Tag Archive | City

Farmville… It’s Time We Spoke Out! (Part 1)

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So, it goes like this . . .

Okay. First, we need to set a few ground rules here:

1.     I was never going to play Farmville.

I think that it is important to repeat that first assumption here, so I’m to give it a subheading, and going to call it 1A.

1.A. I was NEVER going to play Farmville.

I mean it.

Next…

2.    I don’t know how I’m supposed to deny anybody wanting to give me “Free gifts.”

That’s just rude.

My Momma raised me better than that.

Well… she did…

I mean, if somebody wants to give me a free gift, who am I to deny them the intrinsic beauty of this sharing of two souls when one bestows a gift to me, and then I to them…

Of course, I am simply going to lovingly accept it.

“Thank you, Dahhhling, for the fabulous Banana Tree. It does so come in handy when my husband is away…”    😉

Yes… I will love and adore… cherish, even… every gift.

Even if it’s a lowly apple, cherry or plum tree (lowly as in Farmville standards, of course).

No offense, Dahhhhlings!

By the by… neighbors and friends… keep those Olive and Pomegranate trees coming, ya hear!

Sorry, I had to put in a plug for which free gifts I prefer now.

How sad is that?

Well, so the Lord Almighty, and my Farmville neighbors all know that Belle (that’s me) is a loving and generous receiver of all gifts great and small, and likewise I am a loving and generous gifter.

Shut-up… I am, too.

Everyday, I make a list of the people that give me the Farmville gifts just to make sure that I reciprocate and don’t accidentally skip anybody.

I need a fricking virtual assistant to keep up with the stress of my Farmville.

Yeesh.

Next…

3.    I have never played an electronic game beyond “Guitar Hero.”

And for the record, I play a mean freaking guitar that has buttons on it, okay? 

Don’t try to convert me to the “real” guitar. 

Not going to happen. No way. No how.

I would never cut my acrylic nails, and besides I think those guys are just showing off. The guys playing with the wire stringy “old-fashioned” guitars. They might think that they are more talented than we…

The true heroes of the guitar… the guitars with color-associated buttons on them.

But, we know better… don’t we?

Yeah… guitars with wires on them are old news.

Get with the program, man!

Buttons are “in.”

Just give me a guitar with buttons on it any day… and a couple of double AA batteries, and a Wii that’s plugged in… and I play a mean three-fingered colored-coded guitar.

Oooh, Baby!

Yeah, I know it’s got more than three buttons on it… give me a break.

I can count.

It’s kind of like painting by numbers… but for the guitar… with three to five colors… of buttons.

But, I play on the EASY level — which means that I only play with three buttons… and that since I am a woman, it further means that I am entitled to believe that the EASY level means “Easy Listening.”

And, nothing else.

Got it?

Don’t try to correct me.

We’d all hate for you to get on the “bad list” today.

So, let’s just understand here… just so that we are all on the same page and everything… I play on the “Easy Listening” level with three fingers, three buttons, and three brain cells.

Oh, yeah… And, I only play three songs… But, I am damn good at those three songs.

Right.

I digress.

So, I am trying to apologize in advance that my field of play in the electronic alter-universe is limited, to say the least… and even with that analysis, I am being generous… even to myself.

Next…

4.     I’ve never liked any of those electronic games.

My son plays them with unbelievable expertise.

Not that I’m thrilled with that knowledge, mind you.  

I know this because if he had his druthers, he would be playing his Electronic Games every hour of every moment of every day.

Without pause. Without food. Without oxygen.

Heck, let’s face it — the whole world could be caving in and he would still be shooting out power blazers on a level 39 “Alien Cucumbers Battle Mario’s Speed Racer and Godzilla Fireballs.”

His mad pounding of the keys… well, I just don’t understand the hopping and jumping around and disappearing exploding fire-gonzos and stuff like that.

Big deal, right?

So what, that he hasn’t eaten… done his homework… or blinked his eyes in four hours…

Mere details.

He can’t be bothered.

So, no… I was never really good with the game thing.

But…

Then all my peeps and buds on Facebook started sending me all these gifty things for Farmville…

Who knew?

A Pig here.

A Goat.

Two people even sent me some elephants.

Elephants?

Yeah… like those belong on a farm.

Right.

Guess what they make?

Circus Peanuts.

They make circus peanuts.

Hmmm…

I hate to break it to you… but those are awfully large “circus peanuts” that come out of a cute little elephant, if you know what I mean.

And… I wouldn’t recommend eating any of those so-called peanuts, okay?

Eeeeeeuuuw.

It’s just wrong.

Well… I had 82 (eighty-two) gifts sitting on my Home Page of Facebook.

Go figure.

82.

That’s quite a bit, right?

But… remember, I was NEVER going to play Farmville.

I have got no time.

Right.

My son nearly died when I told him that I had DELETED THEM ALL.

Yes, I deleted all 82 gifts.

I mean, what hell am I going to do with a pig that finds truffles, right?

I don’t even freaking like truffles.

Gag.

So, needless the say, “am-scray on the ig-pay.”

Until… my son showed me the Farmville light…

I never deleted any gifts again.

Eeeeek!

TO BE CONTINUED!!!            

TO CONTINUE THE STORY ******* CLICK HERE *******

Be well,

Belle

Writer's Digest Award Winner - S. Belle Karper  78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award WinnerBookmark and Share

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THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
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Who Won?

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So, it goes like this . . .

 

Well, let’s just suffice it to say that I had to spray a lot of perfume on this morning. There was no time to shower, much less mascara my eyelashes. This game was just too dang early…

 I’m not happy to admit this, and so I am not formally admitting this… but my husband informs me that I may not be a “morning person.”

Huh?

What does he know?

He is off riding the mountainsides in Utah right now.

He may or may not be right. I don’t have the freaking patience to find out at this early hour, but I did have a hard time waking up this morning.

Go figure.

My only incentives being:

A. To see my son play

B. To see my son play well

C. To see my son play well against “dickhead.”

Now, I am not one to hold any grudges.

Like, I have almost forgiven that little bitch in high school… almost.

I don’t use the voodoo doll on her anymore… well, only semi-annually.

Heck, I have other things to do than live in the past.

And, that neighbor that I used to have living near me, emphasis on used to (and no, nothing mysterious happened to her… much to my regret. She just moved… how common, right?)

Let’s just say that when the book came out, The Devil Wears Prada, I thought it was about my neighbor.

Bee-atch, with a small ass and rock-hard boobs.

Yikes. I remember the first time she hugged me. I was bruised for a week from her plastic surgery stone tits.

Well, I am still in therapy over all of that neighborhood nonsense stuff. 

No one here misses her dropping her garbage into other people’s cans.

Yeah baby, you can keep your dirty diapers to yourself.

Schtinky.

My dog misses them though. Evidently, there is something attractive with the scent of toddler diarrhea rolled in a Pampers disposables…

Eeeeeeuuuuw.

So, like I said I’m not one to keep grudges. So the fact that we are facing up dickhead and his team this morning is double-edged.

First off, I had to drive all the way back to my house because I forgot my chair.

I knew this was not going to be a good sign.

My sweet little sugar-coated ass would melt on the beauty of the morning dew if I were to sit on the ground. We can’t be having any of that wet dew sinking into my “down there” now can we?

Right.

So, I drove back to get my chair.

Gosh.

Secondly, I can’t help it that I express myself verbally.

Calling a kid dickhead seemed and still seems appropriate, and if the conditions arise again… and I feel the need to express myself in these and other matters, then I am bound by the “Mother Bear” Codes of Conduct to protect my little cub.

Regardless.

And… I am going to disregard the coaches messages left on my cell phone informing me of various muzzle supply shops.

A muzzle?

For who?

Dickhead?

That might be a little extreme for a 15-year-old, but I picked one up for him just in case.

I do understand the mouths of these babes, because I live with two teenagers and I could see how it could come in handy.

Like… everyday.

So, I bought him an extra-large.

Because he has an extra-large dickhead.

Du-u-uh.

I learned that from my kids… that “duh” thing.

Doesn’t it just make you feel good all over?

….

Well, right now… we are knee-deep in the second half and the score is one-to-one.

The kids are dripping with sweated competitiveness. Licking their teenaged chops for this victory that is due them. The tension hovers over the parents around me.

And me… well, I am in a catatonic stare… they are all navy colored enemies against our white shirted boys, and now those 15-year-old little penile wannabes threaten our good Saturday.

They have kicked two of our guys in the balls.

Hard.

One of their players received a red card.

And if that is not enough, they have tackled my son to the point where he was lying on the ground for literally two minutes.

Just lying there.

Unmoving.

And, I was not allowed to go on the field.

Mama bear does not like this part.

And, I’m going to tell you that two minutes is a very long time when your son is in pain, on the ground and not moving.

….

I would like to say that we won the game, but we did not.

We played a hard fight, but a clean one.

I left my comments until after the three tweets of the whistles were heard, signaling the end of the game.

Then I let a few “explicatives” fly…

A tough loss for all…

For us…

For other dickheads across the world…

And… for the world…

I don’t think that I am over exaggerating here, when I say that this IS a tough loss for the entire world…

Tragic.

And then of course, we all went to CoCo’s for breakfast.

🙂

Hug, hug, kiss, kiss, Y’all — Even you with hard boobies — Still love ya! xoxo

 

The is the final to: 

If you don’t know who dickhead is … ***** Then Click Here *****  

A must read story.

A follow-up story with pictures is ***** Here*****

Be well,

Belle

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S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle – all on Website
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Sephora! A Giant Equivalent of Female Orgasm!…

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So, it goes like this . . .

 

Well, really, I don’t know what I can say that goes much beyond that title, do you?

However, being the wordsmith-y (is that actually a word?) girl that I am… I am going to try… (Wink, wink.)

So…Sephora… my beloved, Sephora…

How do I love thee, let me count the ways…

I love the to the depth, girth and breadth my ass can reach.

I love thee… that you are in almost every blooming mall that I have ever shopped… and if that is not enough… you are helping me to spend more of my money by opening more stores in lucky select JC Penney’s across the United States.

Bless you, because I thought you weren’t really giving me enough opportunity to spend my money already.

Now, I have yet another reason to walk into a JC Penny’s for more than just the $12.99 sitting fee in your Photo Booth center.

I used to take my kids there for their baby pictures… but now I just go there to harangue high school part-time photographers by sitting in making ju-jee faces in the camera.

Trust me.

They love it.

Right.

I digress.

Sephora…

Ah, yes… my beloved, Sephora…

I love thee to the extreme that my credit card can reach…

I love thee for your precious vials of wrinkle erasers…

You are so kind to give me samples in little plastic cups to take home… sure to lock me into the use of yet another $130 an ounce wrinkle cream for the rest of my life.

Bless you… again…

I have no more counter space in my bathroom due to your generosity.

Thank you to you, beloved, Sephora… for the fact that every time I walk into the house from one of your stores I smell like a perfumery…

“Honey, do like this Gucci fragrance?” And, I stick out my arm.

My husband puts his nose above my arm, “No, not there, honey. That’s Chanel. You have to move your nose up 3 inches toward my elbow.” My husband still hovers his nose above my arm… “No, honey, not there, that’s a Britney Spears fragrance that I despise… Uh… How about this one on the back of my wrist — that’s the new Thierry Mugler… what do you think?”

Poor guy… he doesn’t realize that I have sprayed 24 different fragrances on the fronts and backs of each arm, behind each ear, and between each toe…

“So, which one do you like, honey?… Honey? Honey?… What, baby?… You don’t look so good…”

He has now turned a little pale, and evidently has sprouted a migraine from all the combined scents that will now reside for the next 24 hours on my little piece of “sumpin sumpin” that he was hoping “to get some” from later.

“Honey, I am only trying to make myself more attractive to you, baby.”

No response.

Whatever…

My beloved Sephora…

A rainbow of makeup choices for every type of skin, for every type of look, for every holiday… including Halloween.

Grandiose eyelashes, eyeshadows that you never think that you would actually wear…

“Just sit right down and let me give you a little demo…”

And, of course, after said demo, you are walking out of there looking like something out of a Cosmo magazine.

You are looking absolutely divine! 

However, after you’ve spent $700 to get all of that absolutely divine looking stuff that will give you that absolutely divine looking “look,” you take it home and try to re-create that divine looking “look” and walk out of your bathroom looking  something more like Frankenstein’s cousin… Frau Hosselheimerbrau… albeit, with great eyelashes.

My dear, dear Sephora…

You even let me take home little spritzers the perfume for my husband to try.

I love those little testers that you guys make up for him.

All different kinds of men’s fragrances. You are just too generous.

Of course, he has never tried any of these because I have never given them to him… those little darn fragrance sprayers are just too cute.

I have to hoard them for myself, even though they’re full of men’s fragrances. I think I have about 23 of them…

Those little baby perfume sprayers…

Eeeek! I’m in love with them!

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?  …  😉

Honestly though, I could go on all day about the attributes of Sephora…

My knees get weak when I walk by their black-and-white striped storefront.

I get a little “oodle” in my “hoo-haw” just thinking about it.

Eeeek!

Yup, this is a Sephora “O!”

I just need about 30 seconds to myself…

….

Yes, it’s a fact…

I am happily a Sephora “Ho,” and I have the credit card statements to prove it.

Plus, I have 2473 Points in my “Beauty Insider” account…

So…

Let’s go shopping!

Be well,

Belle

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S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle – all on Website
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Vegas, Baby, Vegas!… (w/ pic)

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So, it goes like this . . .

 

My chicks and I go way three times a year.

Palm Springs spa weekend.

Mammoth Lakes ski weekend.

And, Vegas, Baby, Vegas weekend.

Yeah, we’ve been trippin’ for a long time now.

For the last 10 years. Yeah, Ba-bay!

WE HAVE GOT IT DOWN.

Our so-called weekend getaways have now stretched into five night minimum stays.

We know where we are going to eat… who serves the strongest mai tais… where the “I Dream of Jeanie” (Oooooh Master!) slot machines are… and where we can laugh the loudest not get thrown out of the place.

You might say, that after all these years, we could be professional partiers.

You might be right.

But, alas… we are just moms that have maneuvered a tri-annual ESCAPE for the last decade.

Admit it now, you’re jealous.

It’s okay, we understand jealousy.

These are required outings for we, the core four.

Since my girlfriends would have a coronary if I actually named them, I’ll just give you our names that we developed one year when we watched “Malibu’s Most Wanted.”  Since we are all Mom’s and can’t seem to get out of the freaking kitchen . . . you may sense a theme here.

I am “White Top” AKA Wonder Bread, Sunbeam, Goya Loaf. They seem to think that I have lead a conservative life . . . I let them think what they want as I spread my three fingers and bang it on my chest like I am a “bro in the hood.”

Bang, bang, bang (three fingers) “White Bread, yo?”

Yeah, that, popping a couple of my “Move Free” glucosamine/chondroitin pills and my hair spray makes it all very convincing…

Then there is “Cinnabon.” As you can imagine she’s a beautifully tanned mother of two, and makes her hand into “C” shape and whacks it on her chest. “Cinnabon, Buya!” 

Then of course, we can’t forget “Bagel.” She hysterically tries to form a “B” shape with her fingers to bang on her chest.  And, then groans, “Bagel. You guys, I got a crummy name.”

“Oy! Such is life Heidi Goldbaum,” not really her name, “You be Bagel, and don’t give us any shen-agle!”

And, then lastly . . . There is “Buttertop.”  She doesn’t have to make any hand signals at all, because frankly there’s no room left on her chest. She has the most beautiful store-bought breasts any woman (or man) could hope for.  So yes, she is “Buttertop.” And she doesn’t have to do a thing to just stand there with that perfectly shaped shelf of breasts.

You could put a plate of sandwiches on those breasts…

So, it’s basically us four — White Bread, Cinnabon, Bagel and Buttertop, and we try our best to terrorize Vegas within an inch of it’s questionable life.

Yo.

Yo Momma.

Me Momma?

You Momma.

We da Mommas.

We da Ho’s.

Well, I guess you can see what we “think” we are accomplishing here…

But really, life is too short to be Mommies all the time.

Sometimes . . . we have to be just girls.

Girls gone wild!

Girls gone wild…

With cellulite…

And baby-tummy.

And, thyroid conditions, and children’s college tuitions to pay.

And . . . And . . . Well, 40-ish Girls gone half-mad might be a better description.

But, ALL, and I mean ALL of Vegas knows that we have a good time!  It take the city a whole year to recover from us.

Yeah, we DO know how to play…

Our husbands wish so desperately to be flies on the wall…

“No, no, no, Joe.”

“Just fo the Ho’s. You get to stay home and play Mommy, mo-fo!”

But, remember . . . most people say, “What Happened in Vegas, Stays in Vegas!”

However, OUR mantra is . . . “What Happened in Vegas . . . Never Happened!”

So, you want to go to Vegas, baby?

Yeah, I could show you the town!

  

Some of the Crew

Some of the Crew

The Core Four - White Bread, Bagel, Buttertop & Cinnabon

The Core Four - White Bread, Bagel, Buttertop & Cinnabon

Be well,

Belle

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S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
Belle Karper Face Book
& the popular Twitter-Belle – all on Website
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S. Belle Karper -- Author & Speaker

I think it’s time…

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So, it goes like this . . .

 

Yes, I think it’s time to clean the fricking house.

God. I hate this part.

Save me.

Help me?

You know you want to . . .  right?

—-

Be well,

Belle

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S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
Belle Karper Face Book
& the popular Twitter-Belle – all on Website
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S. Belle Karper -- Author & Speaker

Meaning…

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So, it goes like this . . .

 

Create meaning in the work you do, and the work you do will reflect in the people you are mean to…

What the…? 

 

 

Be well,

Belle

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S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
Belle Karper Face Book
& the popular Twitter-Belle – all on Website
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S. Belle Karper -- Author & Speaker

Where There is Smoke, There’s Fire . . . (LA Fire Photos)

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So, it goes like this . . .

 

Where there is smoke there is fire.

Hell, there is so much smoke here now I smell like a summer sausage at a Tuscaloosa Bar-B-Que.

That’s not a nice smell on a woman.

I wish I could say that I took this picture, but I did not. I took some but mine are not as nearly dramatic as this . . . 

Los Angeles Fire from Marina Del Rey

So, here is my own personal photo (Below).

Unfortunately after looking at the two, I don’t think the other one was retouched. Just the timing of the photograph . . . and the fact that I am not a professional photographer. Hello-o?

See those little tiny black buildings in the lower part of my photo?
Those are like 30-story buildings . . . Can you get the enormity of this fire?

It’s astounding.

S. Belle Karper Photo -- LA Fires

Please, have a moment of thought for our dear Fire Fighters.

I, too, live in a fire-prone area.

Yes . . . a moment of silence.

Be well, and wear a mask . . .

Belle

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S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
Belle Karper Face Book
& the popular Twitter-Belle – all on Website
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S. Belle Karper -- Author & Speaker

Daily Random Fact . . . August 20, 2009

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So, it goes like this . . .

 

TWITTER is a mess.

Wrong Follower counts. Wrong Following counts. Wrong Tweet counts.

Yep. It’s a real mess.

And, now . . . again . . .

Hey, y’all — getting tired of seeing the fricking whale!

Twitter is over capacity.
Too many tweets! Please wait a moment and try again.

—–

Be well Dahhhhlings,

Belle

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S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
Belle Karper Face Book
& the popular Twitter-Belle – all on Website
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S. Belle Karper -- Author & Speaker

Photos from the Promo Shoot . . . The Widow Wears Black

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So, it goes like this . . .

 

Let me know what you think! I just love it — I think it’s HOT!!!  (Sizzle, baby!)

********CLICK HERE********

Disregard the ads . . . As always . . . :-/

So, y’all come back, now. Ya’ hear?

Be well Dahhhhlings,

Belle

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S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
Belle Karper Face Book
& the popular Twitter-Belle – all on Website
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S. Belle Karper -- Author & Speaker

Middle Finger Award . . . August 18, 2009

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So, it goes like this . . .

 

I would like to thank all the little people that make this award possible.

To receive recognition in this way, you would probably have to be a person with a little mind, little heart or little dick. 

So, my thanks and the thanks of possibly thousands goes out to you and your idiosophomoronic behavior (and, Yes, I made that up — I am entitled to since it is MY frigging blog).

Get over it.

Drum roll, please  . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Here’s you that cut me off this morning and almost ran me off the 101 Freeway. Big hair momma. I wasn’t planning to exit at the Lost Hills off-ramp, but thank you for giving me a little deviation from my normal routine.  So thoughtful!  I realize that you were drinking your Starbucks at that moment, but don’t you think that applying mascara at the same time was a little much?

Beee-atch.  (Oooops. That just slipped out. Eeeek.)

So here’s to you, in your navy colored Bentley. You have won today’s Middle Finger Award — August 18, 2009.

Congratulations!

Fake Applause . . . clap . . . clap . . . cla 

Do you have a candidate that you would like to comment on? Would you like to nominate someone for the Middle Finger Award?

Please, don’t let me be the only one hogging the spotlight. 

I love to share!

TO BE CONTINUED….

So, y’all come back, now. Ya’ hear?

Be well Dahhhhlings,

Belle

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S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
Belle Karper Face Book
& the popular Twitter-Belle – all on Website
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S. Belle Karper -- Author & Speaker