**Unusual Wax Museum
From my old blog; Bitchin & Stuff
Woman drawn from the inside out. Pretty cool!
It's Maniac Monday and nobody really feels like working, with the exceptions of you sicks out there who are workaholics, go to a meeting for cheesy sake. But those of you real people, sitting at your desk, dreading life, hungover or just too pooped to pop, here's something to entertain you and maybe you'll make friends in the office with this, we'll see. Have a Shitty Day!!-
Friday, March 03, 2006
If you have a nickname, I want to know how you got it. Whether it be your childhood nickname, your drag name, what your husband or wife calls you and even how you arrived at some of your user names for blogging. Why, because I'm a nosey Bitch. But believe it or not a nickname usually has a story to it. Just as I like to ask people how they got this scar or that, and they are usually appalled which I take great pleasure in. But a scar is like a road map, it tells where you've been, an incident or accident. But each and every scar tells a story. Indulge me here people...tell me why you got your nickname and if you don't want to tell me that, tell me how you got your scar. I plan on, one of these days, writing a book where I go across the nation and ask about scars. I will hit the diners, feed stores, Veterans hospitals, the seediest places I can find. I will ask the bum in the alley or the hooker on the street, cause I'm inquisitive and I want to know everything before I die.
I will post your answer, unless told otherwise and if you don't play this game with me , gentle readers, I will haunt your blog. Just entertain me, I'm a woman on the edge of insanity.
~I've had several nicknames in my day. As a child I had a couple, one I will tell you about now and that was Jarba Bean. My Grandpa Bill, quite the character, always spoke to me in pig latin or backwards, hence Jarba Bean, is Barbara Jean, my name. As a teen, 16 ,I danced at a place called Clancy's and Ernie's Fireplace Grill, in D.C. and they called me Strawberry. I wore strawberry essence oils and underwear w/ them on it etc.. My 1st husband called me Mer and he was Der. My 2nd Husband called me Buck or Moe. As an adult Babs stuck but from the time I was a fiesty teen guys were calling me Bitch. Once a guy,after I blew him off said to me,"Bitch, you're like a snake wrapped around a rose." I never knew what that really meant but I got my first tattoo of a cobra wrapped around a rose. Then, there's Barbwire. That has the longest history, and I hated it as a child. I was born Barbara Jean O'Dwyer. In 1st grade the kids couldn't say my name so they called me, Barb Wire. I came crying home to my Dad and he teased me with it for years. It was only after he died, that I began to embrace the name, it had become endearing and a good memory. But I told no one about it, it stayed dormant in my head till I was at one of our Motorcycle Club parties and we had commissioned a tattoo artist to work the party. My husband got a large tattoo on his one arm and on the other he had Barbara, over top of a heart and underneath the heart it said,
"The Moe." I said when asked, that I wanted Barbwire on my arm and was told, "No only dikes do that shit." He didn't know why I wanted it and I didn't waste my time telling him because he is clueless anyway.In my head, I yelled out,"But I will someday, before I die, get that barbwire." A few years pass and My middle son, Bill got a settlement for his 18th B'Day. He goes right out and gets a tattoo and comes home and shows me. I start crying and he was saying, Mom, I'm 18 now, I can get a tattoo, what's wrong with you?" I blurted out," but I love it and before I die, I want all of you to have barbwire on your arm." Out of all the tattoo's in the parlor, he'd picked that one and din't even know the story. Another year passes and I'm in jail again. My youngest, Waylon, comes to visit me and as I'm talking to him through the bullet proof glass, he says,"Ma, what's the one thing you said you wanted before you died?" I wasn't thinking before I died but when I died and said, I want you to wear kilts to my funeral and have bagpipes playing, "Amazing Grace." He said,"Before you die Ma," and pulls his sleeve up and he's got barbwire tattooed on his arm. I start crying like an idiot. I've got one son left and when he gets his settlement he's gonna get it too. What kinda Mom am I but then I can die in peace! Tell me your stories will ya?--------------------------------------------
ASHES TO ASHES
Three gay men died, and were going to be cremated. Their lovers happened to be at the funeral home at the same time, and were discussing what they planned to do with the ashes. The first man said, "My Ryan loved to fly, so I'm going up in a plane and scatter his ashes in the sky." The second man said, "My Ross was a good fisherman, so I'm going to scatter his ashes in our favorite lake." The third man said, "My Jack was such a good lover, I think I'm going to dump his ashes in a pot of chili, so he can tear my ass up just one more time."
Mom's Home Cooking
(TASTES LIKE CHICKEN, RIGHT?)
A gay man, finally deciding he could no longer hide his sexuality from his parents, went over to their house, and found his mother in the kitchen cooking dinner. He sat down at the kitchen table, let out a big sigh, and said, "Mum, I have something to tell you: I'm gay."
His mother made no reply or gave any response, and the guy was about to repeat it to make sure she'd heard him, when she turned away from the pot she was stirring and said calmly, "You're gay, doesn't that mean you have oral sex with other men?"
The guy said nervously, "Uh, yeah, Mum, that's right."
His mother went back to stirring the pot, then suddenly whirled around and WHACKED him over the head with her spoon and said, "Don't you EVER complain about the taste of my cooking again!"