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.

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!

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.

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

DEVILS IN RED DRESSES

See those two innocuos looking packs of gum up there? I think I hate them. I know I hate them. I have not smoked since February 18, 2002. I have done this with the use of Nicorette gum, willpower and the desire to see my daughter raise the most wonderful grandson in the world. However, I am now addicted to Nicorette gum.

I don't want to be addicted to Nicorette gum anymore. So, because I am so brilliant, I figured out how to break that addiction. I would wean myself from it by chewing some gum with similar qualities and yet without the nicotine. The similar qualities would be...gum for one and sharp, biting, unpleasant taste for two.

I started chewing the "devils in red dresses" about a week ago. I switched off between the two because when the "Fire" gum is chewed, it is truly about FIRE. It lights up your mouth like Dante's Inferno. But, I persevered. I did this for about a week. Switching off between the two substitute gums and the nicotine laden fix. Sure, my mouth burned. But, it was working.

In fact, it was working so well that I could go hours without a piece of gum in mouth. This was for a very good reason. My mouth hurt from the red devils. I wasn't even eating to replace the gum. Why? Because my mouth hurt so bad that I couldn't even drink soda.

Now, I am not a wimp. I am the farthest thing from delicate you can imagine. I like to think of myself as pretty damned tough. I am pretty damned tough. Apparently, the delicate inner lining of my coarse mouth is not as tough as the rest of me. My mouth has been burned to a crisp. It is swollen, red, painful, and basically, unable to function. One side is burned so bad that my cheek is swollen out and I look like one of those cartoon faces with a bad tooth.

None of this, however, tempts me in any way whatsoever to pick up a cigarette. My mouth burn will go away. My emphysema won't.

23 BELOW ZERO, LAKE SUPERIOR, AND A LAKER

It may be cold, but it keeps the riff-raff out.

Here he is, folks. The heavy metal drummer with his puppy t-shirt, froggy bedspread and backed by his stuffed animals. Isn't he just the sweetest thing you've ever seen? Granny sure thinks so!

ONE DOWN, ONE TO GO

Yesterday was a pseudo-madhouse. I have this unfounded belief that customers lurk in the corners of stores and collectively say, "Look's like they got their breath, let's storm them now!" I picture those hordes of Mongols crossing the Alps as they all start to demand attention at once.

I was so tired last night that I missed the 10 o'clock news where the report of the Zamboni blew up at a local rink during a broomball game.

The scary thing about this was that earlier in the day there were children's hockey games going on and the results could have been far more disastrous. One person was injured, although, not seriously but the Zamboni is toast, so to speak.

I work again on Friday (Xmas Eve) at Bunns and Noodles, but that is the day the store is filled with men. With glazed eyes, drool from the corner of their mouths, they storm the store in a last minute frenzy...they will buy anything. I try and steer them away from self improvement and cookbooks...those would piss me off. I got an iron as a gift one time and managed to throw it at the wall in such a way thay it pierced the sheetrock and hung there. Again, I ask, do you wonder why I'm single?

So, Friday will be gift card day, anything day, and Thank Goodness I don't work at Victoria's Secret. (I think they have a rule about working there...clothes have to fit on at least one part of the salesperson's body.)

Onward and upward.

TOMORROW IS RETAIL HELL DAY

Talk all you wish about the day after Thanksgiving being the biggest shopping day, the reality is that you have to work in retail to recognize that numbers have to be balanced with intensity and desperation to make shopping a real "big" day.

Tomorrow is the last weekend day before the big day and everyone who has to work for the rest of the week will be out grabbing any and everything to finish up. Working in retail on these days deserves a giant commendation. While I am only working part time at Bunns and Noodles, my day is Sunday. That's tomorrow.

I will be juggling customers who want to know what book their wife, daughter, son-in-law, etc. will absolutely love. Or, do we have any polka Christmas music. Is fiction real or not? What was Oprah's last book? We will all stand like the corporate goodies we are and attempt to answer each and every question as nicely as possible. And then we will run into the back room and compete for the most stupid, angriest, or loudest screaming child story. That is how we keep our sanity.

We also nickname our customers. My favorites include some I have named myself: Toilet Paper Lady. This woman comes in with her husband (who drives a new Jaguar every year) bringing her own tea bag, sack of cookies or ramen, and proceeds to sit and read with that cup of hot water being refilled with great regularity. That's fine. It's when she goes to the bathroom that the "shit" hits the fan, so to speak. She knows that these are public restrooms and just anybody might be sitting on the toilet seats, so she pulls out approximately 40 yards of toilet paper, makes a nest, does her business, and leaves. Leaves all of the paper wadded up and clogging the toilet to be dealt with by the same smiling faced people who will ring you up and ask if there is anything else?

There is also Bowling Ball Man. A pervert. I call him Bowling Ball Man because his stomach protrudes out in just such a shape. He is pasty white, comb over hair, polyester clothing and brown shoed. He also considers Bunns and Noodles his own private cruising club. He hovers over the younger female booksellers and intimidates them with his pandering. But, have no fear. They all have portable phones and the call goes out for help and it is usually one of the older, feistier women who will swoop in and return the intimidation in a non confrontable way. After all, the asshole may spend a dime some day and we have an "obligation" to the customer to make sure they all leave happy.

Then there are the ones who will tell you that they can get it cheaper on line...well, get it online. Oh, you don't have a credit card. OOPS. Then you pay for the pleasure of having someone like me find it for you, ring it up, bag it, thank you for buying it and wish you a good day. It's a small price to pay for not setting up a lifestyle that allows you access to computers but not to credit.

Not all customers are bad. I truly enjoy my regulars. I take pride in the fact that there are customers who come in and ask for me by name. But, tomorrow will tax my patience and I will get through it by being as smarmy as I can. So, stop on by your nearest retail outlet tomorrow and realize that the people helping you don't make a lot of money, the biggest benefit they get is generally their store discount, and that, like you, they are just trying to make it through life.

I will be looking at at you and remembering that you all have families, you can't really help it that time got out of hand and you are doing your shopping late, and that when you go home, you just might remember that helpful clerk at the bookstore that tried to make your day just a little easier.

SEE BAMBI

WHERE IS BAMBI'S MOTHER?

SARAH KILLED HER TONIGHT WITH HER CAR.

SARAH IS FINE, CAR IS FINE, BAMBI AVAILABLE FOR ADOPTION.

The mother of Bambi died unexpectedly this evening. She was crossing County Road 47 at approximately 5:30 PM when a hunter green, 1995 Chevrolet Malibu became the method by which she took her life. Rumor has it that she had been suffering from depression due to the onset of the cold winter nights and lack of partners to play dodge the vehicles. As impact became inevitable she lowered her head so as not to shatter the driver side headlight and gracefully smashed into the lower fender with such determination that no dent was visible to the naked eye. She was quickly removed by a passing pickup truck driver and roadkill recycler to be properly disposed of in the true scavenger fashion. The gentleman removing her body was in awe of the lack of injury to the "consumable" sections of her body. Sarah will remember the kindness of Bambi's unnamed mother for the rest of her driving experiences and hopes that Bambi knows that her mother died quickly and painlessly. In lieu of flowers, the family is requesting a memorial be placed at the roadside to distract even more vehicle drivers.

MARTHA STEWART I AM NOT...

I thought I was being so cool by getting the easiest recipe I could find from the internet to make cookies for the office "cookie sharing experience." Well, I blew it...I copied this great peanut butter recipe off of a blog and pasted it into word and e-mailed it to myself and was as cocky as a Martha-wannabe could possible be. That is until I noticed that I had not copied the entire recipe. I was missing the number of tablespoons of softened butter I needed. I know it is somewhere between 2 tablespoons and a quarter of a cup. That's it. I could start with two and see how that works out, but I don't really want to spend a lot of time doing this. That was the whole idea behind swiping someone else's recipe.

So, your job...HELP ME! The recipe consisted of peanut butter, softened butter, powdered sugar mixed together, formed into balls to be dipped into melted chocolate. Sounds easy. If any of you have any recipe that looks like this and requires no cooking...send it my way. I have until Monday to reprieve myself for having eaten all of the other cookies that everyone else brought in. I hate sharing...my cookies come from a box, bag, stand, or someplace where someone else has prepared them. Thanking you all in advance, I will be checking my e-mail hourly and let you all know of the success or failure.

You know, I could buy some of those damned green and red Oreos and use them, couldn't I?

WHERE, OH WHERE, CAN SARAH BE?

WHERE, OH WHERE HAS SHE GONE?

Well, it's like this. Now that my health has recovered I find myself back to working 48 hours a week. That coupled with an hour and a half drive to and from work daily, it kind of cuts into the old creative spirit. I will, hopefully, only be doing this through January. Part of it is due to the holiday season and I work in the music department at Bunns and Noodles and this is an easy way to pick up easy cash.

I say easy because it really isn't a tough job. And, the fact that I have been with the company for over ten or so years means that I make a fairly decent wage for my time. I also love music. It is a great way to find to spend money on CD's. I have said for years that in the long run, I have paid them to let me work there. I am not spending the money on me, though. Well, I am in a weird kind of way. Due to my illness and missing of work earlier this year I am a bit behind on medical bills. They tend to get a bit pissy when you don't pay, but, I have explained to them that sooner or later they will get their moolah. What are they going to do? Put the kidney stones back in?

It has also suddenly become winter. This means I awoke this morning to a high of seven degrees to look forward to during the day. This kind of weather means a bit more work. There's the ice to scrape off the car, the extra layers of clothing to stumble into so as not to freeze your ass off, breathing through a scarf ever so delicately so that you don't fog your glasses and driving on highways covered with the ever treacherous "black" ice. Black ice is, theoretically, ice that you cannot see. I can see it. It is shiny. The road is usually not shiny unless it is raining. It does not rain in seven degree weather. So, what the hell is the matter with the rest of these fools. Barreling past at 70 miles an hour, changing lanes, going off the road. If I see them far enough ahead, I will stop to check and make sure everything is ok. It is the Minnesota thing to do. If they do it right in front of me, I keep right on going. I refuse to hit my brakes and follow their stupid asses into the ditch.

Then there is just the energy it takes to stay warm. You can have all the layers you want and the cold will creep in. Not being a native Minnesota, I immediately tense up and try and become the smallest, cold thing there is. Wrong. So, I spend my time tightening up, reminding myself to relax, tightening up, and on and on and on. All of this can be very tiring and then there is eight hours of work and a drive home under the same conditions. Oh well, it keeps the riff raff out.

Caden and I watched Spiderman II Friday night. His review was quite clear. "I really liked it, except for all the kissing. And it was French kissing." I agreed and then asked him if he knew what French kissing was...I got the quintessential nine year old answer: "Yeah, it's like dog kisses, with their tongues all out and all. Yuck!" That's my boy. I can't wait until I see him with his tongue three feet down his girlfriend's mouth and I can embarass the shit out of him. As I've said before, "What good is power if you can't abuse it?"

So, I missed all of you and will surf until my mouse finger falls off tonight seeing what's been up with all of the Blog Exploders...stay warm!

THE BEST NIGERIAN SCAM STORY EVER

If you have an email address you have received offers from people willing to sell you with everything to enhance body parts you may not have, pills to help those parts be bigger, last longer, or improve your life and the not to be forgotten...get rich quick scheme.

Now even before I was involved in the blog experience where information on anything is spread like wildfire, I got one of the Nigerian offers of wealth beyond my wildest dreams. Now, I am not just another Anna Nicole, so it didn't take me long to recognize that this was a scam. So, I did not send my bank routing number and I didn't feel bad about it at all.

A few years later, I ran across this post. It has taken me a lot of work to find it again. The post has grown, there are now more "scamming the scammer" posts, but this was the first one I found and it had me in tears before I was done.

This guy kicks some ass in his ability to scam the scammers. He not only gets money from them, but works in a church, an inititiation that includes drawing a red circle around a body part, joining the circus all coupled with a picture of Niles superimposed on the body of a clown.

Save this for days when you need something to make you blow coffee out your nose.

If you have any other great ones like this, please, please, please, let me know!

Enjoy!

TUESDAY NIGHT'S SPECIAL:WHAT'S IN SARAH'S BED AND WHERE THE HELL HAS SHE BEEN?

Well, it's like this. Last Tuesday was Tina and Caden day, I knew what was in my bed, I was going to post it, and the blog ate my post. Twice. Then I had missed two days of work. Now, even though I only work 8 hours a day, when I get those days off, I turn into a child. Don't go to sleep until late, surf the web, watch Heaven's Gate (which will take up almost two weeks of time), blah, blah, blah. So that by the time I returned to work, I was still exhausted and had work to catch up.

It's hard to believe how much energy brain power takes out of you. Why the hell can't you burn calories with it. I would weigh half of what I do now, there'd be no guilt for refusing to get off my ass and exercise when I'd rather be sedentary, and it would probably cut my prescription drug use in half and I could take up the non-prescription again. Yeah, Granny was a pothead and can remember quite well swearing that they would have to pry that joint from my dead, dying fingers. Amasing how that perspective changes when your health does. Besides that, those munchies would have doubled that prescription drug use!

So, it's been work, crash, work, crash. Throw in a snow storm that made the distance in time an additional twenty minutes each way, and you can imagine how the withdrawal has been. And the ability to pile more shit on my bed has become beyond belief. Yes, folks, if I roll over I will poke my eye out.

Here it goes:

1. Twisted (Jonathan Kellerman book)
2. Teach Yourself HTML Visually (I’m a slow learner.)
3. Time Magazine
4. Newsweek Magazine
5. Food & Family (A free magazine from Kraft Foods about my favorite subject, food.)
6. Prioritize Organize (The book that my boss gave me, the presence of which shows I have not quite conquered its message.)
7. Nicorette Gum (I am no longer addicted to cigarettes. No, now I crave the world’s foulest tasting gum.)
8. Empy bowl and spoon. (Said bowl and spoon previously held and carried apple crisp. This constituted a fruit serving and since the crust was made with granola, provided ample roughage.
9. A pack of Spearmint Gum. (An attempt to change gums. Not working. Will try and find crap flavored gum next.)
10. DVD, Satellite, TV Remotes (These could be listed separately, but I’m starting to get embarrassed.
11. Today’s mail. (I hate mail. With the advent of email, I now only receive bills and junk and who wants that?)
12. Lie Still (Another book.)
13. Book Lust (Oops, almost missed that one. Another book that explains the presence of all the rest.
14. Four Pillows (Two are on the floor in the hole of darkness and death on the far side of the bed.)
15. A ball point pen from TrueMajority.com (Yeah, I know, I lost, I am a loser, but damnit, I’m still proud to be blue.)
16. The laptop. (My soulmate.)
17. Me!

It's not getting better, it's getting worse. I thought that by writing it down I would improve my slovenly ways. Apparently not.

Coming tomorrow: The World's Best Nigerian Spam Website You Will Ever See. (If you don't agree, I will absolutely demand you forward your best to me and I will compare...)

TONIGHT I WISH MY DOG LOOKED LIKE THIS

My dog kind of looks like this. Only grown up. Which makes her bigger. And her eyes are definitely more the color of urine, hence the nickname, "Old Piss Eyes." But, the real reason I wish my dog looked like this tonight is because...hold your breath (literally and figuratively)...tonight my dog is killing me. That cute little puppy up there has one less thing than my dog has. That's right folks. It's an asshole. For this evening my dog is paying me back in the most unkind way for giving her a rawhide bone to chew. Said rawhide bone was not just chewed, however, it was totally devoured and is apparently wreaking havoc upon said dog's digestive track and removing eyelashes and eyebrows from my face with its toxic fumes. And will she leave my room? No, because she loves me because I was so nice to her. If it weren't 15 degrees outside, she would be spending the rest of the night in the solitude of the great outdoors. Soon, she will be spending it outside of my room with the door shut. After I turn the fan on and try and clear the air, so to speak.

And then, being the jump on the wagon kind of person that I am, I decide to rush right over to the "Test Your Subconscious Mind Test" at Tickle (such and innocent sounding name) to find out that I am "driven by self-protection." Yes, and it is going to keep me from choking on my dog's farts as soon as I get this posted.

I hope you all are having a better evening.

You're the United Nations!
or
Welcome to Sarah World!

Most people think you're ineffective, but you are trying to completely save the world from itself, so there's always going to be a long way to go. You're always the one trying to get friends to talk to each other, enemies to talk to each other, anyone who can to just talk instead of beating each other about the head and torso. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't, and you get very schizophrenic as a result. But your heart is in the right place, and sometimes also in New York.
Take the Country Quiz at the Blue Pyramid

See the trouble you can find when you have nothing to do but surf the web. I need to get a life now that I have my own world.

THE GREAT PUMPKIN STRIKES AGAIN

The old standby worked. Until I decided to quit taking it. The Great Pumpkin Cheesecake Fiasco struck again. I called Kristi (my twelve year old doctor, okay, she's not twelve, she looks twelve) and her words, "You need to let nature RUN it's course, no more Lomotil, drink plenty of fluids, eat lightly and plainly." (Emphasis mine.) So, day two at home with a disgusting repeat of yesterday.

Have no fear movies are here! Or, as they can be referred to, "Women in Trouble who have no idea what to do until The Man comes along," or "Women who have lost their memory and have to relearn how to make toast," or "WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING, CHANGE THE CHANNEL, YOU STUPID BITCH."

So, today I am working from home on spreadsheets, reading a stack of books, surfing blog explosion while trying to avoid explosions of my own and cracking up at the fact that one's life can be so turned around by poor eating habits. I promise to do better, I promise to do better, I promise to do better.

One of the first things I did upon finding out that MSN was starting a blog site (only they call it "spaces") was run right over and register my beloved Princess Wild Cow. I probably won't use it at all, but I wanted to protect some other cow from trying to cash in on my infamy. Call it the equivalent of pissing in the corner of the blog roll.

So, back to work, interrupted only occasionally for a game of chance on Yahoo games, Blog Explosion, and wishing I had purchased those flushable ass wipes I saw in the store. Silly me, I mocked them at the time. Little did I know how much I would love to have them right now. Okay, TMI. Too bad, I'm suffering and so will you.

THE PERILS OF
TOO MUCH CHEESECAKE

Not just any cheesecake, mind you, but the absolutely, most amazing, not to be refused Pumpkin Cheesecake from The Cheesecake Factory. It is a seasonal cheesecake. Not available all year round. And, the only cheesecake I eat all year.

Unfortunately, this year I overindulged. I picked a whole cheesecake up to take into work to share. It's so good that it makes you want to share it with everyone. I also wanted to share it with my daughter. So, I picked up two extra pieces to have the night before I took it into work. So, there was the one piece with my daughter.

The next day, at work, we ordered out. Chinese...the best wonton soup ever. And, I ate it all, before we all dove into the Pumpkin Cheesecake. So, there it was. A piece of cheesecake, a mocha for breakfast, wonton soup, more pumpkin cheesecake and the results are: I missed work today and there is a lot of spending time here:

I hereby promise: to not overindulge in cheesecake ever again, to really start eating more sensibly and avoiding any such future setbacks, and, and, I forget the rest. Sorry, have to run (pun intended!)

THE BLOGGER ATE MY BABY!!!!

So, last night's post about what's in my bed is apparently floating around out there somewhere in cyberspace. If it happens to land anywhere near any of you, please tell it to come home.

Also, the post that I posted after that was gone, too...the one about foreign slang and my inability to converse in it.

Both of these items will be addressed at a later time. Right now, I am at work and just grateful that the "technicians" fixed by problems and I can blog again. I was having withdrawal...

I FEEL LIKE A WANKER

I have been reading blogs from all over the world and picked up a few new terms. My understanding of the word "wanker" from the context I have read it in seems to mean penis. Now, I don't feel like a penis, exactly. I feel like a really limp penis. I worked twelve and a half hours today because "I don't need a calendar, I can remember."

Well, not quite. I forgot that I had an online discussion to run tonight at work and instead of going in later, I went in at my regular, crack of dawn, 8 AM. I didn't even realize I had the discussion until 11 when I was notified, by e-mail, to log on and do a test run. Shit! So, there I was at 7 PM all ready to be the moderator, when the invited guest has computer problems, the manager of the discussion doesn't have her cell phone because her husband took it with him and she has no land line...and, the rules change very quickly. It seems that now, the manager will be the moderator, I will "be" the speaker. I will accomplish this by calling her, submitting the questions the moderator has chosen verbally and type in the answers as she gives them to me verbally.

Now, for over 40 of my 57 years I have lied about my typing. Why? Because I grew up in a generation that if you knew how to type, that's what you did. So, here I am, reading these questions to a very verbal woman in upstate New York and typing in the longest and most detailed answers that anyone could imagine. And, I'm transcribing these like a son of a bitch. After 45 minutes my hands were cramping up and I was watching the clock on the computer crawl slowly towards 8 PM. That's when I realized that the person in New York couldn't see the answers I was typing, the moderator couldn't hear what she was saying and I became an editor. Let me tell you, honey, those long winded answers were pared down to almost snippy replies.

What the hell. I 'm an accountant. I put numbers into boxes and they add up and all is well with the world. I am not supposed to have to deal with people. I, unfortunately, put myself in this position since no one else had volunteered to be the "moderator." And, of course, being the wonderful, people pleasing martyr that I am, said "Sure, I'll do it." I meant moderate. Not be a transcriber to, what I am sure was, a very nice woman who didn't realize how much I hated talking to her, typing answers to a bunch of questions that I could barely field, and not just slip over to Blog Explosion for a little surfing.

So, that's why I feel like a limp wanker. Now, if I were Australian I could head out and play a little "pokie." Which is poker to them, and with a limp wanker attitude would be about all I could manage.

Know what tomorrow is? Another installment of "What's In Sarah's Bed?" It will probably be me, with all the crap piled up and watching Heaven's Gate which I got from Netflix. And, with any luck at all, Monday won't turn into "What's Sarah Going to Whine About Today?" 'Night, all.

THE HOLIDAY STORY OF THE HAMMER THE NAILS...
AND THE LAUNDRY

This is one of those stories that I almost wish I wasn't in. Almost.

Okay, after being separated from my first husband for five years with no divorce the need came about to be married again. The story is kind of dramatic, but in a brief few words it can be summed up like this: Hippie, bisexual, rock and roll, a smattering of drugs, a really bad attitude and a custody battle with my mother for my daughter. None of the things mentioned made me a great mother, but neither did they make me an unfit one. However, for the sake of brevity, my mother would have turned me into the female version of Jack the Ripper if it meant getting custody of my daughter from me and messing with my life just one more time.

Now, I had been supporting my child, loving her, supervising her appropriately and doing all of the motherly things that were necessary, but, I had not bowed to my mother's idea of being the perfect daughter. I got sick, had to have surgery, made the mistake of my life, which meant asking my mother to care for my daughter while I recovered. Whoa, baby. The psychological aspects of that have been totally reviewed and on some sick level, I suppose I was still seeking her approval.

Anyway, the deed was done. Upon release from the hospital, I get home to find she has filed for permanent custody, had been granted temporary custody and I was up the proverbial creek.

How was I going to fix this. Well, let's see. What was the dumbest thing I could do? You got it. I found someone I was certain would normalize me in the eyes of the law and so I married him. Oops. Now, he wasn't a bad guy. But, marrying for the wrong reason, in fact marrying for the right reason...both can get you in a hell of a lot of trouble. Long story short. He wasn't normal enough. I hadn't suffered enough. And, I ended up childless and married. I did get visitation and all of the hell that goes with that type of an arrangement. But, to say it was less than perfect, is the epitome of understatement.

Eventually, custody was returned to me, and, I was still married. He had a propensity towards passive aggressive behavior, sloth and a down and out ability to remain unemployed. The passive aggressive behavior began to drive me crazy. The sloth drove me up a wall. And the inability to find gainful employment became the last straw.

I started to plan my move. Not being one to rush into things anymore, I was busy getting my eggs in a row when my own passive aggressive behavior began to emerge. Shit, I never realized how much fun it could be.

The one thing that had always pushed me over the edge was the inability of this man to find the laundry basket with his dirty underwear. So, as they started to pile up on his side of the bed, I took out my handy hammer and some carpeting tacks, and tacked
them to the floor. Ha ha, I thought, wait until he tries to pick those up. Well, he didn't try and pick them up. They lay there and the pile grew. Here comes the hammer, some nails this time, and tap, tap, tap, the second layer were firmly put in place. Then the third, fourth, and by the fifth, I was on my way out the door. I figured that he was just being more passive than I and wasn't going to say anything to me about it.

Wrong. About three weeks after I left, the phone rings, and there he is, "What the hell is the idea of nailing my underwear to the floor?" I blew snot. It had taken the man over six weeks to realize that I had nailed his dirty clothes to floor. It was great. I was actually glad that I wasn't there when he discovered it. It was much better to just hang up the phone and go on with my life.

The moral of this story, if there is a moral, is that sometimes things you think are being done for all of the right reasons can turn out just as badly as if you had done something else for all of the right reasons. I regained custody of my daughter when my mother died. Overnight, I became all the things that I hadn't been when she was alive. It was the beginning of true growing up for me. To learn that my self righteousness was no different than hers. That things will take care of themselves in the strangest of ways, without our stupid attempts at manipulation. And, that when it comes to laundry, run if you see me with a hammer in my hands.

I am grateful during this period of Thanksgiving that I can look back on all of this without rancor and hate. It was the best gift I ever gave myself. Well, that and the last piece of pecan pie that I finished as I wrote this.

Today I am one tired, sorry cow. The princess and the wild are sleeping right now. Just like I wish I were. But, no, I am at work. And really working hard, as you can see.

We ended up with seven for T'day. On Thursday I got up feeling like I had the world by the tail and by the end of the day I knew it was my tail that was whipped. Cooking and eating can be such hard work, you know.

Highlights of the day included the holding of hands around the table and talking about what we were thankful for. Of course, my daughter and I get misty everytime this happens. And then it was Caden's turn. He turned the mood around immediately by letting us all know that he was grateful for being a "spoiled Kid." At least he recognizes it. I am of the firm belief you can't spoil children. It is necessary to teach them acceptance and respect..."spoiled" children don't have those things. My boy is such a sweetie that after the dinner he came over and climbed in my lap to be rocked like he was when he was a baby. Now this boy is 5'4" tall and just snuggled up next to me while I sang all the songs that I sang to him when he was small...what a moment. I will remember it as being one of the most touching things that has ever happened. I am so lucky.

And, yes, we did have the food fight. With no snow here yet, we decided to have it outside. Easier to clean. The only disadvantage was the little squirt's ability to run just out of reach of my throw. We got each other pretty good, though. When I thought it was over and about to go back inside (it was only 25 degrees) he comes over and takes a handful of food and totally smashes it into my face. What a boy. Takes after his Granny.

Then it was dessert time. Although we were all groaning, out came the pies and we forced ourself to have just a little more. And they were great. We sent quite a bit of food home with everyone, but I am more than happy to have them carry it on their hips as opposed to mine.

By bedtime, I was one . I crawled upstairs and was ready for slumberland when the phone rang. Tina's car had sopped running. Up gets the butt. I go to pick them up and head back to the house, deal with AAA, loan her my car to get home, eat a turkey sandwich, crawl back up the stairs and crash. I rode in with my roommate this morning and couldn't believe it when she asked "Are you getting up?" I slept for nine solid hours and could have packed in another four or five.

All in all it, was the best Thanksgiving ever. It always is. I am truly blessed. Even if I did have mashed potatoes in my ear this morning.

WHAT DID I DO TODAY?

Today was cooking day. Or pre-cooking day. Pies: two pumpkin, one pecan, one strawberry rhubarb. Homemade rolls. Homemade cinnamon buns. Brownie torte. Now that the important stuff has been done, I can kick back.

Tomorrow it's the 26 pound turkey in the Weber. All the side dishes and then on to the gorging. We are only having a total of six this year. It will be the smallest Thanksgiving in over twenty years. My roomate's sister married and moved four hours away. So, she and her boys won't be here. One of the boys may show up, but still unkown at this time. Same roommate's brother and his wife won't be coming up from the Cities. You know, when the kids grow up and start to move away things change.

Tina, Caden and Caden's father will be here. I know that the only reason I would ever move from here would be if Tina moved. It's great what a connection we have. And, as she and Caden are my only family, it's a good thing. I'm not going to get all maudlin here, but, they are my life.

Caden is looking forward to the food fight. It will probably be only he and I, Tina has avoided them from the first time I squashed mashed potatoes in her hair. Tidy girl, she is. (Hey, I'm Yoda!) We will probably have the fight outside this year as there is no snow yet and it's much easier to let the animals clean up the mess than draping the walls with plastic (started that after we got older and washing walls was way too much.) With this few people it will be Granny who gets most of the damage. For some reason, I always seem to.

This total lack of respect for decorum comes, of course, from my youth. Growing up in a less than ideal home situation showed me how important it was to be spontaneous and full of laughter. My mother had some strange rules. For example: I could never say that I was full. "There should be no reference to your stomach. That is rude!" So, the acceptable statement was, "I've had sufficient." Of course, this makes no sense. It's not like I was eating in front of the Queen. And more often than not, it was food retrieved from a dumpster. So, it has become a family joke. Caden and I crack up everytime he says, "I've had sufficient." Way to turn things around, Sarah!

Holidays when I was a child were horrible. All of your typical hysteria surrounding an alcoholic, drug addicted mother. I learned early on that the best way to survive was to be sick. I don't know how many holidays I spent in the hospital, but enough for it to always come to mind. The first holiday I reclaimed was Thanksgiving. It took a while, but, it was definitely a turning point in my life. The ability to be thankful is the greatest gift one can give to one's self.

And this year, as in all years, I have much to be thankful for. The love of a family. The love of friends. The ability to care for myself and other's around me with respect. The fact that I live with my needs being met and having the sensitivity to know that other's aren't and the courage to try and change that. That I have finally come to love myself and learned how truly freeing that can be. That was a hard one and only came about because I was able to quit resenting the past and put it in perspective with the future. And on and on and on.

I hope that you and your families will enjoy tomorrow as much as I will. Hopefully, there will printable pictures of the food fight and you can see that insanity reigns in much of my life...willingly!

What, if anything, does this have to do with Sarah's second marriage?

Tune in Friday for a delightful, if not somewhat mean-spirited explanation.

WEEK THREE AND WHAT'S IN SARAH'S BED?

(THIS IS A BAD WEEK FOR SARAH, I'M NOT GOING TO LIE, BUT I WILL BLUSH)

It's been a busy week and I have been even more of thrashing slob than usual. I tend to hoard and when I am busy I tend to toss. Enough justification, here goes

1. Teach Yourself HTML Visually (getting to be like a partner, but, not quite.)
2. Three remotes (tv, dvd, satellite--hmm, a three way.)
3. A jar of Nutella (ok, I ate it on an apple, that counts as a meal, doesn't it?)
4. Prioritize Organize (book--from my boss, for me to read, think she's trying to tell me something?)
5. Time Magazine (all the news that's almost fit to print from the mainstream media.)
6. Utne Reader (Readers Digest for the liberals.)
7. A long underwear shirt that I had to put on last night because I had decided I didn't have to close the window just yet. I was wrong.
8. New York Times Book Review
9. Mail order catalogue from Ebiza (for those that are interested, I would like the $198 Quan Yin Buddha on page 65.)
10. An empty Pringles can. (Originally purchased for grandson, picked up a new one tonight when shopping for Thanksgiving.)
11. Two unopened DVD's from Netflix that I haven't even had time to look at because I am too busy feeding my internet addiction.
12. "Touchy-feely" handout from work on Group Dynamics and Team Concepts. Blech!
13. Pile of laundry that I am definitely going to put away tonight before they fall on the dog hair covered floor and have to be washed again.
14. The laptop and me. A tired me.

This, of course, gives me just enough room to lay quite still and in a perfect straight line, any movement and piles of stuff will go rolling off of the far side of the bed into the morass of the unkown goodies. (That, my friends, is a very scary place.)

Now there is really no need to feel badly for me...I know I wouldn't be so tired if I ate better than Nutella and Pringles. And if I had put the laundry away before I lay down with the laptop it wouldn't be blocking the remote's ability to change the tv from "America's Biggest Losers"

But, tomorrow is another day and I will be cooking and and preparing for Thanksgiving. My favorite holiday for a number of reasons. I will be surrounded by family and friends, the food, the pies and....hold onto your hats...the food fight! This has been a tradition for 27 years. And this year Caden is the same age as Tina was when it started. Tina has never appreciated it, Caden and I love it. I promise pictures and we don't toss anything good...the jello, the stems and seeds of the mashed potatoes, and one year there was one deviled egg that landed directly on my cheek and stuck there, much to the delight of Caden, who threw it.

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday with your family and friends and you are all invited to the food fight, the more the merrier!

I'm worth $1,550,286.10! How much are you worth? I feel so cheap compared to some of you out there. What no masturbation? No smoking dope? Do those increase or decrease your value? Maybe I'll cheat and take it again. Nah...I always was a low end tramp. No reason to change that now.

(I have been known to say that my ass has been around the block so many times it has 8 ply retreads on it, maybe that has something to do with it.)

DOG OWNER ALERT!

WARNING TO ALL DOG OWNERS:

WATCH YOUR DOG!

Some vicious killer has been shooting dogs at random! Dogs are being picked off one at a time, and the numbers of deaths are mounting.

Police in the state advise all dog owners to "Watch Your Dog."

This photo came from a collie breeder in Glendale...a killer caught in a careless moment.

Regardless of what breed we have, we can't be too careful

(There are some real sickos out there!)

(Many thanks to the office mate who shared this with me and got me out of my crappy Monday Mood!)

YOU WON'T BELIEVE THIS!

(Warning: This entry may contain words that can only be used to discuss the fucking stupidity of some fucking people!)

So, Friday night. The Cade isn't here because he has his first basketball game tomorrow morning. It's a strange Friday night for me. No kid, no kid movie and no frozen pizza in bed. Oh, what the hell. I guess I'm forced to surf blogexplosion for a bit. (Read: Bleary-eyed Sarah trying to wake up before noon on Saturday morning because she is possessed with this new addiction.)

I'm happily going along. Running into old favorites and then I find an old friend that I haven't seen in a while...VoxEfx. I'm merrily reading on and there it is, the poster for the movie that Caden has been wanting to see. So, I read. And I start to seethe. I can't believe it. I follow the links. Then I follow the next link.

These fucking people have pushed me over the edge. Now I have to listen to these assholes tell me about the subliminal message of a cartoon. And what is that message? They state that Shark Tale is a thinly veiled approach to "normalize" "homosexuality" with messages like "swimming against the stream" really means "coming out of the
closet."

Right! Or, rather, WRONG!!! How stupid do they think we are? Certainly nowhere near there abysmal lack of grey matter they exhibit. I can't fucking believe it. It's a fucking cartoon. Give me a fucking break. And that is only the beginning of the rant.

Who do these pseudo-religious, "holier than thou," homophobic sons of bitches think they are. That bastard in the Grey House is giving these people the right to spread their hate with his goddamned "moral" message. Well, they and he can kiss my royal queer ass. I have had it with these hate-mongerers trying to take their moralistic bullshit into every venue they can. Who cares if the goddamned shark is gay, vegetarian, Buddhist, vegan, libertarian or whatever. As I said before, it's a fucking cartoon.

And, if the message is one of swimming against the stream, good for them. Without swimming against the stream the whole idea of democracy would be buried up the ass of this country as we bowed to the Queen. (Queen? Did I say "Queen?" Oh, my god, their pervasive brainwashing is everywhere!) If being able to be who you are in spite of all around you, then Nelson Mandela would have faded into the background of an all-white South Africa. If these assholes want to see what they want to censor, then the next time they want to pray, maybe they should do it in the Sistine Chapel and look up and see what could not have been if their shit-hole opinions carried any weight.

Do I feel any better having written this? Yes and No. I hope you respond to this. One way or the other. I hope my anger prompts me to confront the racism, sexism, homophobia and whatever kind of hate these assholes are spreading with even more fervor. I hope that my grandson can grow up to be whoever he is without having to face this kind of hatred. And, I hope that my anger about this will only fuel others into action.

I suppose saying "Go in peace" would be a little bit of an anachronism right now. But, anger and peace are not separate. My fight for peace and the equality it brings is fueled by anger and sadness. So, go in peace, and kick some ass on the way!

ANOTHER EDITION OF WHAT'S IN SARAH'S BED

Having started a new tradition, I will continue it.

1. Teach Yourself Visually HTML
2. Time
3. Newsweek
4. The Walrus (magazine)
5. Today's Mail
6. Projected budget for non-profit for review
7. Package of Nicorette Gum
8. Mysteries of the Alphabet (book)
9. Again, the three remotes
10. At least five Asian Ladybugs (No, they're not gone yet!>
11. Last but not least, the Laptop..
    

Yup, folks, life doesn't get much better than this. Have a nice night!

WHAT HAPPENED TO MY FIRST MARRIAGE OR

THE EFFECTS OF CAMPO PHENIQUE ON LOVE

You need to understand a lot of things for this story to have it's full impact. I had left home when I was a little past the age of sixteen...some called it running away, I called it survival. Of a sort.

There weren't a lot of jobs out there for sixteen year olds, even in the sixties. And, as was often the case, I was just a little too smart for my britches. I tried a variety of things. All extremely low paying. Then, I discovered if I lied about my age, said I could do anything the jobs got a little better. My first "grown-up" job was as a receptionist/typist for a sign manufacturing company. This meant I had to type envelopes to every senior high school in the country and send them information about the "signs" they could purchase for their schools to announce events. This was before databases, they only had a manual typewriter, and I was going crazier.

So, I looked for another position. Needless to say it involved less clothes, an ability to move one's feet to the rhythm, and an ID that said I was 21. All of which were accomplished by the next day and I was on my way to stardom. If you call the Boom Boom Room stardom.

I met a variety of people. Some assholes, some perverts, and some pretty nice guys. And, it's where I met my first husband. Now, you would have thought that if I had been just a little brighter I would have recognized that a topless bar was not the prime place for picking a husband. But, I was filled with insecurities and newly discovering the power of a half-naked woman's body. Not the best combination.

And then I met Donne. Boy, was he a smoothy. Even the spelling of his name was sexy. The best looking man who had ever said more than two words to me (in an Elvis Presley sort of way), muscular, dark hair, dark eyes. He had me at the first sneer. He was also a very smooth talker. I ignored the fact that he drank like a fish. Hell, I grew up with that. I thought everyone did. And we became an item.

Soon it was clear that I could no longer work "in a place like that." So, I quit. I moved in with him and the days of confusion began. He was a heavy duty machinery mechanic and made quite good money and I saw the Donna Reed existence looming in my future. Well, except for a few small things. I couldn't cook, I knew nothing of home-making, and he liked to drink. So we fell into a pattern. Drink at night, fight, he'd go to work, drink at night, fight, and on and on and on.

He was also a pretty macho kind of dude. Or, did you already figure that out. I didn't. It wasn't even a concept back then. Eventually, he insisted on our getting married and I said yes because I couldn't believe anyone else would ever have me. A madcap trip to Vegas and the deed was done.

Part of his macho crap was wearing his coveralls without clothes under them. That way when they were unbuttoned half-way down his chest his muscles and tangle of black hair would show and impress...who? I mean, there were only guys in the shop...Vanity, oh vanity.

This eventually led to quite a rash. With motor oil, solvent and who knew what else being splashed around daily, I'm sure it was quite irritating. And not just a rash, but what I would later in life come to learn was called...jock itch. His balls were so inflamed that they could have been used on a Christmas Tree. But, I had the answer.

Coming from the poor white trash South that I had, there were only three medicines in our house. Calamine lotion, campho-phenique and sulfur and molasses. No shit. So, since I only had one of the three and it being the campho-phenique and having used it for itches all my life, I decided that that was what he needed.

Now, the man may have been beautiful, but not too bright. I convinced him that what he needed was the campo phenique and the itching would stop. Out comes the green bottle, the cotton balls and down comes his pants. I will give him credit, he was a little concerned about it, but, as I was to find out later in life, most men are concerned when anything gets near the family jewels.

I thouroughly soaked one of the cotton balls with campho phenique, told him not to worry, and...and...yes, I took one really wet dab at his balls. He hit the roof. He was up off of the couch, into the shower with cold water running directly on the affected parts and screaming at the top of his lungs. Being as sensitive as I am, of course, I was rolling on the floor. I swear, I didn't know it would have that effect, but, it was hilarious. To me. Not to him. I was picturing him in the shower, hands gripped on the pipe as it came out of the wall, with his feet trying to climb the wall as he strained to get his "privates" closer to the source of the cold water. This sent me even further over the edge.

When he finally came out of the bathroom, with a wild look in his eyes, I was still choking back the laughter. "You did that on purpose!" What? I didn't, I was stupid, yes, but in retrospect I wish I had done it on purpose. "No, no, I didn't know that would happen, it always stings just a little, but then it is better." "You knew exactly what was going to happen, and it's not funny, in fact, I'll show you how 'not funny' it is!"

You know, I should have seen it coming. That right hook. Caught me good. Flat on my ass, but, not surprised. Beatings were a way of life for me. Why should this have been any different. Well, it was. He stormed out of the house, down to his favorite bar--The Red Pussycat (I swear these are the real names of the bars.) And, as I sat there with my jaw in my hand...I started laughing again. You know, there are sometimes that you know are the moments to remember. I packed my clothes, got the hell out of there and never went back. In fact, we were married for six years even though I had only lived with him for three months, and been married only one.

My jaw got better. It was the best thing that ever could have happened on a number of levels. One, I made a commitment to myself that no one would ever hit me again...and they never have. And, two, I could trust myself to take care of myself...I would never become totally dependent upon another person in my life. And, I have. But, the best part was, the knowledge that for the rest of his life, he would be left with the memory of burning balls every time he thought of me.

I still smile when I think of it. How campho phenique ruined my first marriage and taught me some of the best lessons of my life. And yes, I still have campho phenique and calamine lotion in the medicine cabinet.

Second Post:

(Addendum: Yes, this is true. I did not live a boring life, nor a very safe one. But, at least I can look back and laugh and say I learned some great lessons!)

HELP ME...I'M FEELING GUILTY...AND PRESSURED

I realized I was coming up on 5,000 hits. Is that 5,000 Blogexplosion Hits? Does anyone else read this? I guess I feel like if 5,000 people have been looking at this, do they get pissed everytime it's the same old shit because I haven't had time to blog? It's funny. Or not. I feel a bit of performance anxiety...will you still love me if I don't have something everyday? Should I care? Everybody else has stuff. Sometimes, I just work and go home and don't think about writing. And, now I feel guilty. I left Catholicism behind a number of years ago. Is this a vestige of that? Or is it just general insecurity raising its ugly head? I can write mundane things, but who cares if I cut my nails, put a hole in my sheets because they are twelve years old, forgot to get my prescriptions refilled, my roommate hit a deer, or the motion light broke and I hate electricity and have to fix it myself? Maybe I should revisit that line about prescriptions. Or, maybe it's just time for me to be whiny and moody. The only good thing about this is I am doing it at work. I will think of something funny tonight...maybe, or hell, I could just make something funny up. No, maybe I'll do the "What Eventually Led to the Downfall of My First Marriage" story and that will perk me back up. Thanks to you all for reading, leaving comments and general putting up with my sometimes inane crap.

A CLEAN HOUSE IS THE SIGN OF A BROKEN COMPUTER

That's my new motto. I think that my list was, well, a little over-ambitious. Here's the update:

• Two out of three loads of laundry done.
• Kitchen...dishes, countertops, cabinets: cleaned. Screw the stove and refrigerator.
• Washed rugs and bath towels, cleaned sink. Will brush teeth with glasses off and won't be able to see the mirror.
• Washed pet dishes. Removed slime. J
• Hell, I've got the path down pat, any moving of stuff around might make me trip in the night and go boom.
• I can work all of the internet stuff in tonight...J
• I did sneak in some magazine and book reading--oh, and breakfast. And watching Hamburger Hill during the midst of all of this. That's work, isn't it?

Oh, well, there's always tomorrow...Or not! Darling Daughter and Wonderful Grandson are coming out so we can watch School of Rock and goof off. Priorities, you know. The really great thing about this is my whole attitude. Sometimes I really, really love me. To work in another Gone With the Wind Reference: "Frankly, my darling, I don't give a damn." Sometimes I really love me!

THINGS I AM GOING TO DO TODAY (EVEN IF IT KILLS ME!)

I knew I was in trouble this morning when I woke up and found that it was 7 AM and all I could think about was the internet, blogexplosion, checking my new friends by going through all the links on my page, and doing it all while drinking the first of many cups of coffee. Then I looked around. Uh, how about that laundry? Cleaning the bathroom? Cleaning and mopping the kitchen? Finishing those three books that I have in progress? Okay, that would be pretty impossible, but the rest aren't. I have made a commitment to myself...easy to break, but more important that "I probably should...(fill in the blank.)

Here are my commitments:

• Laundry (Even with 33 pairs of underwear and 27 pairs of socks, one can run low on them!)
• Clean kitchen and mop. (Stove, countertops, refrigerator and mop...yeah, right!)
• Clean bathroom. (I don't know how many more days I can look at that dried toothpaste in the sink and
  spots of spittle and toothpaste on the mirror. You'd be surprised how long I have been able to ignore it for the quest of blogs.)
• Clean pet areas. (Washing slimy dog spit off of surrounding furniture that is spread when Old Piss Eyes sees me heading for the dog food.)
• Expanding the usable space on my bedroom floor from four square feet to at least 5.5 square feet. (I was going to say 6, but even I know my limitations.)
• And, finally, take all of the blogmarked blogs I have on blogexplosion and put them in my sidebar. I
  keep finding that the ones I find most amusing keep getting tossed for whatever reason. (The latest being Shut Up Ed.)
• And, sometime after all of that will I finally allow myself the privilege of mini-corn dogs and mac and cheese for dinner and the Surfing of the blogs to recommence. (Junk food rules after a day of hard work.)

And, why do you ask, is this such a horrible experience? Because all I want to do is lay in bed all day with the laptop and play like I have no responsibilities. Sometimes being a grown-up sucks the big one.