Remission

Oy. I've been remiss. Does that mean I'm in remission...or that my writing is? Anyhoo...I've started a thousand blog entries in my head and none ever make it to paper…let alone the “intarweb.”

This looks very much like it’s going to turn into one of those “bulleted posts,” you know, the kind that happen when you’re thinking too much…or not enough, or too lazy to write each into its own post (or know better than to try to stretch the glue too thinly).

* Regarding Mr Mukasey…I was actually rendered speechless by this one…yeah, me. What sort of deliberation does one need to make on whether or not water-boarding is torture, or even just plain wrong? Let’s see, as I understand it, water-boarding simulates drowning, scaring the individual into thinking they’re dying. Hmmm…now of course, I can’t say for sure, since I haven’t been to a Christian church in a long, long time (Goddess be praised!), but I think I can safely say that even the Southern Baptists haven’t moved this little activity onto the list of approved methods for Sunday school instruction or full-immersion baptisms. Please feel free to correct me here. So what is it that might be good or acceptable or in any way condonable about this practice? I’d probably die of heart failure and they wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not I’d drown, for fuck’s sake.

Anything that is this mentally abusive is WRONG. It doesn’t matter who the bad guys are, we’re the GOOD guys. To stay the good guys we must tread the higher moral ground, always. Always.

But then I temporarily forgot that Mr Bush and his cronies ran out of toilet paper years ago…and are now using the Constitution to wipe their asses with.

* Consideration. It’s amazing how many people preach the Golden Rule (remember that one about doing unto others…?) and yet never practice it. Here’s some things to think about…when you go to a public restroom, do you take a moment to wipe the counter around the sink, wipe the handle and front of the towel dispenser…after you’ve splattered water all over them? Wipe the seat if you just squatted to pee? Use tissue to wipe the products of your nose mining, instead of smearing it on the wall? (Yes, I’ve seen this one, and I have yet to understand it, with toilet tissue RIGHT FUCKING THERE!) If you splat your coffee in the hall at work…do you go back and wipe it up? Do you dump your damned ashtray out on the pavement instead of in a trash bag? Do you take your earphones out when you talk to someone? Do you answer your cell phone when talking to someone, instead of letting it go to voicemail? Do you mosey across the street as if there’s no tomorrow when you know there are cars being held up and your causing a traffic jam? And here’s a biggie……..do you wait for Mama Smith to load her 5 brats and 300 bucks worth of groceries, so you can get her space…thereby holding up traffic in the parking lot, even up to the main drag in front of the store…all because your fat ass is too fucking lazy to take the spot 20 feet down? I want to laser you into space. I have actually loaded up my truck while people waited like this and locked the door and gone back into the store…just far enough to see them park and then I walk right back out and nod and smile as they pass me going into the store—you are NOT more important than the dozen cars you are holding up and your fat butt could use the work anyway. Do you drive up the shoulder instead of waiting in traffic like everyone else? Again, you are not more important. I don’t see a pregnant woman about to drop her spawn, I don’t see your ass on fire…YOU are part of the problem, because then, when you get to the head of the line of traffic, you slow it down again trying to wedge your way back in. Again…I want to laser your toukus into space…far far into space.

There’s more…but really the bottom line is…the old golden rule says it all treat others as YOU would want to be treated.

* Egg-walking and the senior citizen. Well…L will know what this one is about. *sighs* Maybe some time when I have more energy.

Is it mine?

things you know intuitively

I KNEW there was a reason not to eat raw fish!!!! Talking to one of my classmates, who's lead in a fish market, I found out about moving cod filets....

Don't forget to read part II.

woman

Life is too busy, too stressed and yet I get nothing done, accomplish nothing...rearranging life...

In the meantime, for your edification, this week's inspiration comes from a ritual in Dianne Sylvan's The Body Sacred, part of which is to tape this poem to your mirror.

PHENOMENAL WOMAN
by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies
I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion size
But when I start to tell them
They think I'm telling lies.
I say
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please
And to a man
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me
A hive of honey bees.
I say
It's the fire in my eyes
And the flash of my teeth
The swing of my waist
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say
It's in the arch of my back
The sun of my smile
The ride of my breasts
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say
It's in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair
The palm of my hand
The need for my care.
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

twats

Okay, I'm astounded at the gun supporters...how fucking stupid can one group of people be? There's the woman who was in the Luby's in Texas who maintains to this day (and yes, they had the stupid woman on TV here, of course, in the wake of yesterday's horrific massacre at Virginia Tech) that had she had her hand gun with her, her parents would still be alive. BULL-FUCKING-SHIT!!!! NO, you would have made a move, no matter how covert and secretive you thought you were being, and Hennard would have seen you--it was what he was trained to do, bitch--and you'd be dead, too. So now she's on saying that the gun laws are TOO strict*!! What THE fuck? Yes, she wants it legal to be able to carry guns into schools and hospitals now, too. Oh, yes, now that's a sterling idea!! Let's arm everyone where we want them to be the safest... This goes along with some twit who suggested that if professors were able to pack iron, this tragedy wouldn't have happened...

The pure, sheer, overwhelming stupidity of this kind of thinking just ASTOUNDS me. If teachers, profs, airline pilots, etc are armed...? Let's visit that scenario for a moment. Put guns in the hands of the profs yesterday, and, while we're at it, to appease the gunnuts, in the hands of say...a dozen students, too. What do we have, people? We have an open gun battle, with even more people getting killed.

Yes, while we're at it, why don't we just make the Cowboy Law of the West, everyone can pack iron and not be prosecuted for using your guns (they've passed that law in Texas now, too) since of course you had to be defending yourself.

People this kind of thinking is going BACKWARDS, by at least 100-150 years. Contrary to what you might think, an armed society is not a polite society...well, in a sense it is...after all, dead people can't be rude, now can they?

The other side of this lunacy is the fact that invariably, these idiots are the same people who preach Pro-Life .... I'm rendered speechless by the enormity of that hypocrasy.

The argument that guns don't kill people, people kill people doesn't hold water. Guns DO kill people. Cho wouldn't have been able to carry off what he did without a gun. With a knife, he probably could have killed whoever had pissed him off and himself...with a gun, it's limited to how much ammo he has and how fast the cops can get to him...which apparently isn't very fast. The Second Amendment, which allowed for a citizen militia NOT for every Tom, Dick, Harry, their brothers, and dogs to have guns, has outlived its purpose, by about 150 years.

Progressive legislation, intended to end the manufacture and sale of handguns, and destroy them when found, and allow for a life sentence with no parole for crimes committed with guns, is what is needed. NOT a house-to-house search and seizure, but sane, solid laws that progressively reduce the numbers of guns in the US. If Australia, that wide-open frontier, can do it, so can we. It won't guarantee that the kind of thing that happened yesterday won't happen again, but it will sure go a long way toward reducing the probability.

We need to outgrow our cowboy image with the rest of the world and stop being a laughing stock.


*corrected, I had too lax before :p

today

today just might consist of a number of blips from my brain....a friend of mine in Australia sent me some songs for my mp3 player...one of them pretty much says what I've been thinking about the righteous among us lately...

Artist: Voltaire
Song: God thinks
Album: Almost Human
[" Almost Human " CD]

God thinks all blacks are obsolete farm equipment
God thinks the Jews killed his son and must be punished
God thinks the white man is Satan
God, they know what God thinks

God thinks we should all convert to Judaism
God thinks we must all be Christians and
God thinks we should all embrace Islam
God thinks the only true religion is Hinduism

And I
I know what God thinks
God thinks you're a waste of flesh
God prefers an Atheist

God thinks all people like you are evil
God thinks all people like you are an embarrassment to creation
self-righteous, judgmental, first to throw the stone
and use His name for your own protection

God thinks the sun revolves around the Earth
God thinks there was something very wrong with Copernicus
God thinks abortion is murder and
God thinks everything that science gave us is wrong
God thinks women deserve it
God thinks AIDS is a form of punishment

I hate people who blame the Devil for their own shortcomings and
I hate people who thank God when things go right

And I
I know what God thinks
God thinks you're an idiot
God prefers a heretic

God God
God thinks all people like you are evil
God thinks all people like you are an embarrassment to creation
self-righteous, judgmental, first to throw the stone
and use His name for your own agenda

God is a liberal
God is a democrat
God wants you to vote republican
never trust a man who puts his words in the mouth of god
and says that it's absolute truth
its lies and it smells like death
its all in a day's work taking money from the poor
Why do you think that God would need your dirty money
if he wanted to start a holy war?

self-righteous, judgmental, first to throw the stone
and use His name for your own protection

God thinks puppies need to die and
God thinks babies need to drown
'cause God is neither good nor bad
God is you and me
God is Everything

Okay, so here goes nothing....

My kid posted this from Thumbscrews...and what the hey, I'll bite.

“One interview to rule them all, one interview to find them! One interview to bring them all, and in the naked self-confession bind them!”


1. You can travel back in time and visit yourself at [select all applicable] 10, 16, 22 and 30. What would you tell your various temporally-disjointed selves (any hokey "buy stock in Microsoft" replies will be taken out back and accused of antitrust violations)?

10—One day you will have a son who will remind yourself so much of you that you will suddenly understand what your parents are going through now…do now what you will preach to him then, do well in school, walk away from a fight, you don’t have to be right all the time. Start saving now.

16—You are a worthwhile person, worth the effort of good grades, of giving the best you have in every endeavor. If you didn’t listen the first time, start saving now.

22—Your husband really is hotter than you think he is, try him, you’ll like him. It’s not too late for that savings account.

30—get over the past, move on and invest in yourself…and that savings account you STILL haven’t opened.

2. Analogy Tyme: if your drug of choice was an item which could be purchased at Home Depot for under $150, which one would it be, and why?

Plants and gardening tools…do I need to say more?

3. You can reanimate and spend several hours (say, sharing some Batter-Dipped Choco-Cheesecake Nibblers at the local crap-on-the-walls chain restaurant) with one of the following individuals - which one would you choose, and why?

- A deceased relative of whom you were moderately (but not overwhelmingly) fond.
- A randomly-selected serial killer of moderate notoriety.

Definitely not a serial killer, I really do not want to know what makes them tick. My cousin Cheri. We never did get on too well, but I think perhaps a lot of it was because of the artificial barriers set up between us by relatives, distance, etc. There was a lot more to her than I ever knew and she died way too young for me to have ever gotten to know her better.

4. Think of your most esoteric, potentially-humiliating sexual fantasy. Think of another, equally-odd (but completely fabricated) fantasy. Describe them both without identifying which is which.

Oh dear…I think you meant experience for the first one, since the second says fabricated and I’ve done all my sexual fantasies, at least the ones that are possible because I am a female, in reality.

5. What is the typical prison sentence for the most legally-questionable act you've ever committed?

I have no idea. Nor do I want to know.

6. Think of the worst physical pain you've ever experienced (childbirth, ping-pong ball-sized kidney stones, atomic wedgie). Think of the worst emotional pain (depression, divorce, disaster). Think of the person who is closest to you in the world (child, spouse, sibling). You must decide whether they will suffer a comparable degree of physical OR emotional pain. If you choose the former, you will be required to inflict it yourself. If you choose the latter, it will occur without any involvement on your part. Which do you choose?

Well, I would never intentionally inflict pain on those I love, and my kid has already experienced emotional pain as bad or worse than I have, so…that would be my choice.

7. You're granted the power to uncover the truth behind one very, very big secret of the modern age - who shot Kennedy? What the hell is the deal with celebrity Scientologists? You will not be permitted to share this knowledge with anyone, ever - it will be solely to satisfy your own curiosity. What do you choose to learn?

I could care less who shot Kennedy. He’s dead, whoever did it is more than likely dead, too, and I know why the celebrities go for Scientology…hrrmmm…let’s see….can’t really think of anything…sorry.

8. While purchasing some plantains at Tienda Mexicano, you find The Lord. You discover that he is a cruel, arbitrary Lord, as well as one who has read entirely too many "Choose Your Own Adventure" books. He takes you outside, sits you down on the hood of his El Camino, hands you a can of Jugo de Coco and informs you that you will never see any of your current loved ones again. They will continue to live their lives, just magically sans any awareness of your continued existence. By way of compensation, you'll be allowed to determine your own natural lifespan. You may elect to die instantly, live to 120 or any option in between. What do you choose? Why?

I choose to tell the “lord” to fuck off and go get some therapy. I don’t really want to see someone else end up like David Koresh or Jim Jones, taking hundreds of others along because of their own delusions of grandeur. And what the hell is Jugo de Coco??

9. You are given the opportunity to sample human flesh. Your enjoyment of this unusual entree will not be the result of any amoral acts - the source of your Bruce Burger (Tim Tartare? Francois Filet?) will be an individual who has died of unrelated causes. Your consumption of said flesh will not be as a result of starvation, nor as a condition of some sick wager ("Take a chomp out of Lloyd's thigh and I'll give you season tickets to Six Flags Over Highly Unlikely Transactionville"). Yea or nay?

Gack. Nay.

10. You are given a Memory Dustbuster. It looks like a regular Dustbuster, circa 1989. However, when held against the human skull, it has the ability to suck out specific memories. Like many small appliances, this one has gotten a bit finicky in its old age. It no longer removes single memories... for each one which is removed, an equal-but-opposite second memory is also vacuumed up. You can suck out a particularly awful recollection... however, you'll also lose a happy memory of comparable intensity, and you have no say in which one it happens to be.

Do you use this device? How many times?

No, I do not choose to use it. Our memories define us, make us who we are. We have bad memories to remind us of our stupidity, usually, and to tell us how bad things *could* be when shit hits the fan.

11. The Enormous Glowing Sphere of Influence Equation: how many of the following events have occurred in your life for which you've felt personally responsible? By this, I mean that the event in question would definitely NOT have occurred were it not for one or more conscious decisions on your part. Do NOT include events which were confined strictly to your professional life - thus, lawyers/doctors/matchmakers/executioners/etc. should use their discretion on this one.

- Marriages – 2, both my own
- Divorces – 1, my own
- Births/adoptions – I have two kids, so…2?
- Deaths – countless…cockroaches, fire ants, moths, microbes….although, I did tell my ex, 30 years ago, that if he didn’t stop eating like that, he was going to die of colon cancer…guess what he died of last year…
- Involuntary commitments (mental institution/rehab/prison) – uhh…none?
- Relocations of over 1,500 miles - none
- Ascension to a level of fame/renown/power sufficient to interest/impact more than 10,000 individuals – unless perhaps one of the cadets I helped to get commissioned…otherwise, none.
- Change in income level of +/- 50% - can I count the guy I got fired for sexual harassment? Or pushing my husband to get a real job?
- Formal adoption/renunciation of religious faith (or other organized belief system) – again, none that I know of.

12. An exercise in writing, randomness and self-reflection (when commenting/posting, only include item "C"):

A. In exactly 25 words, describe the thing you're proudest of.
B. In exactly 25 words, describe the thing you're most ashamed of.
C. Combine the odd-numbered words from A. with the even-numbered words from B

My lack daughter closeness her my intelligence when sense was humor child her understanding as much person loved spite because my me as was mother.

Wipeout!!!!!

Happy? Good Friday?

I’ve had a lot of things I wanted to blog about lately…but this one stuck me as rather odd. I walked over to the giant-dorm-eating-facility here on campus, ordered my eggs and soy-sausage. I really am trying to give up meat…slowly, but I’m sure they thought it was because it’s Good Friday. It’s not. So anyway, I’m walking over to get my coffee and the cashier, an Hispanic lady with whom I chit-chat whenever I’m in there, tells someone, “Happy Good Friday.” ……?

Now, pardon me here…I’m not a Christian, but WTF?? Even back in the day, when I thought I was a Christian (I never really have been, I just didn’t know there was anything besides the Big Three and things like Buddhism and Hinduism), I would have tilted my head and looked at her like the proverbial hound who’s just been shown a card trick.

Isn’t Good Friday the day Christians commemorate (I refuse to use the word “celebrate,” simply because of its modern connotations) the DEATH of Jesus?

Now, I can understand Happy Christmas (a decidedly British thing), Happy Easter, Happy Ride Your Harley to Work Day, Happy Channukah…you get the idea, but Happy Day-We-Hung-up-a-Savior-and-Pierced-Him-‘Til-He-Croaked-Day? Come on, people.

Apparently, I’m in good company: both Franklin and Gandhi said something to the effect of “Christ rocked, you Christians suck.” My feelings exactly. Essentially, “Happy Good Friday” means, yah, like man Jeebus died for me, so I can party on!!

Of course, I cannot speak for Jesus, nor the Creator, as so many Christians seem to be able to (God does not want us to do X, or conversely, God wants us to do X), but somehow, I can picture Jesus, sittin’ up there, sayin’, “Yo, Dad…they just don’t get it do they? They’ve SO screwed things up, so perverted what I said…can we just like…wipe ‘em all out and start over again?”

Noah would be gleefully chanting, “Flood, flood…let’s do a flood!! Life in a tiny boat with 50 gazillion fucking animals is sooooo much fun…not. I vote flood.”

Moses would have a maniacal look on his face, “Locusts…and frogs, and then…the spankings!”

*sighs*

10 things...no, make that 12 things...I love.

Sylvan posted this the other day and I've been giving it some thought.

Not numbered, because there's no particular order to these.

I love when my Golden Retriever, Sergio, comes up and lays his head on me as a sign of pure puppy love; melts my heart every time.

I love the fur on my black cat, Cessna's chest. It's the softest thing you will ever feel.

I love belly dance music.

I love my daughter's writing.

I love new school/office supplies (figure that one out...).

I love having several of my critters on my bed at once.

I love the smell of natural lavender.

I love anything big and powerful (I know this doesn't seem to fit the "small things" theme), like a locomotive, a jumbo jet, an aircraft carrier. I'm just fascinated by these engineering wonders. They had a big red crane at the construction site for the new north end of UT's Texas Memorial Stadium the other day. It was one I'd never seen before and it built the big tower crane. I could have pulled up a folding chair and cooler and sat there all day watching this thing...awesome.

I love the early-early morning, with a cup of coffee or tea and no place to be...sitting outside , the only time I really enjoy clear weather.

I love grey, misty, drizzly, cool weather....

I love the feel of notebook paper that's been written on with a ball-point pen, with the paper sitting on other paper while you're writing, so you get that delicious, crinkly feel and the raised writing on the back side of it.

I love the feel of my son's skin, so pure and smooth...but it scares me, too, thinking what he's going to face in life.

Expanded wardrobe

"I wear black until they make something darker" printed on the T-shirt in Book People

I love to wear black, but couldn't for a long time because I have dry scalp...not dandruff, but dry scalp. My experiences with it prove that doctors don't know shit about anything sometimes. I said...dry.scalp...and the PA gives me a prescription for dandruff. *sighs* I try it, and as predicted by my previous experiences, it makes the condition WORSE...fuckers.

But, finally, I think I've discovered the answer.

So far, so good...can't wait to break out the black again.

dance 1

I have always loved to dance, it’s been my preferred way to work out since I don’t know when. Turn the lights off, crank the music up and dance…dance till my sides ache and I drip with sweat. I haven’t done it in a long time, and yes, my body is testament to that failing. But in the wake of meeting Dianne Sylvan for the first time—I am really looking forward to classes with her—she is a sane, rational being and I got to thinking about her series on Conversations with God and the new direction dance could take me.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t expect “Jeff,” or any other manifestation of Deity to pop into my living room and freak my cats out. After all, if one expects deities to come around, they just don’t, do they? Not to mention that it would probably scare the crap out of me and then where would we be—one dead Wiccan and a repentant god/dess. Not at all good for the faith.

I usually start out with music that’s designed to make you move fast and keep moving, but I knew I’d probably pass out, so I flipped thru my CDs to find something a little less energetic. I saw Fleetwood Mac and one of my favorite songs…”The Chain.” Only later, after the lyrics stood out in my mind as being rather fitting, did I check the name of the album...The Dance.

In the past, I’ve used my nocturnal dancing as a transport to other realities. No, not in the airy-fairy out-of-body sense, but fantasies that were nothing but pure escapism. A means by which to escape, if only for an hour or two, my crappy little life. I’ve done this since junior high school, play-acting if you will. Pretending I’m someone else, a guy usually, or myself, but better (or at least better in my own mind). But last night I made a conscious effort to be myself, to not escape into the world of make-believe. I concentrated on me, as I am, trying to draw energy to me, to work out the months of kinks due to inactivity. And talking. To myself, to the other energies in the room, reminding both myself and them just why I was here.

I wondered, if the divine were to manifest itself in my living room, just what would he, she…it? look like? Well, certainly not Sylvan’s teh hawt Jeff. Male? More than likely not, I thought…I need the feminine side of deity now, since most my life I’ve seen God as male. Female, then. Old…young…? At one point I pictured Dawn French in wings and a lopsided tiara as my fairy godmother…and said to the room—I don’t WANT a fairly godmother!!

My son got up and wondered what the racket was…I let him dance with me. At first he tried to mimic what I was doing and I think, given enough help, he’d actually get it after a bit, but I told him, don’t worry about what I’m doing, just dance however you feel like. It made me happy on the inside, like few things do to see him jump and bounce, and try turning jumps, and work in his version of jumping jacks, all woefully off the beat, but he was dancing with mommy and we both felt good about that. We stretched and we crunched; I had to put him to bed twice and promise that I’d start my dancing earlier the next night so he could dance with me. Dawn French was sounding more and more likely.

I danced until I was sweating, I kept dancing, I danced until I laughed…and felt like crying in the same breath. I opened myself to what would come to me…and felt someone else in the room…that feeling when you know someone’s there. At first it was unnerving, but then I concentrated on relaxing and accepting myself for whoever I am and that presence for whoever it is. Perhaps, one day it will decide to let me know who or what it is, but until then I dance.

i been alone
all the years
so many ways to count the tears
i never change
i never will
i'm so afraid the way i feel
days when the rain and the sun are gone
black as night
agony's torn at my heart too long
so afraid
slip and fall and i die
i been alone
always down
no one cared to stay around
i never change
i never will
i'm so afraid the way i feel

(Fleetwood Mac, i’m so afraid)

Serious? Me?

I wonder if all "adult" bloggers go thru a phase wherein they wonder about their existence; moan about their lost skills as writers (as proof that they would have as large a following as Plain Jane or even Dooce *rolls eyes*, if only they were still stellar writers); post trippy little self-emo-izing monologues, memes, and infantile quizzes; and indulge in a plethora of other sophomoric antics guaranteed to drive away all but anyone related to the writer. In my case, I think I've done even that.

Maybe my life just isn't amusing, or perhaps I haven't the skills to turn the mundane into the laughable...but I don't really care. I seem to be the only one who reads my blog, so I'll write for me. Hmmm...now where have I heard that before? Some author wrote somewhere, if you want to write, find the novel you'd like to read and write it...I'm sure I murdered that, but you get the idea.

Today was probably the nail-in-the-coffin for work. My bosses have been for the past 10 ½ years, full bird Air Force colonels, who while they tout family and all that jazz, really have no fucking idea what it’s like to be the one who has to stay home with the kids, while dealing with her own health issues, and possibly a job, too. Late is a four-letter word, at least if you’re a civilian. Everyone else on staff can be late, because of course they get shot at (not that I can think of any one except my current boss out of all the officers and NCOs I’ve worked with over the years who has been close to being shot at (he was in Baghdad for a while)—excepting of course, one who left us to go get shot at, sort of…) and none of the attendance/punctuality rules apply to them. But, my son had a bad sore throat and Mr. Crazy* stayed home with him yesterday, so I stayed today and took him to the doctor. Non-specific (i.e. non-strep) infection, throw antibiotics at it for good measure, with the standard, if-this-is-a-virus-antibiotics-won’t-do-any-good, lecture. Yeah, doc…you’re the one who mentioned the ABs, not I…and if I didn’t understand that WELL before I became your patient? I’d sure as hell know it by now. Muah!

I have a burning question about the houses of neatniks, those born-organized types who never have anything out of place, only have 10 books and gods-forbid any dust on any surface. Where did they hide it all? Or are their lives really that boring? They have no hobbies, they work, come home, feed the kids, wash the kids, put the kids to bed and then spend the time twixt kids and their own bedtime cleaning. As much as I’d like to believe there’s no one out there like this…I know they exist. I’ve seen evidence of them. Or, they keep their one little crafty project in a drawer, or have their sewing room fold up into a spare closet. Pathetic, just pathetic. Where’s the gusto, the cursing as you stub your toe on the foot of the ironing board, positioned just so, next to the patio door, as you let the dog out at 0300? Where is the adventure, the sense of panic when you know someone is coming over?? Safe lives are boring lives, people, get some clutter in your life!! I can help, I can send prepackaged clutter, bottled bookshelf dust, or even a bag of the finest mixed dog and cat fur available! Well, maybe not the clutter…I mean, that would involve sorting it and actually *shudder* getting rid of some of it. Heaven forfend!!

*I’ve played around with all sorts of pseudonyms for my husband here. I hate the ubiquitous DH. Not only can it be misconstrued as Damn Husband, Dumb Husband, Dame Hater, Deer Hugger, and any number of other things that might just flit by, I figure…what if he’s not a Dear? What if he’s a dear only 3% of the time and the rest of the time he’s a Dumb Head? I thought about using his real name, but it’s unusual enough that a simple Google might turn it up. I thought about using Mr and the initials of this blog and it came up Mr CCLITM….ermmmmm…no. So, since he’s married to ME, and that’s proof of his insanity, he’s just Mr Crazy.

habeus corpus

Well, I did some playing around with this Prevention Virtual Model



This is kinda sorta at 18. My boobs were bigger.



This is "now" -- actually, I wish I looked that good. The problem with this thing is the same problem I have with clothes, they do not account for the 50+ woman who looks like she's 8 months preggers...



This is with a "designer" suit on, not too shabby, but once again, no allowance for the huge tummy.



This is if I get down to like...140 or so, I can't remember where I set the weight on this one.

Mrrrt?

I think I might have to change my blog title to "Crazy Cat Lady Meets the World." Meet Cat Number 5. This is Ella who came to live with us yesterday. She kind of went through a lot of names, including Butterball, Butter, Butterfly (??) and a couple of homes. She's been declawed, which in a way is good, because if she hadn't, her last people would have let her outside. She's a very large cat and very friendly...except that now there are OH MY! Other Cats, not to mention OFMG!! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!?!?!? No doubt her first thought upon realizing the huge, fluffy, gold lump in the hallway moves. Serg (the huge, fluffy, gold lump) of course is all whoaa...dude, will it play with me?? He wags his tail and stares hopefully at the new addition like a surferdude with high hopes the waves will rise today. But Ella's having none of it, she growls very softly and her tail fluffs to three times its size while keeping a steadfast eye on the moving dustbunny on steroids.

Cessna, The Queen of the Universe, can't hear, so She has to catch sight of the interloper in order to give her a piece of Her mind. This happened this morning while Her Highness was eating said interloper's food. I had to take it away from Her because it's not Her normal food and She was wolfing it...sure signs it would end up on my floor later, and not in its original condition.

So, five cats (not to mention the fluffball on steroids and the other dog)...but I think this is it. The spousal unit begrudgingly gave in, because I was a last resort before the shelter.

Meanwhile, yesterday was marvellous. A whole day with the senior offspring (BSEG). After a trip to Home Despot to get a piece of inch-think pink! foam insulation board, we dug through my rather inflated fabric stash and found several likely candidates for her faux headboard, then took them over to her apartment to see how each looked with her spread, etc. One of them was like, erm...what were we thinking? Another, by itself was...uh, no...one we didn't even hold up, another gave us pause, but we threw it out. Then one we really liked, but it was kind of blah. So I had an idea to take the uh, no and make it a four-inch border around blah...and OMFG! So we did that. I cut the first two strips of the border fabric and then mentally whacked myself upside the head...because I had forgotten to add enough to wrap around the back. So, after redoing my calculations, I cut everything out, sewed it together and then hot-glued it to the foam board, and if I may say so myself, it looked rather awesomely cool. So for 12 bucks (the cost of the foam board, out of which we'll get a couple more projects), we had a designer-look headboard! Joan Steffend, eat your heart out.

erm...

I'll admit I guessed on a few, but this is fairly amazing for one who's never read more than probably 20% of the Bible and is a grimoire-thumpin' Wiccan.

You know the Bible 85%!

Wow! You are awesome! You are a true Biblical scholar, not just a hearer but a personal reader! The books, the characters, the events, the verses - you know it all! You are fantastic!

Ultimate Bible Quiz
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Epiphanies

* My mother likes me to come over to see her and spend time with her the same way I get excited as hell when I know my daughter is coming to see me (Note: Unless she’s a weenie and backs out, we’re spending tomorrow together, doing stuff and I’m all trippy and excited today.)

* This is an old epiphany, but I revisited it yesterday. Although I might heartily disagree with your views on creation, the nature of the Divine, etc. Those views are, nonetheless, true. Your reality is not my reality. All of us could be right, none of us could be right. In that sense, truth is a relative thing. An odd thought just hit me. What if there is a separate reality for each of us? 6 billion planes of existence…and that’s just for this planet. Okay…psycho-rambling alert…I don’t really think of it quite that way, but yes, each person’s reality is different. I will attend to my own little boring, insignificant life today, my co-worker to his, his thoughts are his and less than 1% of them will he ever share with me. The idjit in the White House will do his thing--and no, I do NOT want to know what his thoughts are, I’d probably hurl--etc. And if I haven’t lost you on this bullet point, you’re not paying attention. (Bulleted points are for clarification, just think how lost you’d be if I hadn’t bulleted.)

* It’s time for me to grow up. Oh, why? you say. Growing up allows me to do several things, including getting control of my life (that’s a very long post all on its own) and being there for my son (it’s hard to be a parent to a 9 YO when you’re terminally 14). Never fear, I shall always be 14 at heart.

* I can establish good habits, too.

* I’ve long respected others’ right to have views that differ from my own, but the fact that they differ so wildly does not necessarily mean half their brain has been removed.

* My children rock. (This is not really an epiphany, I just throw it in here so that you won’t forget it.)

* Another non-epiphany, but this one is thrown in so I wont’ forget it. My husband is an overgrown, lazy wanker, but he’s gentle, patient, and loves me to a fault (which I never have figured out); puts up with a lot of my shit without saying anything. I try not to nag, but probably do, I’m a backseat driver, I make unilateral decisions and then tell him, this is what we’re doing…but he’s there, he’s literally bathed me when I was so sick I had shit on myself (I did warn you this blog wouldn’t be pretty at times) and ended up in the hospital for a week; I can’t count the times he would go up to the store to get tampons and pads for me (sometimes with a pint of butter pecan ice cream to boot and at times at two in the morning), because he knew if I went, I’d be in trouble before I got there and have to turn around and come back. Okay so he doesn’t get out and paint the house or dig all the gardens I want, but you know, he’s a keeper.

* I’ve been at my job for 10 ½ years…if we averaged 15 commissionees a year, that’s 150 people whose lives I have affected—for better or worse. They remember me and ask about me. Wow. I think just one of these guys calling the other day and asking the colonel about me might have started this entire introspection and determination to set things in my life straight…literally saying to myself today is the first day of the rest of my life. Trite, perhaps, but true nevertheless. I’m trying to build habits, getting to work on time, eating what’s good for me, as opposed to not eating what’s bad for me (or stressing out because, hey! I wanted that half a can of Pringles, but shit, I should not have eaten them!). For so long I’ve come home, looked at the clutter, or dishes in the sink and just not known how to cope—some of you will identify with this and others will say, WTF is the deal?? Just do it! It’s not that easy. I look at it and my mind does this kind of shrinking thing and I go sit at the computer and do anything but look at the two-foot-high stack of crap on the cutting table. But now I come home and try to do SOMEthing…ANYthing that will slowly poison the clutterus amoebus.

* Our lives are not as private as it seems. I thought I was fairly well protected by using a nickname for everything on the web, however, I did a Google on it and Holy Suspenders of Jesus, Batman! You get my real name, linked to my email, linked to my MySpace, linked to my age and city….oy.

* My daughter and I are way more alike than I ever thought. Some of that is good, but the more distressing part is that she got the clutteritis, the indecision, the self-doubt..etc. etc. why couldn’t she have gotten more from her dad? But this highlights that perhaps nurture has more to do with it than some people might think. She lived with me (as opposed to both of us) from age 4 to 18. Yeah, she spent a lot of time at her grandparents and lived a year with her dad, but for the most part, she lived with me, surrounded by clutter, albeit nowhere near the proportions my house has taken on in the last decade. The one thing she did get from her dad is his wicked sense of humor and for that, I am eternally grateful She makes me laugh. I now know the depths of her depression because she has graciously allowed me to peek in the door via her blog, but she’s resilient and that humor has a buoyancy to it that is stronger than any antidepressant. And it’s a powerful drug that she can share.

Unsure

Does the title refer to unsureness about the title or about what I'm to write, or my life...or what I'm having for dinner?

Yes.

So far, my insignificant little blog hath not drawn the attention of Fundies, Bushites, and like radicals. (Here I must pause to knock on wood.) There is some happiness in being unknown.

Dammit, I had a dozen thoughts before I sat down and suddenly I'm hit by a huge yawning fit and cannot remember…I have this bizarre little theory about those sudden lapses in memory. Perhaps we have just morphed into an alternate plane and whatever chemicals formed that memory are altered, or maybe a past life progression eclipses the current one or, it's just because I'm in much deeper denial about menopause than I care to admit.

Damn. I cannot seem to stop yawning! I’ve dropped Diet Cokes pretty much cold turkey, along with the afternoon bit of chocolate. The chocolate, in very small doses, I plan to add back, but the Diet Coke, aka “Evil in a Can,” will stay gone. Talking about it has started the jonesing….*sighs*

One of the thoughts I had came back to me just now. I’m always considered myself a writer, and I suppose, at one time I was a rather good one. But like any skill, talent, art, you must use it, or lose it. I read some of my favorite blogs, LL’s, Jane’s, and Sylvan’s, and realize I’m no longer capable of turning a phrase like I used to be. My histories and stories for PWs (persistent worlds, for any of you who are not gamers) get rave reviews, but the mundane, expository thing has atrophied. It’s getting easier to pour it out now that I’ve started blogging, but at times I reread it and think, who IS this sophomoric woman?

There might be a break in thought here, I have to save this to my jump drive and make the jump to hyperspace to get home (gods, I wish I could!).

Okay, some time later, we return to the scene of the crime….

One of the things I was thinking about is this, the diary of some woman going from her dyed hair to grey. Good gods, I thought I was being too egocentric when I tossed the idea around for 20 minutes and then asked a couple of people what they thought. I went to my stylist that Saturday and said…cut it off, take it back to the color line—it was grown out a little over an inch at the time. Over the weekend badaboom! I went from the look at the top of the page, to a chubby Jamie Lee Curtis look. No looking back, no agonizing, no…oh, gee, let’s do it so no one will notice shit. It’s hair, you don’t like it, you change it. And here I thought I was being vain. HA! I love validation. In the end she looks gorgeous, but 13 months!! Oh, hell no.

traffic

I realize, on one level, I should just stop taking things to heart so much and letting them annoy me, you people will be people and all that shit, but honestly...there are days when I wonder why the forces (read: God, Deity, Divine, Mr Magoo's erector set...) that created us wasted a brain on some folks. There’s the woman yesterday at a John McCain rally in South Carolina who was yaa-yaaing about the Democrats cutting funding for the Iraq war. “…and my nephew is in the Marines and he just deployed…and what, now they won’t get paid…?” GAH!! The urge to reach out a touch someone, with the broad side of a cricket bat. Of course they will get paid, you ignorant twat. They’re on the payroll, whether they are here, in Iraq, or Kalamazoo. Then, at a question and answer session for Democratic candidates out in Nevada with George Stephanopoulos, he said Ne-vah-da and they all jumped on him and said, it’s Nevaaada…GAH!! I don’t care what the ignorant yay-hoos think, it’s the feminine Spanish “covered in snow” and is therefore ne-VAH-da…so if someone wants to say it that way, let them. It’s like the putzes here who say San juh-sin-tuh and if you say it properly, San ha-SEEN-toh, they have no clue what you are saying. Salado has become suh-LAY-doh and prah-leen, pray-leen. *sighs*

Arseholes.

You already got my rant yesterday about the idjit doctor in Bakersfield. I think I’m perhaps less angry at him, as one whackjob, than I am at the AMA for not enforcing the Hippocratic oath as a whole.

Then there’s the people who expect Hillary to apologize for voting for authorizing the Iraqi Blunder. Folks…just how stupid is this? Why the hell should she have to apologize? Apologizing would mean that you KNEW it was wrong at the time and did it anyway. All these bozos voted for the measure, based on the information they were given at the time (which we now know was patently false and trumped up by the fucktard administration). She shouldn’t have to apologize, none of them should, unless they were in on the planning meetings for the dissemination of misinformation that took place.

It’s odd, that so many times throughout history, people have declared that society was falling apart, the youth are horrible, etc., and somehow, we always managed to keep going. However, lately, I’m beginning to believe it’s finally gotten to that point and because we’ve cried wolf so many times before, no one’s paying attention. We’re vastly over-populating this tiny planet, using up resources and polluting the water and air at a rate that’s beyond alarming…building on valuable farmland, producing more kids and more kids…that will think it’s their right to have the “American Dream” and build yet more single-family dwellings.

And don’t even get me started on these “quiver full” idiots…”ruining women’s bodies so that men can show how virile they are” should be their slogan. You know, if they kept their own views on birth control to themselves, I wouldn’t mind quite so much, as it is the women’s right to be cows if they so choose, but the Christian right would have ALL of us conform to their idiocy. I will say it one more time:

My.body.is.none.of.your.fucking.business.

Period, end of discussion.

And I have never looked at either of my children as burdens, thank you, even though I only had two. I can only handle one kid at a time. If I’d had more, I would have probably ended up like the poor Yates woman.

I believe there are actually a few people calling themselves Christians out there who are good people, who actually follow what Jesus taught, but the overwhelming majority of them are unbridled hypocrites. This does not surprise me in the least. Recently I had a discussion with the young woman who is our IT tech, I’ll call her Robin. I was engaging in one of my favorite pastimes, bushbashing (okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have been, but, it’s me…get over it) and she speaks up and says she doesn’t question those put in authority, our leaders, etc. That “God Almighty” (I swear she actually said that) put them there for a reason and it’s not our place to question them (although she did say she didn’t like Billy…truly a case of “whose ox..yada yada”). I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes at her and went on bushbashing. Later I really wanted to ask her, so…you’re an Hispanic from the Valley, right? So you’re most likely Catholic…you believe priests and cardinals and the like were put in their positions by God, yes? (At which point, the observant person would see the train coming.)

So you’d just let them rape you, molest you, get you pregnant, etc and not question it? Answer would probably be…well, uh…no…but…stammer…stammer and then some patent “they were not being good Christians, etc. (Or worse, I was being punished for some reason.)

So, Miss Robin, what if the purpose of putting those priests there was to help root out the evil in the church, by making everyone stand up and do something about it. (And please, those of you who believe that rape victims deserve it because they’ve been immodest or sinful…just get your heads out of your asses so you don’t trip as you leave) and further that possibly God put criminals like Bush, Cheney, and Rove in charge to make us wake up and take charge and stop being sheep?

wigglies

If you can wade thru the first several paragraphs of wallowy self-crappatizing, I think I say something at the end.

I seem to never be in the mood to write when I have the time to write--or, more properly, when I'm not doing something else that requires my attention, like work...or driving. Being ADD can really sap your momentum in writing...all those thoughts, whirling around...like the keys in that scene from the first Harry Potter movie....at least I guess I should be glad these winged keys (as in the openers of further thought and perhaps writage) don't attack.

Or do they? Thoughts can be wonderful things, open doors, find hidden meanings, rectify situations, calm the wretched soul and all that jazz. But they can also wound, even if they never leave your mind and make the wavy trip across time and space to someone else's mind. I suppose there are those people out there whose thoughts are always cheerful, positive, and uplifting, constantly telling themselves they are loved, worthwhile and great coffee makers. The rest of us have to work ourselves up to saying, hey..give yourself a bushin’ break here. (In an effort to clean up my language, I’ve decided to use less objectionable curse words…bush is a four-letter word in my house…however, upon further consideration, I believe fuck is less objectionable.)

Whether it’s worrying about things that might happen…could happen…omg, will happen if I don’t do X, or because I’ve done X…or there’s this odd mole, or…fuck, I’m rambling. Having the kid chatter in my ear while I’m trying to write doesn’t help at all. I’m distracted enough all on my own, thank you. I know a lot of my blog has to do with not be able to measure up to what I think my blog should be (did I say something about negative thoughts?), but it’s aggravating…in my mind, on the way home, I compose all sorts of poignant, hysterically funny, and/or interesting entries. When I finally sit down at the computer ZOTZ!! Gone. And no, do not suggest a tape recorder. a) I never know what to say into those things and b) I cannot STAND my voice.

Most of the time I think I’m not introspective enough, I don’t look in and examine things and work them out, then other times, I feel I live all my life within my own mind (and who knows, perhaps we do). But I suppose there’s a difference between living in the nevernever land of your mind and actually examining what’s there, analysing it and processing the information to better ourselves. But lately I feel like I’m treading water, there is no life, no purpose…are we truly just workerbees, turning out more workerbees, from whose ranks a few leaderbees emerge…and why am I wallowing in self-indulgent, pseudo-speak? Ramble ramble ramble.

Perhaps I burn out all my good stuff fantasizing about what I would say to so-n-so, if only I had them here. Here’s the one that had me going yesterday:

http://www.kget.com/news/local/story.aspx?content_id=f290458b-dd7d-4a20-ac99-525e48365b08

Okay, so there’s the Hippocratic oath right out the window, along with “..suffer the little children..,” not to mention the whole Mary Magdalene lesson is totally lost on this guy. I’m hoping he comes down with some fatal tumor… and the only person who can save his judgmental ass is the world’s most gifted surgeon, who’s totally decked out in tats and piercings. Dr. Merrill, meet Karma…Karma be a bitch, yo.

I’m sorry, but this guy should be immediately barred from practicing. No, it is not your right as a doctor—you are NOT fucking like a restaurant, you hypocritical bastard—to refuse care because your uptight ass can’t deal with a few tats and pieces of metal. I’m not wild about overly tattooedness, either (and yes, I do have one myself), and piercing anything but ears and navels just grosses me out….but I would not turn anyone away because of it.

There are a few losers out there who think this behavior is acceptable, that it’s his “right” to refuse “service.” Gah!!!! People, medical care is not “service.” Oil changes are “service.” And, while I’m blatantly not a Christian, I know there are actually a lot of good ones out there still and this kind of crap really hurts them. I don’t ever presume to speak for the Divine, but I sure hope Jesus and his Daddy have something special planned for this guy’s going away party.

shoot me

So... You didn't *really* expect me to keep up with this, did you? It's me!

I'm not thinking too straight today, I have some rather painful thing going on with the left side of my jaw. I don't know if it's TMJ or some sort of deeper, tooth-related thing. I will admit, I haven't been utterly religious about flossing...

Tonto is in the shop again. Several weeks ago it was the radiator, this time it's the water pump. I think I could put a sizable down payment on a new car for what I've spent on Tonto this past 12 months. But I couldn't afford the payment, so....

Yes, it's one of those entries....lots of these ....... Sue me.

I'm beginning to think my life is one big ellipse. I can't remember what happened when, so.... an ellipse fills the duhhhh space. I don't know how I'm going to do X, so another ........ I don't know how things relate, end, or even how the human mind comes to operate the way it does...you guessed it, another ............................