************

People are unreasonable, illogical and self centered.  Love them anyway.

If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives.  Do good anyway.

If you are successful, you win false friends and true enemies.  Succeed anyway.

The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow.  Do good anyway.

Honesty and frankness will make you vulnerable.  Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight.  Build anyway.

People really need help but may attack you if you help them.  Help people anyway.

Give the world the best you have and you'll get kicked in the teeth. 

Give the world the best you've got
ANYWAY.

Top ten sexually suggestive lines in the Star Wars Trilogy.

 Star Wars

 10. "Get in there you big furry oaf, I don't care what you smell!"
  9.  "Luke, at that speed do you think you'll be able to pull out in time?"
  8.  "Put that thing away before you get us all killed."
  7.  "You've got something jammed in here real good."
  6.  "Aren't you a little short for a storm trooper?"
  5.  "You came in that thing? You're braver than I thought."
  4.  "Sorry about the mess..."
  3.  "Look at the size of that thing!"
  2.  "Curse my metal body, I wasn't fast enough!"
  1.  "She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts, kid."

The Empire Strikes Back

 10. "I thought that hairy beast would be the end of me."
  9.  "Size matters not. Judge me by my size, do you?"
  8.  "There's an awful lot of moisture in here."
  7.  "But now we must eat. Cum, good food, cumm..."
  6.  "That's okay, I'd like to keep it on manual control for a while."
  5.  "Hurry up, golden-rod..."
  4.  "I must've hit it pretty close to the mark to get her all riled up like that, huh
        kid?"
  3. "Possible he came in through the south entrance."
  2. "And I thought they smelled bad on the outside!"
  1. "Control, control! You must learn control!"

Return of the Jedi:

 10. "Hey, point that thing someplace else."
  9.  "I look forward to completing your training. In time you will call me master."
  8.  "I never knew I had it in me."
  7.  "There is good in him, I've felt it."
  6.  "Grab me, Chewie. I'm slipping -- hold on. Grab it, almost... you almost got
        it. Gently now, all right, easy, easy, hold me Chewie."
  5.  "Hey, Luke, thanks for coming after me -- now I owe you one."
  4.  "Back door, huh? Good idea!"
  3.  "She's gonna blow!"
  2.  "I think you'll fit in nicely."
  1.  "Rise, my friend."

 But of course, the best is -  "Wedge!  Pull out!  You're not doing any good back there!"

somebody somewhere spent a productive day huh?
seeya soon

Dear JJJTTT
Im sure somebody somewhere did spend a productive day. Got any ideas who?

happy(wisheshewasmoreproductive)shrink

THE PERFECT DAY ACCORDING TO HER

08:45 - Wake up to hugs and kisses
09:00 - Five pounds lighter on the scale
09:30 - Light breakfast
11:00 - Sun bathe
12:30 - Lunch with best friend at outdoor cafe
1:45 - Shopping
2:30 - Run into boyfriend/husbands ex...notice she has gained 30 pounds
3:00 - Facial, massage, nap
7:30 - Candlelight dinner for two and dancing
10:00 - Make love
11:30 - Pillow talk in his big, strong arms
 
 PERFECT DAY ACCORDING TO HIM
 
10:00 - Wake up
10:02 - Oral Sex
10:10 - BIG BREAKFAST
11:30 - Drive up coast on Harley with gorgeous babe with big hooters
2:15 - Enormous lunch
3:15 - Oral sex
3:25 - Play sports with the guys
4:30 - Drink beer with the guys
5:30 - Meet Claudia Schiffer
5:40 - Oral sex
5:50 - Huge dinner, more beer
11:00 - Full on, get down, gorilla sex
11:10 - Sleep

Dear Theresa,

Other than adding a few more spots for oral sex, watching a ballgame with the guys at about 8pm and changing the sleep time to 11:05, I would say that His perfect day on the money!

happy(WHATNOTIMEFORCHAT?)shrink

Dear Friends,

I have the extreme honor of inviting you to join The Women's Art and Terrorist Society.  Don't wanna join?  Too bad.  You're ALREADY a member!!! NO dues, NO meetings, NO secret oaths, NO nothing!

Let me elucidate!    A couple of years ago, a bunch of women at the college where I worked decided that we needed to form a non-club and have t-shirts and stuff.  We are all women who behave like ladies when appropriate and cut loose and laugh like fiends with our friends on occasion. We needed a name in order to have t-shirts (which we still don't have and you will understand when you read the bylaws after a while).  We thought and thought and couldn't think up a funny enough name.  That day, on my way home from work, I thought of the above name.  I called the instigator and told her that I had a name but it was too vulgar.  She laughed her head off and insisted that we use the name.  So we did.

The instigator, aka Dirty Mama, is a former biker mama, former drug addict, former alcoholic.  Has a few STUNNING tattoos.  Behavioral specialist. WONDERFUL person.  I'd take ten bullets for her. Originally, there were only five women involved, and one of those didn't speak English much.  She laughed, though, so she was included.  Someone
finally translated and then she laughed MORE.  Within weeks, our ranks had swelled to over a hundred women (and a few guys, too), all clamoring for t-shirts.  We STILL don't have the t-shirts.  We got as far as registering our trademark but that's all (and I don't mind telling you that in doing so, we violated our own by-laws!)

At the college alone, this group included many members of administration, faculty and staff and their spouses and significant others.  Our group has no boundaries with regard to age, sex, size, shape, marital status. location, gender, religion, race, political affiliation, occupation, or status in life. We recently decided that we needed to get on with it.  We are working on re-vamping our logo, on getting up a web page to sell t-shirts (you don't
have to have one to belong, though) and other forms of general mayhem.  May never get done.

I recently saw a post in one of our forums regarding a group with a similar name.  Not near as funny as ours, though, because the acronym doesn't SPELL anything good! So, without further ado, I give you the by-laws (or those that I can remember - we are so busy raising hell and hee-haw, we forget to write them down). Please feel free to contribute any others that you think appropriate.

1.  If you laugh when you hear the name, you are automatically a member.

2.  If you REALLY laugh when you figure out the acronym, ditto.

3.  You must assign yourself a name which includes the word "mama."  For instance, mine is "Nasty Mama."  You don't have to TELL anyone what yours is. We would forget to write it down, anyway.  This rule does not apply to the rare man who will be included.  Men need to choose a name which includes the word, "bubba."

4.  If you get together to do something and actually DO it, you are automatically on suspension.

5.  If you attend any presentation (e.g., Tupperware party) and actually allow the presentation to be made (instead of being rowdy, rude, laughing, talking, etc.), you are on suspension.  (This rule was made by a Tupperware lady who thoroughly enjoyed having the presentation disrupted by laughing and storytelling and stuff.  She got a TON of orders and is now a member.)

6.  If you have ever considered nominating Howard Stern for President, you are automatically a member.

7.  If you can listen to Barry Manilow and not fall asleep, you are suspended.

8.  If you can listen to Jim Nabors and not throw up, you are suspended.

9.  If you kick over the cat box, you have to clean it up.

10.  If you have ever left a public restore without washing your hands, shame on you.

There are more but, alas, I have forgotten what they are.

On the phone or in private, we are likely to scream, "TWATS RULE!!!!!"  In the presence of non-members, we are likely to mutter to one another, "WATS RULE," leaving off the initial T.  This would be appropriate in chat.  Bear in mind, ladies, that this is not CUSSING, it is only a vulgar and common word.  But we don't wish to offend anyone who does not share our highly-developed senses of humor, so we are careful to share it only with those who have demonstrated a like sense of humor.

Anyone who would play sounds like "Duckshut," "Frogsex", and the now-infamous
"Rodeo," in chat or otherwise, HAS to be a member.  Oh, by the way, many of us have changed the title of "Ass2nite" to "As2nite" in order to avoid offending anyone in chat because of the title.  I never played it under the old name because of that concern.  We like CRUDE, not RUDE!!!!

When (and IF) we complete our logo, it will be so "busy" that the true meaning of the acronym will not be readily apparent.  At present, it features an artist's pallette, crossed AK-47's, and spools of thread interspersed with hand-grenades.  The name is tastefully (and busily) inscribed in a circle around these items.  We think you could have your chosen name printed on the t-shirt if you so desire, but we don't care enough to do anything about it.  And now a member has suggested the motto:  I'm low on estrogen and I've got a gun!

One of our original objectives was to terrorize men by laughing at them and making their injustices public - but only BAD men.  My hasbeen, for instance. GOOD guys can be members, and many are.  But we'll kick 'em out if they mess with us - we goils gotta stick TOGETHER!!!!!

Men:  You can't live with 'em and you can't stuff 'em down the disposal!

Anyway, please let me know of anyone you know who qualifies for membership. I am having a heck of a good time and I know that all this laughing is getting me (and others) through some pretty tough times.

I propose that we adopt "Rodeo" as our official fight song, at least for the online contingent.  I can't remember when I've laughed so hard.

There are currently approximately 125 members and we only went public online about 4 days ago.  Please let me know if you would like to be included.  Or if you would not.  We don't care.

If you know of anyone else you think is trashy enough to be interested, send them a copy of the WELCOME! letter and ask them to let me know that they already have the letter and want to get on the mailing list.

T.W.A.T.S. rule!!!!!

Hugs all around,

Zinny

Dear Zinny,

I have been actively trying to get into TWATS for most of my adult life! I have admired TWATS and I guess you could say that I have probably suffered from "TWATS envy"  Now that you have invited me into your TWATS, I can only say that my "pride" and "purpose" is growing by the second!  I know that many men like myself really want to come into  your TWATS and I feel very honored that you have chosen me! Thanks again Zinny and maybe you will let me also join The International Terrorist Society!  TITS may not be as good as TWATS but I must say I love them both!

happy(lovesthatzinny)shrink

Camp Rosemary 
by Pam Faucher

There is an extraordinary woman named Rosemary.  She was born in to a French family and raised on a hop ranch in Central Washington state.  She was one to work alongside her father and brothers, leaving the inside chores to her mother and sisters.  She developed a great love of the outdoors, and was as spirited as the horse she rode.

At 17 she ran off with a handsome man and was married.  Together, they raised five daughters in the beautiful Columbia River Gorge in Western Washington, where he was
the Chief of Police. Together they ran the ambulance service.  They taught their daughters
their love of nature and spent every available week end camping, taking their horses with
them.  The daughters never knew that they weren't as rich as Kings, because they had what so few families had: a great love and respect for each other.  They were never much entertained by what money can buy.

Half a century later, after Time had done what Time does best, there was a mid-night phone call to the youngest daughter.  A nurse told her Rosemary was in the hospital, in ICU, after suffering what appeared to be a heart attack.  By 6 A.M. two of the other daughters had been alerted, and by 9 A.M. all five daughters were rearranging their lives to carry out a 24 hour watch over their Mom in the ICU.

That first evening, Friday, Rosemary had another "spell."  The doctors decided to do an exploratory surgery.  Afterwards, they concluded that she needed open heart surgery, a triple bypass.  They hoped to wait until Monday to operate, so Rosemary was kept
in ICU over the weekend.  The five daughters staked out a corner in the waiting room, called it Camp Rosemary, and while two (or three.. or four) at a time sat with her in ICU, the others were resting.

For five days, Camp Rosemary became quite a home away from home. Sisters who hadn't been all together for a few years passed photos of recent events.  There were
baskets of crocheting, projects in the making.  There were blankets and pillows for those who needed naps.  There was a video tape of a niece's recent wedding (a nurse generously allowed them the use of a tv/vcr.) Someone had brought a basket of fruit, and each of the sisters randomly added to it, and took from it.  In a paper cup were $10 in quarters, for use in the vending machines when the cafeteria was closed.  On the corner table was a stack of all the Short Breaks. The talking was incessant. It was catch-up time for sisters.  Various husbands and children came and went.  The daughters visited with the loved ones of other surgery patients, too.  They shared their abundance of love and positive attitudes with others in need of a listener.

As the weekend progressed, Rosemary's breathing became labored and it was increasingly
difficult to take a deep breath.  By Sunday afternoon, she had gone into congestive heart failure. That evening, when the chief surgeon arrived to assess her condition for the next morning's operation, he found all five daughters gathered in the ICU room.  One
was holding her hand, one was rubbing lotion on the bruises left by the numerous IV's and blood drawings.  One was trying to discover the secret to the huge monitor displaying the readouts of all the computerized machines she was plugged in to. (She almost figured it out.)

The surgeon banished them from the room for the night, and the five daughters went back to Camp Rosemary.  Two of them spent the night there, and the other three went home for the night, to meet there again the next morning.

During the six hour operation, the daughters were back at Camp Rosemary.  They fused to
become a tower of strength.  Not a single doubt was uttered... perhaps not even thought.  The chatter continued until they were interrupted by the surgeon team leader
with the good news that Rosemary had done well.  She was being taken back to ICU, where she would be kept a day or two, then moved to a regular room!

The following Saturday, which was just 4 days ago now, Rosemary was released from the
hospital, and is now home.  She will be on the oxygen concentrator for a couple of weeks, but she is up and around, and doing great.  Her daughter from Oklahoma will
be staying with her for the summer, and she has 4 more daughters close by.

So, Mom, I just wanted to say, WELCOME HOME!  I love you,  Pam

I recently figured out what the whining was after a week of hearing it EVERY night and every day at one time or another. 

I live in an apartment complex which is very private and secluded, and thought for a week what I was hearing was a woman in tears over a broken heart. Having been there before, I thought within a week things would go back to normal and I could return to my peace and tranquility.  Wrong, with a capital W!

The culprit stealing my peace, tranquility and lack of sleep? A Border Collie. 

Apparently, the complex apartments are so private and secluded that I never in my wildest dreams would of guessed that the whining at all hours was a dog that was the subject of some fat man's abuse after a bad day at work (that is, assuming he works, because the rent on these apartments are far from affordable for the average welfare recipient).

I finally tracked down the dog. He was so shy, he wouldn't even come to me. Mind you, all pets seem to gravitate towards me. Animals that I abhor, seem to think my lap and hand are personal property and will spend hours sitting in my lap or at my feet demanding my affections. Come to think of it, men do that too, but that is another subject matter totally. 

Anyway, this Border Collie was so flea ridden she has chewed her hind quarters to the point of bleeding. She can't hold down the food that I gave her when I realized she was hungry. She has matted hair, and her eyes show the pain of the life that she lives. 

I am a dog lover, and have one of my own. I can't help but think about the vet bill that I pay every six months for the check-up, the annual shots that cost me an arm and a leg, the flea dips that are performed to PREVENT the pain of fleas and the results of their artwork, the monthly trip to the groomers to shave my dog a new poop shoot, trim the claws and shampoo him with organic shampoo. Dogs, I have come to the conclusion, are every bit as
expensive as children. The Border  Collie has finally realized she can trust me. I don't know her name, she doesn't have a collar. What is a dog lover to do in a case like this?

I'll tell you. Rather than call the Animal Shelter and see the dog destroyed because of
some asshole who doesn't realize that dogs DEPEND on people every bit as much as a child does, I am calling the local Pet Rescue. Sure, my concerned neighbor next to me and I got together to discuss the situation. We know that it is going to take a week to have Pet Rescue find a home for the Border Collie and we know that for the next week my neighbor's German Shepherd will share her food right along side my own pedigree dog, but we can't stand to see this dog suffer anymore. 

After the Pet Rescue contacts me at my office and informs me that they have found a sponsoring vet clinic that will help with locating an adoptive family, I fully intend on delivering this Border Collie, fleas and all, to the clinic so the dog can be nursed back to health. This Pet Rescue needs a donation of $60 - $80 to take care of the medication and etc. to nurse the dog back to health. The owner of the German Shepherd and I are each paying half of the total costs for the dog. 

AFTER the Border Collie is safely out of this evil man's home, we fully intend on informing our complex about the slovenly conditions in which he lives in, and with any hope, peace and tranquility will once again return to my life. Until then though, I worry about the Border Collie, go broke with my own vet supplying me (at a significant charge, mind you) with various vitamins and necessary antibiotics.

But at least I'll sleep well soon....and someone learns a valuable lesson about what being a pet owner is all about!
 

Just as I was loading your web page to read your comments about my deja vu, "Don" called me.  So I read the comments to him.  

"There was a possibility that during your early courtship, you and Don may have talked about your childhood experiences and your memories of the farmhouse may have been transplanted there by Don when you were in high school."

I don't think my memories were transplanted in high school.. and in "Don's" words, "Oh bullshitbullshitbullshit! We never talked about that!"   :\

Hehehe.. well, he is a little more enthusiastic about his response.  LOL OK, so I think you were reaching, and grabbed a textbook answer.  Maybe it would be better to give yourself permission to say, "I just don't know!"  :)  

About intuition and ESP.  I can't figure out the difference.  Maybe there is no difference.  

Intuition is a knowing through no logical means. It's a gut feeling (or a sensation in another part of your body). It's the sense that I know that I know.  It requires building a trust in yourself.  (That's my definition, anyway.)  

ESP is extra sensory perception... a perception beyond the "normal" means of perceiving.  Our senses of smell, sight, touching, hearing, and taste are normal and logical to us, simply because science has acknowledged them as real senses.  We tend to believe something, if it's scientific. Anything beyond (or extra) the norm, is called ESP.  

I prefer to think of ESP and intuition as one and the same.  ESP, or an "extra" sense, tells us to lock up, buckle up, shut up, or speak up.  It's that little naggy voice we may or may not listen to.  Same as intuition. ESP tells us to make a phone call, or write a letter, only to find out the receiver was just thinking about us or in need of a friend.  

Whatever you want to call it, this sense is something that is developed with use.  The more you act on these strange feelings, the better you become at recognizing them.  Some people would have you believe that these are designated gifts for certain people.. psychics come to mind!  Ha!  In order for people to continue to charge large amounts of money for their
abilities, they have to convince us that we don't have these gifts! But we do!  We just have to get in touch with them.  

Anyone can begin to develop espintuition (hehe.. like it?) by being quiet and listening to that small voice within.  It's there.  Trust it, listen for it.  Trust yourself.  

And call it whatever you want to call it.  
Pam... Leaving fingerprints everywhere!

Dear Pam,

I see a significant difference between what I perceive intuition to be and what I think of as ESP. ESP is a perception that goes beyond our 5 senses. As you stated, it defies logic or reason. Some people just dismiss it as coincidence while others think of it as a spiritual gift, perhaps with religious or supernatural components. Intuition for me has a logical basis and utilizes all the conventional senses. As I go through life experiencing human nature, all of that knowledge does not get neatly placed in library card catalogue. It gets put in a food processor and is stirred, chopped, grated, and pureed. I may not be able to give you all the ingredients/reasons why I feel a certain way but my intuition remains pretty reliable. I'm on the fence as far as ESP is concerned. There are people who I respect that strongly believe in it. Part of my skepticism comes from all the psychic friends rip-offs advertised on TV that charge up to $300 an hour for what my grandma would refer to as "dreck." (Yiddish for doodoo) When Dionne Warwick has a hit record, maybe then I will reconsider my position.  My intuition tells me that I haven't heard the last from you on this topic Pam! 

happy(notpsychicbutarealfriend)shrink

1967.   We were in 10th grade when we met.  Don and his family had just moved to the small town where I lived.   We shared an English class, and were instantly attracted to each other.  We started dating, and went steady until just before the end of our junior year. 

1970.  After graduation he joined the Navy, and several months later, I married someone else.  Don showed up at my wedding, but didn't try to stop it.  It would be 20 years before I would see him again.

1988.   I joined a friend, Michael, in a business venture, as a favor to help him get licensed, up and running.  The business was adult foster care homes, in Portland OR.   One of our first clients was Suzy Hickerson.   Suzy was 96 years old, and had Alzheimer's Disease.  Her son, Pete, and daughter, Ellen, were very close to her and visited often.  We were asked to call Suzy "Gramma Suzy" to help her feel more at home. I adored this family because of the way they cared about Gramma Suzy.  Pete lived in Scappoose, a small town just outside Portland.  He had inherited the family dairy there, and still worked it.  Ellen was living on another dairy farm, somewhat closer. 

When Gramma Suzy died, Michael and I attended her funeral and was invited to the buffet afterward, being held at the family farm in Scappoose.  I had never been to Scappoose before, and was impressed with the Native American shops, the feeling of openness there, and the beautiful wide-open farmlands. 

When we arrived at the dairy farm, I stepped out of my car and had a tremendous feeling of recognition.  So strong was this feeling, that my knees buckled, and I nearly fell.  I grabbed onto the car, and Michael came running.  He asked if I was ok, and I said, "Yes, but I just had the most incredible deja vu I have ever had in my life!  I KNOW this place!  I know
the land, the trailer, the big old farmhouse.. I know the barns and the fields!  I could show you where the cows hide under the grove of trees!" Inside the big house, my "memory" was confirmed.  It was typical of the old farmhouses built 80-100 years ago, about 4,000 sq. ft., two stories, rooms everywhere.  It would have been easy to get lost in, were it not for my recollection of it. 

1990.  My high school's graduating class held a 20th reunion.  I was just recently divorced.  Don had come in from California, where he'd been living for some time.  He had been divorced about 2 years, and we were attracted like magnets to each other.  We spent the week end together, and when we had to part, it was with great fear of losing each other again.   He called me and we finally voiced our desires; we wanted to be together forever.   He had to return to CA to sell his house, and finish out a job contract.  He called me every night and we talked for hours. 

One night while on the phone, I mentioned that I should move closer to Portland.  I felt I should be closer to the foster care homes, since I had bought Michael's half of the business, and felt I was a little remote out here in the sticks. Don asked if I wanted to live in Portland, and I said, "No... not inside Portland.  But closer, like Scappoose."

"Scappoose?" he asked.
"It's a little town, west of Portland."  I explained.
"I know! I used to live there!" said Don.
"You did?"
"Yeah!  I lived there when I was a kid.  Went to 2nd and 3rd grade there. Dad was the caretaker on a dairy farm there."
"A dairy farm?" I asked, feeling a little knot in my stomach.
"Yeah, we lived right on the farm, in a trailer house next to the big farmhouse where the owners lived.  It was a family run dairy." By now my stomach was a knot, and I had tingles running up my spine. "Don, do you remember the name of the family there?"
"Ummmm..." he stammered a moment.  "I remember Pete, the son of the owners. He had a wife and kids who lived there, and he used to take me to his son's basketball games.  We called his mother Gramma... Gramma..." he trailed off, trying to remember.
"Gramma Suzy?" I offered.
"YEAH! Gramma SUZY!  Hickerson! Hickerson was their last name!"  he said as
his memory cells stirred each other up.
***
Pam... Leaving fingerprints everywhere!

Hmmmmmmmm... Pam,

I think you  got me stumped! There was a possibility that during your early courtship, you and Don may have talked about your childhood experiences and your memories of the farmhouse may have been transplanted there by Don when you were in high school. I have a feeling though, that the fingerprints you are alluding to are something more substantial. You got me stumped Pam. Want to let us in on it? :)

happy(andcuriousasever)shrink

LadyHawke
~*~*~*~*~*
A true story.  A thermodynamics professor had written a take home exam for his graduate students.  It had one question:

        Is hell exothermic or endothermic?
        Support your answer with a proof.

Most of the students wrote proofs of their beliefs using Boyle's Law or some variant.  One student, however wrote the following:

First, we postulate that if souls exist, then they must have some mass.  If they do, then a mole of souls can also have a mass.  So, at what rate are souls moving into hell and at what rate are souls leaving?  I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to hell, it will not leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving.  

As for souls entering hell, lets look at the different religions that exist in the world today.  Some of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion, you will go to hell.  Since there are more than one of these religions and people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all people and all souls go to hell.  With birth and
death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in hell to increase exponentially.

Now, we look at the rate of change in volume in hell.  Boyle's Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in hell to stay the same, the ratio of the mass of souls and volume needs to stay constant.  So, if hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter hell, then the temperature and pressure in hell will increase until all hell breaks loose.

Of course, if hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls in hell, than the temperature and pressure will drop until hell freezes over.
------------
It was not revealed what grade the student got.

I give him an A+