WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF REPOGIRL

1. THE LIFE OF A REPOGIRL IS ALWAYS INTENSE

"John Wayne was a fag... "

Rocket J Squirrel.
February 2, 1995 - March 3, 2008.
We love you, Pot Roast

To quote Harry Dean Stanton: I ain't no commie... I live in Florida with my husband and our young daughter. You know how the saying goes, Yankees by birth, FLORIDIAN by the grace of God. My hubby is a Bostonion, I'm a Jersey girl by way of Florida--and yes, I consider myself a southerner anyway.

I spent eight years in Boston. Don't ask me why I left the tropics for New England--I think, in my naivete, it had something to do with a youthful search for culture and excitement. Heheheheheh, yeah... I like that one too... anyway... I digress. So... my trip to Boston: Did I find "Cultchah"? Nah. I found lots of snow, elitists, leftists, and clannish townies. Thank God we're back in the South, where people are friendly, culture is available, and snow is just a bad, bad memory.

We live in paradise with our Rottweiler, Ursa, and a bunch of dumb cats. Life revolves around my Moms group, triathlon training, our family and friends, and watching Adult Swim on Sunday nights. The Venture Brothers, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, and Futureama are staple viewing. If you've ever watched Mission Hill, you'll understand my husband and me lot. That was our life up in Boston: a goofy assortment of friends, from comic book geeks and Generation X Slackdom to hippie liberal peaceniks and everything in between.

2. A REPOGIRL NEVER GOES CRYING TO THE MAN

I used to have fuscia hair in the 80s, and it always bugged and confused my friends that I was a staunch Reaganite as well as a hard core punk (I'm still both). I always said, Hey--if Johnny Ramone can do it--so can I. I drive a freakin' MINIVAN these days -- an ultra sleek, silver Honda Odyssey a/k/a Optimus Prime. It's got gps, DVD and heated seats. It keeps my girls (Beeber and Ursa) safe when I drive them in it, so it's just aces with me.

I guess I'm best described as a rock n roll soccer mom. I may not look like the average conservative, some on the freep might even call me a RINO or someone trying to prolong childhood for as long as possible. I say:

"FYE ON THEM! I got my priorities straight, and don't need to wear a pearls and twinset or listen to the wonderful song-stylings of Christie "The Nostril" Lane to prove it."

Credit is a sacred trust, it's what our free society is founded on.
Do you think they give a damn about their bills in Russia?

I SAID, DO YOU THINK THEY GIVE A DAMN ABOUT THEIR BILLS IN RUSSIA?

Read David Horowitz, Barbara Olsen (R.I.P.), PJ O'Rourke and William F. Buckley Jr. I used to be a dittohead until I discovered Laura Ingraham and Michael Medved.

I'm a deeply-closeted conservative. My close friends and family know me (and most of them are conservatives anyway...) but I work in the Arts -- a field well known for its tolerance and intellectual honesty -- especially when it comes to Conservative thought -- NOT. I'm a fiction writer (almost published!) who rubs elbows with some big names, but can't "come out" for fear of that ever looming blacklist (that doesn't exist, until you mention you like George W. and THEN, for some reason, they stop taking your calls...) I'm working on it, though. If Frank Miller and Tom Wolfe can do it, hell... maybe I can too.

By the way, here's a little something for the heathen ragheads. I'm a Christian (RC) punk rocker girl who refuses to walk five paces behind some inbred, stuck-in-the-7th-century, meteor-worshipping child-molesting savage. I've got a daughter, too -- and the term she-devil doesn't even BEGIN to describe me when it comes to protecting her.

Choke on this you cowardly, box cutter wielding sand-bitches:

3. A REPO GIRL DOES HER BEST THINKIN' ON THE BUS

My best friend.

Rule 1: Don't mess with Texas.
Rule 2: Don't mess with a Rottweiler from Texas.

She's a good girl.

Life is good when you're Ursa.

The love of my life, my daughter Bebe.

Okay, so she's not Cinderella, but Snow White will do.

In Memoriam

My Dad was One Kool Kat

R.I.P. First Lt. Jimbino.
We'll do you proud.

Lt. Jimbino was a remarkable man. Born in Wichita KS, in 1917, he lived through the Great Depression and both world wars, serving his country in the Army Air Corps from 1942 to 1950. After leaving the service, he pursued his greatest passion: art. He was a successful commercial artist in New York for many years, before moving his family to Florida to start his own publishing business. Upon retiring in the 1989, James re-enrolled in art school and became a freshman at the age of 73.
He was a man of many interests and passions. He studied several languages, most notably Spanish, and made several trips to Guatemala while in his late 70s. He volunteered his time at a school in Indiantown, FL where he tutored migrant workers in English.
He was known for his quick wit and an almost uncanny ability to come up with the most head-slapping, eye rolling puns. He is survived by his five children, and one grandchild, Beatrice.
On April 25, 2006, he passed away peacefully in a Winter Park, FL hospice, and was reunited with his beloved wife Ben Eva, his faithful Golden Retriever, Tycho and the Little Rumbler, the oldest brother we never knew.

Thanks for serving this country, Dad. You fought for something that so many people take for granted these days. I don't take it for granted, Big Guy, and neither do the people on this Forum. I miss our daily talks after Rush Limbaugh, our iced coffees at Barnes and Nobles, the poetry, and all those geography quizzes.

You were the best dad I could have ever asked for, because you made me tough. The Original Bohemian Conservative.