This Post Brought To You Courtesy of Eliot Spitzer

(Seriously, I originally wrote the following mess quite a while back and just shoved it to the back of the drawer, but since this whole Spitzer thing broke, I can't resist putting this up for the world to see. Fasten your seatbelts - it's gonna be a bumpy ride.)

Ok, so this post is going to be pretty much chock-full of overgeneralizations and stereotyping - you've been warned. And this post may or may not be influenced by the fact that drunk men keep showing up on my doorstep - I'm not sure.


I was listening to the song "Roberta" by Billy Joel, which is basically a love song to a prostitute. And I got to wondering why men tend to romanticize prostitution. I mean, other than the fact that they can hand over some money and get laid, no strings attached, what's the fascination? It's just a business transaction. Most hookers I have seen are not exactly overly attractive. So why would a guy pay to sleep with someone he would not sleep with for free? Unless, of course, he can't get anyone to sleep with him for free. But why would you want to have sex with someone who's only doing it because you're paying her? That just seems kind of demeaning. (To you, not to her). I guess if you're horny enough,it just doesn't matter? Oh, and when a woman sleeps around for free she's a slut, but if she gets paid for it, that's ok? Oops, don't even get me started on the whole "slut" thing. Ditto the Madonna/Whore complex. I just don't have time to go into it right now.


So then I got thinking about strippers. While men fantasize about prostitutes, they go nuts for strippers. Maybe because men rationalize that strippers are not prostitutes? Um, better check your sources, guys. And while strippers are generally better looking than prostitutes, they're still not someone you'd really want to take home to mom. Or is that the attraction? Oh, and what do strippers do when they're too old to strip anymore? Go back to school and become nuclear physicists? (Oooh, am I implying that strippers are dumb? Let's put it this way: If you think that stripping is a viable career option, you're maybe not the sharpest tool in the shed. And yes, I know that it can be very lucrative, but taking off your clothes for money? Come on. Although, hey, it's your decision. I'm not saying it's wrong; I'm just saying .... oh, hell, I don't know what I'm saying.)


Moving right along, let's talk about porn. I have nothing against porn. Watching porn can really liven up a relationship that's maybe a little stale. But I don't understand men's complete and utter fascination with porn. I mean, while porn is a turn-on, if you've seen one porn movie, you've basically seen them all. And I don't understand watching porn by yourself. Really, unless you're watching porn with a partner, your options for action at the time are kinda limited. (To your HAND - hahahahahaha! Sorry, that was gross. But true.) Oh, waaiiiiittt a minute!! I just had a little glimmer of insight there. And I don't wanna talk about it! Ok, let's talk about it. To me, masturbation is something you do when you're horny and there's nobody around to have sex with. A poor substitute, at best. But maybe to guys, sex is sex is sex? Is masturbation sex on a par, quality-wise, with real sex, for men? Is that why they jerk off all the time? Oh, folks, I can't believe I'm writing about this. I should be blushing right now, except I'm not.


Remember when you first found out about sex? And at first you were all, "oh my God that's GROSS ew ew ew", but then you got a little older and the hormones kicked in, and sex was the most fascinating thing EVER?! And all you wanted to do was hold hands WITH A BOY OH MY GOD, and kiss, and sometime in your mid-teens, have sex? Yay sex!! Then you got a little older, and here's where men and women tend to part ways. Once the initial fascination over the whole thing wears off, it seems to me that women just accept the whole sex-with-other-people thing as just another interesting facet of life. Confusing sometimes, joyful sometimes, just like everything else in life. But men never grow out of that "oh my God it's SEXSEXSEX!!!" thing. It's like they just never grow up where sex is concerned. And yes, I do enjoy sex - very much so. It's just not an all-consuming, mystical thing for me. When it happens, it's great. And when it doesn't happen ..... well, it's not the be-all and end-all of life. Just a part of it. An important part, granted, but just a part.


Ok, I know this was kind of a random mess - just thought I'd throw it out there and see if anyone wanted to posit any explanations for men's fascination with all things sex. I mean, am I being really naive here? Is there something wonderful and magical about prostitutes and strippers of which I am not aware? Is it like some big secret that everybody knows about but me? Are people going to comment, like, "Oh my GOD you are an idiot let me spell it out for you!" Please, do. Because I'm afraid that maybe I'm really missing out on something basic here that I should know.


Oh, and if anyone wants to comment something along the lines of, "Gee, I sure can see why YOU don't have a boyfriend!!", go right ahead! I'm kind of expecting something along those lines, and I'll be disappointed if it doesn't happen!


And I KNOW that Billy Joel is lame, lame, lame. But some of his old stuff still holds up. Not much, but some. I defy anyone to listen to "The Entertainer" and not enjoy the shit right out of it.

Oh, and Eliot? Keep it in your pants, man. PLEASE.

Note to Self

You know that spot in the driveway between your car and P's car? That spot that just looks wet?

It's not wet. It is, in fact, solid ice. And if you should try to walk there, you will slip and fall and land right on your tailbone and it will be extremely painful.

Just thought you might want to know.

Sixteen

Wednesday would have been Rocky's sixteenth birthday. I was looking through old photos, trying to pick out some good ones to put with his ashes, when I came across some from when I first brought Rocky home. He was six weeks old when I picked him out of his litter of strays, and I had to wait a couple of weeks until he was fully weaned before I could bring him home. Until looking at those old photos, I had forgotten how impossibly tiny he was back then. Just a little ball of fluff.

What a cutie! (The cat, not that horrible chair.)

Transformation

I wrote earlier about the Blue Morpho butterflies in the botanic garden. They were quite large; about three inches tip to tail. Here is one with its wings closed:

And here is one with its wings opened:

Pretty cool, no?

Things You Do Not Want To Hear From Your Pilot

1. (on the runway at DFW) "Folks, we seem to be having some electrical problems ......."

2. (in the air) "........ sorry about the turbulence ........"

3. (on the runway at Philly) "We're currently 13th in line for takeoff...... " followed shortly by, "they just let a few planes in ahead of us ....... "

Amazingly enough, I made it there and back with only short delays. Yay!

Ashes

I took the day off yesterday, as I figured I'd probably be pretty tired from my day of flying on Monday. I was correct! I got home around 8:30 p.m., went to bed at midnight, and slept until almost 11 a.m. It was another day of crappy weather, with sleet! and rain! and freezing rain! You know the drill. I was ready to go right back to Texas.

I packed up Rocky's leftover food and took it to the Animal Care Council, which runs a cat shelter. I had never been there before. It was really spacious and clean, and it did not smell like cats at all. Impressive! All the cats looked well-cared-for. They keep the cats in big rooms with couches and chairs and cat-climbing toys.

Then I went to the vet's and picked up Rocky's ashes. I brought them home and put them in the box my sister and I picked out. The package of ashes looked kind of lonely in the box, so I went to the craft store and got some potpourri to put in the box. That looked better. I put the bag with Rocky's fur clippings on top of the ashes. It's comforting to have him home.

Butterflies!

Today we went to the Fort Worth Botanic Gardens. They were having a special program called "Butterflies in the Garden". They have a huge conservatory there filled with all kinds of tropical plants and flowers and trees, and in March, they release literally thousands of tropical butterflies into the conservatory. You can go in and wander around and look at all the beautiful butterflies - it's really spectacular.

There was one species of butterfly there, called a Blue Morpho, that everyone was trying to get a picture of. When its wings are closed, it's just a dull brown, but when it opens its wings, it's a beautiful shade of iridescent blue. The Blue Morphos were just flitting around, never landing long enough for anyone to get a good photo (and there were people there with cameras that put mine to shame). Finally, just as my sister and I were getting ready to leave, one landed right in front of me and opened those blue, blue wings. I managed to get several photos, and just as other people with their fancy cameras were coming up and getting their gear ready, it closed its wings again. Heh.

We had a buffet brunch at the restaurant there, which was very good. (I highly recommend the chocolate cake.) I swear, I've eaten more meals "out" in the last few days than I had in the previous twelve months combined. Yum!

Tonight there are supposed to be quite bad storms here. Otherwise, the weather has been just beautiful the entire weekend. Tomorrow, it's back to the Frozen North for me. Blech. But, I think these few days with my sister have really helped improve my mindset (she is such a good listener/advisor/friend!), and hopefully the memory of this warm weather will carry me through until spring up North.

Random Notes From Texas (!)

1. It was in the seventies today and sunny. I wore shorts! I can prove it! I have pictures!

2. Arlington is much bigger than I thought, with a population of over 330,000 people.

3. We drove around the new Dallas Cowboys stadium, which is under construction and very impressive. My sister stopped so that I could get some pictures for the guys at work. The new Cowboys stadium is right across the road from the Ballpark at Arlington, the home of the Texas Rangers baseball team.

3. We had lunch yesterday at my sister's country club. Impressive!

4. My sister and I made a deal - I would clean her patio furniture and she would prepare my income tax returns (which were complicated by last year's craft show sales). So yesterday, she got clean patio furniture and I got my taxes done. Sweet!

5. I introduced my sister to YouTube last night. She enjoyed the Sarah Silverman/Jimmy Kimmel videos as much as I did, which I guess goes to prove that sense of humor is in some part genetic. (By the way, I have never liked Sarah Silverman, but that Matt Damon video? Brilliant.)
6. We wore our matching "Bad Daughter Leading a Sinful Lifestyle - Texas Tour 08" t-shirts today. Heh-heh.

7. After my poor sister chauffeured me all over town(s), I found a box that I liked for Rocky's ashes in an antiques store. It's a little metal hinged box, and I think it will suit him.

8. As part of our search for a box for Rocky, we went to Trader's Village today, which is supposedly the largest flea market in this part of Texas. Neither my sister or I were impressed. Too much new crap, not enough neat old stuff. But, the people-watching was fun.

9. Beef brisket barbeque is very good. Chicken-fried steak, not so much. But the white gravy they serve with it is very, very good.

Guest Post!

My sister Texas, with whom I am staying, has graciously agreed to do a guest post! This is her first ever blog entry. May I now present my sister Texas, with her terrifying true tale of The Cannibal Mice of Conklin Ave. Take it, sister!

Hi! Many moons ago I bought a really old home on Conklin Ave (1880's). Old stone foundation, slate roof, etc. It was just a little townhome, two story. The first major renovation was the bathroom, up on the second floor above the kitchen. What a mess! They had to rip it all apart - there was a full flight of stairs in the bathroom going up to the attic. Anyway, when they were finished, I was in the kitchen one night and heard this scrabbling noise. I looked all around and couldn't see anything, so I started opening the cabinet doors one by one. Finally I opened the doors above the stove and there were six mice eyes looking at me. I slammed the doors shut and decided that they would have to find their own way out. Well I guess that the workers had sealed off the bathroom floor (above the cabinets) while they were there and there was no way out. Several weeks later I summoned the courage to open the doors again and found that one mouse had eaten the other two, leaving only little puffs of fur and bones. And then there was just that one fat mouse staring back at me. Totally freaked out, I did the only logical thing, which was shut the cabinet doors again. What the fate of the last mouse was, I will never know. I never opened those cabinet doors again.

(RockyCat) - Thanks so much for that guest post! Let's hear it for my sister!!

Howdy, Y'all!

Sorry - I just couldn't resist.

I MADE IT!!! I'm in Texas!!! Ahahahahahaha!!

The flights were only delayed a little bit, and I'm actually here - and it was seventy and sunny here this afternoon. For comparison, it was eleven degrees on my back deck when I left this morning.

I hope a little warmth will do me some good.

Disconnect

I petted Rocky as he died, but somehow his death does not seem real to me.

I (supposedly) leave for Texas tomorrow, but somehow that doesn't seem real either.

I don't know where I am right now, but it's not here.

I Wanna Be Sedated

It's snowing! Again! And the snow is supposed to mix with sleet and freezing rain and little pellets of plutonium and god only knows what else. How much snow will we get? It all depends on which radio station you listen to! Maybe 2 - 4 inches!! Maybe 3 - 6 inches!! Maybe 8 - 12 inches!! Take your pick!!

Just shoot me now.

In other news, a relative just e-mailed me with condolences on the death of my cousin, (insert name here). The only problem is that I have no idea who (insert name here) is. So I just now e-mailed another relative, asking who (insert name here) is. And I feel really really bad, because what if I was, like, best friends with (insert name here) when we were kids? And now I don't even know who she is.

You might not want to ask me to plan the next family reunion. Because evidently I don't even know who I'm related to.

Army

"Well, I thought about the Army
Dad said, 'Son, you're fuckin' high'".........

From "Army", by Ben Folds Five

Right now, this song is about the only thing that cheers me up. I put it on "repeat", crank it up, and dance around the kitchen. Is fun.

Thank You

I just wanted to say thank you to everyone for all of your kind words, especially Letti and Exador, who I know just faced losses of their own.


I will resume posting soon. Right now I am still in that spontaneous-breaking-into-tears stage. (At the grocery store! On the phone with the cable company! In a meeting with a client OMFG! Right now as I am writing this!)


And for those of you who are rolling your eyes and thinking, "will she just get over it already!?!", I have two words for you, and I'm pretty sure you can figure out what they are.


Oh! And if you are at work, and you hear that a co-worker has to make a decision regarding their pet, just extend your condolences. It is NOT A GOOD TIME to launch into a heartbreaking story about the death of your own pet, complete with tears and a segue into grave-digging in mid-winter. DO NOT DO THIS.


Thanks again, everyone. Your words have helped me more than I can say. This would have been much more difficult without you.

Rocky

March 1992 - February 19, 2008

Goodbye, my friend.

Green

While waiting for x-rays to develop at the vet's yesterday afternoon, I looked out the window and there were little green shoots poking up from the ground. It gave me a little hope that even though I am awash in sadness right now, the world is turning, and I will not feel this sadness and grief forever.

I found out yesterday that the "List" does indeed work. Rocky had an awful time Saturday night, and when he wasn't doing any better by yesterday afternoon, I made the call. The vet asked me to meet him at the office ("as soon as you can get there"), and when I arrived, the vet's wife, who is also one of his assistants, had come along as well. Those two people used their entire Sunday afternoon (a day when they were not even on call) to try to help Rocky.

They put Rocky in an oxygen tent to try to get him comfortable, and we discussed the options. The vet wanted to get some x-rays, do a fecal sample, and go from there. He explained that if things looked grim from the x-rays, it may be time to make a decision. He said he had basically tried everything he could, and if the x-rays looked bad, he could give me a referral to the Cornell Veterinary School, who are the local go-to guys for tough cases. I said that I was not willing to let Rocky suffer any further, and that if the x-rays looked bad, I wanted to ...... well ...... you know.

The vet developed the x-rays, and said that they did not look any worse than the previous x-rays. He explained that Rocky's decline might have something to do with stuff trying to work its way out of his lungs. The fecal tests came back negative, which means there is probably not a parasitic infection.

Because Rocky is bright-eyed and eating and drinking well, the vet suggested we give it one last shot. So they switched his antibiotics, and currently he is on oxygen 24/7. The vet said that if Rocky is going to turn around, he will do so by tomorrow. If tomorrow comes and he is still not better, we are going to ...... you know. Because I will not allow him to suffer. I will not wait until he is glassy-eyed and suffocating. I feel that this is the last, best thing I can do for him.

There Is, Indeed, A "List"

While at the vet's yesterday afternoon, the vet let me know that although his office would be closed this weekend, another local vet would be taking his emergency calls. Then he said, "We're going to put you on the "list". If you need to call this weekend, and you get the answering service, just tell them you're on the "list", and they'll put you right through to me". Hmmm. I always suspected such "lists" existed, but I never knew for sure until now.

Comforting and disquieting, all at the same time.

The vet called last night with the results of the lab work from yesterday. He said that Rocky had a very high white blood cell count. I said, "that means cancer, right?" And he said, "no, that means infection, as opposed to cancer". He said that he was actually encouraged by the finding, because it will help to narrow things down, and it is pointing away from cancer. I have to take his word on this, because I know nothing about things medical.

So, Rocky will continue on the antibiotics, and we go back on Monday for more x-rays.

Rocky Update

Rocky seems to be breathing a bit easier after starting the antibiotics. Although I must say, they are giving him the most spectacular case of "the runs" I have ever seen.

The vet's office just called. The vet tech said the lab tests revealed "no significant findings". When I asked if that was good or bad, she said, "good".

The vet wants to see Rocky at 2 o'clock today, I assume for more x-rays.

Again, please wish Rocky luck.

Right Now

Right now, Rocky is at home, on massive doses of antibiotics, on the off chance that they might help.

Right now, there are no answers. We are waiting for the lab results from the needle aspiration.

Right now, I have to go. Right now.

Maybe a Cough Drop Would Help?

Rocky has to go to the vet tonight. Several weeks ago (right about the time the vet switched his arthritis meds, it occurs to me now), he started in with a "hairball cough". If you have a cat, you know what I'm talking about here. He never actually puked up any hairballs, just coughed. I kept thinking it would go away, and then I started thinking maybe I should call the vet ..... and ...... yeah. Time passes. You know how that goes.

So here it is several weeks later, and yesterday he started in with what I call "wet breathing". Ewwwwwww. You know how when you have a cold, and you're all congested, and it sounds like you are breathing underwater, because your lungs are so full of crud? And you're just kind of ..... wheezing? Yeah. That's what Rocky's doing. And when you combine "hairball cough" with "wet breathing", that's a pretty scary sound right there. Oh! And when he purrs, it sounds like a freaking FREIGHT TRAIN.

While it really doesn't seem to bother HIM at all, it is freaking ME the fuck out. So at 11:30 last night, I was up in the attic in my PJs, hauling down the humidifier, then rummaging through my desk looking for the instructions, and getting the whole thing set up, trying to ease poor kitty's labored breathing.

It didn't help. So! At five o'clock tonight, we have a date with the vet. Hopefully we can get this breathing thing straightened out, because it is scaring ME to death. Oh, and while we're there, his nails need to be clipped back, and he's got these weird lumps on his neck, and I think it's time to try some new arthritis meds, and he needs some more flea stuff, and ..... we could be there for a while.

Wish us luck!

But Isn't That What Blogging Is?

Cartoon in The New Yorker:

Two women are at a cocktail party. One woman says to the other: "Tonight I'll be performing a monologue about where I like to shop, my hair color, and something my mother did that upset me."

Yep, that's my blog.

Garbage

Oh, the moon! Just a bright little sliver hanging in the sky. Moonlight is sharper, more brilliant when it's very cold out. And the stars were bright bright pinpricks scattered across the dark.

That's what you get to see when you put off taking the garbage to the curb until 9 o'clock.

Just a Quick Question

If you are against nationalized health care, then what do you have to say to the approximately 45 million Americans who have no health insurance? "Go pound salt"? "I've got mine, tough shit about you"?

Just curious.

Random

Six degrees and windy is just not right. It should be illegal.

Victor on The Young & The Restless is being such an asshat lately that I think he's finally gonna put me off the show for good. Enough is enough. Plus, twenty-odd years is long enough to watch any show. Unless it's the news.

Out of boredom, I decided to paint my bathroom. And because it is February and I am being driven slowly insane by the weather, I decided to paint the ceiling a sky blue, the walls a light green, and the trim "fuschia fizz", which looks exactly like it sounds. So! I got the ceiling done, and it looks really cool. Then I started with the green walls, and ........ I'm rethinking. I mean, it's a lovely light shade of green, but I'm afraid if I do all the walls that color, it'll look like the inside of a toothpaste tube. I'm all for "different", but not "bad different". So, the walls that I've already painted will stay green, but I'm thinking about yellow for the other walls. No off-white for me - I want COLOR, dammit!

It really does pay to buy better paint. I had been dicking around with the cheap shit from CrapMart, but on Sunday I splurged and bought Kilz, and holy cow is it worth it! One coat! Whoopee!

When you are walking around a store with a quart of light green and a quart of Fuschia Fizz, everybody feels free to add their two cents about your color choices. Shove it, peeps - it's my bathroom. And you're sporting a really lousy haircut.

Soup explosions never happen in the microwave at home - only in the microwave at work.

The first new episode of Lost was just so-so, but the second episode rocked, so I'll keep watching. On the other hand, the first new episode of Survivor was so lame that I may never watch that show again. On the plus side, Johnny Fairplay is gone. On the minus side, Yao Min is still there. (I felt stupid even typing "Johnny Fairplay". I hope to god that kid's fifteen minutes of fame are over with.)

Spell-check still not working. WTF?

Did I mention that it's six degrees out? And windy? Suck.

Now He's Literally Trying to Kill Me

I woke up at 5 o'clock yesterday morning to the smell of smoke and the sound of a blaring smoke alarm. I jumped out of bed, turned on the light, headed to the kitchen, pulled a coat on over my PJs, pulled on my boots, headed for the door, and realized ....... wait a minute. While I could smell smoke, there was no visible smoke in my apartment, and while I could hear a smoke alarm, it was not my smoke alarm.


At first I figured that one of the guys in the building had stayed up late, gotten drunk, put a TV dinner in the oven, and then passed out, until the TV dinner incinerated itself to a smoky, smelly crisp. When you live in a building full of guys, that scenario is a familiar one.


I decided to head downstairs, just to make sure it wasn't something more serious, only to discover that Jabba the Hutt, that fat fucking bastard, had dumped his ashtray into his bedroom garbage can and then passed out. Turns out there was a still-burning cigarette in the ashtray, which then caught the contents of the garbage can on fire. And when the smoke and the smoke alarm finally woke the fucktard up, instead of calling 911, he tried to put the fire out himself. And when he could not do this, instead of calling 911, he yelled to the people in the next apartment for help. P., who lives in the apartment next to Jabba's, heard him, ran over, and put out the fire. And then Jabba bitched out P. for not getting there fast enough (!), then settled onto his couch for some quality TV time.


You know, I have been hoping for quite some time that Jabba drops dead soon. I just don't want him taking the rest of us with him.



Oh, and don't forget to vote!

Vote Early and Often!

I entered a shadowbox in a contest that Amy is running at Charming Sam Studio. I'm afraid my entry looks pretty juvenile compared to the others, but please feel free to head on over there and check out all the entries! And vote! (For the best one, of course; not necessarily for mine.)

(Mine is the one by Wendy W. It's kind of hard to tell, but it is a shadowbox. I know it looks pretty amateurish, but I had fun doing it. So there.)

It's That Time of Year

Why is my spell check not working? Is anyone else on blogger having that problem? I apologize in advance for any future misspellings (sp?) until this gets fixed.

Anyway, February in Upstate New York is pretty bleak. At lunchtime today, I took a ride around town just to get out of the office for a little bit. It was rainy and cold and cloudy and dark, and dirty slushy piles of plowed snow were everywhere, along with all the garbage that gets revealed when the snow melts.

The boss has been out of town, so I've been keeping myself busy with paperwork. He just called and said I could go home early if I wanted to, and I actually mentally recoiled because, well, there's nothing to do at home! I'd rather stay here and get paid for being bored than go home and be bored for free! I just can't seem to get excited about any of the "artistic" stuff I'm working on, and I can't seem to muster any energy for dusting, cleaning, etc. Not even my magic steam carpet cleaner interests me at this point. I can't seem to muster any energy for anything - there's a Netflix movie that's been sitting on my coffee table for weeks, and I just .... can't........seem to getting around to watching it.

A funny thing happens with the sidewalks in my neighborhood. Back when the snow first starts to fall (in OCTOBER, thankyouverymuch), my neighbors and I are all prompt about going out and shoveling the sidewalks. By January, we're not quite as quick with the shovel, and by last Friday, when the latest shitstorm hit, NOBODY in my neighborhood bothered with their sidewalks. It was like some collective subconscious decision had been made: "Screw it. We'll wait until it melts".

Oh, and I am so tired of getting up in the morning and getting ready for work in the dark. That's just not right.

SO, does anybody have any coping strategies for this time of year? Because I'm hanging on by my fingernails and fresh out of ideas.

Updated to add: The other night, I was actually thinking about going to the drugstore, picking up a bottle of temporary hair dye, and ...... No! NOOOOOO! Step away from the hair dye! I am usually extremely good at keeping myself entertained, but this winter is just kicking my butt. Hard.

Chatterers

I answer the phones at my office, and believe me, I field some pretty strange calls. From time to time, I'll get what I call a "chatterer" - someone who doesn't really want to hire our company, who doesn't even understand what it is we do exactly, but who just wants to talk.

Some old guy called today and went on and on and on about this building he rents, how it's possibly chemically contaminated, how the landlord isn't giving him any answers, and blahblahblah. He didn't sound crazy, just lonely, and I wasn't that busy, so I just let him go on until he ran out of words (about twenty minutes).

There used to be an old lady who called here wanting to talk about a bridge that was on the road she lived on, and how she thought it was unsafe, but the State said it was ok, and ..... you get the picture. Eventually she'd segue into stories about her grown daughters, her deceased husband, etc. She hasn't called here for a couple of years, and sometimes I wonder what happened to her.

I just think it's so sad that there are lonely, needy people out there who have no one to talk to. Or maybe they do have people to talk to, lots of people, but need more people to talk to. Maybe they could tell their story to everyone in the world and still be looking for someone to talk to.

Maybe that's why I have this blog - so I'll never run out of people to talk to.

I Don't Even Know What That Is

I just dropped my car off for an oil change. The guy asked me which oil change service I wanted, and when I said "huh?" he pointed to a laminated placard on the counter with their three levels of oil change service:

1. "Good" - i.e., You hate your car, and it will soon drop dead to spite you because you bought the cheapest oil change.

2. "Better" - You are demonstrating a little car love, but for pete's sake, don't be a cheapskate, just jump on up to -

3. "Best" - You clearly love your car, and it will run forever because you bought the most expensive oil change.

OK, you all know which one I picked. Anyway, I was reading the lists of services under all the different levels, and the last item on each one was "free courtsey check". And all I could think was, "Shit! I don't even have a skirt on today! Can you even courtsey in slacks?"

Of course, I know they meant "courtesy". And as it turns out, that funky little bow of respect is spelled "curtsy". Which just looks wrong to me; way too close to "crusty". Actually, if it was up to me, "courtsy" would be the correct spelling. Of course, it's not up to me.

This particular place is part of a franchise with, like, nine billion locations, and I am sure that the laminated placard is on the counter in each one. I wonder if anyone besides me is curious about that free "courtsey" check. Probably not. I'm just weird like that.

Philly, I'm Warning You

So! My trip is all rebooked for the end of the month.

The reason I couldn't get out of town last week was because the Philadelphia airport, where I needed to make my connection, was shut down for two days. Due to "weather conditions".

This morning, my boss needed to get to Florida, via Philly. Guess what? Philly was shut down again. Due to "weather conditions". Folks, it is 47 degrees and raining in Philly right now. WTF?

To recap, out of the last five days, the Philly airport has been shut down for three of them.

Philly, I'm warning you. When I come through there later this month, do not fuck with me. Because if you do, I will burn your ass to the ground.

Donut Quiz

I took the donut quiz. According to the quiz, I am a boston creme donut. Now all I can think about is donuts! Yummm, donuttsssss .........

You Are a Boston Creme Donut

You have a tough exterior. No one wants to mess with you. But on the inside, you're a total pushover and completely soft. You're a traditionalist, and you don't change easily. You're likely to eat the same doughnut every morning, and pout if it's sold out.

What Donut Are You?

Not Wallowing In It

Seriously, I'm not, but I do have to say, it's pretty damn depressing to unpack your bag from a trip you never got to take.

Right now, I'm looking at flights toward the end of the month. If I stretch it out into March, the Fort Worth Botanical Gardens has this butterfly thing which I have been assured is seriously cool. (Geek Geek Geek I Am).

It's hard to even think about planning this whole thing all over again. But I will. Back in the saddle, and all that. Where's my inner Pollyanna when I need her?

OH NO YOU DON'T .....

....... oh yes they did.

I got a call at home last night around 7. It was an automated call from US Air, notifying me that my flight out on Saturday morning had been cancelled, and advising me to call to reschedule.

Aaaaggghhhhh! So, I got on the phone with US Air, talking to a person with limited English-speaking capacities (no big surprise there), and he informed me that the flight had been cancelled due to "weather conditions". WTF? It was still twelve hours before the flight, and all it was doing outside was raining. I guess "weather conditions" is code for, "everything is backed up all through the system, we oversold all the flights, and you're shit out of luck".

So. I asked what my options were, and he said I could try to get out Saturday afternoon (I just checked the web, all the afternoon flights are oversold), I could try to go Sunday on standby, or I could try to go out Monday. Oh. My. God. Major suckage. US Air can kiss my butt.

So, I am not going to Texas today. Or, any time in the forseeable future. Because evidently, ONE DAY of ice equals no travel for anyone anytime soon.

My sister kindly talked me down off the ledge last night, and now we are looking at March. Shit.

Grounded

Well, damn, if Upstate New York in the winter isn't just a laugh riot!

I got up this morning at 4:30 and got ready to go. The first sleet was hitting the ground as I got in the car. By the time I got to the airport, the roads were solid ice. First the flight was "on time", then it was "delayed". There is a big picture window in the gate area, and it was covered with a thick sheet of ice. My connecting airport was not accepting any flights, so we could take off, but we couldn't land. Then, finally, after two hours of listening to pounding sleet, "cancelled". And, the flight after that was cancelled. And the flight after that. Etcetera.

Crap. So I'm gonna try the whole thing again tomorrow. Wheeee!

Actually, it's not so bad. I'll leave a day later and come back a day later, so no harm, no foul. I really felt bad for the party of six, who were trying to get to Fort Lauderdale to hop on a Carnival Cruise. "Come back tomorrow" doesn't really work in that case.

Oh, and Listie, I'll try to blog from Texas!

Necessities

I had to go to the grocery store on my lunch break to pick up a few necessities. Necessities, as in:

1. Beer
2. Cat food
3. Cool Whip

The way I see it, the only way it could have been worse would have been if Item #4 was the latest edition of the National Enquirer.

Ready to Go

My bags are all packed, the "to-do" lists are done, and I'm ready to go!

Unfortunately, my flight doesn't leave until Friday.

On the bright side, the high temps are supposed to be in the sixties in Texas while I'm there. I haven't seen sixty degrees since ....... well ......... forever. Bring it on!

Driving Myself Crazy

I don't leave for Texas (yay!) until Friday, and already I have started with the lists. Honestly, I started with the lists back in November, when I first booked the flights. Lists of stuff to take, things to do before I go, etc., etc., etc. (Don't forget to open the curtains before you leave (in the DARK, thankyouverymuch) on Friday morning!)

I got my duffle bag out of the attic yesterday and started packing, because evidently SIX DAYS is not enough time to pack a bag. Yeeesh!

I've got this constant low anxiety level, and it's driving me nuts. I wish I was the kind of person who started packing the night before the trip. In other words, a normal person. I'm worried that I'll forget something. What I keep forgetting is that I'm pretty sure they have STORES in Texas. Where you can buy the stuff you forgot to pack.

Effin' Friday

Fridays are always busy at the office. In addition to everything else, I have to do payroll, prepare all the bank transfers, and pay all the bills for the office, the boss's house, and the boss's vacation condo. Good times! And the last Friday in January is the worst Friday of the year, because I also have to prepare/send in all the year-end tax crap for the Feds and the State. (Of course, I fill out the forms beforehand, but they still have to be approved by the boss, signed, copied, stuffed into envelopes, etc.) Blecchh.

And all the while I'm having all this fun, the boss is asking me for stuff. For so-and-so's phone number. For a client file. For this weekend's weather report (WTF?! Look it up yourself, buddy!) And his desk is not all that far from my desk, so instead of getting up and coming over to ask for something, he calls my name. "Hey, W.......". "Hey, W.......". Over and overandoverandover.

It's like a broken record. Or like a little kid tugging on your pants, going, "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy."*

Grrr. On the bright side, by this time next week, I'll be on my way to Texas!


*No, I personally don't have kids. But I have witnessed this particular phenomenon many times via my friends with kids. And every time I see it, I think, "If I was her, I'd tell that kid to "shut up or I'll GIVE you something to "mommy" about". And that, my friends, is exactly why I never had kids. Know your limitations.

The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,

aka "The Moment of Truth", Fox's new reality show. I am ashamed to admit that I watched some of this last night. The basic premise is that they hook you up to a lie detector, ask you all kinds of extremely personal questions about your past, how you feel about your spouse, etc., and if you tell the truth (even if the truth is that you cheated on your wife, who is sitting right there in front of you), you win some money. Of course, all kinds of dirty little secrets come popping out along the way. They should have named it "Sell Your Soul".

I don't know which I feel worse about: That people would actually voluntarily go on this show, humiliate themselves, and possibly destroy their relationships, all for a little bit of money; or that I actually sat down and watched some of it.

Truly Cross Words

I think crossword puzzles should have swear words in them, just to liven things up a little.

For example, the clue could be "Nothing", and the space would be eight letters long, and the answer would be "JACKSHIT".

Just a thought.

Dipshits

Click on the title above to see some real brainiacs. Hey, kids, don't go on the ice!! Although to their credit, at least they were outside getting some exercise, as opposed to inside chatting on-line with Jabba the Hutt.

This happened at a local nature preserve where I walk all the time. (Although not on the ice - duh!)

You Can Learn Interesting Things Talking To Your Neighbors

I have written before about Jabba the Hutt, that fat fucktard downstairs who has been making my life miserable, off-and-on, for almost a year now. I learned some interesting things about him last night.

1. Even though he looks like he's at least 70, he is in fact only 52. I guess gross obesity (he is so fat he can no longer walk, and has to push himself around his apartment on a wheeled office chair) and chain smoking unfiltered cigarettes ages you in a hurry.

2. I have been supplying the electricity for his oxygen machine. I suspected there was a problem when my electric usage doubled in the months after he moved in, but the landlord said he checked the wiring and everything was fine. Yeah, fine for HIM! (Jabba is the landlord's father). Last night, Jabba's oxygen machine screwed up and he had to reset it, which promptly blew a fuse in MY electrical box. Was I on the phone to the landlord at 8 a.m. this morning? You bet I was.

3. According to another of the downstairs neighbors (I'll call him P), Jabba has been presenting himself on the internet as a buff, twenty-something surfer from California. When P told me this I burst out laughing, until P explained that seeing as how he (P) has a sixteen-year-old daughter who likes to spend time in chat rooms, he didn't find it quite so amusing. Now my skin is crawling.

Not the Sharpest Tool in the Shed

Who needs Mentos, when you can just leave a two-liter bottle of soda outside in single-digit weather and see how long it takes to freeze, then explode?

My neighbor is currently conducting this very experiment on our shared back deck. Sigh.

I Know Who I'm Rooting For .....

...... and it's NOT the team with the player named "Plaxico". WTF? What kind of a crackhead names her kid "Plaxico"? If there is a list of worst kids' names ever, "Plaxico" has got to be in the top ten. It sounds like some kind of manufacturing company. Or a tampon.

Other reasons not to root for the Giants: The whiny preshuzzz quarterback, the field goal kicker who doesn't, and the coach who cold-shoulders afore-mentioned non-field-goal-kicker every time he misses.

Seriously, it breaks my heart that the Packers lost. Although, when you play as badly as they did last night, the outcome is often LOSS.

Go Patriots!

Two Weeks to Texas

I leave for Texas in two weeks. Whoo-hoo!

I'm interviewing a petsitter for Rocky tomorrow. I know, I know, it sounds kind of ridiculous, but so far nobody has volunteered to stop by my house twice a day, dish out smelly cat food, clean up cat puke, and scoop out the litterbox. Hmmm, I wonder why?

Because the petsitter is coming over tomorrow, I've been housecleaning like crazy. I mean, my place isn't really dirty or anything (at least not to me!), but I've been noticing all the little stuff that tends to build up (like cobwebs, and dust, and fingerprints on cabinets. And dustbunnies!). Stuff that I usually don't pay all that much attention to. I hope she doesn't think I'm a complete slob. And I don't know why I'm worried about it. I mean, it's not like I'm living in a landfill or something. Why do we women think we are judged by the cleanliness of our houses? Are we? So much for feminism.

Oh, and should I pack my camera in my checked luggage, or take it on the plane as carry-on? I mean, it's kind of bulky, so it makes sense to check it, but I know people who have had their cameras stolen out of their luggage. Any advice?

And I'm getting my hair cut tomorrow. I'm thinking about getting it cut even shorter. Because I am insane.

Tempted

I had to stop and get gas last night. So I pulled into the station, and it about broke my heart to pump $3.17!!!!-a-gallon gas into my car. Jeezus. I remember being shocked the first time gas went over $1.00 a gallon. I also used to walk to school uphill both ways in the snow, but that's a story for another day.

Anyway, I went inside, forked over a bunch of money, got my change, and was walking away, folding up the money and putting it in my wallet, when I noticed that the cashier had given me five bucks too much change.

And I stood there and thought about it. Gas is so effin expensive these days. The kid didn't even notice he'd given me too much change. He was already waiting on somebody else. I could walk out to my car, hop in, and drive away, five bucks richer.

Then I turned around and headed back to the register. The kid had this look on his face, like, "uh-oh, she's going to bitch that I shorted her on her change". Then I explained what had happened, handed him the five, and he thanked me about fifteen times.

I am a GOOD PERSON, dammit! Despite what my family says. Although there was that moment of temptation.

Midget House

Last Sunday, I went to an Open House for a home that was in my (tiny little) price range. It wasn't a bad house, although they would have had to drop the price by about 25% to get me to consider it. The place needed some work. One problem was the layout. The house itself was small, and it had been chopped up in to teeny-tiny odd-shaped rooms, making it appear even smaller.

The deal-killer was the staircase. The second floor had sloping ceilings, reducing the available square footage. But the ceiling also sloped at the stair landing between the first and second floors. Which meant that every blessed time you went up or down the stairs, you would have to duck when you got to the landing, or risk conking yourself in the head.

WTF?! Who would design something like that? I mean, yeah, the house was built in 1936 - so what? Was everyone under 4' tall back then? Was there some kind of crippling pandemic back in the twenties that rendered the next two generations midgets? If so, it seems like I would have heard about it before this.

Seriously, I just could not bend my mind (or stoop my body) around that staircase. I mean, it was on an exterior wall - they could have just built a stair tower (not sure if that's the right terminology, but I think it's close) or something to accommodate the dang stairs.

So! That was My First Open House. Exciting! And I'll tell you what, when I got back to my apartment, I walked in the kitchen and went, "Aaaahhhhh!" Because my kitchen is about twice the size of the one in that house. Ditto my living room.

Guess I'll just have to keep looking.

I Poured The Rest Of It Down The Sink This Morning

.... the bottle of pre-mixed Manhattans, that is. That stuff was not doing me any favors.

Should Be An Interesting Acceptance Speech

And the award for most alarming mother-daughter display of camel toe goes to:

"Temptress" and her mom on last night's American Idol! At least, I think her name was "Temptress". I'm trying to block the whole thing out of my head, actually.

Seriously, did anyone besides me catch that?! I can't even believe they showed that on network TV! I may be scarred for life.

And I'm not entirely convinced that "Temptress" is even a woman. She looked suspiciously like a guy in drag. A really, really ugly guy. And I kind of doubt that "Temptress" is her real name. Why on earth would you name your child "Temptress?" And the irony is really acute in this particular situation, since the woman (if she is a woman) is butt-effin'-ugly. Oh, and the horrible wig was not helping matters any.

But still, it's the camel toe I can't get over. (Shudder.)

What's the Hobo Sign for "Drunks Welcome"?

I have heard that during the Depression, when lots of jobless men were out on the road, they would carve secret signs onto people's doorsteps letting other hobos know if the families in those particular houses would give them a handout or not.

Evidently I have a secret hobo sign for "Drunks Welcome" on my doorstep, because man, every drunk in the free world seems to show up at my door.

Case in point: Back in October, I wrote about the Halloween party I went to, and catching up with a guy I had briefly dated back in the day. On Sunday afternoon, I had just finished steam-cleaning the carpets (yes, AGAIN, because it is fun!), and I was just kicking back to watch some football, when there was a knock on the door. It was the guy from the party, drunk off his ass. He slurrily explained that he was visiting friends in the neighborhood, my name had come up (uh-oh), and his friends told him where I lived (THANKS VERY MUCH, GUYS. YOU ARE SO DEAD). So! He staggered over to say hello. I did invite him into the kitchen, and he tripped over the doorframe and almost fell. Good times! I explained that I had just cleaned the carpets, all the furniture was moved from the living room (sorta true), suggested that he stop back another time (oh please God no), and got him right back out the door. Bye-bye!

I have no idea why drunks think it's perfectly fine to just stagger by my place and say hello. BoyToy used to show up at my door at three o'clock in the morning, three sheets to the wind, and not understand why I didn't want to get up and party. Other acquaintances have shown up from time to time in similarly inebriated/incomprehensible/falling-down-drunk states.

I've gotta find that hobo sign and scrub it off the doorstep.

Stupid Question of the Day (Or, Possibly, of the Year)

So I was just sitting here thinking about random stuff, and for whatever reason I got to thinking about chicken farming, and I asked myself ............ wait for it ...............

"Do chickens nurse?"


Hahahahahahahahaha!!!!!! I am an idiot.

Because Some Days You Just Want To Bite Something

I would never last for any length of time on a semi-liquid diet. As tasty as Frosties and soup and yogurt are, I have really missed eating solid food. And it's only been two days! This morning I actually ate part of a bagel without my head exploding, and I haven't had to take any Advil in several hours, so hopefully I am on the mend.

I don't know why I have such a hard time with dental pain. I mean, I broke my wrist a few years ago, and I was able to handle that pain with no problem. I guess, thanks to my jaw disorder, I am afraid that when my mouth starts to hurt, there will be no end. It will just keep hurting forever. Because back when my TMJD kicked in for the very first time, I was in pain for two months straight, until I finally found a dentist who correctly diagnosed me and was able to come up with a solution. (Thank you, Dr. Palumbaro!) One doctor with whom I consulted told me that I might just have to learn to live with the pain. For the rest of my life. And then he actually laughed. Bastard. For the first time, I understood just how debilitating and demoralizing chronic pain can be.

Oh, and the fact that I went in for a routine cleaning and came out in immense pain due to the dentist GOUGING OUT THE BOTTOM OF MY MOUTH may had have something to do with it.
Thanks, everybody, for listening to me bitch these last few days, and for offering helpful suggestions. Hopefully, I'll have something cheerier to write about next week!

Dilemma

If the maximum recommended dose of Advil is two tablets every four hours, and you're not supposed to exceed six tablets in 24 hours, that means a coverage time of twelve hours. What's a poor girl supposed to do for the other twelve hours?

I tried going without Advil last night while sleeping, with pretty grim results when I got up this morning. I actually turned around and went right back to bed, making me (very) late for work. Anything stronger than Advil messes with my stomach. Any advice?

Yet Another Dental Diet

Since yesterday morning's debacle at the dentist, I have been able to eat anything I want .... as long as it's in liquid or semi-liquid form. I ate Wendy's Frosties yesterday afternoon until I could not eat any more (for the record, that would be one and a half Frosties). Yogurt is fine, and coffee is my new best friend, as the warmth seems to help with the pain. Oh, and cookies soaked in coffee until they are mush are quite good as well.

Last night I made the tactical error of trying to eat solid food for dinner (the audacity!), and let's just say that it was a mistake. Because then my TMJD (jaw disorder) came roaring back with a vengeance, and now every time I swallow, it feels like something is trying to saw its way out of my jaw and through my ear with a knife.

The dentist's office called last night to make sure I was still alive, and upon hearing that I was still in pain, they asked if I wanted to come in right then. Um, not so much. So then they asked if I would like to come in first thing this morning, and I said that I would like to take a "wait and see" approach. Because frankly, the LAST place I want to be right now is at the dentist's. Gee, I wonder why?

So anyway, when I got off the phone, at first I was all like, "oh, it's so nice that they're all concerned", and my second thought was, "they're all concerned because they're afraid I am going to SUE THEIR PANTS OFF". Of course, as long as they're willing to make things right, I'm not going to sue. But they don't know that. Heh heh. So then I was thinking, "maybe I could get, like, free dental treatment for life!" But that would involve going back to the dentist who just gouged the shit out of my mouth, so I guess I've got to give the whole thing more thought.

Jesus CHRIST!

I had to go to the dentist this morning. For a simple cleaning. The dentist decided she wanted to shave a little bit off my crown, the drill slipped, and I currently have a giant gouge in the bottom of my mouth and a jaw full of novocaine.

At least I got the cleaning for free.

According to an internet quiz....

.... these are the candidates with whom I agree most closely on the issues. I have no idea who Mike Gravel is.

78% Barack Obama
76% Mike Gravel
76% Bill Richardson
74% John Edwards
74% Dennis Kucinich
73% Chris Dodd
73% Hillary Clinton
71% Joe Biden
38% Rudy Giuliani
37% Ron Paul
37% Mitt Romney
30% John McCain
30% Tom Tancredo
22% Mike Huckabee
22% Fred Thompson

Click below to take the quiz! It only takes a couple of minutes. Have some fun!
2008 Presidential Candidate Matching Quiz

Disclaimer: I have no idea if the creators of this particular quiz were pushing a certain agenda, or if they were slanted or biased in any way. But what the heck, it's just an internet quiz. Try not to take it too seriously, ok?

Yep, It's Monday

It just took my boss over two hours to dictate a two-page memo.

I must say, while I do not particularly enjoy working on the weekend, it is much easier to get stuff done without nine million interruptions. (Mr. N., PLEASE STOP CALLING. We are working diligently on your project. Your constant phone calls and "just stopping by" to see how your project is going is not helping anything, and is starting to piss us off. Just sayin'.)

You can also tell it's Monday because I'm grousing about this petty stuff.

Speed Racer

I had to come into work this morning. Taking dictation on Saturday morning can cause extreme drowsiness, so I just drank two cups of coffee, snarfed down a doughnut, and am now working on a can of Mountain Dew.

I am my own little lab experiment this morning - the effects of extreme amounts of caffeine and sugar on the human body. This could get interesting.

UPDATED TO ADD: It's now almost 4 p.m., I'm still at work, and we can add a large Pepsi (the boss ordered takeout for lunch) to the mix.

Oh, and I was originally only supposed to work "for a couple of hours" today. But we all know how that goes.

This Says More About Me Than I Care To Admit

I am inordinately excited about McDonald's bringing back the McRib. Whooo-hoooo!

God, I love McRibs. I read something on line about McD's bringing them back, and then last night, I drove past a McD's and the reader board said something about McRibs, and I almost pulled in and picked up a couple. Because they are good!

Now, I can make myself a pork sandwich at home, with the slivered onions and the pickle slices, even, and it just doesn't taste like a McRib. (I'm sure that's because McD's probably uses all kinds of nefarious additives. TASTY nefarious additives.) And while I very rarely eat fast food (honest! I even brown-bag my lunch to work!), I am going to be eating McRibs until they yank them off the menu again. And I don't care what anybody says. LALALALAnotlisteningLALALAMcRibsaregoodLALALA!!

And for all you food snobs out there who are making gaggy-faces and going, "Oh my God! McRibs are horrible!" Screw you. I like 'em and I'm not ashamed. Much.

Tour T-Shirts

A while back, my sister TIB said some really nasty (and untrue) things about me. My sister Texas and I were laughing about it on the phone (because what else can you do?), and agreed that we should have t-shirts made up chronicling her comments (because we are twelve). And, since I'm heading down to Texas for a visit next month, what better time than the present?

I just can't decide whether I want the design to go on the front or the back of the shirts. What do you think?

It's Like a Heat Wave

I wasn't planning on going for a walk yesterday, but when I got up it was 37 degrees outside. Woo-hoo! So I headed for State Park.

Here's one of the creeks:

And deer:

I just loved this snowman scene in the charcoal grill. I don't know if it started out this grisly, or if the warming temperatures turned an ordinary snowman scenario into snowmanicide:

There were lots of kids on Sled Hill, and tons of cross-country skiers. Which made me think about possibly getting some skis myself, but seeing as how I can break bones just walking (State Park, slipped on ice, wrist, 2002), that's maybe not a great idea.

Santa, How Could You?!

My on-line "Secret Santa" evidently decided to opt out. Sheesh!

Recently Read

1. The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck. I loved this one! (And no, I'd never read it before. Evidently my education was sorely lacking in some respects.) I just finished it a few days ago, and I keep wondering what happened to the Joads after the end of the book (Yes, I know it was fiction. But still.) I 've started doing a little reading about the Dust Bowl since I started this one.

2. Fast Times at Ridgemont High by Cameron Crowe. Itt was a book before it was a movie! Who knew?! I was a little surprised that this one was in the Young Adult section of the library, as some of the content was pretty explicit. Enjoyable, but if you've seen the movie, there's not a whole lot more in the book.

3. Last Night at the Lobster by Stewart O'Nan. This novella is a quick, enjoyable read.

4. Perishable by Dirk Jamison. This is a memoir about a guy whose entire family was basically bonkers. It was OK, but not a "must-read-again".

5. Sister Mine by Tawni O'Dell. I read "Back Roads" by her and liked it, but I couldn't get into this one. Never even finished it, actually.

6. Dishwasher by Pete Jordan. The memoir of a guy who set out to wash dishes in all fifty states. I liked it, but this guy is such a major slacker, he was really getting on my nerves by the end.

7. Right now, I'm reading "Peace Like A River" by Leif Enger, and it's very good. I'll be sad when I'm finished reading it.


So! That's what I've been reading! Does anyone have any suggestions for good books to read?

Score!! At the Thrift Store

Last night after work, I stopped at one of the local thrift stores. I picked up two pairs of pinstriped dress slacks for seven bucks (that's seven bucks for both pairs, not seven bucks each), and a pair of gold-colored, 9" decorative sconces (which will look great over a couple of my doorframes), with the JC Penney $17.99 price stickers still on them, for a buck.

I know some people turn up their noses at the whole "thrift store" thing, and yeah, sometimes you've gotta wade through a ton of crap to find anything good, and yes, you are buying clothes that someone else has worn (admittedly kind of skeevy, but hey, that's what washing machines are for), and yes, you are shopping where the poor people shop, but damn, I love a bargain! And there is no way I could afford my wardrobe if I was buying it retail.

Bringin' the Snark

Just give me a minute, while I grow several inches and put on about a hundred pounds so the Size Large holiday-themed (shudder) sweatshirt I got for Christmas will fit. Large? Seriously? WTF?


Oh, and would anyone like a Jeff Foxworthy "You Might Be A Redneck" page-a-day calendar? No? I didn't think so. I'm still on August 28 of this year's "Bad Cat" page-a-day calendar.


Maybe it's intentional. Is there such a thing as passive-aggressive gift-giving?

I Am Legend

I decided to go to the movies yesterday, and I had it narrowed down to "Sweeney Todd" or "I Am Legend". I had heard that Sweeney Todd was pretty violent and bloody, so I decided to .... go see Will Smith Versus The Zombies! Yay! Probably not the best choice for Christmas day, as it was violent and zombie-ful!

I spent a good chunk of the movie with my hands over my face, peering out between my fingers like a little kid, because, well, ZOMBIES! But it was ok, because there were only about six other people in the theater, and I don't think any of them saw me. I also may have yelped out "Yikes!" once or twice.

The whole "Bob Marley love-is-a-virus" speech was kind of a dud, and I couldn't figure out why they brought in the God factor, but overall I enjoyed it. The computer-generated zombies weren't particularly scary, other than the fact that, Hello, they're ZOMBIES! Zombies=scary, but there were some nifty special effects, and loud explosions (REALLY loud, the volume was cranked), and I was glad I went. And I only got teary-eyed twice (once with the dog, and once with the grenade, for those who have seen it).

Although, afterwards, when I was getting ready to take a walk by the creek, and I had to think it over, because there might be ZOMBIES by the creek, I realized that I may have taken the movie a bit too seriously.

I Swore I'd Never Do This .........

Sorry about that, Rocky. Merry Christmas!

Not Scrooge-y Enough ......

...... to leave a political rant at the top of the blog on Christmas Eve. So, Merry Christmas, everybody!

I Don't Even Know How To Put This

NOTE: This post has had most of the swearing edited out, in honor of it being Christmas Eve and all.

It scares the pants off of me that people might actually vote for Barack Obama just because Oprah endorsed him. Oprah. Effing. Winfrey.


Now, I have nothing against Barack Obama. Heck, I might even vote for him. Might. To be honest, I have not really researched the presidential candidates yet. I figure, I've got almost a year, right? Plenty of time. And you know that there are plenty of candidates currently in the race who are going to disappear off the radar screen completely between now and next November.


But it scares me to think that there are people out there who are not going to do any research at all. Who are too effing lazy or ignorant or who just don't care enough to get off their hind ends and go pick up a reputable newspaper or newsmagazine (NOT the National Enquirer, thankyouverymuch) and find out what these candidates believe and what they stand for (or against). Heck, you don't even have to pick up a paper. Just go on line. Again, to reputable sites. Check your sources.


Unfortunately, there are a lot of people who will not make the effort. But will go vote anyway, because, heck, if Oprah says he's a great guy, that's good enough for me! And that's a shame. Do me a favor: If you are not willing to take the time to be an informed voter, stay away from the voting booth. Just stay home. There are enough jerks out there who will vote for someone just because Oprah (or Chuck Norris, or Curt Schilling, or whoever) said to.


Sidebar: According to a column by Chuck Raasch (who I don't normally read, so don't get all up in my butt if the guy's a tool), the following appears on a Chuck Norris fan club web site: "There is no theory of evolution. Just a list of animals Chuck Norris allows to live". That cracks me up.


Anyhow, here is my point (and I do have one): Your vote is YOUR VOTE. No one else's. Use it wisely. Or just stay home. Seriously. There'll be enough uninformed voters out there as it is. Just look who's in the White House right now. A few more voters doing a little more research could've stopped that rat bastard right in his tracks.

A Little Advice for the Gents

Every year, in addition to my Christmas bonus, my boss gets me a small gift. It's usually a brooch or a bracelet from the local, WAAAY too expensive snooty jewelry store. And the brooch or bracelet is always silver.

Here's the problem. I don't wear silver jewelry. Never have. I do not like silver jewelry. While I wear jewelry to the office every day, it is always gold. (Ok, ok, gold-PLATED. Because I am cheap.) While I am grateful for the gifts from the boss, I always wonder where he got the idea that I like silver jewelry, seeing as how I never wear it.

So! Guys! I know you have not started your Christmas shopping yet, and will not start until Monday evening. And that's ok. But here's the thing: Find out what your significant other would actually LIKE to receive as a gift before you head to the mall. Because those salespeople are pushy this time of year, and you will get confused.

It's ok to ask. Really! A simple, "Honey, what would you like for Christmas?" is just fine. Believe me, she knows how much you earn, and unless she is a total gold-digger, she's not gonna ask for something completely out of your price range. Oh, and if there's advertisements for a certain pair of earrings taped to the fridge, that's a pretty safe bet. Also: You can ask her mother. Moms always know what their daughters like. Although, if your significant other does not get along with her mom, you probably want to avoid this route.

Also: If you have never seen her wear, say, purple, DO NOT BUY HER A PURPLE SWEATER. If she never wears purple, she does NOT LIKE PURPLE. There, that was easy, wasn't it? If she wears a lot of, say, blue and green, a subtly-patterned blue and green sweater is probably a pretty safe bet. But keep the receipt. Just in case.

Finally: That "Lane Bryant" store in the mall? Is for plus-sized women. If your woman is plus-sized, this is a fine store to shop in. If your woman is not plus-sized, she will not appreciate a gift from Lane Bryant. Trust me on this one.

That is all! Hope I helped.

Clash of the Choirs, THE END

You know, I was really just watching this last one out of an odd sense of obligation (you STARTED watching this mess, now you FINISH watching it). So when it got to be, oh, 8:50 or so, I was all, like, "Thank God, just ten more minutes!" But then it got to be like, 8:55, and they still had not announced a winner, and the hostess was all, "Coming up - Michael Bolton performs!", and I was all like, "WTF?", and oh my GOD, they expanded it to two hours. My heart sank. Another HOUR?! Oh, crap.

The hostess's dress was very nice. Classy. And she could breathe, raise her arms, and walk in this one.

Country-singer guy said that he wasn't looking for voices that blend, he was looking for lead singers. For the millionth time, it's a CHOIR competition. Gah. Also, he talked about how he still knew nothing about choirs. Really? After five weeks? That's a slow learning curve. He was probably sitting in a bar doing shots and trying to picking up women while the choir was rehearsing. Oh, and he "lip-synced" his guitar part during the first song.

Team LaBelle did "No More Drama". Basically a solo, but a good solo.

Team Lachey did "What a Wonderful World". Actual vocal harmony - holy shit! (Yeah, bridgett, you're right; let's just cede the solos to the ones who can actually sing - i.e., the black people). I enjoyed this one.

Oh, no, then came another "death story". After which the hostess (talking about the performance), said, "You guys killed it! killed it! killed it!" Oops. Hahahahahahaha.

You know what I'd like to see? A competition between already-existing choirs. "Real" choirs. Doing "real" choral music. Then again, I watch the Drum Corps finals on PBS every year.

And then it was the big moment. And the winner is ......... Team Lachey. The End. Thank God.

bridgett, feel free to chime in!

You Better Watch Out, You Better Not Cry .......

.... you better not pout, I'm tellin' you why ......... Santa Claus is comin' to town!

The boss went to the bank this afternoon to get the cash for the Christmas bonuses. Heh heh.

Clash of the Choirs, Continued

OK, I have to confess, I missed big chunks of last night's show, due to getting all caught up in a vengeance craft project. And basically the only rule in my house is, when doing any craft projects involving glue/mod podge/paint - Kitchen Only!! No messy craft crap in the living room! Because something WILL end up getting tipped over, involving much carpet cleaning solution and swearing.

SO! As far as the hostess's dress is concerned, all I can say is, Domo Origato, Mr. Roboto! Too bad she couldn't lift her arms. Or walk. I'm beginning to think Bai Ling may have had a hand in this.

First up was Team Rowland, singing "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas". They seemed to be having a little trouble dancing and singing at the same time, although they soldiered on admirably. I got to wondering how much rehearsal time they actually had, which was answered later in the show, when someone mentioned something about "five weeks". I'm not sure if that's good or bad. I mean, are they really good for only working on this stuff for five weeks, or should they be a whole lot better after FIVE WEEKS of practice?

Which leads me to a later performance, Team Shelton doing "Home". Singing, dancing, and ..... stomping? What's next, patting their tummies and rubbing their heads? But you had to love Lurch in the striped shirt. He was working so hard, you could just tell he was thinking, "onetwothreeSTOMPonetwothreeSTOMPdon'tfuckitupdon'tfuckitup......."

Oh, and this show was just filled with DRAMA! People whipping out their Cancer Cards left and right, which annoys the shit out of me. I wonder if they had to show their Cancer Cards to get into the auditions.

Team LaBelle did "Jesus Take the Wheel". That song just cracks me right up. Yep, that's what they teach you in Driver's Ed - If you spin out, just throw your arms up in the air and wait for God to take over. (Oops, sorry, it was Cancer Girl #1 singing that one. Uh-oh, then she started crying. Then sobbing. Folks, it's only a matter of time before A Very Special Performance of "Amazing Grace".)

I just caught a little bit of the end of "Flight of the Bumblebee" - Now that's what I'm talking about! Finally! Good stuff! Too bad I missed most of it (sniff).

Oops, team Bolton got sent packing. Once again I call it wrong.

Did Patti LaBelle say she was 63?!!? Paging Dorian Gray! Holy shit, she looks great!

Oh, and at some point country-music guy made some vaguely homoerotic comment about Nick Lachey - WTF?

Team Shelton decided to mash the carol "Joy to the World" with that "Jeremiah was a Bullfrog" song - I can see what they were going for, but, yuck, no. And all of the teams were just flinging the melismas around like loose change. Don't hurt yourself here, gals.

Patti LaBelle soloed on "Over the Rainbow" - Beautiful.

Was it my imagination, or at the end of Nick Lachey's solo, was the hostess interviewing The Lollipop Guild?

OK, so I know this veered wildly from choir critique to song selection critique to choice-of-striped-shirt critique, etc. Like I said, I only caught parts of the show, due to a reluctance to cover my living room carpet with glue/mod podge/paint. Oh, and while I was working in the kitchen, NPR had on a choir concert with a real choir! How refreshing.

bridgett, I'm exhausted. Feel free to jump on in here.

The World Is Against Me

For anyone looking for bridgett's amazing comments on Clash of the Choirs, please scroll down!

Right now, the world hates me. In addition to the roaming gnome kicking my butt, I showed up for a scheduled doctor's appointment Monday at 9 a.m. only to be told ....... I had no appointment! Nope, not on the computer! Not at all! Even though I had written down this particular appointment on all three of my calendars! So .......... did I dream it? WTF?

And then I got this nasty email from someone I ordered a used CD from via Amazon. You see, I had ordered "Streetlife Serenade" by Billy Joel (lame, I know, but the song "The Entertainer" still rocks), and what showed up was "Streetlight Serenade" by someone named Lon Williamson. So I emailed the seller, explaining the situation and asking what to do, and they emailed me back that I had ordered the wrong product. Obviously I am a simpleton who does not know the difference between Billy Joel and Lon Williamson (whoever the hell he is. Amazon has NOTHING by him on their music web site, including the CD that I mysteriouly received). Even though when I checked my order, it clearly said "Billy Joel". But, the seller is graciously refunding my money, even though it was OBVIOUSLY my mistake. Oh really?

Oh, and last Friday, a local department store (hello, Boscov's!) had a coupon in the paper for ten dollars off any purchase of ten dollars or more. Suh-weet! So Saturday morning, I grabbed the coupon, headed for Boscov's, and found a pretty pretty bracelet for twenty dollars that was marked 50% off. That makes ten bucks, right? Less the coupon equals free. Now, I knew they would try to screw me out of "totally free", but I figured I'd give it a try. Sure enough, when I got to the register, the bracelet rang up as $9.99. The cashier explained that I would have to buy something else to get the total up to at least ten dollars in order to use the coupon. I explained that twenty dollars times 50% off equals ten dollars, not $9.99, but no dice. Other customers in the store were complaining about this same situation, but the cashiers were having none of it, and one cashier in particular was being a real bitch. (Not to me, fortunately. I would have raised holy hell.) Thanks for the Christmas cheer, Boscov's!

And I have STILL not heard back from Travelocity with an email confirming my (unwanted) change of plans. And my trip is not showing up on the web site. UPDATE: After emailing customer service at Travelocity, they informed me that once changes are made to an original itinerary, the reservations are no longer viewable on line. Gee, Travelocity, that's really helpful! I can no longer look up my booked flights on line! Way to run a web site! And I'm still stuck flying out of Dallas at six-freaking-thirty in the morning! (Although this does appear to be US Airway's eff-up, not Travelocity's. US Air arbritrarily cancelled the connecting flight I had scheduled. Which worries me: If they are screwing with their schedule SIX WEEKS in advance, what the hell's gonna happen on the day of the flight?)

Oh, and I called the vet's office a day and a half ago about changing Rocky's arthritis meds, and they have yet to get back to me. Although they did, apparently, call here at work last night at 6:30 p.m. (Huh? I asked them to call my home number after 5), but they declined to leave a message. (I know this because we have super-secret spyware James Bond tracking on our phones. If someone calls and lets the phone ring long enough for the voice mail to pick up, even if they promptly hang up without even listening to the voice mail message all the way through, their call shows up. Heh heh.)

The leaky tire that I had repaired a while back is leaking again. Out of the set of four tires Kost Tire & Muffler sold me, all four have developed leaks. Thanks, Kost!

World, please give it a rest. Just a little?

Clash of the Choirs, Night Deux

Since bridgett gave me a shout-out on her blog, I feel compelled to continue with the choir critique. (Ooooooh! Alliteration!) Although there is no way I can review this thing as well as bridgett does it in my comments, here goes.

Once again, the hostess was forced to wear an odd dress, this time involving a napkin ring. And did anyone catch the part where she was all, "and we're SO SORRY one of these fine choirs has to go home", and she actually started to laugh? You go, girl!

First up was team country-guy. Good soloists, but again, I WANT CHOIR! And they should've sped up the tempo. When Michael McDonald did this song (Takin' it to the Streets) on Austin City Limits, he did it about twice as fast, and it really rocked.

Next was team LaBelle. Again with an amazing soloist, but I'm starting to feel like I'm watching American Idol with back-up singers. The song (I'll Stand by You) was ok, and there were good choral vocals at the end. (By "good", I mean "some", at this point.)

Ooh! Commercial Break! "The Celebrity Apprentice". Um, no. Anything involving that gross guy from KISS, I am not watching. Ever.

Now it's the Lachey (sp?) group. "Friends in Low Places"? Really? As a choral arrangement? Bleccchhh. Just no. And the ass-wiggling is getting really tiresome. I think these guys might be the next to go.

Big announcement time! Sent packing is ........ Team Rowland! WTF? Looks like ol' Bolton gets to fight another day. I sure called that one wrong.

So! Here comes team Bolton! And they do this big dramatic segment about how the lead singer lost his voice. Drama! But, um, "lead singer"? IT'S A CHOIR CONTEST, DAMMIT! Oh, my. This is really starting to get on my nerves. But the performance, "Ain't No Mountain High Enough", is pretty good.

Well, that about wraps it up. As I said about five million times in this post, I wish it was less about the soloists and more about the choirs. But then again, I'm picky.

I just hope that folks out there who may have been mulling over joining their local community choir don't think that they have to dress up in skin-tight miniskirts, shake their asses, and sing like Mariah Carey in order to do so. And I hope that all the lovely community choirs out there do not get any big ideas from watching this show.

Clash of the Choirs

As I wrote earlier, I was oddly looking forward to this one. Here's my thoughts:

1. These are really more "show choirs" than traditional choirs. Which is ok, because I understand that they're going for ratings, and a bunch of people with white tops and dark pants standing in tiers? Not so much. But all the jumping around and arm-waving and booty-shaking was distracting from the music.

2. Each choir had one or more soloists, and the rest of the choir was basically singing backup. Which is not really the point of a choir, where, except for rare solo opportunities, everyone is trying to blend in together.

3. Could that hostess's dress have been ANY TIGHTER?!! Poor dear. I wonder how on earth she even got into that thing. Maybe there wasn't even any fabric involved. Maybe they just painted it on. I mean, she did look stunning, but how did she breathe?

4. They auditioned choir members individually, but at no time did I see group auditions. Most choir directors want to audition members both individually and in groups, to see how well they harmonize with others. Being able to sing an alto part while the person next to you is singing soprano is a big part of being in a choir.

5. Speaking of auditions, how big of a tool is that country-music-singer guy? An actual CHOIR DIRECTOR came to audition, and the country-music guy picked his brain and then told him he didn't make the cut. Oh, and country-music guy? LEARN HOW TO READ MUSIC. Jeez.

Sorry for all the ranting. Once a choir nerd, always a choir nerd. Oh, and I predict that Michael Bolton's crew will be first to get the cut.

Isn't It Ironic

According to The Associated Press, "Because of rising demand for ethanol, American farmers are growing more corn that at any time since World War II. And sea life in the Gulf of Mexico is paying the price. The nation's corn crop is fertilized with millions of pounds of nitrogen-based fertilizer. And when that nitrogen runs off fields in Corn Belt states, it makes its way to the Mississippi River and eventually pours into the Gulf, where it contributes to a growing "dead zone" - a 7,900-square-mile patch so depleted of oxygen that fish, crabs and shrimp suffocate."

So much for "eco-friendly" ethanol.

Kick Into Drive

Christmas is almost here! And I somehow find myself stuck in neutral. A couple of weeks ago, I picked out a tree, got it home, got it in the stand (I was going to write "got it up", but saner instincts prevailed), and decorated it. And I bought/made all the presents that had to travel, wrapped them, and got them in the mail. And the cards are done. I was on a roll back then.

But the rest of it? Not so much. I still have to frame a couple of photos for office gifts, wrap my Mom's stocking stuffers, etc., and yet, somehow, mysteriously, none of it is getting done. I've lost my Christmas mojo.

But! I did make Christmas cookies yesterday. Homemade sugar cookies with homemade colored frosting! And sprinkles! I plead temporary insanity. I couldn't find my Mom's recipe for sugar cookies, and calling her and asking is pretty much out of the question, although I probably would have ended up with a reaalllllly interesting recipe. (Mom has Alzheimer's. And no, I'm not being cruel. If you know someone with Alzheimer's, you know what I'm talking about here.)

SO! I hauled out the Betty Crocker cookbook someone gave me for a wedding gift twenty-plus years ago and looked up the sugar cookie recipe, to make sure I had all the ingredients. Almond extract? In sugar cookies? Really? Well, if you say so, Betty!

So I went to the store (that was the day before, actually; this whole cookie mess was inspired by an impending snowstorm), got all the crap, started blending ingredients, and got to the part where it said, "chill at least two hours". Ooooops!

So, out on the porch the dough went, for almost (ok, not really) two hours, and much flour-adding was needed to get that dough roll-able. But cookies were cut out, baked, frosted (the frosting never really "set up", and is really, really gooey) and decorated. And hauled into the office this morning.

Well, even if the rest of the stuff ends up getting done at midnight some night this week (a distinct possibility, given my odd lack of motivation), at least there's cookies.

The Roaming Gnome Can Kiss My Butt

I booked a trip to Dallas in February through Travelocity. Today I got an e-mail informing me that my return trip had been changed. I would now be landing in Philly at 5:30 p.m., with my connecting flight leaving at 3:30 p.m. Huh?

So, I called Travelocity, and my call was answered somewhere in India by someone with limited English-speaking capacities. After half an hour on the phone, I now have to leave Dallas at the ungodly hour of 6:20 a.m., instead of the much more civilized (and originally booked) 1:15 p.m.

Shove it, roaming gnome!

Black Heels to Tractor Wheels: Part Holy Mary Mother of God, I Don't Even Care Anymore.

I mean, COME ON, she's up to Part MCMLXIV, and they haven't even had sex yet. Oh, and speaking of sex, I feel like puking every time she talks about her "hiney tingles".

Honey, you met, you fell in love, you got married, you had kids. The End. Jesus Christ!

And It's Not Even Officially "Winter" Yet ......

It started snowing about a half an hour ago. We are supposed to get 6 to 10 inches today, followed by a Nor'easter* this weekend, followed by temps in the single digits next week.

Does anyone have some sunshine they could spare?



*I really hate that word, "Nor'easter". It's just so .... corny. With that little apostrophe in the middle and all. So .... Yankee. Oh! And has anybody read "Yankee" magazine lately? It used to be this really cute little magazine full of all kinds of quirky articles. And now ... it's like a miniaturized "Town and Country". With splashy layouts of kabillion dollar "cottages". Bleccch.

How Screwed Am I?

Tucked in among some personal stuff at work, I just found a credit card bill with a due date of 12/10/07. Today is the 12th. I don't know how this bill ended up where it did, instead of with my "bill pile", and I wrote the check and will mail it today, but here is my question:

Am I in big trouble? I have never, ever made a late payment before, and I don't know what to expect. Is this going to screw my credit rating? Is the interest rate on the card going to skyrocket (although since I pay my balance in full every month, that's not really a critical issue)?

Advice, please.

Eighty-Two

Number of hand-addressed company Christmas cards I have sent out so far.

Ho Ho Ho! At least I'm getting paid for it.

Oddly Looking Forward To This One

"Clash of the Choirs", that is. I was in choir all the way through school (nerdnerdNERD), and I'm still a sucker for good vocal harmony.

Hey, if other peeps can watch "Dancing with the Stars" without shame, surely I can watch televised choir practice, no?

Possibly the Worst Christmas Song Ever

Now, "The Christmas Shoes", or whatever the hell the name of that song is about the kid whose Mom DIES ON CHRISTMAS EVE, is pretty cringe-inducing. But I'd like to make a case for "The Little Boy That Santa Claus Forgot". I first heard this little gem several years ago, and I still crack up every time I hear it. Because I am strange, and evidently heartless. Here's the lyrics, with acknowledgment going to whoever needs to be acknowledged:


"Christmas comes but once a year for ev'ry girl and boy,
The laughter and the joy they find in each toy
I'll tell you of a little boy who lives across the way;
This little feller's Christmas is just another day.


He's the little boy that Santa Claus forgot,
And goodness knows he didn't want a lot.
He sent a note to Santa for some soldiers and a drum;
It broke his little heart when he found Santa hadn't come.


In the street, he envies all those lucky boys,
Then wanders home to last year's broken toys.
I'm so sorry for that laddie;
He hasn't got a daddy,
He's the little boy that Santa Claus forgot."


I believe that Nat King Cole maybe sang this one. Thanks, Nat, for recording possibly the most depressing Christmas song ever! Oh, yeah, and thanks too for the not-so-subtle inference that kids without Dads GET NO CHRISTMAS. Suck it up, kiddo! Daddy split? Then you're SOL with Santa! Happy Holidays!

Sardines

Because I am evidently illiterate, I discovered this weekend that I had not been feeding Rocky anchovies. Instead, I had bought him a can (tin?) of sardines. It even says so right on the box, "SARDINES".

Which begs two questions:

1. Just exactly how stupid am I?

2. If sardines are not the little end-to-end fish, what are? Anchovies?

I am an idiot. And also sorely in need of some remedial reading lessons.

I Cheated

I assembled and used my Christmas present to myself this weekend. I wanted to wait until Christmas, I really did, but we're talking about a Bissell Powersteamer!* I am in love. This sucka steam cleans your carpets like magic! Oh, and the best part is when you dump out the (unbelievably) dirty water. I could not believe the amount of dirt that came out of my (clean-looking) carpets.

So, looks like I'll have to buy myself something else for Christmas. I mean, there's gotta be something under the tree, right?


*Not a paid advertisement. They can't pay me unless they find me, and that's not happening any time soon.

Anchovies

Oh dear Lord, the cat likes anchovies.


Last week, I gave him some of the fish I was having for dinner (NOT anchovies, other fish), and he really liked it. SO, in my continuing effort to put some weight on him, I thought I'd pick up some fresh fish at the store for him.


Eight bucks a pound? Not so much. Now, Rocky will (for some inexplicable reason) not eat tuna. Tuna juice? Oh hell yes. The actual tuna? Nope. And I am not willing to eat tuna sandwiches for the rest of my life so that he can have his tuna juice fix. So after nixing the fresh stuff, I thought, wait, they selled canned fish other than tuna, right? So I headed for the tuna aisle, and sure enough, there was canned salmon, sardines, and anchovies. The anchovies were the cheapest, so guess which I bought?


I got home and cracked open the tin of anchovies, and OH MY GOD it was gross. For some reason, I thought that anchovies were those little teeny fish that came all packed in the tin head-to-tail. Maybe that's sardines? Cause it sure ain't anchovies, or at least the (cheap cheap cheap) anchovies I bought, which were probably canned in China and contain high amounts of lead and plutonium.


These anchovies? Are gross. Big chunks of grayish-pinkish fishy material, with SCALES, and lots of stinky juuuiiiiccccce. (Shiver) And Rocky? LOVES THEM. Loves loves loves.


Me? I do not know if I can get past the visual. Also the stink factor. The fact that people voluntarily put this stuff on pizza floors me. There oughta be a law.

Oh, and we're not even gonna talk about the post-anchovy litterbox.

My Dad

Me and my Dad:




My Dad was born in 1923. His Dad was a farmer, and his Mom was the Postmistress (do they use that word anymore?) of their small community, and they made it through the Depression ok. He had one brother and two sisters.

At the age of 18, Dad married my Mom, who was 17 at the time (can we say "shotgun wedding", anyone?). He worked for a couple of local companies, then started his own business, and ended up a successful man. He did all this with only a high school diploma.

Dad served in the Merchant Marine and then in the Navy during World War II. He volunteered for the service right after he and Mom were married, and she was pregnant with my brother. My Mom's family was furious, convinced that he had signed up so that he could get out of the marriage. Dad was never sent overseas. He spent most of his service stationed around the Great Lakes area, and returned to Mom when his service was over. They were married for 58 years, until he died.

My Dad always wanted sons. And when his firstborn was a boy, he was elated. Then came a girl. Then another girl, and another, and another. Then, finally, me (also a girl). Legend has it, that when Mom went into labor with me, Dad took her to the hospital, then came home later that night, walked in the door, said, "It's another girl, dammit!", and went upstairs to bed.

Nonetheless, Dad treated all of us girls (and his son, of course), fairly. He was a pretty stern guy, which I did not come to appreciate until later in life, when I learned that sometimes it helps to have a backbone. I do remember one time when I was very small. I was terrified of thunderstorms, and on one particularly stormy evening was pitching a pint-sized fit. Dad took me out to the covered stoop behind the garage, sat down with me, and we watched the storm together. I was never afraid of another thunderstorm.

Even though I swear like a sailor on this blog, in real life, I very rarely swear out loud. Because when I was young, Dad never swore (at least around us kids), and he made it very clear that he did not want to hear swear words. I was terrified of slipping up and swearing in front of him, so I never developed the swearing habit. (At least out loud; I swear on this blog and I swear when I talk to myself.)

Dad loved to tinker with car engines. He developed a love of boating, which eventually led to him buying a marina, which he ran for many years after he sold his first business. (We'll save the story about how he came to be called "Captain Bligh" for another time.) During this period, Dad and Mom spent summers at the lake and winters in Florida.





Dad died of cancer in 1999. He passed away one night, six weeks after his diagnosis. In a way, I think it's good that he passed away before Mom's Alzheimer's became obvious - I think it would have broken his heart to watch her deteriorate. I miss him.

Holy Shit Is It SHORT!

I got my hair cut on Saturday. I had decided that I was ready for a pretty drastic change, and I got one. Now I can't decide if I like it or not. I mean, I like the cut very much, it's just that when I look in the mirror .... I don't look like me! I look like someone else. I look like Melanie Griffith in Working Girl (The after haircut, not the before haircut.)

It's very strange.

Back to The Spec That Would Not Die. Yes, we're one week in and counting.