PcolaMinx Of Milton FL's blog: "MINXs LAIR"

Password...

A woman was helping her husband set up his computer, and at the
appropriate point in the process, told him that he would now
Need to enter a password..Something he will use to log on.
The husband was in a rather amorous mood and figured he would try
For the shock effect to bring this to his wife's attention. So,
When the computer asked him to enter his password, he made it
Plainly obvious to his wife that he was keying in...
P...
E...
N..
I...
S...
His wife fell off her chair laughing when the computer replied:

      **PASSWORD REJECTED. NOT LONG ENOUGH**
GIGGLES… LOL,
HAVE A GREAT DAY...ANNA

 

 

 

Southern women know their summer weather report:
Humidity
Humidity
Humidity

Southern women know their vacation spots:
The beach
The rivuh
The crick

Southern women know everybody's first name:
Honey
Darlin'
Shugah

Southern women know the movies that speak to their hearts:
Fried Green Tomatoes
Driving Miss Daisy
Steel Magnolias
Gone With The Wind

Southern women know their religions:
Baptist
Methodist
Football

Southern women know their cities dripping with Southern charm:
Chawl'stn
S'vanah
Foat Wuth
N'awlins
Addlanna

Southern women know their elegant gentlemen:
Men in uniform
Men in tuxedos
Rhett Butler

Southern girls know their prime real estate:
The Mall
The Country Club
The Beauty Salon

Southern girls know the 3 deadly sins:
Having bad hair and nails
Having bad manners
Cooking bad food

More Suthen-ism's:
Only a Southerner knows the difference between a hissie fit and a conniption fit, and t hat you don't "HAVE" them, you "PITCH" them.

Only a Southerner knows how many fish, collard greens, turnip greens, peas, beans, etc., make up "a mess."

Only a Southerner can show or point out to you the general direction of "yonder."

Only a Southerner knows exactly how long "directly" is, as in: "Going to town, be back directly."

Even Southern babies know that "Gimme some sugar" is not a request for the white, granular sweet substance that sits in a pretty little bowl in the middle of the table.

All Southerners know exactly when "by and by" is. They might not use the term, but they know the concept well.

Only a Southerner knows instinctively that the best gesture of solace for a neighbor who's got trouble is a plate of hot fried chicken and a big bowl of cold potato salad. If the neighbor's trouble is a real crisis, they also know to add a large banana puddin!

Only Southerners grow up knowing the difference between "right near" and "a right far piece." They also know that "just down the road" can be 1 mile or 20

Only a Southerner, both knows and understands, the difference between a redneck, a good ol' boy, and Po white trash.

No true Southerner would ever assume that the car with the flashing turn signal is actually going to make a turn.

A Southerner knows that "fixin" can be used as a noun, a verb, or an adverb.

Only Southerners make friends while standing in lines, ... And when we're "in line,"... We talk to everybody!

Put 100 Southerners in a room and half of them will discover they're related, even if only by marriage.

In the South, y'all is singular, all y'all is plural.

Southerners know grits come from corn and how to eat them.

Every Southerner knows tomatoes with eggs, bacon, grits, and coffee are perfectly wonderful; that red eye gravy is also a breakfast food; and that fried green tomatoes are not a breakfast food.

When you hear someone say,"Well, I caught myself lookin'," you know you are in the presence of a genuine Southerner!

Only true Southerners say "sweet tea" and "sweet milk." Sweet tea indicates the need for sugar and lots of it -- we do not like our tea unsweetened. "Sweet milk" means you don't want buttermilk.

And a true Southerner knows you don't scream obscenities at little old ladies who drive 30 MPH on the freeway. You just say,"Bless her heart" ... And go your own way.

To those of you who are still a little embarrassed by your Southerness: Take two tent revivals and a dose of sausage gravy and call me in the morning. Bless your heart!

And to those of you who are still having a hard time understanding all this Southern stuff, ... Bless your hearts, I hear they are fixin' to have classes on Southernness as a second language!
*****************
And for those that are not from the South but have lived here for a long time, all y'all need a sign to hang on y'alls front porch that reads "I ain't from the South, but I got here as fast as I could."

Southern girls know men may come and go, but friends are fahevah !

 

Now... Shugah, send this to someone who was raised in the South or wish they had been! If you're a Northern transplant, bless your little heart, fake it. We know you got here as fast as you could

MY ADOTPED MANTRA...
"To be completely woman ,you need a Master and in him, a compass for your life.
You need a man you can look up to and respect.
If you dethrone him, it is no wonder that you are discontented,
and discontented women are not loved for long."
                                         ~Marlene Dietrich

Like many of us I am looking for a deeper meaning of life, something
that clearly identifies, defines and celebrates the differences between men and women.
Something that truly embraces…Something I firmly believe in .
~~~ The Natural Order of life ~~~
I will always believe that men are men, dominant and head of the household
and that women are feminine, submissive and sensual creatures.
Yet in the real world so many women take on the role of the head of households and families...
thus making my beliefs more of a self illuminating concept...not for the everyday, everybody order of things...BUT FOR US IT IS THE RIGHT WAY TO BE ...ONE...

The shortest and surest way to live with honor in the world is

To be in reality what we would appear to be."
~ Socrates

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

tHE BIKER

I saw you; hug your purse closer to you in the grocery store line. But, you didn't see me, put an extra $100.00 in the collection plate last Sunday.

I saw you; pull your child closer when we passed each other on the sidewalk. But, you didn't see me, playing Santa at the local mall.

I saw you; change your mind about going into the restaurant. But, you didn't see me, attending a meeting to raise more money for the hurricane relief.

I saw you, roll up your window and shake your head when I rode by. But, you didn't see me, riding behind you when you flicked your cigarette butt out the car window.

I saw you, frown at me when I smiled at your children. But, you didn't see me, when I took time off from work to run toys to the homeless.

I saw you, stare at my long hair. But, you didn't see me, and my friends cut ten inches off for Locks of Love.

I saw you, roll your eyes at our leather jackets and gloves. But, you didn't see me, and my brothers donate our old ones to those that had none.

I saw you, look in fright at my tattoos. But, you didn't see me cry as my children were born and have their name written over and in my heart.

I saw you, change lanes while rushing off to go somewhere. But, you didn't see me, going home to be with my family.

I saw you, complain about how loud and noisy our bikes can be. But, you didn't see me, when you were changing the CD and drifted into my lane.

I saw you, yelling at your kids in the car. But, you didn't see me; pat my child's hands, knowing he was safe behind me.

I saw you, reading the newspaper or map as you drove down the road. But, you didn't see me; squeeze my wife's leg when she told me to take the next turn.

I saw you, race down the road in the rain. But, you didn't see me, get soaked to the skin so my son could have the car to go on his date.

I saw you; run the yellow light just to save a few minutes of time. But, you didn't see me, trying to turn right.

I saw you; cut me off because you needed to be in the lane I was in. But, you didn't see me, leave the road.

I saw you, waiting impatiently for my friends to pass. But, you didn't see me. I wasn't there.

I saw you; go home to your family. But, you didn't see me. Because, I died that day you cut me off.

I was just a biker. A person with friends and a family. But, you didn't see me.

EVEN IF YOU DON'T LIKE US, RESPECT OUR RIGHTS TO RIDE WHAT WE CHOOSE AND TAKE A FEW EXTRA SECONDS TO BE SURE WE'RE NOT IN 'YOUR' WAY –

             LIVE TO RIDE . . . RIDE TO LIVE

LIFE WOULD BENEFIT IF WE ALL TOOK TIME TO READ THIS...ANNA

Footprints..... 

You left footprints on my soul.
One day unexpectedly
Your feet stepped onto
The sands of my soul
And left footprints of love
At the bottom of my heart.

In your own way
You showed me that people
Aren't always what they seem.
Because of you
I give people the benefit of the doubt
And look much further
Than just skin deep.

You are my safe haven.
When my world is falling apart
Or everything is just right
It's you I turn to.
I cry out to you in the night
Sending my words on the wind
Hoping, that somehow, they reach you.

From the moment I laid eyes on you
I knew I'd seen an angel in disguise.
You didn't know it then
And might not realize it now, but

You left footprints on my soul.
One day unexpectedly
Your feet stepped onto
The sands of my soul
And left footprints of love
At the bottom of my heart.

You are my rock
My stronghold
The one who catches me when I fall.
You are my hope
My guidance
The one who picks the pieces up off the ground.

Your voice is music to my ears
Your name a symbol of unforgettable memories.
I keep you in my prayers
As well as my heart.
There's no possible way
That I could forget about your unique personality.
My memories of you
Live on inside me.

How will I ever thank you?
How will I ever show you my appreciation?
I'll have to send it along the breeze
Hoping that it finds you
No matter where you are.
(may peace,love,harmony,health and joy be always with you..god bless)

THE GIFT OF THE MAGI, by O. Henry ... posted for a good friend One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas. There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating. While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad. In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young." The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good. Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim. There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art. Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy. So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet. On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street. Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie." "Will you buy my hair?" asked Della. "I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it." Down rippled the brown cascade. "Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand. "Give it to me quick," said Della. Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present. She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain. When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task. Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically. "If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?" At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops. Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty." The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves. Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face. Della wriggled off the table and went for him. "Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you." "You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor. "Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?" Jim looked about the room curiously. "You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy. "You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?" Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on. Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table. "Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first." White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat. For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone. But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!" And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!" Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit. "Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it." Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled. "Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."

Q. What's the height of conceit? A. Having an orgasm and calling out your own name.

From behind, You wrap Your arms around me pulling me into You, holding me near as You close Your eyes and breathe me in Your lips softly brush against my skin... Tenderly kissing the base of my neck the dance begins, between each exquisite step Your tongue strokes with each bite followed by a kiss, leaving the sweet taste of me on Your lips Enthused by the incoherent soft sounds of my breathing Your mouth explores and discovers the journey up my neck With raspy breaths You whisper "I Love you" As I lose myself in the sweet dreams of Our kiss....

--- ONE ---- Tonight, as You read this, I would like You to imagine coming home to me greeting You at the door and leading You to the bedroom, where I undress You and then myself and guide You to a nice hot bath that I have drawn for You.... Candles are laid out around the bathroom and the water has been scented to Your satisfaction... I hold Your hand as I slide into the tub and You take your place behind me and I rest myself against You, a soft sigh escaping Your lips....You tell me This is where You take over... You cradle me in my arms and begin washing me slowly from behind, running Your hands over my skin until it squeaks that clean sound and You pull me back against You telling me to close My eyes and rest. Then You rest Your hands on my breasts and whisper in my ear " I am here for you, Today, Tomorrow, Forever ...as long as it takes...". We both relax, and enjoy the solitude of just being together. You are my Strength, my Energy, my Lover, my Inspiration, and my Best Friend .... We both sit in the bath, cooing and sighing and cuddling for hours and hours, silence surrounding US, except for the occasional drip of the faucet... and as the rest of the world fades away, We take Our solace in once again becoming.... "ONE"

Straight From the Vine Mood: amused, An old Italian man lived alone in the country. He wanted to dig his tomato garden, but it was very hard work as the ground was hard. His only son, Vincent, who used to help him, was in prison. The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament. Dear Vincent: I am feeling pretty bad because it looks like I won't be able to plant my tomato garden this year. I'm just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. If you were here my troubles would be over. I know you would dig the plot for me. Love Dad A few days later he received a letter from his son. Dear Dad: Not for nothing, but don't dig up that garden. That's where I buried the BODIES. Love Vinnie At 4 a.m. the next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived and dug up the entire area without finding any bodies. They apologized to the old man and left. That same day the old man received another letter from his son. Dear Dad: Go ahead and plant the tomatoes now. That's the best I could do under the circumstances. Love Vinnie