Random Mental Messes

Life In Sixty Seconds or Less

2006-10-24T21:49:00.000-07:00

I've been really neglecting this blog, and I'm sorry. I tend to post more frequently in my Yahoo 360, and to be honest, with my new grad school career just starting, and with the election 2 weeks away, and with my body very suddenly rebelling against the overwhelming lack of sleep... well... don't expect too much from me here for a while. That said, this is my life in a nutshell:

1) Working my butt off, long hours, evil commute, laughable pay, but a cause I can believe in, so for now it will hold me.

2) Kids are adjusting wonderfully well to our new state and our new family life, and getting bigger every day. The Clone turned 11 one month ago, Little Bit turned 5 today, and Red will be 10 in January. Hard to believe my girls are so big.

3) Started my Master of Nonprofit Management degree and am feeling sufficiently in-over-my-head, but hey, it's all good.

4) Helplessly hopelessly madly in love with Cole, who surprised the heck out of me by loving me right back. In fact, in February he's moving up here and we're going to give this "happy family" thing a shot. We do it pretty well in small-to-medium doses, so I have a feeling that it being the five of us every day, will be no sweat. Of course, like our move this summer, I haven't yet told the girls about this big change. We'll break that to them over the holidays - if you hear loud and delighted squeals of joy sometime between Christmas and New Year's, it's probably them.

5) I'm tired and there's a dirty kitchen waiting for me, so that will have to be it for now. I'll try to do a better job of keeping up, but meantime, if you want more frequent postings, you might check my 360... I just don't have the energy right now to create two blogs' worth of interesting posts with any regularity (some would argue I don't create one blog's worth)...

Do You Believe In Magic?

2006-10-03T21:52:00.000-07:00

Loading the dishwasher tonight, a few random lyrics danced through my head. They're from a song by my future husband Don Henley, off the Inside Job album, called "Everything Is Different Now" and they go a lil' somethin' like this:

She said, I dont care what you do for a living.
She said, I dont care what kind of car you drive.
All I want to know right now is what do you believe in
And what it means to you to be alive.

An interesting question - what do you believe in? Which of course took me to Robert Fulghum, the guy who wrote "All I Really Need To Know I Learned in Kindergarten." Great book, as are its successors (not predecessors, but successors, Dear Sir!), and in the first one, he also talks about, as I recall, his Storyteller's Creed - "I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge -That myth is more potent than history. I believe that dreams are more powerful than facts -That hope always triumphs over experience -That laughter is the only cure for grief. And I believe that love is stronger than death." Now, in and of itself that's good enough to end this post and say that my work here is done. Except it's not, because I haven't put anything of myself out there. So here is a partial list of things I believe in.

I believe that you owe respect to everyone, not just your elders, but if they do something to lose that respect, they need to earn it back regardless of age.

I believe in forgiveness, though I'm not always perfect at practicing it.

I believe that the person who makes dinner shouldn't have to do the dishes.

I believe that sometimes the person who makes dinner should do the dishes anyway, just because.

I believe that sometimes, what's kind is more important than what's fair.

I believe that most times, what's right is more important than what's kind.

I believe in magic, and in angels, and in spirits, and in God, and I don't believe any of those things excludes any other.

I believe that for each of us there is at least one someone out there who is the yin to our yang, the bread to our butter, the Sonny to our Cher, and the Jekyll to our Hyde - and that's not always a significant other, that might just be a treasured friend.

I believe in buying Girl Scout Cookies, magazines, wrapping paper, and anything else sold as a fundraiser by earnest children with a hopeful smile.

And I, too, believe that love is stronger than death.

One of My Greatest Wishes

2006-10-01T22:26:00.000-07:00

Representative Foley has resigned over inappropriate e mails and instant messages with young men, some underage, most (if not all) former White House pages.

Rumsfeld refuses to resign over what many believe are grave errors in war policy.

My kingdom for a young man seduced over the Internet by Rumsfeld!!!

Leather and Lace

2006-09-13T23:24:00.000-07:00

by Stevie Nicks and Don Henley

Is love so fragile... And the heart so hollow
Shatter with words... Impossible to follow
You're saying I'm fragile... I try not to be
I search only... for something I cant see
I have my own life... and I am stronger than you know
But I carry this feelin when you walked into my house
That you wont be walking out the door
Still I carry this feeling when you walked into my house
That you wont be walking out the door

Lovers forever...face to face
My city, your mountains
Stay with me, stay
I need you to love me
I need you today
Give to me your leather...
Take from me...my lace

You in the moonlight with your sleepy eyes
Could you ever love a man like me
And you were right, when I walked into your house
I knew Id never want to leave
Sometimes I'm a strong man
Sometimes cold and scared and sometimes I cry
But that time I saw you, I knew with you to light my nights
Somehow I'd get by

Lovers forever...face to face
My city, your mountains
Stay with me, stay
I need you to love me, I need you today
Give to me your leather
Take from me...my lace

Lovers forever...face to face
My city, your mountains...stay with me, stay
I need you to love me...I need you to stay
Give to me your leather
Take from me...my lace
Take from me...my lace
Take from me...my lace

I Miss My Friend...

2006-09-11T22:35:00.000-07:00

A confluence of different events and thoughts have conjured up a subject I don't often talk about, and while I thought I would keep this one between me and me, something is telling me to talk about it. Actually, someone is telling me to talk about it. Susan is.

Susan shows up every now and then to remind me that I'm not alone, that I deserve happiness, that I tend to make life more complicated than it needs to be. Susan reminds me to simplify, and to try to take care of myself as well as I take care of others. This wouldn't be that unusual, I suppose - if Susan were still alive. But four and a half years ago, give or take, Susan lost her battle with depression and took her own life.

There were so many ironies in that, but the biggest one was that Susan felt everyone would be better off without her. She felt like she couldn't quite find her place in life, and that led her to feel like she didn't quite have a place in life. The irony, at least for me, is that Susan was one of those people I wanted to be like when I grew up. Never mind that she was a few years younger than me. I was already a mother of two when we met, and I always sort of saw Susan as who and what I might have been if I hadn't chosen to be a mother at a relatively young age. She was so much fun, so energetic, so passionate, and so bright. I never would have guessed what she was going through. She never let me see. Little Bit was only six months old when Susan died, and they had just met for the first time the week before (she had moved a few hours away not long before the baby was born). I can still remember how happy and peaceful she looked, holding the baby. I had been unable to bring the big girls to that visit, and I will always regret that they didn't get to see their "Auntie Susan" one more time. But she's still around. No, not just the memory of her, not just the idle thought of "what would Susan think about that" or "what would her advice be." No, nothing that ordinary. Susan is actually physically here with me sometimes. (Or is that psychically?) Susan's spirit checks in with me every now and then, sometimes through dreams, once in a message sent to me through her father, but every now and then, even when I'm wide awake, I feel her. I know she's here, and I know she's looking out for me.

In life and in death, Susan worried a lot about me, especially about the choices I've made when it comes to relationships. More than once, she's expressed her vehement disapproval over people and situations - she's much less diplomatic since she died. But right now, she's happy. Happy about the choices and changes I'm making in my life, happy that I'm finally on track to the life she thinks I deserve, the happiness she thinks I deserve. I just wish with all my heart that she had realized that she deserved that kind of happiness too.

My Two Cents

2006-09-10T22:05:00.000-07:00

I'm one of probably a billion or so bloggers writing on this topic in the next 24 hours or so, but I'll live with the spectre of unoriginality looming over my head. After all, it's a big event.

Of course. It's the inevitable 9-11 blog. People of my mother's generation remember where they were and what they were doing when Kennedy was shot. For my grandparents it was the end of the Great War. People my age or a little older can at least remember when John Lennon was killed. But now even children the age of The Clone and Red can remember 9-11 and the days that followed.

Me, I was 8 months pregnant with Little Bit. I was working in a mental health organization, her daddy was going to school and we shared a car. We also gave rides to two of his classmates who lived in our area of town, quite a ways away from the school. So each morning, either he would drop me off at work and then continue on to school with our passengers, or I would drop them all off at school and then head to work. On September 11, he was dropping me off, and we were running a little late, as usual. Just as we were pulling in to the parking lot at my office, we heard a news report that a plane had flown into the World Trade Center. The natural assumption, at the time, was that it was some horrible accident. (Would it ever cross your mind to think that today?)nnBut even as we sat in the car listening to the news and making morbid jokes about how blind the pilot must have been to have just not seen such a big building, they announced that another plane had flown into the other tower. You could literally see on all of our faces, the moment that it sunk in. Oh shit. This is no accident.

Well, we could just forget about getting anything done at work that day, but my coworkers and I stayed there. The TV in the common room of the clinic where I officed, stayed on all day. Staff and consumers alike sat in silence as we watched footage. We must have seen those planes hit half a million times, as the stations ran it in almost a loop... over and over and over again, towers collapsing, people screaming, crying, running in the streets... news of the plane crashing into the Pentagon, and into that field in Pennsylvania - that news came, and a little bit of footage with it, but mostly it was the towers. Little Bit's daddy showed up with his classmates in tow; their classes had been cancelled for the day. They joined us as we all sat watching. I remember that every so often I would be surprised to suddenly feel wetness on my cheeks; I was crying without even realizing it. I remember worrying for the daughters I was already raising, and flat-out panicking for the one I was carrying... knowing that the shock and grief I was feeling would affect her more deeply. Wondering what right I had, to be bringing her into such a scary world, especially when I didn't have the resources I felt I would need, to shelter her, to protect her, to keep her from harm. I bet a lot of expectant and new parents had that same feeling that day.

Well, as it does with everything, time went on. Five years now, has gone on. In some ways, most of us are much the same as we were on September 10, 2001. In other ways, our nation, our whole world, has changed. Something was taken from us that day that we will never get back. But, being the eternal cockeyed optimist, I like to thing something was given to us that day, too. A gift. The gift of knowing not to take things for granted. The gift of appreciating the things we have while we still have them. And the gift of those first several, glorious days when we as Americans were more united than we have ever been.

RMM Weird Quote of the Day, September 10

2006-09-10T19:00:00.000-07:00

"I wouldn't put up with your bubbles."

RMM Weird Quotes of the Day, September 9

2006-09-09T11:13:00.000-07:00

"Why'd you put the ponies in his butt?"

"You can't be too fast picking up turtles."

Out of the Forest With You!!!!

2006-09-07T21:22:00.000-07:00

My eyes are at it again, refusing to work properly... checking the headlines on Yahoo! News, I saw:

"Ban on gay rabbits may be lifted"

I wondered - how can you tell? Little boy bunnies with too much hare gel (ar ar ar)? Little girl bunnies crooning k.d. lang songs? And even if you could tell, how would you ban them? What would you ban them from, fer cryin' out loud?!?!?!

Then, of course, I looked closer and realized they were talking about rabbis, not rabbits. But that's not nearly as amusing, now is it?

Weeekend in New England

2006-09-07T00:09:00.000-07:00

You know I'm in a sappy mood when I'm quoting lyrics:

by Barry Manilow

Last night, I said goodbye
Now--it seems a year
I’m back in the city
Where nothing is clear
But thoughts of me --holding you
Bringing us near

And tell me
When will our eyes meet
When can I touch you
When will this strong yearning end
And when will I hold you again

Time in New England
Took me away
To long rocky beaches--and you, by the bay
We started a story
Whose end must now wait

And, tell me
When will our eyes meet
When can I touch you
When will this strong yearning end
And when will I hold you again

I feel the change comin’--
I feel the wind blow
I feel brave and daring!
I feel my blood flow
With youI can bring out
All the love, that I have--
With you there’s a heaven
So earth ain’t so bad

And tell me
When will our eyes meet
When can I touch you
When will this strong yearning end
And when will I hold you again

Back on My Feet Again

2006-08-22T21:19:00.000-07:00

By John Waite...

I was so lonely until I met you
Told myself I'd get by without love
Drownin' my sorrows
Avoiding tomorrows
Kind of felt that I just had enough

You light up my face with your jokes and your smiles
And the way that you came here tonight
Don't know what you got
But I'm sure glad I found you
Could be wrong but it sure feels right

And here I am, I'm back on my feet again
Here I am I'm back on my feet again
Surprised at myself for the way that I feel
So happy that you're here with me
Some women I've known, they've left me with nothing
But I guess that was just meant to be
And here I am, I'm back on my feet again
Here I am, I'm back on my feet again

I was down for the count, I was down, I was beat
I was cryin', I was cornered and hurt, I was hidin' my face
Sittin' there cryin'
I was so lonely until I met you
Told myself I'd get by without love
Drownin' my sorrows, avoiding tomorrows
Kind of felt that I just had enough
And here I am, I'm back on my feet again
Here I am, I'm back on my feet again.
Yes here I am, I'm back on my feet again
Here I am, I'm back on my feet again

Freedom

2006-08-19T10:56:00.000-07:00

Our country was founded, at least in part, on the principle of religious freedom. That's what we all learned in history class in first grade and on through senior year, right? Pilgrims came over here from England so they could be free to practice their religion, etc. etc. But sometimes it doesn't quite work out that way.

Take the Stewarts. Sgt. Patrick D. Stewart, shot down and killed over Afghanistan last September, was a Wiccan. His dog tags stated so; that is considered an "approved religion" for the Army's purposes in that form of identification. Sgt. Stewart was in the Nevada National Guard this time around, but had served in the Army during Desert Storm. Sgt Stewart was a good man and a fine soldier, posthumously awarded both a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star. But his space on a Veteran's Memorial Wall in Nevada is blank, devoid of a grave marker. Why? Because although Wicca is an approved religion for his dog tags, there is no symbol approved by the VA to mark his grave.

There are 38 official symbols, many of which are Christian in theme. Also included are the Jewish Star of David, the Muslim crescent, the Buddhist wheel, the Mormon angel, and the nine-pointed star of Bahai. There is even a symbol for atheists. But for Wiccans, nothing. And his widow Roberta refuses to let the VA simply install a plaque with his name but no symbol. It would be too easy, she says, for them to simply move on afterward. Me, I see it as a giant slap in the face, that a hero killed in combat, whose religion was good enough for his dog tags and good enough that the military allows Wiccan services on its bases, is being shown such disrespect in his death.

For 9 years now, the Wiccan symbol of a pentacle has been "pending approval" for use as a grave symbol. In that time, 11 other symbols have been approved, but still the Wiccans wait. You may wonder why it's such a big deal... one soldier out of millions? No. Over 1800 Wiccans currently serve on active duty in the military - and that number comes from the Pentagon.

This isn't just a story pulled out of the papers, though if you Google "Patrick Stewart Wiccan" you will find many references. You see, my good friend and fellow troop supporter, Miss Ruth - Patrick was one of hers. They were friends. And Miss Ruth is still in touch with Patrick's widow, who asked her to add her voice to the issue. Miss Ruth and some of her friends, including myself, have made our voices heard. I'd like to ask you to do the same. It's not about whether or not you believe in Wicca. (And please spare me the protestations about Wicca being evil, witchcraft, devil worship, etc. Do your research before you jump to any conclusions, all right?) It's about whether or not you believe in freedom of religion, of the right to worship what you choose and how you choose, of respect for the dead and respect for the grieving. Sgt. Patrick Stewart gave his life defending the very freedom he is now being denied. Don't allow something this disgraceful to go on unprotested.

You can write to the Secretary of Veteran's Affairs by going to www.congress.org/congressorg/home/ and clicking on the "Federal Agencies" link to the far left. Select "Department of Veteran's Affairs" from the drop-down list. It will give you an e mail address, phone number, mailing address, and even a handy button you can click to send either an e mail or a printed letter. At this same site you can find the contact information for all of your elected officials, to contact them regarding any issue you feel is important. I'm asking... imploring... BEGGING you to take action on this. There is no better way to honor a fallen hero, and the country he died defending, than to defend the Constitutional right he is being denied in death.

A Day That Will Live in Infamy

2006-08-19T00:46:00.000-07:00

It's past midnight here, and I just looked at my computer and realized that it's August 19.

Fifteen years ago today, I moved to Texas to start college.

Eleven years ago today I got married.

I've finally remedied the first situation - I won't call that one a mistake, since moving to Texas set off a chain reaction of events that have made me who I am today. And I like who I am. At least I do today LOL ask me again tomorrow...

The second situation, I still need to remedy. Can't really call it a mistake either. In one sense I might - I should never have actually married him. Childbearing is one things, marriage is a whole 'nother level. (And thankfully, I also skipped the "getting his name tattooed on me" level. Mama didn't raise no fool!) But as I've said before, if I hadn't married him, Red would probably not have been born. The Clone was on the way already, I still could have backed out, but I think I would have wised up and walked away before Red was a twinkle in her father's eye, had I not been legally bound to him. At least, I would hope I would have.

Well. So. Happy Anniversary to me. Now I just need to save up for that darn legal divorce!

Leave It To My Uncle...

2006-08-18T00:18:00.000-07:00

to send me a joke like this:

Keep this philosophy in mind the next time you either hear, or are about to repeat a rumor.

In ancient Greece (469 - 399 BC) Socrates was widely lauded for his wisdom. One day the great philosopher came upon an acquaintance who ran up to him excitedly and said, "Socrates, do you know what I just heard about one of your students?"

"Wait a moment," Socrates replied. "Before you tell me I'd like you to pass a little test.
It's called the Triple Filter Test."

"Triple filter?" replied the acquaintance.

"That's right," Socrates continued. "Before you talk to me about my student let's take
a moment to filter what you're going to say. The first filter is Truth. Have you made absolutely sure that what you are about to tell me is true?"

"No," the man said, "actually I just heard about it and..."

"All right," said Socrates. "So you don't really know if it's true or not. Now let's try the second filter, the filter of Goodness. Is what you are about to tell me about my student something good?"

"No, on the contrary..."

"So," Socrates continued, "you want to tell me something bad about him, even though
you're not certain it's true?" The man shrugged, a little embarrassed. Socrates continued. "You may still pass the test though, because there is a third filter -
the filter of Usefulness. Is what you want to tell me about my student going to be useful to me?"

"No, not really."

"Well," concluded Socrates, "if what you want to tell me is neither True nor Good nor even Useful, why tell it to me at all?"

The man was defeated and ashamed.

This is the reason Socrates was a great philosopher and held in such high esteem. It also explains why he never found out that Plato was banging his wife.

Rally

2006-08-17T13:42:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N_UfnBE0hPA

Take a look; this was a rally held by Colorado ACORN (our partners/the offices where I'm housed) when they collected enough petition signatures to get a referendum on the Colorado ballot to raise minimum wage to $6.85...

Leech No More!!!

2006-08-11T20:13:00.000-07:00

I am now officially employed... here's what went down... I was offered the job last night, had a few questions for him, and asked if I could have until close of business today to get back to him with my decision. I'd had an interview for another job on Monday and been told that they wanted to make a decision by the end of this week. I also had an interview scheduled for today. Now, going into the day I was already 99% sure I was going to take the offer anyway, but I figured I had committed to the other interview first, and should at least see how it went. I talked it over with my family, since the long hours and low pay of this job will impact the whole household... but the potential long-term benefits would impact us all too, positively. I got their blessing and their pledge of support, and readied myself for my interview today.

I got a call from the staffing company this morning, telling me that the job I was supposed to interview for was temporarily suspended, but suggesting another company I could interview with. So I told the guy that, to be honest, I had been offered a job last night and I was pretty sure I was going to take it. Shortly after getting off that phone call, I called the guy who I guess is my new boss, and left him a message to call me back regarding the offer. Then I merrily went about the rest of the day's business. While I was in the grocery store, my phone rang... it was the woman with whom I'd had my second phone interview for this position, wanting to know if she could answer any questions for me, or if I needed any more information to help me make my decision. I told her I had a message in to her supervisor and was waiting for him to call me back. She asked again if she could help me, and I told her that I had already made the decision. She asked if I would mind telling her, and she almost sounded like she thought my answer was no... which maybe she did. But instead I told her that I would be honored to accept their offer, and boy, was she happy about that!!! So if nothing else, I know I'm really going to enjoy the people I work with, because they have ALL been so pleasant, cheerful, witty and warm all along... And apparently, I'm going to a retreat in Washington, DC at the end of the month to meet fellow staff members from around the nation, and strategize!!!

Mind you, I still haven't heard back from the boss man, but when I got home I already had an e mail message from Miss Sunshine, with information about the retreat... So now I guess it's fairly well official, and now I guess I can give more information... I will be working with Project Vote as an Election Administrator... You can read more about it here, if you like: http://projectvote.org/our-work-pages/our-work/election-administration.html but basically it's an incredible opportunity, and everything in me is telling me that this is THE way to go...

Woo HOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Yay me!!!

Blog Snob

2006-08-08T23:20:00.000-07:00

I never mean to be one, but the fact is, I'm a snob. I grammar-and-spelling snob (or as I call it, Grammar Nazi), a cooking snob, and now apparently a blog snob. Except in this case, I think it's justified.

See, I have another blog besides this one, on Yahoo! 360... and part of having a 360 profile is that you can see the new blog posts of your Yahoo! friends. Which I love. But there are an awful lot of people, apparently, who use the "RSS feed" feature. I don't even completely understand how that works, all I know is that I get excited because I see people have new posts... except it turns out to be news stories and such from other websites. Blogs not even of the person's own creation. I can understand every now and then, if there's an interesting story you'd like to share with other people... but if half the "blog posts" on my Yahoo! 360, are really just feeds of stories on the Yahoo! News page... well... I feel a little cheated. (I guess the same way some people must feel cheated when one of my posts is just song lyrics, but at least I try to make them rare/interesting.)

*sigh* One more thing for me to snob about...

Land of the Living

2006-08-07T19:46:00.000-07:00

Who else?

by Don Henley

Well, it's up in the mornin'
Everybody off and runnin'
Everybody got some place to be
Some people never go walkin'
Some people just stop talkin'
When I was slippin' away
You came and pulled me through
I wanna stay in the land of the living with you

I wanna stay in the land of the living, I wanna stay here with you
I wanna stay in the land of the living, I wanna stay here with you

You know we work and we worry
This old world's in such a hurry
So many things we just don't see
Some people always cryin'
Some people just stop tryin'
When I was slippin' away
You came and pulled me through
I wanna stay in the land of the living with you

We got to do what we can about all this pain and sorrow
But try to live just a little, we could all be gone tomorrow
When I look at you girl, my heart rejoices
You taught me somethin': Considering the choices-

I wanna stay in the land of the living, I wanna stay here with you
I wanna stay in the land of the living, I wanna stay here with you

No More Cloudy Days

2006-08-04T23:37:00.000-07:00

(Do you believe in second chances?)

by the Eagles...

Sitting by a foggy window
Staring at the pouring rain
Falling down like lonely teardrops
Memories of love in vain
These cloudy days, make you wanna cry
It breaks your heart when someone leaves and you don’t know why

I can see that you’ve been hurting, maybe I’ve been lonely too
I’ve been out here lost and searching, looking for a girl like you
Now I believe the sun is gonna shine
Don’t you be afraid to love again, put your hand in mine…

Baby, I would never make you cry
I would never make you blue
I would never let you down
I would never be untrue
I know a place where we can go where true love always stays
There’s no more stormy nights, no more cloudy days

I believe in second chances
I believe in angels, too
I believe in new romances
Baby, I believe in you
These cloudy days are coming to an end
And you don’t have to be afraid to fall in love again

Baby, I would never make you cry
I would never make you blue
I would never turn away
I would never be untrue
I know a place where we can go where true love always stays
There’s no more stormy nights, no more cloudy days

Alert CPS!!!

2006-08-04T12:26:00.000-07:00

"I get paid $500,000 dollars to go to Las Vegas or Japan and wave at crowds or go to a party. All the time. Only this week I met a family at the airport who wanted me to drop in to their daughter's 16th birthday party for $100,000, because I'm her idol. So I will."

That's a quote from Paris Hilton, folks.

Let's see.. the kid is 16, and if the parents can afford that kind of money for a party guest, I'm guessing they weren't exactly teen parents themselves... more like in their later 40s to early 50s now... so what kind of parents, seemingly at an age whereby they might have some maturity, would encourage their teenage daughter's idolization of Paris Hilton?

If somehow, in the next 5 years, I become rich enough to be able to drop 100 grand on a celebrity guest for my daughter's Sweet Sixteen... she'd better not ask for Paris Hilton (or Jessica Simpson or Lindsay Lohan or anyone else like that), or she won't be getting a Sweet Sixteen party, she'll be getting a frontal lobotomy!

I'm Confused

2006-08-02T21:48:00.000-07:00

I don't watch the news anymore (no TV here at all), and I guess I just haven't been reading the papers or news clips online enough to understand... I know we're at war in the Middle East, which we have been for years... something's going on with North Korea, or at least it was... now there's something with Israel and someone else... and now something going on with Cuba? Plus, of course, National Guard troops at the US/Mexico border. I may be going out on a limb here, but... aren't we spreading ourselves a little thin? Does ANYBODY like us anymore?!?!?!

Shamelessly Lifted, but For a Good Cause

2006-08-02T12:08:00.000-07:00

I pulled this address off someone else's blog, but for a good reason. She writes about a soldier who was very badly injured in Iraq, and needs encouragement. As she indicated in her post, IF YOU DO NOT LIKE/SUPPORT THE MILITARY, DO NOT SEND ANYTHING THAT WOULD FURTHER DISCOURAGE HIM!!! But if you love and support the troops as I do, and if you have the time to do it, please send a little pick-me-up (letters and cards are great) to:

Sgt. Keven Downs
4 East Brooke Army Medical Center, Bldg. 3600
3851 Roger Brooke Dr.
Fort Sam Houston, TX 78234-6200

THANKS!!!!

Heterosexual Questionnaire

2006-07-30T23:06:00.000-07:00

Now, some of you may look at this and think it's pretety funny... and it is, I think... but look a little deeper. How would you feel if, day after day, you were asked these kinds of intrusive questions about your sexuality? If you saw and heard things like this debated among your family, coworkers, and community? Kinda sucks, dunnit?

HETEROSEXUAL QUESTIONAIRE

1. What do you think caused your heterosexuality?

2. When and how did you decide you were a heterosexual?

3. Is it possible that your heterosexuality is just a phase that you may grow out of?

4. Is it possible that your heterosexuality stems from a neurotic fear of others of the same sex?

5. If you have never slept with a person of the same sex, is it possible that all you need is a good gay lover?

6. Do your parents know that you are straight? Do your friends and/or roommates know?

7. Why do you insist on flaunting your heterosexuality? Can't you just be who you are and keep it quiet?

8. Why do heterosexuals place so much emphasis on sex?

9. Why do heterosexuals feel so compelled to introduce others to their lifestyle?

10. A disproportionate majority of child molesters are heterosexual. Do you consider it safe to expose children to heterosexual teachers?

11. Just what do men and women do in bed together? How can they truly know how to please each other, being so anatomically different?

12. With all the societal support marriage receives, the divorce rate is spiraling. Why are there so few stable relationships between heterosexuals?

13. Statistics show that lesbians have the lowest of sexually transmitted disease. Is it really safe for a woman to maintain a heterosexual lifestyle and run the risk of disease and pregnancy?

14. How can you expect to become a whole person if you limit yourself to compulsive, exclusive heterosexuality?

15. Considering the menace of overpopulation, how could the human race survive if everyone were heterosexual?

16. Could you trust a heterosexual therapist to be objective? Don't you feel that (s)he might be inclined to influence you in the direction of his/her own orientation?

17. There seem to be very few happy heterosexuals. Techniques have been developed that might enable you change if you really want to. Have you ever considered aversion therapy?

18. Would you want your child to be heterosexual, knowing the problems (s)he would face?

Duh Part Deux

2006-07-29T18:49:00.000-07:00

Oh, and let's not forget... a studio exec is blasting Lindsay Lohan for staying out late and partying all night while she's shooting a movie.

well, DUH.

The Duh Files

2006-07-29T09:32:00.000-07:00

Let's start today with a letter that appeared in "Dear Abby" this week... a mother wrote in about her 8 year old daughter who is bullying another child: "Abby, Emma's a straight-A student, loved by all of her other friends, their parents, her teachers, our pastor, etc. She's involved in theater, sings, dances, ice skates competitively, cheerleads, races motocross and plays piano. She is very well-behaved at home, and we have no trouble with her. I just don't understand what's going on. When I ask her, she doesn't have an explanation, but truly feels bad for hurting her friend." Dear Abby suggested that maybe the little girl is overscheduled and feels out of control.

Well, DUH.

Then let's move on to Miss Puerto Rico, who was crowned Miss Universe. Eighteen years old, under stress, under hot lights, wearing a dress made entirely of metal chains, she passes out shortly after being crowned.

Well, DUH.

And finally, Lance Bass's big revelation this week. Number one, he was in a boy band. Number two, his name is Lance. He makes the announcement this week that he is, in fact, gay.

Well, DUH.

What next? A landmark study that indicates the most reliable way to lose weight is to eat less and exercise? A poll showing that America has strong feelings about the war in Iraq? The revelation that Keith Richards has been clinically dead for at least 15 years? Do they think we don't know these things?!?!?!

July 28 RMM Weird Quote of the Day

2006-07-28T09:55:00.000-07:00

"What was that, young lady? Come here, I'm going to sit on you..."

Alas, Poor Britney...

2006-07-27T22:40:00.000-07:00

Well, folks, it's pretty darn scary when I get to feeling sorry for li'l ol' Britney Spears, but that is the oddly disturbing situation in which I find myself these days.

I've never liked the girl. Never. NEV - ER. I never thought she particularly had any musical talent. Semi-talented in writhing around a stage doing what passes for dancing these days, but certainly nothing special in the vocal department. And, call me crazy, but I expect professional singers to be... well... good at it, ya know? But I digress... I never really liked the girl. I thought she was overrated, overproduced, overmarketed... Britney Spears as product, not person. But I find myself feeling pretty bad for her these days.

Let's face it... I know how she feels... bright enough young lady, certainly had things going for her... made some mistakes, but for the most part, could have recovered... and then... hooks up with some trailer-trash scumbucket leech (while his ex-girlfriend was still pregnant with his baby - hello, didn't that set off ANY warning bells, Brit?)... now she's, what, 24? Pregnant with her second child when her first one isn't even a year old... and when she's shown definite and very public signs of not being really up to the task... The whole tripping-and-almost-dropping-the-kid thing really was overblown by the media. Who among us hasn't had a near-miss with a baby? Though most mothers do have the good sense to PUT DOWN THE LATTE WHEN WE'RE ABOUT TO DROP THE KIDLET!!!! But what I can't get over is the driving with the baby in her lap, when she had a bodyguard with her in the first place... There's really no excuse for that, chica... "Oh, the papparazzi were putting us in danger!!!" Ummm... yeah... 'cause when you wreck the car and he goes flying through the windshield, you don't want him to fly straight into a camera... But back on subject...

I know how she feels. I, too , was a young, inexperienced mother married to a man who was nothing but a drain on my energy, my finances, my self-esteem, and my credibility and respectability among family and friends. I, too, kept sticking it out, so sure that he was on the verge of stepping up to the plate and being everything I knew he could be. I, too, figured that children would settle him and make him more responsible. And then, when the children were born, I held on, feeling I didn't have the strength, the resources, the money to leave and try to do it all on my own.

But guess what, Britney? I did leave. (And one of these days, I'll even get the legal divorce to prove it.) And I did it without the multi-million dollar career that MIGHT still be salvageable for you. I did it without my own line of perfume, without record royalties, without a little help from friends like Madonna... So I'm pretty sure you can do it. Come on, little girl... stop playing house, dump the loser, and get on with your life while you still have one. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for your children, and prove to the world once and for all what a good mother you really can be.

Drumroll, Please

2006-07-26T18:11:00.000-07:00

It is decided... today I completed my application for Regis University's Master of Nonprofit Management program. All I have left is to sort out my financial aid, send in my application fee, and send them my transcripts... and then wait to see if they will accept me. I got advice from several people, but mostly from Cole (whom I trust regarding all things business/professional) and The Best Mentor Ever (whom I trust regarding all things social work/nonprofit/professional)... If all goes well, I will begin a 24-month adventure toward greater employability, on the day the Littlest Diva turns five years old.

I feel suspiciously like I stepped off a cliff. Of course, the last time I felt like this, it was off a cliff and onto a cloud, and I spent the next several months in heaven. So I have good expectations. Wish me luck!

Madness...

2006-07-25T23:00:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd seen everything, but this... this is surely a sign of the Apocalypse.

I was skimming through one of the least useful of the major nationwide job-hunting websites, and ran across an ad for - get this - a Director of First Impressions. Hmm.. Director, but with a salary in the mid-20s to low 30s. So I had to take a look and see exactly what that meant. Basically, from what I can see, they're looking for a receptionist.

Now, inflated titles have always amused me, particularly since I started working in workforce development. In the nonprofit world, there are things called specialists. "Specialist," at least in my field, is a glorified assistant/peon. And then there were my customers who were pursuing "degrees" to become things like a "nail technician" or "Microsoft Office specialist" or something. But "Director of First Impressions?!?!?!" That takes the cake. So I guess I need to revise my resume to include other things I have been, both professionally and non-professionally.

For example, I've been a "reproductive engineer" on three separate occasions. I've apparently been a "marketing specialist" (made flyers and brochures), a "copier repair technician, specializing in percussive maintenenace" (bang on the copier until it works again), a "communications specialist" (figured out how to set up a distribution list in Outlook), and a diplomat (listened to people bitch about co-workers and make appropriately sympathetic, if noncommittal, noises). I've been a corporate trainer (mostly teaching co-workers how to do things) and researcher (looking things up on the Internet for people who can't seem to manage that themselves). I'm also apparently a caterer and an entertainer. Why, with all the things I have done, it's amazing there isn't a line of people at the front door, waiting to hire me...

Good/Bad Texan Joke

2006-07-25T21:59:00.000-07:00

Warning, it's a li'l naughty...

Two men from Texas were sitting at a bar when a young lady nearby began to choke on a hamburger. She gasped and gagged.

One Texan turned to the other and said, “That little gal is havin‘ a bad time. I’m agonna go over there and help.”

He ran over to the young lady, held both sides of her head in his hands and asked “Kin ya swaller?”

Gasping, she shook her head no.

He asked, “Kin ya breathe?”

Still gasping, she again shook her head no.

With that he yanked up her skirt, pulled down her underwear and stuck his tongue in her ass. The young woman was so shocked that she coughed up the bit of hamburger that was stuck and began to breathe on her own. The Texan sat back down with his friend and said, “Ya know, it’s sure amazin' how that hind-lick maneuver always works!”

Walk Away

2006-07-23T22:41:00.000-07:00

When I was a very little girl, I had a huge crush on Shaun Cassidy (my mother always called him Shaun Crappity). The other day, I started hearing one of his songs in my head... just the chorus; I can't even remember the tune of the verses. Maybe I can dig up a recording and see if I can figure out exactly why this one is pushing into my brain. Meanwhile...

Do you remember when
Life was simple and plain to see
Easier to pretend
Than to close the door and turn the key
Living and hoping and
Laughing and crying
Touching and feeling and
Dreaming and dying
Life without love
Is a life that's denying the heart

Walk away, leave me as you found me
To the world around me
Turn your back and walk away

Do you remember when
We were young and unashamed
We let even then
We were learning to play the game
Living and hoping and
Laughing and crying
Touching and feeling and
Dreaming and dying
Life without love
Is a life that's denying the heart

Walk away, leave me as you found me
To the world around me
Turn your back and walk away

Walk away, leave me as you found me
To the world around me
Turn your back and walk away
Walk away, leave me as you found me
To the world around me
Turn your back and walk away

My New Boyfriend

2006-07-23T17:57:00.000-07:00

Leave it to me, in Colorado for 32 days and I've found a new boyfriend. Except this one found me. My mom and I took the girls to the park, a different one from the one we usually go to. It was late afternoon and the sun was hanging low in the sky, casting rays across the surface of Lake Loveland.

He approached my mother first, with a surprise hug from behind, followed with a little small talk. We shook our heads in wonder when he walked away. About half an hour later, I felt his arms around me and small kisses across my back before he brought his face close to mine. I looked into his dark brown eyes, with surprisingly long eyelashes, and smiled, listening to his soft, melodic voice as he whispered in my ear.

I still don't know his name, but I know all I need to know.

I know that he's three years old. (And that he apparently has a thing for curvy redheads.)

RMM Weird Quote of the Day, July 21

2006-07-21T19:13:00.000-07:00

"So it's open season on Bita's toes?!?!?!"

Smile a While for Me

2006-07-21T01:19:00.000-07:00

Once, a long, long time ago, I had a very dear and wonderful friend, and on occasion he called me Sara Smile, after the song. In fact, on occasion, he would serenade me with it, half-teasing and half-loving. Now I use it as an ID in certain circles, and I find it comforting. Not just as an ego-booster pretty song with my name in it, but as a reminder of him and of the proverbial simpler, more innocent time.

Baby hair with a woman's eyes
I can feel you watching in the night
All alone with me and we're waiting for the sunlight

When I feel cold you warm me
When I feel I can't go on you come and hold me
It's you... And me forever
Sara Smile
Oh Won't you smile a while for me, Sara

If you feel like leaving you know you can go
But why don't you stay until tomorrow?
And if you want to be free,
all you have to do is say so

When you feel cold, I'll warm you
And when you feel you can't go on, I'll come and hold you
It's you... And me forever
Sara Smile
Oh Won't you smile a while for me, Sara

Crossroads

2006-07-21T00:44:00.000-07:00

"I'm standin' at the crossroads, believe I'm sinkin' down." - Robert Johnson

Well, I'm not contemplating selling my soul to the devil. At least not yet. But there's a definite crossroads here, in several ways. You see, the plan was move here, get a job immediately, transfer to University of Denver to finish my MSW, and somehow manage to juggle school, a rewarding career, and oh yeah, being the mother the Divas really deserve.

So, one month later I still don't have work. Some of the leads I've gotten have wound up being just not right for me... whether it was me thinking they weren't right, or the employer thinking I wasn't right. The why is irrelevant, the point is I'm still not working. Which of course means I have taken the time to complete my UD application and I'm all set to get back on track with that, barely skipping a beat, right?

Nope. Haven't done it yet. To be honest, I'm not sure I'm ready, at least while I'm still not working. And then tonight, as I was applying for a job with another area college, I noticed that they have a very interesting program. A Master of Nonprofit Management degree. As in, a Master's level program in the same thing for which I have an undergrad-level certification. Plus, their program can be done at least partly online. And in skimming it briefly, it seems I wouldn't have to do any kind of internship/externship/field placement/whatever, because of the nonprofit experience I already have.

Tempting.

Several dilemmas, though. One, can I afford it? I would have to find out if I can apply for Stafford Loans for that program - and since my current loans have me pursuing an MSW, would changing majors affect it? Two, am I absolutely positive that I want to manage a nonprofit, to the point that I'd jettison the social work degree, which is three a very versatile degree - much more versatile than nonprofit management? Four, how does this impact the PhD in social work that I've considered going after eventually? Five, how the hell am I going to afford to send my kids to college when I'm busy paying off my own staggering student loan debt, no matter WHAT degree I wind up getting?

And six... to be painfully and bluntly honest, I'm great with ideas, sometimes not as good with follow-through. I know I can finish a Master's degree in something. I know I can put it to good use. Good enough, anyway. But I often think I may be too lazy to really live up to my potential. I mean, I haven't done so well up to this point. If I'd stayed with the original plan, I'd be a successful architect right now, with my own firm, which would be named one of the top companies to work for by "Working Mother" magazine, for my free on-site child care for all employees, flexible schedules, work-from-home opportunities, and generous paid maternity leave. At 32, I might have a couple of children by now, but certainly not one who is already in the double digits with age. Not that I regret my daughters for a moment, and not that I really regret where life has taken me. In some ways, I am a much better and more useful person than I would have been had I stuck with the plan. But at the same time... there's such a big sense of what-if sometimes... Especially on these late nights, when I'm staring lengthy unemployment and hopeless dependence in the face. And let me tell you... those are NOT fun. I'm standing at the crossroads...

And I don't even have Steve Vai for company.

Trust

2006-07-15T20:20:00.000-07:00

I know God will not give me anything that I can't handle.
I just wish He didn't trust me so much.
~Mother Theresa~

Boy, do I know that feeling.

I'm nervous. I'm not working yet. Bills are piling up, money is tight. And today, the van broke down again. Yep. The van broke down again. But this time she broke down in Aurora, which is about an hour away, on the other side of Denver. I was taking the Divas to KidSpree. It seemed like a good idea at the time, a festival for kids with free activities and entertainment. And I really thought the Magic Bus would be all right. We were almost to Aurora when she died the first time. And we were actually on our way into the mall parking lot to catch the shuttle to the park, when she died the fourth and final time, and made it clear to me that she would not be revived without some serious mechanical attention. Thank God for AAA, and for the wonderful and helpful people at Aurora Hills Automotive; it will be fixed within the week. Moreover, thanks to the lovely, talented and unbelievably generous Chelle, who is funding the repairs since I have no income.

Now, I know that all of this is happening for a reason. And I know that God, Great Spirit, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, or whatever you call your version of Supreme Being(s), has a reason for putting me through this. And I know that whatever S/He has in store for me is no more than I can handle. But sometimes... I think S/He overestimates my capabilities.

What the Hell Has Happened to Customer Service?

2006-07-14T22:33:00.000-07:00

Normally, I am a very good, polite, respectful, understanding customer. As much time as I've spent in thankless customer service/retail/food service jobs, I do know how it feels to be blamed for things that aren't my fault. But still, these last few days have been agony, and I'm wondering how some people even have jobs...

Let's start with my cell phone issues. For the sake of not getting sued, I'll tell you a story about my cell phone company, ShortFastRun. Now, I relocated here to Colorado just over three weeks ago. Kept my 281 (Houston) area code and number while transitioning, but finally decided if people are going to need to call me for jobs, it's best if I have a local number. So I dial their little "*2" customer service line, and that's when the fun begins. You see, first of all, I have to go through the little automated voice to be directed correctly. Five times, I call. Five times, I hear the "series of tones" that indicates I'm being connected to a representative. And five times, I get disconnected. So admittedly, by the time I reach an actual human being, I'm already a little irritated. After notifying her that someone may want to check on why their system is randomly disconnecting callers, I begin to outline my situation. I've moved from Houston, TX, to Loveland, CO. I would now like a Loveland, CO phone number for my phone. She taps a few keys, and tells me she can give me a number with area code 281, 713, or 832. Those are all Houston area codes. I tell her I must not have made myself clear; I have left Texas and moved to Colorado, and I need a Colorado phone number. She tells me (a mite huffily, I might add) that she can only give me what the computer says she can give, and the computer says 281, 713, or 832. I ask her if, if I happen to call at the wrong time, I will be randomly assigned a Nebraska phone number if that "what the computer says she can give." She tells me again, that the computer will only allow one of those three zip codes. In the middle of attempting to explain it to her yet another time, I finally get upset enough to say, "You know what, just forget it. Give me a supervisor. Give me a supervisor RIGHT NOW." Then I get the backpedal, the ma'am-I'm-trying-to-help-you-but-my-hands-are-tied speech, to which I reply that I don't really care what the computer says, just give me a supervisor NOW. She tells me that she will put me on hold for a supervisor, but not before telling me that I really don't need to be taking it out on her. Normally I would agree, but in this case... So I listen to Muzak for a while, knowing that she is telling her supervisor all about this crazy witch on the phone. FInally, a smooth-talking guy comes on. I explain my situation, and only then does he tell me that when I changed my billing/mailing address online, I did not change my service area. Because their system still had Houston as my service area, the computer was trying to give me a Houston number. Which left me to wonder why, if he figured it out so easily, she could not have done the same thing. After being given my new number and told it could take a couple of hours to take effect, I hang up, satisfied. Four hours later, I'm less satisfied, as the new number is not working properly. I call into customer service again, and hear the voice of an angel... because THIS lovely woman, unlike her peers, actually gave a damn about helping. When I explained the phone number switch, she said in a puzzled voice, "You mean nobody gave you the code to punch in to activate the new number?"

Damn jerk supervisor.

But at least now I have a Colorado number!!!

On to the second customer service issue. I have a couple of different e mail addresses, but the one I used most frequently is from the provider called... ummm... Yippee! For some reason, along about Wednesday afternoon, I became unable to sign into my primary account. The one to which my Messenger and ummm... "180" profile are attached, which effectively locks me out of all three types of communication. Now granted, I have one of the ever-popular free accounts with them. Perhaps the free account customers like myself are not much of a priority to them. Because I put in a call to their customer service department. Their representative was quite nice, and quite unable to do anything for me after I explained to her that I have moved so many times in the last 5-10 years that I can't recall what my zip code was at the time of registration. So I had tried several different zip codes when attempting to reset my password, which made this a job for Account Security. She helpfully gave me an e mail address to use to contact them. It is now nearing 60 hours later, and I'm still playing e mail tag, mostly with automated responses. They wanted 8 pieces of information from when I registered - things like the zip code I used (which I had already indicated in my initial e mail as the problem in the first place), an alternate e mail address (I used my warmguy address), and my security question-and-answer. Think about that... they didn't give me the question and then request the answer... they wanted ME to give THEM both question and answer... now if I don't even remember exactly where I lived when I registered, do you think I remember what question I used?!?!? Morons... so finally, after the multi-part pop quiz, they requested an alternate, non-Yippee address for the purpose of resetting my password. My response was to remind them that I had already provided one, in response to their earlier question. I now wait, checking my warmguy account every few minutes, hoping that the Yippee gods will smile and let me back into my account.

They do NOT want to piss me off...

July 14th RMM Weird Quote(s) of the Day

2006-07-14T18:42:00.000-07:00

"Please don't Riverdance in the swimming pool bathroom!"

"Your grandmother is a weregoose."

July 12 RMM Weird Quote(s) of the Day

2006-07-12T14:51:00.000-07:00

"Get that monkey out of the lounge!!!"

"Get that monkey out of your mouth!!!"

"Get that monkey off the table!!!"

Bet y'all didn't know there even was a monkey in the game of "Clue"...

Six Degrees of Humiliation

2006-07-12T07:15:00.000-07:00

On June 3rd of this year, Casey Affleck (brother of Ben) married Summer Phoenix (sister of Joaquin), his longtime girlfriend and mother of his son. The full implication of this hit me only this morning.

Ben Affleck and Joaquin Phoenix are in-laws.

Take my hand, won't you, and walk with me as we journey to Thanksgiving, 2016, in the household of the senior Afflecks...

The family is gathered in the family room as Mother Affleck walks in, wiping her hands with a dishtowel. The daughters-in-law follow carrying trays laden with slices of pumpkin pie covered in whipped cream. After everyone is served, Father Affleck suggests that, since the football games are over for the day, perhaps they should pop a movie in the ol' DVD player.

"Hey, Grampa!" pipes up little Violet. Sensing what is about to transpire, Jennifer Garner begins gesturing wildly, catching the attention of everyone but her sweet, clueless daughter. Her expression turns from panic to resignation as Violet continues, "Let's watch one of Daddy's movies!"

An awkward silence fills the room. That is, until her cousin Indiana loudly declares, "Vi... your Daddy's movies suck. Let's watch 'Walk the Line' or 'Signs' instead."

Fade to black...

July 10 RMM Weird Quotes of the Day

2006-07-10T14:27:00.000-07:00

"So, basically, we have spastic alligators on the floor."

"Will you zip up my tree?"

"I already ate 5 Larrys... and 3 Bobs..."

"Larry was a healthy cucumber... and Bob will miss him... so I will put him out of his misery."

My Day With Spike, and Today's RMM Weird Quote of the day

2006-07-07T23:54:00.000-07:00

Today's adventure actually started two and a half weeks ago. That's when Spike was driving the van (recently dubbed "The Magic Bus" but so far lacking a spectacular psychadelic paint job in bluetones) from Texas to Colorado, having come down to help spring me and the Divas. More to the point, that's when Spike rolled down the driver's side window while the car was overheating and we had to turn the A/C off. In the Texas Panhandle. In June. Yeah. So anywho, you may or may not know/remember, that the driver's side window of the Magic Bus is not to be rolled down, under any but the most dire of circumstances. This is because, once down, it will not roll back up. So for the past... let me count... 17 days, the window has been stuck down. Today, we went ahead and took ol' MB to the Nissan repair place, where we had to have it put up for us, and then the switch disconnected. Later, when I have a job, I will get it replaced, but meanwhile the window will not be rolled down. Nor, thanks to an oddity of engineering, can the passenger side window. But I digress.

So, as we begin the long wait for the service on MB to even begin, the guy at the shop tells us that he can have their shuttle driver drop us off anywhere we need to go. Both Spike's and my eyes light up when the guy suggests the mall. I rarely mall-shop anymore, it's too expensive; I often tell people that if it can't be found at Wal-Mart, it can't be found in my house. But the occasional window-shopping is harmless. So we ventured to the mall, and into a bookstore.

A bookstore is to me as a book-burning is to religious fundamentalists. It is my Nirvana. Spike and I quickly went our separate ways to look at our own types of books. When we were about ready to head out, we showed each other the fun things we had found. The most interesting one I found (well, aside from the mildly disturbing, comic-esque book of bunny suicides, and the highly overpriced pop-up book of phobias) was called "This Book Will Change Your Life." Since there is really no way I can describe it, click here for the link and look halfway down the page. Be sure to check out the excerpts, and pay special attention to the symmetry one. That was where the day's entertainment took off. See, the bookstore has this little padded bench-like thingy. (That's a technical term.) And since we had time to kill, we sat there thumbing through the book. That particular page caught Spike's eye, and next thing you know, he had taken out some sort of all-purpose survival tool he carries and flipped it out to where it makes a small ruler. Then he proceeded to measure my face. Only if you'll notice, the instructions don't tell you what to measure IN, so at first we were measuring inches... then converted to centimeters... then for some reason looked into millimeters. We did my face three times, Spike's only once, but after the first try we realized we could add the measurements on the calculators of our cell phones. thus eliminating the possibility of incorrect addition (though still leaving incorrect conversion between English and metric, but never mind). For my face we kept coming up with different numbers... never in the mid-range though... so I am either in the top 10% in terms of facial attractiveness, or I need to go join the carnival freak show now. Of course, all this was accomplished with much giggling on my part, and more than a few amused, annoyed, and/or worried glances from store employees and fellow shoppers alike.

And so we come to the RMM Weird Quote of the Day:
"You never look at someone's face until you look at their face."

New Feature

2006-07-06T20:53:00.000-07:00

I'll do my best to update this every day. The backstory: It gets mighty interesting in a house of 7 people, particularly when it's the 7 we have -myself, the Divas, Chelle, Mamacita, and Spike. We're an odd bunch. As such, some odd things come out of our mouths sometimes. In context, they make sense... out of context... well...

And so, without further ado, I introduce the new feature to Random Mental Messes: The RMM Weird Quote of the Day (all quotes will be actual things said in the course of what passes for "normal" conversation around here):

"Get that out of your mouth... you little freak..."

Take That, Matthew McConaughey!!!

2006-07-04T13:29:00.000-07:00

Back in February or so, I went on a little spending spree and beefed up my CD collection. I mostly picked up compilations and greatest-hits collections, and among them was INXS' Greatest Hits. I hadn't realized how many of their songs I really loved, but more than that, it brought back pleasant memories.

I remember the video for "The One Thing," with its close-up shots of Michael Hutchence, his head slithering on his neck like a cobra, lips wet, with that slight lisp. Ooh, sexy. In fact, if he were alive, he'd be one of the Sexiest Men Alive. Instead, he's one of the Sexiest Men Dead.

Others? Well, of course, my beloved Jim Morrison. The rumpled wavy hair, the pouty lips, the perpetual darkness of his gaze... the leather pants... yes, Jim was undeniably sexy.

But hey, there are other sexy dead men besides white singers. For example, triple threat Gregory Hines. Singer, dancer, actor... Dancing with Sammy Davis Jr. and Sandman Simms in "Tap" and Mikhail Baryshnikov in "White Nights"... singing the duet "There's Nothing Better Than Love" with Luther Vandross... acting in many movies besides those already mentioned... The world lost a very sexy man in 2003.

But hey, there are others too... James Dean, who was incredibly sexy (despite substantiated rumors that he was either gay or bisexual)... Johnny Cash...

I'm noticing a trend, here...

Formula

2006-06-28T01:52:00.000-07:00

While we were on the road, in the middle of the difficult day of multiple vehicle breakdowns, we stopped off at a Wal-Mart. Okay, let me rephrase... a few different times, we stopped off at different Wal-Marts. This one was in Amarillo, though, and I bought my girls a new DVD, since Spike had brought along a portable DVD player for the car. For all of you with children and long road trips in your future, I recommend making that investment NOW, by the way... Anywho, I bought a copy of "High School Musical," which is one of the recent Disney Channel Original Movies. Cute enough, with a semi-decent plot. Which is to say, not counting the normal suspension of disbelief for a musical (how often have you spontaneously burst into song, only to have your friends not only know the tune and words that you're inventing as you go, but also an elaborately choreographed dance routine?) you can only drive a SMALL fleet of Mac trucks through the holes in the storyline. It was funny though, because tonight the kids were watching it again, and this time it was semi-watched by all of us theoretically-adults in the house as well. And boy, do these things ever follow a formula... Through different points in the movie, us old people would suddenly burst out with quotes or songs from other movies. I started it, naturally, as the lead female had just had her heart broken by the male lead and was singing a song about how she was foolish to believe it was something real... I burst out with, "But now... there's no way to hide... since you pushed my love aside..." (Okay, so the men in the audience may need an explanation, but I'm way too tired to provide it.) The movie had shades of "Grease" to it in more than one part, a little "Dirty Dancing" ("Nobody puts Baby in a corner!") and, in one memorable moment, it even reminded me of the video for "Thriller." I think the girls got a little tired of us suddenly injecting other songs and lines into a movie they so obviously love. And it IS a really cute movie too... Just a little... umm... predictable. I mean, honestly, there were parts in there that Ray Charles could see coming, and he's blind and dead...

It Is Finished

2006-06-27T00:33:00.000-07:00

So, I finally did it. One week after leaving on our "vacation" to Colorado, I finally told my mother in law that it isn't a vacation. I spirited her granddaughters away to another state, and we're not coming back. If you don't know the whole story, it sounds horribly callous. In some ways, it even feels so to me. The fact is, though, it wasn't a decision made lightly. I have to do what's best for the Clone, Red, and Little Bit. They are happy, and I am optimistic, even as one of my rough patches threatens to descend on me. I haven't found work yet, but it will come when it's time. There are little details for me to work on, but it will all work out in the end. In the meantime, my daughters will finish growing up in a place with cleaner air, better schools, safer neighborhoods, and at least to some degree, more open-minded and tolerant people. (Though I hear the place has a bit of a Republican infestation... give it time, we'll get past that one too...) We eat organic food now, which is an adjustment, I will admit... and I currently occupy the bottom bunk of one set of bunk beds in a room I share with my three daughters, but that's actually oddly comforting. As much time as I've had to spend away from them, being with them this much is a real treat. We're a happy little household, me and the Divas and Mamacita and Spike and Chelle... This is a happy little place, Loveland, Colorado... I think I'm gonna like it here.

Safe and Sound

2006-06-21T11:40:00.000-07:00

No time right now for details... I will tell the highlights of the story later - because, let's face it, we all know that any road trip I'm involved in will have some stories. But for now, let it be enough for me to tell you that we arrived in Loveland safe and sound around 3 this morning. We've slept some, and there are settling-in details to be taken care of, but basically...all is well.

IT Service Request

2006-06-07T18:53:00.000-07:00

Dear Manager of Information Technology:

Please send someone to fix my mouse. It is broken, perhaps from overuse on the following site:

http://www.abunawaf.com/mix/store2/mulakama.swf

Regards,
Jane Q. Employee

What Dreams May Come...

2006-06-07T10:10:00.000-07:00

Mitch Taylor:
Something strange happened to me this morning.
Chris Knight:
Was it a dream where you see yourself in, sort of, Sun God robes, on a pyramid, with a thousand naked women screaming and throwing little pickles at you?
Mitch Taylor:
No.
Chris Knight:
Why am I the only person that has that dream?

It started with a conversation about how my stepdad Spike is a morning person, and the rest of us are decidedly NOT, and he was musing at how interesting it will be when we are all in the same household, what with him and Pati being morning people. Pati is his and my mother’s grandkitty – my sister’s cat. Short for Cleopatra, and it is an apt name, as she is a queen. So then my sister chimed in with the strange (and eerily similar) dreams she and my mother had when Pati tried to wake them up at an ungodly hour of the almost-morning. So of course I had to comment on how scary it will be if we all have similar dreams, and that they had better hope I don’t have any nightmare-inducing job-related dreams (as I am prone to do) while I’m there…

This is what she came up with: "Pati was a six foot lemur who couldn't find a job, so she jumped into Sara's office through the window and began taking measurements to see how many aliens could fit in the guest chair. Suddenly, Mike walked in and sneezed, causing Sara and the lemur to poop their pants -- but they weren't wearing any pants! Then we were all in a church made of bricks and there was a 70's cover band behind the altar singing (of course) Brick House, but they changed House to Mouse. I started handing out bowls of ice cream but no-body wanted any because it was tuna flavored. Then Mom came in and punched out the lead singer and took over his job. All the little lemurs from outer space started dancing..."

If I am ever the lead singer of a 70s cover band, it MUST be called “All the Little Lemurs from Outer Space.” Unless David Bowie already used that one

GUEST BLOG!!!!

2006-06-06T12:26:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone. I'm not Sara, but I'm her rotten big sister. She has been inviting me...actually daring me...to contribute to this site for a while. So far, I have refrained, but today I've got more work to do than I know what to do with, calls to friends (including two brides-to-be) I've been putting off returning so I can sleep, and an invisible pick driven through my right eye. So what's a gal to do? I'm going to write about one of the most amusing things I've ever seen for my Sweet Baby Sisser's Blog. So without further ado, here is the official, eye-witness account of ...

The Unfortunate Loogey Incident

I was minding my own business one fine morning during my senior year in high school, driving my sister and I to "the block" where we spent some part of every day of the week. We were on our way to school, and Sara was in the passenger seat dutifully minding her own business as I sang along to ridiculous 80's music. (Cut me some slack, it was the 80's.) Sara had a cold or allergies or something and had been slinging snot around for days. Suddenly, she sneezed explosively! Out the corner of my eye, I saw a big blob of something fly out of her face and hit the windshield!

"ARGH!" I said calmly, "Wipe that up!"

"Wipe what up?" Sara replied.

"That giant honkin' loogey you just spewed!" I said, maintaining complete composure, even though there was something large, horrible, and slimey now roaming the front area of my beautiful, beloved, shiny, red 67 Camaro with chrome rims, chrome air filter, chrome piston covers, chrome wing bolts, and chrome master cylinder cover--all of which I lovingly polished every single weekend. (No, I didn't have a life then, either.)

"I don't see anything," Sara said after conducting a relatively thorough search. There was truth written all over her sweet little face. Since I was busy driving, I decided to trust her and went back to singing along with my radio -- probably to "I still haven't found what I'm looking for" by U2. Oh, the irony!

A few minutes later, we pulled up to the school. I turned to say good-bye and saw, to my complete horror, A GIANT LOOGEY the size of a golf ball, clinging to the windshield DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF SARA'S FACE!!! Can you imagine my horror? C'mon, imagine it; I dare ya.

"ARGH!" I again said calmly. "WIPE THAT UP! OH MY GAWD THAT'S DISGUSTING!!!"

"What!?" she said equally calmly but genuinely puzzled.

How she could not see that monsterous phlegm ball in front of her was beyond my comprehension. We didn't yet know she had terrible cataracts. I had never before, nor have I since, seen such an impressive specimen of sinus secretions. We should have saved it and sent it to a scientist somewhere, or perhaps to the Guiness Book of World Records. I'm sure there were several bacterial colonies living in it, happily oblivious to the spectacle they were causing. They probably had their own Gods and their own little holy wars on that Loogey. It was truly something to behold.

When she finally saw it, we both started laughing hysterically. We found a tissue and she wiped it up. We laughed for another 10 minutes, I think. Then I made her take the tissue with her when she got out of the car.

Now she has three beautiful daughters, and I wonder which of these will carry on her mother's legacy. My bet is on Karma, but I'm sure Divine Retribution will give her a run for her money. Poetic Justice will be the one in the driver's seat, wishing her sisters were strapped to the roof of the car instead of defiling her freshly ArmourAll-wiped upholstery.

I can picture it now. He he he.

Here's the Story... of a Lovely Loogey...

2006-06-05T16:35:00.000-07:00

*giggle giggle snort giggle*

That was the sound from my cubicle this afternoon, and there's quite a story behind it. A story that I suspect will make more than a few people shake their heads in disgust and then turn away from me. But then again, who really needs friends who turn away from you in moments of embarrassment? I say, love me, love my loogeys.

For those of you who don't know what a loogey is, it's kind of hard to define. Coworkers looking for an explanation of my giggles universally responded, "Huh?" when I told them about the loogey conversation between my sister and I... followed by "ewwwwwwwwww, gross!!!" when I explained it in the only way I knew how: by creating the sound effect of someone hocking up a really good one. And if the phrase "hocking up a really good one" doesn't paint the picture, then maybe this definition from the Urban Dictionary will:

LOOGEY:

A blob of snot. lung butter. Yellow Jello. An oyster. An unidentifiable mass of goo of probably disgusting origins. A chewy substance that is difficult to swallow. A throat rocket.

A loogey in your Big Mac can spoil your day.

http://loogey.urbanup.com/1151961

Do we have a clear picture here? And "clear" is, I suppose, what brought up the conversation. My much-awaited trip to Colorado looms on the horizon, and in response to something I sent her in an e mail, she alluded to the short amount of time before the kids and I head-'em-up, move-'em-out, ride-'em'-n, etc. etc. I responded that I was so excited I could spit. And then I had to bring up the loogey.

Well, not really bring it up.. just mention it... a loogey from long, long ago. I can't even recall the context, other than that it must have been her senior year in high school, as she was driving me to school in her gorgeous 67 Camaro, The Edge. (We name cars in our family; my 69 Mustang was "Piranha.") So anywho, I was then - as I am now- prone to allergies. In the middle of a conversation, I suddenly reared back and let loose with a rather loud sneeze, after which I felt remarkably clear. Somehow, and I have no idea how, I failed to see (literally) what my sister got so freaked out about. Turns out I had indeed spewed a giant snot clot right onto her windshield. The incident itself really wasn't that big a deal, at least not to me (though I hear that Windex shares went up three points that day), but it has lived on in family lore for oh these many years. And so when I mentioned loogeys, my sister and I began an e mail volley that kept me in snorts and giggles for the remainder of my workday - and afforded my coworkers the opportunity to go "ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, gross!!!"

Now. Aren't you glad I shared? (And Chelle, feel free to add in details...)

Checking In... and My Newest Mom

2006-06-01T10:22:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know, it's been a while... Things are a little busy on this end. Some of you know why already (and please, keep it to yourselves for now), others will know soon enough. And NO, there is no fourth Diva in the works, so don't worry 'bout that...

But I do have a quick story to tell, if you will indulge me for just a moment. You see, I collect mothers. I mean, I have only one mother/mommy/mama/Senorita Mamacita, and I still need to write a blog just about her (just not on a day when I only have 10 minutes left of my lunch hour). But from Day One I had an extra mother in the form of my Big Sisser, and I've picked up extras along the way - usually by borrowing those that belong to friends, though my Daddy was kind enough to contribute one as well.

Anywho. My newest mom actually belongs to Keira, and she is a real blast. In fact, I think she and my Mamacita would get along quite well; they're both strong and capable women with a great sense of humor, a wicked streak, and a lot of love. They are also, as it turns out, both women who find themselves in odd positions - literally - every so often. Last week, I went over to Newest Mom's for the night. When I pulled up, she was outside bringing the trash to the curb, and told me to just go in the back door. Now, I had only been there twice before at this point, so when I tried the door I thought she was talking about and found it locked, I thought maybe there was another door I didn't know about. So I asked. And watched the look on her face.

Oops.

Newest Dad, you see, was out of town for the night, and Newest Mom was a little concerned about security. So, without thinking, she had turned the lock on the back door right before closing it behind her. Of course, she didn't have her keys with her. Of course, the front door was locked. Of course, the garage is detached. Luckily, the garage also had some tools in it, though there was a bit of a scramble just to find those. And then, Newest Mom (let's just shorten it to NM...) had to pry the screen off the window and lift the windowpane... which, in turn, could only be lifted so high because of some sort of stopper... NM had to crawl through the window, directly into the space under the kitchen table, in order to go inside and unlock the door. Thank goodness the alarm had not been set, because there's NO way she could have crawled inside and gotten to the panel in time...

And the whole time, I couldn't help but think how much I miss my own Mamacita (though I get to see her VERY SOON!!!!), and how much Keira must be missing hers right now. Never fear, K... I will take good care of yours for as long as I'm able. And thanks, many times over, for sharing with me.

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

2006-05-13T10:13:00.000-07:00

Cole took us out to the ballgame,
Took me and the Clone and Red out to the crowd,
Bought peanuts and hot dogs and baseball caps,
We didn't care if we ever came back,
And we screamed, shouted, yelled for the Astros,
And they played one hell of a game,
It was one, two, three strikes and the Rockies were out
At last night's ball game!!!!

Oh yeah. We had a fantastic time. Coca-Cola and the Astros have this promotion, a special deal on 4 tickets to the game, 4 sodas, 4 hot dogs, 2 baseball caps... They call it Family Night... And if we're not quite a family, well... they let us in anyway. LOL Little Bit had other plans on her social calendar, so she elected not to come. The Clone did her usual Greta Garbo routine at first, only coming to humor us, but by the time the game was over, she had screamed herself hoarse. The girls played musical chairs so that everyone got a turn to sit next to Mom at least part of the time, and next to Mr. Cole at least part of the time - or in Red's case, on Mr. Cole's lap. And it was a perfect game for the girls' first real ball game - a three-run homer that put us ahead of the other team, and it just kept going from there... The Wave... clapping the beats of "We Will Rock You" and "Centerfield"...Shouts of "Go 'Stros!!!" High fives all around.. The ladies behind us who tugged on Red's ponytail for luck... Friday Night Fireworks after the game... I could get used to this.

He knows who he is...

2006-05-11T12:19:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I'm a sap... and he knows, it's part of my charm...

Everybody needs someone
Someone to rely on
To talk to, to turn to,
When life gets too blue
Everybody needs someone
To smile at, to laugh with,
To share all their joys with
My someone is you
You’re there for my hard times
My bad times, my sad times
Riding in on your white horse
To lift my sinking heart
You cheer each small triumph,
Victory and success
And for all my bright moments
You’ve been there from the start
No one can know what the future will bring
And for every beginning, fate demands an end
Yet the time that I’ve known you is precious and timeless,
Forever you’ll live in my heart, my true friend.

Faulty Intelligence

2006-05-07T20:45:00.000-07:00

Before I tell the brief story, I have to preface it with a reassurance to my dear stepdad Spike... you see, I'm sure that what happened, was that somehow when I signed off my Yahoo messenger last night, it didn't "take" or something, and showed that I was online. It's the only possible explanation for this morning, since he's not what you'd call a mental lightweight in any sense of the word - the man is retired military intelligence, after all, of the genuine "I-could-tell-you-but-then-I'd-have-to-kill-you" variety. So yes, Yahoo must have been falsely showing me as online.

At 7:45 this morning, which for me is an ungodly hour on a weekend (and a barely tolerable hour on a weekday as I'm driving to the office), my cell phone rang. Not even able to open my eyes enough to read the display, I flipped it open and croaked out a hello... Now, this is the one place where his normally sharp instincts failed, because in an entirely too cheerful voice, he began to tell me how he was e mailing me the recipe for flan that I'd requested, because "you're online right now, aren't you?" I'm not quite sure what I managed to growl out, but at that point I guess he remembered the one major difference between my mother and I... namely, that she is a morning person, while I most certainly am not.

Now, I adore my stepdad, really I do... but when that brief "hello" when answering the phone, sounds eerily similar to Joe Cocker after a hard night of partying... yeah... I think you're the victim of faulty intelligence information.

But man, that flan is goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood...

Oasis

2006-05-02T10:34:00.000-07:00

In the midst of chaos and struggle and the emotional roller coaster that is admitting failure... there was a bright spot, a brief period of total peace, that kept me going this weekend.

Every year, Houston holds "iFest," or the International Festival. All sorts of fun stuff from various countries, each year spotlighting one. This year, they focused on Jamaica. And this year is the first year I've gone. Of course, it was once again Cole who brought me to a new experience. We weren't there super-long, and I really didn't look around much. He was still fatigued from being sick earlier in the week, and I was fatigued both physically and emotionally from the weekend I'd had. So as people milled about, we simply laid on a grassy hill leading down to one of the city's many bayous, several yards to the side of the main stage. We listened to a jazzy-type band for a while, then to silence, and finally to the Robert Cray Band, the main reason we came. Or, in retrospect, the main thing he had told me when he was inviting me. And the concert was great, too... good music, good performer. But the best part was really being there with him, calm, relaxed... alternately sitting up and lying down on the green grass... watching the people walk by... watching a pretty little girl we later learned was named Tatiana, who had hair almost bigger than she was, and who toddled with abandon all over the park under the watchful eyes of what must have been a huge extended family. Cole was by far not the only person lying in the grass who suddenly opened his eyes to her smiling face and enthusiastic "hello" looming over him. Young couples snuggled and stole kisses in the grass, older couples and groups of friends sat in companionable silence or quiet chit-chat. For a few golden hours, all was right with the world.

Holy Water

2006-04-28T10:02:00.000-07:00

by Big and Rich
for those of us who've misplaced our halos

Somewhere there's a stolen halo
I used to watch her wear it well
Everything would shine wherever she would go
But looking at her now you'd never tell

Someone ran away with her innocence
A memory she can't get out of her head
I can only imagine what she's feeling
When she's praying
Kneeling at the edge of her bed

And she says take me away
And take me farther
Surround me now
And hold, hold, hold me like holy water
Holy water

She wants someone to call her angel
Someone to put the light back in her eyes
She's looking through the faces
And unfamiliar places
She needs someone to hear her when she cries

And she says take me away
And take me farther
Surround me now
And hold, hold, hold me like holy water
Holy water

She just needs a little help
To wash away the pain she's felt
She wants to feel the healing hands
Of someone who understands

And she says take me away
And take me farther
Surround me now
And hold, hold, hold me
And she says take me away
And take me farther
Surround me now
And hold, hold, hold me like holy water
Holy water

I'm Moving On

2006-04-25T17:24:00.000-07:00

by Rascal Flatts

I've dealt with my ghosts and I've faced all my demons
Finally content with a past I regret
I've found you find strength in your moments of weakness
For once I'm at peace with myself
I've been burdened with blame, trapped in the past for too long
I'm movin' on

I've lived in this place and I know all the faces
Each one is different but they're always the same
They mean me no harm but it's time that I face it
They'll never allow me to change
But I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong
I'm movin' on

I'm movin' on
At last I can see life has been patiently waiting for me
And I know there's no guarantees, but I'm not alone
There comes a time in everyone's life
When all you can see are the years passing by
And I have made up my mind that those days are gone

I sold what I could and packed what I couldn't
Stopped to fill up on my way out of town
I've loved like I should but lived like I shouldn't
I had to lose everything to find out
Maybe forgiveness will find me somewhere down this road
I'm movin' on
I'm movin' on
I'm movin' on

Moving on. I can relate. I delayed as long as I could, but I have to be out of the apartment by the end of the month. I'm taking off work tomorrow to pack and clean as much as I can... doing some more of that each evening... and holding a garage sale Saturday. When it all comes down, I will do the best I can and then just get on with my life. But I discovered something when I was first starting the packing, and it disturbs me.

You see, when I first moved into that place, it wasn't an "I," it was a "we." It was me, my girls... and Little Bit's father. Things were pretty bad between us. He was in trouble with the law, though I didn't know how badly. He was in trouble with drugs, though I didn't really know how deeply, or rather, didn't allow myself to know. But still. The move was supposed to be the turning point, the beginning of our new life together. Without getting into some excruciatingly painful details, I will just say that it didn't work out that way at all. He never even spent one night in our new home, and suddenly I found myself even worse off than I had been when I met him. And now I'm packing things. Finding old letters, old pictures. His workboots, some clothes, his tools, all the things we moved in, expecting he'd be there to use them. And surprisingly, it hurts. Fresh pain, long after I thought it was behind me. True, it will never really be behind me until I talk to him and tell him it's over. I'm not sure I can, even though I am 99.999999999% sure that it is. But in the meantime, long past the point I thought I had gotten over it, here it comes again. Not missing him, necessarily, though I suppose I do miss the feeling I had when he and I first got together - the feeling of being cherished and taken care of and rescued.

Wow. That sentence was a rather disturbing revelation. Okay. And again, moving on.

So, back to "here it comes again"... Not missing him, necessarily. Just the feeling of helplessness, of failure, of not being enough or doing enough or whatever it is that keeps getting me into this kind of situation over and over again. The feeling of, "it wasn't supposed to be this way." I didn't sign on for this, you know... me and my upper-middle class, Catholic school, honor roll, scholarship life... And then I get angry... resentful... And I hate feeling that way.

I am so ready to get on with my life.

The Kind of Girl I Could Love

2006-04-24T10:40:00.000-07:00

Note: Ladies, don't we all, at least once in our lives, want to be this?

The Monkees

Girl, you look mighty good to me
And I know that you've got to be
The kind of girl I could love.

You've got the sweetest pair of eyes
And your kiss would be paradise
The kind of girl I could love.

You do something to my soul
That no one's ever done.
If you're looking for true love
Then let me be the one.

Girl, deep in my soul I'm sure
And my heart has no doubt that you're
The kind of girl I could love.
The kind of girl I could love.

Sometime in the Morning

2006-04-24T10:35:00.000-07:00

The Monkees

Sometime in the morning
A simple thought may occur to you,
And you hold her,
And tell her all the things you never told her.

Your love has shown me things
I never thought I could see;
I didn't know It could be done so easily.
Now I know
You're where it is for me.

Sometime in the evening
You're sitting there by the fireside
And she'll touch you
And you'll realize how much you

Never knew before,
How much you couldn't see.
You didn't know
It could be done so easily
Now you know
She's all a girl could be.

Now in her childlike eyes
You see the beauty there
You know it was always there
And you need no longer wear a disguise.

Sometime in the morning
You'll just reach out and she will be there,
Close as the summer air.

Sometime in the morning, she will be there.
Sometime in the morning, she will be there.

Whaddya Wanna Do With Your Life?!?!?!?

2006-04-24T10:30:00.000-07:00

Tonight is our “Meet the Candidate” event at school. It’s part of my group project; we’re doing an analysis of the gubernatorial candidates, comparing their values/positions to those of the social work profession (Governor Goodhair, just give up now LOL). Tonight was supposed to be a forum, where all or most of the candidates would come, speak, answer questions, etc. Instead, we have one candidate. The Green Party candidate. Still, it looks like it’s going to be a lot of fun.

We’ve been slogging along on the research paper, and once this semester is over, if I never again lay eyes on any of this information, it will still be too soon. But I say that every semester, with every paper and project.

We created a nice little program for the evening, and it includes the candidate’s bio. I guess I didn’t really pay attention the first time I read it, but when I was reading it within the program, I zeroed in on something I hadn’t seen before. You see, the candidate was born in 1973.

I was born in 1973.

(Now, the fact that he has celebrated or will celebrate his 33rd birthday this year, while I am a remarkably well-preserved and vibrant 40, is something we’ll just have to overlook for now…) So yes… this candidate and I were born in the same year. He’s running for governor. I’m running away – from creditors, from responsibilities, from commitments, from disappointment, from my past mistakes. Same span of time, wildly divergent lives and accomplishments. But then again, I’ll bet he doesn’t have three beautiful, brilliant, charming daughters.

Then again – he’s young, a lawyer, politically active, and idealistic. So maybe if he’s willing to settle for beautiful, brilliant, charming stepdaughters… LOL

I've Been Bodysnatched

2006-04-20T22:15:00.000-07:00

At least, that's what my family is going to think.

I have a budget.

I have a budget. And I'm using it.

Mind you, I didn't come up with it on my own. Cole did that for me, and the sap in me says I don't know what I will do without him, but that's a worry for the future, not for today. Now, it's not pretty right now. I'm a few hundred dollars in the hole, and that doesn't count a major upcoming expense. But as Cole pointed out, once I know where I'm at, we can figure out where I need to be, and begin to plan on how to be there. And sure enough, this week we've already identified ways for me to cut some expenses, and bring a little bit of extra money in. Of course, nothing as funny (or fun!) as earning twenty bucks LOL but at least things are approaching being under control.

Under control. Yep. Bodysnatched. Definitely bodysnatched.

Twenty Dollars

2006-04-20T15:50:00.000-07:00

On their wedding night, the young bride approached her new husband and asked for $20.00 for their first lovemaking encounter. In his highly aroused state, her husband readily agreed.This scenario was repeated each time they made love, for more than 30 years, with him thinking that it was a cute way for her to afford new clothes and other incidentals that she needed.

Arriving home around noon one day, she was surprised to find her husband in a very drunken state. During the next few minutes, he explained that his employer was going through a process of corporate downsizing, and he had been let go. It was unlikely that, at the age of 59, he'd be able to find another position that paid anywhere near what he'd been earning, and therefore, they were financially ruined.

Calmly, his wife handed him a bank book which showed more than thirty years of steady deposits and interest totaling nearly$1 million. Then she showed him certificates of deposits issued by the bank which were worth over $2 million, and informed him that they were one of the largest depositors in the bank.She explained that for the more than three decades she had "charged" him for sex, these holdings had multiplied and these were the results of her savings and investments.

Faced with evidence of cash and investments worth over $3 million, her husband was so astounded he could barely speak, but finally he found his voice and blurted out, "If I'd had any idea what you were doing, I would have given you all my business!"

That's when she shot him.

You know, sometimes, men just don't know when to keep their mouths shut.

Swayin' to the Music

2006-04-12T16:39:00.000-07:00

Okay, so here's the deal... a few days ago (in fact, on my drive home from Dallas) I heard the song "Slow Dancin'," performed by Seals & Crofts. (Croft? I dunno... Johnny Rivers did it first, I think.) It was sticking in my mind, because it's such a pretty song, and also because I haven't gone dancing in so long. I can't even remember the last time I slow-danced, or rather, the last time I slow-danced and it didn't involve my kids. So the song was on my mind already... But read on after the lyrics, to see what happened next...

Slow Dancin'

It's late at night and we're all alone
Just the music on the radio
No one's comin', no one's gonna telephone
Just me and you and the lights down low

And we're
Slow dancin', swayin' to the music
Slow dancin', just me and my girl
Slow dancin', swayin' to the music
No one else in the whole wide world
Just you, girl

And we just flow together when the lights are low
Shadows dancin' all across the wall
Music's playin' so soft and slow
Rest of the world so far away and small

When we're
Slow dancin', swayin' to the music
Slow dancin', just me and my girl
Slow dancin', swayin' to the music
No one else in the whole wide world

Hold me, Oh, oh, oh, hold me
No never let me go

As we dance together in the dark
So much love in this heart of mine
You whisper to me, hold you tight
You're the one I thought I'd never find

Now we're
Slow dancin', swayin' to the music
Slow dancin', just me and my girl
Slow dancin', swayin' to the music
No one else in the whole wide world

Slow dancin', swayin' to the music
Slow dancin', just me and my girl
Slow dancin', swayin' to the music
No one else in the whole wide world
Whole wide world

Okay... so there's the song, really pretty, hope at least some of you know it and were hearing it in your head. Because now comes the part where I do something that might well make it impossible for you to ever hear it the same way again. Here's how it happened.

I have no idea what kind of conversation was going on in the cubicle next to mine. I think it had something to do with clever ways to measure "employment" with some of our more... errrr... interesting clients. You know, the usual jokes about how they can be "independent pharmaceutical sales reps" or "personal attendants." And somehow the conversation degenerated from there (not exactly a far stretch), so that as I came around the corner with my purse slung over my shoulder, I was just in time to see my supervisor do an imitation of a pole dance (minus the pole). Let me tell you, no matter WHO your supervisor is or what he/she looks like, you never want to see that. Trust me. You just don't. So anywho, I have this image of pole dancing stuck in my head, plus the sound of this song floating through my mind, and... well...

Pole Dancin'

It's late at night and I'm at the bar
Just the music playing loud and hard
We're all drinkin', no one's gonna go home,
Just all these dancers and the lights down low

And they're
Pole dancin', swayin' to the music,
Pole dancin', those half-naked girls,
Pole dancin', swayin' to the music,
A bump, a grind, and a little twirl,
Topless girls

And they're just dancing naked when the lights are low
Women prancin' all across the stage
Music's playin', they're all good to go
Wish they were dancin' in an iron cage

Well they're
Pole dancin', swayin' to the music
Pole dancin', those half-naked girls
Pole dancin', swayin' to the music,
A bump, a grind, and a little twirl

Tease me, Oh, oh, oh, tease me
No never let me touch

As they writhe and wriggle in the dark
So much strain in these pants of mine
They shout "last call" and it's the end of the night
Now it's off to see if a hooker I can find

'Cause they were
Pole dancin', swayin' to the music
Pole dancin', those half-naked girls
Pole dancin', swayin' to the music,
A bump, a grind and a little twirl

Yes, friends and neighbors... a mind is a terrible thing.

A Word to the Wise Iraqi Insurgent

2006-04-10T15:43:00.000-07:00

In the very near future, a blonde, brilliant, beautiful, bold, ballsy, brassy babe of a broad is going to be in your country, working hard to keep up the spirits of American troops.

I know your group tends to like to kidnap American contractors. So here is my advice to you.

Don't go after this one.

For one thing, in addition to all the other qualities I listed above, this chick is tough. She can take you. I'm not kidding. She'll kick your ass.

But for another thing... she has friends. There are certain kinds of people in this world that you really don't want to piss off, and I'm pretty sure that a redhead-Italian-witch-sister is someone you don't want to mess with. Just because I've never gone sky-diving before, don't think I won't steal a parachute and enlist the help of my favorite pilot for one very special mission. And if you don't think I can do you some serious damage without ever even laying a finger on you... well, just ask the little girl who tried to cut in front of my daughters in the bumper car line at the Santa Monica Pier a few years back. I bet she's still in therapy. I promise you, if you lay one finger on her, then when you get done with her, you'd better forget about your higher reward, 'cause Allah won't even recognize you, and those 700 virgins won't have anything to work with, if ya know what I'm saying.

Yeah. That's what I thought. Just move on, honey.

One more note...

2006-04-09T14:53:00.000-07:00

One more thing, and then I think I'm done for the day... (come on, aren't three posts enough?!?!?!)

Joe was giving me a rundown of his agenda for the training/conference/meeting/whatever. Well, now I know more than I ever wanted to, about what engineers do for fun. Because tonight, he gets to go to...

Oh, I can barely stand the excitement...

He gets to go to...

A SOFTWARE LOADING PARTY!!!!!

Be still my beating heart.

A Beautiful Day for a Drive...

2006-04-09T14:28:00.000-07:00

Good thing it was, too, because I made the super-evil-stupid drive to and from Dallas again this weekend. And I'd do it again, in a heartbeat, for the reason I did it today.

A few months ago I got back in touch with an old friend from high school, one I had lost contact with way too long ago. Somewhere along the way, he informed me that his company was sending him to Texas for an annual meeting of some kind. I live in Texas, so of course, he wondered if we could catch up while he was here. Where in Texas was he being sent? Of course... Dallas.

Now, I grew up in California, which is a pretty tall state. Texas is about as wide as California is tall. And at the time, the hour-or-so drive to San Francisco from home seemed like such a looooooooooooooooooooong trip. But now, I apparently think nothing of a four-hour hop in the car to see good ol' Joe. We didn't get to spend a whole lot of time together; in fact, I think the drive was about twice as long as the conversation. But the conversation was important, so it was well worth it. Let me give you a teeny-tiny bit of backstory, so that the significance of what he said this morning, might hit you like it did me.

Joe and I were good friends in school, though I wouldn't even venture to give some measure of our closeness. Just the good-friends-and-that's-it that I was with a couple of guys I knew at the time. But one thing will always stick in my mind above all else. See, Joe worked at the gas station, loved to work on cars, and was therefore probably mistaken by more than one person for just another gearhead. But I knew better. He was so much more. For one thing, he was a terrific friend. I could talk to him about anything, for hours. For another, he was quite protective of me, and that can be a really good feeling for a young gal like myself. And for another, he was full of surprises. One evening he called me from the station, and told me to look outside at the sky. He had noticed a gorgeous sunset, and wanted to share it with someone he knew could appreciate it, and he thought of me. That was just the kind of guy Joe was - is.

So anyway, over the last few months, he and I have caught up. We've done a lot of reminiscing about the past, and not so much talking about the present, or the intervening years. This weekend was for talking about the present, mostly. I was filling him in on the state of chaos my life is in right now, and on what I'm doing about it. At some point I said something about what I would do "when I get my act together," and that's when the old Joe kicked in. He told me that I needed to just purge that sentence from my vocabulary. He told me about times in his life where he was always waiting for this to happen and then everything would be fine, and then waiting for that to happen and things would even out. He said if I live too much in the past or the future, I forget the good things about the present that are going on around me... He likened it to sitting in traffic, in the middle of a beautiful sunset, so busy worrying about the best route to get home and what needed to be done there, that the sunset passed unnoticed. I can always count on Joe and his sunsets to bring me around.

It got to be time for me to leave, and I hugged him goodbye. It's funny how the years can melt away sometimes, because suddenly it felt like I was seventeen again, completely safe in the strong arms of someone who delighted in playing the part of protector. And then on the way home, the radio hit me with "In My Life" and got me thinking about the past... and about the present... and about three little girls who make up my world and my reason for living. Everything else is just details. In my life, I love them most. And I'm grateful to Joe for the reminder, to stop worrying about the future and start appreciating what I have today.

For the Divas

2006-04-09T14:17:00.000-07:00

A few years back a good friend of mine mentioned that she loves the song "When I See You Smile" by Bad English. As many songs do for both of us, it has a memory/emotion attached to it - it makes her think, not of some long-ago boyfriend, but of her older (at the time, her only) daughter. With that in mind, I have a couple of songs for you...

In My Life
by The Beatles

There are places I remember
all my life, though some have changed.
Some forever, not for better.
And some have gone, and some remain.
All these places have their moments
with lovers and friends I still recall.
Some are dead and some are living.
In my life I love them all.

But of all these friends and lovers,
there is no one compares with you.
And these memories lose their meaning
when I think of love as something new.
Though I know I'll never ever lose affection
for people and things that went before,
I know I'll often stop and think about them.
In my life I love you more.

Though I know I'll never ever lose affection
for people and things that went before,
I know I'll often stop and think of them.
But in my life I loved you more.
I love you more.
I love you more.

Holdin' You
by Gretchen Wilson

I don't need whiskey to drown out the pain
Or some old umbrella to hold off the rain
Don't have to cross over a river of tears
All that I need is right here

Holding you holds me together
When holding on gets just a little to hard
When this tight rope I travel
Begins to unravel
and I feel like I'm falling apart
Holding you holds me together

You know life's a freight liner on
A runaway track
But I'll take the ride knowing
That you'll bring me back
No fate's too uncertain no distance to far
As long as you're here in my arms

Holding you holds me together
When holding on gets just a little to hard
When this tight rope I travel
Begins to unravel
and I feel like I'm falling apart
Holding you holds me together

Whenever I hold you tight
This crazy world of mine falls right in place
Whatever the trouble is
You find a way to give back what it takes

Holding you holds me together
When holding on gets just a little to hard
When this tight rope I travel
Begins to unravel
and I feel like I'm falling apart
Holding you holds me together

What's the Heck is Going On?

2006-04-05T17:44:00.000-07:00

Yep, friends and neighbors, lots of posts lately of song lyrics. What can I say? Tumultuous times, lots going on in my mind, some of which I'm actually keeping to myself instead of publishing for the whole world to see. Some of it I can share though - for instance, while I am supposed to be doing some packing right now (since I have 5 days to be out of my apartment, and not one bit of packing even begun, and the weekend full of other activities including a PITA drive to Dallas to see an old and much-missed friend), I am instead blogging. Afterward, I will go by the apartment to grab a few things, then go eat Chinese food, before going off to spend the evening with a not-yet-shipped-off Keira. (YAY!) Unfortunately for her, all the things I'm not babbling about here, she's going to get an earful of tonight. Oh well... that's what you get when you make friends with me and then turn out to be my separated-at-birth-but much-prettier-and-emotionally-stronger twin.

So anywho. The songs. Some of them significant, some of them just ones that I've been hearing in my head lately, although I'm sure if I analyze them closely enough I'll figure out that my head is trying to tell me something. Three of them favorites of lo these many years, and one that I first heard recently, but it caught my attention and held it.

And of course, I can't figure out why all of a sudden the posts are showing up so low on the page, especially when an individual post will still lay out correctly. Ah well... such is life, and those of you who keep up with me, know to scroll down...

So. I think I'm off to grab some clothes for work tomorrow, swing by 888 Chinese Restaurant, and then head on up to the Wyndham. See y'all tomorrow, I'm sure.

Haven't We Been Here Before

2006-04-05T17:42:00.000-07:00

by Styx

Haven't we been here before
Footsteps lead down to the note on the door
That says I can't stay here anymore

And haven't we felt this same way
Sure in our hearts, but afraid just the same
To say I can't stay one minute more

You might think that it's hopeless
Beyond our control
But that's not necessarily so
Can't you see there's a chanceFor the daring young soul
Who's finally learned to say no
No, I won't be misused
Ignored or refused
And I won't just give up and let go

So tonight hold me close to you
And don't give up what's important to you
And as time rolls on
Nothing can stand in our way

And I believe if we learn from the past
We'd say haven't we been here before?
And I believe if we open our hearts
We'd find keys to unlock every door
Dark would turn into light
We'd be strong
We'd be right

So tonight hold me close to you
And don't give up what's important to you
And as time rolls on
Nothing will stand in our way

And I believe if we learn from the past
We'd say haven't we been here before
Oh, and I believe if we open our hearts
We'd find keys to unlock every door
Hearts could change overnight
We'd be strong...
We'd be right
So stay with me now
The future is ours
And we'll be the ones who go on

What About Me

2006-04-05T17:39:00.000-07:00

by Moving Pictures

Well there's a little boy waiting at the counter of the corner shop
He's been waiting down there, waiting half the day,
They never ever see him from the top
He gets pushed around, knocked to the ground,
He gets to his feet and he says...

What about me? It isn't fair
I've had enough, now I want my share
Can't you see, I wanna live
But you just take more than you give

Well, there's a pretty girl serving at the counter of the corner shop
She's been waiting back there, waiting for a dream,
Her dreams walk in and out, they never stop
Well, she's not too proud, to cry out loudS
he runs to the street and she screams...

What about me? It isn't fair
I've had enough, now I want my share
Can't you see, I wanna live
But you just take more than you give
More than you give...

Take a step back and see the little people
They might be young, but they're the ones
that make the big people big
So listen as they whisper:"What about me?"

And now I'm standing on the corner, all the world's gone home
Nobody's changed, nobody's been saved
And I'm feeling cold and alone
I guess I'm lucky, I smile a lot
But sometimes I wish for more than I've got...

What about me? It isn't fair
I've had enough, now I want my share
Can't you see, I wanna live
But you just take more than you give
What about me?
What about me?
What about....me?

Brown Thumb

2006-04-03T19:53:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I'm feeling a little down tonight, and IMing with a faraway friend, who has (possibly only half-jokingly) suggested I come be his girlfriend for a while. And while the idea of being a kept woman has its appeal, I can unfortunately not meet his needs. You see, my primary responsibilities would include housekeeping... and plant care.

Now, anyone who knows me well is already rolling on the floor in hysterics over that prospect, but for the uninformed, I'll explain why hilarity ensues at the mention of housekeeping and plant care. For one thing, a housekeeper I am NOT. Cole actually finds it quite amusing when I have a chore at his place, and after examining something from multiple angles, approach him with a sheepish smile and ask how to work it. (Cases in point, a short ladder and a TV tray. Don't ask.)

But the plants... now THOSE are the real funny story. You would think that I would have a gift with plants; Nana was a genius with roses, and they still bloom bright in Gram's yard. But noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo... instead, I had to inherit my mother's Brown Thumb. Yep, the opposite of a green thumb. Mama pulled some pretty tricky moves. Oh sure, there are a handful of people in this world that can kill cactuses or ivy like she did. Hurricane Miah managed to kill an ivy in our apartment - between her and I, the poor thing didn't stand a chance. But Mama? Mama achieved something that few on this planet have ever done.

She killed a plastic fern.

Yes. A plastic fern.

The fronds turned brown and fell off. If I'm lyin' I'm dyin'. And those, dear friends, are the genes I inherited. Oh, I inherited some fun ones too. The singing gene. The appreciation for purposely bad and/or silly movies gene. The dancing gene. The booty gene. But why, oh why, did I have to inherit the planticide gene?!?!?!

Into the Mystic

2006-04-03T19:46:00.000-07:00

by Van Morrison

We were born before the wind
Also younger than the sun
Ere the bonnie boat was won
as we sailed into the mystic
Hark, now hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic
And when that fog horn blows
I will be coming home
And when that fog horn blows
I want to hear it
I don't have to fear it
I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
Then magnificently we will float into the mystic
And when that fog horn blows
you know I will be coming home
And when that fog horn whistle blows
I got to hear it
I don't have to fear it
I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And together we will float into the mystic
Come on girl...

Talking to the Moon

2006-04-02T21:41:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite songs, by one of my favorite singers, for someone I miss...

Talking to the Moon
Don Henley

When the hot September sun down in Texas
Has sucked the streams bone dry, and turned the roads to dust,
In the sleepy little towns down in Texas
The shades are all pulled down, the streets are all rolled up.

And the only thing that breaks the silence are the trucks a-passing by,
And late at night on the front porch swing you can hear a mournful sigh.
And the lonesome whip-or-will cries to the stars above.
He was calling out for his lady love, she's been gone so long.

I was just talking to the moon,
hopin' someday soon that I'd be over
The memory of you, too hard to hold.

And the wind across the plains
Is all that now remains.
You know the night shakes loose the names,
but they never quite go back the way they came.

So goodbye, rodeo,
It's a long, funny way for a man to go
And never change, never change at all.

I was just talking to the moon,
Hopin' someday soon that I'd be over
The memory of you, too hard to hold.
I was just talking to the moon
Hopin' someday soon that I'd be over
the memory of you .

Springtime for Who?

2006-04-02T21:23:00.000-07:00

Driving home tonight, I saw a billboard by the highway that said, "Re-Elect Our Mayor." The thing was, it wasn't referring to the mayor of Houston. It was about the mayor of New Orleans, Ray Nagin. Bit of a controversial fellow, too, which made it even more odd. And then, as it is wont to do, my mind started to wander.

See, I wondered how many New Orleanians currently living in Houston, cared enough about going back to care who their mayor was. And they must be the ones who paid for the billboard, right? (No, I'm not that naive...) But the idea of the citizens of New Orleans rallying behind their mayor for a return to their city just struck me as so... well, so... so Broadway Musical... Suddenly I could picture it clear as day... thousands of people bursting out of the Astrodome in perfectly choreographed steps, shuffle-ball-changing across the Reliant complex. The leading man and leading lady leading the crowd (of course - why do you think they're called "leading"?) in song...

The water's receded, our city'll be fine
It's time now for us to get ourselves in line
No fussin', no fightin', no cussin', no beggin'
And the man who can do it is our own Ray Nagin...
*tappity-tappity-tappity-tap*

Oh yeah. I'm a-goin' to hell. But me and Mel Brooks and Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick are gonna have a great time there...

Hole In My Heart

2006-03-29T09:42:00.000-08:00

I cried on the way to work today... cried at least once this morning... and am tearing up now, on my lunch hour.

Keira is going to Iraq. She has a fabulous new job, one that is perfect for her and for which she is perfect. She'll be running an MWR facility, and I guarantee the troops that use that facility, will be the most well-cared-for troops in the entire war. This is a dream for her, and one of those rare instances where you know someone up there really got it right.

But.

Her going-away party is this weekend - and so is my Mommy-and-Me weekend with Red. In Dallas. And that has to take precedence. Keira understands completely. Still, that means that, effectively, last night was the last time I will see Keira before she goes to Iraq. The last time, period, for at least a very long time. And I'm not ready. I'm not ready for her to be gone. It's not like she's going away forever, and not like we're not going to burn up the Internet chatting and e mailing constantly. But it's not the same. And I'm not ready. And that makes me wonder how I will handle other goodbyes I'm expecting in the near future. I'm having to face the fact that what is best, is not always easy-and that even knowing that it is what is best, doesn't make it even a little bit easier.

*sigh*

Being a grown-up sucks.

My Little Mini-Me's

2006-03-25T17:05:00.000-08:00

I'll turn them into social workers yet. Or at the very least, people who realize that the world doesn't end at the end of their street.

Today I got to bring the kids along on a school project. Long story short, the whole class was helping with the group project of one part of the class, which involved doing a community survey at a housing project near the school. I've been there before, even done projects there before, but it was the first time for me to bring the girls. I wasn't entirely sure how they'd handle it, since they've never really been in an inner-city-type setting. But we got there a little earlier than our scheduled clean-up time, and the survey and food area was set up outside. As soon as they laid eyes on the playground they were begging to go, and I figured it was for the best - it would keep them happily occupied, and me able to help take tickets and serve barbecue to the survey-taking residents. It's what happened when we were done serving and cleaning up, and everyone was getting ready to go, that my daughters surprised me yet again.

"Mommy do we have to go right now? Can't we stay and play a while?"

We stayed about an hour. I sat down on a concrete bench nearer to the playground, in between one woman who was either the parent or the aunt of some of the kids, and another who I don't think was related to anyone there at all - just one of the unattached adults that lives there and is a de facto grandmother for whoever happens to be around. My girls played with abandon, games of freeze-tag and chase, climbing ropes and sliding down slides, while two little boys took turns playing with my hair, trying like anything to braid the slippery strands. I gave away three of my coveted troop-support rubber bracelets, keeping only the one from the Army Ten-Miler, the one "Sgt. Mark" gave to Miah (too big for her tiny wrists) just before he left for Kosovo, and my metal cuff dedicated to the same Sgt. Mark. And of course, I kept my social work bracelet too. The others made their way around the wrists of several little boys, I think, before they settled on their final owners. Heaven only knows what their mothers will think, when they come home with "Army of One" and "Life, Liberty, Freedom" dangling from their arms. But I was in no position to turn down all those big brown eyes, smiling up at me as they hugged my waist. Me, a total stranger, just one of a group that came to ask some questions and give them lunch for their trouble.

And my girls, who never once thought about differences or neighborhoods or skin color - who just knew that they were having fun, playing with a bunch of new kids, and they just didn't want to go. You know what my favorite part is, of having these kids? These particular kids? All the things they have to teach me, and to teach the rest of the world. Keep an eye open in years to come. I think I birthed some movers and shakers.

Another Legend Lost

2006-03-25T10:14:00.000-08:00

http://entertainment.tv.yahoo.com/entnews/ap/20060325/114331686000.html

If you've read my "Papa posts" then you already know that my grandfather used to play with Buck Owens. Well, we lost Papa several years ago - '99 or 2000, I can never remember exactly. For the most part I've adjusted, but every now and then it hits me again. When Chet Atkins died. When Johnny Cash died. And now, Buck Owens has passed on as well. All I can think is, as sad as it is, I bet he and Papa are already getting reacquainted and they're up there with a couple of guitars, jamming and laughing and irritating the living hell out of my grandmother. Tex Ritter is probably with them, too, and maybe even Johnny and Chet.

There's some might fine pickin' and grinnin' goin' on in Heaven today. Close your eyes and listen, you might even hear it. I sure do.

"Mama goes where Papa goes, or Papa don't go out tonight..."

Ain't No High-Class Broad

2006-03-22T10:42:00.000-08:00

My apologies to my mother, who is probably having convulsions over both the grammar and the vocabulary in that statement. Country music fans, however, will recognize the line from Gretchen Wilson's "Redneck Woman," and this post is about the last night of the Rodeo, and the Gretchen Wilson concert.

Before the concert,they have the actual Rodeo events. Calf-roping, team roping, bullriding, bronc riding, etc. Now, these are a bunch of down-home good ol' country boys, right? So you expect a bunch of Joes and Bobbys and maybe a Bo orLuke... a Mike and a Matt and such... But we also had cowboys like Timber, Clay, Sterling, Kolby, Ryle, Rowdy, and Bonner. There were probably other odd names too, but those were the ones I caught once I noticed the pattern and started writing them down. I'm sure my mother in law wondered what the hell I was doing with my pen and notebook, jotting stuff down as the cowboys were introduced, but whatever.

Yep, my mother in law. Because, as has been our custom for several years now, it was a family affair. Me, all three of my girls, mom in law, sister in law, and niece. Quite a crowd, and some of them people I wouldn't normally be around if given a choice. But we had a good time. The concert was fabulous, as it was last year. In addition to her own songs, Gretchen did Heart's "Barracuda" and a Led Zeppelin song,the name of which escapes me (I sang just a bit of it to Cole that night, and it was on the tip of his tongue but neither of us quite remembered.) But as I was dancing in my seat and singing along, wearing my jeans and my purchased-there "Here 4 the Party" sleeveless ribbed tank top, I realized... yeah... sometimes I really am just a redneck woman, no high-class broad. I mean, I do clean up good. I know how to look and sound and even sometimes act quite respectable. But there are times when I do feel more comfortable just being down-home and casual... and yes, sometimes even a little trashy.

Live with it. ;)

My Amazing Papa

2006-03-18T18:09:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the whole dropped-off-the-face-of-the-earth thing... Two major homework assignments last week kept me pretty busy. It was pretty interesting, too, because one of them involved a lot of self-analysis, which is a little hard to do sometimes. Analyzing areas of my life that need changing and improving. Making me face up to things about myself I would rather not face up to.

But the OTHER assignment was the real treat. It was a genogram, basically a family tree, with a paper to go along. In the course of writing the paper, I got clarification on a few old family stories that I had apparently gotten wrong before. It seems that Nana never gave Papa an ultimatum about being a musician or a father - he made the choice to stay home more after my mother was born, since he finally had his little girl (something about daddies and their daughters)... I also knew that he had played with Buck owens, but I never knew that the Roy Clark role on Hee-Haw, was actually written with my Papa in mind. He turned it down, saying he didn't want to commute that far for the taping; if they would have moved the taping up to where Nana and Papa were living at the time, it would have been a different story. He was on show that broadcast more locally, and my mom remembers on Saturday afternoons, the kids would help dad get ready, and then an hour later be watching him on TV.

I always loved, admired, and respected my Papa... but the more I learn about him, the more I wish I'd had even more years, and even more chances to talk to the wonderful man that was my grandfather. I miss you, Papa. Rest in Peace, Roy Chandler Wilson.

Bragging Rights

2006-03-13T10:16:00.000-08:00

I am so very, very, very endlessly proud of my daughters. Okay, so I'm always proud of them. But yesterday morning makes me even more proud, and I'll tell you why.

Yesterday was AIDS Walk Houston. When I was first making plans to walk as part of the GCSW team, I let the older girls know that I would probably ask their grandmother to watch them for the morning, and take Little Bit with me in the wagon. I was pretty surprised when they piped up, "We want to go!" I told them it was a long walk. They still wanted to go. I told them it was just over three miles. The Clone reasoned that three miles was only 12 laps around the track at school, and after verifying that we were walking, not jogging or running, (has she seen her mother's thighs lately?), and that it was not a race of any kind, she affirmed that she could in fact manage the walk. Not to be outdone, Red declared her intention to come along as well.

It was a beautiful day. It was a beautiful event. Somewhere early on, we realized that we couldn't keep up with the rest of the team, so we relaxed a little... made it the AIDS Stroll, or the AIDS Amble, or perhaps even the AIDS Mosey. Little Bit had a tiny meltdown toward the end, when she decided she was tired of the wagon but didn't want to walk either - she wanted to be carried. I refused, and refused to let The Clone, a.k.a. Little Mama, step in. But eventually the Walk was over, with very little complaining of heat or sore legs from the big girls. Now, this morning, they're probably aching almost as bad as their mother is... but still... my daughters, at ages 10, 9, and 4, just completed their very first charity walk. How much you wanna bet it won't be their last?

Mea Culpa

2006-03-10T14:48:00.000-08:00

A public apology is in order.

Cole is my Unboyfriend. Unboyfriend, or UB, is a designation which tends to objectify him and/or create an artificial distance. That’s not my intention at all. The fact is, I adore the heck out of Cole. He’s a great practically-my-boyfriend. He’s a phenomenal friend. He’s been my rock lately, a source of strength, encouragement, and support. So he deserves better than to be reduced to “UB” in my posts. He really probably deserves to be referred to as “Cole the Absolutely Magnificent Man and My Own Personal Hero,” but since that’s quite a mouthful (eyeful? typing-handful?) I will instead go back to telling y’all stories about Cole, as opposed to UB.

Okay, Cole. Better? ;) (Man, this guy has really got me under his thumb, doesn’t he?)

Thank you, sweetheart.

Centerfield

2006-03-09T06:24:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it feels like most of my major revelations come through music.

Tuesday night UB and I got to see John Fogerty in concert at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. He put on a fabulous show. He’s one of those artists that sounds just as good live as he does out of the studio. UB and I have talked about this several times in the past – how there are some “artists” who can’t carry a tune in a bucket without a lot of studio engineering to back them up. But John is the real thing, and there was no doubt about it the other night. Every time he would play the intro to a song, the audience would be cheering and screaming, knowing immediately what they were about to hear, and singing along with abandon. (“Bob, I can name that tune in three notes…”)

John Cameron Fogerty will turn 61 this May. He’s been a professional musician and songwriter since the mid-1960s or so, which basically means since his late teens or early 20s. Can you imagine, making a living at what you love to do? Making a life out of your passion, instead of relegating it to a weekend or when-I-have-the-time hobby? And boy, is he ever still 110% into it… jumping and running all over the stage doing his little white-boy-playing-guitar dance… So naturally, that gets me to thinking. What do I love to do? What am I truly passionate about? It used to be the theater, and if I were to get back into that I’d have a blast, I’m sure. I love to dance and to sing, but I’m not professional quality – unlike my mother, who has somehow found a way to branch her talent into a side business, though I don’t know if she’s doing that in Colorado as she did in California. But what I really, really love to do is write, and I have to find a way to bring that into my life in a fuller way than just this humble little blog.

But what else am I passionate about? Social work. Helping people with their problems. Connecting them to the resources and services that are available to them, to help them create a better life for themselves and a better future for their families. I’m not officially a social worker yet, still need my MSW. And where I work, though not officially called a social worker, that’s a big chunk of what I do. I’ve been getting disillusioned lately. Caught up in the drama and the garbage, letting the bureaucracy get to me, letting things get me down, or get me angry. John Fogerty reminded me of something. For many years, he went through legal battles with his former bandmates, that kept him from being able to perform their songs in concert (despite the fact that he was the songwriter). So what did he do? Did he give up and let the bull get to him? Nope. He wrote and recorded new material for a long time. I imagine he played his old CCR stuff to himself, for his family, for friends. And he kept forging ahead, fighting his battle until he won. And now here he is, almost 61 years old, but when you watch him sing, the years fade away. The energy is palpable.

So now, what do I need to do? Ignore the garbage. Vent about the things that are bothering me and then let them go. Do the best I can with what I have and with what I am allowed to do. Search for ways to empower myself and to work within the limitations that have been set on me. Put me in, Coach, I’m ready to play… today… look at me… I can be… centerfield.

Stress

2006-03-05T08:29:00.000-08:00

My stepdad came through Houston yesterday, on the way back from a mission trip to New Orleans with the pastor and his wife. All told, there had been about 30 people on the trip, but only Spike, Cool Pastor, and Mrs. Cool Pastor - or perhaps more appropriately, Cool Mrs. Pastor - met us for dinner. "Us" being me, the girlies, and UB. We met at Chuy's, a good Mexican restaurant that's the home of the Elvis Presley Memorial Combo Platter (its real name) and my personal favorite, Crack Dip (not its real name - those NOT in the know, including the restaurant itself, call it Creamy Jalapeno Dip).

No, the visit wasn't the least bit stressful, it was fabulous. No, the title of this post refers to something that came up in conversation, though I don't think Spike ever got the story. Early on in the evening, I got the usual haven't-seen-you-in-forever questions, one of which is, "So how's work?" And I answered, quite truthfully, "Oh, fine... well... except for yesterday when I almost put my fist through a brick wall."

So now, here's the backstory to that comment, which Spike didn't get. I spent three days last week in training. Keep in mind that I have worked there for about 9 months, and this is the first formal training I've been given that specifically relates to my job. In fact, it is only the second formal training I've been given at all, the first being about 5 or 6 weeks previously. The training was both wonderful and horrible. Wonderful because I got all sorts of fabulous ideas on how to really help our customers, the way I've been wanting to help them all along. Horrible, because I've realized how far off the mark we are, and how unlikely it is that I will ever be able to implement the ideas. It feels like our performance measures are set up to make it impossible to do what we really need to do. All of this, at a level over which I have no control or influence.

Thursday night, after the last day of training, I spent about three hours (and stayed up way too late) talking to a like-minded and sympathetic co-worker who is also a good friend. We commiserated over the difficulty of knowing what needs to be done, and not being allowed to do it. I finally tumbled into bed, physically and emotionally exhausted, having temporarily forgotten how much of an emotional sponge I am. I absorbed his frustration, retained my own... and woke up the next morning, having had no less than (and probably more than) four separate nightmare sequences involving work. My head and neck were killing me, a carryover from the day before, and I just dreaded walking back into the office.

When I got there, one person made a smart remark that got my blood boiling a little bit, but I held my tongue. The morning started out quiet, smooth, no problems. And then... and then... I had to deal with the customer of a co-worker who was out for the day, and it was a straightforward enough situation. Program requires customer to work or look for work, customer states he can't due to a disability, we give customer the form he needs to have the doctor fill out so that we can excuse him from the requirement. He was bringing the form back to us, so I had him sit down with me so we could look it over and make sure that was all we needed. Except his doctor said that he can work or look for work, within certain limitations - no lifting, no more than 2 hours of standing, etc. I begin to explain to him what he will be required to do. And he blows up at me. Gets mean and nasty and ugly, all but accuses me of discrimination, tells me he wants to speak to anyone but me since I obviously don't know what I am doing. I smile tightly, transfer him to a co-worker, and rush to the back. I storm into the break room, slam the door behind me, and kick the brick wall... slam my fist into it sideways (note to self: do not slam fist into brick wall while wearing metal cuff bracelet)... slap my open palm against the stucco wall (were it a fist, it would have gone through the wall).. and collapse against the wall in tears. This, of course, brings in a gaggle of co-workers, who in different degrees understand that there is more going on than just one jackass client.

So yeah. Fine, except for when I almost put my fist through a brick wall.

In Threes

2006-02-27T21:08:00.000-08:00

Bad things happen in threes. And, it seems, celebrity deaths are no exception. In the last few days we've lost Don Knotts, Darren McGavin (somehow I picture a plain pine-box coffin emblazoned with the word "Frah-JEE-lay"), and Dennis Weaver. I didn't make the connection when I heard about the last one, but all three of those have first names starting with D. UB was the one who pointed that out to me, and then we had to speculate on who would be the three E's that will go next. Let's see some of the lucky candidates...

Earl Hindman (hope not!)

Ernest Borgnine (is he dead already or no?)

Englebert Humperdinck (recently awarded an honorary doctorate from... somewhere...)

Eagle Eye Cherry (the first surprising option, given the age bracket)

Eddie Van Halen (after all, he was treated for cancer not too long ago)

Eddie Rabbit (ditto with the "is he dead already?")

Earlene Mandrell (why should it be just men?)

Ed Harris (say it ain't so!)

Edward Norton (ditto)

Now, if these guys and/or gals start dropping off like flies, I'm gonna be more than a little nervous...

Tissue Alert

2006-02-27T21:01:00.000-08:00

Somewhere along the line, the "chatterbugs" at Books for Soldiers determined the need for what we call a tissue alert. That's a note we put in the title of a post/thread that is bound to be a tearjerker. Well, someone apparently needs to tell my Uncle Bob about tissue alerts - I just never imagined there would be the need. Not until I opened this e mail he forwarded tonight (consider that set-up your fair warning):

A Tale of Six Boys

Each year I am hired to go to Washington, DC, with the eighth grade class from Clinton, WI where I grew up, to videotape their trip. I greatly joy visiting our nation's capitol, and each year I take some special memories back with me. This fall's trip was especially memorable. On the last night of our trip, we stopped at the Iwo Jima memorial.... This memorial is the largest bronze statue in the world and depicts one of the most famous photographs in history -- that of the six brave Marines raising the American Flag at the top of a rocky hill on the island of Iwo Jima, Japan, during WW II.

Over one hundred students and chaperones piled off the buses and headed towards the memorial. I noticed a solitary figure at the base of the statue, and as I got closer he asked, "Where are you guys from?" I told him that we were from Wisconsin"Hey, I'm a cheese head, too! Come gather around, Cheese heads, and I will tell you a story."

(James Bradley just happened to be in Washington, DC, to speak at the memorial the following day. He was there that night to say good night to his dad, who has since passed away. He was just about to leave when he saw the buses pull up. I videotaped him as he spoke to us, and received his permission to share what he said from my videotape. It is one thing..... to tour the incredible monuments filled with history in Washington, D.C., but it is quite another to get the kind of insight we received that night.)

When all had gathered around, he reverently began to speak. (Here are his words that night.) "My name is James Bradley and I'm from Antigo, Wisconsin. My dad is on that statue, and I just wrote a book called "Flags of Our Fathers" which is #5 on the New York Times Best Seller list right now. It is the story of the six boys you see behind me.
.........

"Six boys raised the flag. The first guy putting the pole in the ground is Harlon Block Harlon was an all-state football player. He enlisted in the Marine Corps with all the senior members of his football team. They were off to play another type of game…. a game called "War." But it didn't turn out to be a game.

Harlon, at the age of 21, died with his intestines in his hands. I don't say that to gross you out, I say that because there are people who stand in front of this statue and talk about the glory of war. You guys need to know that most of the boys in Iwo Jima were 17, 18, and 19 years old.
(He pointed to the statue)

"You see this next guy? That's Rene Gagnon from New Hampshire. If you took Rene's helmet off at the moment this photo was taken and looked in the webbing of that helmet, you would find a photograph... a photograph of his girlfriend. Rene put that in there for protection because he was scared. He was 18 years old. Boys won the battle of Iwo Jima. Boys… not old men.

"The next guy here, the third guy in this tableau, was Sergeant Mike Strank. Mike is my hero. He was the hero of all these guys. They called him the "old man" because he was so old. He was already 24. When Mike would motivate his boys in training camp, he didn't say, 'Let's go kill some Japanese' or 'Let's die for our country.' He knew he was talking to little boys. Instead he would say, 'You do what I say, and I'll get you home to your mothers.'

"The last guy on this side of the statue is Ira Hayes, a Pima Indian from Arizona. Ira Hayes walked off Iwo Jima. He went into the White House with my dad. President Truman told him, 'You're a hero.' He told reporters, 'How can I feel like a hero when 250 of my buddies hit the island with me and only 27 of us walked off alive?'

So you take your class at school, 250 of you spending a year together having fun, doing everything together. Then all 250 of you hit the beach, but only 27 of your classmates walk off alive. That was Ira Hayes. He had images of horror in his mind. Ira Hayes died dead drunk, face down at the age of 32 … ten years after this picture was taken.

"The next guy, going around the statue, is Franklin Sousley from Hilltop, Kentucky… a fun-lovin' hillbilly boy. His best friend, who is now 70, told me, 'Yeah, you know, we took two cows up on the porch of the Hilltop General Store. Then we strung wire across the stairs so the cows couldn't get down. Then we fed them Epsom salts. Those cows crapped all night. Yes, he was a fun-lovin' hillbilly boy. Franklin died on Iwo Jima at the age of 19. When the telegram came to tell his mother that he was dead, it went to the Hilltop General Store. A barefoot boy ran that telegram up his mother's farm. The neighbors could hear her scream all night and into the morning. The neighbors lived a quarter of a mile away.

"The next guy, as we continue to go around the statue, is my dad, John Bradley from Antigo, Wisconsin, where I was raised. My dad lived until 1994, but he would never give interviews When Walter Cronkite's producers, or the New York Times would call, we were trained as little kids to say, 'No, I'm sorry, sir, my dad's not here. He is in Canada fishing No, there is no phone there, sir. No, we don't know when he is coming back.' My dad never fished or even went to Canada. Usually, he was sitting there right at the table eating his Campbell's soup. But we had to tell the press that he was out fishing. He didn't want to talk to the press.

"You see, my dad didn't see himself as a hero. Everyone thinks these guys are heroes, 'cause they are in a photo and on a monument. My dad knew better. He was a medic. John Bradley from Wisconsin was a caregiver. In Iwo Jima he probably held over 200 boys as they died. And when boys died in Iwo Jima, they writhed and screamed in pain.

"When I was a little boy, my third grade teacher told me that my dad was a hero. When I went home and told my dad that, he looked at me and said, 'I want you always to remember that the heroes of Iwo Jima are the guys who did not come back…. did NOT come back.’

"So that's the story about six nice young boys. Three died on Iwo Jima, and three came back as national heroes. Overall, 7,000 boys died on Iwo Jima in the worst battle in the history of the Marine Corps. My voice is giving out, so I will end here. Thank you for your time."

Suddenly, the monument wasn't just a big old piece of metal with a flag sticking out of the top. It came to life before our eyes with the heartfelt words of a son who did indeed have a father who was a hero. Maybe not a hero for the reasons most people would believe, but a hero nonetheless.

......... We need to remember that God created this vast and glorious world for us to live in, freely, but also at great sacrifice. Let us never forget from the Revolutionary War to the current War on Terrorism and all the wars in-between that sacrifice was made for our freedom.

Remember to pray praises for this great country of ours and also pray for those still in murderous unrest around the world. STOP and thank God for being alive and being free at someone else's sacrifice.

God Bless You and God Bless America.

REMINDER: Everyday that you can wake up free, it's going to be a great day.

Great story - worth your time. Please pass it along.

Thanks, Unc.

Presenting Jimi Hendrix for Orkin...

2006-02-25T18:55:00.000-08:00

So there are certain song lyrics out there that are doomed to being mis-heard. A few years back there was a commercial featuring Def Leppard's "Pour Some Shook-Up Ramen." The Steve Miller Band had a huge hit with "Bingo Jed Had a Light On" (don't carry me too far away...) When Club Nouveau remade "Lean on Me," it was "we be German" heard 'round the world - except for my hard-of-hearing Daddy, who wondered why they were announcing that "we take showers." Of course, this is the same man who couldn't understand why Debbie Gibson wanted to "shake and bake your love." Just this afternoon in the car, Little Bit swore up and down that Savage Garden wanted to "sandwich you on the mountain."

But my favorite time was a couple of weeks ago. We were driving a fairly long distance, for over an hour, in the rain. We were minutes from our destination but the girls were getting cranky. And then Jimi Hendrix came on the radio, and I figured we could play a fun and distracting game, the one called, "what does it sound like he's saying?" The song, of course, was "Purple Haze" and I was eagerly waiting for the sound of merry giggles as they contemplated "'scuse me while I kiss this guy" (which is, of course, the standard misinterpretation). Well, leave it to the Clone to come up with something totally original. I am so proud to say that she discovered that ol' James Marshall Hendrix was actually shilling for corporate America and the Orkin Man. You see, apparently, Jimi was asking...

"'scuse me, where's the pesticide?"

*guitar solo*

Rainy Day Women # 12 & 35

2006-02-20T14:22:00.000-08:00

Because of our odd little family life, my daughters aren’t exposed nearly as much as I’d like, to what I consider to be real music. Or at least, my older ones aren’t –they spend far too much time with their country-loving grandmother. Now, there’s nothing inherently wrong with country, I like a lot of country artists and a fair amount of country music, but sometimes I worry that they think that’s the only music there is.

Little Bit, on the other hand, spends the majority of her time with her babysitters, who are essentially hippies/surrogate grandparents. Their taste in music is much more like mine, which gives me some comfort – at least one of my kids has a more well-balanced musical diet. Still, the kind of music I like can sometimes cause a little of that weird emotion that’s a cross between pride and embarrassment. Take, for instance, this weekend…

This was Little Bit’s “Mommy and Me” weekend. Each girl, for Christmas, got a scrapbook from me, along with a homemade gift certificate. The gift certificate is for a weekend full of just-the-two-of-us time, a trip somewhere “away” to do something that is special just for that child. So Little Bit and I went to San Antonio, went on a boat ride at the Riverwalk, out to dinner, stayed at a hotel, etc. And the next day, we went to the Children’s Museum. They had a lot of different things for her to do, but one of her favorites was the airplane. They had an airplane exhibit, complete with captain’s hats, a cockpit, an aisle that ran between two single-seat rows, the whole setup. And so it was that I was sitting a few feet away from the “plane” as she piloted it, another little girl in the copilot seat, the other girl’s parents in the front seats of the passenger area – as Little Bit began to provide the in-flight entertainment. I’m telling you, you haven’t heard anything until you’ve heard a tiny, high-pitched babygirl voice, doing a pretty good Bob Dylan impression…

Well, they'll stone you when you're trying to be so good
They'll stone you just like they said they would
They'll stone you when you're trying to go home
And they'll stone you when you're there all alone
But I would not feel so all alone

and then, of course, she had to finish at full volume...

Everybody must get stoned

What could I do but laugh? And pray that nobody called CPS on me...

Public Service Announcement

2006-02-17T08:47:00.000-08:00

18-wheelers are, in fact, subject to the laws of physics. Therefore, PLEASE do not pull in front of one, particularly if you are moving slower than it is. They just can’t brake that fast.

This message brought to you by the granddaughter of one truck driver and the niece of another four, who is a Houston driver but not a stupid one.

My Funny Valentine

2006-02-15T08:48:00.000-08:00

I had never really had a special Valentine’s Day (my husband didn’t count and we won’t even go into the issue of Little Bit’s father), so last night was just about the time of my life. A few weeks ago, my unboyfriend – that’s probably the most accurate way I can describe the situation – mentioned that he expected to be spending the 14th with me. Since then, I was fussing more than he would think is necessary, I’m sure, over exactly what to get for him that wasn’t overly sappy/romantic/emotional, not overly attempted-seductive, but still not too little. At the last minute, on the night before, and only because I got out of school early, I managed to get him something that I think really fit the bill. I’ll brag about that in another post, I’m sure, but I want to get to the fun part…

So first of all, I show up at his place after school, which made it already almost 9 and we had dinner reservations. (As it turned out, we should have had reservations about the place, not for it, but no matter.) We had to do the gift-giving quickly. Laid out on the table was: a big box of chocolates for me, heavy on the dark chocolate; a fluffy white teddy bear, also for me, with UnBoyfriend’s signature on the red heart on the bottom of his foot; three little candy-filled hearts with Snoopy keychains for the girls; and three little stuffed animals (an elephant, a bear, and a puppy), also for the girls. That right there absolutely made my day –whenever anyone includes my girls in special occasions, it’s the best gift of all. I gave him his gift, which he really liked as well, and then it was time to head to the restaurant.

I’ve never gone out for German food before, though I’m at least moderately familiar with it – Hurricane Miah’s mom is German and I used to eat her cooking fairly often. This restaurant has apparently been in Houston forever, so you would think it’s really, really good. Well. Not so much. We ordered the combination plate for two, which comes with a little bit of everything – weinerscnhitzel, sauerbraten, spaetzle, sauerkraut, and a bunch of other stuff I can barely pronounce, much less spell. The waiter was… ummm… shall we say, not really an expert in providing excellent customer service – and UB and I got to the point where we were baiting him.

Me: What’s the spaetzle, anyway?
Waiter: I don’t know. I think it’s the white stuff. Or maybe it’s the brown stuff.
Me: No, I mean what IS spaetzle?
Waiter: I don’t know. Hold on. (walks away, comes back) Okay, he says the spaetzle is white, so I guess it’s either that (pointing) or that (pointing).
Me: But what IS it?
Waiter: I don’t know. Let me see.
Me: And what’s that? (Pointing at something red or brown)
Waiter: I’m not sure. Just consider it a bonus, I guess. (walks off – at this point, UB and I are snickering merrily – and then comes back) Okay. He says the spaetzle is flour and spices and water and egg, all kind of scrambled together, so… (contemplating the two “white things”) I guess that’s it (pointing at the spaetzle).

And to top it all off, the food wasn’t very good. UB apologized for the quality, but to me, it was certainly tolerable – and since the overall experience made for a good story, and we were able to laugh and enjoy ourselves so much, I didn’t really mind at all.

We took a break from hassling the waiter, to privately heckle (as in, we were heckling, but not to the point where they heard it) the musical act – and I use the term loosely. Two ladies singing, and a keyboard player. They began shortly after we were seated, and the one gave UB the eye, looking very interested, as he walked in the door. Then she saw me – and looked even more interested. Yikes. So they were singing, soft stuff, some a little jazzy, some a little easy-listening, some a little elevator, and most of it just a hair off-key, out of pitch, etc. More than once, UB and I commented amongst ourselves that we didn’t recall those songs being as long as they were. The ladies must have been doing the 12-inch-single, extended dance mixes. Still, there are certain songs that just shouldn’t be done by anyone who can’t get a record contract. There’s a reason you’re singing in a bad German restaurant at 9:30 at night on Valentine’s Day, honey, so Sarah Maclachlan’s “Angel” is a summit you shouldn’t attempt to attain. Then she tried to sing “Desperado.” Now, there’s bad, and there’s wrong. And then there’s sacrilege, which is what it is when you butcher “Desperado.” It’s like a four-year-old with finger paints let loose on the Sistine Chapel. It’s not even that hard a song to sing, to be honest, and that makes it even worse when it’s done that badly.

I’m just hitting the high points here, though there were many more moments that had us laughing, not the least of which was when UB and the waiter began verbal sparring that ended in the waiter holding four forks in his hand like weapons, and UB asking the waiter just how good the health benefits were at this restaurant. It was all in fun… I think. Still, I don’t ever recommend being too much of a smart-aleck with UB. First, because he can out-smart-aleck just about everyone I’ve ever met who’s not a member of my family, and second, because he’s not the kind of guy you want to tick off. He’s not violent, not that I’ve ever seen. He’s just… intimidating. (Which, by the way, makes my fluffy white teddy bear even more special!)

Oh, and the best part of the night? When UB said that the two best parts of the restaurant experience, were the $25 coupon he had, and me. Awwwwwwwwwww...

So all in all, the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had, with the best unboyfriend I’ve ever had. Some days, I really do enjoy my life!

Into the Forest We Go

2006-02-13T10:38:00.000-08:00

One of the many “joys” of being a mom, is all the movies I have to watch that I would never watch otherwise. And the more kid movies you watch, the more often you realize that they must all take place in the same basic geographical area – because it seems like they all have a place called the Forbidden Forest. Why “Forbidden Forest”? That seems like a very rigid statement, a very black-and-white thing, and as anyone over the age of 21 knows, life is just not black and white. (Okay, except for religious fundamentalists of any denomination, they seem to have not gotten the memo on that.) Yep, today there is no day or night, today there is no dark or light, today there is no black or white, only shades of grey. Man, that was one of my favorite Monkees songs ever. Peter Tork and Davy Jones on vocals – Peter always my second-favorite Monkee, Davy my early favorite (but he has NOT aged well) and now Mike Nesmith in first place, as the Monkee with the most actual talent. But I digress. Back to the Forbidden Forest.

See, I think we should be more honest with children. So, not Forbidden Forest, but “Highly Inadvisable Forest,” or maybe “Forest-of-Last-Resort,” or “Forest Where You Don’t Have To Go Home But You Shouldn’t Stay Here.” “Imposing Forest.” “Forest Full of Scary Beasties.” Maybe if they’re really committed to the whole alliteration thing, it could be the “Foreboding Forest,” but “forbidden” is just going a little too far.

Speaking of scary beasties and religious fundamentalists, take a look at the Republicans running against Rick Perry in our Goober-natorial primaries next month. I mean, nobody really stands a chance against Governor Goodhair for the nomination, but the scary thing is, these people honestly believe they should be in positions of power:

http://www.larrykilgore.com/Biography.htm
http://www.starovertexas.com/bio.html
http://www.rhettsmithforgovernor.com/

YIKES!!! When I read that in an e mail last night, I promptly curled up under the covers with a book by Lawrence Sanders ("The Tomorrow File, " pretty good book, though scary in a "1984" kind of way) and whimpered for a while. Maybe we should gather these three up and drop them in the "If You Were Smart You'd Just Stay Away Forest."

Yawn

2006-02-10T09:33:00.000-08:00

The Olympics begin today.

I don’t really care.

I remember when the Olympics were a big deal. Back when the Winter Games and Summer Games happened in the same year, and only took place every four years. Everyone would gear up for them. It was exciting. Shelly, when she was little and before I was born, gave my mother a heart-stopping moment when she stood up in her high chair and did a tumbling forward roll, her best imitation of Nadia Comaneci. Me, I was just excited when McDonald’s would have the game pieces, where your prize would depend on what medal, if any, the US got in a particular event. I remember waiting for the diving, ice skating, swimming, gymnastics events… I remember big moments. And I think the IOC made a huge mistake when they decided to split the games so that they stagger every two years. Yes, I understand there are some athletes who may have wanted to compete in both Winter and Summer games, and may have needed the break in between to adequately train. But it had the effect of diluting it, so that instead of one big event that you waited for every four years, held your breath, and built up to… you just get a bigger-than-usual sporting event every couple of years, often with the same athletes going after the same medals. It just took away the special-ness of it all. And so, yes, the Olympics start today. They start in beautiful Torino, Italy. And I don’t really care.

Take This Job and...

2006-02-09T13:41:00.000-08:00

I can’t even begin to count how many people I know right now who are in really screwy positions, work-wise. First, the people I know who are miserable in their jobs, overworked, underpaid, underappreciated. Every time I turn around, someone is feeling dissatisfied in their current location, and I can just see a mass exodus coming that will shock a few employers out there. The sense of unrest is palpable.

Then, there are the friends of mine who are finding another line of work involuntarily. We met last night to finalize the details about our care package drive this weekend, and I was the only one of the four of us who isn’t in a tenuous position at best – two of them are parts of major layoffs where they work, and the last one was terminated this week. (I suspect she will have the last laugh, once her now-former employer realizes that they will NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS find an employee who does and gives so much.) So what, exactly, is going on?

Well, personally, even though it all sounds bad, I think it’s really about good things. Good changes, good shake-ups. For a lot of people I know or know of, 2005 was just a brutal year. Lots of changes, and not good ones. Lots of negative energy, lots of unease, lots of disharmony. Think back a little bit – did you notice feeling out-of-sorts more often than usual last year? Did you start thinking, “I can’t wait for this year to be over” as far back as July or August? Did the natural disasters in your area seem more severe than usual? Y’all know, of course, how bad those got out here. Mother Nature, apparently, has been quite PO’d. But this year, though it certainly feels like another year of transition, feels more like a year of positive transition. Maybe I’m biased because of the positive changes I’m seeing in my own life, but I really don’t think that’s all of it. I really think good things are starting to happen, and the people I know who are going through these struggles, are going to come out of it better than ever. Mouse-hole doors are closing, and huge picture windows are opening…

Fire

2006-02-07T12:17:00.000-08:00

So in class last week, we’re talking about “Family of Origin Scales,” which in a nutshell relates to how the family you grow up in, influences everything you do later in life, and how you deal with different situations. Dr. A made mention of one of those estate-planning workshops that he’s gone to, and was telling us that while his wife was talking to someone about something else, he and the woman next to him were discussing songs they would want played at their respective cremations. (All of this, to illustrate that there are many ways to deal with death and loss, and that humor can be a coping mechanism.) the following are the three examples he shared with us:

“Light My Fire” – The Doors
“Great Balls of Fire” – Jerry Lee Lewis
“Proud Mary” – Tina Turner (as in, “Proud Mary keep on burnin’”)

Now me, I can get into this type of thing. In the near future, if I haven’t done it already (I desperately need to scan my own archives) I’ll tell you all about how my family handles death. Suffice it to say, Dr. A and I are on the same wavelength. So I’ve added to his list of Cremation Theme Songs:

“Fire” – Jimi Hendrix (as in, “let me stand next to your…”)
“Ring of Fire” – Johnny Cash
“Burnin’ For You” – Blue Oyster Cult
“All Fired Up” – Pat Benatar
“Fire Down Below” – Bob Seger
Any song from Def Leppard from the Pyromania album, or with the word “pyromania” in it
“Disco Inferno” – The Trammps
“Through the Fire” – Chaka Khan
“Standing Outside the Fire” – Garth Brooks
“Fire” – The Pointer Sisters (or better yet, Robin Williams as Elmer Fudd)
and of course:
“You Light Up My Life” – Debby Boone

As usual, I welcome all suggestions in case I may have made a glaring error of omission. Now go about your business… and keep the home fires burning!

Twenty Bucks and I'm On the Floor

2006-02-03T13:21:00.000-08:00

I swear, it’s not as bad as it sounds. No, really, it’s not.

This was yet another adventure from the Hurricane Miah & the Apartment Series. We had some neighbors, a married couple, and we would hang out with them and play cards. We were cut-throat Phase 10 players. We were also the type of people who were forever saying things that, taken out of context, could sound… mmm... inappropriate. Hence the title of this post. We kept a notebook, for a while, of the things we would say that made sense if you heard the whole conversation, but sounded really, really bad on their own, and of course, I came up with the King (or is that Queen?) of all missteps.

The actual conversation started, as usual, during a card game, when we were playing the radio as we played. It was during the holiday season, and there was a commercial on for one of those New Year’s Eve parties, you know the ones, in the hotels… the ones where you pay a flat fee that includes the room, the party, continental breakfast in the morning, and of course, alcohol. Then we started debating about prices of those – there are some parties that only include the champagne toast, others that include a specified number of drinks, and a very few that include unlimited drinks. (Obviously, those run a little higher.) Then we tried to decide what was a fair price for that. You see, for some people, all you can drink for, say, $100, is still a good price, because they can easily drink that much in a night. After all, have you seen the prices of drinks these days? On the other hand, there are people like me, lightweights when it comes to alcohol, for whom it’s not such a great deal. We can’t really drink enough, for the $100 to be worth our while. Or, as I blurted out without thinking, “Twenty bucks and I’m on the floor.”

The game was pretty much over for the night at that point; none of us could see straight for laughing.

Therapy in Various Forms

2006-02-03T10:07:00.000-08:00

I spent Wednesday in two different, but equally interesting and exciting (to me anyway), forms of therapy. The first is one I've done for years. You see, I spent the entire day cooking. The entire day. Technically I had started the night before, having made the first of three lasagnas. Then on Wednesday I made the other two... tons of angel hair pasta with homemade pesto... sauteed zucchini and summer squash with cheese... and chicken picatta. Which, incidentally, did not turn out as well as it usually does; this is the first time I've tried to do it in bulk, and, well... bad idea. At least without more practice. The occasion? Really... nothing. I mean, we were going to have a luncheon at work, and one of my coworkers had the responsibility for it thrust upon him. I had been looking for an excuse to cook like that for a while anyway, so I told him to just bring salad and garlic bread, and we'd be fine. And then spent all day cooking. By the time the last dish was washed and the counter wiped at my friend's hijacked kitchen, it was 2 a.m. But it was worth it, because for me, cooking is therapy. There's something about working with your hands, and working with all your senses - does the sauce smell right, does the cheese look melted and browned as it should, can you taste the fresh basil and garlic, does the consistency of the sauce feel right as you stir... and do you hear the silence as people are too busy eating to talk? A good meal, well prepared and served with love, is its own reward.

In the midst of the cooking, I also had the chance for the second form of therapy. First, let me back up and say that I commandeered a good friend's kitchen to do all this, and she had another houseguest as well at the time. And so it was that, during a much-needed break, I gave her other guest a Reiki treatment. (http://www.wisegeek.com/what-is-reiki.htm) Now, when my sister, an accomplished practitioner herself, first taught me to do it, she actually taught me how to do it without the laying-on-of-hands part, which is actually the only part of Reiki that many people even know about. She later sent me a book, though, that also goes over the hand positions and such. Still, I had never actually given a treatment like that before. So. This friend-of-my-friend, we'll call him Todd, was actually in town as part of a circuitous trip that included medical appointments for his bad back. Knowing that he had at least one serious health issue, I had offered to do the treatment. I warned him that I was new to that part of the treatment, and he promised to bear with me. We went through the cycle, probably faster than I should have, but the more I practice the better I will be. The odd thing was, I think in giving him the treatment, it actually did some good and some healing for me. Now, I shouldn't be surprised over that, it's not a rare experience within the practice of this particular art, but I was surprised at how easy it was, how quickly I took to it. I even managed to identify a health issue about which he had not spoken (and which he initially denied because Mr. Precision claims I asked the question wrong LOL). But overall, the whole experience was peaceful and cleansing for me, and I got positive feedback from him as well. I plan to continue the treatment in its long-distance form, and hopefully it will do him some measure of good.

Meantime, I spent a long day and am now pleasantly exhausted. On one scale of measurement, I didn't get a whole lot accomplished in that time. On another... well, on another it was a very productive day indeed, and I couldn't be more content. Even if I could stand to be more awake.

Blessings

2006-01-31T12:03:00.000-08:00

I usually choose to highlight my Italian heritage. After all, my father (technically half-Italian, half-Scots-with-a-hint-of-Cherokee-thrown-in) was raised by his Italian mother and her came-over-from-the-old-country parents. My mother loved her family but didn’t love the way she grew up – she’s a biopsychosocial oddity among the rednecks that are her kin, and so when raising my sister and I, they patterned our upbringing as closely as they could on his. Hence, daughters who were ¼ Italian by blood, but full-blooded third generation Italian-American in almost every other way. So I tend to neglect the parts of my heritage that aren’t consistent with that.

The rest of my heritage, incidentally, is a hodge-podge. My mother is what I call Generic Northern European White Mutt-Puppy, a blend of Scots, Welsh, English, Irish, probably a little French, maybe even some Polish or German. It’s hard to trace, for various reasons. All I can tell for sure, is that somewhere along the line, thanks to my Nana, we have Celtic heritage. (Pronounced KEL-tik, by the way – the NBA has millions of people mispronouncing it.) And there are parts of that heritage that have trickled down, though I’d best not get into the details of that. Still, the only Irish wisdom I remember from my Nana, consists of things like, “If you’re going to kill each other, do it quietly, and for God’s sake don’t leave a mess for me to clean up!”

I get just as sappy and weepy as anyone else, though, when I hear the old Irish blessings. More beautiful still are the rare times when it is heard in the original Gaelic, though even an Irish accent will do. My favorite, of course, is probably the best known of them all.

RCT- 8 will be on their way home soon. They’ve taken a lot of hits throughout their deployment; it seems that every time you hear about four or five Marines getting KIA, it’s some of these guys. One of mine from this group is already home (hi, Bob!!!) and soon to be a civilian. Another, my Baby Bruvver, will spend his 22nd birthday in transit. A third one of my guys, too, is part of this unit and will be heading home. And my favorite Chaplain (okay, my only Chaplain) will be, as well. And so, with every last bit of my Celtic heritage, and the rights and privileges thereof, I say to Naterz, Soup, and Dale:

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Love Dares You

2006-01-25T20:43:00.000-08:00

It’s been almost four years now, since I got the e mail from my mother. The timing was perfect; I had recently discovered I was pregnant with my third child, under less-than-ideal circumstances (which, to be honest, describes all three pregnancies) and had no idea how to break the news. A normal person wouldn’t have done it like this, but I’m far from normal.

You see, the e mail was my mother’s notice that her dear friend, Sean Chamberlain, had passed away. Actually, Mama herself didn’t have much to say, other than that he had passed. She was a little shook up – being one of the people at his bedside, helping him be strong until it was time to let go, and comforting his family, well, that takes a toll. The body of the e mail, instead, was a tribute to Sean written by Mama’s best friend, my “Uncle Rod.” Sean was quite a wonderful human being; though I don’t recall if I ever met him (there’s that whole darn geographical distance thing) I know that for Mom, Mike, and Rod to all hold him in such high regard, he was a pretty special person.

So anyway, I get this e mail from my mother about Sean’s passing, and I figure this is a perfect moment. My response to her message, paraphrased: “Well, the Lord taketh away, and the Lord giveth. And it seems the Lord will be givething you a little something special. I’m due right around your birthday. I’ll be in the office for another half hour or so, XXX-XXX-XXXX, if you want to talk.” Ten minutes later, the phone rang, and the first words out of her mouth were, “Sounds like the Lord isn’t the only one who giveth!” (Later I was informed that Rod commented on how hard it must be, how much work, for Mama to live up to the expectation of always making a brilliant sarcastic remark, even in response to the most trying and/or serious issues.)

Speaking of serious issues. This year I will once again do something that, while it hasn’t always been in Sean’s memory (as my first one predated his death by a few years), is still very much an important and special endeavor. I’m walking in AIDS Walk Houston, a 10K charity walk. Now, y’all know me, even when I’m trying to raise money for this, that and the other thing, I never pressure any of you to get involved. I simply invite you to support me if you choose, whether that be financially or with an “attagirl.” So now, I’m extending a two-pronged invitation. If you live in (or visit) the Houston area, and would like to join us on Sunday, March 12th, I am part of the UH Graduate College of Social Work team and we’d be happy to have you be an honorary social work student for a day. If you do not live in the area, or don’t feel like walking, I invite you to support me, and our team, by following this link and making a donation.

http://aidswalkhouston.kintera.org/faf/r.asp?t=4&i=154231&u=154231-72325501&e=486748574

Again, I don’t ask for explanations if you don’t choose to get involved, and it won’t change the way I feel about you one bit. But if you do choose to support us, it will be greatly appreciated.

Much love,
Sara

“Cause love’s such an old-fashioned word, and love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the light and love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves, this is our last dance…” – David Bowie and Queen

Luck Be a Lady

2006-01-23T18:33:00.000-08:00

So Cole mentioned last night that some football team had won some game. I gathered from the way he said it, that I was supposed to recognize some degree of significance. Well, folks, sports are at least one area in which I am completely stereotypically girly. I know nada. I finally determined (okay, he was quickly kind enough to flat-out tell me) that this past weekend held the AFC and NFC championships, and therefore we now know who will be in the Superbowl. Okay, I must have SOME sports knowledge, since he didn't actually say "AFC" and "NFC," I knew that much on my own. Anywho. So I asked who we were rooting for, since for things about which I have absolutely no clue, I tend to go with the opinion of someone more knowledgable than myself, especially someone whose opinion I actually give a rat's butt about. Basically it's six of one, half a dozen of the other, but then again, Seattle is a prettier place. Okay. I'll go for Seattle.

Now, there was a time that I did give a rat's butt about certain sports, football even being one of them. That was back in my high school days, when... well, I guess the statute of limitations has run out by now, so I'll go ahead and confess. See, up until I moved into Oilers-then-Texans territory, I used to just root for whichever team was my home team. Growing up in the SF Bay Area, that was the 49ers for football, and the Oakland A's for baseball. Both teams were in their collective heyday in the late 80s. And I managed to make a fair chunk of change betting on the Superbowl and the World Series. Okay, it was only $20-$50 a pop, and I didn't have a bookie or anything - my friend who gave me a ride to school was not likely to break my legs if I didn't pay up. As it happened, though, I never needed to.

The baseball story is okay, but I'll save it for another day, I have somewhere I need to be. But the Superbowl... ah, yes, the Superbowl... that would have been in, oh, January of 1990, if I remember right, so let's Google it and see...

Okay, there we go. Yes, Superbowl XXIV, 1990. The Niners were my team, and a friend was rooting for the Broncos. He was sure his team was going to win, and we had $50 on the line. He was so sure, in fact, that he was going to let me set the point spread. Boldly, I declared "10!" Three times, he asked me if I was sure, and three times I assured him I was. "Okay, it's your funeral," he smirked. I went home that afternoon.

"Daddy... what's a point spread?"

Daddy explained it to me and thankfully didn't ask me why I wanted to know, or why my face turned even paler than it normally is after he explained. I had just dug my own grave, for surely a Superbowl would be way too close, and no team, no matter how good, could beat a 10 point spread on the Big Game.

Final Score: San Francisco, 55, Denver, 10. More importantly, Final Score: Sara, pulled a miracle out of her ass, Barry, jaw hit the floor.

Somehow I don't think I'll ever get that lucky again. And maybe that's why that was the last sports bet I ever made.

Retail Therapy

2006-01-20T16:08:00.000-08:00

I used to scoff at the notion, but in the last few years I've learned just how true it can be... The other day, I pulled my new work clothes (ahem... and some CDs...) out of layaway. That same night I had to rectify the problem of new brown skirts, but no brown shoes. And with new work clothes, I really did need new makeup too... and I had promised DVDs to one of my soldiers...

So now, tonight, I'm on my way to go birthday shopping for Red - who told that kid she could get so big, anyway? NINE, fer cryin' out loud!! But I also need workout clothes, since I'm going to start going to the gym again. And maybe some more plastic containers, to start organizing my life (read: packing up my crap)... and a new file for just my grant stuff... and if the wait isn't too long, my color needed a touch-up... and... and...

I'm almost done, actually, and all the spending so far has been justifiable, except maybe the CDs and DVDs, which I think count as quality-of-life issues. I do have a trip to the eye doctor on my to-do list, and a trip to the dentist too, but not tonight. One large debt is paid off, another soon-to be. Life... is good.

Innit, though?