"You're going to a HOOKER bar?!"

"No no no. A HOOKAH bar."

What kind of girl do you think I am?!

The type of girl that - instead of frequenting hooker bars - would go some place to smoke up with a bunch of college kids and watch a half-nekkid girl dance to funky music?

Why yes, I AM that type of girl!

Besides, aren't "hooker bars" actually called "hotel bars located around convention centers" in polite society?

Sheesh.

A couple weeks ago, I wrangled my bestest bud and fellow bellydancers, Trelina, and her co-worker, Kristina, into going to a hookah bar to see a tribal-style bellydancer perform.

I'm not sure what I was expecting for my first hookah bar, exactly. I assumed this picture was of the "cool" seating, and there would be a bar on the opposite wall and assorted tables and chairs. Makes sense, since the place is called a hookah bar, so I was expecting an actual BAR.

Not so much.

The place was a hole in the wall. Really. See the long bench and few tables? That is about all there is, minus 2 small tables with wooden folding chairs on the opposite side. The whole place was about 40 feet long by about 15 feet wide. Hmm.

They had a small menu with a few beer and wine selections, but it was great food. The atmosphere was totally laid back and the wait staff was attentive and helpful. That was good.

The bellydancer was not-so-good. Being the whole reason I wanted to go, I was kinda disappointed. She was rather unprofessional - she came in and plunked down by her friends and smoked and talked and didn't start her show until HALF AN HOUR after the posted start time... (and that was only after I politely asked the waitress WHEN THE FUCK she was going to start her show). But she was a young college-age girl. Whaddayagonnado? Her dancing was ok as well. Good technique, but it was a little boring. She had no props - no zils, no veil, no sword... nothing to make anyone say "wow" besides horny college kids, which the place was full of. I'm sure she was an erotic goth-ish fantasy to them.

All that being said... smoking a hookah is pretty fucking cool.

The shisha (tobacco flavored with fruit molasses) was sweet and smooth and I even got a little buzz.

Of course, I'm not a smoker, so that may be why.

I found out there is another hookah bar that is much closer to my house (the place above was an hour away), and they have bellydancers, too. Woot!

I think I may have to buy a hookah to have at home, just so I can look as cool as this.

Yeah, baby.

Anyone know where I can get 3 pairs of those lovely lavender tasseled elf slippers so that I may look glam whilst puffing my pipe?

Bad Habits

I'm in a list type of mood this week, so here's another one.

Bad habits I need to work on:

~Capitulating to avoid a fight.
~Procrastination (when I really should be doing something, like at work)
~Laziness (when I really should be doing something, like at work)
~Daydreaming (when I really should be doing something, like at work. hmm.. I see a theme developing here)
~Worrying

Bad habits I have no plans to change:

~Drinking alot of caffeine
~Cursing (fuck you! :)
~Being lazy on weekends
~Daydreaming (any other time)
~Drinking occasionally
~Smoking occasionally


What are your bad habits?

Fucking A

First seen on Trouble's blog and just carrying thru a theme from Nikki, here is an article from Ben Stein as posted in the American Spectator on Tuesday.

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Dear Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, Marines, National Guard, Reservists, in Iraq, in the Middle East theater, in Afghanistan, in the area near Afghanistan, in any base anywhere in the world, and your families:

Let me tell you about why you guys own about 90 percent of the cojones in the whole world right now and should be damned happy with yourselves and damned proud of who you are. It was a dazzlingly hot day here in Rancho Mirage today. I did small errands like going to the bank to pay my mortgage, finding a new bed at a price I can afford, practicing driving with my new 5 wood, paying bills for about two hours.

I spoke for a long time to a woman who is going through a nasty child custody fight. I got e-mails from a woman who was fired today from her job for not paying attention. I read about multi-billion-dollar mergers in Europe, Asia, and the Mideast. I noticed how overweight I am, for the millionth time.

In other words, I did a lot of nothing. Like every other American who is not in the armed forces family, I basically just rearranged the deck chairs on the Titanic in my trivial, self-important, meaningless way.

Above all, I talked to a friend of more than forty-three years who told me he thought his life had no meaning because all he did was count his money.

And, friends in the armed forces, this is the story of all of America today. We are doing nothing but treading water while you guys carry on the life or death struggle against worldwide militant Islamic terrorism. Our lives are about nothing: paying bills, going to humdrum jobs, waiting until we can go to sleep and then do it all again. Our most vivid issues are trivia compared with what you do every day, every minute, every second.

Oprah Winfrey talks a lot about "meaning" in life. For her, "meaning" is dieting and then having her photo on the cover of her magazine every single month (surely a new world record for egomania ).This is not "meaning."

Meaning is doing for others. Meaning is risking your life for others. Meaning is putting your bodies and families' peace of mind on the line to defeat some of the most evil, sick killers the world has ever known. Meaning is leaving the comfort of home to fight to make sure that there still will be a home for your family and for your nation and for free men and women everywhere.

Look, soldiers and Marines and sailors and airmen and Coast Guardsmen, there are eight billion people in this world. The whole fate of this world turns on what you people, 1.4 million, more or less, do every day. The fate of mankind depends on what about 2/100 of one percent of the people in this world do every day -- and you are those people. And joining you is every policeman, fireman, and EMT in the country, also holding back the tide of chaos.

Do you know how important you are? Do you know how indispensable you are? Do you know how humbly grateful any of us who has a head on his shoulders is to you?

Do you know that if you never do another thing in your lives, you will always still be heroes? That we could live without Hollywood or Wall Street or the NFL, but we cannot live for a week without you?

We are on our knees to you and we bless and pray for you every moment.

And Oprah Winfrey, if she were a size two, would not have one millionth of your importance, and all of the Wall Street billionaires will never mean what the least of you do, and if Barry Bonds hit ninety home runs it would not mean as much as you going on one patrol or driving one truck to the Baghdad airport.

You are everything to us, as we go through our little days, and you are in the prayers of the nation and of every decent man and woman on the planet.

That's who you are and what you mean. I hope you know that.

Love, Ben Stein


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Rock on, Ben.

Horse's Ass

This is something I got in email a while ago and I found it interesting. It popped into my head today (I have no idea why) and I thought I'd share.

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When you see a Space Shuttle sitting on its launch pad, there are two big booster rockets attached to the sides of the main fuel tank. These are Solid Rocket Boosters, or SRBs. The SRBs are made by Morton-Thiokol at their factory in Utah. The engineers who designed the SRBs might have preferred to make them a bit fatter, but the SRBs had to be shipped by train from the factory to the launch site. The railroad line from the factory had to run through a tunnel in the mountains. The SRBs, therefore, had to fit through that tunnel. The tunnel is slightly wider than the railroad track. The US standard railroad gauge (distance between the rails) is 4 feet, 8.5 inches. That's an exceedingly odd number.

Why was that gauge used? Because that's the way they built them in England, and the US railroads were built by English expatriates.

Why did the English build them like that? Because the first rail lines were built by the same people who built the pre-railroad tramways, and that's the gauge they used.

Why did "they" use that gauge then? Because the people who built the tramways used the same jigs and tools that they used for building wagons, which used that wheel spacing.

Okay! Why did the wagons have that particular odd wheel spacing? Well, if they tried to use any other spacing, the wagon wheels would break on some of the old, long distance roads in England, because that's the spacing of the wheel ruts.

So who built those old rutted roads? The first long distance roads in Europe (including England) were built by Imperial Rome for their legions. The roads have been used ever since.

And the ruts in the roads? The initial ruts, which everyone else had to match for fear of destroying their wagon wheels, were first formed by Roman war chariots. Since the chariots were made for Imperial Rome, they were all alike in the matter of wheel spacing.

So the United States standard railroad gauge of 4 feet, 8.5 inches derives from the original specification for an Imperial Roman war chariot. Specifications and bureaucracies live forever. So the next time you are handed a specification and wonder what horse's ass came up with it, you may be exactly right, because the Imperial Roman war chariots were made just wide enough to accommodate the back ends of two war horses.

So, a major design feature of what is arguably the world's most advanced transportation system using Solid Rocket Boosters was determined over two thousand years ago by the width of two horse's behinds.


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Now a disclaimer: I have no idea if this is true. It may be an urban legend, but it sounds plausible to me.

Then again, I may just be a horse's ass.

Little Known Facts

Yes, folks, it's time for a meme! For those of you that know me personally, you know alot of these, so just sit there and look pretty.

~ I have ADHD.
~ I am a Chinese linguist.
~ I can say "I love you" in 15 different languages.
~ I can pop my shoulders, wrists and hips out of joint at will.
~ I was legally blind in my left eye when I was little.
~ My pinky finger was severed when I was 2 (but it was sewn back on).
~ I've never been hospitalized for anything but childbirth.
~ I've been all over the world, but never to Canada or Mexico.
~ I am afraid of heights to the point that I get vertigo (I didn't discover this until I went to the Grand Canyon - talk about bad timing!).
~ I pierced my nose by myself when I was 13 (this was 1985, folks. I was alternative before alternative was cool)
~ I didn't start driving until I was 21.
~ My sister and I spoke a made-up language when we were teenagers (no, we aren't twins).
~ I've met and hung out with Bono (he's short) and the rest of U2.
~ I can take apart anything you put in front of me and put it back together in working order - and I mean ANYTHING from a circuit board to a crocheted bag.
~ I won a disco contest when I was 7.
~ I spent half my childhood in Germany.
~ I waddled in front of Yasser Arafat's motorcade when I was 9 months pregnant.
~ I've marched on Washington and ended up working security (totally not on purpose) in an abortion rights rally in 2004.
~ My sister and I sound identical on the phone.
~ I can't ride a bicycle.

What are your little known facts?

Selective Memory

I am so guilty of a typical "guy" thing.

I have a selective memory.

If what you are talking about isn't interesting or weird to me, chances are I am nodding politely and thinking about coffee.

And my rote memory skills? So so so bad. Unlike most girls I know that can throw arguments back into their boyfriends' faces months and even years afterward, I can NEVER remember conversations word for word. I can remember the gist of the conversation and how it made me feel but what was actually said? No clue (unless what was said was unexpected or funny).

I have a very-detail oriented job, so I make check lists and take copious notes so I have something to refer to. Circuit boards? Printer mechanisms? Software versions? Yawn. When someone at work starts babbling at me I always grab my notebook or open my email so I know what the hell they are talking about and I don't just give them a blank stare and start drooling. Because that would be really pretty and professional.

I think my brain likes to fuck with me. When I am trying to learn something new, I only seem to remember the action (or whatever) if it is different or stands out. Therefore, I mostly remember how to do things in the wrong way because that's what I remember.

Tie my shoes? backwards

(my right-handed mom tried to teach me how to tie my shoes for months. The time it stuck was when my left-handed dad showed me. Therefore, my bows are always upside down.)

Bellyroll? backwards

(no clue how I fucked this one up. But I did. It's not WRONG per se, but opposite of the way everyone else first learns.)

Play the finger cymbals? backwards

(instead of playing with one dominant hand, I alternate between my left and right hands being dominant, which makes it more difficult to change patterns when the music changes. So now I have to re-teach myself using a dominant hand.)

I'd be a spectacular brain in an alternate universe.

But as things are now...

I want coffee.

Labor of Love (really long post)

On March13th, 1997, I was one week from my due date, sitting at my desk at work.

My office was full of older middle-aged men and here I was, a 24 year old woman and 9 months pregnant. They were like a bunch of worried mother hens - it was quite cute and endearing. My supervisor (another middle-aged man) poked his head in my cube "Are you ok? Your water hasn't broken or anything, has it?" he jokingly asked. "Not yet, Wayne!" I shot back.

About an hour later, I felt the urge to pee YET AGAIN, so I waddled to the bathroom in the hall. When I pulled down my pants and panties, I noticed they were wet. Not much, but a little. Hmmm...

I knew this could be my water breaking... and I was having Braxton Hicks contractions, but I had been having those since I as 6 months along. I was still a week from my due date and this was my first baby... there was NO WAY I was going to be early. I decided to check again later.

(The day before I had wiped off what looked like a bunch of snot - with no blood. I had no idea this bloodfree mess was the "bloody show" and birth was imminent. I was a dumbass.)

So half an hour later, I checked. And they were even more wet than they were before - and I had dried them off and put on a panty-liner. Hmmm...

So I mosied up to Wayne's desk. "Uh, Wayne... I think I need to go. I think my water broke a little." He jumped up so fast he knocked his chair over. "Are you ok? Are you having labor pains?" I assured him I was fine and that I may be wrong, but I thought I needed to be checked out by my doctor anyway.

I called and met my husband at home. We called the hospital and told them what was going on and they told us to come in so they could check me. But since I felt perfectly fine, we took our sweet time. We straightened up the house. C did the dishes while I took a shower and shaved my legs. We finally hit the road and went to the hospital.

When we got there, I still felt fine. No labor pains, no more leaking than there was before. A nurse came in and put me on fetal heart monitor and a contraction monitor and did a litmus test to see if the fluid was just pee or amniotic fluid. He said he'd be back in a minute. My husband and I talked about what we were going to do for dinner that night, because I still felt perfectly fine and was expecting to be told to go home when the nurse came back.

Dumb. Ass.

The nurse came back in and smiled and said he hoped I brought my bag because we were having a baby! And I was indeed in labor - contractions were 3-5 minutes apart! I was dilated 2-3 cent. and 100% effaced! And since I didn't know how long my water had been broken and the chances of the infection increased exponentially as the minutes ticked by, I was being put on pitocyn (labor inducer/intensifier) and IV penicillin too!

Surprise!

You know all those shows where they show the mom walking the halls and taking a shower to ease the pains of labor? Yeah, I wasn't allowed to do that. But I didn't mind. I was comfortable. I was just sitting in the bed, hooked up to monitors and the IV, watching TV. I could feel the pressure from the contractions, and see my stomach tightening into a hard little ball every few minutes, but it still didn't hurt. I knew pitocyn was supposed to make your contractions 3 times as hard and more painful then normal, but it didn't seem to be hurting me. I didn't need pain meds. All those other women are wimps! This was easy!

A couple hours later, a doctor came in to check me and said I was 6 cent. dilated, but that the baby's heart rate was dropping a little with each contraction which is normal in most cases, but they wanted to put in a fetal scalp electrode to monitor her heartrate better. Ok! No problem!

The doctor bent over to insert the electrode and splllooooooooooooooosh - the rest of my water broke. All over him. (I peed on him when I was pushing later, too. Poor guy.)

And whhhhhhhhooooooooooooa nelly! Where the %&@%$#!!!!! did all this pain come from?

Apparently, the amniotic fluid CUSHIONS the contractions and when it is all gone, the pain takes over. And BOY did it take over.

I curled into a fetal position and clamped onto C's hand for dear life. I puffed and breathed for all I was worth. I clenched my teeth. I wimpered. And then I asked for an epidural. I puffed and breathed and clenched my teeth and wimpered some more. And some more.

Until FORTY-FIVE minutes passed.

FINALLY the anesthesiologist strolled in, with his little red cart in tow. Then the nurse announced that I was dilated to 10 cent., and the anesthesiologist strolled right back out. @&%$#!!!!

The nurse told me to sit up and push. I sat up and pushed as hard as I could. Right as I felt something tear, the nurse yelled at me to stop pushing and to try not to push anymore.

Then about 15 people ran into the room.

The baby was in distress - her heartrate plummeted from 140 bpm to 60 bpm when I pushed which only meant one thing... the cord was wrapped around her neck and each push made it tighter. She may be strangled to death by her own cord if they couldn't get her out immediately.
A nurse stuck her hand between my legs and held the baby's head in to relieve the pressure of the cord from around the baby's neck. The doctors tried to use the suction cup on her head to pull her out as I pushed, but it was too slick from my blood, so it wouldn't stay attached. Then they grabbed the forceps. Normally the doctors give you an episiotomy to accomodate the forceps, but I had already torn so much that they didn't need to. But as they inserted them into my vagina and around her head, I felt myself tear some more. They told me to push one more time while they pulled. They delivered her head and saw the cord was wrapped around her neck not once, but TWICE.

So they unwound the cord from around her neck and suctioned her mouth and nostrils and delivered her the rest of the way. But there was no crying from my baby. She was blue and limp. They carried her over to the incubator and started to work on her.

And, Thank God, she pinked right up and started wailing.

I have a picture of her with about 5 pairs of hands working on her - rubbing her down, listening to her heart, etc., and her little face is crinkled up and she looks PISSED. It's so cute.

I, on the other hand, was still a mess. I had a 3rd degree tear, meaning I had torn from the vaginal opening all the way up to my cervix and almost all the way thru the vaginal wall to my rectum. The forceps tore up the sides. I spent the next 45 minutes getting stitched up on a local anesthetic THAT NEVER TOOK EFFECT - I felt EVERY stitch.

THAT was fun.

But... all is well that ends well.

I found out there is such a thing called the "husband stitch" (ahem) and healed very well.

The baby, Lauren, was fine, minus a black eye from the forceps. She took to breastfeeding like a pig in a trough.

And the result is the lovely girl you see in the post below. She just turned nine on Monday.

She was worth every stitch.

Happy Birthday, Laurenia!

I was going to write Lauren's birth story for all the world to see, but it is rather long and gory and semi-scary. Suffice it to say she was blue.

But I'll post that another day and we can all share our birthing horror stories.

Today, I just want to say:

Happy 9th Birthday, Lauren!

Thank you for introducing me to how wonderful motherhood can be.

You are my heart of hearts.

Just call me Cheetah

This sounds like R and I, minus the hungry Congolese villagers.

Say, "Nacho Cheese Enchilada!!"

The whole time I was trying to take this picture, the three of us were giggling and I kept telling Lauren to close her mouth because she loves to leave it open like Fozzy Bear during photos for some weird reason and Ashlyn always makes googly eyes.

I was finally able to snap this one while Ashlyn and Lauren were both actually looking at the camera and smiling, but what you don't hear is Lauren saying, "Nacho cheese enchilada!" as I snapped.

I had just wiped ketchup off both their chins.

And neither one of them is wearing pants.

At least Lauren's mouth was closed.

I know it's a little fuzzy (took it with my phone), but I just love this picture of my girls, as much for what was going on "behind the scene" as in front of it.

A Craigslist Valentine's Day

I know I already spewed forth my venom about Valentine's Day a week ago
(which was quite nice, actually. R and I had a nice dinner, a movie and great sex.)

But this guy has it bad. I'd feel sorry for him if I wasn't laughing so hard.

8 things I hate about valentine's

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8) Lame message hearts. The only thing worse than feigning gratitude when you hand me three hearts with “Be Mine”, “You Stud”, “So Hot” is falsely complementing you on your third grade creativity. After that, I have the pleasure of choking down these delightful little confections that taste like a combination of elementary school chalk and baseball card chewing gum.

7) Overpriced Dinners. Thank you for bumping up your prices by $25 for the pleasure of eating your attempt at realizing your culinary dreams. Mmmmm… love that odd lemon/foot flavored cream sauce you doused on the new potatoes. Did you use dill on this flank steak you are passing off as veal? That makes you a real chef. This should go well with that moldy tasting boxed cabernet you’re serving at the reasonable price of $9 a glass. P.S. nobody likes FLAN!!

6) valentine Cards. Thanks sweety, I’m glad it took you 10 minutes to decide between the Whinny the Pooh card that said “You’re my Honey” and the Tiger Card that said “Your Terrifficccc!”. I want to poop on your head wasting 3 dollars.

5) DeBeers commercials. Oh DeBeers, You most bastards of the Belgium families. Congratulations on raping the people of South Africa, exporting all the wealth to Europe, and artificially inflating the price of diamonds by restricting the supply to the market. But why stop there you ask? You didn’t. You successfully launched a marketing campaign that has ever women in America believing that a not so rare carbon-carbon stone is the incarnation of love itself. Thanks for securing my dates disappointment when her gifts are wilted roses, dusty chocolates, and… an overpriced dinner. Diamonds are Forever?? Fuck You is Forever too you waffle-slinging assholes!!

4) That damn guy who goes overboard. Guess what dude, those years of being a neglectful father and husband or the affair you had with your coworker won’t be forgiven simply because you bought this girl a tennis bracelet, sent 100 roses to her work, and hired a wandering serenade for the night. The only thing your accomplishing is making the rest of us look bad. BTW- she’s sleeping with your best friend.

3) Valentine’s Night Sex. I just spent 4 hours pretending to enjoy the evening, I am half cocked on bad wine, and my stomach is turning because of that awful dinner and shitty candies. I am in no mood for athletics. It doesn’t help that my penis is on DEFCON 5 and about to blow any minute because you stopped having sex with me two weeks ago to make this night “special”. The most you can hope for is two minutes of awkward half pumps and that I don’t fart on you in my sleep as I try to digest all that nastiness.

2) Singles Parties. Hmm… two choices of girls here. The really drunk chick who wants to tell me about her shitty ex, or her fat friend who couldn’t get a date for the life of her. Hey Betty, here’s a tip, that bleach job you did for the hair on your upper lip glows underneath the black light. No I do not want to do a body shot off of you, you yeti.

1) Its my birthday god damn it. I either have to spend it with some needy girl who wants me to treat her like a princess, or all my bitter friends who don’t have a date for valentines day.

You! Shake Your Junk!

I have been so excited for the last couple of days because I'm going back to bellydance class and possibly a performance troupe after a 2 year absence.

(Due to a nasty divorce, lack of time, and lack of funds. Oh, and my dad had cancer, and my parents got divorced, and my boyfriend cheated on me with a psycho puta, and I got laid off, and I was in a bad car accident, and my daughter had a tumor -benign, thank God, but had to be surgically removed all the same. Those were two bad, bad, baaaaaaaaaaaaaad years. I hope 2004 and 2005 rot in the hell from whence they came and are never to be seen again. Or I will claw somebody's eyes out. Not mine of course, because then I would be miserable AND blind and who needs that?!)

Anyhoo...

I can't express how excited and happy to be taking class with my closest friend and excited and lusting after costumes and excited I am! Did I mention I am excited?!

I mean, to have an excuse to dress like this AND shake my junk (of which I have plenty - I am pretty bootylicious for a white girl):



Of course I'm not quite as thin or cut as she is (yet) and I'm about as white as Casper's ass... but on the plus side, my boobs are bigger than hers!

Besides, half the fun of bellydancing (besides being sore in muscles you never knew you had) is the costuming. I'm drooling just thinking about it.

I want to shake and puke just at the thought of public performances, but hopefully that will ease with time, practice, and confidence. Or it will end in complete and utter humiliation. Ya never can tell with those types of things.

But as long as I'm wearing something gorgeous and sparkly, I'm cool either way.

To Kill an American

Last week, in the midst of all the uproar in the Muslim communities about the Mohammed cartoons, I had a new little girl join my Brownie troop - she's in my daughter's third grade class. We were discussing other Girl Scouts around the world and I mentioned that some countries divide their scouting groups by religion. Then I mentioned that in the US, it doesn't matter what your religion is, what color your skin is, how much money you have, or whether or not you have a disability - all are welcome in the Girl Scouts of America.

Spontaneously, all the girls started comparing themselves and their differences in skin color (I have black, white, middle-eastern, and mixed-race girls in my troop), hair color, a few wear glasses, one little girl wears a hearing aid... etc.

Then the new little girl, Amna Nazir, quietly said, "I'm Muslim."

To which 8 other little voices replied, "COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!!!!!!!"

Amna broke into a huge grin.

There was no judgment, only curiosity and total acceptance.

I looked at the other table and saw Amna's mother and older brother smiling big smiles, too.

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Got this forwarded to me in email today, which I usually hate, but I thought this was worth passing on to the masses.

BTW, the forwarded email is from a co-worker who is from Ethiopia... and is Muslim.

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You probably missed it in the rush of news last week, but there was actually a report that someone in Pakistan had published in a newspaper an offer of a reward to anyone who killed an American, any American.

So an Australian dentist wrote an editorial to the newspaper the following day to let everyone know what an American is, so they would know when they found one.

"An American is English, or French, or Italian, Irish, German, Spanish, Polish, Russian or Greek. An American may also be Canadian, Mexican, African, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Australian, Iranian, Asian, or Arab, or Pakistani or Afghanistani.

An American may also be a Comanche, Cherokee, Iroqouis, Blackfoot, Sioux, Navaho, Apache, Nez Pierce, Seminole or one of the many other tribes known as Native Americans.

An American is Christian, or Jewish, or Buddhist, or Muslim. In fact, there are more Muslims in America than in Afghanistan and more Jews in America than in Isreal. The only difference is that in America they are free to worship as each of them chooses.

An American is also free to believe in no religion at all. For that he will answer only to God, not to the government, or to armed thugs claiming to speak for the government AND for God.

An American lives in the most prosperous land in the history of the world. The root of that prosperity can be found in the Declaration of Independence, which recognizes the God given right of each person to the pursuit of happiness.

An American is generous. Americans have helped out just about every other nation in the world in their time of need, never asking a thing in return.

When Afghanistan was over-run by the Soviet army 20 years ago, Americans came with arms and supplies to enable the people to win back their country.

As of the morning of September 11, Americans had given more than any other nation to the poor in Afghanistan. Americans welcome the best of everything...the best products, the best books, the best music, the best food, the best services. But they also welcome the least.

The national symbol of America, The Statue of Liberty, welcomes your tired and your poor, the wretched refuse of your teeming shores, the homeless, tempest tossed. These, in fact, are the people who built America.

Some of them were working in the Twin Towers and the Pentagon on the morning of September 11, 2001, earning a better life for their families. It's been told that the World Trade Center victims were from at least 30 different countries, cultures, and first languages, including those that aided and abetted the terrorists.

So you can try to kill an American if you must. Hitler did. So did General Tojo, and Stalin, and Mao Tse-Tung, and other blood-thirsty tyrants in the world. But, in doing so you would just be killing yourself.

Because Americans are not a particular people from a particular place... they are the embodiment of the human spirit of freedom.

Everyone who holds to that spirit, everywhere, is an American."

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Happy Friday, ya'll.

My Funny Anti-Valentine

I consider myself extremely lucky to have someone to share my life with that is loving, supportive and affectionate year-round and not just on days like today.

That being said, the commercialism and hypocrisy of Valentine's Day just twists my panties ( and not in a good way). What other day offers an excuse for people to act like great girlfriends/boyfriends/wives/husbands when they are actually fuckwits the rest of the year?

Call me crazy, but why does one arbitrary day in February mean you must rush out (along with everyone and their dog) and spend exorbitant amounts of money to prove their love? Alcohol? Always good. Cards and chocolates? Fine. Stuffed animals if you're over 12? Gag me. Diamonds? Run NOW.

There is a commercial for a jewelry store playing on TV every 10 minutes now that shows a little girl talking to an 20-something girl.

The little girl says, "Brian likes you."
20-something girl says, "How do you know?"
LG: "He told me!"
20 SG: "He told me too because I'm a gold-digging whore who only shags Brian when he buys me stuff!" while displaying a diamond pendant necklace.

Don't get me wrong, I think that children giving out Valentines to their classmates and having little parties is sweet - in fact I'm bringing cookies to my daughter's class in about an hour. I also think people SHOULD celebrate their love with occasional gifts and thoughtful notes, but on days that mean something - birthdays, anniversaries, special happenings, etc. But not because Hallmark and Nestles and Teleflora and Kay Jewelers tell you to.

So, in the spirit of my snarky anti-commercialism, here are some Anti-Valentines that I find very funny.

Goofing off

I have a deadline on Wednesday. So what am I doing? Surfing the web and blogging, trying to kill the last painfully slow hour I'm chained to my desk.

So what happens then? The co-owner of the company walks up behind me to say hi and see how I'm doing. What do I have open? My Yahoo mail account that has a huge YAHOO GAMES banner flashing across the top.

Yeah, baby.

Hey, at least it's not porn.

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Evidence I live in the Washington D.C. area:

You know how kids spray paint street signs with grafitti and gang signs and stuff?

In my neighborhood and in the one where my kids attend school, there are 2 stop signs that I roll thru (hey, why lie?) every day. Instead of "I love you, boo" or "Gangstas 4eva" or whathaveyou, these stop signs say: Stop War and Stop Bush.

Political grafitti is such an oxymoron to me - it makes me chuckle.

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Another reason not to contribute to the Bush campaign (not that it matters anymore):

VP Dick Cheney shot a campaign contributor while out hunting in Texas (where else?) this weekend.

heh

hee hee

ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

Fortunately for the shootee, it he was just peppered with buckshot and will make a full recovery.

This just smacks of poetic justice to me.

I'm a mammal, you're a mammal, he's a mammal, she's a mammal....

What is it about snow that makes me want to hibernate?

There is nothing I would rather be doing right now than be in bed, napping with R - or maybe watching a good movie with some hot cocoa, which is exactly what I did this past weekend.

3 hours to go until I am doing just that.

Despite how much I dislike the white stuff (well, technically, I don't dislike snow, it's the ice that it turns into that I don't like so much), our local celebrity enjoyed it quite a bit.


The caption under this picture in The Washington Post says "Tai Shan huddles close to his mother for warmth."

Apparently, the photographer has been blinded by the snow because that is no huddling baby panda. That baby panda has a mouthful of mama's fur! He's not trying to get warm - he's biting the shit out of mama!

That furry little fucker is cute, tho, isn't he?

Sting would be pissed.

So much for romantic notions of sending a message in a bottle.

Crikey!

Friday Funnies

The Muslims are up in arms across Europe and Asia because a Danish newspaper printed a comic that depicted the Prophet Mohammed. He wasn't doing anything atrocious, but apparently it is blaphemous to even draw Mohammed.

That's all well and good and to each his own... but here's the funny part, as stolen from a newspaper quote:

Mohammed: Believe it or Else!

Of course, the same could be said for most religions. And besides, what good is religion if you can't make fun of it?

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This is more on the moronic side of fucking stupid:

The Kansas Attorney General has outlawed snogging by teenagers.

He needs to be shot and taken out of making OTHER people miserable.

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Last but not least, here's a comic that could describe many relationships:

Dream Day

WARNING! If you're at work, make sure no one is behind you when you open the link!

Let this be reason 1,453 why NOT to wear a strapless dress on your wedding day unless you have the tits to hold it up, or a really good seamstress.



Pic courtesy of Zelda.

Tales from the Crypt

R related this tale to me on his way home from work this morning, opening with "We had the weirdest thing happen last night!":

He was working the med-surg floors when they called a "code blue" over the PA. He and several nurses and a doctor went running and started trying to resucitate a man who was in cardiac and respiratory arrest - no pulse, no breathing... nothing. They worked on him for a good 20 minutes but to no avail. The doctor pronounced him dead.

They all consoled each other and cleaned up their areas, then went back to their rotations.

Then R heard a "code blue" announced AGAIN in the same area, so they all went running AGAIN.

Lo and behold... a patient technician who had helped work on the guy the first time walked back by the room and saw the dead guy moving around on his bed AFTER he had already been down for 20 minutes!

The guy is now in critial condition in the ICU, on a ventilator.

R is still freaked out about it.

Dysfunctional Family Robinson

What else are you supposed to do when your heartless harpy wife dumps you for your younger brother?

Brilliant!

Happy HNT everyone!

What - you were expecting a picture? Well, I would be happy to oblige! I have one slight problem tho. I no longer have my favorite mode of last minute photography, i.e., my cell phone because...

I WASHED MY CELL PHONE IN HOT SOAPY WATER FOR HALF AN HOUR! (along with my jeans in which they were pocketed and a couple pairs of R's scrubs).

AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHH

I have been so frustrated without it! And the worst part is that IT"S ALL MY FAULT!

Update:

I got a new phone after our interminably long quarterly meeting.

Ooooooooooooo SHINEY!!

The Doors, Part One

Sorry for the lack of posts - work has been extremely busy, but my boss is out today so I'm going to take some time and slack off and write in my blog. Then I'm going to take a long lunch and spend some time with my man, THEN I'll actually apply myself to the reformatting of a very ugly Installation and Operations Manual.

So, fueled on strong coffee and the breakfast of champions - frosted cherry poptarts, of course - I'm going to share the bizarre story of injuries caused by doors that have happened between my sister and I, you lucky bitches.

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Cast of Characters:

Me: bratty 2 y/o
Sister: persnickety 6 y/o
Mom: stay-at-home mom
Dad: MSgt in the Army

Year: 1974

Place: Base housing, Ft Bragg, NC, a few blocks up from where Green Beret Jeffrey McDonald savagely murdered his family, smeared blood all over the walls and blamed a cult about a year previous to the incident about to be relayed. The book was called Fatal Vision and was a best seller.


Our story begins on a week day much like any other week day. My sister was in 1st grade, my dad was at work, and I was at home with my mother. Being 2, I idolized my sister and all her stuff, so while she was in school every day, I would venture into her room and pull out all her toys and play with them. She didn't like this very much because she didn't like me messing with her stuff and to tell the truth, she just really didn't like me at this point in our lives, period. Upon her return home every day, she would (understandably) blow a gasket when she saw I had trashed her room.

On this particular day, she had returned home to find I had trashed her room AGAIN. I was following her around like a puppy and she got fed up and shoved me out the door and slammed it in my face. Well, I didn't WANT to be shoved out of her room and have the door rudely slammed in my face, so I stuck my wee little hand between the jam and the oncoming heavy wood door.

Not so bright, in hind sight. Have I mentioned that children don't reach the age of reason until 6? And I was 1/3 of that age? Yeah. You know what's coming.

Within seconds my mom heard screaming. She ran upstairs to find both my sister and I screaming - me on one side of the door, and my sister on the other and blood everywhere.

You see, the slamming door severed the pinky finger on my left hand between the first joint and the base of my fingernail. I was on one side of the door trying to get the rest of my hand out of the jam and my sister was on the other side with my bloody finger.

Say it with me... eeeeewwww.

My mom yanked open the door to assess the damage. My finger was still attached, but it was dangling off on the side like a flower with a snapped stem, only attached by a piece of skin. She brought me into the bathroom and wrapped a cold wet washcloth around it, tried to reach my father but couldn't, so she called our neighbor, who rushed the three of us, all crying hysterically and covered in blood, to the emergency room at Womack Army Hospital.

Meanwhile, my dad was already on his way home for the day - hence the reason why my mom couldn't reach him. He gets home to find the front door open, blood tracked down the foyer, up the stairs, all in the hall, in my sister's room, pooled in the bathroom sink and all three of us missing. Not a good moment for my father. Since it was 1974, there were no cell phones, so he had no idea where we were or what had happened.

Luckily, my father is also a very rational and logical person, so he ran back out to his car and jumped in and hauled ass to the emergency room, figuring he would check there first and then deal with the next step if we were still nowhere to be found.

~~~Sidenote: Here's an interesting anecdote that my dad just revealed to my sister and I when they were visiting last month over Christmas that attests to the camaraderie and brotherhood of our nation's military: Upon our arrival at the ER, we were recognized by a friend of our dad - they had served in Vietnam together and become close friends. Since he didn't see my dad with us, he knew what kind of scene my dad was going to find when he got home. This friend and fellow soldier sent an escort of MPs to our house to find my dad and escort him to the ER, and also to tell him where we were and that we were ok so my dad wouldn't worry. I think that is the most considerate action I have ever heard in my life and if I knew where this guy was, I would find him and kiss him and thank him for being such a fantastic person. ~~~

My dad arrived at the ER and found my poor, scared 6 y/o sister curled up in a ball in the waiting room, all by herself, still covered in my blood, thinking she killed me. The idiots in the ER wouldn't let her back in the trauma bay with me and my mom.

He scooped her up and took her back to the trauma room and found my mom and me, with my finger stitched and bandaged with a cast that was so heavy that my finger was bending backwards because it couldn't support the weight.

We all went home and lived injury free happily ever after.

Well, until 11 years later...

5 Neurotic Habits

This is a stolen meme - I'm tired of memes, but I found this one interesting so here goes:

1. I minored in Deaf Education in college (learnedAmerican Sign Language). Ever since then, when I have an imaginary conversation going on in my head, I sometimes spell it with my fingers, too.

2. When I walk into someone's house, I always imagine how I would decorate it, because I think most people's decorating skills suck ass - except mine, of course.

3. When I get interested in something, I dive into it, but to an extreme. I learn everything I can and even consider changing my career, but chicken out and stay with what's safe and stable. Possible careers so far: nurse, deaf education teacher, casino dealer, chinese linguist, nuclear engineer, mid-wife, candle maker, coffee shop owner, gift basket maker, professional belly dancer, pastry chef.

4. When I walk by a mirror, I ALWAYS check my reflection because I am vain.

5. I wake up several times during the night and look at the clock just to see how much more time I have left before I have to get up.

And here are three bonus quirks, because I'm on a roll:

6. When I'm reading a novel for pleasure, if I skim over a part to see what happens later in the story-line, I feel like I MUST go back and read the part I skimmed over. If I don't, I feel guilty. I have no idea why.

7. I rub my feet together when I'm turned on, and also when I am in a state of post-coital bliss.

8. I can't fall asleep if my feet are cold.

10 for Tuesday

10 places I'd like to visit before I die (in no particular order):

1. Mexico
2. Marrakech
3. Giza
4. French Riviera
5. Venice
6. Rome
7. London
8.Taj Mahal
9. Beijing
10. Athens

Macabre Monday

R called me this morning on his way home from work to inform me that traffic is completely fucked up because I-95 Northbound is shut down because of a major accident, so approximately 1 million people are trying to find alternate routes to work, so all local roads were backed up, too.

Greeeeaaaaat.

I decided to stay home and wait it out, so I left 40 minutes later than I normally do. Miraculously, I didn't hit super-heavy traffic (it was slow, but moving), so I was able to get Lauren to school and Ashlyn to daycare with no major problems.

Then I tried to make my way to work. What normally takes me 7 minutes took me 35 minutes this morning, and on the way there, I saw yet another fire truck going to the scene of the accident - which happened FOUR HOURS BEFORE I LEFT THE HOUSE.

I finally got to work and logged in to my desktop PC and brought up the news to see just what the hell happened.

This was no normal car accident.

It was a body.

Police don't yet know if it was a pedestrian trying to cross or if someone was pushed from a car or if it was a dead body dumped on the road, but the body was subsequently hit and torn to pieces by several vehicles - they can't even identify the sex yet because police cadets (poor kids!) are still gathering evidence (i.e., pieces).

Eww, eww, eeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwww.

For the body's sake, I hope they were already dead.

Monday... er, I mean Tuesday Blahs

Hope everyone had a nice weekend. Mine was nice. Spent New Year's Eve at the hospital with R as planned and also had interesting political conversations with 2 Nigerian guys that are RTs in R's department. It's always interesting to see another person's point of view, especially when he is from a completely different culture.

*Sidenote: After I left, R's co-worker, Sam, advised R to marry me because I am "smart, pretty, and very nice." See Internet? I can charm the pants off of African and Middle-Eastern guys (figuratively speaking, of course), but relatively young, half-way decent looking American guys? Not so much. I think I come off as aloof or bimbo-esque when neither one is even remotely true. Hmmm.*


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Anyone else feeling kinda blah now that the holiday craziness is over? The holdays are always so frenetic BUT they also come with alot of paid holidays off work, so I guess it's a trade off. Now it's back to our regularly scheduled program of after-school activities (gymnastics, soccer), Girl Scouts, and five day work weeks. Meh.

This week I get to deal with alot of boredom because we don't have the girls AND R has to work Wednesday and Thursday, so I will be spending my evenings alone and bored.

Or extrememly frustrated because my Druid cow (her name is Mamooree - heh) keeps getting killed on World of Warcraft because I am an RPG idiot.

But in either case... booooooo.

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So if anyone is online on Wednesday or Thursday evening, pop up and say hi. My Yahoo IM info is on the sidebar.

Hey, wait... it is no longer there, due to my design changes. My sidebar is not the same, and if you are viewing it in IE has dropped to the lower right corner of your screen. Argh. It displays fine in Mozilla Firefox, but it is screwed up in IE - anyone know how to fix that?

Focus! Focus! My Yahoo IM is maisa72.

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Anyone else's toes in a constant state of perma-freeze in the winter? Is that just a chick thing? I mean, I'm wearing socks (today they are biege with blue and yellow stripes to match my yellow sweater - I'm sure you were just DYING to know that, too.)

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Can this entry get any more pathetic and boring? I mean, I'm describing my SOCKS for chrissake.

Somebody please shoot me somewhere deadly, but doesn't show, like with a 22 caliber in the back of the head, so there are no messy exit wounds or gaping holes on my person and I can hide the wound with my hair.

Then you can perform miraculous CPR on Friday at 4:55 pm. That's 15 chest compressions and 2 breaths, repeat as needed until I am no longer blue - except my toes, as mentioned above. It's possible because I saw this on House, except in their version, there were hibernation blankets and transfusion machines and the person was only down for 60 seconds... but these are really just minor details. Trust me.

I'll be revived for the weekend and you'll be rich and famous for necromancy. Please note: I said necroMANCY, not necroPHILIA.

Can you do that for me?

Thanks.

Happy New Year!

I hope everyone had a glorious Chriskwanznnakah!

So does anyone have exciting plans for New Years?

My plans will be at the hospital... but not in a bad way. R has to work that night, so I am driving over to hang out and especially so I can give him a big smooch at midnight. Little does he know that I plan on embarrassing him by wearing a Happy New Year tiara and plopping a top hat on his head. I'm also bringing sparkling apple cider - I would love to have the real sparkling stuff (well, the bastardized American version of the sparkling stuff - hey... I'm not picky), but I think him drinking alcohol during his shift would be a bad, bad thing.

Still here

I'm still here, just been extremely busy with work and Christmas... just like everyone else.

My house gets invaded by my relatives in 3 days.

I'm actually surprised with how caught up I am on everything - I need to put laundry away and vaccuum and mop, but otherwise the house is basically done. I need to pick up a couple more Christmas presents, but otherwise I'm basically done with that, too. The tree is put up, so the living room even looks festive.

Of course, I'm still planning on some major decorating on Thursday after I get paid... so we'll see how unpanicked I am later in the week. heh

So anyway... I am signing off until after Christmas, so Happy Holidays to you and yours, Internet!

Friday Friday Friday

Today is my office Christmas Party. In the Warehouse out back. With lots of alcohol.

This should prove interesting...

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These gave me a giggle:

If cats of single women could talk...

A self-righteous asshole...

And a universal truth...

Happy HNT!

Happy HNT, everybody! See the button on the right.


Wow, my eyes look really green in this.*

Meow!

*Again, taken at work today with my cell phone. I am all kinds of disorganized and wait until the last second with most things... but I have all kinds of cool toys at my desk.

A Little Political Humor

Not that I discuss politics on this blog...

A guy called another guy, "the fat little brother in Florida" recently.

It was in the political arena.

Know who it was?

Fidel Castro

talking about

Jeb Bush

God, that cracks me up.

But my all time favorite is still Dick Cheney telling Trent Lott to go fuck himself... on the Senate floor.

Snoooow

We got our first snow fall last night. It was wasn't very much, thank god. I'm really just not fond of snow.

But here is someone who is:

Mercurial musings

Like most American females, I like to read my horoscope. Also, like most American females, I only pay attention to it if it seems to fit me, but blow it off when it doesn't.

I think the horoscope gods and godesses are teaching me a lesson. (This is going to make me sound like a loon, but fuck it - I don't care what you all think anyway. kidding)

Here is a portion of my horoscope (Virgo), according to Susan Miller.

Mercury will be retrograde from November 14 to December 3, always a difficult phase for you, for Mercury rules your sign. That means you tend to feel Mercury's movements more directly than most signs. Mercury is troublesome for shopping the whole time during its retrograde phase, for this planet rules commerce. It also rules shipping, transportation, writing, editing, speaking, negotiating, and doing research and contracts, to name a few areas.

I've had several minor things go wrong and one major thing. What is that major thing?

I have OVER ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS missing from my checking account. Just in time for Christmas!

Oh... I know where it is ( it was an accounting mistake made by my car insurance company that is being fixed as we speak...) but it has taken two weeks for them to get this sorted out.

First they said they would automatically deposit it back in my account and it would show up in 2 or 3 days. When 2 days passed, I called them back. They said they had cut a paper check instead.

So I waited for it to come in the mail.

And waited and waited.

So yesterday rolled around, and still no check. So I called them again. They said the first check had been cancelled and they sent a second check. No idea why. Ok. But I still didn't have the check. I told them I would wait one more day for it to come in the mail.

Today is the day.

So what happens? I get a phone call 5 minutes ago telling me that they went ahead and AUTOMATICALLY redeposited it on MONDAY and it should show up today or tomorrow. So when I get the paper check, it needs to be destroyed.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!

Mercury, next time, I like kisses and lube before I get anally screwed.

Giving thanks

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays - mainly because it isn't a "you must buy these gifts or you're a failure" commercial bullshit holiday. It's a time for friends and family to gather together and enjoy each other's company.

I know this time of year is the cause of alot of family drama for alot of people... but fortunately I'm not one of them. I've been lucky in the fact that my family (immediate and extended) has always gotten along famously and always treasured the few times during the year when we COULD actually get together and catch up. I haven't seen most of my extended family in a loooong time - 6 years, I think. I miss them.

I'm thankful for so many things, big and small. Mostly:

having healthy, happy children (who are crazy but I love them anyway)
having someone to share my life with that loves me as much as I love him (and provides other perks)
having a family that loves and supports each other (spread to the four-winds, but still there)
having friends that love and support each other (my extended family)
having a good job that provides for things for me and my family (where I can sneak in a blog entry here and there)
having a warm house and plenty of food to eat (if I'm not too lazy to cook it, otherwise, takeout is a godsend)

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all. I hope you are as blessed as I am.

My number is up!

This is interesting, and it actually fits me. heh

You entered: 9/20/1972

Your date of conception was on or about 29 December 1971 which was a Wednesday.

You were born on a Wednesday
under the astrological sign Virgo.
Your Life path number is 3.

The Julian calendar date of your birth is 2441580.5.
The year 1972 was a leap year.

As of 11/22/2005 3:58:40 PM EST
You are 33 years old.
You are 398 months old.
You are 1,731 weeks old.
You are 12,116 days old.
You are 290,799 hours old.
You are 17,447,998 minutes old.
You are 1,046,879,920 seconds old.
Your age is the equivalent of a dog that is 4.74207436399217 years old. (You're still chasing cats!)

There are 302 days till your next birthday
on which your cake will have 34 candles

3

The number 3 Life Path is one that emphasizes expression, sociability, and creativity as the lesson to be learned in this life. Here we are apt to find the entertainers of the world, bright, effervescent, sparkling people with very optimistic attitudes. A truly gifted 3 possesses the most exceptional creative skills, normally in the verbal realm, writing, speaking, acting, or similar endeavors. The lesson to be learned with a 3 life path is that of achievement through expression. The bright side of this path stresses harmony, beauty and pleasures; of sharing your creative talents with the world. Capturing your capability in creative self-expression is the highest level of attainment for this life path. The characteristics of the 3 are warmth and friendliness, a good conversationalist, social and open. A good conversationalist both from the standpoint of being a delight to listen to, but even more importantly, one who has the ability to listen to others. Accordingly, the life path 3 produces individuals who are always a welcome addition to any social situation and know how to make others feel at home. The creative imagination is present, if sometimes latent, as the 3 may not be moved to develop his talent. The approach to life tends to be exceedingly positive, however, and your disposition is almost surely sunny and open-hearted. You effectively cope with all of the many setbacks that occur in life and readily bounce back for more. It is usually easy for you to deal with problems because you can freely admit the existence of problems without letting them get you down. You have good manners and seem to be very conscious of other people's feelings and emotions. Life is generally lived to the fullest, often without much worry about tomorrow. You are not very good at handling money because of a general lack of concern about it. You spend it when you have it and don't when you don't.

On the negative side, a 3 may be so delighted with the joy of living that the life becomes frivolous and superficial. You may scatter your abilities and express little sense of purpose. The 3 can be an enigma, for no apparent reason you may become moody and tend to retreat. Escapist tendencies are not uncommon with the 3 life path, and you find it very hard to settle into one place or one position. Guard against being critical of others, impatient, intolerant, or overly optimistic.

Typically, the life path 3 gives an above-average ability in some art form. This can encompass painting, interior decorating, landscaping, crafts, writing, music, or the stage, or all of the above. You are apt to be a happy, inspired person, constantly seeking the stimuli of similar people. Your exuberant nature can take you far, especially if you are ever able to focus your energies and talents.

King of the Jungle MY ASS

This just makes me chuckle. heh

Redneck Roots

So, if I haven't told ya'll already (what readers I have left, that is), I think of myself as southern with an educated northern edge and a potty mouth that has only gotten worse with age.

I consider myself to have all the good qualities of the south (good manners, laid-back attitude, good cook, kind to children and old people and animals, etc.) but minus the bad qualities (ignorance, bigotry, and conservatism).

*Please send hatemail to the address on the right.*

I was watching Comedy Central this past weekend and there was a stand-up comedian that was remarking about how he was originally from Alabama. And when counting in Alabama, you only need 3 numbers... one, two, and a shitload (pronounced shhheeeeitload).

This made me laugh.

But then it got me thinking...

Hey... I say that!

"I have a shitload of work to do."

"I have a shitload of Girl Scout Cookies in my living room."

"I have a shitload of respect for that guy."

I really DO say it. A lot. I say "a shitload" shitloads of times thruout the day!

What exactly is a shitload? I don't even want to begin to speculate.

All I have to say is that I am appalled at my lack of verbal finesse when it comes to expressing amounts of things. I have lost respect for myself.

How much respect?

A shitload.

Trick or Treat

My company carries Starbucks and Folgers brands of coffee.

I am all for strong coffee and lots of caffeine, so I go for the Starbucks, but I'll drink Folgers in a pinch, but really... it's a distant second. My whole cream and Equal ratio gets messed up with the weak ass Folgers crap, so why even bother?

So I go in to the kitchen at work to make coffee on Friday and after I put a pot of Starbuck Breakfast Blend on to brew, I stand around and wait for it so I can have the first delicious cup.

As I am waiting, I pick up the Starbucks bag and lovingly gaze at the designs in the back ground and look at the logo (love that mermaid!) and re-read the type of coffee... and do a double-take.

Its DECAF!!

To my growing horror, I realize that IT'S ALL DECAF! Bags and bags and bags of Starbucks and IT'S ALL DECAF!!

The only caffeinated coffee we have is Folgers!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I found out today (after discovering that our CAFFEINATED Starbucks has been resupplied) that we will no longer be ordering Starbucks coffee anymore because it's $3 a bag and half of it gets poured down the drain.

Ah... fate is a cruel, cruel mistress.

Happy Samhain!

So the four of us planned on being a vampire family this year, at Ashlyn's behest.

Notice that only 50% of the four of us are vampires.

The traitorous spider witch bailed on the vampire idea at the Halloween store.

The other traitor (behind the camera) didn't dress up at all!

But at least he stayed home and mopped the kitchen floor while we went out trick-or-treating, so I can't complain... much.

THE Starbucks Guy

I read this article in the Post a few months ago about a guy trying to visit every Starbucks in the world. As I read, I cheered him on and envied his coffee consumption, but I also thought he was a little odd.

His name is now just Winter. And he is no longer Houston-based.

How do I know that?

I now work with him.

He sits on the other side of my cubicle wall.

Death of Blogging

Shit. My new job monitors our internet usage. So, this blog will prob not get updated very often now. Sorry, sports fans.

I am sneaking this blog entry as we speak. Shhhh.

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Anyway, here are some things I found amusing in Best Of Craigslist. Enjoy!

Damage from Rita

Starter Wife

Free Spectacles

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Moowaah, ya'll!

Emotional vomit

Ever have one of those days or series of days where everything bad builds up in your mind? All your stresses and all the things that have pissed you off or hurt your feelings all seem magnified?

I was having one of those times 2 weeks ago. R and I were fighting about semi-serious stuff, but how the fights came about were stupid BS. But it all boiled over and we yelled at each other, then talked and talked and talked, then made up.

And now that I look back on what we were fighting about... there were some things that were bothering me for months and now that they are in the open, they don't even register emotion anymore.

It's like when you are really drunk or sick and feel like you need to puke and you know you'll feel better, but don't look forward to the act of puking itself. But then after you puke, you really DO feel better.

This is exactly the way this felt... it needed to be done, but I really didn't look forward to it.
But now that it IS done, I feel sooooo much better.

So I am coining a new phrase:

Emotional vomit.

One thing I like about my job...

well, I guess there are actually three things I like about my job today.

1. We have Columbus Day off as a paid holiday so I have a three day weekend this weekend.

2. Management is kissing our asses to raise morale, so we are having a catered breakfast AND a catered lunch today.

3. I will be leaving it soon...

BECAUSE I GOT AN OFFER FROM THE INTERVIEW!!

Saaaaaay whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!?!

woo woo woo woo woo

Can you say pay raise, jeans every day and 10 minute commute?

How happy am I?

I am so happy I could tap dance naked on the National Mall, titties and ass flying everywhere.

What have you learned today?

I learned that people from FEMA and the Florida state legislature read The Washington Post and then click on the Technorati link on whose blogs link to that particular article. I've gotten lots of hits just from linking to 2 articles yesterday.

Lesson learned: people all over the world fuck off at work, especially government workers.

Woohoo!

Poetic Justice

This is funny.

My fave line:
"the children responded the way they were instructed to by the suspect"

And we think children never learn.

Heh

President Bush Sells Louisiana Back to the French President Bush and a giddy Jacques Chirac shake hands on the deal.

BATON ROUGE, LA. - The White House announced today that President Bush has successfully sold the state of Louisiana back to the French at more than double its original selling price of $11,250,000.

"This is a bold step forward for America," said Bush. "And America will be stronger and better as a result. I stand here today in unity with French Prime Minister Jacques Chiraq, who was so kind to accept my offer of Louisiana in exchange for 25 million dollars cash."

The state, ravaged by Hurricane Katrina, will cost hundreds of billions of dollars to rebuild.

"Jack understands full well that this one's a 'fixer upper,'" said Bush. "He and the French people are quite prepared to pump out all that water, and make Louisiana a decent place to live again. And they've got a lot of work to do. But Jack's assured me, if it's not right, they're going to fix it."


The move has been met with incredulity from the beleaguered residents of Louisiana."Shuba-pie!" said New Orleans resident Willis Babineaux. "Frafer-perly yum kom drabby sham!"

However, President Bush's decision has been widely lauded by Republicans. "This is an unexpected but brilliant move by the President," said Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist. "Instead of spending billions and billions, and billions of dollars rebuilding the state of Louisiana, we've just made 25 million dollars in pure profit."

"This is indeed a smart move," commented Fox News analyst Brit Hume. "Not only have we stopped the flooding in our own budget, we've made money on the deal. Plus, when the god-awful French are done fixing it up, we can easily invade and take it back again."

The money gained from 'T'he Louisiana Refund' is expected to be immediately pumped into the rebuilding of Iraq.

A-Z meme

I am so unoriginal and braindead lately, so I am stealing a meme from Russ just to pass the time.

A ~ Age you got your first kiss - Peck - 1st grade, so I was 6. French kiss - 6th grade, so I was 12.
B ~ Band listening to right now - I'm at work, so nothing, but on my way in I was listening to Keane.
C ~ Crush - Eric Bana
D ~ Dad's name - Kenneth Lee
E ~ Easiest person to talk to - R or Trey
F ~ Favorite TV show - House
G ~ Gummy worms or bears - Haribo (German) gummy bears. American gummy bears are too mushy
H ~ Happiest memory - luckily, I have quite a few. One of the most recent is coming downstairs to see R and the girls curled up on the couch together watching Dodgeball and laughing hysterically.
I ~ Instrument - Finger cymbals :)
J ~ Jr. High Crush - Brian Eibner
K ~ Kids or no Kids - 2 crazy girls and maybe another one in a couple of years
L ~ Longest car ride ever - ambulance ride from car accident to hospital - we were caught in rush hour traffic, I had a neck brace on and was strapped to a back board... and I was getting car sick. Joy.
M ~ Mom's name - Anna Kay
N ~ Nicknames - Misha, Shelly Bean
O ~ One animal you like - squirrels
P ~ Phobias - heights, small spaces
Q ~ Quirks - uh... I also have quite a few of those. Let's just say I'm pretty eccentric for a semi-yuppie.
R ~ Reason to smile - when R or the girls belly laugh, I always laugh too
S ~ Song you sang last - Ain't No Mountain High Enough
T ~ Time you woke up today - 6am
U ~ Unknown fact about me - I can't ride a bicycle
V ~ Vegetable you hate - beets
W ~ Worst habits - too analytical about unimportant stuff, bad at finishing projects
X ~ X-rays you've had - chest for a flight physical, c-spine after car accident, teeth, sonograms for kiddos
Y ~ Yummy food - name an ethnicity, I'll name my fave dish
Z ~ Zodiac sign - Virgo, Aquarius rising

Blindfold me, please

Ya know how Fedex, UPS and construction guys are generally cute, muscular and sweaty, so no girl minds interaction with them, just for the sake of eye candy?

Well this morning, I had to drop something off at a house that's getting remodeled and had the prerequisite construction guys there. I know their names are Rob and Bean, so I am anticipating some college age looking man candy with no shirts on. Woohoo!

So I get there and get out of my car and what do I see? Two old, wrinkled, and hairy guys.

Gah!

Busy busy busy

I'm still here. Been a very busy week. Here's a quick run down:

Birthday
Job Interview
Girl Scout Meeting
Dr's appointment
Employee forms for earlier job interview
Brownie Meeting tonight

I have zero to do tomorrow, thank god, because I am exhausted. I haven't gotten home until after 9 almost every night this week. Blah

Love ya!

Smatterings

Few random Friday thoughts for you

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Gave some outgrown clothes to Farmer Jo, and now I have free pick of her bountiful plentitude of fresh produce. Bartering is good. I need wampum.

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Anyone interested in first hand retelling of what is actually happening on the ground in New Orleans from real cops, National Guard, and a doctor (and it's not full of positive spins and political bullshit) see First Hand by Jack the Narc. Very informative.

*********************
Girl Scout cookies are coming! I know you all love me, but you'll love me even more when I feed your sugar/chocolate/bad carbs addictions. Moowhahaha. I'm your sugar mama.

*********************
Here a few snippets from blogs that have given me a chuckle today:

Realized the only way to get good use out of a stress ball is to throw one at somebody you don't like, as hard as you possibly can. Casual Friday

In the last 48 hours, I have eaten three apples, two salads, a banana and a peach – which by my standards is about six years worth of roughage. Yes, this is all part of the masochistic health and fitness regimen about which I wrote yesterday. But after two days eating like a shaman I am now even more committed to my belief that if the good lord had intended us to eat this way, he wouldn’t have invented Count Chocula. Dad Gone Mad

I sit by myself and look at my lottery ticket wondering what I’d do if I won. Would I be responsible and generous? Or would I turn into Caligula? Hmmm. A little of both maybe. Waiterrant

Stolen Meme

I stole this from one of my new fave blogs, Under the Undies.

Things I have done in my lifetime, as of today:

(x) Smoked a joint
( ) Been in a wet t-shirt contest
(x) Crashed a car
( ) Stolen a car
(x) Been in love
( ) Had a threesome
(x) Been dumped
(x) Shoplifted
(x) Been fired
(x) Been in a fist fight
(x) Snuck out of the house
(x) Had feelings for someone who didn't have them back
( ) Been arrested
(x) Made out with a stranger
(x) Gone on a blind date
(x) Lied to a friend
(x) Had a crush on a teacher
(x) Been to Europe
(x) Skipped school
(x) Seen someone die
( ) Been to Canada
( ) Been to Mexico
(x) Been on a plane
(x) Seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show
(x) Thrown up in a bar
( ) Purposely set a part of yourself on fire
(x) Eaten Sushi
(x) Been skiing
(x) Met someone from the internet in person
(x) Been moshing at a concert
( ) Been in an abusive relationship
(x) Taken painkillers
(x) Love someone or miss someone right now
(x) Lay and watch cloud shapes go by
(x) Made a snow angel
(x) Had a tea party
(x) Flown a kite
(x) Built a sand castle
(x) Gone puddle jumping
(x) Played dress up
(x) Jumped into a pile of leaves
(x) Gone sledding
(x) Cheated while playing a game
(x) Been lonely
(x) Fallen asleep at work/school
( ) Used a fake ID
(x) Watched the sunset
(x) Felt an earthquake
(x) Touched a snake
(x) Slept beneath the stars
(x) Been tickled
(x) Been robbed
(x) Been misunderstood
(x) Pet a reindeer/goat
(x) Won a contest/race
(x) Run a red light
(x) Been suspended from school
(x) Been in a car accident
( ) Had braces
(x) Felt like an outcast
(x) Eaten a whole pint of ice cream in one night
(x) Had deja vu
(x) Danced in the moonlight
(x) Hated the way you look
(x) Witnessed a crime
( ) Pole danced
( ) Been obsessed with post-it notes
(x) Walked barefoot through the mud
(x) Been lost
(x) Been to the opposite side of the world
(x) Swam in the ocean
(x) Felt like dying
(x) Cried yourself to sleep
(x) Played cops and robbers
(x) Recently colored with crayons/colored pencils/markers
(x) Sung karaoke
(x) Paid for a meal with only coins
(x) Done something you told yourself you wouldn't
(x) Made prank phone calls when you were younger
(x) Laughed until some kind of beverage came out of your nose
(x) Caught a snowflake on your tongue
( ) Danced naked in the rain
(x) Written a letter to Santa Claus
(x) Been kissed under the mistletoe
(x) Watched the sun rise with someone you care about
(x) Blown bubbles
(x) Had a bonfire on the beach
(x) Crashed a party
(x) Gone rollerblading
(x) Had a wish come true
(x) Worn pearls
( ) Jumped off a bridge
(x) Screamed the word penis in public
(x) Ate dog/cat food
(x) Told a complete stranger you loved them
(x) Kissed a mirror
(x) Sang in the shower
(x) Owned a little black dress
(x) Had a dream that you married someone else
(x) Glued your hand to something
(x) Got your tongue stuck to a flag pole
( ) Kissed a fish
(x) Worn the opposite sex's clothes
(x) Been a cheerleader
(x) Sat on a roof top
(x) Screamed at the top of your lungs
( ) Done a one-handed cartwheel
(x) Talked on the phone for more than 6 hours
(x) Stayed up all night
( ) Didn't take a shower for a week
( ) Picked and ate an apple right off the tree
(x) Climbed a tree
( ) Had a tree house
( ) Are NOT scared to watch scary movies
(x) Believe in ghosts
(x) Have more than 30 pairs of shoes
( ) Worn a really ugly outfit to school just to see what others say
(x) Gone streaking
(x) Played chicken
(x) Been skinny dipping
(x) Been pushed into a pool/lake with all your clothes on
(x) Been told you're beautiful by a complete stranger
(x) Broken a bone (do toes count? How about a severed finger?)
(x) Been easily amused
( ) Caught a fish then ate it
(x) Caught a butterfly
(x) Laughed so hard you cried
(x) Cried so hard you laughed
(x) Mooned/flashed someone
(x) Had someone moon/flash you
(x) Cheated on a test
(x) Forgotten someone's name
(x) Slept naked
(x) French braided someone's hair
( ) Grown a beard

Mipples

Ashlyn is obsessed with nipples or "mipples" as she calls them. She grabs various women's mipples (including me, her father's girlfriend, various family friends and even some men) whenever she can. Her obsession began when she was breastfed and subsequently weaned, which was about 2 years ago now... but her obsession continues.

Case in point, night before last as I was driving the girls home from Lauren's soccer practice, Lauren was fussing at Ashlyn for picking at a tiny wart on her knee. Ashlyn then matter-of-factly informed Lauren that she didn't like warts and that she liked mipples better, so she had a mipple on her knee, not a wart. Uh...

That's the Mipple Lover. Note the mipple devil-glare in her eyes.

All I have to say is that I hope her future lovers (be it man or woman) enjoy nipple play, because they will be getting alot of it.

Russ, this one's for you

I have nothing original to write, so I am stealing other people's stuff. But I am giving them props, so it isn't quite plagarizing. *ahem*

This is from one of my fave blogs, Dad Gone Mad, written from the view of a guy with 2 young kids.

Things They Don't Tell You In Childbirth Classes Because You'd Puke

It has occurred to me lately that the classes most hospitals offer to expectant parents about childbirth and childrearing are woefully devoid of information about the most disturbing elements of parenthood. I remember walking out of those sessions saying, “OK. I know how to change a diaper, how to burp a baby and that the birth of my child has something to do with a vagina. I’m all set. Bring on the offspring!” I was such a dipshit.

Bringing a child into the world is disgusting and gory and unsanitary, and raising them isn’t much cleaner. As a service to my brother-in-law Robert (a new father), Old Buddy Andy (an expectant father) and Craig The Mouse Killer (newly engaged), I will now list a few of the key discoveries I’ve made during my four-plus years of fatherhood --- items not discussed in childbirth or childrearing classes because they don’t want to make becoming a dad seem as much like an episode of Fear Factor as it really is:

Childbirth

1. When your wife is in the late stages of delivering your child, the doctor while ask her to push, whereupon she will bear down on midsection with the force of 10,000 atomic bombs. The goal, naturally, is to have something come out of her crotch. Unfortunately, there are two holes in her crotch and it’s best that you know now that something is going to come out of both holes. Hole number one will produce a baby. Hole number two will produce, well, number two. You’ll try to look away and you’ll try to maintain your focus on what’s coming out of hole number one, but you won’t be able to. And you’ll never be able to look at a Play-Doh Fun Factory again.

2. After your child is born and has been taken across the delivery room to be weighed and measured and wiped clean of yuck, you’ll notice that the doctor is still staring into hole number one. Do not attempt to accost the doctor; he’s not getting his jollies. He’s actually “delivering” the most rancid, foul, nightmare-inducing substance known to man: the placenta. If your doctor is a sicko like ours, he’ll hold it up and show it to you when it comes out. Be prepared. The placenta looks like someone has taken the layer of melted cheese from the top of a pizza and is holding it sauce-side up. They’ll try to convince you that it’s beautiful and a miracle and shit like that, but when you’ve been up all night stressing about your baby being born with his nose on his ass or your wife dying during childbirth, there’s nothing beautiful or miraculous about a big skin bag covered of blood, is there?

3. The first few shits your newborn takes are made of the same substance NASA uses to adhere those special tiles to the outside of the Space Shuttle to protect it from the unfathomable heat it encounters upon re-entry to earth’s atmosphere. It is black and sticky and infused with the smell of the vomit one produces after a night of partying with a quart of tequila and a bag of chili-cheese Fritos. By all means, make the nurses in the hospital change the first few diapers. They love that shit. And if you get it on your hands, there isn’t a space-age polymer on the planet that will get it off of you.

Childrearing

1. There are more varieties of fluids in a child than there are under the hood of your average import sedan, and all of them are bound to come out flying out of the child at different velocities from time to time. For example, last night there was a wad of snot the size of a nectarine that had dried and sealed shut the left nostril of my daughter. I was able to pry it loose with a chamois, a putty knife and a stick of Juicy Fruit, but my point is that you have to be prepared for anything. They puke when they’re mad. They have diarrhea when they’re asleep. And they shoot piss at you when they’re having their diaper changed. Fathers of Planet Earth, I have but one word for you: duck.

2. Imagine your wife at her PMS worst. Picture her raging at you, spewing hate in your direction for no good reason, slamming doors in your face and threatening to dismember you with her eyelash curler. Now imagine that same behavior from someone who is two feet tall and cannot color a picture without sticking his tongue out. This, basically, is the kind of irrational behavior you can expect from your child when you deny him Halloween candy for breakfast or tell him that he may not, under any circumstances, throw dogshit at his baby sister. Kids are fucking crazy sometimes and there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s best to just let them wail and go back to watching SportsCenter until they calm down.

3. If you do not already know how, you should learn to complete the following tasks immediately (reason in parenthesis): strip and remake a bed in the dark (your kid will wet the bed at 2 a.m.), breathe threw your mouth for long periods of time (your kid will get sick and will simultaneously cry, vomit, shit his clothes, also at 2 a.m.), resist torture (your kid will want to watch Barney’s Adventure Bus for the 1,192nd time right about the time your favorite team is taking the opening kickoff back for a touchdown in the Super Bowl), make pasta with butter (that’s the only thing your kid will eat until he’s 14), take a kick or a punch in the balls (no matter how hard you try to avoid it, your kid will hit you there --- either accidentally or on purpose --- once a day for the foreseeable future).

4. You’ll never sleep through the night again. That’s just the way it is. But I’ll be up, too, so call me.