Princess Wild Cow #1

2005-07-28T15:11:00.001-05:00

MOVIN' ON UP

THE PRINCESS HAS MOVED!!!

TO A DELUXE SITE IN THE SKY!!!

STOP BY FOR A GIGGLE...

UPDATE YOUR BLOGROLL...

http://sarafenix.blogspot.com/

2005-07-25T21:21:00.000-05:00

I watched this film today and am amazed at the resilience of some in this world. These children live in the red light district of Calcutta with mothers who are prostitutes. In one family, the mother, the grandmother and the great-grandmother had all been prostitutes. These children become exposed to another world through the actions of a photographer who lived amongst them and chronicled their life.

She eventually teaches the children how to take their own photographs. The images and talent are amazing. One of the children travels to Amsterdam to take part in a world wide show of childrens' photographs. The film is amazing and has it's own bittersweet tale to tell.

The film reminds me of the movie Salaam Bombay that was Mira Nair's first fictional film. It tells the story of street children in Bombay and was also filmed in some of the actual brothels of the city and also used some of the street children in the cast.

Both of these movies bring home how differently poverty and child welfare are viewed internationally. It is heartbreaking and overwhelming when I look around and see how much there is and how few can access it. These are not the only children in need. These are the children that we see. How many don't we see?

2005-07-22T15:59:00.000-05:00

<
This my good friends is what awakened me in the middle of the night. To you, this may appear as simply a messy pile of books on the floor, but let me reassure you that they did not start out that way. No, dear reader, for you see I am one of the best "book stacker" in the world. And stacked they stay. I compensate for overall size and height and end up with a rather tidy stack of books that will fit nowhere else in the house and only take up two square feet of the remaining eight square feet of my bedroom floor.

All was well with these books. They had been in this particular stack for well over two weeks. Until, and I say this with a hint of warning, until last night. Apparently sometime during my sleeping hours the cat, Jack, decided that he wanted to climb and sit on or sleep on this particular well groomed stack of books. You are viewing the aftermath. I am sure I can deal with this sometime this evening. Or, if I leave it until tomorrow morning, it may prompt me into boxing some of them up. Yeah, right.

Dear Friends: This is the first post that I have posted on both of my sites. You heard right. We're moving on up, to the East Side...to that deeee-luxe site designed by Rachel of Web Divas. Soon, my darlings, we will be basking in our new found beauty.

2005-07-18T18:48:00.000-05:00

DON'T ASK IF I ENJOYED THIS MOVIE... I don't really remember seeing it. I went with Caden and Tina to see it at an Omnimax Theatre. Is this supposed to be the new thing in movies? It was overwhelming. The primary thing I remember is looking into mouths full of horrible teeth. I'm sure that on the normal viewing screen this would have been an amazing touch of realism. Helena Bonham Carter is one of the most absolutely beautiful women in the world. In super-gigantic-gargantuan-humongous movie she's not so attractive any more...plus, she had bad teeth, too.

And, Johnny Depp? What the hell was that all about? Was he being campy, psychotic, a little too Michael Jackson, or what. I saw far too many close ups of his overly made up face with a glimpse of gigantic pores where coverage was impossible. BTW, he was the only one with "white" teeth. It didn't help.I am usually a fan of everything that Tim Burton does. What I could comprehend of the sets in this movie appeared to be...who knows? I couldn't tell. Giant blobs of color that I couldn't tie in with anything else because of this giant rounded screen in front of me. I will wait until I can see it on DVD before I pass any real judgment on it.

2005-07-16T18:51:00.000-05:00

DEAR SELF:

The next time Bunns and Noodles wants to know if you are interested in getting in on the Harry Potter fun and madness, the answer is, "NO!" After seven hours on my feet, smiling, handing out books and buying my own, I realize I will never stay awake long enough to delve into my own copy.

What's wrong with this picture? (Okay, the kids were darn cute!)

2005-07-15T13:50:00.000-05:00

WHAT A GREAT MUSIC RUN

This has been a great run of music...I love work and the 4 gigabytes of music I have hidden on my computer...

Why: Ricky Fante
Hallelujah: k. d. lang
In the Morning: Nina Simone
In My Life: The Beatles
Creatures of Love: The Talking Heads
Blue Moon: Elvis Presley (Sun Recordings)
Angel Eyes: John Hiatt
Simple Twist of Fate: Bob Dylan
Too Far Gone: Emmy Lou Harris
Unchain My Heart: Joe Cocker

I tell you, life doesn't get much better than this!

2005-07-09T12:08:00.000-05:00

REASON 348 WHY CHILDREN AND ADULTS SHOULD NOT CHEW GUM AND THEN
GO TO BED.

2005-07-08T21:57:00.000-05:00

FRIDAY AND IT'S CADEN AND CAT PICTURES...

Caden sprang me from work early today and we had quite an adventure. First we went to the bank so Granny could get some cash for the afternoon. Yeah, you don't head out the door with this kid with no moolah. We first went to A and Dubs, our closest thing to an A and W, and had lunch. With large root beers, which led to even larger burps. You really don't expect a boy of nine to drink root beer without burping, do you?

Then it was to the mall...BN, of course. For books, of course. Only the book that Caden wanted wasn't there, or hadn't been written, or was just plain out of season. It was a book that had "all of the basketball players" in it. Of course, there was no other book that he wanted...what he wanted was a Slipknot poster. For those of you not in the know, Slipknot is a band that plays really raucous music and you (I) can't understand a word of the lyrics. Now, I have gotten into trouble in the past purchasing CDs that the kid convinced me his mother would think were okay and later turned out to be NOT so okay. (Surprise, surprise.) As I recalled, Slipknot wasn't one of her favorites. So I asked him. "Oh, no, their new CD is different, she likes it...and the neighbor, Allison, likes them and went to fourof their concerts..."

"Are you sure?" (Yeah, that was a pretty stupid question, but I asked it anyway.) "Oh, yeah." And, there we are heading off to the local Hot Topic to see if they have any posters. Does it look like he is wearing a poster? No, well, that's because they didn't haven't poster, but they did have t-shirts. Now, I ask you, isn't that an attractive group...Yeah, I knew my goose was just sitting in the pan and waiting to go into the oven.

Ah, hell. Live on the edge. As soon as he gets it and we get back to Barnes and Noble, he has to run into the bathroom to change his shirt. As he came out, he proudly announced, "I'm not normal." I snorted when I laughed...NOT NORMAL? Little did he know that every child on the face of the earth likes stuff his parents don't and that, in and of itself, made him the most normal kid I knew.

So, not willing to leave without spending some more money, I bought a magazine and two CDs. I had to have them! After all, Some day, if I have nothing to do, I can sit down and start listening to all of my music and continue to do so for the next ten or fifteen years. With any luck, that is.

Now it's time to fill up with $2.29 a gallon gasoline, hit the grocery store, and head on home. Caden learned how to wash the windows on the car and did so for me. After my choking as I paid we headed to the grocery store. Grub for the weekend and I let him talk me into buying S'mores Ice Cream. (Weird tasting stuff, I'll stick with your basic chocolate, vanilla, caramel, nut combos from now on.) We start talking about Slipknot and Caden tells me that one of them is a policeman. "Oh, that's cool," I say...I mean, maybe they did have day jobs before. "And one is a fireman..." "Really?" "And one is an emergency room doctor..." Okay, games up. I say the obvious..."Bullshit." And, he admits it immediately. I am now completely worried that he has discovered my gullibility and it's downhill for granny from now on.

Before we head home, it's time for a stop at, you got it, Dairy Queen. Large chocolate covered cone for him and a root beer float for me. See why we stopped at the bank.

Home again, home again, jiggety jig. Caden goes out plays with the dog, comes in, plays with the cat. Throws some balls for the dog, gets bitten by mosquitoes, comes back in and
watches some Family Guy with the cat...As you can see from both of the pictures, he has now developed the capacity to smile and close his eyes at the same time. He snuggled with the cat for a while and then came in and we watched Team America. Great choice Granny. Let's see, the next time you decide to get a movie from Netflix and let Caden put it in the DVD player, why don't you check and make sure you didn't get the "Uncensored, Unrated" version that you really, really don't want to watch with your grandson. So, the finger was on the fast forward and I'm sure that it was going so fast he couldn't really see what those damned puppets were doing.

Okay, now he wants to write something. Here he is, the one, the only Caden:

This is about the band called Slipknot, they call their fans maggots.

And, with that note, I'll close.

2005-07-07T14:44:00.000-05:00

ALL WE ARE SAYING,

IS GIVE PEACE A CHANCE

2005-07-05T21:30:00.000-05:00

IMAGINE MY SURPRISE

Dedicated to Yesterday's Post

I spend a lot of time reading blogs, surfing the web, and compulsively following whatever issue is chaining me to my social conscience at the moment. Now there are a lot of things that demand my attention since I view society with quite a critical and personal eye.

Most of my life I have been somewhat obsessed with injustice. Where it came from, I don't know. My mother was a racist. This turned out to be a quite a surprise to me when I found out that she was a Native. As I grew older I came to understand some of the roots of her self hatred and why being "white" was so important to her. I was about seven years old when I saw "Negroes" being corralled by white authority and I knew that this was wrong. I lived in a foster home where the father was a Deputy Sheriff. This was in Florida. On Saturday mornings he would strap on his gun, take his Boxer dog and head out into the palmetto groves to hunt "n*****s." I knew this was wrong. My sense of racial prejudice was formed and my position strong.

It was in junior high when I found out that not everyone was like me. I made the socially fatal error of asking a girl to a junior high school dance. I had crushes, sure, I just had them on everyone. That was when I first heard the word "queer." I didn't necessarily know what it meant, but I knew that it was something that I shouldn't be. What I didn't know was the word bisexual. How strange that was to figure out. As I grew up and understood more of who I was, I became comfortable with who I was and add that to my already well developed "attitude" and my personage became one that presented such a front that even if one wanted to call me a name, they would think twice about it.

Poverty was also part of my life. I didn't quite have the concept of money down when I learned to steal food. It was something my mother had me do. Some people had things that I didn't. Unfortunately, I didn't know why that was but I decided early on that it had to have been my fault. It took a long time for me to understand fully what really was happening. Through that I learned that poverty was a disease and not to be tolerated. I learned by experiencing that classism was not to be tolerated.

When I graduated from grammar school, I was at the head of the class. This meant that I got to give a speech. The things that I spoke about were my dreams. The main dream that I had was that I would grow up and be the first woman to attend CalTech. They weren't allowed to go there in those days. I didn't understand the full realm of feminism at that time, but there was a great start that went on to become a core part of who I am.

I really knew nothing of war. Well, I knew about the Civil War, primarily from the movie Gone With the Wind. What I carried with me from that movie was the scene in the rail yard where the wounded and bodies of the dead were. That scene stayed with me and was the seed of my understanding of peace. The Viet Nam war finished off my education of war. I became a peace-nik. That was one of the nicer names I was called at the time, I kind of miss some of them...they were rather amusing.

These are all ideals and ideas that I developed prior to true maturity. They are as hard and fast now as they were then. I have pride in who I am politically: Native, Queer, Peace Activist, Feminist and Socialist. I will admit that there were times when I wished to a little bit more like Anna Nicole Smith, but it ain't gonna happen folks. I will continue to address any social issue I choose at any time I choose. It doesn't make me less of an American, it doesn't mean I hate this country, it doesn't mean that I think that everything this country does is wrong. It means that I will speak when, where and how I wish...as is my right.

However, I reserve my right to be as shallow as I want to be, whenever I want to be. I love to be underestimated and work at setting that up every chance I get. I want to be silly, inappropriate at times, and the one who says the things that no one else will say. If I were to be a bimbo, I wouldn't mind being Anna Nicole...she came up from poverty, is also underestimated quite a bit, and has managed to make it to where she is even with her mistakes. Haven't we all?

2005-07-04T00:00:00.000-05:00

IT IS DIFFICULT FOR ME TO CELEBRATE A HOLIDAY FOR THE BIRTH OF ONE NATION THAT REQUIRED THE VIOLATION OF SO MANY OTHER NATIONS

Blackfeet Nation, Cabazon Band of Mission Indians, Cherokee Nation, Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe, Choctaw Nation, Citizen Potawatomi Nation, Coeur d'Alene Tribe, Confederated Tribes of Siletz, Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation - Colville Tribe, Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla Indian Reservation, Coquille Indian Tribe, Costanoan-Ohlone Indian Canyon Resource, Coushatta Tribe of Louisiana, Cow Creek Band of Umpqua Tribe, Delaware Tribe, Tongva Nation, Gila River Indian Community,
Hopi Tribe, Mamit Innuat, Jatibonicu Taino Tribal Nation, Keweenaw Bay Indian Community, Klamath Tribes, Lumbee Tribe, Makah Nation, Mohegan Tribe, Muckleshoot Tribe, Muscogee (Creek) Nation, Nation of Hawai`i, Navajo Nation, Oneida Indian Nation of NY, Osage Nation, Passamaquoddy Tribe at Pleasant Point, Pawnee Nation of Oklahoma, Penobscot Indian Nation, Powhatan Renape Nation, Prairie Band of Potawatomi Nation, Sac and Fox Nation, Salt River Pima-Maricopa Indian Community, Secwepemc Nation, Seminole Nation of Oklahoma, Sitka Tribe, Southern Ute Tribe, Spokane Tribe of Indians, Suquamish Tribe, Te-Moak Tribe of Western Shoshone Indians, Tulalip Tribes, United Keetoowah Band of Cherokee Indians, United South and Eastern Tribes, United Tribe of Shawnee Indians, Washoe Tribe of Nevada and California, White Mountain Apache Tribe, and Wichita and Affiliated. Tribes. And for Freedom Girl, the Winnemem Wintu Tribe.

As the label says...so many forgetting and so few remembering.

(I must say this is the most controversial post I have ever posted. It's a strange feeling I have that my exercising freedom of speech can, on some level, be equated with being unpatriotic.)

(I apologize for missing any tribal nations...if you recognize that one is missing, please let me know and I will add it.)

2005-06-30T01:15:00.000-05:00

I BET I GET SOME CRAP OVER THIS

WHAT IF...TOM AND KATIE GET MARRIED AND,

1. SHE DEVELOPS SCHIZOPHRENIA (USUAL ONSET IN WOMEN STARTS AROUND AGE 25)

2. SHE BECOMES PREGNANT, DELIVERS A BEAUTIFUL CHILD AND DEVELOPS A SEVERE CASE OF POST-PARTUM DEPRESSION

WHAT THEN, TOM? HUH?

I CAN'T HEAR YOU...

2005-06-27T00:20:00.000-05:00

WORKING FOR "THE MAN"

Or, what did you do today? Well, I went to the job that I pay to let me work there. A bookstore. That's like giving a junkie a job as a pharmacy tech. Duh. So, I worked for 4¾ hours and there is my loot.

Magazines are so seductive to me. Two of the ones above, Uncut and Paste, are music mags. Only this time, Van Morrison is featured in Uncut and Billy Corgan is featured in Paste. Since I worked in the music department of the store for half of my shift today, I also managed to make a list of fourteen CDs that I "just have to have!" Maybe one a week for the next 3½ months and that list will be taken care of. Of course, the list only expands each time I work so I will never catch up. Right now I am stuck on the Putamayo Collections. The favorite one that I have so far is Cover the World. It is world music covers of popular songs...great.

The New Yorker is an indulgence that I only give in to semi-regularly. In These Times I rotate with other political magazines. I got it this week since the founding editor and publisher, James Weinstein, recently died and it's my way of making that final connection.

Now for the book, Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World. For some reason, I have a fascination with Mongolia and will read as much as I can about good old Genghis. (On an aside, if you are taken with this area there is a great movie about Tuvan throat singers and an American blues man called Genghis Blues that you might enjoy.)

The secret prize was a reader's copy of an upcoming book that looks great. It's by a Canadian writer, Brain Francis, and is called The Secret Fruit of Peter Paddington. That's one of the great things about the book store, discovering new writers and access to them before everyone else. Of course, it works well for them, too, as we end up hand selling a lot of them.

Okay, enough of the literary crap. The rest of the weekends highlights include, but are not limited to:

a break in the heat wave
no further tick infestation
a few thunder boomers which caused the dog to turn into a big ass wimp
and, oh yeah, the grandson walking in on a naked Granny which has probably scarred him for life and will cause him years of therapy and medication before he can recover. Oh, I think he's already over it...his reaction: "Granny, you need to get a tan!" Criticism at every turn.

2005-06-25T06:14:00.000-05:00

THE WORST POSSIBLE WAY TO WAKE UP ON A SATURDAY MORNING IS TO TRY AND SWAT A MOSQUITO OFF THE BACK OF YOUR NECK (WHICH IS BAD ENOUGH) AND FIND A F*#&ING TICK CRAWLING ON YOU. I GUESS SLEEPING IN IS OUT NOW THAT I WILL BE CHANGING THE BED LINEN AND SHOWERING FOR AN HOUR TO MAKE CERTAIN THAT THERE ARE NO MORE CRITTERS ANYWHERE NEAR ME!

WELCOME TO THE WEEKEND.

2005-06-22T11:54:00.000-05:00

JUSTICE, AT LAST

2005-06-20T21:28:00.000-05:00

SUMMER DAY IN MINNESOTA

We don't get a lot of them and this was certainly it. Top left is the bird nesting on the front porch. A nice little thing, well, except for the poop on the porch. Top right is a view of Aerie Lake, where I live. There are loons, eagles, hawks and all other sort of wildlife. The nicest part of the lake is that it is so quiet. There is no public access and the price we pay for that is we have to stock our fish. Bottom left is Jack, lounging on the three season porch. This is where I eat the peanut butter and jelly when I say that I am "camping." Bottom right is Jules with her slimy tongue sticking out and wiping her nose. Talented dog. Jack is in the background and I'm not real sure why the floor is so shiny, it's certainly not that clean. Also, note that good mommy has given dog a rawhide bone which will result in death defying gas later in the evening.

Also, thanks to you all for the concern about the nightmares. I must say that when I remember the medication, the dreams are pretty vivid...just not violent. I have had barbecue with Tom Waits while we discussed music, sang friendship songs to children with Queen Latifah and bungee jumped off of the Sydney Bridge. I am usually very meticulous about my medicine. In addition to medication for my "craziness," I have blood pressure medication, cholesterol lowering medication, medication for hypothyroidism, arthritis and...allergy pills. I call this the prescription for a misspent youth and then some. If I hadn't medicated myself so well earlier in my life...or if I had continued that medication, or...if I would just eat right, exercise, and spend the rest of my life in therapy I could probably cut back.

Not gonna happen...

2005-06-19T00:25:00.000-05:00

NOTE TO SELF: When attempting to determine the cause for previously noticed moodiness and self-indulgence always take into consideration:

Duh, I neglected to take my medication (antidepressant) prior to going to sleep last night because I was too damn lazy to go downtairs and get some water to take it with.
I experience vivid, bizarre dreams without any added reason...i.e. not taking medication prior to sleep.
Last night night the dreams were exceptionally disturbing...how about a man breaking into an upstairs apartment where I was staying and stabbing me repeatedly with many sharpened knives. I kept recognizing the knife by the type of wound that was left. Most painful wound caused by serrated blade stuck through neck, hmmm?
After that, upon awakening, I decided to spend the rest of night watching shallow Lifetime movies...mother attempting to kill daughters rival cheerleading friend's mother.

NOTE TO SELF: TAKE MEDICINE, WATCH COOKING CHANNEL IN MIDDLE OF NIGHT, FIGURE THIS OUT BEFORE BLOGGING IN SUCH A SELF PITYING FASHION.

OVER AND OUT.

2005-06-18T22:43:00.000-05:00

Caden and Jack (Jonny's new nickname...) in Granny's bed as she gets ready to warp his little mind a little more. Today was a pretty big day for the boy. Grandma's Marathon was there for him to watch in town with his mom and dad, met Granny at Pike Lake and got a slurpee (cherry), topped at the basketball court on the way out to Granny's house, swam with the puppy in the lake, took a rinse off shower and got ready to watch, EXORCIST, THE BEGINNING...with Granny. I know, I suck as a positive role model for viewing movies, but I figure he's going to start watching some of this crap on his own some day and at least we can talk about how silly and weird some of this stuff is. I know...still not a good thing. Hey, this granny is up for not hiding too much from the boy. It does him good to keep telling me it's just a movie. The scariest part was when I screamed a bunch of dirty words because I got startled by a flying fake bat. In Caden's own words, "Cheez, Granny, you're scarier than any movie." Little does he know.

It's amazing the stuff kids know about that you assume they don't. He asks me questions all the time that would be easy to avoid. Tough break, kiddo. You ask, you get the answer. I'm walking proof of the saying, "Be careful what you ask for..."

Tomorrow we are going to try and take a picture of the bird that has built a nest on my front porch. The eggs must be getting close to hatching time. It will be fun to try and get a picture of them with their little mouths open and begging for mom to fill their tummies. We will also plant some flower seeds and see what grows now that the fear of freezing has truly past. And then he will head back into town to spend Father's Day with his dad.

Other than Caden news, not much else is going on. I seem to be fighting off a kind of malaise that has me wanting to dig deeper and deeper into my isolation. I love going days without speaking a word, without having to drive, without having to think...hey, maybe I'm some kind of mystic just waiting for the voices to flow through me. Or, maybe I'm just a crabby old lady willing to live out her life with very few distractions.

I have noticed that I can't think on a political level too well, these days. Anger starts and I feel paralyzed by an inability to react in such a way that doesn't involve invectives. I have been thinking about taking classes at the university...but, that will wait until I can take them for free as an old fogey. My self guided learning experiences take me into the world of the darkness of history.

I tend to be as shallow as I possibly can. The only paper I read now is the Sunday NYT...someone has to tell me if anything exciting is happening here in town. The local news that I watch is from LA, via satellite and has no relevance to me except for the phenomena of car chases. Thank goodness for Netflix and movie channels or I would simply fall into the world of the internet. I have visions of becoming that Tron-like character from some old movie who travels an an electron throughout the world of computers.

Hell, I am rambling and think I need to get a grip, finish the laundry and watch the rest of this stupid movie called White Noise as I put my feet back onto the ground and find a definitive purpose that I can measure in definable terms...

Bird pictures, for example.

2005-06-15T18:13:00.000-05:00

OH, WHAT FUN IT IS TO SURF....

Yesterday was one of those days of endless wandering and clicking on new sites, links on new sites, and links provided by people who commented on my blog. Lot's of fun stuff out there...for example, On Wasted Days Wasted Nites I found this list:

LIFECYCLE OF BLOGGERS

Start reading blogs.
You start a blog.
You become a stat whore.
You become really personal on your site as the online and real-life worlds start confusing you.
You faux "retire" from blogging.
You cave back into blogging in less than 72 hours.
You decide to "get serious" about blogging.
You have a pseudo flirty im/blogging/flickr flirting relationship with another blogger you have never met.
You deside that you must meed other bloggers.
You take a step back and metablog about blogging and what blogging has done about your blogging.
See step 5.
You decide that as a result of step 10 and having repeated step 5 more than 3 times in the course of your lifecycle as a blogger, that you need to sanitize or reinvent your blog.
You either lose your job because of blogging, are afraid of losing your job for blogging, or join a company that builds blogging tools.
You decide to start an anonymous livejournal blog.

This, of course, cracked me up and made me realize one more time that there is always a reason for stereotypes, they just don't spring unbidden from the ground. Then, the person writing the above blog posted an "after post" giving credit to the originator of the list. Min Jung’s Original Lifecycle of Bloggers goes into even more detail and should make most of us take a good look at ourselves. I say most of us, because I, of course, haven't done any of the above...(an annoying voice from somewhere is chanting...Liar Liar Pants on Fire.)

2005-06-14T00:00:00.000-05:00

INTERNATIONAL WEBLOGGER'S DAY

587 BLOGS 43 COUNTRIES 1 DAY

Today is International Weblogger's Day. "And, just what the hell is that?" you might ask. According to their site it is:

"Bringing webloggers from around the world together on one day to celebrate a year's worth of changing the way the Internet sees personal journalism."

This past year or so that I have been doing this thing called "blogging," I have learned a goodly number of things and come in contact with a tremendous number of wonderful people and stimulating ideas. I have been entertained, informed, educated, and teased. I have made friends and I have come to know people with opinions much different than mine that I actually liked. I
have learned the joy of intellectual opposition. I have watched children be born and grow. I have "met" those that I am absolutely certain are doppelgangers of myself and living in a wheat field in Indiana.

I have sent gifts to and received gifts from people I wouldn't recognize if I passed them on the street. I have learned about your families and shared my family with you. I have copied recipes and talked about food. Learned about books, music and traveled to countries where kimchee is sold
on street corners.

During all of this I have waxed and waned philosophically, had pissing contests over immaterial matters and let others know that one more word would definitely end up with me sending them packing with their hat in their hands or stuck somewhere else.

I have laughed, cried, spewed, sputtered and marveled at the variety of folks out there. This blogging experience has held me in its grip and pulled more of me out into the public eye than has ever been done before. Thank you all, for all of that...and recognize what power is here.

Words and ideas in a free forum, to accept or reject, growing every day in scope...what does it mean, where will it go, what will it do? I don't know, but I'm absolutely sure I'll be sticking around to see.

2005-06-11T23:36:00.000-05:00

MOST RECENT BOOKS AND NEW ITEM FOR THE

"WISH I HAD THAT" LIST

I had my book club at Bunns and Noodles the other night. Now, since I had "worked" two hours by sitting around and discussing books with a group that has been together for over five years, I figured I had earned me some book purchases. The Dos Passos is for next months meeting. We will be finishing off the trilogy. The other is just pure mind candy for a woman that has so many books, she will have to read when she is dead.

The really sad thing is that I want the little doohickey over there on the right. You got it. It's an ACEPAD digital notebook. Only about $100. ("Only" Like I poop quarters every morning and just happen to have an extra 100 laying around...) I am a part of the bridge generation that started out with pencil and paper. I remember my excitement the first time I typed on an electric typewriter. Now I use a computer every chance I get...some might say too often. I have a tough time with certain of the newer gadgets, though. I never could get in the habit of the Palm Pilot. I would always get overwhelmed and the amount of time needed to get info in was not going to be very efficient for me. When I go to meetings, I take notes by hand. That's where they stay. On pieces of paper in a variety of folders that have doodles and notes intermixed. They never get transferred into the computer. With this and a USB transfer, all of my problems would be solved. Wouldn't they?

2005-06-11T11:46:00.000-05:00

ODE TO THE OFFICE GODDESS

Since my picture host seems to be down today, I figured I had better get a content piece of really quick or readers would be scratching their head in wonderment that I chose to display those little white boxes with red "x"es in them.

You have all heard of the sore throat. (Still here on Saturday.) I have been going to work throughout this, working half days at the office and the rest at home thanks greatly to USB memory devices, a laptop I can operate from bed, and bad movies from the Lifetime Movie Network (aka Battered, Oppressed, Eating Disordered Network.) I usually get my coffee fix at work. Since I drive 45 minutes to get there I prefer to drive there asleep. The other reason is that Sandra makes the office coffee first thing in the morning and it there and waiting for me when I arrive. This also allows for approximately one half hour of paid wake up time. (Don't tell the bosses, oops, I already did!)

Sandra is the Office Goddess who is always there when someone says, "Anybody got a safety pin?" Or, "I have to leave early today, would someone cover my phone shift?" She's the one that brings in the braided bread and fruit loaves. (With cream cheese, too, I might add.) She's the one who takes care of her family...extended and otherwise and she's the one who rocks.

She is also the one who has the Advil, the aspirin, the scented candles or anything else you might need during the course of the day. And, she is the "wife" I have always deserved. Last Friday, when I showed up for work on the seventh day of some holy sore throat pain, I went to the kitchen, poured a HALF cup of coffee since I needed the caffeine yet the heat on the throat was less than soothing. Sandra walked into the kitchen, opened the freezer and said, "Here, I brought this for you, it's so you can have your caffeine and also have something cold on your throat."

She handed me a quart sized thermal cup full of some brown frozen slushy stuff. "What is it?" I ask with my usual paranoid, who-is-trying-to-kill-me-now, tone. I can't remember what she nswered because I had already tasted it and all senses were void to me except the one experiencing the cold, pain relieving feeling in the back of my throat. I was as close the "big one" as I have ever been.

I carried that cup and the spoon with me through five hours. A small bit, held on the back of the throat, relieved the pain, staved off coughing spasms and was the best medicine I could have received. PLUS, she gave me the recipe so that this weekend I could make it for myself. I am absolutely sure that no matter how many times I do, it will never taste as good as the one given to me by:

SANDRA

OFFICE GODDESS EXTRAORDINAIRE

2005-06-09T20:46:00.000-05:00

A FEW QUICK TIDBITS ON THE SEVENTH DAY OF A REALLY BAD SORE THROAT

This is not the world's greatest picture, but I took it at work on the sly. What you might be able to see in that saved baggie is a piece of celery approximately 1½ inches long and a "baby carrot" measuring less than ½ inch longer. Yesterday this bag included another carrot of like size and a small broccoli floret. Does the word TRASH mean anything?

Collagen should NOT be used in an attempt to enhance one's beauty to the point of the
woman on the left. However, it is perfectly legal to use when one has no upper lip as the gentleman on the right. No upper lip "oogies" me out...

That is a martini. Up. Perhaps one olive too many, it depends on the size. It is made with Bombay Gin. The glass will be pre-chilled and then dried out with a non-lint cloth. Two drops, maybe three, of good dry vermouth will then be place in the glass. A stainless steel cocktail
shaker will then be filled halfway with crushed ice...two ounces of Bombay Gin will be poured in. It will then be stirred in one direction only for approximately 30 to 45 seconds, depending on the ambient temperature. The glass will be picked up, swirled to coat the vermouth on the inside, and the excess vermouth will be flung out with a quick flick of the wrist. The gin will
then be poured through a strainer (making sure no ice slips through) into the chilled glass and one or two speared olives will be placed in the glass. The first sip will pass your lips and you will be amazed as you feel something cool, smooth, almost tasteless slip down you throat.

What you see pictured above is Bombay Sapphire. Order a Bombay Sapphire martini with same directions as above if you like flavor of Tanqueray. They both have a stronger resin flavor and it is my opinion that Tanqueray is just as good and generally much less than the over the
much touted Bombay Sapphire.

NOW THIS IS WHAT REALLY PISSES ME OFF!

THESE WILL NEVER BE A PART OF ANY DRINK WITH THE WORD "MARTINI" IN IT. YOU WILL FIND THEM IN FOOFOO DRINKS WITH STRANGE NAMES LIKE MUDSLIDE, SNICKERS, HARVEY WALLBANGERS. PUT IT IN ANY KIND OF GLASS
YOU LIKE, WITH AN UMBRELLA, A PIECE OF BROWNIE OR SOME KIND OF NUT AND CALL IT WHAT IT IS...NOT A MARTINI IN ANY SHAPE OR FORM WHATSOEVER!

Thank you for your patience, I think my sore throat and all of the cold medications have pushed me onto the
grouchy side! And for those of you who may be worried about my attachment to alcohol, I can't remember when I last had a drink...but rest assured, the next one will be a Bombay Martini and I will be standing right next to the bartender in my black leather with a cat-o-nine tails as I tell him exactly how I want it! The martini, that is!

2005-06-07T20:30:00.000-05:00

"HERE'S TO YOU, MRS. ROBINSON..."

2005-06-04T10:20:00.000-05:00

PERHAPS THIS SHOULD BE CALLED
WHINING SATURDAY POST

What could possibly lead to this bout of whining on a perfectly good day off? Settle back and I will tell you.

Let's start with the sore throat. On Tuesday morning I went to the dentist at 7:30 in the morning. He was a new dentist and I chose him because he was more Conveniently located to my drive to and from work. He had just built a new office building and when I walked in I went into one of those "new carpet" asthma attacks. Not a bad one, but enough to cough and pull out the inhaler to get the breathing under control. He didn't hurt and I got two fillings and all seemed well with the world. This leads up to Thursday when my throat started feeling "funny." With me being the "doctor" that I am, I immediately diagnosed the cause as being the coughing fit on Tuesday. Wrong. I woke up Friday with the feeling that I had swallowed tacks. Okay, that's one reason to whine.

Reason number two has to do with living in The great north woods. I am sure that every state has their stories about their mosquito population. I don't want to get into a pissing contest over which state has the worst and biggest mosquitoes, but I'm sure Minnesota would be right up there in the top three. It has been a wet and cold spring for us. (Yeah, some of you are already in summer, it won't be here for another six weeks.) Yet, we have had one or two hot days. Hot enough to cause the mosquitoes to become quite active. Apparently last night a bomber unit of them were in my room and diving for dollars. I awoke with about ten bites, the most annoying one, right on my right eyelid. Imagine how attractive that is, as I peer out between the slit available because the
upper lid is swollen the size of an apricot and has turned the color of a grape. I am so lucky.

Now, the thing that really gets to me...remember the census of 2000. Of course you do, unless your brain is as pickled as mine has been in previous decades. It was pretty simple, fill in the info, mail it off, wait ten years...yada yada yada...The amazing thing for me was that this was the first time I had lived in the same place for two consecutive countings of heads. Quite a transient, I have been. As Yoda would say. Imagine my surprise when a couple of months ago I get a big envelope from the census bureau wanting more information. It was quite intimidating and asking bunches of questions about income, bedrooms, relationships...The anarchy strikes. I throw it away. A month later another one comes. Okay, they mean business, I'll fill this one out when I get around to it. (I never get around to it.) So, I come home Thursday night with a business card stuck in the door telling me an agent of the government (ok, a census taker) would be dropping around sometime this morning. It is 10:18 AM. I am intimidated enough to be here, take my lecture and answer the damn questions. If he gets here by noon, that is...Otherwise, while I will be in the car, heading to town for more throat Lozenges and some mosquito repellent. Do you think they'll let me blog from prison?

(Immediately after posting this at 10:20, "Franklin" showed up and now the gov't knows more than it needs to know. So, what do they do with this secondary information. I am a part of the conspiracy generation, you know.)

2005-05-31T14:30:00.000-05:00

HOW DID THE HIPPIE CHICK WHO STOOD SO CLOSE TO THE SPEAKERS AT CONCERTS THAT HER CHEEKS WERE BLOWN BACK FROM THE AIR THAT WAS BEING PUSHED OUT END UP AS THE OLD LADY WHO SAYS:

I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW YOU CAN LISTEN TO THAT, YOU CAN'T EVEN UNDERSTAND THE WORDS.
IF YOU DON'T TURN THAT DOWN, YOU'RE GOING TO HURT YOUR EARS FOR LIFE.
WHY DO THEY DRESS LIKE THAT?
TURN THAT DOWN, I CAN'T HEAR MYSELF THINK!

PLEASE...WILL YOU ALL TELL ME THAT I'M NOT THAT OLD...JUST SMARTER?

2005-05-30T12:42:00.000-05:00

IT'S QUITE A DAY IN RUSSIAN HISTORY

From left to right:

"I shall continue to be an impossible person so long as those who are possible remain possible." Mikhail Badunin, the Russian anarchist, born on this day in 1814

On this day in 1960, Boris Pasternak died at the age of 70.

Maxim Gorky, arrested on charges of printing revolutionary literature, was released from prison in 1901.

2005-05-29T15:09:00.000-05:00

HERE THEY ARE..

CADEN AND JONATHON AT SIX IN THE MORNING

(I WILL BE CALLING THE CAT JONNY!)

2005-05-28T17:03:00.000-05:00

WHAT'S NEW? WELL, THERE'S THE CAT!

After my roommate's last cat kicked the bucket last fall, we went through a period of having only one pet. It was, I think, the first time she had gone without a cat for quite a long time. I, however, was happy to be down to one pet. That is, until I discovered that we had more than one pet, after all.

The other pets took the form of horrid little grey things that had whiskers, beady little eyes, and long hairless, tails. That's right. MICE! Mice were everywhere. Without the inbred deterrent that a cat is, they were taking over.

I was in the kitchen last week making a sandwich, heard the pans that were hanging in the cabinet rattle, opened the door and found a good sized mouse just sitting there, taking stock of me and wondering where the hell the crumbs were. That was it. Of course, immediately after that I started finding mouse turds everywhere I looked. Definitely, time for a cat.

We couldn't really get a kitten as we aren't home enough to keep it from totally destroying everything while we were gone. So it was a pound kitty, one year old, short hair and as of yet with no name. Caden is coming over tonight and will have the honor of naming him. I have had a couple of cats in the past that resembled this one. One was named Clayton Jesse Arthur, III. He needed a name that important as he was a Minnesota Snow Cat and had feet large enough to be snowshoes and a body that was prepared for professional cat football. The other black and white cat that I had was named Butch. I got Butch from my friends Linda and Anne when they needed a home for him. Butch was quite a cat. His best friend for a while was a dog named Kahlo who licked him into a fur ball of unimaginable consequences. Butch was also a Buddhist cat. He never killed any of the prey he went after. He very gently would bring it to me and drop it directly at my feet as if to say, "Now what?" He eventually went back to live with Linda and Anne who still have him and his Buddhist ways. No-Name (as I am referring to him until he is properly named) proved his worth by killing his first mouse last night. Unfortunately he has spent today in the position above, resting on his laurels.

We will soon see if he is worth the fur he is printed on. I think he will live up to his start. We got him from the pound where he had been for six months. One of his ears looks like he might have had a scrap or two in his earlier days. He is very loving and immediately identified the food dish and my bed as his favorite places in the house. He is not too sure about Jules. And I will give Jules her props, she just stands back and wonders when this silly cat will get past his attitude and get on with the buddy stuff. I will definitely update as soon as Caden names him and now am fearful that I will be posting those Friday Cat Pix...

2005-05-23T20:50:00.000-05:00

TYRONE, HONEY, I'VE GOT A MESSAGE FOR YOU

I really love it when people comment on my posts. It means that I am having some effect, one way or the other. I have read of other bloggers who have gotten spam in their comments and of all the hassles they have had to go through to stop it. Luckily, that hasn't been a problem for me.

I have had two instances of spam remarks. One was for a porno sight featuring pix of horny grannies and for some reason (who's kidding who here?) I deleted it. The second I received yesterday. From Tyrone.

Blogroll me back http://provident****news.****.com/****.xml

# posted by Tyrone : 3:13 PM

(DON'T CLICK THE LINKS, THEY WON'T TAKE YOU ANYWHERE)

It was nice of the young man to ask me to Blogroll him back. I thought here is another guy who finds my particular wit and wisdom irresistible and feels that he, too, has something to "share" with me. Not being such a link whore that I would just jump right on the invitation, I decided to check out what Tyrone had to offer. Well, here comes the message to Tyrone:

TYRONE:

Honey, it was really nice of you to show interest in my blog and offer me a chance to give you exposure on mine. But, Tyrone, I was extremely disappointed when I checked out your blog and discovered that it was a religious tract that definitely was not at all related to any of my postings. Okay, I put a picture of the pope up with a pitcher of beer, but that's it. And, to top things off, you don't even have a Blogroll on your page, so you were lying to me when you intimated that I would be blogrolling you "back."

Now, darlin', here's how it goes. I don't want your stinkin' religious spam in my comments section. My majors in college were Philosophy and Religious Studies. Thanks for offering to furnish some Bible Study areas of YOUR religious beliefs, but, at this point in time, it's a little redundant and I have my own syllabus for dealing with my spirituality.

I have nothing against Religion...I do have issues with: religious bigots, proselytizers, and people who disrespect other's search for spirituality. My spirituality is my business and will be dealt with privately by me. If you, however, are interested in which direction it lies, look at the miracle occurring in the bottom photo and think about it. Or, throw on some gospel music, you know, some really rockin' spirituals, jump up, clap your hands and shout it out!

I've said this the nicest way possible. Please, take it with that intent.

Thank you,

Princess

PS: Don't make me get up in your face about this!

2005-05-21T21:22:00.000-05:00

FOOD, MY FAVORITE MEAL

I am sure you have all heard me talk about food from time to time...okay, a little more often than that. My newest food discovery is just a twist on an old favorite. I am sure that many of you have had, the all time favorite--hot pepper jelly.

You spread it on a cracker with some creamed cheese and down as many as you can. If you are me, you can call it a meal. After all, those little crackers in sufficient quantity can fill a person.

There is now a new twist to this delight. It comes with GARLIC! Now, as you spread the creamed cheese onto a cracker (preferably not saltines, but in a pinch those will suffice) and dip your knife into the green jelly, a wonderful aroma of garlic wafts over you and the mouth starts to anticipate the sensuality of the sweetness of the jelly combined with the heat of the peppers and the seductiveness of the garlic. Your mouth will water in anticipation of the mixing flavors as you bring the cracker up to it.

Now comes the real question...do you make them one at a time? Or, do you line up a row of crackers already prepared and ready for consumption?

2005-05-20T15:18:00.000-05:00

REMEMBER WHEN I SAID I NEVER WANTED TO SEE THAT COMMERCIAL WITH ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION MENTIONED IN IT AND ABOUT ERECTIONS LASTING OVER FOUR HOURS...LET ME TELL YOU, I WILL WATCH THAT 50 MILLION TIMES IF IT MEANS I DON'T HAVE TO SEE SADDAM HUSSEIN IN HIS TIGHTY WHITIES ONE MORE TIME!

2005-05-19T10:53:00.000-05:00

TODAY MALCOM X WOULD HAVE BEEN 80

As reported in DEMOCRACY NOW:

Today is Malcolm X's birthday. Had he lived, he would have been 73 years old. In his life and his work, Malcolm sought to redress the imbalances of America's racist legacy by re-formulating the political, economic, and historical place of African Americans. He sought to accomplish this in part by visiting Africa himself in an effort to find a new connection to the land.

(This is taken from a previously published book.)

REMEMBER!

2005-05-17T09:47:00.000-05:00

CAN'T WAIT FOR OKTOBERFEST!

2005-05-13T21:12:00.000-05:00

THIS IS ALL HER FAULT SO DON'T BLAME ME

At some point in everyone's life, the word "colonoscopy" raises its ugly head and nothing will ever be the same. I am the perfect case in point. Let me start this out with a little background information. To begin with, I was the kid in grammar school who had to raise her hand to go pee while class was in session because she could never pee if anyone else was in the bathroom with her. This has led to years of kidney and bladder infections.

As far as taking a poop, I had a saying, "I don't poop and if I did, it would smell like "roses." I didn't talk about it, I didn't acknowledge the fact that I, or anyone else, pooped, and as far as I was concerned, that porcelain bowl sitting on the floor of the bathroom did not exist.

Then, low and behold, a few years ago, at age 50 or so, I was told to hit the gastroenterologist for a probing known as a "colonoscopy." This was well before cute, little Katie Couric lost a husband to colon cancer and had a much publicized colonoscopy on television. Assholes aren't so sacrosanct anymore. Mine, however, was not so entertaining. I ordered all the drugs there were available and then some. The prep is something I don't even want to go into, suffice to say the next colonoscopy found me far more prepared with a number of handy little aids: Zinc Oxide Ointment, Aloe Vera Wet Wipes and plenty of shallow magazines for bathroom reading.

Of course, the first colonoscopy had to show some of the pesky pre-malignant polyps which means that for the following two years, there will be an annual probing, so to speak. Somewhere in between the first and second colonoscopy I found that the discussion of my asshole and its habits seemed to slip into conversation a bit easier. I was no longer so retentive regarding my bathroom habits.

The other thing that is important to mention is the personality of the physician who was performing the anal probes. None. Nil. Not a smidgen. I am sure if I were looking at the ass end of people's personality, I wouldn't have such a rosy outlook on life, but I would certainly recognize that a patient's needs for a few giggles in an uncomfortable situation. This man appeared to have the personality of a glass of warm water. My perfect match, so to speak.

On the third go round, there were a few mishaps in the "operating" room. First of all, he couldn't find his stethoscope. I could detect that the nurses in the room were just a little tired of "His Royal Assholishness" and his demands and the kind of had a tinge of sarcasm in their voices as they pointed out that that it was hanging on a hook right next to him. I made eye contact with one of them, rolled my eyes and got a little lift at the corner of her mouth.

Now one of the advantages of this procedure is the drugs. Drugs to kill pain, drugs to relax and drugs to help you not remember. I had had the first two and was a little giddy and enjoying it as only an aging hippie can when the Doc started asking me questions. What the hell was this. He'd never even acknowledged that I was anything more than an Asshole (joining the ranks of my ex-husbands) in the past.

"Have you ever had hemorrhoids before?" What the f**k? Not only is this man probing my asshole, he wants ME to talk about it. I fall back on my customary and obligatory sarcasm and answer, "Not until I started hanging out with you!" The nurses and I lost it at the same time. We were cracking up, I would have sworn one of them had blown some snot as quickly as she reached for a Kleenex. Doc, now Doc didn't crack a grin. And the look he gave the nurses caused guffaws to diminish to snorts to huffs and then to silence. I thought it was my best line ever, or at least up there at the top of the list somewhere.

So since my asshole has been viewed by a variety of strangers on a number of occasions, and since one of my best lines ever took place during one of these experiences, I have readily joined the masses of middle aged women who can and will readily speak of their assholes and its experiences.

2005-05-11T11:08:00.000-05:00

Your Political Profile

Overall: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal

Social Issues: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal

Personal Responsibility: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal

Fiscal Issues: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal

Ethics: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal

Defense and Crime: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal

How Liberal / Conservative Are You?

Once again I wander into the path of thinking that there is something new for me to find out about myself and once again I find that...no, Sarah, you are still the same "Commie, Pinko, Hippie, Freak" that you were in 1968 and will probably be until the day you die!

GIVE PEACE A CHANCE!

2005-05-10T23:34:00.000-05:00

WHAT THE HELL'S UP WITH YOUR
NOSE?

Mother's Day was wonderful. I cooked spaghetti for Tina and the boy and we ate until we couldn't move and then topped it off with strawberry shortcake. Then we laid around and moaned about how uncomfortable we were and laughed about how we all wished we just make room for more.

Monday was work day again and doctor's appointment to try and figure out a way to deal with this ongoing snot, illness, and general malaise. She thinks that with the emphysema and asthma I am predisposed to situational lung disease and that allergies are setting up a perfect environment for infection. Bring on the drugs, in other words.

In addition to the Advair and Flonase samples to use, she hands me Claritin. You know, the "non-drowsy" antihistamine. I am to use these for a month and then go in for another lung function test. Whoopee. More steroids and pills to deal with.

Last night, I followed the regimen. Taking all the medications and snorting and huffing as prescribed, I fall into bed for a night's sleep and work in the morning. Now, I have taken Benadryl for years for allergies and have enjoyed the somewhat beneficial side effects of floating while under its influence. I love it when being loaded falls under the premise of "medicine." So, I thought nothing of the pill.

That is, I thought nothing of the new pill until this morning when I attempted to wake up and get ready for work. I was lucky I could make it downstairs to pee I was so deep asleep. I was thirsty and drank from my hand at the bathroom faucet because I knew I couldn't make it to the kitchen and back upstairs to the bed. I re-awoke at 9:30 and called work and said there was not a way in hell I was going to be capable of driving, much less be worth what
they pay me if I came in.

Now, those of you who thought I would be staying home today anyway for the DSL install will be pleased to know that I shan't be getting DSL since I live 400 feet past the 18,000 feet limit. Come on folks, this is the 21st century. Give me my high speed.

Oh, did I forget to mention that the other advise the doc gave was dropping some pounds. This is the same doctor who a little more than a year ago told me she liked her "elderly patients to have a little added weight just in case." Well, I guess my case has passed its limits and I need to drop some of this emergency stash that I have been pounding on (so to speak) "just in case."

Here come the salad lunches, the whole grains, and the healthy eating that I intellectually know and willingly ignore in favor of chocolate, spaghetti and any other carbohydrate standing in line. I won't be subjecting you to one of those little "Here I am and here is where I want to be" ribbons that others have on their websites. Instead I will simply let you know...when I can fit into more than two pair of my jeans and can see my feet again.

I am sure that not weighing enough to fight heavyweight will make going up and down the stairs a bit easier. Onward and upward with the healthful eating and the diminishing Sarah.

PS: The doggie wouldn't let me shave her for easier access to the wound on her side. So, instead, I have been washing her wound daily and applying antibiotic cream to the wound. She seems to be fine, other than her fear of vibrating, hand held appliances.

A couple of the neighbors have suggested I spray paint the offending dog with bright orange florescent paint to announce to its owner that it is venturing into places it shouldn't be.

2005-05-05T18:38:00.000-05:00

SNAFU SNAFU SNAFU SNAFU

"One of those days?" you ask. As we say in Minnesota "YOU BETCHA!" followed closely behind by a few of these, "&*#%#!!."

I haven't mentioned it, but it has been a little over a year since I started doing this. I wasn't too hot to begin with and some may say (and do) that I'm not so hot now. In celebration I decided to give myself a little present and have ordered a new skin, new hosting, and....DSL. Today was the day the DSL was to be installed. Since I live in Timbuktu they can do nothing more than tell me they will be here on Thursday, May 5th. Groovy.

I take the day off work. Oh, did I mention the hard drive died on my satellite DVR the other day and after having been on hold for an hour they told me it would be delivered today, too. Great. What's the saying? Kill two birds with one stone? Who is kidding whom? This is Sarah. Her life just does not run like that.

First. Put the dog out. It's a beautiful day, the dog crawls into the little hole she has dug under one of the lilac bushes (which may bloom by August if I'm lucky) and sets out to spend the day guarding the homestead. Soon, I hear a bark. She is so good that nary a monster dares come into the yard. But, the 'crazy lady that lives down the road's' dog does come into the yard. Usually Jules is inside all day while I'm at work, so I don't know if this is the usual week day behavior of this dog. Jules, though, is having none of it. Barking commences, then squeals as I run to the window and yell for that asshole dog to get out of here. I call Jules to the front of the house and she comes in, dripping blood from a bite that she has on her side. Doggy first aid, coming up. Cold water on a paper towel, trying to calm the dog down and clear out dog fuzz at the same time blood is dripping all over the floor. SHI-I-I-I-I-T! Finally get it cleaned out and put some antibiotic cream on the gash and spend a half hour telling her that she's a good doggy and it's going to be okay.

Then, the UPS guy comes to drop off the new receiver. The DSL guy still hasn't shown up. And, Jules is doing her best to "scare" the UPS guy off, but is whimpering like a baby because of her "ow-ey." I start to unhook and rehook the reciever...one cable at a time so I don't get confused and the DSL guy shows up...as does the loudest, windiest, rainiest storm of the season starts.

This puts the dog into a minor fit. She hates thunder. I run to unplug the computer. The DSL guy says he'll wait until the storm passes to start the process. Blah Blah Blah. Storm passes. Guess what? Both phone lines are gone. That kills the DSL installation. Phone service starts up again after six, well after phone guy leaves.

So, I'll have to take another day off of work in an attempt to hook up to the internet at more than a snail's pace. What am I going to do now? I am going downstairs and making lemon poppyseed muffins, hot dogs and baked beans and eat until I puke...as I said before SHI-I-I-IT!!!

2005-04-30T22:39:00.000-05:00

2005-04-30T12:11:00.000-05:00

Get ready to laugh your ass off! I can't tell you not to listen to this at work, but if you do, have a good reason for cracking up. Then, forward it to everyone else in the office and listen for the giggles coming from the corner.

2005-04-29T18:24:00.000-05:00

WHY AM I CONSTANTLY SEDUCED BY ADVERTISING?

Okay, it works like this...I watch the televison, I pay little or no attention to the commercials, enough of the sound sneaks through my censors and my ears pick up the words: NEW...LEMON...COOKIE. I am the original "As seen on TV" chick. Hell, one year when I had foster kids and money was tight, we had an "As seen on TV" christmas. All of the gifts had to fit the theme. I got one of those little egg scramblers. You've seen them. This little metal pin breaks the shell as you set it on it, and since it is set at an angle, as soon as it starts to spin it whirls the egg into perfect pre-scrambled state.

After having caught my attention, I turn the volume up and see that the source of these words is...a Keebler's Lemon Sandies commercial. Those damn elves. They got me again. I have to tell you that Lemon Flavor has surpassed chocolate for me. I will still eat chocolate, don't get me wrong, as much as I can get my hands on...I don't (or try not to) buy it. However, the seduction of the lemon embedded itself somewhere in my primal brain stem and when I was in the grocery store today, it struck.

The first thing I bought was a lemon marinated pork chop. Never had one, but it sure sounded good, for some reason. So, there I was with one of them in my cart and then I saw them. The cheese crackers. Hey, after I had the pork chop, those would be a great snack as I watched two DVD's of Alias. (I know, you wish you had this kind of excitement in your life!)

As I walked on down the aisle, there they were, opposite the crackers, THE DREADED KEEBLER LEMON SANDIES. At $3.49 a package they weren't quite as cost effective as the package of lemon wafers I bought at the dollar store last week. But, but, they sure looked good. And I succumbed to temptation. I was never known as a citadel of strength and resistance, in fact, the only nickname I have ever had sounded a lot like "Easy."

So now the cookies are sitting on the dresser. I know if I open them I will eat the entire package in one fell swoop. And then they will be gone and I will wonder why I didn't buy two packages. I'll tell you why, I may love lemon, but I am one cheap son of a bitch. But, what if I can't resist? You tell me, should I open the cookies and throw caution to the wind, or should I hold them as long as possible and build the anticipation up until the consumption of them presents an orgasmic frenzy of lemon?

2005-04-28T20:31:00.000-05:00

I AM TIRED OF HAVING NO PICTURES...I AM VERY DISAPPOINTED IN PICGOO...LOOK AT THESE UNTIL THE OTHER ONES COME BACK!

2005-04-25T13:16:00.000-05:00

BOOKS, BOOKS, I LOVES ME SOME BOOKS

KIRK over at My So-Called Strife sent me the book meme. I have been just going bonkers trying to figure out what my five books on a deserted island would be, but I think I have them now.

Here's all you need to know about the Princess as it relates to books:

If you couldn't get out of "Fahrenheit 451," what book would you like to be in?"

The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley (Lots of strong women wearing cool costumes. I'm shallow!)

Did you ever have a crush on a fictional character?

Scarlet O'Hara in Gone With the Wind. (That woman knew what she wanted and wasn't going to be stopped!)

What was the last book you bought?

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini.

What was the last book you read?

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami

What book are you reading now?

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon

Five books you would take with you to a deserted island? (This was hard, folks!)

Goedel, Eshcher and Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid by Douglas R. Hofstadter
Welcome to the Monkey House by Kurt Vonnegut
Erections, Ejaculations and Tales of A Dirty Old Man by Charles Bukowski (out of print, but I have one.)
Ulysses by James Joyce
The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats

I think that those would keep me occupied until the end of time.

Now, who do I pass this on to?

Andrena who will always fascinate me with whatever she says. Scott because he cracks me up and it's time he knew I existed. (All about me, you know.) And, finally, Karma because I know that someday I will be her love slave.

2005-04-19T01:29:00.000-05:00

Worst Jobs in History

I don't think I even want to talk about some of these jobs, but the next time I complain about reconciling a bank statement or closing the books out for the year, I think I'll just peruse this for awhile.

I have often said that there aren't too many other time in history that I would have wanted to be alive. Then invention of bathrooms, microwaves and remote controls on televisions seem to have been invented just for me. To think about living, much less working, in other times makes me feel a little "oogy." (That may be a Minnesota term, what it means is "like puking.")

I took the test they had available and with my score of 25 found I fit in the following category:

0 to 30 No one is saying that you’re work-shy, but a more sedentary occupation would suit you, even if it gets a trifle monotonous. It’s a little messy, but being an Executioner won’t put huge demands on your time. If you don’t mind getting wet or sitting still, Bath Attendant or Artist's Model might do for you. Or if you’re not too squeamish about the sight of blood, pus or the odd taste of urine, try putting in an application form for some of the medical jobs: Leech Collector, Barber-Surgeon or Loblolly Boy (I'm not sure if they had Loblolly Girls but if they did, I think I could have found a better way to pick up some cash.)

Check it out only if you aren't so squeamish that the idea of stomping wool in urine is too much for your tummy.

2005-04-18T19:46:00.000-05:00

YOU CAN'T MAKE ME WATCH IT

I'm sorry, but the days of me watching movies that will affect me for the rest of my life are over. Psycho and The Birds aside, I thought I was through with all of that.

Then along comes CBS with a grand production of Locusts that will star the amazing and wonderful Xena. Xena is still not enough to get me to watch it. Nope, not gonna do it.

In the third grade I remember Social Studies and all of the wonderful films that introduced me to the world outside of the one I lived in. Films about volcanoes, polar bears, Lake Titicaca (always good for a third grade giggle) and Africa.

What do they decide to show to a bunch of impressionable kids about Africa? Do they show Victoria Falls? The Serengeti? The Pyramids? Hell, no. They show us pictures of locusts and elephantitis. Great. At age eight, I don't think it is appropriate to darken a room and show swarms of locusts and diseased people. It has stuck with me all of this time. As an adult, I can choose to watch movies about things that I learned about as an adult. There isn't that emotional gut wrenching response to having bugs in you food and horribly distorted limbs.

So, CBS, on Sunday, April 24th I won't be watching your special. Lucy Lawless isn't even enough to get me there. Maybe if she was wearing that cute Xena outfit I would sneak a peak while surfing. No, on that night I think I will rent Dawn of the Dead and let my adult logic override the childhood fears. Thanks, anyway.

2005-04-16T09:34:00.000-05:00

ANONYMOUS COMMENTS

Now I understand why you are such a messed-up Beeyatch! I often wonder, with all of your illnesses and onsite (meaning work) emotional breakdowns, why you are still at the infamous magazine?Oh, I forgot! It's infamous for being F-uped! And everyone knows you're the most f-uped!And you will never get fired because you are best friends with the COO. So until you're bf runs it underground (probally soon; she's an extremely bad buisnesswoman and boss) you're safe.But because I considered you a friend and know you lied to me, and misrepresented me on your blog, I don't believe your stories or feel any empathy about your past lives. This is a warning to all entrapped in her "poor me" snare!
# posted by Anonymous : 11:29 PM

This was posted as an anonymous comment on a previous entry of mine. I'm really sorry the person felt it necessary to post anonymously. But, I will put it out for all to see and I will comment on it.

A blog is a personal forum. I don't think I have said anything about anyone at my job that requires that kind of a response. However, that said, I have made remarks about people at work in a forum where they remain fairly anonymous and many of them are simply rants about a collection of things that have occurred. That said, I apologize for hurting someone's feelings. But, this is my page and I won't change what I say and do.

As far as my "past lives" (as you call the recollections of my youth) go, you can judge them however you wish. One of the things I have learned coming from such a place is that anger and abuse doesn't stop. I don't seek empathy, sympathy or anything from these recountings. They are for me. And, trust me, you all get to hear the funny ones...not the ones that I can't even put into words for myself.

My job and my friend are something that if you are still an employee of the company you can address with the owner. If you are not an employee, then I'm sorry you must take these feelings with you because they are affecting only you. Health problems are not something anyone wishes for themselves. When you have them, you deal with them openly and honestly and trust that everything will be fine.

And, any of you "entrapped in my snare", as it has been claimed, just in case you miss reading the comments, I put it up there for all of you to see and as far as Anonymous is concerned, I'm sorry you feel so angry about all of this, if I hurt your feelings it is because at times I can be an insensitive bitch, hopefully you can get on with your life now.

2005-04-12T13:14:00.000-05:00

MOST E-MAILED NEWS STORY OF TODAY

A talking Jesus doll is due to go on sale in May, along with versions of Moses, the Virgin Mary and David, as a teddy bear maker tries to find a market with churches and religious families. The foot-tall Jesus doll will be able to recite five Biblical verses at the push of button on its back, while the Moses doll will recite the Ten Commandments. The Mary doll will recite a long Bible verse.

I don't think that I even have to comment on this, do I?

2005-04-11T20:45:00.000-05:00

ANDREA DWORKIN DIES

In so many ways this woman affected my life. Love her, hate her, agree with her, disagree with her, she gave a generation of feminists more to think about than many would have thought possible. Regardless of how I feel about her today, I will always love her for the challenges she presented to me in defining my own feminism and the impact she will have on feminism for all times. Thanks, the world will miss you.

2005-04-09T20:30:00.000-05:00

THIS TRULY DOES RELATE...ASK FREUD

Quite a few things to catch up...

A bit of pneumonia complications...new antibiotics and prednisone. With the warning that while the prednisone will help my lungs attain their former limited breathing capacity, it would also allow me to put on weight with an excuse and at the same time give me an excuse for being a grouch. Why didn't I lie about taking this drug years before? It's not me...it's my medication.
Blogger ate my blog. A wonderful post about another religious experience of mine which I will attempt to reconstruct after the intro...
I decided to switch from blogger to another format and hosting service, but know nothing about going about doing that, so I expect all of you to give me the best advice available and help me on my way.

Now, on to another of my religious experiences. Prior to latching onto the hunchbacked-alcoholic-catholic, my mother led me on quite a ride. Here is another escapade.

We were homeless. While homeless was not really a word in 1954, what we really were was "having an adventure." This adventure consisted of finding an empty house that had a window that a seven year old could be lifted up to. This was how we moved. We had bags of stuff that we would carry with us..."bag lady" not really being a phrase that was around, and there were also a lot of hiding places for our "stuff."

After we had moved in and learned how to live in the dark...empty meant no electricity, no water, no heat, but it was Florida so a lot of that didn't really matter. And, I learned how to shop for groceries. This shopping consisted of shoplifting. My mother would be the look-out and I would be the innocent waif with the hot dogs crammed down my pants. It worked quite well and I was never caught.

Unfortunately, since it worked so well, I learned to head out on my own forays. Screw the hot dogs, bring on the candy and the books. I would find my own places to hide out as my mother made her way through daily living. This generally consisted of looking for a new "daddy" and a more stable living situation.

At one point in time, she had made contact with some "church folk" who took us under their wings and found us a place to stay while we "got on our feet." Mother was a glib one and I'm not quite sure which tragedy it was that she used, but it worked.

They also brought us some clothing and food stuffs. Amongst the free food was a home canned jar of peaches. I would swear that the label on it said "EAT ME" and not "Peaches." I wanted those damn peaches. Looking at them on the kitchen shelf, glistening with sweetness through the green tint of the canning jar, was almost too much to bear.

I knew better than to ask for the peaches. One way to guarantee not getting something, was to ask for it. That particular messsage has managed to stay with me throughout my adulthood and has lead to a stubborness that hasn't always served me well. And, so, I kept my lips sealed and my eyes on those peaches for what seemed an eternity.

At some point, my mother decided it was time to pay back those wonderful church folk, she did not lack in the social niceties...and she invited the pastor and his wife over for dinner. She had found a job at Sears by this time and "our" home had developed a bit of style provided by the five finger discount of my mothers and the plethora of goods at her place of employment.

As they sat down to dinner, I kept my silence in one of the empty kitchen cabinets. Scrunched over with a stolen book and the door cracked to let just enough light in to discern the words on the page. I watched as the door swung open and shut from the kitchen to the dining room and the bowls and plates of food were carried out. I held my breath waiting to overhear some of the grown up gossip that I was sure to pick up.

All of a sudden, the swinging door opened and my mother entered the kitchen to prepare the dessert. I almost choked as I heard that can of peaches being opened and poured into a bowl. Holy shit. Those are MY peaches. Minister or not, I had to keep my eyes on them.

I slipped into the dining room, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, and endured the pathetic attempts by the adults to pay some attention to a gangly, homely, silent seven year old. They started passing those peaches around and I stood up on the back of the preacher's chair and watched as they consumed peaches with no idea at all of how much they were killing me.

As the bowl went around for the second time, as the last peach was being placed in the minister's bowl, I could handle it no more. The mouth, aged far beyond the years of the owner, moved. "I can see you people don't care too much for those goddamned peaches." Sarcasm, cursing, speaking out of turn, all behaviors punishable by backhands and belts were right out there on the table next to the empty bowl of peaches.

As the minister's wife fanned herself, as the minister choked on my goddamned peaches, as my mother headed my direction I ran as fast as I could without a glance over my shoulder. It didn't matter if or when I returned, whenever it was would certainly bring about some major damage to my body. So, off I headed to the grocery store. I stole my own goddamned can of peaches...one of those weird can openers that had the sharp pointy things on one end and a corkscrew in the handle...and headed off to the garage in the neighborhood where I had stashed all the Popular Mechanics magazines I had stolen (dorky kid, I know) and opened that can of peaches and stabbed them with that can opener and ate them as the sticky juice ran down my arms and dripped off my elbows.

Screw the minister's kindness, screw the glories of religion...I had found heaven, in that can of peaches. To this day, one of the first comfort foods that comes to mind, peaches are my favorite. Maybe this summer, I will try and can some. I know the canned ones are good, but I bet I could find that color of a canning jar and bottle me up some peaches and find me some heaven again.

2005-04-05T08:21:00.000-05:00

AS FREUD ONCE SAID...THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS TOO LOOSE AN ASSOCIATION...

POPE #1...A number of them have passed in my lifetime. Pius the XII was the last one that had any real impact upon my life. My mother had married a hunchbacked, alcoholic who also happened to be a Catholic. While she didn't have to convert, I did. My life had been quite disrupted and bizarre to this point, so turning me over to the Catholics had to be the only step available. I mean, it would be like throwing gasoline to put out a fire. Warning, disaster ahead!

There were a more than a couple of problems encountered. I was looking for escape on any level and those Carmelites were more than happy to send me on my way to brown-sack-cloth land. Next, and more importantly, was that I had a far too well-developed sense of logic for any of the Catholic mysticism stuff they were peddling. This led to quite a schizophrenic couple of years. On the one hand, buying into the "Jesus would save me from the hell I was being raised in", while on the other, the absolute certainty that priests went to magician's school and that's where the capes and all the wine into blood stuff came from. And, Latin sounded a lot like abbra-caddabra to me.

Anyway, back to that Pius guy...when he died, we were marched to the chapel to pray for his soul. On our knees. Our wobbling along was accentuated by the pain I was experiencing from having been born with the "housewive's knees" bumps that made any pressure more than excruciating. I decided to apply that well developed logic at this point and asked, "Sister, why are we praying for the Pope? Isn't he the "closest thing to God on Earth"? Why aren't we praying for somebody who really needs it?" (You can see it coming, can't you?)

While logic has always ruled my life, common sense hasn't. As you can tell. Palms out, awaiting the sting of the metal edged ruler, I lost my final. tenuous connection to that redemption that they had held out for me.

Hell in a handbasket. I had heard it so many times it had lost its fear provoking powers and I joyfully jumped in with the full knowledge that any church that could justify anything with the term "blind faith" wasn't going to be pulling me, unwillingly, into any heaven that was designed as a gated community with rules that were far to difficult to figure out.

To be continued...

2005-04-01T11:13:00.000-06:00

YUP, IT'S BEEN A LONG AND UGLY WEEK

So, there I was minding my own business...as much as I can mind my own business...when this tickle cough thing developed in my chest. Oh well, we can move past this, I have had the flu shot, the pneumonia shot, it's the end of March, it's probably just the beginning of the hated allergy season.

Last Saturday wasn't so bad...Sunday wasn't so great...and by early Sunday afternoon when I was huddled under six blankets and couldn't stop shivering, I had to admit, there might be something wrong. Started to throw up. This is not a good sign. I know, take the temp, 102.5, take some aspirin...back to bed...continue to shiver, only worse. Jaw now hurts. Head hurts. Take temp again...103.5...uh oh, this means something. My wonderful skills as a diagnostician kick into overdrive as I tell my roommate she has to drive me into town to the emergency room.

Long story short... IV's to combat the dehydration--with antibiotics to combat the "borderline" pneumonia, two shots of Dilaudid for massive brain pain--into every life a little sunshine must fall, more tylenol--hell, it hasn't worked so far, save it for someone who can't take real drugs, and a mere lifetime later I am back home in bed...until today.

Yesterday wasn't so bad, I went out on a limb and had eggs and toast...whoopee, and when that worked splurged with my first meal in almost a week...that would have been the infamous, frozen pepperoni pizza. Pitiful, aren't I. I had broth and tea for the four days leading up to that, with a side of applesauce thrown in for variety. As far as I was concerned, that pizza was pure heaven.

Today I went to work for three hours and am now at Tina and Caden's. The computer is not fixed yet, so in my fever driven mind I couldn't surf the net for "Nose Rings made from soup cans" on Google. The other things that happened or didn't...Terri died...hell, I was ready to die for her just to get the issue out of my face. What I do with my life and my death are my business and I really wish you would keep yours in the same place. Then, when did someone NOT dying become so damned interesting. Hey! Guess what. The pope still isn't dead. Hey! Guess what. The pope still isn't dead. I remember when Popes just magically died (Pius XII) or unexplainedly died (because a Catholic Pope can be too liberal?)...this is going to be the second death watch within a period of a month and as I always wonder when sensationalized news takes over...Didn't anything else happen? Remember how the world quit making news after 9/11? I really thought that when the news came back that the world could have fallen off of its axis for all of the coverage it would have gotten.

Now, the highlight of this week was the Food Network. I have learned the difference between Greek and Turkish baklava, how to make "Fake" Baked Ziti, that Iron Chef America sucks...give me back that guy with the pompadour...But, the real highlight was the additional prescription for Lortab. Let's see, "You're sick, antibiotics...you're vomiting, anti nausea medication, you have a headache...have some Lortab." Hell, I was so loaded on the Dilaudid, I even brought up Oxycontin since it is my one last drug to "test" out. I finally see that back when I really wanted all of this shit, I should have just told them I was 58 and they would have fallen all over themselves giving it to me. Now, it just adds up in the hidden stash simply for my amusement and because I feel like I'm getting away with something.

Okay, that's it. This was quite exhausting and there only so much one can do...Caden was my sweetie and filled in...twice...for me...and now, I am back. Although, I am sure that there are some who would question it.

2005-03-29T19:28:00.000-06:00

Hi everyone, this is Caden, Sarah's grandson. Granny was in the hospital with a bad case of the flu. She is starting to feel better. She didn't stay over tonight because she needed to rest more. She is going to stay here on Thursday after she goes to my conference. She will write to you all then. Caden

2005-03-29T19:08:00.000-06:00

Hi everyone this is Caden, Sarah's grandson. My Granny was in the hospital with a bad case of the flu. Right now she is getting better. She could not stay over tonight because she is still feeling very tired. She is going to stay here on Thursday after she goes to my conference. She will write to you all then:) Caden

2005-03-25T07:26:00.000-06:00

MY COMPUTER IS STILL DEAD AND

EASTER IS CANCELLED!

2005-03-22T16:02:00.000-06:00

The latest word is...my computer guru is awaiting a quote from some Pakistanis in New Jersey. See what you get for living in the middle of nowhere? I am beginning to feel like I am in a Seinfeld episode and pretty soon the credits are going to start to roll and I won't know what's so funny.

The next funny thing...is watching me attempt to use Tina's cell phone. It rings, well, it doesn't really "ring," it makes this noise like a slot machine. I pick it up. It is very, very small. These giant fingers have to figure out which magic button I am supposed to poke and then get it to my ear fast enough to say hello...instead of doing that, though, I drop it. Finally, I get it back in my hands and can't tell where you are supposed to talk. Where is that circle with the little holes that the sound goes through? I don't get it. While I am certainly grateful for the computer, I see the value in that, these damn miniaturized doo-hickeys make me feel like I have King Kong fingers.

Will update you tomorrow...on whether my baby will be taking a trip to the Jersey shore. Meanwhile, I will worry about whether or not I should have cleaned some of the more bizarre things off of it before dropping it off. So, until tomorrow, when I return to work, I will bid you a fond adieu and ask that you burn some kind of sacrifice to the computer goddess for the quick recovery of my baby.

2005-03-22T09:15:00.000-06:00

It happened and I couldn't even talk about it until this morning. I got my computer home on Friday, turned it on and within five minutes it was on its death bed again. Computer guru Mike had disassembled my Sony Vaio and had resoldered the connection where the AC cord connects to the computer. It quit working within minutes of turning it on.

I returned it to the guru yesterday and will have to wait and see what is happening. Until then, dear friends, I will be stealing time at work to read your blogs and write. Plus, I have my daughter's computer to steal time on, too.

I really can't talk about it anymore. Tomorrow I will come up with something hilarious, but until then, I'll just throw on ashes and sackcloth and bemoan my fate. Woe is me!

2005-03-20T14:11:00.000-06:00

MOST EMBARRASSING...

How could anybody's most embarrassing moment have anything but a fart in it...or, in my case a number of farts.

When I was in school, I never completed a full school year at any one school, or at least that is how I remember it. When you move that much, it is hard to make friends, or keep friends or even fit in on any level. When you are also stuck in the system of poverty, alcoholism, and total family dysfunction, isolation becomes your best friend.

That world worked out fine, most of the time. Occasionally. though, I would end up in a foster home or some other kind of placement that required socialization on some level or another. At this particular time, I was in about the fourth grade...approximate, since trying to remember exactly what year it was is next to impossible. I was in a foster home that was close to the swamp in Florida...outside of Jacksonville Beach. At that time, there wasn't the development that there is now and there was quite a bit of wild land out there.

Palmetto bushes would cut you to shreds if you weren't careful. Bugs would eat you alive. The skanky smell of the swamp would embed itself in your nasal cavities and you had to be pretty tough to develop a tolerance for it. At this particular home, "Go outside and get yourself some fresh air, girl," was a daily order. All I wanted to do was find some place to hide and read and escape from the reality of life. (A talent I still use to this day...coupled with the magic of the internet!)

Outside, I would go. Sometimes I could sneak away and find a place to hunker down and hide from the enforced socialization. More often than not, however, I found myself with a group of kids who loved to play the game of "Mess with the new Kid." Guess who was the new kid?

There we were playing in the swamp, running up the trunks of fallen trees covered with slimy moss and who knew what other slimy shit there was out there. My feet were not as toughened as theirs were. Running through the brush, I had to bite my tongue to keep from showing how much of a wimp I was. I had avoided running up the tree trunk, it looked like it required more physical dexterity that I had. After being goaded, dared and finally threatened, I took my turn at it.

Approximately half way up, I slipped...arms and legs out, I fell flat upon the trunk with my chest and fell over the side to the ground on my back...and I had knocked the breath out of myself. Like a turtle on its back, I lay there gasping and thrashing and looking up into the filthy faces of about eight grinning ten year olds...

When, it happened. The convulsions from attempting to catch my breath apparently activated my body's desire to exchange air and the only end that was working was the asshole end. There I was, with every flop of my body a fart escaped and the kids guffawed. I thought I was going to die and that this was going to be the humiliating exit that the fates had thrust upon me. Actually, by this time I was hoping I would die.

As luck would have it, my breath finally returned and I regained control of my symphonic asshole and sped off towards any available hole to crawl into. I remember swearing to myself that friends just weren't worth it, humiliation was not something anyone with a sane mind would ever choose and the road to introversion was set in stone.

Also set in stone were years of constipation and gas as I became absolutely convinced I could live with nothing ever leaving my body involuntarily. Today, let's just say, don't pull the finger...grandsons give more freedom than years of reasoning ever could.

2005-03-18T13:28:00.000-06:00

SHE'S DANCIN' IN THE STREET

I don't think I can express how happy I am today. Those expired flexeril and some, uh, uh, my daughter reads this, uh, ganja put me right out and when I awoke I only had a little stiffness in my neck. And, it's a good damned thing...there's a UMD women's hockey game tonight that my boy and I are going to. Play-off time and all that. I have decided that collegiate women's hockey is the hottest sport there is. The best hockey game I ever saw was a triple overtime UMD game for the championship a couple of years ago. And, the boy loves it, too.

I will be jumpin' up and yellin' for all to hear tonight. And then spending the night at Tina's house so I can go and see the boy play basketball in the morning. The kid is nine and is the granny's retirement plan. I taught him to dribble when he was three...and the famous lessons on the importance of outside shots and rebounds. I can see it now..."I'd like to thank my Granny for teaching me all I neede about basketball...even how to use elbows without being caught." That's what I got kicked off the team for. Unnecessary roughness. My sports career was short lived...it was well before Title IX and we played "girlie" games...I ended up in single player sports...not a great team player...but I bet you knew that already. How in the hell can you play volleyball and worry about breaking a nail? You can't...and I kind of made the point go home with a quick bitch slap when we lost again. Oh yeah, I was a toughie.

My computer seems to be hanging in there. I am going to make a computer bed for it...so when I put it down at night it isn't on some cold, dark, floor. I think what I would really like is one of those things that you got in the hospital...you know, it turns over your bed to eat, or to stash stuff in...I see it now, I am turning into Proust who spent thirteen years in bed. I will leave behind no Tales of Rembrances past, simply attempts at trying to remember the past.

I have decided that tomorrow I will write about my most embarassing moment ever. I didn't even have to question which one I would choose. It pretty much set my opinion of human interaction to this day.

GO BULLDOGS!

2005-03-16T19:31:00.000-06:00

SHE'S HOME...BUT, AS USUAL, THERE IS SOMETHING ELSE TO WHINE ABOUT....

My computer is home and I am all snuggled into bed with her right this moment. Doing all the perverse things one does with a 37 gigabyte hardrive and RAM out the whazoo...OOOO baby...and worth ever dime of the $405 dollars it took to ransom her from Mike, the computor guru. I am feeling fulfilled again and promise to never take her for granted again...

So, I am happily home, surfing and writing new and wonderful things for the world to share. Oh, and suffering from a sore neck that means I can't turn my head. I had to leave work an hour early because all I could think about was my neck and the pain. On the drive home, I hit a patch of ice on the dirt road I live on and barrelled right into a snowbank. All I could think about was getting home and taking muscle relaxants, turning on the tv and floating off into relaxing oblivion.

Now here comes the nice thing about living in Minnesota. I walked about a half a mile to my neighbor's house to see if he could pull me out. Oops, he went to Florida to fish. His wife said that she would come and help me as soon as they were through delivering her new bed...heh heh heh...There I am, nicing it up with two furniture delivery guys like I'm a true damsel in distress and managed to hustle them into coming up the road and pushing me out. I love Minnesota.

Then it was to bed...oh shit, where did I put the flexeril? I wonder how old that is...I don't think it will poison me...I don't care if it does poison me, I want drugs. I also have a stash of Lortabs around here someplace, too...but, I can't really remember where they are either. I've either gotten too old to remember where my stash is or my days as a dedicated part time user don't mean as much to me. Ain't it a bitch when you find out that all the drugs are to relieve discomfort and tripping is something you are afraid of because you might break a hip.

So, I'm semi-loopy, will worry about the Lortab tomorrow, have discovered that taking muscle relaxants that expired five years ago won't kill you and truly enjoying the light coming from my screen and the comforting whir of whatever in the hell it is that goes around inside of my baby. And, I am heartily thankful that I didn't name her...although, apparently I did sex her...what's that called? Oh, hell, I don't care...loopy signing out with more to come now that I am whole again!

2005-03-16T10:19:00.000-06:00

Image swiped from Astounding Cards

This girl is ready for something...Anything...the computer wasn't ready yesterday. Maybe today. I received a new assignment at work...at next month's all staff meeting I am to do a presentation on the financial statements and how to understand them. Why do I get the feeling like I am the "man behind the curtain" and there is nothing to understand...does this mean I will have to start "understanding" editorial content? Just leave me alone with my numbers and excel spreadsheets and don't try and pry me into participation. I am looking for one of those arrow things like Steve Martin used to wear on his head to try and spice up the presentation...or what...who cares, oops, I've fallen back into my morose, no computer mode...see ya later.

2005-03-15T07:55:00.000-06:00

TODAY MAY BE THE DAY

Today, please, let it be today. It sounds like the beginning of a torchy love song. It is. I love my computer, and I have been told it will be well today and able to go home with me. My bed has been so lonely without it. Of course, the house is a lot cleaner, the recycling is gone from the winter build up, the dog remembers my name and I have learned that I am truly addicted to the internet. I have, however, weaned myself from the nicotine gum and have had a physical.

The physical went fine. My thyroid levels were off...I am going to use that as an excuse for having gained the weight I did. After we adjust the medication maybe I'll go down a bit. Bone density test on the horizon. I passed the plain density test with flying colors and have discovered that my density remains consistent.

Here's a funny. I am writing this at work so will fall back on easy entry # 104:

Here's a dilemma for you...what would you do? :o) This test only has one question, but it's a very important one. Please don't answer it without giving it some serious thought. By giving an honest answer you will discover where you stand morally. The test features an unlikely, completely fictional situation, in which you will have to make a decision. Remember that your answer needs to be honest, yet spontaneous. Thoughtfulness is important for this evaluation to be meaningful! Ready? Begin! You're in Florida...In Miami, to be exact... There is chaos round you, caused by a hurricane and severe floods. This is a flood of major proportions. You are a photojournalist working for a major newspaper caught in the middle of this great disaster. The situation is nearly hopeless. You're trying to shoot career-making photos. There are houses and people swirling around you, some disappearing under the water. Nature is showing all its' destructive fury. You see a man in the water! He is fighting for his life, trying not to be taken away with the water and debris. You move closer. Somehow the man looks familiar. Suddenly, you know who it is... it's George Bush. Isn't life ironic? At the same time you notice that the raging waters are about to take him under, forever. You have two options. You can save him or you can take the most dramatic photos of your life. You can save the life of President Bush, or you can shoot a Pulitzer Prize-winning photo, documenting the death of one of the world's most powerful men. Now, here's the question (please give an honest answer) : Would you select color film, or rather go with the classic simplicity of black and white?

Please no nasty notes...just laugh, feel guilty or whatever. Change the name if it makes you feel better. I don't care.

2005-03-09T15:36:00.000-06:00

GOOD NEWS BAD NEWS, GIMME MY 'PUTER BACK!

I don't want to talk about it. It is broken. It is being fixed. I have a $500 deductible on my homeowners, which would cover it, but it won't cost more than $600 to get it fixed. I have a computer at work and I can play with it, and may just move into the office, as I have found myself doing far too many things around the house. Like....cleaning...

Laundry...check, all done.

Bedroom...check, can see floor.

Bathroom...check, shiny and sparkly.

Dishes...check, all clean and put away...

Books read since 'puter went down...four...

Something is trying to tell me something.

I will be checking in with all of you as often as I can...and I will try not to whine anymore.

2005-03-06T23:30:00.000-06:00

THANKS, KIRK

Here I am, at my daughter's, checking out some blogs and good old Kirk has a "How Crazy Are You?" test on his blog. Tina and I take it.

How can someone this crazy:

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid:	High
Schizoid:	Very High
Schizotypal:	High
Antisocial:	High
Borderline:	Low
Histrionic:	Moderate
Narcissistic:	High
Avoidant:	Low
Dependent:	Low
Obsessive-Compulsive:	High
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! --

Raise someone this sane?:

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid:	Low
Schizoid:	Low
Schizotypal:	Low
Antisocial:	Low
Borderline:	Low
Histrionic:	Moderate
Narcissistic:	Low
Avoidant:	High
Dependent:	High
Obsessive-Compulsive:	Moderate
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! --

And to top it off...when it was all over, she says, "Do you feel better or worse after taking that test?" To which I replied..."I don't care." (Which would fall under the "I don't give a shit" brand of craziness.) Good, she says, "I kinda feel better, but I didn't want to say anything if you felt bad." At which point, we both cracked up. She's so damn sensitive, and...really happy she's pretty sane and I'm the crazy motherfucker. She'll be signing me up for underwater basket weaving real soon. (That is, as soon as we quit laughing our asses off.)

2005-03-06T17:21:00.000-06:00

I WILL NEVER COMPLAIN ABOUT HOW MY BLOG LOOKS AGAIN

And the reason, my dear friends, is simple. The blog is fine and the only thing wrong with it now is that I can only access it from my daughter's house (where I am now) or at work (where I will be tomorrow.) The reason...my poor 'puter is sick. Not real sick, I hope. I am hoping that all it is will require a slight soldering of a connection and I will have it back by Wednesday.

The little doo-hickey that you plug into the thing-a-ma-jig on the back of the laptop to make it magic isn't connecting. I checked out the power source and my fear is that the machine must be opened up by a professional. Not that I didn't consider it yesterday when I was home and going through withdrawal. No blogs to write, no blogs to read, no silly games of Bounce-out or e-mail, no wonderful messages from those who fill me with joy. How did I live without it?

Tuesday, because of the liberal work place I am lucky enough to be employed by, is a holiday. International Women's Day. Woo-hoo! And I get paid for it. So that I can pay someone to fix my baby.

I miss you all and will see you at work tomorrow and my sweet'ums should be fixed by Wednesday night and I will return to tell all the exciting things I have found to do while baby was down.

2005-02-28T21:02:00.000-06:00

WHAT DOES I DREAM OF JEANNIE AND A DIRTY BATHROOM HAVE IN COMMON?

Well, let me tell you. I had a dream night before last night. Or, more of an acid trip while I was asleep. It all started with blog envy. Somehow, while surfing all of the blogs that I do, I see amazingly designed blogs. I see blogs that start out with a cookie cutter template and transform into an amazing piece of art that is totally in tune with the blog title and the theme....personality abounds. In my dream I was exceptionally jealous. I recognized how plain and ordinary my blog was. Yes, I had managed to figure out how to change the color of the background for my title...and, that was about it.

So, in my dream I approached one of the marvelous web designers that are displayed on all these beautiful blogs and these magical women created the perfect reflection of me. It was "I Dream of Jeannie" who I had decided represented a princess, sitting cross legged with her magic bottle with a wonderful color combination that was a light orange and a kind of burnished green. It was absolutely perfect, I couldn't believe my luck. Now, I know that Jeannie has nothing to do with a Princess like me, and there wasn't a damned cow in sight. But, in my dream it made perfect sense. I think that was the acid part.

What does this have to do with a dirty bathroom? There is the ongoing aging problem which requires waking in the middle of the night to pee. When I finally do get to sleep, it is difficult to awaken for this nighttime ritual. At first, I developed this habit of reaching down to feel the cold porcelain toilet bowl to make sure I was awake and not just dreaming I was on a toilet. That worked great for a while. That is, until I reached down one night and apparently laid my hand on my cold butt and thought it was the toilet and, sure enough, I peed the bed. Now, at age seven that is uncomfortable. In middle age, it is not only uncomfortable, it is damned uncomfortable and a real pain because I had to clean it up myself.

I knew then that that tactic had failed me and I was constantly afraid of peeing the bed again, so my unconscious mind developed the one sure thing to keep me from peeing the bed. The dirty bathroom. Not just dirty, but filthy, disgusting, rank and enough to make one lose one's stomach contents. If you know me just a little, then you know that I am selectively obsessive-compulsive. And one of the things I have selected is the cleanliness of bathrooms. Therfore, it is the one thing that wakes me up immediately.

Until night before last. Because I was in such awe of my new template, I couldn't even tear myself away from the beauty of it and thus was in dire danger of peeing the bed again. Luckily, a cat that had teeth like a tiger started to rip at my fingers and thus saved me the travesty of peeing the bed again. When I woke up, immediately, I was pissed off. I was pissed off because I knew that my blog still had the same crappy look it did before I went to sleep and on top of that, I had to wake myself up before I peed the bed again.

What's a girl to do? Obviously, I had better get a new design or just get used to washing the sheets every other day because the next time, I'm going to continue to bask in the beauty of my wonderful new blog. Now, my biggest fear isn't that I will pee the bed again, it's that Dead Guy will put it ithis into one of his cartoons and I will be wearing one of those horrible house dresses. Maybe it's Pampers time for the old girl.

2005-02-27T01:18:00.000-06:00

Your Brain is 26.67% Female, 73.33% Male

You have a total boy brain.

Logical and detailed, you tend to look at the facts.

And while your emotions do sway you sometimes...

You never like to get feelings too involved.

What Gender Is Your Brain?

Does this mean I have to start paying more attention to those damn erectile dysfunction ads? Will I have to give up my ability to stop and ask for directions? How about finding stuff in the refrigerator...will the ketchup be lost to me forever? And, horror of all horrors, will those dark stains suddenly start appearing in my underwear because I don't know how to wipe my ass?

And, why the hell is blogger screwing up the HTML on this display? Answer me that, wise gurus of the internet?

2005-02-26T11:10:00.000-06:00

THE JOYS OF SPRING

It is here. No, not spring. The notices that spring will be here before long. In Northern Minnesota the harbingers of spring are many. And yet, they are not necessarily the delightful signs of daffodils and robins.

Our animals are usually the dead ones. Uncovered after having been buried by many layers of winter white. They can be seen in varying stages of consumption by the "dead flesh eaters" of the North Woods. Some of these eventually become road kills, thus, fulfilling the circle of life in a small, but meaningful fashion.

Then we have the gifts of our own animals. Old Piss Eyes, who in summer would never poop where anyone can see it, has the amazing need to poop within twenty-five feet of the front door. After all, she might get lost and frozen in the 2½ acres of pristine white that covers my yard. Who would possibly expect her to go into the woods and take her dump when the potential exists that the whole house may pack up and leave her there to fend for herself. Yes, as the layers drop down, pile after pile of processed dog food and treats show themselves in varying stages of decomposition. They await my diligent plan of getting them all off the yard before the first rays of summer sun hit the shit and thus bypassing the delight of the aroma of the warming of their putrid remains.

We do have a fitting close to winter up here...The Birkebeiner, a long distance cross country ski race, The John Beargrease Dogsled Race that honors a Native American who delivered mail up here through the proverbial snow...and the last of the Ice Fishing contests.

As the carcasses of winter are dragged off, as the pooper scooper extraordinaire trudges through the slush, as the final winter sports draw to a close...I close my eyes and wait for spring, ah, beautiful spring...which brings its own lovely travails and traps...

POTHOLES, MUD AND TOURISTS!!!

2005-02-21T11:21:00.000-06:00

2005-02-19T09:53:00.000-06:00

WHO WOULD HAVE EVER THOUGHT?

...that I could be so hopelessly in love with my grandson? Friday nights are our nights. He hasn't been here for a while...that growing up and all...basketball games, birthday parties, after school activities and all. Last night we were together again.

He hasn't been feeling well. The Minnesota winter cold and cough season and all. He usually rides into work with my roommate on Saturday morning and leaves around 8 in the morning. Today his game is at 1 PM and I am going to see the future of basketball play. (Did I ever mention that his Dad is 6'7"?) To him this meant that he could stay up late and "sleep in" in the morning.

Dinner was a burger and fries. Since he didn't feel well, I carried a tray up to his room and he ate in bed while watching The Family Guy DVD. If anyone had ever told me the absolute joy that doing something so simple could bring to a person, I don't know that I would have believed it. Watching Little Mr. sit there and simply say, "This is great, Granny." almost brought tears to these cynical eyes.

He went to sleep around 11...which is the time he usually goes to sleep on Friday night...that staying up late stuff sure is fun. He only coughed a few times during the night...but I heard every one of them...and worried.

He woke up this morning around 9...came in my room for a hug...and, I made him breakfast in bed. What else are Grannys for? His favorite, scrambled eggs with ham and toast and again, just handing it to him melted my heart. Now, scrambled eggs with ham is not so tough a dish to prepare, but, to him..."It's the best breakfast I ever had."

Anything you want, my little one, anything you want...if I can get it for you, I will. Then..."Granny, you know what I really like about my room? The beautiful sunrise." Okay, if I have to steal it for you I will.

A small cough or two and from his mouth issues the words, "Don't worry Granny, I'm just trying to clear the cough out." I love this boy...I really, really love this boy...

If I ever wondered on the meaning of life, if I ever questioned why we are here, if I ever pondered the reasons for existence...well, the answer came in loud and clear this morning...It is the untainted love of and for a grandchild.

2005-02-18T11:31:00.000-06:00

THERE IS A PROBLEM, HOUSTON!

And the problem, my dears, is the number of hours in the day. One might think that 24 would be sufficient. Alas, it is not. I want 30. That's right, 30. Then I will have enough time to do what I want in addition to what I have to do.

Time to do now:

Work 8 hours
Sleep at least 6 hours
Eat 1 hour
Play with dog 1 hour
Drive time 2 hours
Laundry Household Stuff 2 hours
Entertainment 2 hours
Surf web 2 hours

Time to do with 30 hours:

Surf the web 2 hours
Work 8 hours
Watch movies 6 hours
Eat 4 hours
Play with dog 2 hours
Sleep at least 6 hours
Laundry Household Stuff 2 hours

Now with the simple adjustment to the number of hours in the day, I could do what I want and have to do. No matter how I try and adjust things...like simultaneously watching movies and surfing the web, there still isn't enough time in a 24 hour period to do what I want to do.

At a much younger age, with the additional help of a variety of drugs, I was able to sleep only 2 hours, eliminate eating all together, and while housecleaning took up a little more of that time, it was not the healthiest or sanest period of my life.

If I could eliminate work, that would help a lot. But, with the dependence upon shelter and food that I have and no one around to pay me just to exist, that does not seem to be a likely choice. I suppose I could put up a PayPal button and see if I do as well as those who get the free IPods. As far as retirement goes, I'm just as screwed. Remember the hippie period...working off the books for cash, selling a variety of things that didn't get reported as income, living on a pittance so I could "create" art that would never sell...well, it bites you in the butt come 50. I love getting those Social Security Statements every year. Helloo Reality!

I can see it now...Age 70 and the Princess is still putting numbers into boxes for someone else and saying..."Just think, in another two years I can retire and enjoy my golden years." Ooops, looks like I already had them.

2005-02-16T13:54:00.000-06:00

STARTING THE DAY WITH A POSITIVE OUTLOOK

1. Open a new file in your PC.

2. Name it "George W. Bush."

3. Send it to the trash.

4. Empty the trash.

5. Your PC will ask you, "Do you really want to get rid of George W. Bush?"

6. Answer calmly, "Yes," and press the mouse button firmly

7. Feel better, don't you?

(Please, don't bother leaving a nasty comment. It's funny. Put in any name you want. Get over it.)

2005-02-14T21:09:00.000-06:00

NO MORE SCARY PICTURES

THE REAL VALENTINE STORY

I am sorry if that last picture frightened any of you...not really, I just said that. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, though, I'm absolutely certain that's exactly what I looked like in the third grade.

I am sure many of you have seen this guy's website, he has over three million hits, if his counter is to be believed, and I believe it. His name is Mil Millington and he has written a book that started out on this website. It is Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About and is the most hilarious take on a relationship I have ever read.

So, if you're alone and wonder why...or together and wonder why, check it out and put a shield on the 'puter screen to keep the contents of your nose off of it.

2005-02-14T08:55:00.000-06:00

SO, TELL ME SARAH, HOW DO YOU REALLY FEEL ABOUT TODAY?

2005-02-13T01:21:00.000-06:00

For those of you who want to start a Blog or for those of you who would like to improve your Blogging skills, please, allow me to suggest:

Blogging 101

2005-02-11T00:00:00.000-06:00

NOT ALL MEN ARE PIGS

There are six words I never want to hear in my life again...

ERECTIONS LASTING MORE THAN FOUR HOURS

2005-02-10T00:00:00.000-06:00

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

29 FOR THE SECOND TIME!

2005-02-09T01:21:00.000-06:00

My ability to take the symptom of a headache and foresee the onset of a cold was not there. Now, I have the cold. I view this as bad for me, good for my diet. I have lost five pounds in the last three days without even trying. All of it is snot, of course, or brain matter. The reason I think it might be brain matter stems from the fact that I just watched Starsky and Hutch and thought it was pretty funny. I never watched the tv series, so maybe that helped. Netflix sent me Ray and I will attempt to watch that tomorrow. I am avoiding the Lifetime Movie Network this illness go round. I am, instead, using Netflix to fill my hours.

The real Hollywood news here in northern Minnesota is the beginning of the filming of "Class Action." This is the movie based on the true sexual harassment of a woman working in the iron mines. Now, there are a lot of blondes here in the North Country, but I can't wait until I see how they take Charlize Theron, put a hard hat on her and turn her into a "you betcha" girl. She doesn't look like a lot of the female miners I have seen. Then, Woody Harrelson is going to play her attorney. Looking more like he needs an attorney than F. Lee Bailey, this will be an interesting take.

People lined up at the Iron Gate Mall for over six hours to attempt to get an extra role in the movie. Not a lot happening up here, so it's something to break the winter monotony. But, six hours in a mall? Puh-leeze!

We are not unused to celebrities here in Northern Minnesota. The tales spread like wild fire when Jessica Lange is in town. Hell, I even once sold her books. She does look like a Northlander without all the make-up on. But, the fur coat kind of gave her away...that and Sam Shephard. The big story on Jessica up here relates to how could a nice girl like that, from Cloquet, film a scene showing her pissing on a beach. (Rob Roy) We just don't act like that here, you know. Hell, I had to see the movie a second time to catch it after the scene was brought to my attention.

My office in downtown Duluth is up above a silk screening shop. They sell a local artist's CD cover on a t-shirt. The CD was "Duluth Does Dylan." Not a bad CD, actually. All local musicians doing covers of our hometown boy's tunes. (I can't believe I just called Dylan songs "tunes." Must be the Nyquil in combo with the Sudafed.)

One day, last summer, the word hits the street...Dylan was in Bullseye buying the t-shirts. Of course, we in Northern Minnesota are so cool that we act like we aren't impressed. Those East Coast folks have nothing on us. However, upon hearing that he had been there, I marched right downstairs and "MN nicely" informed one of the owners that if Dylan ever crossed their doorstep and again and she didn't inform me of it, well, I'd have to do something not so "MN nice." Of course, I would have been oh, so cool about being in the same room with him, but I also would have probably peed my pants.

Hopefully, the combination of drugs that I am taking to alleviate these cold symptoms will precipitate some dreams of the good old days and I will sleep, perchance to dream of Dylan and me sharing some bar-b-cue and discussing the lyrics that led me through my youth and continue to comfort me in my old age.

2005-02-06T01:52:00.000-06:00

I HATE HEADACHES!

I absolutely detest having a headache. I don't get them often. No one deserves them. Anyone who gets headaches on a regular basis, I have a special place in my heart for you.

I used to get migraines. I was in my early twenties and there were times when I thought I would cut off my head to get rid of them. I remember crawling into the bathtub just to lay my head on the cold porcelain sides for any hint of relief. Treatment in those days consisted primarily of a trip to the emergency room and a shot of Demerol. With the birth of my daughter, the headaches ceased. I have always been thankful for her for a variety of reasons, this is one of them.

So, now, some thirty-five years later, everytime I get a hint of a headache, the terror that it's going to be a migraine panics me. After I get over that initial hysteria, I move on to my self diagnosis process. Brain tumor. Must be a brain tumor. I then have to remind myself that if I stub my toe and it hurts, I'm sure its "toe cancer." Two down, next diagnosis, sinus headache. Quick, do I have any drugs that will fix that?

I do try more prudent measures, first. Lights out. TV off. Flat on the bed. But, with nothing to distract me, I fall back into the brain tumor syndrome. Breathing exercises. Let sleep come. If I die from the stroke I'm obviously having, let me be asleep. This may sound dramatic, but the fear of headaches that I have ranks right up there with my fear of birds and shower curtains that I can't see through. (Thanks, Alfred.)

Then the nausea hit. Crap, that rules out taking that six month old Lortab that I have hoarded from my kidney stone. I wouldn't dare take it if I thought I was going to puke it up. Maybe I'm getting sick. I don't want to be sick. I have a physical this week and I would like to greet my doctor just once without there being a medical crisis involved.

I finally drift off to sleep. And I wake up around three and the first the that hits me is that my headache is gone, I am starving and, miracle of all miracles, I am going to live. I guess I was just overtired and needed some sleep. Or, maybe I just panicked myself into it with all of my Drama Queen ways. The reality is, I survived and as a reward, I spent the day watching the first three DVD's of 24 from Netflix and thanking my lucky stars that I don't get headaches that often.

2005-02-03T11:27:00.000-06:00

Now that Thursday is here, it's not so bad this week. I have such a power struggle going on inside of myself that all I had to do was say that Thursday was a bad day and it would turn itself right around. Think that works with fat? Hell, no!

This is how I would be spending my day if I weren't at work...Except the Corona would definitely be Diet Coke and there would be at least two more remotes and I sure as hell wouldn't be wearing a New York T-shirt. The tinted glasses, now...it's the old hippie thing you know. I have to get new glasses soon and I wonder how lavender tint is going to look with tri-focals. If they were blended I'm sure it wouldn't be too bad. However, I have had trifocals so long that they didn't have blended when I started wearing them. The first pair I tried with the blended lenses made me feel like I had had a bit much of the wacky weed.

Hmmmm? To quote Ringo...No, no, no, no...I don't do that no more, I'm tired of waking up on the floor....Plus, I'd hate to be put under the scrutiny of Caden (the most wonderful boy in the world) when his granny's name showed up in the paper for possession. Ahhh, the good old days.

2005-01-31T20:48:00.000-06:00

YOU ALL RECOGNIZE THIS WOMAN, RIGHT?

So, kinda scary, huh? Well, here's how scary it really is. I set that "goal" at the beginning of January...you remember, walking, blah blah blah. Well, in that period of time I have managed to change my weight by five pounds. UP! So, those donut holes of the other night are a thing of the past. I now weigh more than I have ever weighed in my life. Now, if I were smarter than I had ever been in my life, I would feel good about this. I don't necessarily feel that bad about being this heavy, I would just like to see my feet again. They are ugly, but they are mine.

I would also like the choice of more than two pair of jeans to wear. And, it would be nice to wear something other than slip-on shoes. How about not feeling like there's something on my back when it's only the beginning of a true fat roll. Plus, I get to go see my 12 year old doctor "Kristi" next week and tell her I only put on the weight in case I got some debilitating illness in the next few weeks and found myself unable to eat. Why, I could go for a couple of months and still not be on the verge of "wasting away."

I have put Kirstie's picture up there for a very good reason. About a month ago she was on tv talking about how she was 5'8" and weighed about 200 pounds. I am 5'6" and weigh a "few" more pounds than that right now (ok, 13) and I still don't look like that. I wish the fat rolls would start at about 180 and that I carried my weight a little less easily. Until I succeed at losing some of this "emergency ration" that I have managed to acquire, I will be paying very close attention to the one thing I usually ignore....WHAT GOES IN MY MOUTH!

Gone are donut holes, chili cheese fries, brownies, macaroni and cheese, frozen pizzas and any canned foods...Here come the days of fruits, vegetables, and brown rice. No more orange juice...more water and less diet soda. And finally, no more MOCHAS. With whipped cream. And whole milk. Cottage cheese sounds so much more appetizing.

Now, to top this off, I got my hair cut today. I have short hair. I like short hair. Any time I spend more than five minutes on my hair I get pissy. So now I look like a Pillsbury Dough Boy shaped Q-tip. And, I wonder why they're not knocking down the door for a shot at this hot granma-ma!

The funny thing...I'm out of the dookie blues. Hell, this is pretty funny. On top of all of this, I probably have another kidney stone. Time to break out in song..."Always look on the bright side of life..."

By the way, all of the blogs I read over the weekend really cracked me up and helped the moodiness go away...Thanks, friends.

2005-01-28T20:00:00.000-06:00

I'VE GOT THE DOOKIE BLUES

I've got the dookie blues. The dookie blues is a collection of feelings that I learned about a long time ago in a place far away. When I was young, I grew up in Watts...now called South Central. I had a crazy mother, crazy with drinking, drugs, self-hatred and a strong dislike of me. I thought I was a fairly reasonable child, I did have a lip on me, learned at her knee, by the way and I was certainly "too big for my britches." She was not a stupid woman, probably one of the smartest persons I have ever met. But, it was not a good life, for either of us.

I spent a great deal of time at other people's houses. Mabel lived down the block. I loved Mabel. She taught me to drink sweet tea out of mayonnaise jars, to love Robert Johnson and the blues, to play canasta...and she taught me about the dookie blues.

The dookie blues aren't out and out unhappiness. They are just a collection of feelings that come when you are feeling down, nothing is right, and you just don't care. That's where I am tonight.

There are a variety of reasons.

It's January in Minnesota. I don't hate winter, but fall is my favorite. It has snowed tons and there is two feet of it on the roof that has to come down. The plows have plowed the streets and there is a striation of dirt that is exposed in the snow. There is salt and slush on the streets and everything looks dirty.
It's the end of January and I am a bookkeeper. The only bookkeeper for a small publishing company. I had three sets of annual reports to compile and set about doing it today. I thought I was doing great when I happened to notice that there was this one journal entry that I had overlooked in November. This meant that my almost completed job was going to require a lot of undoing, re-publishing, admitting to everyone I had sent the first two sets to that I had goofed and delete those file and wait until Monday when I can redo them.
I had a horrible Thursday. I came to the realization today that Thursday is the worst work day for me. Monday and Tuesday I am excited to be back, fresh start and all of that. Wednesday is hump day...halfway done and it should be downhill from here. Thursday is spent just waiting for Friday. It has no purpose except to keep me from Friday which is the last day of the work week.
My birthday is next month. Now, don't get me wrong. I love my birthday. I reclaimed it a long time ago from the trauma of my youthful birthdays. It's just that the couple of weeks before it I get into a kind of maudlin mood about the passing of time...blah, blah, blah.
Caden didn't come out tonight. He had a dinner dance after school and since he is in the fifth grade he went with his father. I went with him last year. It was painful. Loud music, screaming kids, but, I still wanted to go with him this year. That is really pitiful.

Now, if those aren't enough reasons for having the dookie blues, try this one on. I wanted to make pesto shrimp with fresh vegetables and pasta for dinner. I stopped at the store, got everything I needed, drove home (45 minutes) and realized I had forgotten the shrimp. That was the final straw. I fed the dog, crawled into bed with a package of donut holes (oh yeah, she remembered the donut holes!) turned on the laptop and here I will be until tomorrow morning when this latest case of dookie blues slinks out of my life.

I'll be fine. Hell, I've had donut holes for dinner before and I have the Alien vs Predator DVD from Netflix...if that doesn't burn it out of me, nothing will.

2005-01-26T13:17:00.000-06:00

FORGET ABOUT SPONGEBOB...

Where were all those self righteous people when I was seeing those women above on tv? Daily, in re-runs? I mean, Gale Storm...short hair, single, shorts, cruise ship activities director? What about Zelda? Sure, on tv you were led to believe she wanted Dobie, but I knew she really wanted me, only me. And then there's Mrs. Hathaway. The epitome of self assured, no nonsense womanhood. In control of her life, her destiny and her sexuality.

I mean, I knew I was normal when all of these women showed up on my little black and white screen. That is, I thought I was normal until the seventh grade when I asked a girl to a dance and then went through hell and hatred for the rest of my school years. Yeah, if those zealots had been around, I would have known that there were those kinds of hateful people out there and just kept my big mouth shut. I still would have been who I was, but with their imposed shaming and blaming I would have learned to lie, deceive those around me and lead a generally miserable life.

Luckily, I had enough of an attitude to not care. And I still don't....and as I've said before, if they don't like it...they can kiss my queer ass!

2005-01-25T09:35:00.000-06:00

I GOT CAUGHT IN A MUSIC GO ROUND

I suppose it was bound to happen...and it did...Kirk included me in one of those "What are you listening to now" and "What is it going to tell us about you" kind of list-go-rounds. As I completed it, even I was cracking up. Go ahead, laugh, I'm 58, a child of the 60's, and, I guess, looking at this list, a hopeless romantic. Worry about whether or not I am passing it on to you...

Random 10:

"Dirty Old Town" - Shane McGowan and the Popes
"I Want A Little Sugar In My Bowl" - Nina Simone
"Warm Leatherette" - Grace Jones
"If You Could See Me Now" - Etta James
"Ain't No Sunshine" - Ladysmith Black Mombazo
"(Your Love) Keeps Lifting Me Higher" - Jackie Wilson
"All Along the Watchtower" - Bob Dylan
"Angel Eyes" - Jeff Healey
"Brother Getting Caught" - Los Hombres Caliente
"Bird On A Wire" - K. D. Lang

What is the total amount of music files on your computer? 1410--and it's a work computer (eek)

The last CD I bought was "Putumayo Presents Women of Africa"

What is the last song you listened to before this message? "Warm Leatherette" - Grace Jones

Write down five songs you often listen to or that mean a lot to you:

"You Turn Me On, I'm A Radio" - Joni Mitchell
"With God On Our Side" - Bob Dylan
"We Shall Overcome" - Staple Singers
"Redwood Tree" - Van Morrison
"White Rabbit" - Jefferson Airplane

Who are you going to pass this on to:

My new friend Andrena at Heavenly Ankh, my favorite Dead Guy and, let's see, a random choice from my list to put this upon: how about Allan and Inside Allan's Mind. Now I have to e-mail them and let them know that they are IT!

2005-01-23T17:13:00.000-06:00

JOHNNY CARSON

Johnny Carson gave me the two funniest moments that were ever on television. And, I was lucky enough to see them both as they happened.

The first was the memorable Ed Ames and the hatchet throwing contest. There has never been a funnier skit in the history of television. All unplanned, all Johnny. I'm not sure what year it was, but it was very risque and the funniest thing I had ever seen.

The second was Johnny, Buddy Hackett and Carol Wayne. Buddy was never funnier than when he and Johnny were playing off of each other. And for those of you who remember Carol Wayne, well, her biggest contributions to the Tonight Show were also her biggest assets. The punch line was, "I just want to know where she keeps the cookies." Delivered by Buddy with the straightest face he could ever attain, and Johnny was without words. It didn't happen often. And when it did, you knew it was a special time.

Johnny brought me more laughter and escape from loneliness over the years that I care to remember. I have missed him since he left the show, never watched Jay, he just wasn't Johnny and substituted David, all the while knowing he would never attain the level that Johnny had set.

He-e-e-e-e-r-es Johnny...never again.

2005-01-22T21:04:00.000-06:00

IS IT DEJA VU OR IS IT CHICKEN FAT?

How many of you have gone through the experience of Deja Vu? How many of you have wondered, "Is this Deja Vu?" I have the answer to all of your questions. If, in the course of having a Deja Vu experience you call out loudly, "Chicken Fat!" you will know immediately. If the "Chicken Fat" exists in your Deja Vu feeling, it is, in fact, a true Deja Vu experience.

The logical thinking behind this test is that the term "chicken fat" so rarely comes up in one's daily conversations or experiences, that its existence in your Deja Vu experience must truly be a validation of said experience.

Since trying this myself, for many years, the Deja Vu experience has never been pronounced valid.

As an after note, I would like to point out that this scientific principle was developed one evening in 1975 after the consumption of certain herbal smokables and other mind enhancing chemicals. Who says I wasted all those years?

2005-01-21T09:08:00.000-06:00

LET ME MAKE THIS PERFECTLY CLEAR

I am an American. I support my country. I made the mistake, once, of being critical of our troops during the Vietnam War. I was wrong. One trip to the Vietnam Memorial opened that door of realization for me. I have spent the rest of my life being perfectly clear about what my concern is. And, that is peace. I did not mean for my post yesterday to cause conflict or disdain. But, for those of you who do not understand the basic tenets of our republic, including freedom of speech, please see above.

Now on to something different. I love my dog. I have a Chesapeake Bay Retriever that someone gave me because even though her breed is that of a hunting dog, she is frightened of loud noises--gunshots, thunder, doors closing. That makes her pretty useless when it comes to retrieving those fallen trophy pheasant. Her name is Jewels. Basically, because she has no family ones. She has golden eyes, which has led to her nickname: Old Piss Eyes.

She has many wonderful qualities. As the old saying goes, I wish I could be the person my dog thinks I am. She is smart and catches on to all my ways far too quickly. Like when I pretend I am going to take her out and then shut the door behind her and she is left to her own means to entertain herself. She now stands behind me and pushes my butt with her head to force me out the door. She fancies herself a protector. Until the hand becomes available for petting, at which point you could be Charles Manson and she would patiently wait until Charlie finished his mayhem for the treat that might become available.

Her latest thing is what I am referring to as "controlled farting." If it were a class she taught, it might be called "Conrolled Farting and It's Ability to Force Your Owner into Anything." Last night I was awakened to the smell of dog poop. Not fart. Poop. I couldn't believe it. And there was Jewels right by the side of the bed, doggie smile, wagging tail and needy look. Up I get, searching the house for the gigantic pile of crap that I know is somewhere. Lights on. Lights off. Behind the bed in the spare bedroom. Behind the table in the dining room. This appears to be a game to Old Piss Eyes. A game she has invented and is truly enjoying playing. Jumping from room to room with a wagging tail and full attention of ME!

After a thorough search of both floors, no crap is found. Fine. It's 2:30 in the morning. I'll get a drink of water and go right back to sleep. Just as I am falling off into my next adventure with Queen Latifah, Tom Waits or John Hiatt, there it is again. I reach for the light. The dog is already standing at the side of the bed, I swear I can see the fumes still rising from her butt, Piss Eyes looking from me to the door, me to the door. Okay.

Maybe the dog has to poop. Maybe there is a giant turd pushing to get out and if I don't get up and let her out, I will find a turd. Up I get again. Jewels is already running from room to room ready to play "Where Is The Crap" and have a gay, old time. Nope, not this time. To the back door. Open the door, dog won't go out, step out on the porch (in my oldest t-shirt and unmentionables) into the 10 degree night, thinking...If she has to go that bad, it won't take long.

It is beautiful, as my legs turn blue and my teeth start to chip from the chattering, I think. No moon, stars everywhere, the Milky Way and...and the dog, standing at the bottom of the stairs, no pooping activity going on at all, with her rope in her mouth ready for a quick game of pull the owner into the snowbank.

That's it. I've had it. Back into the house with the dog following, up the stairs, into bed, trying to find the warm spot I left not too long ago, drifting off just as the smell of poop hits me again...Ha Ha...blanket over head and that's that. Until this morning when I find the pile of cat crap...with my toes, after waking up late, and realizing that this is Friday and what a better way in the world to start off my last day of the week.

Beautiful boy is coming out tonight, he and Jewels can play in the 6-10 inches of snow that is expected to fall on top of the already mounting piles and I, I will sit back and realize just how lucky I am.

2005-01-20T11:43:00.000-06:00

2005-01-16T01:21:00.000-06:00

THEY ARE BOTH GONNA KILL ME

Here is an exact copy of the e-mail that she sent me:

Boy do we know how to have a good time:) For the first time Caden put on face mask.HELLOOOOOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Just like Mrs Doubtfire.We did our feet too. We love you, see you tomorrow. Tina and Caden.

Aren't I the luckiest woman in the world. Families are great!

2005-01-14T15:09:00.000-06:00

Muzik Dude or How I Found My Way Back to How I Really Feel

I have to be put back on the right track every now and then and thank goodness Muzik Dude is there to whup my butt back into the reality of the world. (See comment, previous post!) I'm serious. I have a tendency to react in spaces and places where there isn't any real reason to. I did this for far too many years of my life. The reality now is that I am almost 58 years old, I'm tired of fighting the good fight, I vote, I never let an opportunity to be honest in my daily life pass me by...and I long to be be Phoebe!

You know Phoebe. "Stinky Cat" and all. I want to be funny, entertaining, shallow and, while not dismissing the pains of the world, live out the balance of my life in relative peacefulness. With a really sharp edge, politically incorrect whenever I want to be, hot dog eating, embarassing to my friends and family freakiness and a dog that loves me. Muzik Dude was right. And, if I had the energy to have a crush, I would have a crush on him. But, my time is taken up right now with too many important things. You are about to read about them.

It is 20 below zero here today. I refused to leave the house. Old Piss Eyes refused to go further than five feet from the front door for her morning crap and that gives me something to look forward to when it warms up. Poop patrol. And how am I spending my glorius day off? Watching tv, surfing BE and BlogClicker simultaneously, playing Yahoo games, trying to figure out how to type an umlauted "u", thinking about making a nice pan of potatoes and cheese and onions that I can eat with bacon and toast and eggs for dinner tonight, lathering my body in Vaseline to fend off the effects of the weather, laundry and wishing I had taken my ADHD medication last night. I took it this morning and I figure it will hit in the middle of this post and you will be trying to figure out where in the hell is she going with this.

Well, here it is. I am watching "Kiss the Girls." The great thing about this is I am sure I have seen it about three times already, read the book, and it's like a whole new experience. IAging is wonderful...something new day after day. And, I am saying the same things to the tv that I have already said before

For example:

Why does this woman, who lives alone, choose to get up in the middle of the night and investigate the noises in her house? Hello! 911, bitch, use the phone!

Why does this woman, who lives alone, choose to have fish for pets. Fish don't bark to tell you something is up. Think about it.

Why, when laying in a puddle of water, she is hit with a Taser does she not have serious burns from the electricity running through her body? Wouldn't you think that would happen?

And, how in the hell, after going through all of that, can Ashley Judd and all the other women this psychotic dude kidnapped still have their make-up on?

The only thing that is really surprising is that she didn't run into the basement, with no outside exit, to escape this guy.

Okay, now to the laundry and reassure all of you that I really, really promise not to get caught up in all that other stuff I find to be horribly tedious...the next day. Thanks for the reality check. And, Mr. Dedd, you're starting to tickle my fancy, too!

She-e-e-e's back!

2005-01-13T19:44:00.000-06:00

WARNING: POLITICAL RANT TO FOLLOW

READ ON AND COMPLAIN IF YOU MUST

I have some strong political beliefs and rarely rant and rave on them. However, prepare.

I was surfing BE and found an entry on another blog announcing the testimony of some somewhat well known people who will be testifying on an extremely touchy situation. I wish I could give you some more information, but I scanned it quickly, got pissed, forfeited my half a credit and moved on before I even knew I was going to respond.

The issue they are going to speak about is "I Regret My Abortion." Get ready! Who the hell doesn't regret their abortion? I had one, and for whatever reason I or anyone else gets an abortion, who wouldn't regret it? Anti-choice rhetoric aside, what kind of bastard dare insinuate that any of us who were in that position don't have regrets.

I am definitely pro-choice. I am also aware that with proper education, access to adequate medical attention and information and a more balanced distribution of wealth the question of abortion rights would be less of an issue. Why aren't you spending your time on that, oh wise ones (?), instead of taking it upon yourselves to become such moralistic, judgmental voices?

2005-01-12T10:49:00.000-06:00

You are a Radical. Right on!
What kind of Sixties Person are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Wow, man, far out. As if I didn't already know. There are many stories from those days that I could tell...here is one. There used to be massive anti-war (Viet Nam, for those not old enough to remember) demonstrations going on at Griffith Park on a regular basis. Those with attitudes could be expected to be arrested. Guess what? Yep, I was arrested.

In those days we didn't carry ID for good reason. So, when arrested, fake names were given since we were bound to be released rather quickly because the jails were not set up to handle a lot of long haired hippie freaks. On two occassions, one day right after the other, I was busted. The first day my name was Holly Focker. Said without blinking, this went right past the overworked booking officer as she printed me and pushed me into another line to be taken to a holding cell. The next day, the same booking officer booked me as Olivia D. Puck. Ahh, the idiocy of childhood and ideals. The second day, however, they weren't as friendly.

Apparenty, the cells weren't as crowded and I found myself being hustled off to a cell in Sybil Brand. That was the name of the women's jail. I started getting just a little nervous. I mean, if they were going to hold me to be bailed out, none of my friends knew just what kooky name I had given them. So, I started arguing. Or, rather, yelling and cussin'. This led one of the big, burly female guards to threaten me. Or, so she thought. I believe her exact words were, "Calm down, little missy, or we'll throw you in the Daddy tank." Daddy Tank? Well, it took me all of two seconds to figure that one out and I responded by trying to swing on her.

True to her word, into the "Daddy Tank" I went. For those of you who don't know what the Daddy Tank is, it is where they separated the "Lesbians" from the rest of the population so there would be no "problems." I was nineteen and looked about fifteen and these women were no threat to me. So, there I was, finding true love, getting free cigarettes and being treated like the Princess I was to become. This was well before the days that people recognized that "Lesbians" or bi-sexuals could look like anything other than a white t-shirt-wearing-women-with-Marlboros-under-the-sleeve dyke. (Not that there's anything wrong with that...tee hee)

I was out within two days and had absolutely no problems with the women in the "Daddy Tank." I still chuckle today when I think about it. The biggest concern I ever have had was if I was to get hit by a car with no id on me, how would they know who I really was? Olivia, Holly or ??????

2005-01-09T22:12:00.000-06:00

BLOGGING IS TURNING ME INTO A CALLOUS, INSENSITIVE MONSTER

We've had some pretty crappy weather up here in MN lately. Between sub-zero temps, ice storms and 14 inches of snow it has been just delightful. And, delightful to drive in. In the Great Northwoods it is common to see dead animals at the side of the road all year round. What happens in the winter is that there are dead, frozen animals at the side of the road.

Here is where the monster rears her ugly head. This morning as I was driving to work, I turned left onto one of the many country roads that I take into town. I check to make sure that there are no animals waiting at the side of the road to jump out and use me as a manner of suicide. And, I'm a little confused. There's something weird sticking out of the snowbank about a half a block ahead. I slow down, take a look, take another look, and the first thing that pops into my head is, "Damn, I wish I had my camera...nobody is going to believe this and I could post it on my blog."

What was it? It was a dead dog that had been hit by a car and then scooped by the plow to the side of the road. What made it interesting...or bizarre...was the fact that it's back legs were in the snowbank and it was facing the road with its paws up and looked like one of those statues that people used to tie their horses up to...you know the ones.

Holy shit. Here was a dead dog at the side of the road and all I could do was think about how I could exploit it. All day long I worried about whether or not it was some kid's dog...and then I'd switch to...I wonder if it will still be there when I head home, maybe I could get my camera and come back. Back and forth it went, "Gosh, I hope someone moves it before the owner sees it," to "Please let it still be there when I go home."

I feel bad, but, I justified by the fact that one year I kept a running total in the car of the kinds of carcasses along the road. Yeah, it's an exciting life, I know. But, the bottom line is, it was amazing. I wished you could have seen it. (Yes, I own a dog, yes, I would feel terrible if it were my dog, and yes, I would have taken a picture of it if it had been my dog. I'm just sick that way and besides, the dog knows just how weird I am.)

2005-01-08T16:21:00.000-06:00

ON THE BREAKUP AND OTHER THINGS

Oh, the sorrow and sadness. Brad Pitt and Jennifer Anniston have separated. My life will never be the same. They are committed to remaining friends and have nothing but the utter respect for each other. Give me a fuckin' break. Every relationship that I have had ended badly. If we had been friends and had nothing but the utter respect for each other, we would still be together. Admittedly, I wasn't the best "picker" when it came to having relationships, but, when they were done, they were done. But, I digress from what the real point of this post is to be.

I hate "Pretty Men." Look at those faces up there. Brad Pitt, Ricky Nelson and Troy Donahue, for those of you not old enough to remember. What is the problem with them? They are prettier than most of the women on the face of the planet. It creeps me out. I want a man to look like a man. Give me some character, give me some scars, stubble, and uncombed hair over those guys up there who look like they took someone's estrogen. If I want a woman, I'll go get me one...but when I want a man, I want a real man! Capice?

2005-01-07T08:37:00.000-06:00

You have all put away your New Year's memories by now and are well into your ordinary, mundane lives. I, however, have been cherishing my memory of New Year's and am now willing to share it with you.

I thought it was going to be a typical evening for me. Some tv, a dvd, maybe some brownies and my beverage of choice, Diet Coke. Yes, those evenings of true debauchery are behind me. No more stripping at midnight, no more awakening with the knowledge that I had some disease with the symptoms of acute brain explosion, acute stomach explosion or acute memory explosion. I had settled in with my memories and was working hard to forget them.

Then, the next thing I know, there I am, there Queen Latifah is and row upon row of bright shining faces. Yep, the Queen and I had a project. We were going to teach these children...Unity Songs. (Aging Hippie Reference) I kept remarking how I couldn't believe we were doing this, we were the same size (I wish), and what a good thing we were doing for these children. Teaching them about "unity" and all.

Unfortunately, when I woke up I was unable to remember one of the "unity" songs that we had taught them. The only thing that went through my mind was the old Coke commercial. "I'd like to teach the world to sing..." But, how many of you spent your evening doing something as worthwhile with whichever star you were dreaming about?

This is becoming a habit with me. A couple of weeks ago, I dreamed I was having bbq with Tom Waits and we were singing in a campground. To be honest, my voice makes Tom sound great!

I think the sixties had quite a profound affect on me and I am just now beginning to pay the price.

2005-01-04T13:29:00.000-06:00

I GOT AN AWARD! I GOT AN AWARD!

NANNER NANNER NOO NOO!!!

Yes, folks, step right up and eat your hearts out. I got an award. Well, actually, I took an award. And YOU can, too.

There are those BoB Awards floating around out there and if you were so mundane as to have been overlooked in a finalist category, or, not even nominated, Kirk can fix you up. He even created two templates for you, depending upon the background color of your blog.

How the tiny have risen! Before long, we'll all have awards and can glory in our new found fame! If only money would follow.

So, don't waste time. Head over there and pick up your award and you, too, can say:

"YOU LOVE ME, YOU REALLY, REALLY LOVE ME!"

By the way, my award came to me in the category:

MOST INANE RAMBLINGS OF A FIFTY SOMETHING BITCH FROM MINNESOTA

That's the nice thing about this award. You can name your own category. Now get over there and get one for your wonderful self!

2005-01-02T13:16:00.000-06:00

I see you all are scratching your head and wondering, "What is this woman up to now?" This is a collage of my future life. Okay, maybe not my whole future life depending upon how successful I become at the goals I am setting for myself. Not resolutions, mind you. Goals. Theoretically, goals are more easily attainable than fulfilling resolutions. We'll see. I am going to make a journey and you will probably have to accompany me on some of it.

The picture on the left is good food. Good for a number of reasons. I usually don't have to cook it. It tastes good and the number one reason...I LOVE 'EM! So, to show that I am a person of great willpower, I will limit, if not eliminate, these foods. (Except for the cheese. I love my cheese. Here is the first bargain...if I get rid of cake, ice cream, and chocolate, can I please keep my cheese? Done!)

The person on the treadmill. Ah, yes. The treadmill. The piece of equipment taking up room in my office that I figure I have contributed a total of two and one half hours of my life out of the past year and a half that I have had it. Please, if I could put it under my bed, I would. Nope, this is the year I am going to use it for something other than hanging the ironing on. I figure five miles a day for the first month. And work my way up. Hell, it even makes a hill for me to run up. Run. My theory has always been, "Why would you run if no one was chasing you?" So, walking, uphill, exercise, daily. Got it. I'll start tomorrow.

Books. Ahhh, books. This is a simple one. Or not. I promise to read more books than I buy this year. This is for a couple of reasons. The first is: I love to read and need to prioritize it into my life. Perhaps if I say I have to read two books for every one I buy, no, make that three books for every one I buy, I will be able to save a bit more money. The second reason: I will most likely save my life as the piles of books diminish, I will not have to fear being killed by a falling tower of the world's best literature.

Now, what have you got to lose? How about an ass wide enough to carry a tray of drinks on. How about the belly that makes your grandson mention that his invention for his school project will be to help people who can't bend over, put on their socks. "Like you, granny." Listen, kid, I love you dearly, but you are getting close to the edge. Do you remember that teacher you had in the third grade that had those flappy things under her upper arm? Welcome to my nightmare. I had lost weight last year and then suffered a kidney infection, a couple of kidney stones, and discovered that Lortabs go down much easier with Peanut M&Ms. I don't want to be a skinny old lady, but, I'd like to weigh less than most football players who are getting paid professional salaries. I wouldn't mind hitting running back weight, but that is a dream!

And then the picture of the woman with that thing in her hand. What is it again? A spoon? A pogo stick? Oh, that's right, it's a broom. I will develop a more healthy relationship with the utensils of cleaning. I found that by listing what was in my bed on Tuesday nights embarrassed me to the point of keeping it open of food, more than two books, newspapers, telephones, ad
nauseum. If I don't get to work cleaning my bedroom, I will start to post pictures which will thoroughly depress you as much as me.

So, there you have it. My goals for the year. I will re-open this in a few months and cry over my failures and grin over my successes.

Did you think I had forgotten about all of you. No, I have a goal for you, too.

2004-12-30T08:00:00.000-06:00

While we are all experiencing the tragedy that occured in the Indian Ocean, while we all weep for the losses, while we all wonder what we can do to help, while we flinch at the horrific pictures and are disturbed by the monumental losses, let's not forget the ongoing tragedies that the world faces every day. These include, but are certainly not limited to; war, poverty, hunger, ignorance, violence, child abuse, racism, homophobia, hatred and intolerance.

The tsunami's victims can be counted in bodies that can be seen at once, the pain on the faces of the survivors and the path of destruction left behind. Victims of the more subtle tragedies above suffer and die in numbers that, it appears, we have become calloused towards. If the bodies of those who have died from suffering from the less recognized tragedies were counted it would be staggering.

This is not meant to dismiss in any way the havoc wreaked upon those who experienced the tsunami, rather, just to remind us all that tragedy occurs daily, in all of our lives, in many ways, and we need to address them just as vehemently.

Peace.

2004-12-28T11:14:00.000-06:00

JUST WHEN YOU THOUGHT THE PARTY WAS OVER....A NEW SURPRISE COMES YOUR WAY!

Put those party hats back on and start swingin' that chinchilla, cause Mama's gonna party tonight.

Just in case your invitation got lost in the mail, December 28th is HOLIFESTIGALA . Celebrated all over the world, Holifestigala is the way to end off all the other holidays and prepare for the New Year.

You can dress how you like, but be sure and send cards to those you care about...it might be the last time they hear from you this year. Be sure and check out all of the amazing things that you didn't even know exists. Holifestigala is in the running to become as popular as Festivus.

Don' miss out on the merriment....and be sure and send pictures!

2004-12-27T18:56:00.000-06:00

TAKE A LOOK AT WHAT I DID

There are a couple of things going on here. The first is that I finally figured out how to connect photos in the crummy, pre-installed Photoshop 2. The only reason it is really crummy is because every time I tried the "Help" option it connected me or tried to connect me to the website and froze up my computer. So, I just put my thinking cap on and after two months figured it out myself. Who needs those damn tech nerds anyway.

The second thing that is going on is I am going to share some things with you. The first is the picture of my desk at the magazine. Things you can't see include: My screensaver with a Girls Kick Ass as the central theme...the toy...a Hunchback of Notre Dame plastic figure from the days when I ate at fast food restaurants, a small Buddha, and a crown. Because I am a Princess, I get a crown.

There is a bunch of other crap, I mean there are a lot of other treasures there, but the telling point is found in all the post-its around the screen to remind me what I am supposed to do for my money.l

The next picture is of two gifts I received this holiday. The dancing, singing chicken scares me. The reason it scares me is because the person who gave it to me is a very nice woman and when I saw it she said, "I don't know, it just reminds me of you." I think if it had its head cut off it would be more representative of how I behave. The molded dolphins with waves and glitter came from Caden. He was so excited, he had to tell me that he even paid $3 for it. The chicken was immediately re-gifted to Caden and I had no problem not telling him I didn't spend a dime for it. Now, the real scary thing. That is the second dancing chicken I have gotten in the past two years. The next time I bend over, I am putting a mirror in one hand and checking to see if I have suddenly started growing feathers around my ass.

The last picture is of the calendar that the Chinese restaurant that I get the best won ton soup from gave me. It is horrendous. All of the little animals that adorn it have one round spot in one eye and slashes in the other. What does this mean? Is it some anime thing I am missing? But, upon opening the calendar, it only gets worse. The same animals are the pictures and the months are placed two on a page with the squares so small a fortune from one of their tasteless cookies wouldn't fit into it.

So, that is part of the story of my holiday. It leaves out working at Bunns and Noodles on Christmas Eve and the Day after Christmas. Both are experiences that you need a great deal of fortitude or a giant doobie to endure. I'm not telling.

The highlight of the holiday for me was that Caden and Tina came out to the house. I had gotten Caden a $30 DVD player. (Can you believe that, $30 dollars, I am really showing my age since I remember the first Video Tape Player I got cost about $600.) I hooked it up in his room before he got here and wrapped up a roll of toilet paper and a dill pickle and let him open that. He tried so hard to be thankful I was almost in tears. Then he noticed the note. I had set up a hide and go seek game which required that he find all of the clues and follow them. This led him to the office, the bathroom, and the refrigerator. He was so excited that when he came tearing around the corner he slipped on the wooden floor, picked himself up, said he wasn't hurt and went tearing off after the next clue in less than 3 seconds. When he finally got to the present he was as funny a kid as I have ever seen. Bouncing on the bed and screaming. Yeah, got his Granny's self control.

So that was my holiday, I hope all of yours were as wonderful.

2004-12-25T11:35:00.000-06:00

Happy Christmas (War is Over)

So this is Christmas
And what have you done
Another year over
And a new one just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear one
The old and the young
War is over
If you want it
War is over over
Now...
A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear
And so this is Christmas
For weak and for strong
For rich and the poor ones
The world is so wrong
And so happy Christmas
For black and for white
For yellow and red ones
Let's stop all the fight
If you want it
War is over over
Now...
And so this is Christmas
And what have we done
Another year over
And a new one just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear one
The old and the young
War is over
If you want it
War is over
Now...
John Lennon