The Clock is Ticking

CBS is reairing the CSI fifth season closer tonight. It's the one in which one of the CSIs (Nick) is kidnapped from a supposed crime scene and held for ransom. buried in a Plexiglass coffin. For some reason, I didn't see it when it originally aired. I'm riveted (there's an hour left). I don't want to watch because it's just downright hard, but I can't help but watch it.

It's not hard because of the story line itself. Well, it is that...partially because it's the hot guy in this box. But this one pulls up two of my biggest fears--the dark and enclosed spaces.

I know I'm 29 years old and shouldn't be afraid of the dark, but it doesn't work that way. I've never been able to explain it, and probably never will. But, I've got a nightlight in my bedroom (though it is one of those blue lights that's really soft..I just have to have a touchpoint) and never, ever enter a completely dark room alone. If I can't see what's in there or coming at me, I'm not going in. I realize that might make me look paranoid, but I don't particularly care.

The enclosed space thing is probably more common in adults. Claustrophobia. I don't do well in any situation where I'm feeling confined. Elevators are just barely tolerable, if they're mostly empty or I'm within touching distance of someone I know. Large groups are torture--close quarters and strangers touching me, ugh. I'd always just laughed it off, until December. I was having some breathing/lung capacity tests run. It involves being in a small (Plexiglass) vacuum chamber in order to have me breathe into a machine. Two things got me as soon as the door was closed. I was sitting on this stool and the respiratory therapist's voice came from a hole just behind my head (speaker). That meant I was in a sealed container. And then, I realized that my arms were touching the walls of the chamber. That set me on edge. I'm halfway through the first (of three) stages and I shoved the door open. The therapist jumps and tells me to leave the door closed. Told him that wasn't happening.

Ugh..there's thirty minutes left. Even knowing he makes it through, I'm just sitting on the edge of my seat.

Thanks to Q, who sent this over.

Cute pics

After taking The Wonder Dog on his morning constitutional, I settled in with a great cup of coffee and the Travel Channel. This morning, they were re-airing an episode of Weird Travels in which they discuss Bigfoot. I had no idea that there are reports of Bigfoot in Texas. Specifically, the East Texas, Big Thicket area. My grandfather's ranch is on the far west side of what is traditionally East Texas. His land is majority pine forest and such, just like the Big Thicket area. Hm..wonder if I've missed some obvious clues?

I'm not so sure I'm willing to believe in this stuff. I'm pretty open-minded when it comes to bizarre things, but this might be too far-fetched even for me.

The people the Travel Channel story spotlighted are very into their Bigfoot research. Not only do they believe the creatures exist (and there are reported to be many, many of them), they often believe they have in fact seen irrefutable evidence of them, if not sighting an actual Bigfoot. They conduct investigations that seem rather scientific--evidence collecting, photographs, written reports when the investigation is finished. Good for them.

Regardless, watching the show prompted me to hit the Internet. Being a librarian, I live to research. Here are the two most interesting sites I ran across.

Bigfoot of East Texas ~~ This one neither instills confidence nor provides sufficient evidence that they aren't nutty. The reported sightings/hearings could be attributed to any number of un-fantastic things. Also, the pictures they've got posted don't show anything I haven't seen when I've moved branches and rocks around in the woods myself.

Texas Bigfoot Research Center ~~ Okay, these guys are better organized, they even host a conference every year. I think this is the group featured on the Travel Channel show, I recognize a couple of images that were flashed on the screen. Anyway, the site details handprint evidence, research studies, and has a pretty broad collection of sitings in Texas and surrounding states. (There was even a fairly recent report of a siting about 5 miles from my grandfather's place!) What I liked best though was the bit on photographs. These guys actually discredited some of the more "well-known" alleged pictures. Nice strategy--prove your own legitimacy by disproving someone else's.

I don't want to sound sarcastic or condescending. I'm sure these people are sincere in their belief/knowledge of Bigfoot creatures and their existence. I'm not. My inability to believe was actually supported by the Travel Channel's show. Everyone of the people they talked to in conjunction with the East Texas studies appeared to be what we call "good ol' boys" round here. Now, I may have missed the portion of the show where their credentials were detailed, but frankly I doubt it. I'll even go so far as to admit that maybe I'm being a bit stereotypical, if not a bit hypocritical, since so many of my friends and family members could be labeled good ol' boys and I happen to know they're intelligent and credentialed people.

Call me a sympathetic disbeliever.

This really disturbs me.

So, everyone's freaking out over Cheney. Of course, from what I can gather, in most arenas more are concerned that the American public didn't know until 15-18 hours after the event rather than the fact that he shot a man. Unless you happen to have lunch at my school. Apparently the laying of the blame was a HOT topic one day this week.

Who cares?

Please don't get me wrong--I'm sorry that the poor man was shot and subsequently suffered a minor heart attack. I mean, yes, hunting accidents are definitely a concern, but they happen. The majority of the time there is absolutely nothing newsworthy about them--they might garner a tiny blurb in the local paper. Certainly there's no reason to begin questioning the motives of the Cheney or the White House.

Had the man shot been a foreign dignitary that Cheney was entertaining and buttering up before some trade deal was negotiated, sure, I'd expect to hear about it on the news. But the man is an old friend. If the incident even merited news coverage, I can completely understand not publicizing it until being relatively certain that the man was okay.

There's nothing in stone that says a government official's personal life automatic property of the public and the media when he or she takes office. I realize that it does, de facto. That aside, absolutely nothing in the world should assume that the personal lives of their friends or colleagues should be public knowledge.

I hate Valentine's Day. I always have. It's nothing personal--towards anyone, least of Valentine himself.

And, it's not because I'm bitter about not having a man. Frankly, the last time I did have a man, I got roses for Valentine's Day. My question--why'd it take a commercialized holiday to get flowers? Not that I'm expecting anything any day of the year, but that's not the point.

So, in honor of this day, I'll share 2 sites with you.

One is purely silly.

The other is a little silly, but makes a valid point.

Enjoy!

Okay, as much as I don't like to admit it, this happened to me last week. Well, sorta..sans the loss of money bit, of course.

Here's the rest of the report from the UK's Office of Fair Trading.

I was going to post the link to the ad the loser had up--certainly sounded legitimate. However, the powers that be finally paid attention to a complaint, and deleted the ad and all things associated with the guy's ID. Woohoo.

Regardless, be careful, kids.

Okay, so it's Saturday afternoon. But the day's been easy. Slow, but easy.

Did a run today. Sorta. It's not one of my "scheduled" days to run (those would be Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday). I found this training schedule for "couch potato to 5Ks" on the web. I'm on week 2. It hurts sometimes (read "everytime"), but hell, it oughta be worth it in the end.
Anyway, I ran today 'cuz I knew it would feel good. And it did..once I got back and showered and rubbed my legs down.

The Wonder Dog and I have been lazing about the whole afternoon. Usually, I do that on Sundays, but we've got an event at church tomorrow, so I'll be lucky to see my home before 9 p.m. Today was just a good day to throw some bad television on and commune with the couch. At some point, I'll get up and get dressed to go out. Some friends of mine from high school are going t some karaoke thing tonight and invited me along. They think I'll join them onstage. Ha. I won't get that drunk. Not by a long shot.

So, I went grocery shopping in the rain last night. There's nothing quite like dashing from the car to the door of Wal-Mart in the rain. (The umbrella was left, with the other 3, in my office. One day, I'll remember to bring those stupid things home.) I dash in, and get a buggy, do a quick check of how bad I look in the mirror by the Maybelliene display. Crap..that's what I looked like. Actually, more like a drowned rat, but it's Friday at the Wal-Mart, who do I have to impress?

$175 (yikes!) and 1 hour later, I've been hit on twice. Apparently, drowned rat is attractive to biker redneck. Who'da thunk it?

So, some things came to light in my head this evening. I won't go into details, as there's really no point, even in the semi-anonymity of this blog. Suffice to say, it's a whole new me getting out of bed tomorrow. I've picked out a friend to hold me to it, and I'm feeling confident and safe knowing I can do this.

You know what really got me? In a ministry team meeting at church this evening, we did a quick, one-verse Bible study to close the meeting. We read Psalm 130:6...

My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning.

And, yes, we did discuss what that means--that what we wait for in waiting for God is ever so much more than what the watchmen who've been standing guard all night receive when the sun rises.

The last question though was "When do you consciously wait on the Lord?" I was reminded of another passage..."Be still, and know that I am God." (Psalm 46:10). I've never believed that the psalmist intended us to read those words as a whisper.

When do I consciously wait on the Lord? When He smacks me over the head and shouts "BE STILL."

Okay, I thought I was under pressure lately. Seems like everyone in my family is concerned about my single status and the fact that I turn 30 this year.

I should count my chickens--I ain't got nothing like this poor woman.

Okay, this is tacky, but this story from the church that has had so much trouble of their own in recent years.

Wonder what monastery under a vow of silence that dude's going to next.

Men's briefs get bigger airing in Paris lingerie show

This is what gets me...apparently, the men's underwear market is not very dynamic.

How would you correct that?

I think Michael Jackson may officially be the king of crazy. I had no idea a person could get any more strange than he already is. See here.

The counter on here. For 3 weeks, it says no one has been here. Yet...people have commented on the blog, and several friends have sent me emails about what I've written. Damn.

This article was sent to me by a church friend. It's a bit discouraging.

I've been visiting lately....

BibliOdyssey

Fractal Dreams

World Tour

It's a Numeric Life

Cute Overload

Okay, I've made a decision...

I want the man I marry to be a gymnast. Or at least be able to move like one.

Just think about it.

Hm.

Librarians in the news again.

Stress? Shhhh...


Seems to me, the librarians mentioned in the above article have more problems than working in a dull and monotonous environment. Maybe they need to invest in some of the "beer pills" Q's wife put him on.

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant

Emily Dickinson

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant---
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightening to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind---

He who breaks a resolution is a weakling; He who makes one is a fool. ~~F. M. Knowles, A Cheerful Year Book

I meant to post yesterday, but sleeping late and eating with family, as well as the traditional New Year's Day nap took precedent. Ah well, those of you who are still around, will still be here today, right?

I don't make New Year's Resolutions. Sure, there's things I should quit doing, or alter about my life, but resolving to do them in my head, even putting them on paper or saying them out loud in the presence of someone other than the Wonder Dog won't make me do them. I know this for a fact, seeing as how I made resolutions up until 2003. Did I ever keep a one of them? Well, maybe the do more Bible study one, but not the others.

Instead, you may have noticed that I added a 43 Things list to my sidebar. These are the things I want to do in my life. There's no time limit (well, the turning 30 gracefully dream kinda does have to happen in 2006, since you only turn 30 once, thank God.). Just, at some point, I want to be able to say that I'm doing, have done, or am maintaining those things. Call 'em resolutions if you want. I see them as more of a "Things to do before I die" list. It's a revolving/evolving list.

Regardless, I hope your New Year's celebrations were wonderful. If you made some resolutions, that's great! Good luck on the road to meeting them (and I don't say that sarcastically, even though it sounds like I did in my own head.).

A QUINTESSENTIAL ALASKAN DRINK

I was...um....fortunate (maybe)...to have one of these a few weeks ago. 2 of them, actually.

I wanted to die afterwards. For the record, they absolutely DO NOT MIX with anything else, and certainly not anything spicy.

My head's hurting just thinking about it.

There's actually TWO bewildering story lines in the following "news" article.

Pack of Angry Chihuahuas Attack Officer

First, there's whole "chihuahuas attacking officer" bit. I mean, that's just funny. I can envision the ribbing he'll get for days to come. And can't you just hear the conversation with a grandchild one day?

"Grandpa, were you ever shot at while working?" (obviously, the boy's totally in awe of the whole "grandpa was a cop" thing.)

"No, kiddo, but I was once viciously attacked."

"Really, Grandpa?? What happened???"

"Well, I had to take a boy home after he'd made some bad choices while driving. Just as we reached the door of his house, all this loud noise started up. I drew my gun, ready to meet the attacker head-on. When the door opened, out rushed FIVE attackers. I couldn't do anything to protect myself against those odds."

"Were you hurt?"

"Yes...I still have the scars. See? Right here on my ankle, you can still see the teeth marks. It was horrible I tell you, just horrible."

Hehehe...

The other bewildering story is at the end of the article. Woman calls in 2 hours before the attack above to report that someone has broken into her home and put porn on her computer. Now, no other damage was done, nobody was hurt, nothing taken.

I can't even begin to comment anymore on this one, the words just aren't there because I just can't wrap my brain around it. Feel free to comment for me.

I can hear a friend of mine right now...."How come things like that don't ever happen to me???"

This one just makes me giggle...

Giant Cowboy Chicken Says...

Some more insights, just for you!

1. Don't intentionally annoy or confront others--in fact, avoid conflicts whenever possible.

2. Evaluate risks as you go.

3. It's your responsibility to stay informed.

4. Many of the decisions you make behind the wheel are influenced by your overall attitude.

5. Never travel in the tightly-spaced, fast-moving packs of vehicles that sometimes form on highways and rural roads. Such clusters are often responsible for multi-vehicle pile-ups.

6. Use caution when visibility is reduced.

Okay, there's probably some rule that says I should focus completely on the Defensive Driving site whilst getting my ticket cleared, but...whatever.

Important rules for life (oh, and driving):

1. Good driving is no accident.

2. Expressway driving has fules that must be followed.

3. Don't stop on the ramp--you could be rear-ended.

4. Choose the appropriate lane.

5. Cooperate with other drivers.

6. Carry bottled water and snacks with you. They'll keep your strength and spirits up.

7. Remember, only YOU can control your reactions to situations.

8. Use caution in work zones.

9. Never overdrive your headlights---don't drive so fast that you can't stop in the space lit by your headlights.

10. Pay attention to your physical condition, and pull over when tired.

11. It's sure to irritate a pedestrian if you almost hit him.

Okay, that's all I've got for the first 4 lessons (of 10). More later, I want to watch the Pope Joan thing on Primetime.

I couldn't sleep this morning. Woke up about 3 and pretended to be asleep so the Wonder Dog would actually stay asleep. Migrated to the couch about 4:30.

Wound up watching "Hysteria: The Def Leppard Story." Honestly, I really like Def Leppard, but I've never seen this biopic. Interesting story.

One question...

The actors playing the band--how come only the real Joe Elliot and Rick Allen look better than their counterparts in the movie? Why would you choose actors for the other guys who are the more attractive versions?

It's just before 7 on Christmas Morning. I've walked the dog and settled on the couch to watch William Vanderbloemen's sermon from last Sunday (the air a week behind, which is fine). Three things have already struck me this morning and made me think (something I don't tend to do a lot of before 8 a.m.)

First, as the Wonder Dog and I walked around the complex this morning, we were both awed by the silence. He even stood still for several minutes, just enjoying the quiet. We walked a bit more, and saw a huge flock of birds coming out of the trees behind the property. He put his paws on my knee (the sign that he wants to be held). I picked him up and we watched the birds flying off together. I was struck by the silence. That made Christmas morning for me. Just made it.

Then, on the couch watching William's sermon from last week, the 4th Sunday of Advent. It's seems that Sunday is always full of sermons about Mary's visit from the angel, telling her that she was carrying God's Son. William discussed the description of Mary's mental/emotional state upon that pronouncement--she was "troubled." The ultimate conclusion was that we, today, should be "troubled" about Christmas. Not the rush we all seem to be in this time of year. Not what we go through in shopping for that one difficult person. Not the stress of preparing that perfect holiday meal. No, we should be troubled by the miracle of the virgin birth and God coming to live among us, fully human, fully God. We should be troubled by what it means to us, what it meant to the world. And, once we are troubled by Christmas, all other "troubles" of our life will disappear.

The last thing I was struck by, is far more mundane than the other two. Just after the Presbyterian service is broadcast, "Changing Your World with Dr. Creflo A. Dollar" comes on. I don't usually watch this, because I don't care for his preaching style. But, this morning, I thought I'd watch it, if only because it's Christmas morning. I got oh, 4 or 5 sentences into it when he said something that I didn't find appealing. He, too, was talking of the visit from the Angel to Mary. It was the way he described it--"The Angel came to tell her that she was pregnant, and the child had been conceived not with the sperm of a human man...." I'm sorry. I don't think that something so wonderful and miraculous as virgin birth should be described so basely. It, I don't know, impedes the miracle, to me. Kinda like when the Discovery Channel airs a show on the science behind the parting of the Red Sea, or the 40 Days Flood. Some things should just be accepted as read. Now, I know that many people need more than just "blind faith," but goodness...talking about sperm and Mary in the same sentence?

Since I finally got it, I thought I'd share one of my favorite family recipes. Some say it's a variation of a chess pie, but I'm here to tell you that it isn't. This is definitely a different animal.

Buttermilk Pie

1/2 c butter (real butter, not margarine. Really, it makes a difference.)
2 c sugar
2 tsp vanilla (the real stuff is best, but the imitation will work)
3 eggs
3 tbsp flour
1/4 tsp salt
1 c buttermilk

1 9-inch pie crust (deep dish)

Preheat oven to 300 degrees.

Cream butter and sugar. Add 1/2 cup sugar at a time as you do this.

Blend in vanilla. Add eggs, 1 at a time.

Combine flour and salt, add this to the mixture a small amount a time, mixing well.

Add buttermilk, mix.

Pour into pie crust

Bake at 300 for 90 minutes. Let stand until cool. Best served at room temperature or slightly chilled.

For a variation, put 1/2 c chopped pecans in the pie crust and pour the mix on top.

Note: This makes lots more mix than you'll need for a "regular" pie crust/plate. Not enough for a second pie, but this does well baked in custard cups, too.

Enjoy. And Merry Christmas.

~~Jayne.

This is why we close the dishwasher when we're done loading the dinner dishes.

So, it's 6:40 on the morning of Christmas Adam. Once again, The Wonder Dog has opted to make an early run outside and then go back to bed.

Do you know what my Christmas dream is this year? A backyard and a doggie door.

No, really, I have the same wish I do every year--that more and more the miracle of Christmas will involve far more than Santa making it around the earth in a night and people getting extra days off from work.

Stand-off. Me vs. a bottle of Equate Ny-Quil. (sp?)

I know I need to take it. I've had this horrible, painful, completely unattractive virus thing in my ears all week that has down-graded to a common, everyday cold. The only thing that's helped me all week is regular doses of Extra Strength Tylenol. I haven't slept more than 3 hours any night since Saturday. It's driving me crazy.

So, tonight, I decided to go ahead and take some Ny-Quil to help me get more sleep. Thing is, I hate Ny-Quil. I hate the alleged cherry flavor (I don't like cherries, but, guys, this ain't cherry flavor). I hate the consistency--it's like swallowing Palmolive. The flavor--did I mention I don't like the cherry flavor? Well, whatever that green crap is supposed to be is even worse (licorice? medicine? toxic waste?).

So, I'm sitting here, debating the best way to get this nasty crap down my throat. I know this is silly and immature and I should just take it "like a big girl." You have to understand, though, this is the only substance on Earth that makes me want to retch every single time it goes down my throat. Not a few times it has succeeded in its attempts and left me feeling worse than when I started down that road.

I'm thinking that the best option for me is to take alternating swallows of the fake cherry goo and milk. I'll let you know how it goes.

Librarians are the secret masters of the world. They control information. Don't ever piss one off.

~~Spider Robinson

I usually have no freakin' clue what I want for Christmas. And people are getting real sick and tired of me saying "I want you to get me whatever you want me to have." Why does this piss people off? Is it because they know I'm going to open the box and think "THIS is what he wanted me to have? What have I done to him this year?"

Anyway, if you're looking for a few ideas...here you go.

Librarian items at CafePress

Darn near anything in this collection will do.

In the event that nothing there speaks to you, I've been eyeing a fondue thingy at Dillard's.

Merry Merry.

In San Antonio this fine, nearly gone, morning. Came to visit a friend last night.

Okay, he's an ex-boyfriend. In fact, he's visited this blog before, in the early days. M returns.

I didn't realize that I missed him until he opened the door last night. I mean, yeah, I miss his company and our conversations. I didn't realize I just miss being around him. Nothing romantic or prurient, just around him.

Damn. I don't like being reminded that I feel for someone.




P.S. The title of today's post has not a blooming thing to do with anything else. I had Johnny Cash playing in the truck last night on the way up.

I wear a band on the third finger of my left hand. Yes, that's the "wedding ring" finger, traditionally. No, I am not married, or even engaged (in case some of you are joining our story a bit late).

It isn't fancy--a wide sterling silver band, with doves and flowers embossed on it. The dove has what could be construed as an olive branch in its mouth.

I've worn it there for months, now.

Today, I was asked why I wear a ring there, since I'm not married. I've not been asked it before, but, knowing that I would, I had an answer prepared.

The doves represent hope and peace, the flowers are hope and renewal. The ring symbolizes important parts of my faith--my Christian faith. I wear it to remind myself that there are more important things than being married or remaining single.

I started wearing it the last time I got really down about being without a partner. I vacillate on this one. Sometimes, it doesn't bother me at all, other times I'm really, really bothered about it. Wearing this ring is a token to help me remember that it's okay to be single.

Doesn't mean I wouldn't like someone to replace this ring for me one day. *grin*

I've been looking for an alternative to the traditional jello mold we see during the holiday season. Here it is. Guess I'll do Houston, though. Maybe just my small home town.

http://www.lizhickok.com/assets/portfolio/pages/06telegraph.html

Wonder how many weird looks the family will give me this year?

take the WHAT BAD BOOK ARE YOU test.


and go to mewing.net. not as good as reading a good book, but way better than a bad one.

I've never watched the Regis and Kelly show. This morning, they're taste-testing some crazy, crazy ice cream concoctions from Country Cow Creamery. They've tried beer, creamed corn, green beans, and turkey and gravy flavors. Some things shouldn't be ice cream flavors.

Kelly is being a total child "I don't wanna try it! You can't make me!" Then she does it anyway because Gelman told her to.

I hate women like that. Either do what your told, or don't. But don't be a whiny child. There's no point and you make the rest of us look bad.

And she's skinny, too. Damn her.

It's before 7 a.m. on a Tuesday morning. A Tuesday morning that I'm off. I wanted to sleep late, but The Wonder Dog didn't get the memo. Actually, I believe the problem is that he ate the memo before reading it. Now he's all curled up next to me, sleeping. Damn.

Last night, I fell asleep on the couch watching "The Dukes of Hazzard." I've always loved that show. So, this morning, when I rolled over (still on the couch), I turned on the TV to find that I was still on CMT (seems like I remember changing the channel to the X-Files rerun, but maybe not.). So, for the last hour, I've been watching country music videos.

A few thoughts on that...

Song's called "Why." I'll look up the artist later. Anyway, the guy's HOT. But he's got this weird idea that he must wear a black cowboy hat. There's really only so many people that can pull off a black cowboy hat. He's not one of them. I realize that there is a standard formula for male country artists, but that formula kinda quit working so well when they started piercing their ears--like this guy, who's name I promise I will look up. Artist's name is Jason Aldean. His "big smash hit" so far is "Hicktown"--a rockin' good song.

Billy Joe Shaver "Live Forever." Okay, LOVE Billy Joe Shaver. It just seems really, really odd that he's doing a music video though. Not what I'd expect, but no one asked me. Great song, too.

Reba McEntire "You're Gonna Be" (Okay, I'm not sure it's in Reba's contracts to use slang pronunciation and spellings, but that's how she sang it.). Beautiful song, but so many of hers are. My only complaint is that they constantly film her with lighting that makes her look ghostly. Ick.

Trace Adkins "Honky Tonk, Badonkadonk." WTF??? This is a cowboy's version of "I Like Big Butts." I kid you not. Some of the best lines: "How she even get those britches on" "That's why we do it, boys...it ain't for the free whiskey...it's for the badonkadonk." WTF?

Montgomery Gentry "She Don't Tell Me To." Dude's so involved in this song that he 's about ready to cry. That' would be the one who's always wearing duster. Today, he's all in black with some silver accents on his jeans, a hat that looks like something Zorro would wear, and red ropers. What?

JoDee Messina "Delicious Surprise (I Believe It)" This chick rocks. She is just so much fun and takes absolutely no crap off nobody. She also gives the impression that she's really internalized every word she's singing. Awesome. I'm gonna have to get this CD.

Faith Hill "Like We Never Loved at All." Sad, sad, song. "Story line" in the video is set in the 70s, and ol' Tim helps her out with this one. She looks great with the big, big hair, thought the bright yellow dress could've been left on the rack. He looks stupid in the golf cap thing he's got on in the beginning of the video.

Terri Clark "I Just Wanna Be Mad." She's obviously a farm-girl, tomboy. I love it. The song's great, too. They've had a fight, she assures him that she loves him, but right now, she just wants to be mad. I'll never understand why so many men don't get this concept. Trust me, gentlemen (and I use that term loosely), you guys are every bit as moody and stubborn as we can be.

Brooks & Dunn "Believe." I just heard this song for the first time yesterday, even though it's been on the radio for awhile. This one made me cry. I've always thought Kix Brooks has a great voice, and I tell you what, he could pull off some serious gospel in my opinion, after listening to this song.

Okay...that's it for my way too freakin' early music report. Have fun, kids.

Somebody please tell me this isn't as sad as it sounds.

I live in a one-bedroom apartment with 4 closets. Today, I started rearranging furniture after picking up a bookcase from R. (Wait, this isn't the sad part.)

What does one inevitably do when moving furniture around? Vacuum before placing things, right?

I had to look in 3 closets before finding the vacuum cleaner.

So, I signed up to do the NaNoWriMo program, right?

I wrote about 8,000 words and stopped. Stuck. Damn it.

I've been doing everything except write in the last few weeks. Hell, I haven't even written here in a week and a half.

I've written 3 letters to my grandfather. I mailed one.

I've watched incredibly bad daytime and night time television. The weekend fare has been pretty sad, too.

I've been litter training The Wonder Dog. I came across an 8-FOOT LONG COPPERHEAD NEAR MY PARKING SPOT AT HOME and have discontinued all walks that take place in the dark. Okay, so it was only 8 or 10 inches long, but I hate snakes. The litter training isn't going so well. But, we have had the break through of going potty near the tray today, instead of in another room.

I've been to the doctor 3 times--and was told last week that I have asthma. I've probably had it for my whole life, it was just never diagnosed. Crazy.

I've crocheted 2 afghans and a handful of hats. Even a camouflage one for a friend's little girl.

But, writing? Not a word.

I've seen some strange things in my 29 years. But, I've always been able to turn to a few things I'm interested in and find precisely what I expect.

I crochet, and I'm learning how to knit. My grandmothers both taught me how to crochet, and I'm learning how to knit now as an homage to the grandmother who passed away 18 months ago.

There's an abundance of crochet sites and list servs out there. There's always motherly/grandmotherly types, and people my age (and younger) who's grandmothers taught them how to crochet and they just enjoy it now. You can peruse any one of those sites and find patterns, recipes, project ideas, etc. All are innocuous. All.

Until the group I found today. Oh my.

Kinky Crochet

I kid you not. There's a recent poll asking members which of a list of things they'd like to see patterns for. Included are pillows with "toy pockets" and whips.

I did not join this group. There's just something wrong with a hobby associated with grannies and a request like that. I mean, I applaud them for bringing crochet into the 21st century, for finding new ways to incorporate it into people's lives, and for broadening the scope of the craft (ahem).

All I can think of is my grandmother happening across this site, thinking it's harmless (and it is, but you know what I mean). Yuck.

Your Birthdate: October 9

You are a born idealist, with more pet causes than you can count. You prefer be around others, both when working and while relaxing. Generous and giving, you believe you can change the world one person at a time. You're open minded and tolerant. People feel like they can tell you anything. Your strength: Your go-with-the-flow flexibility Your weakness: Your flair for the over dramatic Your power color: Pine green Your power symbol: Circle Your power month: September

Okay, so, I've decided to challenge myself. I've entered the National Novel Writing Month event.

Do me a favor...keep on me about this. Somehow, deadlines only do so much for encouraging me to do something.

Please note: I'm going to get a bit graphic here. If you can't take it, check back in a few days.

I'm drowning. Slowly.

Before you get all worried about me, you need to know that I'm drowning in snot. I've had more snot come out of my head than an elephant. I swear it. The stuff coming out of my head isn't natural either. I mean, it's bound to be natural since I'm not in the habit of implanting unnatural things in my sinus cavities, but it's not regular snot.

I haven't slept anything not drug-induced for the last 3 days, and even then, I wake up because I can't breath. Or, one side of my face is in excruciating pain. This pain signals that something in my sinus is moving and interested in relocating to the outside world.

All I can think of is "if I ever get out of this house again, I'm so having sinus surgery ASAP."

I'm also taking applications for a babysitter for The Wonder Dog. Yes, babysitter. He's not a dog so much as he's a small, furry, 2 year old. I can't entertain him if my head is stuck in a box of tissues.

Don't laugh, I'm very serious, about the surgery.

And the babysitter.

I thought getting online and posting would make me feel better. Thought I'd do an interesting post. Then, my left cheek started throbbing again. Nevermind.

I stayed home sick today. For the record, no, it didn't have anything to do with the bottle of wine I consumed last night (see the post from 2 a.m.). I would've gone to work if that had been my only problem. Waking up this morning involved a lot of sinus issues, that I decided just weren't something the general public needed to see or have shared with them. I also had a cold settle in my eyes and seeing was a concern.

Sounds weird, doesn't it? "A cold in my eyes." I promise you, that's what the man in the white coat told me when I went in thinking I had pink eye. (Yes, a childhood "disease," but you go work in a public school, ok? Trust me, you'll get it every so often.) Regardless, no contacts for a few days and I have to rinse my eyes with saline solution morning and night so I can keep them clear. Not that any of you wanted to know...but hey, you might be able to use the info one day.

While I was lying around this morning waiting on the doctor's office to open so I could call and beg for an appointment (yes, I want an appointment today, I'm terribly sorry I didn't call last week to schedule one, but my illness schedule got bumped up a month and I didn't get the memo until 20 minutes ago. Damn the luck.), I looked at my bedroom and decided that the feng shui was completely off. Now, I don't know the rules involved in feng shui, but I do know that the lay out of a room can not make me feel totally uncomfortable and I can let the room be until it is fixed. Sometimes, I'll move the furniture around every day for a week until I feel like I can sit down and not feel anxious. The Wonder Dog hates it---just when he gets his spot figured out, I move the furniture again.

Sidebar....

I have the same sort of idiosyncracy about restaurants and bars. I cannot, I mean absolutely CAN NOT, sit with my back to my "exit path." I'd like to think it has something to do with a lesser known, social custom that I still see practiced in the South that requires that the lady in a party be visible to the room. Sadly, I think it's because I'm crazy. I visibly freeze up---shoulders 'round my ears, problems concentrating on the conversation, etc. I was talking about it last night with a date. He tried to pull the chair out for me and I bypassed the one he had at ready and sat on the other side of the table. He claims it's some form of claustrophobia (which I do have). Sounds plausible, I guess, but judging from the rest of the conversation last night, I think he was blowing smoke up my ass.

Back to the scheduled blog...

So, this afternoon, when I was feeling better and could stand up AND breathe simultaneously (I'm telling you, my sinuses were naaasty.), I rearranged my bedroom. I had this "princess" canopy thing hanging over the head of my bed. The netting ones that fall from a hoop. I realize you don't typically see those in the bedroom of someone my age (even if I am incredibly young), but I liked it. Kinda a romantic thing.

Well, since there's no romance going on in my house these days, I decided to not put it back up over my bed. Instead, I hung it in a corner of my little yellow armchair that R gifted me with. (You remember R, my best friend...wonderful at all the things I'm not, like furniture placement) I was thinking "meditation space" which is becoming increasingly important to me. I see myself curling up in the chair, pulling the netting around me, and blocking myself off from the world for a bit. Mother came over for a few minutes and told me it looked like I'd created a throne for myself.

Could it be because I have my tiara on a little nicknack shelf on the wall next to my chair??? And the sign that says "I didn't ask to be a princess, but the tiara fit"???

For the record, I'm not a princess (literally or figuratively), but I do believe that every once in a while, a woman needs to feel like she is, even if her only subject is her dog.

There's a nice little shiraz from the Little Penguin that is FABULOUS. Little Penguin is an Australian winery. I grabbed the Shiraz this evening on a whim. It's very nice, guys, I certainly recommend it.

Says the woman who's had most of the bottle in the last 3 hours....on top of 2 'ritas.

Rosa Parks Dies

Another hero of mine.

Read this. My comments on it are the next blog down.

Where Have All the Heroes Gone?

I don’t think a lack of heroes is the problem. Little kids emulate the people they most want to be like and we call them heroes. It matters not that the really tall famous basketball star (or wrestler or T.V. star or whatever) is a less than stellar human being—he’s really good on the court. As a friend would tell me, “he’s got mad skills.”

I think when we get older, heroism amounts to something different. My heroes aren’t necessarily famous people or done newsworthy things. Suddenly, not their great acts, but their character is what I want to emulate.

I don’t think there’s a lack of heroes, not for adults. It’s just the criteria has grown up as we did.

So, who are my heroes? Let me tell you.

My students. Everyday they teach me something new and surprise me. They also call me to task and push me to be more than I am, even if they don’t realize it.

One of my former students. He’s in his freshman year at UT (as in Longhorns, people) this year and is one of my favorite friends. He’s amazing to talk to and gives me hope for the future. He sees the bigger picture and the things that are important, but knows how live as well.

My best friend. Because of him, I’m more than I was when we met and it’s because he pushed me to do it.

The people who hold it together after major crises and tragedies. Yes, we all falter at some point, but those people who don’t let the situation get the better of them and become those “less than stellar” individuals.

The men and women in the armed forces who give of their lives—both literally and figuratively—everyday.

1. Name someone with the same birthday as you. John Lennon, you know, the Beatle.

2.Where was your first kiss? Sadly, outside my locker in 8th grade. (Apparently, waiting THAT long made me some sort of freak. But, if you'd seen the guys I went to school with, you'd have waited too.)

3. Have you ever seriously vandalized someone else’s property? No. But I wouldn't tell you anyway.

4. Have you ever hit someone of the opposite sex? Yes. Many times.

5. Have you ever sung in front of a large number of people? Yep, everytime I read the scripture at church--thank God I'm not miked.

6. What’s the first thing you notice about the opposite sex? Hm, eyes. If the eyes are kind, he's a winner in my book.

7. What really turns you on? Authenticity--in any context.

8. What do you order at Starbucks? Anything they're willing to put a double shot in.

9. What is your biggest mistake? So not going there.

10. Have you ever hurt yourself on purpose? Not recently ;)

11. Say something totally random about yourself. I've never slept through the night.

12. Has anyone ever said you looked like a celebrity? Drew Barrymore. I hear that ALL the time.

13. Do you still watch kiddy movies or tv shows? Sometimes, that's all that's on TV.

14. Did you have braces? Yes.

15. Are you comfortable with your height? Mostly. Being 5'4" put a stop on my supermodel career pretty quickly. However, if you know an agency that wants shorter women (you know, part of that "real" look"), let me know.

16. What is the most romantic thing someone of the opposite sex has done for you? Uh-uh. Never kiss and tell.

17. When do you know it’s love? Even trying to describe it would be an injustice.

18. Do you speak any other languages? Taco, enchilada, Madre, gracias. Do these count as speaking the other language?

19. Have you ever been to a tanning salon? Yep. Every year in February and March.

20. What magazines do you read? Real Simple (but not real cheap), Cottage Living, Newsweek, Time.

21. Have you ever ridden in a limo? Nope.

22. Has anyone you were really close to passed away? Grandma

23. Do you watch mtv? The music channel for people who don't like music? No.

24. What’s something that really annoys you? Blatant stupidity.

25. What’s something you really like? warm cookies and cold milk, a good book, back rubs, Christmas carols, blue jeans and t-shirts.

26. Do you like Michael Jackson? The music, not the man, um...person.

27. Can you dance? Pretty well. I don't make a fool of myself at least. I do better with a guy who can lead well.

28. What’s the latest you have ever stayed up? 4 p.m. It was the end of a 22 hour first date. Probably the best first date I've ever had.

29. Have you ever been rushed by an ambulance into the emergency room? Twice, after car accidents in which I wound up with back and neck injuries.

30. Do you actually read these when other people fill them out? Yep.


Stole this list of questions off Q's blog.

Listened to a motivational speaker today. He was pretty good, for what he does. I'm not a fan of motivational speakers because so many seem so fake. This guy didn't, but I'm not keen on them anyway. Anyway, he was talking about something else, but made the comment that inspiration is all around us.

Part of me is thinking "well, duh." The rest of me (the 90% that's typically in charge) is thinking, "I know this, so why do I deny it so often?" Everyday, I come across something I could be writing about...then I don't do it because it doesn't seems like a "worthy" topic. Hold me to it, guys, no more "unworthy" topics--just writing.

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I learned the other day how hummingbirds accomplish migration. See, physically, they are incapable of undertaking the task by themselves. They hitch rides under the feathers of geese who are heading south (or north). The geese act as a transit system and take them to warmer climates.

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Today, I had an interesting conversation with a coworker today. We were talking about a man who used to attend the school I work in and now teachers at a military academy. He told her once that one of the things he's learned while teaching there is that there are bell curves within bell curves.

What I mean is, at a military academy, you find the cream of the crop on the bell curve (by and large, at least). Within that population, there is a second bell curve---highs, lows, and "averages" within those students.

We then talked about how it's the same in prison situations. In a prison population, there are leaders, status quo sorts, and whiners. The bell curve again.

I see it in the people I work with. Leaders--the ones we all go to when we need assistance, or turn to for a clue as to how to handle/react to something. The middle of the roads--ranging from just getting by to verging on being a leader. Then there's at the bottom of the curve--struggling ones or those others question keeping on staff.

Anyway, it's just an interesting look at societal dynamics.

Independent Presbyterian Church (oldest Presbyterian Church in Georgia)

Tybee Island Lighthouse. Supposed to be the tallest one in Georgia (or maybe the US, can't remember now. Anyway, I did make it all the way to the top..but was too chicken to go out on the landing.

Everytime we see a turtle on a back road, we have to pull over and help it across. On the road to Tybee Island, I saw turtle crossing signs. Hehe.

A townhome on one of the squares in Savannah. It's where I'd like to live.

My birthday was over the weekend. I guess it was a good one. I spent the weekend in Savannah, GA with my brother and we had a good time. We do a brother-sister only trip every October. This year, we decided to go somewhere we hadn't been before and Savannah won. More on the trip, later.

But, like I said, my birthday was over the weekend. It was painful. See, this is the year of the last one I'll celebrate. I turned 29 Sunday.

The last few years, the birthdays have all hurt. Until this one, 26 was the worst. I'm not sure why, it just did.

This year, I woke up crying. I didn't want to be turning 29. Certainly not turning 29 in a Howard Johnson Hotel with my brother in the next bed over. (geez, I'm tearing up just thinking about it.)

Mother says I'm being ridiculous. So what? It's my right. I am, after all, an adult.

I post this one because it will never happen again. My two dogs don't get along. The Wonder Dog would love to play with The Old Man, but The Old Man doesn't like children -- 2-legged or 4-legged ones. This is why The Old Man continues to live with my parents (that and his hip injury make stairs impossible)

During the recent evacuations for Hurricane Rita, the Boys rode 9 hours with me to my grandfather's. Usually, this is a 2 hour tour, and I was beginning to feel marooned on our mandated evacuation route--the "Gilligan's Island" theme kept rolling through my head. Anyway, I suppose in times of near-crisis, even the Boys can tell that it would be in their best interest to not piss me off and just play nice with each other.

In this picture, the crisis was that their Scottish terrier cousin (on my dad's side, of course) was about to eat their food. He'd been eyeing it for a couple of hours and the Boys just couldn't take it anymore. They were pleased to find that at the next regularly scheduled feeding, I moved the bowls to my room and had copious amounts of extra food and treats.

Okay, here's the deal. 3 doctors told me back in the Spring that I needed to lose weight. I agreed with wholeheartedly. Then gained 15 more pounds.

So, in July I started going Weight Watchers. I've been rather impressed with myself. Not only am I really, truly keeping up with the plan rules, I've been exercising almost every day. I'm ready to announce my progress so far.

Since mid-July, I've lost 20 pounds.

The people at the meetings are stunned--first of all, where the hell did I have 20 pounds to lose? Was my leg hollow? No, I just "wear it well." To look at me, you'd never know there's 20 more pounds floating around to lose. But there is. By all accounts, I'm little, petite---and this is from men who want to date me.

Anyway..just had to share.

I took the Classic Dames Test (see it here). Here are my results.

For twelve years, one thought ran through my head more than any other.

I am not my mother.

My mother. People respect and admire her. I can’t go anywhere in this town without hearing about how great she is. And she is great. She’s a master at her job, at her church work, at being an example to others. Few women inspire me the way she tends to. Granted, it’s not always to be better than I am. Sometimes it’s just to be different than who she is.

I haven’t said it in four years. Not because I finally decided to believe it, but because I finally gave in.

To a point.

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

Everyone says I look just like her. (Well, everyone except for a whole two people in my life. Both those women think I look more and more like Daddy everyday. I do have his shape. Not build, shape. There’s a difference. Personally, I don’t think I look unlike him, but
not just like him.) Looking like Mother isn’t an altogether bad thing. I think she’s beautiful. It does mean that I get her family’s short stature, and that double-chin thing that I can’t
seem to shake. We have a very similar smile and have confused people on the phone. We’d even have the same color hair, if we didn’t color it (she goes blonde, I go dark auburn.)

I went into education, just like she did. Even taught elementary school, just like her. I loved being in the classroom and watching students “get it.” Paperwork and parents never bothered me. I love the challenge of getting the material across so that every student masters it. Third-graders were the breaking point. They were a wonderful class, but I’m just not cut out for that age. At the first opportunity, I hopped on a high school position and ran with it. You know what my favorite part of this job is? Watching the strides the students make in a year’s time.

In high school and college, Mother and I clashed constantly, which I think may be a prerequisite for a healthy mother-daughter relationship. Man, life was hell in that house for awhile. I take full responsibility for my part. The main issue, I think, was that we’ve something of the same temperament and clashed. Looking back, I’m not sure how we shared that house through some of those things. Seems like one of us (me, I guess) would’ve bolted at some point.

I hear that I’m just like her pretty often, too. Sometimes, I just have to laugh at that. Personality-wise, I think I’m a whole lot more like Daddy—same quirky sense of humor and all. Mother and I may do things similarly, but it’s just because I learned those things from her. I make a lot of it up as I go, though.

Even going off to school and then moving out on my own later, I strived to be different from her. My life at nearly 29 years old is very different from hers. I’m single (she’d been married 11 years), have no kids (she had two, and one was getting ready to go to junior high, eek!), have lived on my own for several years, and have a masters degree (she was starting to go back to school to become a teacher). Those are “big” things in life and those aren’t the things I’ve chosen to do because of my desire to not become her. No, it’s the little things that I do.

The first thing I did that I felt like carried my signature on it and separated me from her a bit was making spaghetti sauce. I don’t know why that’s such a big deal to me. She doesn’t do anything fancy with spaghetti sauce. A can of paste, can of sauce, maybe some diced tomatoes, ground beef browned with onions, spices. Easy. I, on the other hand, take whole tomatoes and dice/puree them fresh, garlic, chili powder, oregano, basil, and thyme. Salt and pepper to taste. With or without ground beef. Nothing canned or preserved. It’s not what I grew up eating, but I don’t want it any other way anymore.

There are other things, too.

I buy shoes because they make me feel pretty.

I drink a vodka tonic (with extra lime) every night before bed.

There’s always a bottle of decent chardonnay, and chocolate in my house.

I sleep in the nude 90% of the time (clothes are constricting, you know?).

I’m a writer and love wordplay.

You’ll never see me wearing sensible shoes two days in a row.

I tend to cuss when I drink. Or get pissed. Or breathe (sometimes).

My best friend is a wonderful man, who’s involved with another woman.

I’m less tolerant of stupidity than she is.

I’m way more liberal than she is.

I cherish the days that I can sleep late (even if “late” is only 8 a.m.).

I think nothing of shopping at Wal-Mart at 2 a.m. to avoid the lines.

I love good rock music (Aerosmith, Van Halen, Queen..that era).

I refuse to listen to the Christian station. They play nothing I like.

Okay, so some of that’s mundane. I told you it wasn’t big things that I do to project being different from her. But it’s not always the big things that make people anyway. It’s the little things.

I've been telling people for years that they should worship me because I am a librarian. Finally, here's something (I didn't write) that I can use to support this assertion.

Worship on Librarian Avengers.

Okay, okay, so I was telling them to worship me before I became a librarian. Sue me.

It’s happening more often. I’m feeling old again.

Every year, Beloit College in Wisconsin releases a Mindset List to help faculty understand where the incoming freshman class is coming from. I have this feeling that, particularly for me, it’s going to get more frightening. And actually, I think it’s a little sad how many different things they missed out on, for one reason or another.

Anyway, here’s the Mindset List for the Class of 2009.

http://www.beloit.edu/~pubaff/mindset/

It’s time again for me to do a post on the news. And let me tell you, there’s a lot going on out there.

The Lance Armstrong Witch Hunt.

Okay, so, Lance is now being accused of having taken performance enhancing drugs. I think it’s rather fascinating that the French are suddenly pulling up test results from urine samples taken 6 years ago to support this accusation. “B” samples, even. I’d agree with the assertion that the French are just bad losers, if it weren’t for the fact that it wasn’t even the sports labs that “discovered” this issue. It was a lab that was trying to perfect tests to find the specific drug they now say Lance took. (Listen to me, “Lance”—like I know him or something!)

You know, while I don’t doubt that more athletes are guilty of taking performance enhancing drugs than we’ll ever know, I don’t think Lance did. I think that, sometimes, when you go looking for nefarious things, you find them, whether they exist or not.


Pat Robertson’s “Suggestion” to the President

Okay, this guy makes me itch as it is. Why do we let him leave his house? It saddens me that anyone actually believes anything that comes out of his mouth. I don’t want to sound judgmental, but I can’t fathom this guy has Christianity right. Christians may not sanction some things, but they certainly shouldn’t gay bash, use racial slurs (both of which he did this summer at a private party in Houston), or suggest murder. You can argue all you want that his statement was taken out of context, but precisely in what context should the phrase “take him out” be taken?


In Huntsville, TX—mother steals own baby

Okay, if you read the story for this one, you’ll see it’s not as bizarre as it sounds. Mothers are, generally, allowed to take their infants from the hospital. But, mothers with severe mental and emotional issues. It doesn’t say it in this story, but the local news says she may have had drug issues.

Apparently, her other children (4 years and 1 year) were removed by CPS sometime in the last few months. The hospital there in Huntsville is bound to have been privy to this info—especially if they were planning to keep the child for a few extra days to make sure he was okay. Why in the world was she allowed to be alone with the baby? Don’t give me this crap about being short-staffed, that’s really no excuse.


Man assaulted and has bicycle stolen by clown

Is it any wonder that so many people are afraid of clowns?


Judge reprimanded for making snide remarks from bench

You know, so what? With as many ridiculous things making it to courtrooms, I think it’s high time that people were told they’re being stupid. Someone should tell some of these idiots that they are, in fact, behaving stupidly and the rest of us are tired of supporting their frivolous asses.

Got an email this morning from one of the owner/moderators for Bibliophilist today. Seems a review I wrote this summer of Little Chapel on the River, has shown up on the author's website (her name is Wendy Bounds). Woot! Makes me happy!

See it here...Reviews of Little Chapel on the River.

Now would be a nice time for all of you to stroke my ego a bit (it's in need of stroking today), if you feel so inclined.

I've been back at work 12 days. Yes, 12, I started before everyone else.

I'm exhausted. I can't remember the last time that I was so tired. I know I've been getting up earlier to work out, but I've also been going to bed earlier to compensate. I do really well all the way up to 8 o'clock, and then I give out.

The Wonder Dog is beside himself. He wants to play, and play, and play. I'm only good for about 30 minutes by the time I get home and in for the night. I feel bad, but I keep telling him I'll make it up to him this weekend. I feel like a mother.

I have a confession to make.

Sunday morning television makes me itch. Not all of it. Good Morning America and the news don't bother me to much. And I like CBS Sunday Morning (except for the host's poor attempts at poetry to introduce stories).

It's all the "church" shows. Well, almost all. I do really enjoy watching William Vanderbloemen at First Presbyterian Church in Houston--I even get up to watch the sermon at 6:30 on Sunday mornings. No, the ones that make me itch are the others.

Some of them seem so fake, so televangelist (which is my main argument about CBN). I don't appreciate flash in a sermon. By that, I mean, I don't think that the pastor needs to raise his voice and resort to histrionics to send the Christian message. Pacing up and down the stage and wearing purple suits just turns me off. Sermons shouldn't all be designed to make you "feel good," but the convicting ones don't have to be delivered by yelling at the congregation. And, building an entire sermon around one verse taken out of context is just poor theology.

I guess it's the religious upbringing that I've had--Presbyterian. We're quiet, not flashy, not showy. My pastor may raise his voice in a sermon to emphasis a point, but he doesn't yell at us. I've never sat in a Presbyterian service and felt like I was being called out, or that being convicted came at the cost of some dignity. The sermons are grounded in strong theology, not delivered with "surface" theology.

Of course, I also think that "churching" should take place in the presence of other believers. Sitting at home on your own is more like a devotional than what a church service should be about. I'll grant that some people have no alternative and that some people initially came to faith because they heard about it on TV. But I firmly believe that in order to grow in your faith you have to worship and learn with other Christians around you.


So, these Sunday morning "throw some churching at you" shows make me itch.

Question: If you could live forever, would you and why?Answer: "I would not live forever, because we should not live forever,because if we were supposed to live forever, then we would live forever,but we cannot live forever, which is why I would not live forever."
--Miss Alabama in the 1994 Miss USA contest.

"Whenever I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the world,I can't help but cry. I mean I'd love to be skinny like that, but not withall those flies and death and stuff,"
--Mariah Carey

"Smoking kills. If you're killed, you've lost a very important part ofyour life,"
--Brooke Shields, during an interview to becom e spokespersonfor federal antismoking campaign.

"I've never had major knee surgery on any other part of my body,"
--Winston Bennett, University of Kentucky basketball forward.

"Outside of the killings, Washington has one of the lowest crime rates inthe country,"
--Mayor Marion Barry, Washington, DC.

"I'm not going to have some reporters pawing through our papers. We are the president,"--Hillary Clinton commenting on the release of subpoenaed documents.

"That lowdown scoundrel deserves to be kicked to death by a jackass, andI'm just the one to do it,"
--A congressional candidate in Texas.

"I don't feel we did wrong in taking this great country away fromthem. There were great numbers of people who needed new land, and theIndians were selfishly trying to keep it for themselves."
--John Wayne

"Half this game is ninety percent mental."--Philadelphia Phillies manager, Danny Ozark

"It isn't pollution that's harming the environment. It's the impurities inour air and water that are doing it."
--Al Gore, Ex-Vice President

"I love California. I practically grew up in Phoenix."
--Dan Quayle

"We've got to pause and ask ourselves: How much clean air do we need?"--Lee Iacocca

"I was provided with additional input that was radically different from the truth. I assisted in furthering that version,"
--Colonel Oliver North, from his Iran-Contra testimony.

"The word "genius" isn't applicable in football. A genius is a guylike Norman Einstein,"
-- sports analyst.

"We don't necessarily discriminate. We simply exclude certain types ofpeople."
--Colonel Gerald Wellman, ROTC Instructor.

"If we don't succeed, we run the risk of failure."--Bill Clinton, Ex-President

"We are ready for an unforeseen event that may or may not occur."
--Al Gore, VP

"Traditionally, most of Australia's imports come from overseas."
--Keppel Enderbery

"Your food stamps will be stopped effective March 1992 because we receivednotice that you passed away. May God bless you. You may reapply if thereis a change in your circumstances."
--Department of Social Services, Greenville, South Carolina

"If somebody has a bad heart, they can plug this jack in at night as theygo to bed and it will monitor their heart throughout the night. And thenext morning, when they wake up dead, there'll be a record."
--Mark S. Fowler, FCC Chairman

This story pisses me off.

Short version:

Man in Louisiana has been masquerading for years as a decorated retired Marine general. Is found out when, after standing up and speaking at a veterans' event in uniform, local media starts checking him out. Guy was a PFC for 19 months, after Iwo Jima.

I know that adults are out there masquerading as who and what they aren't all the time. Identity theft and other nefarious things. But this one really bothers me.

It seems that the whole deal started as a mix-up that he didn't bother to correct. When he moved from Florida, he moved his American Legion membership to the post in the new town and someone there thought he was a general. Before long, he was agreeing to appear at veterans' events in the area. He even handed out coins in the time-honored military tradition of officers and senior enlisted servicemen.

What possessed him to not say "Hey, guys, you misread that paperwork. I'm not a general" at any point when he first moved? I know what kept him from saying anything later--he was a respected man, looked up to, called upon, honored. And once you taste that under the guise of a lie, you can't crawfish and correct everyone. You must save face and maintain a level of (assumed) respectability. Everyone's thought "A" was true for so long, that you can't possibly tell them that, actually "Q" is the reality and "A" was just for giggles.

It's a shame this is barely making headlines. I think the country needs character education.

This is the design that is now on the small of my back. About that big, too. It took Chano (the tattoo artist) about 2 hours to ink it, permanently, on me. I'd put a pic of the actual image up, but it's more than a little difficult to take a picture at that angle on your own and I forgot to take my camera with me. Maybe later.

I was well aware that the location I chose would be more painful than many other spots on the body. Apparently, it's because that space is just really sensitive. Really, it wasn't too terribly bad. When he was working on areas right on and right around my spine--less fat there, I guess. Then there was this one spot that made my leg jerk every time he hit it. And with all those colors and the black outline, that was a few times. Scared Chano the first time, thought I was running away (not with the thing less than half done!). After that, he learned to warn me so I could wrap my leg around the rung of the chair.

I actually had a lot of fun. The gay man that does the piercings at the shop sat and talked to me while I was sitting there. I don't know what radio station was on, but we sang all the songs together, everything from Guns 'n Roses to Staind to Van Halen (an incredibly bubble gummy David Lee Roth recording, ick).

It was great. Will I get another? No. I'm done with that, but I'm really glad I did it.

The practice of putting women on pedestals began to die out when it was discovered that they could give orders better from there. -Betty Grable

I use that quote because last week I got to give orders to someone who'd gotten a bit big for his britches. Remember, dear readers, the 12-year old? (see here, and here). Seems last week he finally got a clue. Apparently, the old adage about "he who laughs last" also applies to "he who retorts last." This is good to know.

I hadn't spoken with him in a week or more when I got a text message from him on my phone in the small hours one night. Woke me up, damn it. The text said something like "I don't know why you've gotten so cold lately. I want the warm, sweet little girl I know back." (Damn. And here I thought I'd managed to move beyond being merely "cold" right on to "completely gone" as far as he was concerned. I'm obviously losing my touch.) Well, I didn't respond. Hour later--the phone goes off again. "I wish you'd just talk to me...I don't understand what's wrong with you but I'd like to help." Oh honey, you're pissing me off now. There may be something wrong with me, but I'm not the one with problems here. Again, I didn't respond. It was 3 in the morning and I had to be up in 3 hours. Screw it. I wanted to get back to the dream with the hot guy in it.

When I got up, I responded with a note saying that this wasn't working--I didn't need someone in my life like him and would prefer he leave me alone. Hours later, at lunch...I get a text from him that clearly wasn't for me. In it, I'm called a "dam liar." I couldn't resist, as childish as it was, I had to point out that adults don't bash other adults, but if they do they spell all the words correctly (damn, not dam--what am I, a person who lies about dams??).

His response? "It wasn't for you, about you, and my phone didn't have 'damn' in its dictionary. Why don't you just stay on your perch you self-righteous bitch and leave us common folk alone?" Quickly followed by "What happened to you? You used to be so warm and caring."

Kinda hurt my feelings...am I a self-righteous bitch? I'd never describe myself as one, but then who would? Bitch, yes. Self-righteous, no. I moped for a few seconds, then considered the source.

I sent back "I'm sorry, it's terribly hard to hear the commoners from so high up on this perch. Might I suggest you just disappear?" No response. Yes..he's gone. Has been for almost 2 weeks. Praise Allah.

Happiness may well be getting to sleep a little later than usual on a Saturday morning. I'll grant that 7 a.m. isn't really all that late, but since I usually get up around 5, two extra hours makes a difference.

I got up this morning, migrated to the couch and turned on the television. The usual Saturday morning junk is on--paid programming. Half an hour of why my product is "fabulous" and better than any other you might find that does the same thing. Plus all the bonuses is if order now--making your original $49.95 purchase a $90 value--for two payments of $24.95. I just think you've got to be awfully low or hard up to get yourself involved in infomercials. They're so fake and just ridiculous.

However, I was incredibly pleased to find one of my favorite movies on this morning. The original "Dr. Dolittle" with Rex Harrison in the lead. I love it all--the Pushme-Pullyou, Sophie the heartsick seal, the plow horse that needed glasses for short-sightedness, the great sea snail. It's one of those classics that I don't think should ever have been "remade." The Eddie Murphy "Dr. Dolittle" is funny, sure (what couldn't be when the guinea pig's voice is that of Chris Rock?). But, it's just not the real thing. I'd be all for an updated version, but not one that strays so far away from the story it's supposed to be based on. Yes, I know there is such a thing as artistic license, but sometimes that license is used too freely.

A few weeks ago, I got to spend a week in beautiful Lawton, Oklahoma. LOL--Lawton isn't beautiful in the least. It's a boring Army/college town. The bars aren't even all that decent. Ice cream shops are pretty good though. I'd never had a rocky road milkshake before. It's really hard to suck a marshmallow or an almond up a skinny straw.

One of Lawton's "tourist attractions," is the prairie dog colony. Now, these prairie dogs aren't native to the area. The way I understand it, they were planted here by some well-meaning people in the community years ago. Now, many of the Lawtonians across the street from the park the colony inhabits find that they are often a nuisance. They're really kinda cute, kinda fun to watch, but I can see how they'd be a problem for some. Seems they occasionally cross the street and start building tunnels and rooms in peoples front yards. Safety hazard, not to mention just annoying.


Just once, I want the contestants on a game show to tell the world that they're married to "just an okay guy/gal who is sitting at home on his ass because he's too self-absorbed to come see me play here on TV." I'm just not buying that everyone's married to fabulous spouses who are sitting on the front row of the audience.

The dear Wonder Dog is growing up. He's definitely in his terrible twos stage, and frankly, we may be stuck here. If he doesn't cool it quickly, he will be shipped off to the Grandmommy's house and left there until Granddad decides to beat his little furry butt.

I'm thinking, based on the above statement, that I'm definitely not ready to have kids. I don't like the dog messing up my stuff (and by that I mean "destroying")--what would I do with a kid?

My favorite color: red

My favorite song: "Love Song for a Savior" Jars of Clay

My favorite Christmas carol: "Oh, Holy Night"

My favorite movie: "Gone with the Wind"

My favorite book: To Kill a Mockingbird

My favorite piece of furniture: my fabulous bed

My favorite quiet spot: the beach, specifically the end of the jetties, where you can see the dolphins

My favorite food: Hm...seafood

My favorite flower: Stargazer lilies and fire and ice roses.




Tomorrow...beetles and prairie dogs. And an update on The Wonder Dog.