
Not safe for the kids.
Primarily hetero, although not exclusively so.



Sunday, July 29, 2012

Dehydration and Cat Barf

I remember when I was a young kid in dancing school. It was not a high point in my lifetime of awesomeness. I learned early on that most little girls fell into one of three categories:

1] the privileged kid who is doted upon and is a total brat.
2] the "pretty" or "attractive" kid who is treated like gold. Is definitely a twat.
3] everyone else

Maybe I would have been into dance if there were jazz-hands like this!

So, I frumped in the door late to jazz class (barf) and was met by a freckled face of category 1 kid. She was prattling on about a random stupid dance weekend in Philly or some such nonsense, asking if I was going, yet not giving a shit, just enjoying her own voice. Fucking narcissistic kids kill me. They grow up to be narcissistic adults, whom I want to kill. Then Bratty Jones went on about how the prior year at the dance-off she collapsed in a fit of dehydration.

Pissing in the water here. Definitely.

I swear, to this day, I still think dehydration is made up by brats like her, and Mariah Carey-types. How about a glass or two of water to help that sitch? Nope? Never crossed your mind?

So, I am sitting here, throwing myself a mediocre pity-party, fully aware of the fact that I have not blogged, or read a blog in months, waiting for my life to pick up for the best, and avoiding my readers [who have since unsubscribed by like half or so] because I didn't want to be a bitch. But being a humorous bitch is one of my plusses in life. 
What the fuck is going on?


I have managed to isolate myself from reality, cyber-reality and fantasy for far too long. 
AND I am thirsty.

I realized that I missed this forum of bullshit just yesterday, when I was sitting in the glass-front cafe window by my work, enjoying a cup of expensive latte. When I looked down, I saw it: Jam.

I kick out the jams, motherfuckers! All over my tits. I not only left the house with Jam-tits [seeded boysenberry jam is so fucking tasty though!] but I was greeted by the coffee bitch with a straight face, spoke to a slew of my bosses colleagues, made nice with some strangers... all with a generous supply of jam on my cleavage.
 It was not the first time I had to share @ my boobs. Link HERE. 

Jam: Delicious on toast. Great on decolette.

So welcome me back, if you read this at all. Even if I am depressed and experiencing setbacks beyond my control, I will still stop back in for a read of your shit and to spew some of mine.

Fletch barfed in and by my bed, not on my shoe... but I stepped in it. Barefooted. 
Photo above is for affectation.

I am off to find the mysterious stink of cat puke. I fucking swear, it better not be in the bookcase... Fucking bitch cat.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Happy Zombie Jesus Day, Bitches!

Alternative title:
Blasphemy melts in your mouth, not in your hands.
(Because you have stigmata and it falls thru the holes!)

Something melted in his hand...

Once upon a time, before the money-grubbing, child-raping christians of The Church (NOT the band) started cranking out The Crusades/the original genocide machine and spewing fear into the minds and hearts of the European folks, most people followed a lunar/pagan calendar. 

"Herb, how did we get here?"

Following natural law and ancient methods of honoring Mother Earth, the heavens and primal instincts, they celebrated holidays according to changes in season. They observed the 13 lunations of the solar year. They planted, harvested, feasted and mated according to their interpretation of nature's requests. 

Look ma- no pants!

The word Easter comes from the name Eostre/Ostara- who is a Germanic dawn goddess who is associated with the vernal equinox, the beginning of the Sun-rise of the astrological wheel/year- Sun in Aries, mating rites of spring and the blessings of the Earth in Her ripening.

Hooter fucking Mania

Her totem is a hare or a rabbit. Perfect animal for her since many creatures- including us humans- are inclined to f*ck like bunnies in the spring, no? Even the trees are releasing their seed/pollen!


Now back to the evildoers of manufactured fear and guilt:


The greedy motherfuckers who commissioned the building of churches and cathedrals all over the UK and Europe thought they were mega-smart, and they were- to a point. They wielded their poisonous agenda throughout the continent like gangbusters, for like 400 f'n years. Perhaps you have heard of The Crusades? Witch burnings? you know the word "fag" comes from those wondrous times, don't you? As in when they were burning women at the stake, they also burned gay folks, the mentally ill, and the untamable/wild. When they wanted to stoke the flames to get the midwives and gypsies to crackle and pop faster, they'd say "throw another fag on the fire." And then toss in a gay person. Makes me want to run right the fuck out and join their cult/church. OR plot a takeover!

Nightmare fodder

But I digress... 

Like any smart-assed narcissist, these sly bastards put themselves first and ignored a few important details which to this day, we are blessed to still have reminders of. Remember- there was no separation of church and state [is there now??? not enough!] the church dudes were the suckas who set the taxes and collected them and punished those who could/did not pay. (See also: greed begets more greed, Wall Street, Lindsey Lohan's dad, modern day financial bullsh*t and more!) Building grand buildings to honor themselves god was not cheap. No siree Bob, it was not, it was muy dinero! So what does the filthy rich squad of churchians do? They start extra recruitment of the "heathen" sect whereas they scare the daylights out of them with false reenactments of what happens to those who do not "believe" in their monotheistic, judgmental biblematic god. Oh, and aside from people, they burn their crops too! Add to that, they rape/beat them if the to-be-converts didn't "believe" and stuff. 
That's cool, right?

Grandpa has OCD

At this point, it is safe to admit I have ZERO tolerance for the christian church's history. Fuck those lying bastards. Fuck the Catholic child molesters. Fuck the fear-mongers. Fuck them all.

"Uncle" Todd always was a bit creepy

And NO, I am not an Athiest, although I "get" those who are more than I "get" those who blindly go along with any church's teachings. I try to veer from any extremist groups. Fucking mindless sheeple, the whole lot! 

would someone please explain this to me

I have my own beliefs, my own faith, my own idea- of that which is beyond our realm of human understanding. I am not so pompous as to assume humans are the end-all be-all. Could be aliens out there wiser than us, dieties, flying spaghetti monsters, whatevs. I do my soul, you do yours. I NEVER insist that mine is the only way. 
But I won't hold back when people defend the religiously absurd. 

LOOK at the shoes.

In order to take the already broken down peeps and inflict more pain and tax on them, the church introduced a christian calendar year that overlapped very closely with the deeply implemented pagan calendar. The big-hitters being easter/Eoster and christmas/Yule. Also- Jesus was probably a Pisces cusp Aries so- there's that detail too!

 And what do we have instead? 

Photo by moi. 


This coming from idiots people who believe it is evil to see ghosts. Evil to talk to the dead.
BUT OKAY for some dude to start decomposing after a few jolly days deceased in a cave, then poof! "Hey guys, I'm here! Miss me?" He's now "risen" from the dead.


Shit no he didn't, homeboy is a Zombie!

So go to church on Sun-day and wear a stupid hat, teach your babies that thoughtless tradition is the way to live, overeat candy till you puke.
That's fine.

(OR... go see a movie)

But know this:
The original designers and builders were masons who kept hidden their rich pagan-based world of beliefs and history. They built the holy buildings with pagan concepts infused in them. Built them according to the cardinal directions, many directly on lay lines of high Earthy majikal energy vortexes. Carved wiccan and pagan symbols in stones that they set into structural walls. Why? Because they wanted those remaining folks to go to these grand buildings and pray to their own Gods and Goddesses and have reminders of the old ways in the same buildings the new god and new ways.

GaGaGive me a break

It was not just the masons who infused ancient pagan culture into the present. Much of it is still being passed down by story, by word of mouth, by bloodlines. Because they may have burned down the ritual forests, burned the her-story libraries and art, burned the very people they found threatening, and succeeded at birthing a new group of taxpayers who were trainable and gripped in the clutch of fear, but some of us come from long lines of the natural kin whose story did not burn up in a fire.
That cannot be taken away.

I'm hiding MY eggs this year. 
Bring a spy-glass to find them in the yard.

 Happy Zombie Jesus Day, Bitches! 

Sunday, April 1, 2012

I pity the FOOL

Happy April Fools' Day, Suckas!

What else are we to think of today but Mr.T... 
Pitying fools all over the world. 

BUT before we pity anyone, let's take a jaunt at the illustrious findings a'la Señor Tee:

Remember this book??? 

I think I have a copy in my storage unit.
 Classic T.

Another classic T!

Confused, I am.

But not as confused as this kid!

Sweet bling!

All T Foolin' aside, 
I think of THE FOOL card in tarot 
AFTER I think about Mr. T, of course!

Classic Rider-Waite FOOL.

From the Vampire deck. 

A illustrated by Marvel comic artist Richard Isanove.

Sure, go out on a limb-
But remember:
Look BEFORE you leap!

Want to know the origins of this holiday??? {read it HERE on Wiki}