Did You Ever Get the Feeling...

gobble gobble gobble

2011-11-24T22:40:00.000-08:00

I had a great visit with my Aunty and Uncles, discovered great pictures from my dad's childhood and history, had no drama or stress, just a blissful speed run up I-5 and back down.

We even made it home in time for The Honey's family gathering, too.

If I could've figured out a way to meet the new baby on Big O's side of the family, four more hours in the opposite direction, I think it would have been the trifecta!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Amazing

2011-11-01T20:28:00.000-07:00

I am in awe of anyone who can dance. Let alone En Pointe (SP?).

Seriously, watch this video.

Took us ten years...

2011-09-13T20:34:00.000-07:00

Read their names.

2011-08-14T09:13:00.000-07:00

On Saturday,
August 6th, a CH-47 Chinook helicopter was shot down over Wardak
province, Afghanistan killing 30 United States servicemen. It was the
largest single day loss of life since the war began. Killed were:

U.S. Navy

Lt. Cmdr. (SEAL) Jonas B. Kelsall, 32, of Shreveport, La.

Special Warfare Operator Master Chief Petty Officer (SEAL) Louis J.
Langlais, 44, of Santa Barbara, Calif.

Special Warfare Operator Senior Chief Petty Officer (SEAL) Thomas A.
Ratzlaff, 34, of Green Forest, Ark.

Explosive Ordnance Disposal Technician Senior Chief Petty Officer
(Expeditionary Warfare Specialist/Freefall Parachutist) Kraig M.
Vickers 36, of Kokomo, Hawaii

Special Warfare Operator Chief Petty Officer (SEAL) Brian R. Bill, 31,
of Stamford, Conn.

Special Warfare Operator Chief Petty Officer (SEAL) John W. Faas, 31,
of Minneapolis, Minn.

Special Warfare Operator Chief Petty Officer (SEAL) Kevin A. Houston,
35, of West Hyannisport, Mass.

Special Warfare Operator Chief Petty Officer (SEAL) Matthew D. Mason,
37, of Kansas City, Mo.

Special Warfare Operator Chief Petty Officer (SEAL) Stephen M. Mills,
35, of Fort Worth, Texas

Explosive Ordnance Disposal Technician Chief Petty Officer
(Expeditionary Warfare Specialist/Freefall Parachutist/Diver) Nicholas
H. Null, 30, of Washington, W.Va.

Special Warfare Operator Chief Petty Officer (SEAL) Robert J. Reeves,
32, of Shreveport, La.

Special Warfare Operator Chief Petty Officer (SEAL) Heath M. Robinson,
34, of Detroit, Mich.

Special Warfare Operator Petty Officer 1st Class (SEAL) Darrik C.
Benson, 28, of Angwin, Calif.

Special Warfare Operator Petty Officer 1st Class (SEAL/Parachutist)
Christopher G. Campbell, 36, of Jacksonville, N.C.

Information Systems Technician Petty Officer 1st Class (Expeditionary
Warfare Specialist/Freefall Parachutist) Jared W. Day, 28, of
Taylorsville, Utah

Master-at-Arms Petty Officer 1st Class (Expeditionary Warfare
Specialist) John Douangdara, 26, of South Sioux City, Neb.

Cryptologist Technician (Collection) Petty Officer 1st Class
(Expeditionary Warfare Specialist) Michael J. Strange, 25, of
Philadelphia, Pa.

Special Warfare Operator Petty Officer 1st Class (SEAL/Enlisted
Surface Warfare Specialist) Jon T. Tumilson, 35, of Rockford, Iowa

Special Warfare Operator Petty Officer 1st Class (SEAL) Aaron C.
Vaughn, 30, of Stuart, Fla.

Special Warfare Operator Petty Officer 1st Class (SEAL) Jason R.
Workman, 32, of Blanding, Utah

Special Warfare Operator Petty Officer 1st Class (SEAL) Jesse D.
Pittman, 27, of Ukiah, Calif.

Special Warfare Operator Petty Officer 2nd Class (SEAL) Nicholas P.
Spehar, 24, of Saint Paul, Minn.

U.S. Army

Chief Warrant Officer David R. Carter, 47, of Centennial, Colo. 2nd
Battalion, 135th Aviation Regiment (General Support Aviation
Battalion)

Chief Warrant Officer Bryan J. Nichols, 31, of Hays, Kan. 7th
Battalion, 158th Aviation Regiment (General Support Aviation
Battalion)

Sgt. Patrick D. Hamburger, 30, of Lincoln, Neb. 2nd Battalion, 135th
Aviation Regiment (General Support Aviation Battalion)

Sgt. Alexander J. Bennett, 24, of Tacoma, Wash. 7th Battalion, 158th
Aviation Regiment (General Support Aviation Battalion)

Spc. Spencer C. Duncan, 21, of Olathe, Kan. 7th Battalion, 158th
Aviation Regiment (General Support Aviation Battalion)

U.S Air Force

Tech. Sgt. John W. Brown, 33, of Tallahassee, Fla. 24th Special Tactics Squadron

Staff Sgt. Andrew W. Harvell, 26, of Long Beach, Calif. 24th Special
Tactics Squadron

Tech. Sgt. Daniel L. Zerbe, 28, of York, Pa. 24th Special Tactics
Squadron

These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives just so
others may get to enjoy freedom. For that I am proud to call them
Hero.
Those Who Say That We're In A Time When
There Are No Heroes, They Just Don't Know Where To Look

This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. For more
information about Wednesday Hero, or if you would like to post it on your site, you can go here:
http://rightwingrightminded.blogspot.com/2006/08/wednesday-hero-blogroll.html

Still sweet.

2011-04-26T23:22:00.000-07:00

Saturday Miss Priss and I had to decide between two activities.

1. There was an Easter egg hunt in the tiny town to the south of us, starting at 11.

(As you may or may not know, I live in the city deemed by Forbes to be the most miserable in America. I now understand why Huntington, Virginia was not thrilled to be advertised as the fattest town in America all over Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution, because the most miserable in America? Really? WE are still in California, folks. No blizzards, teeny tiny tornadoes, no humidity, just bone searing heat.)

2. So in defiance, there was a "Stockton is Magnificent" rally on the Miracle Mile--Also slated to begin at 11, and rumors of a flash mob were flying. Little O wanted to know what a flash mob was. I told her that everyone secretly agrees to meet somewhere at a certain time, and then just spontaneously break into dance.
Little O didn't hesitate.
We HAD to got to the flash mob.
Until, as we talked, she figured out that we would be watching OTHER people dance, and then she was all about the egg hunt. The flash mob would only be fun if she were dancing.

We went to the egg hunt, she got her loot, and we agreed it was a good day. We wondered how the flash mob had gone, and she got a little serious and wanted to ask me a question.

When we broke in to dance, would the police know ahead of time, so it was okay? And where would we have broken in?

Oh, my heart. My girl is growing so fast, but every once in a while she reminds me that second grade still has magic.

Brown Pants in Australia

2011-03-19T16:31:00.000-07:00

ARGH! So mad. My car is wheezing and gasping on its last legs, and my perfect gift for my gun totin' nevvys is looking dead in the water.

When I sympathize with the kids over their terrible days, I usually end it with "some days are like that" and Miss Priss knows to follow THAT up with "Even in Australia."

The schmucks at CQBCITY could still step up and make things right for me, and Big O has a party to go to tonight, so maybe the day can be salvaged, but my car? Probably imagining all the green in my refund check getting sucked under it's hood as we speak.

Bring me my brown pants!!!!!!

Was this funny to you?

2011-02-23T17:36:00.000-08:00

My father outdid himself and threw a surprise birthday party for my mother. I took this poem.

The Honey and I heard this poem a few weeks before,and I thought it was perfect for my mom. We thought it was funny. Apparently,we really needed Billy Collins to read it to them, because no one else did. They thought it was deep, or touching, or even somber. I usually hate poetry, but I like funny. huh.

I'm glad the Honey liked it, too, at any rate.

sigh.

I'm also really hoping my mother snorts at "Dress your Family in Corduroy and Denim" on CD. Nobody had "Me Talk Pretty One Day" in stock. When your parents HAVE everything they need or want, gifts are a challenge. ESPECIALLY given that there isn't anything that I could buy for her, I thought the poem was perfect. I looked for a lanyard kit to whip one up for her, too, but no luck. Probably for the best given how well the poem went over. I'd have been cross-eyed from braiding the damned thing and not gotten the laugh.

The gardener is in the details....

2010-12-22T23:16:00.000-08:00

How we got there, I do not know, but this evening Little O and I found ourselves discussing evolution versus creationism.

Wow. Just wow.

Which is why all of the smart monkeys kept hanging out together, making EVEN SMARTER baby monkeys, who eventually used the bible as an allegorical companion demonstrating the consequences of both good AND poor decision making.

"Mama, I totally know an example of a bad decision in the bible."

Really?

"Yes. God had a special tree and said to leave it alone, but...the gardener, I think it was, didn't and he told his wife to try it."

Huh. What lesson do you think we should get from that?

"Mama, it's all about respect! If it's not yours then you shouldn't touch it, especially if GOD tells you to leave it alone!"

o.O

To Conquer Paris with an Apple!

2010-09-01T05:30:00.000-07:00

My Favorite

The Honey's Favorite

So on Saturday we went to the DeYoung in San Francisco to see the 1st of 2 shows on impressionism.

I'll never get my kids to Paris. They are going to have to do that on their own, unfortunately. When I went to London with my folks, my dad insisted that we go to the National Gallery. Um, okay, sure. It was interesting, but what blew me away was seeing Monet's Water Lillies. It was a huge canvas and looked like nothing up close. I was across the room when it slammed into focus. AFTER we got home I took an art history class and was aghast at how many of those pictures I had seen but not appreciated.

So the Honey valiantly went to the library for me and checked out everything he could find on impressionist art for kids. Little O soaked it up like a sponge, and was primed for the trip. Big O leafed through a book on the drive to the bay. What Miss Priss really wants is to see starry night, but THE starry night is not a Musee D'Orsay property, so is not included in this show. They WILL however, have A starry night from that series, and she's very excited about that.

So I didn't get the audio tour for all of us, because Big O insisted he did not want one, and I really thought it would be overwhelming for Miss Priss, and I didn't want to HAVE the audio tour and then not be able to LISTEN to the audio tour. I got one for her, and one for the Honey, and off we went.

Claustrophobia, thy name is Jennifer. Jeez, maybe it's whatever a fear of crowds is that I'm too lazy to google. I HATED not being able to turn around--and that was WITH metered entry into the exhibit. I can't imagine the madness of regular admission. LIttle O and the Honey didn't even notice, they were thoroughly immersed in teh audio tour. The Honey said he didn't even notice other people until someone bumped into him or stepped in front as he was trying to look at a picture.

Big O was bored like only a fifteen year old boy on a family outing can be. sigh. He's a big boy and I'm fine with him wandering off, but I was really starting to get antsy because he hadn't resurfaced in a while, and then, lo and behold, there he is marching towards me.

With a three foot high angry japanese lady in a museum uniform. OH sweet Jeebus, no. Did he Touch a painting? WAS IT DAMAGED? My life and future earnings flashed before my eyes as they made it through the crowds. Apparently the gift shop was straight ahead, and while we were told that there would be no re-entry to the exhibit, there is no rope or anything signifying the end of the exhibit. There's a no re-entry notice painted on the side wall in the doorway, above eye level.

So all she wanted was proof that he had a ticket as he had wandered into the gift shop and then went back to find me. Whew!

So we had brought an elegant picnic of PBJ and oranges, and sat on a bench in Golden Gate park while we chowed. Little O starts to laugh, and we all look, and there is a squirrel clutching her leg from under the bench. My girl is DRAMA, and I would expect her to be traumatized--maybe if it had been her bare leg she would have been, but she had her jeans on and was enchanted with the squirrel. I would have screamed and kicked my leg out, but she just wanted him to do it again. There was an artist selling paintings in the park, and he told Little O that if she had any nuts, the squirrel would be her friend all day. She took her daddy's cell phone and went off to take pictures of her new furry friend. I still need to pull those from the camera...

Big O has NO interest in seeing part 2, which opens mid-September, but Little O and, surprisingly, the Honey, are very excited to go back. I'm all in, but this time WITH the audio tour--and maybe a tazer--and maybe on a week day.

#@$$%$%&$%^*&$%&$#%^$#@

2010-08-09T17:48:00.000-07:00

I am not, by nature, an angry woman.

I am so frustrated with my ex that I could just scream.

As a cheerleader and touchy feely support system for our son, he is superb...And that concludes our recap of his good points.

Wrestling is Big O's thing, he gets that from his dad's side of the family, and I support it enthusiastically if not always with full comprehension. I also foot all of the bills because things just aren't looking up right now for his dad financially. Things have not looked up for him financially since... jeebus, since he decided to pursue real estate.

I pay for a gym membership so that Big O can train in the off season. For his birthday, his father joined the same gym, not knowing how he's going to pay the membership dues, but because if he joined it came with one free session with a personal trainer. Which is what he gave Big O for his birthday. His Free session.

I did not mock or make fun. Turns out, this MAMON of a trainer (That's basically cocksucker is spanish, if you were wondering) told my son that he could make him a champion for the bargain price of $1350 for a 90 day session.

Guess who promised his son that he'd do his best to make it happen?

Now I am the great Satan for telling my son the TRUTH. That if $1350 is too rich for MY blood it's waaaaaay too rich for his father's.

Now I am the Shiva of Dreams and aspirations.

Am I wrong to be honest with my son?

Supercalifragilisticexpialadocious

2010-07-09T22:27:00.000-07:00

"Mama, if you say a word at the wrong time, can it REALLY change your life?"

If a tree falls in the forest and there's no one around...

My Children love to Dance.

2010-06-09T23:05:00.000-07:00

I'm afraid that they may have been switched at birth.

Add this to the fact that Little O does not believe in eating macaroni & cheese or (sob!) mashed potatoes, and I think I have a pretty good case for alien abduction. Fairies switching them? Robot children a la Spy kids?

Take your pick, but it's getting reaalllly hard to believe they are the fruit of MY loins!

Big O was in his 3rd quinceanera last weekend, and again, you could not get either of them off of the dance floor. Luckily every once in a while Little O would throw in a move like a cross between a Carlton and an Elaine, with a little sideways kick...

So I know she really IS my kid.

Little O had her dress rehearsal for her first ballet recital tonight. The cute in that room was overpowering. We all stumbled out slightly woozy from the chubby legs and dimply smiles--and the tutus, oh my stars the cute of those tutus!

Mr Darcy he's not...

2010-04-27T23:18:00.000-07:00

I confessed my love for Holmes on Homes today to a co-worker. THAT'S my kinda dreamboat. Give me a master at what he does over a pretty Mario Lopez type any day. I think I horrified her.

Along those same lines, Jack Reacher may be my new literary husband (Sorry, Atticus Kodiak). Jack Reacher doesn't believe in laundry. My heart went pitter pat.

I heart cheap, mass market fiction and strong, capable men. Who don't believe in laundry.

Knock Knock...

2010-04-15T23:34:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up, my father would announce on long car trips that it was time for another Humor Lesson (OH, yes, it was capitalized).

groan. We would talk about the definitions of satire and sarcasm until he felt that I had a grasp of it all.

As Miss Priss pours over her highlights magazines, she tells me the jokes and then we talk about the ones she doesn't get.

Incoming teacher at two o'clock.

am or pm?

And I'm off, totally over-explaining about pilots orienting themselves in the sky based upon the face of the clock, and then testing her...so if I say there's a dog at six o'clock, where is it?

I am SO my father.

Blogger, I've been Two timing you.

2010-04-01T03:21:00.000-07:00

I have a new love...

No, Facebook doesn't count. That's like crack. It's different.

I just finished reading another fabby post by Maria, at Just Eat Your Cupcake. I have a long blogroll, but nothing makes my day like seeing that Maria has posted something new.

When I was little, my father brought home a treasure from one of his trips. It was a book, Conversations with a Pocket Gopher, by Jack Schaeffer, the man who also happened to write Shane, the western. (Total side story, when I was running my bookstore in Hanford, my fella took me to Yosemite, and when we saw the little bookstore on the way, you know I had to stop. I had always looked for another copy of my book in all the hippy granola bookstores, to no avail. When we walked in, I began the title and the lady who owned the store finished it for me. Her dad WAS Jack Schaeffer, and she had multiple copies, so I bought one for me and one for my dad. COME ON, that was cool.) Back to the point, Maria can make folding laundry with her dog at her side into poetry. She reminds me of that book. Whether she's talking about her partner, her daughter, her dog or her dishes, she takes you there. The lady's got soul, folks.

I've been cheating on Blogger with my new favorite, Open Salon. It's fun to browse their blogs and see who strikes a chord. My favorite so far has been Ann Nichols.

I'm not really blogging much these days, but I had a late latte, and Little O was quietly sobbing in her bed because of growing pains. The Honey doesn't remember having growing pains, but I DEFINITELY had 'em. Based upon Miss Priss' misery, my kiddo is gonna have some gams, let me tell ya. A little tylenol and some back rubbing and she is back out, but I am wide awake, too wired to even play a little bejeweled. It doesn't help that I've been off for the last week and am due back to work tomorrow (yikes, make that in 4 hours).

How huge could this be?

2010-01-14T12:08:00.000-08:00

Morphine given shortly after injury can significantly reduce incidence of PTSD.

http://www.npr.org/blogs/health/2010/01/morphine_ptsd.html

I’m not posting those Wednesday Heroes only because I’m not blogging very often anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten.

People are dying in service to our country everyday, and many many more are coming back with serious issues. We OWE it to these folks to make sure we take care of them when they come home. If we can prevent a single case of PTSD, we should be researching the HELL out of this.

You know, we're aging. I get that.

2009-12-30T21:16:00.000-08:00

The drummer looks like they just rolled him out of his cardboard box, decided his shirt was too dirty to salvage, and had him take it off.

He looks like a suspect on CSI (vegas or ny, Miami is never anything but neon colored and/or freshly waxed skin glistening with a slight sheen of sweat).

I've written before about how badly tattoos age when they become covered with old man fur. I really think a cut up tee shirt was in order. Grandpa's nipple rings are flapping and he needs to pull his pants up. I realize that he is in a rock and roll band and cannot dress his age, but maybe they could give him the Dynasty treatment--not the beaded shoulder pads, more like the Linda Evans/Joan Collins soft filter.

Wrestling may be the end of my sanity.

2009-11-30T23:39:00.000-08:00

It's possible that Big O got the haircut from hell from his wrestling coach at the tournament on the Weds before thanksgiving. We're looking into a Jack sponsorship deal.

It's also possible that I advised my son that his stepfather would have kittens if Big O knocked a tooth loose because he was not wearing the mouth guard I got for him (after his father was going to cover "all" the costs and we bought it all). It's further possible that I then clarified that while kittens sound cute, it would in fact be full grown hellcats emerging from the Honey's ass to consume us all. Which got the adorable grin I was looking for while still getting my point across that my boy had better WEAR his damned safety gear.

If he loses a tooth on top of the *cough* modified bowl haircut, he's not going to get to talk to a girl until college.

How do you choose which hurts you hold onto?

2009-11-18T20:36:00.000-08:00

I find that I am drawn to two kinds of people in my life...Brainy smarts and wild flamboyance. The brainy smarts, well, I loves me a big brain. The sparks that fly from big brains are what make life worthwhile for me. But my own big brain gets me into trouble and I over think things and start feeding my own insecurities, which leads me to the other recurring character in my life, the loud flamboyant one who shows no fear. I have said before on this blog, I am at times paralyzingly shy. Completely socially retarded. I assume that people forget me as soon as they meet me, and that they are not talking to me. So when I make an outgoing friend, I am fascinated by them, and enjoy their ability to force me out of my shell. Sadly, the other trait of flamboyance is a certain carelessness. They make off the cuff remarks and promises that don't pan out, and it's no big deal.

In general one of my best traits is that I don't stress over things, I am the one that sucks it up and moves on. But I have to say, sometimes it feels like I can hold a grudge like a muthafucka.*

I shake things off and move on, but I soak it into my big brain and start analyzing it, and over analyzing it, and get all butt hurt. The Honey is a Master of Butt Hurt. The people who have stood me up or inadvertently hurt my feelings are banished forever in his mind, and he sneers when their names are mentioned. Which is kind of nice that it's on my behalf, but ultimately it gets exhausting. Sometimes it's people I love and adore, sometimes it's people I am still genuinely fond of. I can't function while in butt hurt mode. I have to be able to put it away and move on with my day. The Honey likes to buff and shine his grudges and set them out where he can see them. Mine are hidden away in a cupboard in my brain, and I only bring them out for a polish when I get my feelings hurt.

I got my feelings hurt today and I so don't want to add it to my dark little cupboard to trot out the next time someone disappoints me. I wish they were at least righteous grudges that I could be proud to hold onto, you know? Then I could call them up and say "Fuck you for killing my dog, ruining my career, or re-electing Dubya after he'd clearly fucked it all up (Hey, wait a minute, I could be onto something..)" But how do you call someone after fifteen years and say "Fuck you for giving me a pencil cup for Christmas when I gave you a full set of towels because I THOUGHT about you and what you needed. And while we're at it, fuck you for casting me as Mare Winningham in the "Who would play you in the movie" game! Because you, lady, are no Sharon Stone." See? They aren't even GOOD grudges and hurts. They are petty and small. It is my sincere hope that by typing this out, I get it out of my system, so that whatever dark gremlin made me just google a picture of Ms. Winningham--who is a fine character actress, don't get me wrong--will crawl back into the cupboard for a while.

*Greg Beck, wherever you are, I still miss your posts.

Brian Crook, Where are you now?

2009-11-14T21:00:00.000-08:00

Brian Crook is no longer Brian Crook. He changed his name, and we lost contact.

Brian wasn't even my friend, he was my brother's best friend when we lived in Sacramento. He and his younger brother, Brent, lived across the street from us, around the corner from Birdcage Walk as it was under construction. I would get sent over to call my brother home for dinner and
Brian's mom would always tell me to get a piece of candy from the dish--I was four or five, people, that was HUGE. Brian's family had also come from Redding, but they lived in Enterprise. Being four or five, I had no concept of subdivisions or parts of town. I thought Brian and his family had lived on the Starship Enterprise. I always wanted to ask if I could see their uniform shirts.

The Crooks moved back to Redding about the same time we did. The boys made their own skateboards, for YEARS. They became fans of Devo, of Blondie, of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. They double dated. Then Brian and his family moved to Portland. My brother went to live with them the next summer. It broke my heart. I hope Big O always makes time for Little O the way my brother made time for me. I'm sure a sister six years younger worshiping you was a drag sometimes. My brother sent me tapes for my birthday, Synchronicity, by the Police, and Bonnie something, she sang total eclipse of the heart. (Sweet lord, why am I telling you that? I apparently have NO kind of filters or dignity) I about wore out that Police tape.

I'm thinking of Brian Crook because after my brother went up, Brian came down and stayed with us. He brought his guitar, and on lazy afternoons, he would sit in the family room and play Beatles songs on his guitar and sing them with me. It was heaven. I sing. It's just my nature, I sing constantly, to the point of annoyance and monotony, at times.

I bought Little O the Disney sing it because my girl loves to sing, too. Imagine my glee at discovering that the microphone is compatible with Rock Band. The Honey bought me the Beatles Rock Band disc for my birthday. I told him we could get the guitars and drum set later, I just wanted to sing.

I didn't know I knew the words to Dear Prudence, but listening to it, I don't hear the Beatles singing, I hear Brian Crook. It makes me smile.

I hope someday he googles his old name and finds this. I hope his kids (I hope he has kids) buy him Beatles Rock Band and sing it with him.

Notes for Next year:

2009-11-01T05:19:00.000-08:00

NO PROPS!

What works excellently for trick or treating (and, by the way, it totally DID work for t-o-t), does NOT work for parties or work. Having your costume lying in a corner because you cannot function while holding it, or are afraid you're going to put someone's eye out in close quarters? Fail.

Everyone at the party had couples costumes, so next year I'll try to make that happen, too. The Honey is outta luck in terms of hooched up. I have to be able to wear it to work and trick or treat with my kid in it. I also have to come up with something that the Honey will wear. He's muuuch more conservative about which costumes he'll wear. I was thinking about Boris & Natasha, although really, I should give that to our Host and Hostess from this year's party. They are very aware that she is taller than he is (Whereas I don't care that I am taller than the Honey) and she's already slim and dark haired. She could rock the tight purple dress. But her man wore a Mario costume all night, so she can talk him into anything. Just getting the Honey into all black would make my life much easier.

On a separate note, getting Little O Disney's Sing It has just re-affirmed my belief that my kid is sweet thanks to a lack of cable in her life. Even Disney would be too much. Maybe especially Disney. I know that Shar-Pay is a caricature, but does Miss Priss? We had a long talk about how she behaves towards people, because Little O loves singing her song, but it kind of makes me queasy to hear her sing it.

There's a whole generation out there that has grown up watching that shit unsupervised, because Mom & Dad think Disney's okay. Those are the same kids that worship Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian, and think it's okay to order a "Fitness pole" for your room at 16 (Don't ask, it's a long horrible story).

Big O has kind of settled into a groove as he starts high school, so I am a little less worried about him. Little O is wobbling in an interesting spot. Yesterday she said to me,

"When I sing that song at school, it's almost like there's these girls that are listening and laughing at me. It's like they sneak up on me. Isn't that WIERD?"

Apparently, when I drop her off in the mornings, if none of her friends are there yet, she plays Hannah Montana by herself. I love that she is so blissfully unaware of how mean girls can be. I hope she gets to continue being that blissfully unaware. Nobody needs to learn THAT lesson in the first grade.

Sigh.

2009-10-25T11:57:00.000-07:00

A nice cozy Sunday listening to my seven year old tunelessly singing along to her new Disney sing-it for the wii.

It's kind of my definition of a perfect Sunday except for the Honey being stuck at work and no Big O.

I am a fairly laid back parent. I don't do hysteria and drama. So my reaction caught me of guard when the Ex told me he was at the Urgent Care with Big O. He's got the flu. Yeah, the Dr. at the clinic says it's probably THE Flu. The Ex said he may as well keep him there to keep it away from Miss Priss and the Elder contingent on our side (Mrs. G & Mama Dina). I appreciate that. But. My boy is sick.

I want him here, logic be damned. The blogosphere is full of horrifying H1N1 stories. Feel better, Bubby. I'm busting the door down if your dad says you're still sick Monday.

I blame Anne Geddes.

2009-10-22T22:26:00.000-07:00

I do not have any weird Flemish art in jigsaw puzzle form. Am I depriving my kids? Was this yet another way my parents snuck culture into my life? Because this picture was THE epic jigsaw of my childhood, and one of the measures of how grown up I was...how far could I get before I gave up and put it away for another few years?

Little O (Who turned 7 today, by the way, but I'm ignoring that particular trauma--my baby!) has strawberry shortcake and My Little Pony puzzles, and there is a Baby Bee puzzle from Anne Geddes that still has not been opened, although she is very interested-- for about three minutes.

This concludes my random thought for the day.

Holy Holy Water, Batman!

2009-10-19T18:01:00.000-07:00

Yep. It's done.

Little O was entranced by her ~~Rosemary~~ rosary. :)

Her padrinos got a band. Technically, there were TWO bands. Insane!

I thik a good time was had by all, although I am still deaf in one ear from the band. Next up? Halloween!

Cowbell, or Jellyfish? I also need a smoking jacket for the Honey, who will be going as the devil. I got him some great horns...

I'm crazy. That's why.

2009-10-05T00:28:00.001-07:00

Little O is finally getting baptized.

It has blown up to a huge party thing, from a simple sprinkling of holy water and some lunch with her padrinos afterward.

I apparently hurt the feelings of Favorite sister in law by not choosing her to be the godmother.

I told Little O that she is going to start going to church and her face just crumpled. Since I hadn't imagined she'd have any objection, I was *ahem* taken aback at her reaction...was I raising the devil child?

"What's wrong, baby?"

"Mama, church is in SPANISH. I don't understand it."

Poor baby. We always take the Honey's mom for high holy days, and it IS always in Spanish. I explained that she could go to the English services, and she cheered right up.

But her baptism will be in Spanish. I don't think their priest speaks more than a few words in English. I wish Father Dan were here. He could do it in Spanish AND English--but I think he would make us do the whole classes thing. He was my friend Leisa's priest, and he agreed with me back in the day that you don't do the wink-wink kind of thing in God's house. I knew Big O's dad wasn't taking him to church, so why would I lie and say we were going to raise him as a Catholic?

Little O is going to have to go to church regularly. I will get her dressed up and delivered to Sunday school at least twice a month. In the wonderful world of Mexican Catholicism, that will be plenty. If we hurry with the catechism classes she can wear the same dress for confirmation. :)

Big O was in another quinceanera a few weeks ago, and I picked up the caterer's card. Little O saw it and leaned over to me and said,

"Mama, did you get their card so we can call them for MY quinceanera?"

Oh, sweet pea, you have so many dreams for me to crush...

Did you know?

2009-09-02T10:24:00.000-07:00

I have the world's greatest teenage boy.

I have lots of Little O stories, because kids that age are so funny, discovering the world. I write more about the struggles with Big O because, well, he's hitting those hormonal, homework filled years.

Last night, as I was scrambling for dinner before I took him to quinceanera practice, I asked Big O to walk his sister next door to visit with Mrs. G. He did NOT whine or complain or even heave a big sigh, he just paused as he walked out and asked me not to log him out, as he was chatting with one of his friends on MySpace.

He was back two minutes later, the Big G had sent him back to get some sidewalk chalk, because she wanted the three of them to play a game. He STILL did not complain about getting roped into something else, just typed a quick note to his buddy and left with the chalk.

I walked over to get them, and the Big G had him playing a giant game of Hopscotch.

I love that he played this game without reservation, that he listens to the Big G respectfully even when he can't understand (because of her accent) quite what it is she's telling him.

Sometimes I wonder if I've got this parenting thing all wrong. People say that they don't ask their older kids to watch their younger ones, because it's not THEIR job or responsiblity to raise their siblings, they should just be allowed to be a kid. Guilt sets in because I ABSOLUTELY expect my boy to watch his sister. He may or may not be paid for that. At the same time, isn't that part of being a family? How do people teach their kids to be responsible if they never give them any responsibilities? I freely acknowledge that spacing plays a big part in pulling this off... I listen to my friends groan about how their kids fight, and I think I spaced my kids juuuuust right.

But watching him with the two girls last night, playing hopscotch when he'd rather be playing Call of Duty, holding his sister's hand as they walk around the corner, just because she's six and adores him, I just had to acknowledge that (setting aside all personal biases here) he is, in fact, the world's greatest teenage boy.

Mama Mii-a

2009-08-09T15:36:00.000-07:00

So after the hideous realization that I am now the biggest girl in my office, I was all-in for the newest weight loss contest at work. sigh.

So in spite of the fact that my living room is still not re-arranged to my satisfaction, out came the Wii fit (Finally! I got it for mother's day). My Mii immediately blew up like the pillsbury dough-girl. I could handle that, but they made her shirt not fit so you see her belly. Now that's just rude.

Little O and I started going thru the games, and she looooves to wii-run. Wii-running is less strenuous than real running because you can just jiggle the remote to keep going when you're tired. If she wants ME to run with her, I pretty much just jiggle the remote. I'm working on it. She was thoroughly put out that I ski better than she does. My plan is to wii in the mornings after I make the Honey's lunch and send him off, before Little O gets up. ANY physical activity will be more than I have been doing! Wii Yoga here I come...

Happy Birthday, Big O!

2009-08-04T08:00:00.000-07:00

I like to fix things. How do you fix *ssholes?

2009-07-14T21:43:00.000-07:00

Last night, Mrs G was back in France, 1944.

She was hiding with her 3 month old son in the woods, not because the soldiers were after HER specifically, but because that was what you did when the soldiers came to town, you made sure you stayed out of sight.

She woke up in the hospital, having been knocked unconscious when the bombs hit. No one could tell her where her son was.

The man to her left was dead, and they were trying to amputate the leg of the man to her right. Then the next bomb hit the hospital. She dropped her burning robe and leaped from the second floor.

She wandered the eight miles to her home in a daze, naked except for one slipper.

She was 21.

When she got home, her neighbors had found her infant son in the woods but had not been able to find her. He was fine.

*********************

Saturday afternoon Mrs G called the Honey and told him maybe a stroke?

By the time I made it next door, her speech was gone, except for one word, the name of that son safe at the neighbor's home so long ago. I called 911 and the last few days we've been visiting her in the hospital.

Her daughter, who lives a few hours away drives in every other day, making preparations to move into her mom's home for a while, until her mom is feeling better.

Mrs G had lost her speech but was still able to write, so she has not been completely locked into her own mind. She is still sharp as a tack. But last night her speech came flooding back to her and she told me the tale she says she has never shared with her children.

The son from that story, the story that drew huge wracking sobs from her, lives in town and still has not been to see his mother, has not called to inquire.

I would like to hunt him down, but Karma or the deity of his choosing will see that he gets his. My role in this is just to make sure that her cats get fed and that she knows that we love her. But it's hard. I'd like to do more.

In which we traumatize the girl child.

2009-07-09T18:24:00.000-07:00

We went sailing with my parents a few weeks ago. It was the first time ever for the Honey and the Kids--I was raised on the sailboat, it's just 6 months younger than me. I suspect it was the consolation prize for my father for trading in the Porsche when I was born.

The Honey and the kids loved it, but Little O wanted to go swimming. With me. RIGHT.NOW.

It WAS hot, so we found a quiet cove and Big O and I jumped into the water. Then it was Little O's turn. Do you see that photo? The one where she's wearing the bulky blue life jacket?

We explained that she HAD to have a life jacket on and KEEP it on in order to be on the boat. It would keep her from sinking and keep her safe, which is always our biggest priority. She accepted it without a peep.

So I jumped into the lake, and in spite of the 100 plus degree temperature, that water was a bit chilly. I thought to myself,
"oh, this isn't going to last long at this temperature..."

So the Honey passed Miss Priss into the water, onto the floaty cushion thrown out for general principle.

My poor baby.

As soon as she slid off that cushion, she completely flipped out. Shrieking and climbing on top of my head.

Apparently we had sold the life jacket so completely that she had absolute faith in it, and we never bothered to explain that she WOULD sink into the water, but that it would stop her from sinking sinking. She thought in her six year old brain, that she would float on the water where the life jacket touched the water. It makes sense. It also nearly drowned me before her father could pluck her back out of the water and calm her down. Thank God for the stupid floaty cushion.

She's fine and now that she understands that her life jacket was not failing, she's totally game to go sailing again.

What a trooper!

Cookies make the world go 'round.

2009-07-01T02:13:00.000-07:00

Miss Priss made cookies in the shape of princess crowns, until I got tired of watching them break as they were transferred. Then we switched to hearts. She ran some over to Mrs G and the Grand Dame promptly popped the crown onto her head.

There are few things better than a six year old and an eighty-six year old both giggling like girls. :)

2009-06-27T23:15:00.000-07:00

Exxxxcellent margarita party has me drunk blogging this fine and wondrous evening.

Sweet Jeebus am I going to e sorry tomorrow. possibly tonight.

Major points to the honey for being my designated driver.

Salud to Miss Blunt for throwing a fan-tabulous partay, even if she did call me on the abundance of cleavage I was sporting. It's not my fault they could have their own zip code.

And for getting Miss Sunshine and my new partner in crime to show--both of whom swore they were in for my B-day and bailed. 8 months later and still bringing it up...not bitter, are we?

Need to send my best Jen a box of books now that she is trapped in the deep south. Actually needed to send them to her sooner that this, but everything works out for a reason. She would not have wanted to schlepp them all the way to 'bama, but now that she's THERE...

Must.make.sandwiches.for.Honey. No chance in hell I'm waking back up at 4:30 to make them like usual.

The Heartbreak of The Flops

2009-06-19T22:34:00.000-07:00

So, part of me wants to laugh and mock the commercials for "Restless Leg Syndrome" like I do pretty much any commercial with disclaimers like "Be sure to advise your doctor if you've ever had a Liver transplant."

WTF? My doctor's visits require medical history in triplicate, even if It's just for the yearly. Wouldn't your doctor KNOW if you have a giant fucking scar?

But let's get back to my point. Because RLS sounds like the winner in a pharmaceutical sales rep's "Make up a Syndrome" contest. Like Nanwrimo for leeches.

Except...

My hubby has them beat. He's got the Flops. It's not just his legs, people. His arms go flying, he kicks off the covers and then pulls them back up. He flaps the covers. That's my favorite. But he snores through it all.

He says I don't love him enough because we have not actually said vows in a legal type way.

Tonight he asked me to come to bed early and then (in his sleep) held his hand up over and over again to block my view of the show I was watching on the idiot box.

He doesn't understand that the fact that he wakes up each and every morning, not a bruise or a pinch mark on him, is the proof that I love him.

Why I need night vision goggles...

2009-06-07T08:18:00.000-07:00

My brother and his wife are insane. Which is what makes them so Awesome.

Last night we all trooped over to the park across the street from their house.

In the dark.

To play Hide and Go Seek.

Five Adults, five teenagers, and a hopped up six year old.

Eldest nephew showed up in a ghillie suit...

I wish Big O had been with us. He's off wrestling at the State tournament...

I swear I have not run that fast before.
EVER.
Little O, who minces down the baselines and swears it's her top speed, discovered how to use her full stride as she "helped" whomever was It. We made her carry a light stick to keep from being mowed down on the stampede to base. It was still a narrow thing. She wasn't understanding that an adult running at full speed can't come to a complete stop just because they crossed the line, so please sit down on the wall. I almost pulled a Matrix/Jedi mid-air flip trying not to knock my own kid down.

I'm not down for football where my lack of co-ordination will let down my team, but hide and go seek? I'm totally in.

Sigh.

2009-05-30T06:00:00.000-07:00

So I put my foot in it at work.

We have one very blunt, outspoken girl at work, and one very fiery person. The ladies of the fishbowl prefer to stay neutral.

So Miss Blunt observes that Miss Fiery tends to get sick when our boss takes personal days on Fridays. It should be noted that Miss F's best friend is the receptionist, so from time to time on a Friday, the Receptionist (and she's sooo much more than that, but we'll call her Miss Sunshine) says--"Will you guys be okay without her? Because Miss F is sick." Which is awkward for all of us, because then we're resenting Miss Sunshine for just doing her job and being the bearer of bad tidings because it's her best friend she's asking about, and we feel like jerks for wanting her to come in because we're slammed. We've all been sick, we all take sick days. Not many of us call in consistently when the boss is known to be gone.

Huh. Miss Blunt calls 'em like she sees 'em, and I rather enjoy her straightforward attitude, although I tend to be a little more discreet myself--usually.

But this week is graduations of all sorts, as well as our office's busiest time of the year. So while it was a scheduled MORNING off for Miss F, she was supposed to call in to see if we needed her, because the Boss just went on vacation.

She called at noon, and Miss Sunshine told her she didn't know, because the reps were on the phone and I was at lunch, so Miss F said she was going to grab some lunch and call back after.

So she DID call back. At 2:30. I told her um, yeah, come in, and she tells me then she'll have to drop her daughter off so it won't be until at least 3. Then she paused, waiting for me to say, oh, never mind then. I told her to come on in.

Miss Blunt takes a lot of heat from Miss F for talking shit, but this was enough, and I DO NOT LIKE talking ABOUT people. I think the honest way to do it is to talk TO them. So I warned Miss Sunshine that I was going to say something to Miss Fiery about the schmucky call in. She suggested, given Miss Fiery's nature, that maybe I send it in an Email.

So Now Miss Fiery is completely pissed at me, and doesn't see how it's any of my business that she took two and a half hours to take her kid to lunch, because the boss told her she could (take him to lunch, that is). I think she really believes that if the boss had been in the office she really would have taken two and a half hours and then called in STILL not ready to come back.

Wouldn't it be chickenshit for me to let Miss Blunt take the heat for saying what we were all thinking, but never saying it TO Miss Fiery? I'd rather have it out in the open, so we can all move on.

Sweet Jeebus I hate drama. I hate it even more knowing I threw gas on the smoldering embers of this particular drama, but I also have to live inside my own head, you know?

BE a good citizen.
Treat others like you want to be treated.
Take other people into consideration.
sheesh!

***************************************

update!

So my boss asked me to apologize, not for the message, just maybe for the delivery of said message, and Miss F and I are okay again.

I wish you could see her...

2009-05-04T22:28:00.001-07:00

I HAVE to figure out how to post cell phone video.

Because there are few things better than Little O with her newest obsession...

She does the sprinkler. All Damn day.

hi-larious.

She's also reading Ramona Quimby, Age 8 to herself. In Kindergarten.(!)

Little O sums up Western Religion...

2009-04-27T16:47:00.001-07:00

On our recent road trip to see my folks, Little O grabbed 2 books for the long car ride.

One was her new Highlights magazine, and the other was the child's first Bible that she got for Christmas.

We were rolling through Williams when she slapped the book shut and announced,

"Well, I read the whole Bible."

Really? And what did you think of it, Miss Priss?

"Well, I was really sad when they killed Jesus, but then they put him in a cave, and put a rock in front of it, and he came back, so I felt better."

Um...

Well, actually, I guess that's about it, isn't it?

Thank you, thank you very, very, muu-u-u-u-uch.

2009-04-21T10:57:00.001-07:00

I wasn't really expecting to get the Lohan/Spears Parenting trophy for the month of April.

I'm really quite overwhelmed.

In my defense, Little O really does think the song SAYS "Thank You".

I didn't correct her. So when my six year old skipped through Wal-Mart singing that sunny little Lily Allen song, she really was singing Thank you, and not in a wry social commentary sort of way.

Big O smirks, because he knows what the song is actually saying in it's chipper tones.

It does end with a k, and the second word IS you.

Once Little O figures it out, she'll still sing it Thank you.

But I was silently singing along with her as we fought the crowds last night, and I have to say, it was delicious.

I'm well aware I'm going to hell, no need to comment (hahahahahahaaaaa).

weighing close to a thousand pounds...

2009-04-15T21:39:00.000-07:00

Ah, Sayre, where is Operation Lose That Ass when I need it?

I'm trying to cook at home again. We've been baaaaad about going out. But right now with Miss Priss and her Tee Ball and The senior O and his wrestling, I'm not HOME to cook, and the Honey's new job necessitates early bedtimes. So If it's not almost done by six, we just need to go grab something. It's ugly, folks.

Senior O makes it sound like he's almost through with high school instead of about to start it. Elder O?

Little O has finally, at long last, embraced bedtime. I have resisted bedtime stories, holding them out as a carrot to lure her into her own room. Baby, tonight was the last chapter of Little House in the Big Woods. YAY! As a bookseller, can I tell you how long I have waited for these nights?

Big O had no kind of attention span for long stories. He is a rapid reader himself, sadly following in my voracious reading habits--I didn't mean to imply that he's not a reader. But at six? Not so much.

We have discovered a new bookstore. It's only open on Saturdays, and everything is a dollar. They run it out of an industrial park on the east side. Can I tell you, I would never have gone within six blocks of this place if I hadn't been staring at their sign, barely visible from the Starbuck's parking lot. Hmmm....you're a shifty serial killer, but you're lazy, and you want to lure me into the space where your 70's van is waiting? Okay, I'm in!

Actually, the Honey's sister had been telling me about it for weeks, but kept bailing on me when I called her to go. So I dragged the Honey with me a few weeks ago. It was sweet. Not fuzzy animals in Easter baskets sweet. Dude, where's my car? sweet. My eye only twitches a little that they stop at sorting by category---sort of. After that it's good luck, suckah!

But last weekend after we MISSED Big O wrestling in Modesto by minutes, and only because they wrestled out of weight class order--Little O and I went to see if we could find the next little house book. We came out with fifteen books. Three little house books and eleven American Girl books. By my calculations, that's about what we would have spent on two American Girl books at B&N.

With the Honey's new improved early bed times, Miss Priss reads to her daddy until he falls asleep. She reads him American Girl stories. Daddy, meet Felicity. :)

Oh, the Horror

2009-03-31T10:08:00.000-07:00

My bra is creaking like an old creepy staircase.

Does this mean it's about to lose structural integrity and everything is about to burst forth?

Because let me tell you, the ample proportions of my youth have given way to epic proportions. Someone could get hurt if this thing gives. sigh.

*****

Going to Tahoe with the Hot New Wife and her friends in May. No way I'm dropping fifty pounds in a month. Just gonna have to jiggle my way through. I realize I'm whining, but I frigging hate to dance. I doubt I'm talking them into skiing or board games. It's drinking and dancing. shiiiiit.

Good thing I like her. Her friends are also very gracious in their bafflement.

I am equally baffled. Even when I was in my twenties, I didn't dance. I drank, but it was more of a kick-back chillin' with friends kinda thing. These girls drink with a purpose.

I'm so old, and happy to be so.

*****

We took the kids to the zoo and then to old town Sac, and they had a good time, them we went to Makuni's for sushi downtown on a Friday night.

We all agreed it was very CSI Miami, and the Honey and I were waiting for a blonde to come flying over the upstairs balcony.

The O's thought it was very glamorous.

Photos after the camera recharges!

Please Pass the Reynolds Wrap.

2009-03-18T23:33:00.000-07:00

Mmmmkay.

Sitting in my silent house (okay, silent except for The Honey's snoring), my answering maching keeps giving a little electronic shush-shhhush noise, as if it were wind in the wiring.

At this hour, I must admit that it's creeping me the hell out, and I begin to sympathise with people sportin' tinfoil hats. Or poor, overbaked Plasticman from Redding.

****************************

On a separate note?

Class act, there, Mister former President.

Asked to comment on Obama's handling of the economic crisis, Dubya said "He deserves my silence" and said that in times like these we should support each other, not attack each other. Which I take as a jab at yappping Mr. Cheney.

Any jab at Cheney is a jab for the good guys--So was not pardoning Libby. It has to suck to get booed at speaking engagements. Still a failure as leader of the free world, but I feel for him.

Okay, the answering machine just did it again. I think I need an exorcist.

Good night, all. (all 2 of you)

Chicken or the Egg?

2009-03-13T10:04:00.001-07:00

So Big O stayed at his father's last night.

The Ex is infamous for waking up late and dropping Big O off still needing a shower, so I called his cell this morning...no answer.

Shit.

But my phone rang, and it was the Ex's #. Whew! I didn't bother with a greeting (because I, too, am eternally running late in the mornings),

"Hey, just making sure you guys are up and running, and please make sure he gets a shower before you come over."

A man's voice replied,

"I made sure he got up, and he's in the shower now."

Bwaahahahahahaaaaaaaa

"Okay, Big O, I love you, see you soon."

And in local news...

2009-03-05T21:39:00.000-08:00

The crazy local happenings at the legal epicenter of our fine (okay downtrodden) county? That whole family is batshit crazy and ruuuuude. Soon as I heard the name, I thought, oh, well it WOULD be one of them.
Yes, I realize that I am going to burn in hell for my thoughts.

***********************************************

Speaking of hell, what in the hell was ABC thinking, cancelling Life on Mars?

WAAAAHHHHHH. Every.single.show.I.like.

I am the goddess of death for great TV shows. I am the Gorgon. As soon as I turn my gaze upon it, it's as good as dead.

Dark Confession Time--possibly a Dorkfession.

2009-02-19T23:35:00.000-08:00

I have a secret to confess.

I really can't believe I'm going to tell you this.

Kristy, my world music loving friend, you should look away. I'm about to expose the shallow end of my musical gene pool.

I need to quit stalling.

Friends, all two of you still reading this FB orphaned blog, I have a weakness.

A prediliction, if you will.

I've tried to stop. I've tried immersion therapy in the good stuff, trying to cleanse my palate. (Jeebus, is that spelled right?)

But...but...I kind of, um, well, I may have spent more money on bad euro pop than on anything with a guitar in it. Music seems like such an indulgence, and because my tastes are sort of thrash-y I tend to leap at anything lighter.

Which is how I ended up with:

Robbie Williams*

Lilly Allen

and

Freaking Lou Bega (Oh, the shame)

I also purchased my first Madonna album as she was going through her cowboy/Ali G phase.

I hope you don't think any less of me. (sob!)

I know that Robbie Williams is a former boy band member, and come on, Lou Bega just seems like an ass. Don't mess with Lily, though, 'kay? I love to hear little O sing that song. It's less fun to hear her sing Alfie, which is her true favorite, but she doesn't know what she's singing yet, and it's still not Genie in a Bottle or anything.

*The Robbie Williams video goes a little fangoria on you at the end, just a warning.

Wednesday Hero-and a lttle Jen

2009-02-18T07:15:00.000-08:00

Sgt. Kelly Keck
34 years old from West Liberty, Kentucky

Secretary of the Army Pete Geren congratulates Sgt. Kelly Keck after presenting him the Purple Heart.

On September 13, 2008, Sgt. Kelly Keck, a combat medic serving in Afghanistan, was wounded while trying to aid his fellow soldiers who's truck had just been struck by an IED. "I stepped off the road to try to get to the side of the truck, and the next thing I know I hear a loud boom, and I'm laying on the ground," he said. Sgt. Kelly had stepped on a land mine. He was flown to a field hospital in Jalalabad where he ended up losing three fingers on his left hand and his right leg below the knee. "It was quite an ordeal," the soft-spoken soldier said.

These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives so that others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am proud to call them Hero.
We Should Not Only Mourn These Men And Women Who Died, We Should Also Thank God That Such People Lived

This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. For more information about Wednesday Hero, or if you would like to post it on your site, you can go here.

I watched Black Hawk Down over the weekend for the first time.

The Honey was baffled to look over and see me crying. I never cry at movies*.

I don't think I was crying for my nephews, at the though of them being in a situation like that. I think it was the thought of ANYBODY in such a clusterfuck. Knowing what was coming, too, because I had said at the beginning of the movie that there was only one story I remembered about Somalia, and it wasn't pretty. Yup, that's the one.

The Honey saw my point though about streamlining benefits, because anybody who has gone through something even remotely like that while we eat pizza and watch football should be TAKEN CARE OF by the entity that sent them there, not made to jump through hoops.

Come on, Mr. Obama, I am looking forward to hearing your plan for THAT mess, too.

* Once upon a time, the bad boyfriend & I went to the movies with his best friend and HIS roommates. They were older than I was, and all very artsy and philosophical. They were by far my favorites of the bad boyfriend's friends. So we went to see Jacob's Ladder with Tim Robbins, and when we got out of the movie, they were all nowhere to be seen. Turns out they had all gone home to cry for the rest of the night at the deep concepts and heavy thoughts the movie had provoked. All I could think was, really? I thought it kind of sucked.

I'm not a great follower, I think. These were people I admired and wanted to hang with, but all I could think was that they must have been hitting the bong too hard, because huh? I think it's related to my loathing of most poetry. My old friend Ray relishes deep philosophical conundrums to the point that he is pursuing theology in school. I think I could make a living writing infomercials. Different paths, but the same need for faith, right?

Valentine Madness

2009-02-15T10:27:00.000-08:00

So my favorite of the Honey's car guy friends got married last night.

At the hockey game.

We're tickeld because Garry is over the moon for his sweetie, and if she would agree to get married on the ice at a hockey game for the texan-hockey nut? It must be love. It was part of a radio station promotion, so there were 103 couples doing the deed, including one guy dressed in a turkey suit. Whatever.

Garry looked sharp in his suit, Shannon was pretty in her polka dots, but as the hockey game went on, I became distracted.

Down in front, right up against the glass? I swear he looked like Biff Henderson. It may have been the baseball hat, it may have been the big earpiece.

The Honey was laughing at me as I snarled obscenities at the bloonde who kept blocking my photo. But I got him, Not until the game was over, and you can't see his earpiece, but I got him.

Not sure who Biff is? He's Letterman's Stage manager guy:

The Honey says it could just as easily have been James Earl Jones and maybe white girl should shut her pie hole.

I'm such a dork. ARGH! I'm a bad dork, though, 'cause I missed the Dorkteenth. Shit. Consider this my Dorkteenth confession.

in love with love

2009-02-09T21:36:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago Little O was studying a baby shower invitation, cooing over all of the fuzzy baby details, when she stopped and asked what R.S.V.P meant.

I explained that you put that when you want someone to write back to you.

Her latest obsession is making homemade valentines by the THOUSANDS. At the bottom of each one, she writes R.S.V.P. Then she sends them all to her father and I. I have tiny paper hearts and full sheets of paper all over my house. We no longer speak, we write love notes.

The Honey says I'll have to explain RSVP soon, and I know he's right.

Her stick figures are getting more lifelike every day, though. We can't spell BACKWARDS in front of her anymore. She's getting that same wierd fakey laugh her brother has. She remembers her knock knock jokes.

So for just a little while longer, I am going to savor each little RSVP she writes and I'll Respondez Si Vous Plait to each tiny scrap of love she sends me in her fanciest curli-q writing.

My name is Jennifer

2009-02-05T07:20:00.000-08:00

...and some days I feel like this guy. I refer to myself as socially retarded, but some days it's just that I'm annoying. I fall into patterns and say the same things over and over again in conversation to fill in the gaps. If we're walking by each other and you seem to be expecting something but we've already said hello for the day? You'll probably get a snippet from Camptown Races.
If someone is giving me news that I don't want to hear? "It's all an adventure."

Is is like social tourette's? I know it's annoying, but it just falls out of my mouth.

I'm filling in for a different department and it's fun to learn a new job. My co-worker in...hmm...it's not the fishbowl, let's call it the tank--the toilet tank. Don't get me wrong, it's nice back there, and there's a lot more room, but there's also the potential...well, you get the idea. Anyway, my co-worker in the tank is someone I really like. She's new to the company, but our sons are friends. People, I am trying so hard to NOT be annoying. I've told her she can stop me when I start singing, because half the time I don't realize I'm doing it--which wouldn't be so bad if I sang anything good. No, I hum the Chicken Dance for no reason. It's annoying to ME.

I'm also really bad at ass kissing, apparently, because interpersonal politics are so NOT my bag, baby. There's a whole lotta ass to kiss in the tank.

******

And on a happier but FB related note, I just realized (When she joined four more stupid groups including "no-such-thing-as-pro-choice" and "Global warming--see? I told you they were making it all up!") that I could opt to get less news from the sweet but misguided eastern cousin, so unless she actually asks me to join, I don't have to get mad each day. Because seriously, If I wasn't so boy crazy I'd be flying a rainbow flag in my front yard. Just because. I AM a California girl,, and the only reason my dad turned out to be a republican is because he made money. I know I got my hippie ideals and need for logic and reason from my parents. I think my mom secretly IS a democrat. Because she's my hero like that.

Wednesday Hero

2009-02-04T09:19:00.000-08:00

Gunnery Sgt. Nick Popaditch

In 2003, Sgt. Popaditch, along with 1st Tank Battalion, rolled into Baghdad from Kuwait at the start of the Iraq War. They had just taken the city and the tank that Sgt. Popaditch was in had rolled up to a 40-ft statue of Saddam. I think we all remember that statue. Popaditch was given a cigar by a fellow Marine and as he smoked it an AP photographer snapped a picture of him.

Fast forward to April 7, 2004. Sgt. Popaditch's wife was vacationing with their son when she received a phone call informing her that her husband had been injured in an attack. The turret of his tank, that he was situated in, had taken two direct hits from RPG's. He fell through the hatch to the floor of the tank. As he struggled to his feet, he began to shout orders to his men but go no response. He then realized that the attack had caused him to go deaf in both ears. But that was only temporary. He then reached up and felt that his head was wet and knew it wasn't good.

In the aftermath of the attack, Gunnery Sgt. Nick Popaditch had lost his right eye. And because of that he now proudly wears a prosthetic eye with the Marine Corps. logo embossed on it. On November 10, 2005 Gunnery Sgt. Nick Popaditch was awarded the Silver Star, the nation's third-highest award for heroism in combat. He also has a book out titled Once A Marine.

You can read more about Gunnery Sgt. Nick Popaditch here and here.

These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives so that others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am proud to call them Hero.
We Should Not Only Mourn These Men And Women Who Died, We Should Also Thank God That Such People Lived

This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. For more information about Wednesday Hero, or if you would like to post it on your site, you can go here.

Sing it! Ding, Dong...

2009-01-20T06:58:00.000-08:00

All over Oz, tiny people are dancing jigs around their televisions, Dick Cheney is hanging up his flying monkey suit...

Let's hope the people give the new wizard time to work with what's left, because he's got serious damage to repair, and the flying monkey brigade are not known for their patience...

Okay, I swore no more facebook.

2009-01-17T08:19:00.001-08:00

There is this cousin of my father's, though. She is so unhappy about Obama being elected. I have other friends on Facebook that are, too. But this lady joins every freaking group that is protesting his election, his inauguration, his choice of towels for the white house. I have this overwhelming urge to tell her to suck it up, we let Dubya play with the football for eight long bloody years, and it's our turn again.

But she's old, and she just friended me because she's doing a family tree thing, and I guess it's not a bad thing to remember they are out there, and they re-elected Dubya even after he fucked it all up. She'll be my own little alarm clock reminding me to stay politically active. It makes me want to join stupid groups every day just so Obama's picture will show up on her profile--every day.

questionable names

2009-01-10T10:26:00.000-08:00

You know I always enjoy reading the names of the colors on nail polish. They get so CREATIVE.

I think Febreze brought someone over from the nail polish industry over to name their new fragrances, but I have to be honest. I know when they named it Moroccan Bazaar, they were thinking exotic spices, a grand adventure kind of vibe. But I picture Sweaty North Africa, crowded bazaar, and third world plumbing.

You?

Again with the Facebook, Jennifer?

2009-01-07T14:00:00.001-08:00

I know it's a cop out to not blog in forever, and then blog about Facebook. It's like trying to talk through your relationship issues with the other woman, no?

But it's such an interesting phenomenon! I've always used my bloggy blog to track my life, my REAL life, and it's public, so anyone could stumble upon it, but no one is really interested, and that works out for me. My brother knows it exists and stops by once in a blue moon, but I showed it to my folks, and they didn't really express an interest. I'm okay with that, it's kind of freeing. The Honey knows it's here, and he could read it at any time, but I am not a big secret keeper, so I'm okay there.

I type my thoughts to vent, and to keep my brain from atrophying because trash is just not that stimulating. But I also don't shy away from the suckier aspects of my life. I'm always a little taken aback when I go back a re-read my blog posts because I seem to be a bitter and ranting girl, which is not my day to day REAL life nature.

What I find funny is the nature of Facebook, which is a little more like the family Christmas letter. Everything's sunny and happy on Facebook. Former classmates have fabulous black and white photos, looking sleek and urbane, living the cocktail party existence... OR black and white and funkadelic, cool in that hipster way I never did pull off (Yes, Kris, that's YOU!).

I wanna put a photo of me with piles of laundry, hair still as frizzy and UNstyled as ever, maybe throw Little O hanging off of one arm as I cry at Big O's report card.

What a horrifying thought--am I like the Roseanne of Facebook?

Mexican food is trying to kill me.

2009-01-01T16:52:00.000-08:00

Remember the habanero eye?

Now I have Posole Thumb.

At the Brother in law's last night, fishing in a pot that was, I kid you not, three feet tall, sitting on top of the stove, using a ladle that was about ten inches long. Terrified I was going to pull up a snout or a big hairy ear.

I'm scooping up hominy, and fire engine red broth, hominy and broth. Getting full, looking for a way to set the ladle down on my left without spilling the soup in my left hand. Turns out, I don't need to work about it, because the stupid styrofoam bowl folded in half, and scalding posole starts running steadily over my thumb, down my palm, and back into the pot. It's nice to be efficient. I kept thinking it was over, because the bowl would stabilize, but then it would cave in again.

I stand out at these family affairs no matter what, but I stood there torn, because while I really wanted to scream and just drop the bowl, my sister in law spent all frigging day cleaning her kitchen to a spotless--sterile--environment. That shit, in addition to never ever coming out of my clothes, would be all OVER her kitchen.

If I dropped the bowl into the soup, the soup was hot enough that I could envision it melting away before I got it back out, thereby ruining the SIL's pot of soup large enough to feed many third world countries, and the entire menu for her par-tay. So in the end, I very carefully poured the hominy back into the pot and ran cold water over my hand. Which felt delicious, until it occurred to me that I really couldn't stand at the sink all night. As soon as I stopped the water, my thumb was throbbing again. I am proud that I didn't cry, even when I went to the bathroom so I could run water over it some more in private. Today I have a lovely blister/callus that runs from the tip of my thumb to the first knuckle, covering about a quarter of the surface of the thumb. Under the thumbnail is kinda tender, too.

Last night was kind of a sucky throbbing thumb, but I did find someone to play Scrabble with at the other sister in law's house (where fucking posole was also served).

How was your New Year's Eve?

Aw, crap.

2008-12-31T02:01:00.000-08:00

My christmasy intentions were left in the dust. I wanted to post the "official" photo of Little O and Santa, but we still haven't picked it up. Quite frankly, I doubt ole Santa is going to look any LESS like he's been given a valium latte to keep him from running out the door screaming at the teeming hordes of children crawling over him.

Oh, did I forget to mention where this photo was taken? Only the happiest place on earth...Okay, the happiest place in Stockton...That's right! Hometown Buffet. I want to be tranked to go there. If Wal Mart SERVED food in an all you can eat manner, the people would be better behaved than 85% of the patrons at Hometown. My kids and my mother in law love it. Could you stab me in the eye with a fork as you clear my table? Thanks, that'd be great.

************************************

On a side note, my folks gave me slippers that are photo-sensitive and light up at the toes in the dark(like tiny headlights). I wore them home and we had to stop by the store for bread on the way. The crackhead in front of Smart foods about lost his MIND over my slippers.

I love my town.

Christmas Party 2008:

2008-12-23T22:26:00.000-08:00

Score! Two weeks pay, hopefully in time to pay PG&E so we can crank the heat guilt free this month!

I love our Uber boss, and his crazy Christmas party antics. I did not have to sing this year, OR (shudder) do the running man, like other people did!

Luv My O's

2008-12-19T02:57:00.000-08:00

And I love that they love each other.

Little O wasn't feeling good, and my MIL had jst discoverd a CD of Spanish Christmas Carols and had turned it up (in the middle of the new Muppet Christmas special!) Little O had tried valiantly to listen to her grandma's music, but my little one speaks no spanish, and was trying to be subtle about watching the muppets on the sly. I asked Big if he'd let her sit on his lap so they could both hear the muppets, and he opened his arms without complaint.

I think I'm getting old, because I got all teary eyed seeing them snuggled down on the chair. Maybe I'm just afraid they end up like Mrs. g's kids, distant and feuding in my old age. But it was a sweet moment and if you do not own a digital camera, go buy yourself one and throw it under the tree--Worth every penny.

Do Books (and Christmas Ornaments) scream?

2008-12-11T22:35:00.000-08:00

My heart, she hurt when I threw the ick covered box into the dumpster when we moved.

In large part it was very liberating to throw out a lot of useless shit that had accumulated in the course of ten years in this town. But what a mistake it was to ever put anything into that back shed, where, as it turned out, cretins and critters ruled.

Anything of any possible monetary value was stolen, so many times that I stopped putting locks on the door. We used a What Would Jesus Do bracelet to keep it closed, but the thugs never really got the irony. Eventually all that was left was the Christmas box from hell, waaay too much stuff from the house to ever be used in our tiny duplex, and heavier than cement shoes to try to move--so I never did. Shall we talk about the books? Oh my dear lord, my books. The thugs saw no value in my books, and again, just not a lot of space to store things, so they stayed in the shed.

When it came time to move, I couldn't even look at the Christmas things that had been chewed and, um, otherwise touched by mother nature. I had the Honey's best friend, Tim, just load it into a trip for the dump. If I had not used it or seen it in 5 years, would I really miss it? I do. I find myself hunting for decorations I loved, that are lost--was it in that box, or did I let the Ex have it? Dammit.

I could not bring myself to have Tim take the two boxes of books. I salvaged the fairy tales, but the box of books that smelled like cinnamon and sugar and sweet, sweet lasagna were doomed. They had been "visited" so thoroughly that I would never have brought them into my kitchen. So I sucked it up and tossed that box into the dumpster I had gotten for just such decisions.

Of course the fucking box burst open and all of my babies were exposed, staring at me as I abandoned them to larger critters and more destruction. I almost dove back in for my Cookwise, by Shirley Corriher. I mean literally, it had me hopped up on the edge, teetering, about to save at least ONE of my fortune in books, purchased with a discount I'll never have again. The guy pulling around the corner in his bass-thumping Honda snapped me out of it, and I hopped back down and walked away. Their tiny booky screams were only in my head. (right?)

I'm not so much a cook as I am a baker...Shirley is releasing Bakewise this year. I can hear it calling to me. Do I really envision spending money I could spend on Sci-Fi on a baking book, when I already own so many? Probably not. Probably. Not. I think.

Am I just getting old?

2008-12-11T02:32:00.000-08:00

My sense of humor has always been slightly off track from that of most people. It's another thing I owe to my father's black humor, I suspect.

So I think I know where they were going. I can just envision the meeting, possibly over some sort of alcoholic beverage, where someone tossed out the phrase and got a big laugh.

But in the hungover light of day, didja STILL think it was a clever and socially acceptable Christmas promo (to run for weeks) to be talking about giving presents from Santa's Swollen Sac(k)?

************************************

I know the Illinois Governor is a scandal of pretty epic proportions, but why is no one talking about This???

So we have a sleazy politician (gasp!) selling himself and his influence? Well I never...Oh, no wait, 80% of America already assumes that happens.

But the Department of Defense KNEW that Roadside IEDs were going to be an issue before we went, and even after we SENT kids over, did nothing to attain the basic things already available to keep them safe?
WHY IS NO ONE GOING TO JAIL FOR THIS SHIT?
This is directly responsible for lives lost, and we're all going to shrug like it's another $30,000 toilet seat? Those crazy kids in government...

On a related note, did anyone read the artcle in Rolling stone that in addition to his investment banking background that everyone mentioned, the guy Dubya put in charge of the Big Fat Bailout has worked for Dubya before... wait for it...

He was in charge of the independent contractors rebuilding the infrastructure in Iraq! And now he's overeeing $700 billion of your money! Hooray! Hey, maybe he could get Brownie a job...just to clinch the deal. Good job, Brownie.

(Um, I'd post a link to the RS story but while I am fighting insomnia here, I am waaaay too fucking lazy. I still get actual paper magazines sent to me, delivered by fossil fuel burning vehicles. I know, bad californian.)

I love reading the things GI Kate posts. They break my heart, but I just don't understand why more of this isn't in the headlines. (I stole the link to the DoD stuff from her.)

Weds Hero

2008-12-10T11:26:00.000-08:00

Spc. Jonnie L Stiles
38 years old from Highlands Ranch, Colorado
769th Engineer Battalion, Louisiana Army National Guard
November 13, 2008

Louisiana National Guard spokesman Maj. Michael Kazmierzak said Spc. Jonnie L. Stiles had been serving as a gunner on a Humvee doing route clearance when and IED detonated near his vehicle in Jalalabad, Afghanistan. He said the job typically involves checking roads for bombs and insurgents.

Stiles' wife, Launa, said that he was nearly killed last month when a suicide bomber blew up a military vehicle in front of his. She said he was still able to rescue three other soldiers and returned to duty before his 30-day recovery period was finished.

"He was strong and really cared for his men," she said.

Stiles was born in Bartlesville, Oklahoma, and graduated from Littleton High School in Colorado. He served in the military for 17 years, first joining the Marines and then switching to the Army in 1999. He served three years at Fort Carson, left the Army and then returned as a member of the Colorado Air National Guard in the Summer of 2007.

All Information Was Found On And Copied From MilitaryCity.com

These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives so that others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am proud to call them Hero.
We Should Not Only Mourn These Men And Women Who Died, We Should Also Thank God That Such People Lived

This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. For more information about Wednesday Hero, or if you would like to post it on your site, you can go here.

the prehistoric birds and petrified bees

2008-12-09T10:08:00.001-08:00

So I can blog now about the big event in Big O's life two weeks ago.

He asked a girl to the movies.

Ultimately, she said no, but this opened up a whole new world of issues I thought that I had a few years to prep for.

On Sunday I finally broached the subject with him, that maybe thirteen is a little young for a one on one date. Maybe a group thing would be more age appropriate. My punk-ass son smirked at me and said that times change, and maybe when (dinosaurs roamed the earth) I was a kid that was the case. He didn't actually use the dinosaur line, but it was all there in his smirk.

It's ON.

For his insolence he's getting the sex talk from his MOTHER. Are there photos on line of horrible venereal disease rotted penises (Penii?) somewhere online? Maybe I'll give him a box of condoms in his stocking. There were kids having sex in junior high twentymphmph years ago when I went. I am fully aware that it happens. But I can't think of a better eeww factor than having your mom talk about it. With pictures. (I think even I would have to draw the line at demonstrating how to put one on. Not yet. Not at thirteen.)

I am a dork, but it's genetic.

2008-12-08T23:27:00.000-08:00

I may have mentioned once or twice that I am a Daddy's girl. I adore my mother, too, but in my manic-spastic-creative frenzies, I am my father. I channel my mama-san when we get down to the nitty gritty, and I want it done right. My dad is the supreme idea guy. They both have big gnarly brains, a fact that I am eternally grateful for, but they channel their energies differently.

My love of all things cheesy and over the top?

My dad.

I am working on a project that may or may not pan out for Christmas. Trying to respect the poverty and still give gifts I think are neat--meh, so far it's a maybe. But it involves a lot of felt. Little O positively swooned when she saw all of the scraps I was setting aside.

After promising not to cut off her sable locks with her safety scissors, she was given the bag to rifle through and cut up to her heart's content.

These are the very first thing she came up with, and while I loved her family of eternally resilient paper goldfish, these are my new favorite thing in the world:

She made little felt fingers. The colors kinda make them look like zombie fingers, don't they, Gretty?

I am soooo putting these at the top of ribbons and giving my parents bookmarks for Christmas. Maybe we'll write "You are here" on the ribbon.

The Honey thinks I've gone insane. He doesn't get how beautiful and sooo very genetic these fingers are. I think I am raising my kid right. Ten kinds of awesome in a six year old's brain.

Love my O's.

Facebook Photos!

2008-12-08T19:17:00.001-08:00

Oh, my stars. The scandal of posting old high school photos on Facebook.

Luckily I only had three friends that I hung out with, so I have photos of other people, they do not, thank you tiny baby jeebus, have photos of me in full Duran Duran mode. Again, thank you tiny baby jeebus.

See? In the long run it pays to be socially retarded in high school...

Of Legalities and Please and Thank You.

2008-12-03T14:19:00.001-08:00

I was the mellow kid in my family.

My brother was the emotional one. Not a see-saw kind of emotional, but he felt things more strongly, the things he cared about, he cared passionately about. I didn't get ANGRY.

I don't think I knew what true anger was until I discovered the true rat finkery of my ex. As all of my illusions of happily ever after crumbled like blue cheese (stinking just as badly, might I add), I was well and truly--magnificently--pissed off.

Since then I get angry much faster. But I get angry when I am MAD or overtired/stressed. What I don't do is get mad over the little things, or things I can't change, or even on a daily basis. When I get mad, I'm NOT nice. I admit it.

In everyday life, though, I am nice. To strangers, to my kids, to my Honey and his family. It's a better way to live. It's a NICER way to live. I can't sustain the kind of anger it takes to get mad at every little thing. It would ruin my day, drain me emotionally and leave me miserable and mean. I would be something out of Tolkien, craven and blackened and lurking away from the light. In the endless email memes that go around, when they ask you what color your aura is, I always answer that I picture it spring green like a granny smith apple-tart and sweet and juicy. I have no idea what new agey color it's supposed to be, it's just a happy color and it's how I picture it.

The Honey makes jokes that I'll leave him because he's broke, or brown, or unemployed. Last night he was being pissy, and I wanted to tell him that if I ever leave him, it will be because he refuses to speak nicely. That one thing affects the quality of our lives much more than money or employment. His contention is that it's the difference between speaking Spanish and speaking English. I say bullshit. His sisters don't speak to their husbands like that.

Mind you, I love this man waaaaay more than he thinks. He thinks my reluctance to marry him is based upon the fact that I don't love him, I'm just stuck with him. I'm crazy about the fool, but my condition for marrying him is that we go to counseling. That's it. Okay, that's not it, I want to go to counseling but I want him to find the counselor, so he can't later say that I chose one who was biased. He needs some serious communication skills. I want him to say things nicely. I casually told someone at work that if Little O brings home a boy that speaks to her the way the Honey speaks to me, you would never find that boy's body. It occurred to me that I'm training her to look for exactly that boy. That was during the great Valentine debacle, and since that realization, I take much less shit from him, for my kids and for myself. His tangles with Big O? Are more over the fact that he SOUNDS pissed off and on the edge, even when he's not, so Big O goes on the defensive, and here we go again... Every time the TV cuts out (Oh, digital, you moody bitch), he curses and rails like it's going to help. Which sets my teeth on edge and makes me not want to watch TV with him, which hurts his feelings.

I also want to go to counseling so I can make him understand that I have no hesitation in tying myself to him for the rest of our lives--as far as I'm concerned, that knot is already tied. When I love you, it's a done deal. There is no internet boyfriend, there is no flirtation with the UPS Man, I have everything I want. Here's the hard hearted realist in me, though: Marrying him in a legal sense means assuming his debts. I have a friend whose deceased ex's tax bills came back to haunt her NEW husband. IF (given his health issues) I have to face life without him as my partner, I can't also face single parenthood saddled with crippling debt. I will convert to Catholicism and marry him in the Church, but let's not make it legal. Speaking as someone who has gone down the divorce highway, making it legal doesn't make it permanent. The two of us being committed to each other and ONLY each other--that's what makes us forever. I'm all in. I just want to spend my days with please and thank you.

My man is a Rock Star.

2008-11-25T13:40:00.000-08:00

So the girlfriend whose house we were going to this weekend? Also happens to be my former sister-in-law.

The Honey went with me with gritted teeth, bracing himself for cold stares and colder shoulders.

The patriarch of that family would never stand for such a thing, even at ninety-one, but the Honey didn't know that.

Let me tell you, NO ONE in the Honey's family gets a divorce OR remarries.

The Ex's family is the very definition of the blended family. A second spouse is not anything new, but I was the only Ex who showed up at the party...:)

So my man gets beaucoup points for sucking it up and risking complete and utter alienation so I could meet the nephew's new wife and squeeze both of my boys before they head back to the war zone.

The Ex's family gets beaucoup points for being as gracious and warm as ever.

The new Bride got to see her new family in action, and took it well, in spite of their overwhelming numbers.

It was a good weekend.

And my man was a rock star.

Jennfactor 3.2

2008-11-22T08:37:00.000-08:00

So we're travelling to a girlfriend's house today to meet her new daughter in law, and kiss her children before they head back to Iraq. (She has two sons and now a daughter in law in the military, and a daughter still at home. They managed to co-ordinate their leaves, so everyone is home at once!) She also has a daybed for Little O that we can have, if we can haul it. No Problem! I'll just zip up to my Brother's house and borrow his beast!

Oh, my friends, the Honey is LOVING the beast. It's a gigantic (remember, I'm a Honda girl, and the Honey is devoted to his ancient Acura) Ford F350 --complete with running lights and sideboards. It's also diesel, I had forgotten. It's like driving an RV. A noisy RV. Sadly, an RV that cannot take advantage of my thirty cent discount on gas at Safeway that I had been saving up. CRAP.

So last night after work we cleaned and tidied my car, and I asked the Honey if I should use the spare Honda key, because while it only has one key on the ring, it has a pretty large photo keychain that a guy would not want to stick in his pocket. The Honey says just give him your regular keys.

Side note: I'm not one of those people with fifteen keychains, are you? I had a friend that prided herself on the # of keychains she had, but it seemed a little high school for a grown assed woman. Maybe it's just me.

So I take one last look around my car to make sure I got the Honey's glasses, and HIS keys are gone, so I said--you've got the keys? He nods and smiles to me over by the truck (which is running), as my brother shows him all of his toys.

An hour later we pull into the driveway, home again and totally psyched for our journey south the next day. I smile at him and he smiles at me, and we're just pretty happy. Sitting there. Okay, enough of this, I have to pee.

"Gimme your keys, baby"

"You have them."

"I do? did you put them in my purse?"

Yeah, no.

**************************************

We think they are on the counter at my brother's house. But our sweet elderly landlady lives next door and while it is eleven at night, it's got to be done, so we call her, and yay! she has the spare keys.

Except the one to the big old security door does not work. So the Honey shimmies over the fence to unlock the back door, and the freaking doorknob comes off in his hand. Unreal.

He eventually found a way in, and all was well, except that we still have no house keys-- or a back door knob. Locking yourself out with any hope of getting in in a normal fashion being an hour away? Jennfactor 3.2

(Locking yourself out of anything is a 2, add a full point for the distance from the actual keys, and two tenths of point for the doorknob. I think we were eligible for an extra tenth because the spare key didn't work, but we would definitely have bumped it to a four if I had actually peed my pants.)

ARGH!!!

2008-11-21T07:03:00.000-08:00

I love Life on Mars. Have you seen it?

Well don't look for it anytime soon, because it's gone until FRICKaFRACKIN FEBRUARY!!!!!

I truly enjoy this show, which is almost a death sentence for network television. I am the curse of good shows everywhere. (I have this unfortunate ability at Bath Body Works, too. If I like it, it's gone out of production within months.)

I want to Netflix the British version now, just in case.

sob!

OOh, James

2008-11-15T09:32:00.000-08:00

I am a much bigger dork than most of co-workers. I relish this fact. When I saw the release date of the new Bond movie, I told the Honey we were going for my birthday (He's really not a movie theatre guy, but loves movies, it's weird).

Last night my co-workers met me for drinks and mexican food, and then bailed out before the movie.

I'm not spoiling things, I'll just say we really enjoyed it. Here is my grumble:

At the end of the last movie and the beginning of this one, it felt like a giant game of mousetrap with the stunts. I know it's Bond, but a few gadgets in place of one or two steps in the stunt sequence would have fixed this for me, I think. I miss Q. 'Cause I'm a dork that way.

Um, but I still think Roger Moore should shut his pie hole. Moore was the Bond I was raised with, but he would have screamed like a girl at the things Daniel Craig does. I love Craig as Bond. I think he's a much more likely assassin/spy than any Bond since Connery.

***************************

On.My.MorganFreeman.

One more thing to add--the haircut on the villain's second in command? Was he a failed monk? The latin version of dumb and dumber? The necklaces were really bad, too.

That is all.

Mmmmmm...books

2008-11-14T07:09:00.001-08:00

Who was I kidding? This was never going to be the year I dove into NaNoWriMo. Facebook scrabble keeps me from blogging, let alone devoting hours each night to typing. Are we sure we couldn't move it to January? Seriously, I've got NOTHING in January.

The true death knell of my NaNoWriMo delusion, though, was a fabulous bag of hand me down books from SQT at the Fantasy and Sci-Fi Lovin' Blog.

The first one I dove into was this:

I reallly enjoyed the premise of the book, that aliens have come to earth but want an agent to make them palatable to the human race. It's a clever book and I would have sold the bejeebus out of it, were I still selling books instead of trash. My only complaint, and I'm not even sure that it IS a complaint, was that the cussing seemed a little over the top sometimes. That's a funny statement coming from me, because away from my kids I have the mouth of a gutter rat, but at times it seemed a little forced or over the top. I think what I was reading is an advanced copy, so maybe an editor got out a red pencil and cut out a few...I can't pinpoint why they caught me, because if ever there were an occasion for a high stress vocabulary, meeting a sentient sewer scented jello shooter would do it, but it got to the point that it pulled me out of the story for a minute. I dunno, The book was phenomenal and I can't wait for the next one out of the bag...

Happity Birthday to Meeeeeeeeeeee.

2008-11-12T21:18:00.000-08:00

The origins of the Jen Factor Explained...

Random madness...

2008-11-06T20:52:00.000-08:00

I was wandering through Safeway, and I thought I'd make the Honey a little chocolate pick me up.

I don't think I offended him, but I certainly startled the man in the baking aisle when I shrieked "Are you FUCKING kidding me?"

Okay, I didn't exactly shriek it, but I hadn't meant to say it out loud.

I'm all about adding a little goodness into my family's ready to make treats. I read my labels and make my choices based upon the best options I'm willing to cook.

But a TEN dollar brownie mix?

That thing had better massage my colon and buff and shine my lower GI like one of those riding floor polishers you see in high rise lobbies after hours. You know what? You STILL better throw in a coupon, beeyotch. Haven't you heard there's a recession?

**************************************

On a separate, glorious note, Little O consumes books like candy.

I am so tickled. One of the sets we ordered from Scholastic was Skippyjon Jones. He's a siamese cat who thinks he's a chihuahua superhero named El Skippito Bandito. Totally cute. Until Little O is reading (excellently and with different voices!!!) to her father, and she says "you are keeling me!"

The Honey casually pulls the book away from her to take a closer look, and yep. It's typed as keeling. My man who doesn't have a politically correct bone in his body (really, I've seen the x-rays), suddenly has a bug up his butt about Skippyjon Jones and his accent.

I think it's hilarious--the bug, not the accent.

Wednesday Hero

2008-11-05T09:07:00.000-08:00

Cpt. Gussie M. Jones
41 years old from Raleigh, Arkansas
31st Combat Support Hospital
March 07, 2004

Cpt. Gussie Jones was born in Arkansas and was one of eight children. She began her Army career by enlisting in 1988 as a personnel clerk and climbed to the rank of a sergeant.

In 1986, Jones earned a bachelor’s degree in business administration from Arkansas Central University. She was selected to attend the Army Enlisted Commissioning Program and earned her second bachelor’s degree from Syracuse University in 1998. It was in nursing.

Her career as a registered nurse and a commissioned officer began in September 1998 at Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio. In 2002, after completing a course in critical-care nursing, she was assigned to Beaumont Army Medical Center, where she became a mentor.

"She was a very dedicated person and was always smiling, said a co-worker and friend, Capt. Susan Gilbert. If anyone asked her to do something, she would do it. And she was very kind and gentle and patient with the patients."

Cpt. Jones died of a heart attack while on duty in Baghdad, Iraq. During her 15 years of military services, Jones received a Joint Service Commendation medal, four Army Commendation medals and three Army Achievement medals.

"She was so much a part of their team, and so her death must really affect their morale," Gilbert said. "I'm very worried about the other soldiers because they've lost their battle buddy."

All Information Was Found On And Copied From MilitaryCity.com

These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives so that others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am proud to call them Hero.
We Should Not Only Mourn These Men And Women Who Died, We Should Also Thank God That Such People Lived

This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. For more information about Wednesday Hero, or if you would like to post it on your site, you can go here.

I've been cheating on you.

2008-11-04T13:38:00.001-08:00

It's that damned Facebook.

Facebook is frustrating to me, coming from blogging, because I like to write and read STORIES, not buttons.

Honestly? I'll pretty up my blog before I spend any more time hunting down funny flair, or throwing food or pumpkins or cats, or growing a farm--jeeze, I'd kill my cyber plants just like the real ones. But now the people I've friended on Facebook are people I like and I don't want to spoil their fun, and some of the applications are damned funny, but... but... I'm up to 178 unanswered requests for things in one form or another.

I feel bad for ignoring their pleas for green things, or pirate battles, or good karma (is that one going to bite me on the ass, or WHAT?), but sheesh!

However, Facebook has something Blogspot and Wordpress and Xanga don't.

Oh, Dawg help me, Facebook has Scrabble.

I would have forty two games going at once, if I knew forty two people on Facebook.

It's better than crack! It's vocabu-crack.

I conned my dad into NaNoWriMo, but I abandoned it because I'd rather play Scrabble. Okay, and I had no plot or time--now that the Honey's off work is NOT the time to spend long hours writing when I'm finally home--it would not end well!

So it's not you, it's me. I am a weak woman. I cannot resist the tiles. I am jonesin' for the triple word score, baby.

So How was your Halloween?

2008-11-02T16:50:00.000-08:00

My Little Gypsy Fortune Teller...

We had a functioning crystal ball and the prettiest Rom Princess ev-ah!

And here we are, me in her giant butterfly wings, because I sweated BLOOD making those for her two years ago and the wretched child would not wear them. SOMEONE was going to wear the damned things.

We went to a Halloween Party later that night, and I felt like a nun. Every.single.female. had gone for the skirt up to here and top down to there. Sigh. The honey wore Little O's grass skirt and a hawaiian polo:

sigh.

2008-10-31T10:01:00.001-07:00

So I wore Little O's butterfly wings to work today, and tried to make myself a little black nose.

Friends, I look like a frostbite victim.

sigh.

Oh, and the Honey got laid off.

Bob Zamora is a cheap and evil man. That's right, I said it. He should take lessons from Harveys on how to treat employees. If only the Harveys were in our area. I realize this means nothing to you all, but it makes me feel better to have typed it, and that's what blogging is all about, right? Free therapy.

We're alive!

2008-10-30T07:34:00.000-07:00

While at the tiny hole in the wall toy store/joke shop/dust bin on teh eastside of town, I jokingly asked Little O if we should put some flies on the cake around the frog (Because you KNOW they were selling fake flies at the shop) and instead of squealing in horror, She was all for it. I was very proud. So we bought three plastic flies for a quarter, but I forgot to put them on the cake. As we were putting the candles on it, Little O kept asking me why there weren't any flies on her cake, but we were at the park, and had been shooing flies all day--I kept thinking what an odd question--be grateful, kid!! I may yet raise a dorky girl. She'll be pretty, and she'll be smart, but maybe if I play my cards right, she'll be a big dork, too.

Family night--Yay! Boo.

2008-10-25T08:29:00.000-07:00

Last night we went to see this movie at the Fox theatre downtown--yay!

It cost almost as much as a regular movie--boo.

We went inside to discover complimentary tiny cups of soda, and free cookies--yay!

Took our treasures up the stairs to the balcony and were told no food or drinks--boo.

Plenty of seating in spite of our close to the last minute arrival--yay!

Organ music concert at the beginning not doing much for my six year old--boo.

Big O laughing out loud at the Abbot & Costello impersonators--yay!

Little O laughing at the same impersonators--oooh!

Cartoon AND a fifties dance movie before the main event--yay!

Little O whining about when Franklin Stein will be on--boo.

Gah, I can't keep up this format, my attention span just isn't there for this kind of thing. The movie was a lot of fun, and Little O thought the theatre was beautiful and delicious. Both of my O's enjoyed the movie, although Little O had a few scary moments with Drac, Franklin, and the Wolfman. I thought she was a little more ready, but she got over it pretty quick, and maybe that's part of the fun when you're little? No place you'd rather be when seeing those fellows for the first time than snuggled up to your daddy, or sitting on your momma's lap. She was even worried for Franklin at one point, and we covered her eyes when they torched him at the end.

(Cracks me up that there is a Transylvanian castle on an island off the Florida coast.)

A couple of years ago in one of my birthday madness fits, when Big O was still in Karate and wanted to invite EVERYONE, I looked into renting the theatre across the street, picturing a three stooges night in my head. They wanted a hell of a lot more than I had envisioned, so that went down in flames, but I think there is a lot of charm and fun in those old classics (but definitely not PC!!), and they would be a fun theme for a kids party.

In Redding, the Shakey's Pizza (Or was it Straw Hat?) in Cypress square would have those old B&W movies running all the time. *cough cough* That was, ahem, before the days of VCR's when anything could be watched at will. It was always a treat.

Good times then, and good times now. Worth every penny to go out as a family and have everyone laugh at the same bad jokes.

I dislike the drama.*

2008-10-23T23:07:00.000-07:00

You know what? I could care less about Sarah Palin's wardrobe.

Gimme a break. As if the Republican National Party was going to send that money to orphans in Africa, or even to build houses in New Orleans. If they had NOT bought her the clothes befitting a concubine she-devil of the third Bush regime* (they hope), it would have been slipped into the coffers of some other Republican hopeful. Why is this news?

By the same token, on a local note, the city council of Sacramento was just outed for their scandalous discretionary funds--They get $50k apiece to spend as they see fit. The TV reporter said one of them even spent 250.00 on a CRAB FEED. Um, yep. When they showed the report on TV, it said they had given 250.00 as a sponsor of a charity crab feed.

As a retail manager, I got hit up A LOT to sponsor things. My little failing store was asked for a ten THOUSAND dollar sponsorship for the Asparagus Festival. Donations and sponsorships are part of community involvement, and I think that's exactly what those discretionary funds are for. Is fifty grand apiece appropriate in these times? Hell, no--but just make the announcement that the council has been told they will get five grand a piece until the police and fire departments are fully staffed again. Don't act like your news crew caught them spending the taxpayer's money on midget porn and new swimming pools at the homestead.

*I dislike drama, but I looove some good old fashioned Hyperbole. (did I use that right?)

Green eyed Monster

2008-10-23T00:06:00.000-07:00

For Little O's birthday dinner, we took her out with all of her local favorite people.

Our 85 year old French Polish landlady was invited, as was Little O's favorite Auntie and the Honey's mom.

Mama Dina was lovely as ever, but, I think, a little piqued that Elderly Landlady ruled the conversation.

But here's the thing.

Mrs. G speaks English.

Speaks it through a French filter, granted, but it's still something Little O understands, and poor Mama Dina was frustrated beyond words to watch Little O chatter at Mrs. G. She WANTS that connection with Little O. She was decidedly unhappy to see that Mrs. G has it. Little O is the only grandchild to not understand her spanish speaking Grandma. She adores Dina, but can't have a two minute conversation with her that doesn't involve reciting a prayer or some kind of miming.

I think this breaks my heart. The Honey only curses in spanish at our house, though. I can't teach her what she needs to know, and he didn't see the importance when she was small.

I'm also saddened that MY mom is three hours away and has to hear about Little O spending so much time with ther other grandmother. I want my daughter to have that tangible bond to MY mom, and memories of MY parents. GAH.

It made me unhappy to see Dina unhappy. But Mrs G was over the moon to have been included and it felt very right to bring her with us.

(Side story: Mrs G told the server that in Europe they would have RRRrroom in their coffee. Could she have some RRRrrroom in her coffee? That poor girl's face was the very definiton of nonplussed. She turned to me for clarification, and I said, could you pour a little rum in her coffee? The girl laughed and said she guessed her grandpa always used to put a little brandy in his, and Mrs G said that brandy would be just wonderful. So the little girl brought Mrs G a coffee that had to be 50/50. I could smell it from across the table, and Mrs G's eyes almost crossed. We got her another coffee to tone it down, but she seemed to enjoy it. She also ordered her spaghetti with "two big balls." I was waiting for Little O to give us the wipeout line, but she didn't catch it. I love English as a third language. Of course, my Spanish as a second language was kind of comical, too. Dina wanted to know what Mrs G was ordering, and I didn't have anyone to translate for me, so all I could come up with was "huevos de carne"--wrong balls, Jennifer. sheesh.)

Seis--Happy Birthday, Little O

2008-10-22T05:56:00.000-07:00

How can she be six?

tee hee

2008-10-20T23:45:00.000-07:00

Even if I were voting WITH them, this would have made me laugh.

A stunningly fabulous weekend.

2008-10-19T23:00:00.000-07:00

I had the best weekend and it was brought to me by the most unlikely source.

One of the Honey's brothers.

Specifically his oldest brother, who has had a tendency to bring up every misdeed the Honey ever committed, and endlessly contends that the Honey broke his father's heart. The Honey feels that he did everything possible for his dad, including being the one to find him collapsed of a heart attack, and so those conversations tend to go downhill rapidly. I try to steer clear of it all--my family doesn't DO drama.

This Brother in law, however, sank into the bubbling, oozing tar pits of my esteem when he marched my year old daughter to me in the middle of a family party as if she smelled, and told me that his mother was OFF work and I could watch my own kid. As if I could pry my daughter away from his mom with a crowbar. As if it was my idea to use his mom as daycare in the first place. prick.

So you can imagine how thrilled I was when I got the call from the Honey on Saturday that we had spaced the party for this BIL's only child, and I'd better hustle to be there by 2--without him. Really? A root canal, no anesthesia, but a camera so I can see what they're doing? That'd be swell!

Packed up my O's and stopped at the store for a funny card, and stuffed some cash in it--who are we kidding, like I'd know what a bona-fide you tube star (don't ask) would want, or as if I would open myself up to BIL's scorn for choosing the wrong gift. Not gonna go there.

But lo, we walked into bizarre-o world. The niece tolerated Big O (those quince practices really helped) and so did her hip/thuggy friends. They were dancing in the garage with a black light all night. When it came time to go, at about ten, Big O actually begged to stay. I was beat and loaded him into the car, but..but he's NEVER asked to stay at ANY family party. He's never asked me to go to a party. When favorite SIL offered to drop him off later, I caved so fast it was embarrassing.

After we left, the cops showed up about twelve to talk about the noise. One of the kids opened up the garage door and they all stared at the cops for a minute and then bolted into the back yard. The cops thought it was hilarious, because true Stockton thugs:
A) would not have had sixteen grandmas and forty-two Mexican aunties wandering thru the garage to keep everyone suitably spaced and decently covered--school dances are not as well chaperoned.
b) would still freeze momentarily, then would have stared down the cops, if not making outright statements about sizzling pork.

But Big O gets to go to school on Monday and talk about the black light, the computerized music he got to help with, the live older girls, and oh, yeah, then the cops broke it up. No, man, my mom wasn't there.
It's a thirteen year old's dream come true.

So I had a little more love for the BIL this morning when the Honey said we were headed over there for brunch. I don't have to cook? hells, yes. We're there.

I warned Little O that all of the little kids she had played with the night before would be gone, so we packed some toys for a bored kindergartner. BIL was way ahead of me, and totally had me beat.

I don't think he expected it to get the kind of reception it did, but he had found something in the Niece's things that he thought Little O would use in years to come:

Oh.My.Dawg. Little O pored over it all day. We talked about alphabetical order, and looked up everything she could think of, We went thru the maps in the back, she started working on her ASL, REALLY wanted the pictures of the Braille alphabet to be raised. All day, she soaked it up. I think he was equally amazed, but BIL found the perfect thing for my girl.

He's out of the tar pits. Both of my O's had a fabulous weekend, and I owe it all to him.

It's done.

2008-10-15T23:29:00.000-07:00

I can't deny it any longer.

That smirky smile and the litany of wrong answers--WRONG.ANSWERS.

I tried. I liked the maverick concept, but it was just an uncanny ability to blow smoke rings--right up the hind end of America. He just doesn't seem to get it.

Before I was mildly apathetic, benignly on the fence.

Now I am just scared. People on TV thought he WON that.

Seriously? Were they watching something else?

This is how Dubya got re-elected.

Remember these guys?

Shave off one of those beards an you might recognize that smirk.

Going slightly off topic?

Who picked McCain's suit? It looked awful. When the newscasters look better dressed than the republican candidate, someone on staff is getting FIRED.

Okay, back on track?

You know what you rich, out of touch motherfucker? Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth of ANYTHING DOES make Joe the Plumber rich to most of America. I don't have eight houses. I don't even have one. I rent. Why? because I am one of the working poor. One of the people you deem unworthy of a tax break. I don't care if you're born into a priveledged family. Lots of people are, and still recognize how the rest of us live.

"Congratulations, You're RICH." smirk smirk.

Yes, Mr. McCain, he IS. That's why you are not my candidate.

************************************

Gahhh--and also the quotations around health. People have stretched the concept of "health" of the mother? Guess what else it means--HEALTH of the mother, you twit!

Gretty Luv

2008-10-14T23:15:00.000-07:00

I've been geting lots of Gretty love in my comments.

I keep seeing things that make me think of you, Gretty, so let me return the love!

First up, we have a Choose your own adventure movie, Zombie Style!!!

The other thing is a link to keep a girl and her dog together.

Hope you get some rest!

Ugh.

2008-10-13T18:26:00.001-07:00

Glad I worked today.

Sob!

2008-10-12T23:05:00.000-07:00

Forget AIG, save Mother's Cookies!!!!

(Okay, I bought the Halloween ones for the kids a couple of weeks ago and almost blogged about the wierd sensation of growing up, because they seemed greasy to me for the first time in my life. The bag is still on top of the fridge...)

Oh, the joy of seeing that striped bag in the basket (Yay!) and then finding out mom had bought the mixed bag (Boo!). Trying to beat your brother to the bag so there would be one or two pink and white frosted tigers or elephants, or--hell, who could tell what they were supposed to be, but oh, they were the ultimate treasure. Once you got down to the bottom of the bag, and found that one last broken bit, long after all the whole animals were gone? Score!

I'll bet no Mother's Cookies employees went on a four hundred thousand dollar spa week...

Birthday Madness

2008-10-12T14:57:00.000-07:00

So This Year Little O wants a princess party. But all of her daddy's friends have boys. So how do we make it unisex?

It's a Frog Prince party!

Little O has managed to learn all the words to "I Kissed a Girl" in spite of the fact that we do not have MTV, and the radio stations I listen to play things with more of a guitar theme. The ONE song she figures out all of the word correctly to has to be the one with lyrics I don't want to hear from my not quite six-year old?
(In answer to your question, no, it's not latent homophobia, it's my daughter singing sexual lyrics she doesn't understand just as she learns to shake her butt while she dances)

So we're changing the lyrics for her party"

I kissed a frog, and I liked it,
Hope dad (the king) don't mind it,
I kissed a frog and I liked it,
he went poof and became a prince...

Yeah, it's not perfect, but Little O is loving it.

random nonsense.

2008-10-08T23:00:00.000-07:00

Entertainment Tonight came on, and Man, Howard Stern looked like a Skeksis*. It was disturbing.
************************************************
Speaking of disturbing, I think Little O is getting a book of bible stories for Christmas. At a baptism last weekend, she was getting creeped out by the forty foot high crucifix. My SDA-raised brain is always a little creeped out by Catholic Statuary (see childhood nightmares), but she really needs some backstory on that one!

Okay, and the other night at dinner I was asking why none of the nuns my nieces dealt with had the great names like Sister Immaculata or anything, why were they plain old Sister Irene and Sister Mabel?

The Honey started teasing me, asking why I was only asking the Mexicans, and I told him because they were Catholic! Favorite Smart-assed niece chimes in, saying she may be Jewish, after all, and Little O pipes up from next to me,

"I'm a poodle!"

It was a show stopper, I'm telling you.

I may not ever be Catholic, but my girl is getting a little religion in her stocking this year.

A poodle...sheesh.

Can I teach her to say Pastafarian?

*For those of you who did not watch the Dark Crystal on an endless loop, This is a skeksis:

So wrong.

2008-10-07T18:30:00.000-07:00

I think I could not be Junice for Halloween without getting fired. But Oh, I want to be her for Halloween...

Shut Up! Now it won't play? I think this is the link, then. Bastards.

http://www.hulu.com/watch/37752/saturday-night-live-the-lawrence-welk-show

What would you do?

2008-10-06T13:37:00.000-07:00

Okay, a preface: When my Grandma passed away, at her funeral, we somehow came to the conclusion that the fly that was buzzing around was her, still around.

Do we avoid swatting flies now?

No, but we apologize to Grandma as we squash her.

*******************

In going through the family photos, we found papers. There were receipts from the grocery store in the twenties, the canceled checks that my grandfather wrote to pay for the birth of my uncle, and just random stuff.

I read the very sweet note my Grandpa Ernie sent to my Grandma when they were courting. Grandpa Ernie was my Grandma's second husband, but he was the only Grandpa I ever knew on that side, and I would never use the word step- in reference to him. He was my Grandpa.

As I tucked the note back into it's envelope, smiling, I told my mother that a swarm of flies was about to descend, because I didn't envision Grandma thrilled to have her letter read by anyone else.

My mom laughed and told me that she had said much the same thing when SHE had read the note, and that her brother AND her son had been horrified that she had read Grandma's letter. She said that my sister-in-law looked like she was dying to read it, but didn't, faced with the frowns from my brother and uncle.

I was honestly taken aback. Isn't that why we keep things?

My grandmother has passed, and the only way I have to get to know her better now is through my mom's stories and the things she left behind.

Is it the difference between men and women? Is there such thing as privacy for your ancestors? Her history is my own, and I loved delving into it.

I dunno, what do you think? Did I invade her privacy?

Happy Birthday, Carolee

2008-10-04T16:44:00.000-07:00

Big O's grandmother died a horrible death from breast cancer.

When people wear pink ribbons? It's because some beautiful brown eyed boy has one less source of unconditional love to draw on as needed. Buy the stamps. Lick the yogurt lids. Because the next blue/brown/green eyed kid to lose might be yours.

I love pictures!

2008-10-02T11:07:00.000-07:00

My mission this visit was to help my mom sort through phtots so we could scan some in--we sent the bitchin' ones from the turn of the century to be restored, but I thought I'd share this one. It's my maternal grandfather with his little brother and his parents, we guestimate it was taken about 1927-29.

Woot! Woot!

2008-09-27T09:06:00.001-07:00

On the Vay-Cay!

Darwin IS dead. That's why.

2008-09-26T10:37:00.000-07:00

This was sent to me via email, but is worth posting:

Nurse's Point of View on Evacuation Shelters during Gustav

Personal insight to hurricane evacuation centers

Wednesday, September 10 2008

Sherri Hagerhjelm, RN, volunteered her time to help Gustav evacuees at the shelter in Shreveport , La. During her volunteer hours she was required to be escorted by a National Guardsmen armed with an assault rifle to ensure her safety. In a letter to the editor of a south Louisiana newspaper, Hagerhjelm offers a unique perspective on evacuation centers:

Dear Editor,

I am a nurse who has just completed volunteer working approximately 120 hours as the clinic director in a Hurricane Gustav evacuation shelter in Shreveport , Louisiana over the last 7 days. I would love to see someone look at the evacuee situation from a new perspective. Local and national news channels have covered the evacuation and "horrible" conditions the evacuees had to endure during Hurricane Gustav.

True - some things were not optimal for the evacuation and the shelters need some modification.

At any point, does anyone address the responsibility (or irresponsibility) of the evacuees?

Does it seem wrong that one would remember their cell phone, charger, cigarettes and lighter but forget their child's insulin?

Is something amiss when an evacuee gets off the bus, walks immediately to the medical area, and requests immediate free refills on all medicines for which they cannot provide a prescription or current bottle (most of which are narcotics)?

Isn't the system flawed when an evacuee says they cannot afford a $3 copay for a refill that will be delivered to them in the shelter yet they can take a city-provided bus to Wal-mart, buy 5 bottles of Vodka, and return to consume them secretly in the shelter?

Is it fair to stop performing luggage checks on incoming evacuees so as not to delay the registration process but endanger the volunteer staff and other persons with the very realistic truth of drugs, alcohol and weapons being brought into the shelter?

Am I less than compassionate when it frustrates me to scrub emesis from the floor near a nauseated child while his mother lies nearby, watching me work 26 hours straight, not even raising her head from the pillow to comfort her own son?

Why does it incense me to hear a man say "I ain't goin' home 'til I get my FEMA check" when I would love to just go home and see my daughters who I have only seen 3 times this week?

Is the system flawed when the privately insured patient must find a way to get to the pharmacy, fill his prescription and pay his copay while the FEMA declaration allows the uninsured person to acquire free medications under the disaster rules?

Does it seem odd that the nurse volunteering at the shelter is paying for childcare while the evacuee sits on a cot during the day as the shelter provides a "daycare"?

Have government entitlements created this mentality and am I facilitating it with my work?

Will I be a bad person, merciless nurse or poor Christian if I hesitate to work at the next shelter because I have worked for 7 days being called every curse word imaginable, feeling threatened and fearing for my personal safety in the shelter?

Exhausted and battered,

Sherri Hagerhjelm, RN

Here we go again

2008-09-25T22:19:00.000-07:00

out of my ass...

So This guy is a social worker and he's suing the county he works for.

I am all about religious freedom.

BUT.

I grew up in a family that served. My parents were nurses. In a field where you care for people, you don't always get to choose your hours. People don't need you until five o'clock or until sundown and then just freeze until you are able to get back to work.

IF it turns out they asked him to stay late on Friday or come in on Saturday for team building exercises? Then yeah, I'd complain. I understand the importance of the Sabbath but you chose to be in a service profession.

Fully acknowledging that the sum total of what I know is exactly what is printed in that link and nothing more, um, I think he's in the wrong line of work. There are ways to help people, help children, that don't require you to have flexible hours. I don't think social work is one of them.

Compounding that is the fact that he's suing them for not reprimanding co-workers based upon things OTHER people heard. That would open the county up to lawsuits on the other end, wouldn't it?

Do I doubt that the remarks were made? Not really--Ass hats are everywhere. IS anti semitism still a problem in the world today? Yes, I honestly believe that it is--and that sucks, but THIS lawsuit seems flimsy to my untrained eyeballs, and the combination of the two makes him seem ...unseemly.

we interrupt this blogging interruption

2008-09-23T13:39:00.000-07:00

for a slight kvetch.

Wouldn't Maya's ability, if it's all tied in to Adrenaline, be manifesting when Mohinder (oooooh, Mo-HINder! yes I am a twelve year old) goes all primal man on her?

I realize she's not scared, but...um...her adrenaline was definitely surging. ahem.

We now return to your regularly scheduled blogging silence.

Because honest to Dawg, I got nothin.

Blog? What Blog?

2008-09-23T07:31:00.000-07:00

OOOOOHHH.

Sorry about that.

No time for a post right now, but can I thank Bill Gates for no longer shaking his ass while Jerry Seinfeld watches?

I find the new ads a huge improvement.

2008-09-17T07:09:00.000-07:00

L/Cpl. Jason Hanson
21 years old from Forks, Washington
3rd Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion, 1st Marine Division, I Marine Expeditionary Force
July 29, 2006

L/Cpl. Jason Hanson died when a gasoline truck near a building he was in exploded, causing the building to collapse in Al Anbar province, Iraq. Three other Marines were also killed in the blast. Lance Cpl. Anthony E. Butterfield, 19 yrs. old, of Clovis, California; Cpl. Phillip E. Baucus, 28 yrs. old, of Wolf Creek, Montana; Sgt. Christian B. Williams, 27 yrs. old, of Winter Haven, Florida.

Hanson graduated in 2003 and joined the Marines in 2005. He married his wife just before shipping out.

These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives so that others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am proud to call them Hero.
We Should Not Only Mourn These Men And Women Who Died, We Should Also Thank God That Such People Lived

This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. For more information about Wednesday Hero, or if you would like to post it on your site, you can go here.

Like hey, Forks Washington is everywhere these days thanks to Twilight. Anyone talking about young men still giving their lives? Anyone? Where are THIS BOY'S Facebook Flair buttons?

Their names should be read before every Miley Cyrus concert, Every Fashion week show, every single event where people are gathered, until this nation can actually remember and honor those soldiers and their families with so much on the line.

Sorry to be schmearing the you tube all over...

2008-09-13T08:54:00.000-07:00

I would share it with the facebook, but I have no clue how to embed over there.

A wee small Sarah Palin bit.

Beautifully said!

2008-09-11T23:28:00.000-07:00

I loved the late late show when it was Tom Snyder's, and I love Craig Ferguson (again with the spelling?).

Maybe it's because they think no one's watching that they are allowed to voice opinions?

I dunno.