I finally got a chance to not just read my friend Allison's blog, but actually post comments on it, something LJ has usually not let me do. In as simple a few words as I can say, this was cool. Anyway, reading her blog has really made me think about my own words. You know, as blunt as I can be sometimes, I equally realize that at other times, I don't quite let my guard down as much as she does. Allison has the balls, the vocabulary, and faith enough in those who read her blog to really bare those parts of herself that are most vulnerable. I swear I'm not ass-kissing. I just don't often read anything quite like this, read someone who is so unafraid to share with a reader their essence, you know? It's refreshing, to say the least.

I do confess alot here, but compared to Allison and a couple of other gals I know who express so much of themselves in their writing, I'm hoping that I can start here to go a step further. I've done enough of the bitching, the giving my take on facts. Maybe it's time I started to really start to say even more of what I feel, in the process exposing more of who I am that might not get kudos. Let's see if I can start today, whether this ends up being a disaster or not;)

Ok, here's one... I have battled depression since my teens. Ooooh, huge surprise, huh? Honestly, I didn't know what it was at the time; I just knew that I didn't quite always see the happy-special funtime so many of my girlfriends experienced, didn't quite cheer as much for the Temple High Wildcats when in drill team, couldn't understand why so many of my girlfriends were freaking out over Friday's pep rally, even though I still pretended to be them, toe-touched for whatever reasons I could find. In the last three years or so, it's gotten worse, and though I deal with it, I still wake up some days without finding a real reason to toe-touch like I used to. Seems the older I get, the more I see, and the more I see of everything, the more I see how fucked up so much of this world is. I am tired often, don't find the usual 'high' I used to find in doing some things. For example, a few years ago, I'd wake up and just decide right off the bat to repaint the kitchen cabinets and put a new floor down, maybe run up to Garden Ridge and buy some stencils, along with some matching drapes that might make the dining room blend into the kitchen beautifully. Nowadays? Nowadays, I wake up, might have that same thought, then say 'Why? If you paint it, you're just gonna get sick of it, and by the way, how is painting your kitchen going to do anything but make your house smell like chemicals?'. I still go and do things; don't get me wrong. It's just that I don't feel the joi d'vive I used to feel. It's times like this point in my life that make the entrance of something that actually does excite me like an oasis in a desert, a desert my own mind seems to be creating against my own will. The Baker Hotel, for example, and some of the incredible people I've experienced as a result. It and they reminded me that passion does exist still in this moody and mean little facade I call a body. My husband, my pets, sometimes my writing, but mainly the writing of other people I find so inspiring... these all save me from becoming the trash-can inhabiting ogre of a grouch. In seeing how beautiful and validating all these are, I find my own personal validation, perspective, and enough strength to know that I'll get over this.

Motherhood- I don't have a child. I've been pregnant twice, lost both. The first was when I was nineteen. I lost my virginity to the same man, a man I've written to and about here, and what I failed to mention was that when this man hit me, the only time a man has ever hit me, he not only hurt me, he hurt the baby I was carrying. More than one doctor told me that the miscarriage wasn't trauma induced, but I know in my heart that one punch to the stomach of a 19 year old pregnant girl, inflicted just days before she ended up having a miscarriage, is more than a coincidence. And I don't care how much he's changed now, how hard his life has become since then, how often he tries to contact me and apologize, I'll never want to make this man a part of my life ever again, and I will always forgive him, especially since he so fully admits that he was wrong, but I will never forget. Sue me.

The second was a complete surprise. I'd had periods, no morning sickness, no signs of pregnancy at all... until I got sick...very. Neither Eric nor I had any idea what the cause of my illness was, and when we finally knew, even though the doctor was saying that it was okay, that we'd be able to conceive again, we still lived in this world of shock and awe, finally followed by grief at finding out that I wasn't just 'sick'.

To this day, they still say that he and I can be parents. There's no physical reason why we can't, apparently, but honestly, I don't really need a physical reason. It's not just the two losses that make me reach this conclusion. Something greater tells us both that conception isn't necessarily what we are meant to do. I'm already a momma, and for those of you who think me a blasphemer by saying that I consider myself a mother to animals and not a human child... kiss my ass... with both your lips. I am a mother. I am one hell of a mother. I have kept and nutured the lives of a mulititude of God's creatures, nursed them through sickness, and when the sickness was too great, showered them in love and made sure I was there to see them off into the next world. I have done it with complete love, complete unselfishness, and complete sacrifice.

Eric and I have tried to conceive since, though not earnestly, and it just hasn't happened, but honestly, that's okay with us both now. Though we are the only ones in his family to not have kids running all over the place at Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, we do know that we have served Life, and served it well. In the same light, I don't find it hard to see my family and friends produce family while Eric and I don't; I rejoice in their success, and I rejoice for them. I don't feel envy, and I don't ever ask 'Why isn't it me?'. Though I don't know why it isn't me, I do know that it's okay that it's not me. I love to see baby pictures, hear stories of growing children, sympathize with my friends and family when hard times come, when pre-teen and teenaged kids start rebelling, and I don't ever find myself too weak to hear their stories for fear of feeling my own pain. There isn't pain. The basic truth, the intrinsic truth, is that Eric and I don't have children, but we know at least a basic part of what it is to care for someone who needs you. Either is a blessing. All I know is that we can love... fiercely. That's enough for us. We may adopt in the future, we may be foster parents, or we may actually end up having our own, according to what the doctors say we're physically capable of doing, or we may just continue to be two humans with a house full of animals who need us, but no matter what happens, we'll be content in knowing that that is exactly what was supposed to happen.

In any case, I have known women who absolutely freak out when they meet another woman who doesn't necessarily pin all of her hopes on having a child. I've been judged by them, asked by other women in the same position as me not to talk about the subject, and it all has left me at times to wonder if my basing my identity more on my soul than on my being capable of reproducing is abnormal. I honestly don't know what is 'normal' when it comes to the mothering nature of women, but even if I'm abnormal when it comes to not being too traumatized over not easily being able to have a child, yet ecstatic about caring for Life in general, I have to say to those who consider me so 'Get over it. If I'm okay with not giving birth, if Eric's okay with it, then your not being okay with it is about as important to us as a belly button lint collection for sale dirt cheap on Ebay... we ain't buying'.

I'm worn out now, so I'll wrap things up. My Microsoft word is acting up, and it looks like I'm going to have to end up re-purchasing Microsoft Office for 150 bucks (long and completely fascist story involving licensing and product keys that you can't transfer from one computer to the other), so pray for me;)

No house viewing this weekend, either. Freezing rain and hazardous road conditions made sure of that. Oh, well. At least we got to spend a romantic weekend at home, heaters going full steam, cuddled up on the couch and eating blackened Salmon and scallop and shrimp alfredo while watching the Olympics.

Speaking of the Olympics, what in the hell is wrong with Shani Davis? Speed skater extraordinaire, first black man to medal in this event ever, I was rooting like hell for him, cheering him on when he won, then when it came time to interview him, he's not only snotty and rude to the correspondent interviewing him, he was rude to me the viewer, all his fans who'd cheered him on. If I could've reached through the screen and bitchslapped him, I would've, then pinched his nostrils while scraping his balls with a rusty file. Jesus, whatever happened to not only performing like a true Olympian, but acting like one, too?

And I'm also two thousand miles past tired of hearing about Cheney's hunting mishap. I laughed my ass off (I know, tacky, but this is SO something I could've seen Dubya doing instead of Cheney) for the first two days after hearing about it, got a kick out of the jokes, but I'd wholeheartedly appreciate it if our media could get back to addressing the real issues this country has. Totally typical yet still sad to see that a Cheney buckshot victim gets more air time than issues like the continual screwing of the working man by outsourcing corporations, the worsening infiltration of our borders by drug-runners who are assisted by Mexican officials, and the ever-increasing violation of separation of Church and State, to name just a handful of our country's current problems. And besides, the old turd shouldn't have been out hunting, anyway;) Hate to say it, but for someone who thinks it's fun to go out and hunt innocent living creatures, this is all kinda karmic.

My husband is in the new cats' room, doing some ceiling texturing, and getting more on him than the actual ceiling (see above picture). The pic looks more like he's gone on some wild powdered donut eating binge, and he's going to kill me for posting it here, but I've gotta, it cracks me up so much!

Message to Ariane- I'll email you later, but just wanted you to know that I got and read your last email, and I'd love for you to send 'R of B' on over to me. I still beta, though not fanfiction anymore, but in your case, you betcha I'd like to see what you have!:)

Another note on the same fanfiction thread... went and looked, caught up a few days ago, and noticed that a couple of authors who were writing on hyperspeed have slowed down a great deal. I think that's either got to be because they 1.) have still been writing as much, as often, but their beta has had a busy real life, or 2.) they're slowing down on their own, taking time to really tell their stories and hone them rather than worry about quantity. I'm hoping it's the latter, and if so, I think that's great!

I've been working on this writer's survey, but as I continue to come up with questions, I keep feeling as if I'm missing some important ones, so it's going to be awhile, ladies and gentleman (btw, Richard, how are you???), if I even decide to pursue it.

Oh, and almost forgot... this weekend, we did brave the roads briefly in order to head out to Half-price books. Hubby's now reading 'Restoration of the Republic-The Jeffersonian Ideal in 21st-Century America' by Gary Hart (yes, the scandalous Democrat senator), while I'm seeing if I can learn via immersion German and Japanese, courtesy of audio and text course. This should be interesting, danka.

Ok, enough for now. No major updates. Eric's feeling good. I'm feeling good. I've had a couple of friends I'm worried about, but I think they're going to be okay, my bills are all paid, so I guess all I have left to do is be thankful.

Didn't get to send many emails last night, being that my phone line went out, resulting in my crawling on hands and knees in the attic half the damned night, following the phone line until I found a chewed through spot (thanks, oh rodent) in the wire and fixed it.

Now I have insomnia, I've been up so long, and am putting myself through women's Olympic curling on the USA network. I'm giving myself one more hour to get sleepy, and if I'm not by then, I'm going to make myself a strong hot toddy and hope that does the trick. So if any of you hear from me in the next couple of hours and find yourself barely able to read my emails, the errors aplenty, you'll know why;)

Got more pictures from the agent selling the house in Mineral Wells, and I'm pleasantly surprised that the damage isn't as bad as I thought. Don't get me wrong; there's still plenty of damage, but it looks like a new roof will be the worst of it. Fortunately, I have roofers in my family, as well as electricians, carpenters, a veritable cornucopia of skilled craftsman:)

Funny thing, though... in one picture the agent sent me, there's this gorgeous upstairs room, and upwards in the pic, there's a long strip of yellow tape. Ok, so it's more than likely construction tape, but if I go out there this weekend and find that it's really crime scene tape, not to mention a chalk-drawn outline of a body on the floor, I think that askin' price is coming down;) (Bet you thought I was going to say something like 'I'm high-tailing it out of there', LOL!).

Shelley, read your blog last night... thanks for the good luck wishes, Hon!:) And I'm glad your Valentine's day went so well! I'd kill to see the card you got, and I hope your anniversary is uber wonderful!

Marie, thought about you especially yesterday. Haven't heard from you in awhile, and I hope you're doing okay, gal. When you have time, let me know how you and your sister are, ok? And as always, if you need anything,... you know the rest:)

Ariane, I still can't even get your MB to load, Hon. Tried to access it last night, couldn't, so wanted to let you know here that I hope things are going well for you. I hope you're writing more! How're Ardeth and Angelina doing?;)

Sue, how's the family, and are you guys selling the new products yet? I am SO ready to order some of your new stuff as soon as it's available!

Got two early birthday cards from my dad and stepmom yesterday. Yes, two. See, my father loves to send one card from he and Judy, and another from his pets, complete with signed pawprint and little drawing he does of the critters. Gee, I wonder where I get my love of animals from. Being that I grew up with my dad calling me 'daughter' and his dachsund Pushkin 'son', I guess it was inevitable that I'd not only have pets, but talk to them, call them my babies, and do other silly things that alot of people frown at.

Take, for example, 'critter speak'... my own language somewhat resembling English sometimes, usually not. I'll give you a few examples, complete with translations:

'Nyaka Chonkies, come on wit Momma now. It's time for da Breffassis' translation- 'Everyone follow me into your playroom, 'cause it's time to eat!'

'Gack!!!! Chasta sanchez!!!', usually follow with a faux swipe of the hand translation- 'Whatever you're doing, quit it now. You're pissing me off!'

'TeeTee des de da forda da Sprinkadasee! Momma lovums!' Translation- I honestly don't really know what this means, but when I say it, TeeTee goes nuts in her glee, so I keep saying it.

'Where dem is, littla baby?' translation- what I usually say when looking for a specific cat.

'Whattayou neeeeeeed, Anka chows? Pista tissle, saucies?' Translation- 'Why are you meowing at me so much right now? And what do I need to do to get you to shut up so I can get some sleep?'

I'll spare y'all from witnessing any more degradation;)

Ok, I'm about ready for a hot toddy. Hope everyone's day rocks mucheth!

Mine started out nicely; I woke up this morning with Eric home from work early, asleep already and snoring loudly. And when my eyes cleared up and the fog in my brain lifted, there was a gift bag on the table next to me. I'd told Eric for days now NOT to get me chocolates, flowers, stuffed animals or any of the usual stuff, so when I looked in my bag, I was pleasantly surprised to find a huge bag of pistachios (I LOVE pistachios), garlic stuffed olives, some other gourmet snacks I just love, and a beautiful silver filligreed bracelet:) He included one single peach colored rose and a balloon, what I told him not to get, but I have to admit, both were just perfect:) And the clincher was a love letter, telling me that he can hardly wait to grow old with me. I swear to God, that man is gay or he's related to that teacher character on Beavis and Butthead, the sensitive 'm'kay' guy. He's gotta be, but I love him:)

I, having not bought Eric a damned thing, ran out at 8 this morning in my guilt-induced stupor and got him a few things, not to mention a big fat steak I'm going to grill up here in a minute for him when he gets up. It's funny, by the way, to see how many last minute Valentiner's like me were swarming through the store like survivors after the Apocalypse. Because of this last-minute frenzy, the lines were long, and as I waited along with the rest, I got a kick out of looking in everyone's baskets, seeing who had the strangest combination of Valentine's gifts and groceries. The top five winners were:

1. The massively big, 6 foot five black guy whose cart contained a bouquet of dayglo-dyed carnations, a just as massively big Hershey bar, a small red Care Bear, and six bottles of Pennzoil.

2. The young and tired looking woman pushing the tandem baby buggy, who had 12 half gallons cartons of milk, six loaves of wonder bread, a breast pump thingy, and a heart-shaped cookie with frosting on it. I'd love to be a fly on her wall this evening.

3. The teenager who I swear dyed her hair with cherry Kool Ade, carrying with her six balloons, a decorative gift bag, a valentine's card, a head of lettuce and some velveeta (the big block).

4. The young Hispanic man covered in Olde English tattoos, with a balloon, a huge stuffed bear, a bundle of Pampers, and an industrial sized jug of cooking oil.

5. Me, complete with Dallas Mavericks Jersey and Hat for Eric, chocolate cake, huge package of steak, a roll of duct tape, a 48 D bra, bag of kitty litter, and a two-pack of Fleet's brand children's enema. Don't ask.

We didn't get to see the house this weekend that we want to buy, so I'm sorry, folks:( We didn't even get to go to Mineral Wells, much less anywhere. Eric was exhausted when he got home Saturday, so I let him sleep as long as he needed to, then on Sunday, he not only remembered he had a meeting he had to attend at 3:00 in Grand Prarie, but his brother called and apologized for forgetting to tell Eric that there was a 5:00 birthday party for Eric's grandfather. Amazing... and if I have any genetic hopes for Eric's future, they're pinned on this man, Bill Sr. While so many of the rest of Eric's family have had so many problems, Bill Senior just turned 88, and one of his gifts on Sunday was a yard cart. Why? Because Senior's fence posts in his yard were sagging, and this 88 year old man has been digging them up himself, repositioning them, and had already started pouring the concrete... all by himself. Jesus!!!!!! He doesn't want anyone helping him, and asked for a yard cart so he can haul more than one bag of concrete at a time, meaning he's been carrying the bags one by one all by himself. I can barely lift a single bag of concrete!!!! And he's not too keen on letting anyone help him, even though the family tries. Anyway, amazing man, and I just pray this man has handed down more than a few of his excellent genes to Eric.

In any case, we'll check out the house in Mineral Wells next weekend, and I'm hoping it's not already sold. The more Eric and I talk about it, the more we're really seeing that this is something we can do without selling this house. Once again, we'll see.

There are a million of you I haven't replied to yet in emails, so I'd better end this entry, get to work, then get busy cooking some steak. I hope you're all having a wonderful Valentine's day. If you have a special someone who treated you right today, God Bless You, if you don't currently have a special someone, let me know and I'll send you a special friendship valentine, even a singing telegram... and if you have a special someone who didn't give you the treatment you deserve, let me know, and let me know what I can do to help make their life a living hell for ya;)

Feb. 10, 2006

Right off the bat, Y'all are SO COOL!!!!!!!!!  All of you who have been showing so much support over the house we're thinking about buying completely rock.  It's just great to know that Eric and I aren't the only ones who think this might be a cool house to buy:)  I promise I'll keep all of you updated on the house, and when we go and check it out personally, I'll take pictures to share here. 

Quick note to Danica, Sandra, Carol, and Richard- I got your invitation, and I'm going to try to make it in tonight.  I'll be online here for awhile, so whenever you guys all get together, send me the link to the chat, and I'll do my best to be there.  Richard, I really like your idea, as do the rest of the girls, and I'd love to talk with you in real time about it tonight:)

I am currently sitting here and going through some things I've been needing to get done for other folks, so I'm going to be busy tonight. In the meantime, got this Friday Five from Allison's livejournal blog, and thought I'd give it a try, I liked the questions and her responses so much.

1.) Do you believe in God or a higher power?

Absolutely, one hundred percent. There's no way in tarnation that this chaotic yet beautiful balance of things in our world is nothing but an accidental physics fart. Something created all of this, including us, and in these bodies with these brains, I don't think any of us will ever really be able to truly grasp what this Creator really is.

2.) Are good and evil just concepts, or real powers in the universe?

I believe that good and evil are both real powers, real entities, and I believe that both are necessary. Yin yang, balance, whatever you want to call it, one cannot exist without the other. Take the average Christian belief in God and Satan as being two separate entities. Never really believed this, and always thought that this was the result of a believer's denial ('No God of mine would ever make babies die, allow children and women to be raped, let war kill so many..'). Honestly, it makes sense that over time, people have found it easier to blame the horrors in our world on good old Satan. It beats the hell (pardon the pun) out of actually placing the blame on either your God or on humankind. Don't get me wrong; I'm not saying I'm a devil worshiper. In fact, I'm saying that I fully believe that there is no Satan, other than the dreamt up fall guy humans created to explain away certain religious inconsistencies.

I think that good and evil are really two facets of the same force, originating from whatever power created us, and that both are passed down into us via some spiritually scientific heredity, if that makes any sense. We are born in sin, but we're born in innocence, goodness as well, and I believe that in order to stay here and live a full and successful soul's journey, we must commit and experience both forces, and more importantly, learn from them.

3.) What is your view on forgiveness?

I always forgive, though I admit I don't always forget, but that's a survival instinct I'm willing to live with. I can be victimized by someone entirely, and still forgive them fairly easily, but it doesn't mean that I'll necessarily ever let that person anywhere near me ever again. I do forgive, though... for me, because hanging onto a past wrong just doesn't do anyone any good, and because, believe it or not, I am humble enough to know that my shit stinks, too. I am capable of being both victim and victimizer, and many times it's been others' forgiveness when they didn't have to that really helped make me a better person.

4.) Do organized religions do more harm than good?

Hard one. I am so entirely opposed to the very backbone of most organized religion... entirely opposed. As my friend Allison so brilliantly put it, millions have died in the name of religion. Is that ever true!!! On the other hand, though, I wonder how many millions have also found whatever they needed to lead a better existence through religion? As much as I have walked into any house of God and almost felt like a vampire in my repulsion at times over the hypocrisy, I still can't ignore all the people who have found some sort of salvation through any church, who've given up addictions, who've become more charitable, who have found a reason to exist amongst the pews, trying their best to do more harm than good, because their belief has inspired this in them. To really answer this question, I really think I'd need to see stats on who's died for religion vs. who's been saved, I guess. Still, though, you aren't going to see me in any church on any given Sunday any time soon. God is everywhere, and I don't need Sunday services to feel right with my creator.

5.) If you had a day to spend playing God, what would you do?

I would honestly be afraid to do anything big, or anything at all, really. I guess I believe enough that what's happening is supposed to happen, so I'd be a little too fearful about messing around with the scheme of things. If I had to do something, though, I'd do something small, like make it so that all TV commercials couldn't do anything but tell you exactly what their product is like. I'd love to turn on the TV and see something like 'Ch-ch-chia! Hey, our little terra cotta thingies are entirely useless, but you keep buying them, so we keep making them!' or some local car salesman on his lot, telling the cameras 'Hey, come on in and trade your car in for a new Ford or Chevrolet! We'll tell you we're giving you twice your trade-ins' value, but what we're really going to do is make up for it by tacking even more dollars to your new car's purchase price!'. Or even one of those late night chat line commercials, where some hot chick perched on her sofa tells you, the viewer 'Call the chat line. You can imagine it's someone as hot as me you'll be talking to, even though we both know it'll really be a pasty hausfrau with massively thick facial hair.'

Been budgeting things out, and if this house in Mineral Wells doesn't need more than 15k's worth of repairs, I really think we just might buy the sucker. I really am just about ready for a major change, though I would really like to try and keep this house, rent it out, though I know that can be a nightmare. I just have so many memories here, mostly good. This is where Eric and I first moved in together, where we got married, where we have seen so many of the ups and downs that have made us who we are now. I have friends here, family here, so much here, and I'd like to keep this place, even if we end up moving.

Still, though, I love old houses. I would take an old, turn of the century home that needs work in a heartbeat over these new slapped together developments that are popping up in way too many places. This old house, should it be feasible to buy, would be just the kind of house I'd love to move into and restore rather than update it too much. What a history it's gotta hold!

Not entirely official yet, but it looks as if the Baker Hotel will be bought by a man who has the funds, the know-how, and the desire to restore it. Even cooler, he expresses interest in letting Allison and the guys at Baker Preservation Society be a part of the Grand Old Lady's next phase. It's bittersweet, but let's all hope it's more sweet than bitter.

Onto other stuff- I was contacted a few days ago by an E-zine (not a big one, but a modestly great one), asking me if I could put together something on fanfiction and its intricacies. Jeeeeez, I don't know if I'm the right one to do this, being that my opinion can be so tainted, but I have a feeling that's exactly what they're counting on. Anyway, for those of you who I know either write or used to write fanfiction, I'll be sending you a survey in the next week or two, and I hope you'll fill it out, completely and honestly. Your names won't be used; I just want to get an official idea of the general opinions on fanfiction, on what good fanfiction is, why you entered into this arena and stayed there, what your peeves are when it comes to the genre, all the goods and bads you've personally experienced. I just really don't want to base what I write on how totally screwed up I think some fanfiction people are. I'd really like to pay some much deserved equal time to all the fanfiction writers, the ones who pursue this as a healthy hobby right on up to the ones who are disturbingly addicted to it. So the more honest your answers are, the more I can really do anything I write about fanfiction justice. Anyway, keep an eye out for an email from me. It'll be titled 'Fanfiction Survey', and it will be long, some multiple choice answers, some essay... and I thank all of you who take the time to answer these questions and send them back to me in advance:)

I am still doing my exercises everyday, and though I refuse to own a scale and torture myself daily by standing on it, I can visually tell in the mirror that my 'middle' is tightening up and shrinking a little, and my clothes are fitting better. My back is also getting stronger, my tolerance to exercise getting better in that instead of doing 25 situps at a time before stopping for a sec, I've gone up over the last couple of weeks to doing 30 at a time, then 40, now 50. I'm sleeping better, my energy level is slowly rising, and I am finding myself willing and ready to do my daily workout. Let's hope this keeps up.

Eric's blood pressure has remained normal, and though he has an irregular heartbeat in that his heart skips a beat sometimes, it's happening less now that he's cut down on nicotine and caffeine. Major deep sigh of relief from me today-the bloodwork results from his physical came... in the mail:) All is well in the normal range, meaning his kidneys, liver, cholesterol, all of it are in good shape. I am one immensely happy camper right now.

My dogs are good, my cats are good, even my 'gimped' ones, I am talking regularly with all my family members, and they're all doing okay, and if they weren't quite okay, they're at least now on their way to being okay, I haven't had a panic attack in awhile, and I even made some extra small change selling one more piece I'm still not real proud of admitting I write. My catbroads are all hangin' in there, Allison still continues to entertain the hell out of me with her blog, which I read every day, all my other real life and internet buddies are all doing their thing... So, all in all, things are good. I should finally have some time to change out this rant page so that it loads faster... sorry to those of you still on dial-up and emailing me about how long this page takes to load now. If it's any consolation, I'm still a dinosaur on dial-up, and I plan to move all these entries and lighten this page's load soon:)

Alrighty then, I am now off to make a salad, do some crunches, then bathe an elderly cat who can't seem to stop getting dirty.

What a lovely Sunday we had, I'll tell ya. Eric wanted to go driving, heard there was a log cabin for sale that one of his trucker friends had seen a few days ago, so we head out towards East Texas to find it, get lost on some back road in the boondocks with practically NO gas left, and ended up barely making it to a gas station in the nick of time, my stress level through the roof, and the nice Sunday outing spoiled. It wasn't a total loss, though. We stopped on the way home and had some excellent Mexican food at La Parillada, one of my most favorite restaurants (they make a kick ass ceviche dish), then came home and relaxed for awhile.

Eric loves to go out and see the country, and I've been agreeing to go with him lately, mainly in hopes of this being therapeutic for him, for his stress levels, and mainly for that heart of his. Soooooooo, this next weekend, we're going back to Mineral Wells, where Eric's found a fixer upper house on 4th street that he wants to look at and consider buying. Honestly, I'm just about at that point where I'm ready to move. I've fought leaving this house for a good while now, but I suppose it's about time we made a change. If and when we do move, I can tell you right now that I am just going to love moving all these animals. We are literally going to need to rent some sort of moving van that we can hook up air conditioning in, then crate up all these animals, put them in the truck, and hope the transport goes quickly. And knowing me, I'll insist on riding in the back of the moving truck with them. OH yes, I just love the thought of what it's going to take to move all these animals. And speaking of that, there's my ferals, who'd probably have to be caught and taken with us, too. I couldn't leave my stray animals on this street. With me gone, nobody around here would feed them or watch out for them.

I'd like to at least stay here long enough to finish the cats' room addition, add another bathroom, and do the rest of the renovations I've wanted to do, but if this house in Mineral Wells turns out to be the kind of deal it looks as if it is, it's going to be tempting to hurry up and snatch it now before its price goes up. We'll see.

I have created a monster with Al, the Ebonic Poet. I've encouraged him to write more, though I've never told him that I thought he was exceptionally good at it. I've encouraged him to write for him, because it's excellent therapy, an amazing way to express yourself, and to do it because it makes him happy. Well, now Al is writing all the time, coming by on the weekends and dropping off more of his poetry at my brothers' house for me to read when I come by. And according to my brother's last phone call, Al is now wondering if he can't compile all his poetry into a collection, and wants to know if I'll help him get it published. Jesus. I'm going to have to call him back and choose my words carefully yet honestly. I don't want him to become so discouraged that he stops doing something he loves doing, but I don't want to put false hope into him, either. Wish me luck.

My birthday is coming up this month, and for once, I haven't forgotten yet. I swear to God, every single year, I will forget my own birthday, only remembering when reminded by family and friends. This year I'll be 37. Though I physically feel 80, I still look back and wonder where in hell all the time went. Mentally, I still feel so youthful, often immature, know there is so much more for me to learn, so many things about myself that need to evolve. 37 just doesn't seem to match. I should be far more 'together', far less confrontational, and far above so many things that I choose to harp on here. But then again, I kinda like who I am, and I'm not sure I'd really want to change too much, so I'm left uttering 'Oh, well' with a sigh... a fairly contented sigh.

Update on the 'dead body' comforter. Long story short- it was a dead animal. Not as if this makes anything better. Maybe I'm a traitor to the human race, but I don't see a whole lot of difference between someone dumping a human or animal on the side of the road. There is a difference, but intrinsically, the lack of respect for Life itself makes an act of dumping like this flat out wrong, despite the particular DNA being dumped.

Final thing I'm going to talk about today, and for those of you who don't believe in reincarnation, you might just want to end your reading of this entry at this sentence. For the rest of you, just thought I'd mention my own personal experience with this phenomenon. I'd never really had a solid belief one way or the other where reincarnation was concerned... not until my teens, anyway, where my class' study of World War I sparked something in me, dreams that I started to have of another person in another time, me always seeing this world through this person's eyes, through my eyes. Maybe they're just imagination, maybe they really are memories of a life once lived by me, but over the years, I've come to see and know just one life I think I may have had before this one, and it ain't really pretty.

I was male, a young man who lived in a small town outside of London, England. I was an only child, born to working class parents. My dreams of this life are always full of rain, the sun is never fully shining, and all senses I experience in these dreams I've had since I was a teenager are never anything but drab and solemn. I wasn't a handsome young man, wasn't outgoing, wasn't athletic, didn't have many friends, didn't think of women or romance of any kind really, wasn't really talented in any way, or if I was, I didn't know it. I lived in a rowhouse with drab decor, drab wallpaper, drab furnishings. My meals were drab, my clothing was drab, every ounce of my daily existence was drab. I didn't talk much, and neither did my parents. I knew they loved me the best way they knew how, but distance was a thing I'd known since birth with these two, with everyone. Funny thing about all these dreams/memories I experience is that I accepted all of this, resigned to my given position in life, didn't really dream for much more than this, not until war broke out and I enlisted.

The dreams change at this point; I feel real emotion at having real friends in some of my fellow soldiers, feel adrenalin rushing through my body when the reality of real danger presented itself. My dreams at this point are filled with a legitmately funky mix of feeling both terrified, but gloriously alive, especially when I remember dying, and yeah, I remember dying.

I'm in a trench when it happens, some sunken and barricaded hole in the ground, things are blowing up all around me, I can smell fires that don't smell anything like burning wood, I can hear praying, cursing, orders being barked out in the background in voices that sound more like a terrified little dog yelping, but the one thing I can't hear is anyone even coming close to crying, even though I personally really want to just start bawling like a newborn. And as my last minutes of life play themselves out, I find myself with my back to a wall of dirt, crouched into a ball and holding on to my weapon, then watching as some flying piece of shrapnel, metal... something... comes flying right at me as if it's guided. And right before it hits me and all turns black, I feel peace that it's all about to be over.

Now if this isn't a collection of memories of a past life, how boring am I to imagine such a sad and lifeless existence, cut so short? Like I said, these visions, dreams, memories, whatever you want to call them, started in high school, when studying WWI, and over the years, they've continued, though happening less often, and in these recollections, I just know this person is me. In those dreams, I could smell the cabbage and potatoes boiling downstairs in the kitchen while my mother cooked, me up in my bedroom, reading some novel and waiting to be called down to dinner. I could see the pale and uninteresting rows of flowers scattered across my room's wallpaper, see the way too darkly stained wainscotting and chair rail that cut that gloomy wallpaper off halfway up the wall, could smell the dirt around me when in battle and remember just wishing I could take a bath, and I can recall a world of senses from these dreams, from the sight of my plump mother wearing her apron and managing a small smile for me whenever she saw me to the cold, hard feel of rounded metal in my hands as I clutch my weapon in those last moments of life.

On the flip side, though, if reincarnation is real, and if this is indeed a past life of mine, I'm kinda left wondering what my purpose here was. If reincarnation does exist, I can only assume that this has been my only other life here so far. I wasn't an Egyptian Pharoah, no great historical character, not even a long forgotten human being who at least lived a semi-interesting life. I was just a young boy, not even 20 yet, who had just existed, and barely at that. And if reincarnation is something that I have to look forward to, please God, let me be a rock star the next time around, ok?

A list of some of the weirdest people I've ever known. In my 36 years, I've met some weird ones... yes, even weirder than myself.

1. Jennifer (last name kept private)- someone I met at Angelo State University in my freshman year. 6 feet tall, very insecure, very overall goofy, very addicted to approval, thus verrrrrrryyyyyyy strange. She had this eternally plastered 'Duh' expression on her face, and used to love to liven up parties by telling everyone in the room about how she took on six guys at once in an apartment complex hot tub. The drunker the guys at the party got, the more they listened to her story... duh. In more personal conversations I had with her during my freshman year, she confessed many things, among them her dream of becoming a body builder, a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader, a stripper, and a race car mechanic, all at the same time. She lived in San Angelo (not a college transplant), with her brother, an equally weird fellow who I never once saw without instinctively wondering where he dumps his bodies.

2. Orville Pugh- first met this guy when I was still single-digit in age, a stray who showed up at my childhood house in order to try to hang out with my brothers, the neighborhood rescuers of teenaged strays (along with my mother, who never turned a kid away). He resembled a cross between Willem Dafoe and Hank Williams, Sr., only less hygienic and with a fraction of the intellect, much less sanity, and was a victim of my teasing from the time he showed up to the time I moved away with my father (my brothers pretty much hated him, usually kicked him out the second he showed up, only letting him stay around sometimes for entertainment value). Orville sought me out many years later, when I was a young adult living in another town, showed up on my doorstep out of the blue, and I shit you not, asked me to marry him. When I laughed and said 'Uh, no', it got weirder. Long story short, he stalked me for about a year, starting by sending me boxes of gifts and money, all of which I sent back, calling my number, even when I changed my number, progressing to calling my family, my boss, going to the post office, forging my name so that he'd get all my mail in Temple, Texas sent to his address in Dallas, Texas, then finally taking a bus from Dallas to Temple, just so he could go to my job, find my car in the parking lot, and burst in my windshield. Now you may be asking what I could've done to 'encourage' this man. Let me tell you... if the word 'nothing' ever meant anything, it means it all here. I never touched this man, kissed this man, slept with this man, told him anything even remotely encouraging. This was truly one of those extremely bizarre cases where a nutcase focuses on a subject and stalks her. And even though the police did what they could, the only way I was finally able to shake this man was to move, change my number, and believe it or not, get the Postmaster General after him for forging my name on a change of address card.

Strangely enough, his brother is Albert Pugh, who I've talked about here before, a good guy I and my family have known just as long, and if it weren't for the fact that Al knows that his brother is a psycho, and as a result has kept the fact that he knows where I live, sees me and my family regularly, a secret, I think Orville would show up on my doorstep again one day. I've often looked back at that time period in which someone I knew as a child showed up and made my life a living hell, and I wonder what I had to have done to deserve it. Karma's weird, so I never quite have the answer, you know?

3. Robert Carley- Another of those few really 'weird' strays who'd show up at my house when I was around 8 or 9, seeking out approval from my brothers, who at first let him come and hang out, mainly out of pity. That is until my shoes started coming up missing. For awhile there, I was getting in trouble often for losing my shoes. Never a pair of shoes, just one shoe. I'd go to get ready for school, go into my closet for the pair I wanted to wear that day, and find just one sitting there. Couldn't find the other to save my life, and ended up getting lectured for being so careless.

Then, one day back in the late seventies, my older brother was walking to the store, passed by Robert Carley's house, and decided to stop in and see if Robert had any weed, something my brothers were always on the lookout for. He didn't find Robert after knocking on his bedroom window, but heard movement in the garage next to it, walked in, and yes, folks, I'm afraid he caught Robert Carley in the act of screwing a woman's shoe. Not one of mine this time, thank God, but from the story my brother tells, in that same garage was a mountain of single shoes, several of which were mine, a couple of which were my sister's, and as a result, Robert Carley got his ass, face, body, and every cell in his being severely kicked in that garage at that minute. My mother freaked, I was vindicated, Carley was banned from our house, the police wouldn't do anything, and though I didn't understand just how perverted this was at the time, as I grew older and learned the ways of the world, as I ran into Robert Carley in the neighborhood, I never ceased to stop and point at him, saying 'Everyone, hide your shoes! The shoe molester's here!'. Not exactly nice on my part, but considering, I'm willing to live with not being nice. If I saw him today, I'd still say something similar. Seriously, what kind of sick turd steals a little girl's shoes and gets off with them? Oh, and deal closer- Carley sometimes hung out with Orville Pugh.

4. Charlie- owner of the topless club I worked at, cute as can be, but definitely weird. He was one of the ones who was attracted to me because he said I reminded him of Ellen Barkin. Charlie was sweet, mild, modest, extremely shy, yet ran this club brilliantly and somehow always managed to keep these beautiful train wrecks called strippers in line. He didn't do it by laying down the law, amazingly. He did it by being respectful yet honest, sweet instead of badgering, and these women all did what he said, I tend to think mainly because he was such an anomaly when it comes to topless club owners and managers. He knew his business, accounting, knew how to deal with the liquor control board, all the ins and outs of the business, yet could somehow get a way too drunk topless diva to calm down when she was having a hissy fit. Yet you could still make the man blush by saying he looked handsome today.

Charlie is Greek, his family direct immigrants who own a wealth of businesses in the Dallas area. Charlie's father had died when he was young, his mother remarrying Big Charlie (coincidence), who took Charlie in and treated him like a biological son. As a result, he ended up learning the family business(es), restaurants and bars, and ended up in charge of a few of them, the main one being the topless bar.

I met Charlie through my sister, a long-time dancer that I was usually forbidden by my father from ever being around. She took me one night that I was visiting Dallas to her club, Charlie was at work, we talked for a bit, and within a month, my sister was calling me once I went back to Temple, telling me that Charlie wanted me to come and work with him behind the bar for a weekend or two, go out with him on Sundays, when work would allow. I finally ended up moving back here to Dallas, dating Charlie (who took me to the nicest places, treated me like I was a princess), working for him, absolutely adoring this man.

Obviously, it didn't work out, partly because Charlie was just too shy, almost abnormally so, but mainly because not long after working for Charlie, I started working a second job... at the place owned by Eric's family, where I met Eric. Awkward doesn't cut it where this situation is concerned;) Anyway, I say that Charlie's one of the weirdest people I ever met, and I'm not sure I accurately conveyed that here, but trust me, a man like this in a place like a topless bar is most definitely weird. Still, he remains one of the best bosses and boyfriends I ever had.

5. A woman I'll call 'Internet Fanfiction Mistress of Weird'- some of you will know who I'm talking about right off the bat, but for the rest of you, this woman showed up a few years ago at a fanfiction site I used to frequent... pretending to be two people at once. She would literally go to the message board, post a comment, then reply to herself as her alter-ego. She would also thank her alter-ego when she wrote future stories, crediting herself as her inspiration. This woman went on to perform a long series of equally weird acts, but I think just this first example is more than enough to include her as one of my top weird experiences.

Damn, I'm out of steam. There are MANY more to talk about, MANY more, but I'm going to have to save them for another day. If anything, I talk about these people now because whether they had a good or bad influence on my life, they were there, and I can't forget them. Funny how I can remember them just as well as all the people I wouldn't call weird. Even at their most perverted, I have to say that I've enjoyed the weird people in my life. We spend so much time striving to be this image of perfection we've been spoon-fed since birth, yet we end up with embedded images of both the perfect, imperfect, and wildly fucked up. Why is that?

I continually seem to punish myself by watching insincere and pathetically obvious spin via anything Bush has to say in front of cameras or to reporters. The so-called 'State of the Union Address' was no different. In any case, I watched the crap, listened to the rhetoric, and mentally 'walked away' from our leader's latest attempts to gain approval points with just one constant and mind-numbing thought... 'Dubya, there are SO many jobs you'd be much better at'. So, I turned the PC on a little while ago, fiddled with my Adobe photoshop, crudely and quickly, but I tend to think fairly accurately.

So rather than write any more here, I thought I'd just leave a few thoughts here via doctored picture, entitling this entry 'Jobs I think Junior should've had, would've had, if birthright hadn't fucked the American people quite as much as it did'.

I'm about 95% sure I found a dead body this morning.

Long story, but I took my youngest male kittens, Casanova and Booger, up to my vet today to be neutered, chatted with the doc for a bit, then headed on up the nearest main street, Military Parkway, to stop at the nearest Family Dollar Store and pick up a few pet supplies. Quick note-Military Pkwy is a very wide street built decades ago by a city who anticipated that traffic in this area would warrant such a large street in the future. In reality, the street has ended up being big and wide, and nearly empty most of the day, with only the occasional storage facility, convenience store, or scatter of tract houses anywhere near it.

As I'm going over the bridge section of Military, I notice something not far off the shoulder of the road, on the slope of the hill at the end of the bridge; it's a comforter, rolled up and around something. The 'something' is long and wide, and even at a first glance, it's obvious that this isn't a crumpled up comforter that flew out of a truck bed, nor is it a bunch of laundry wrapped in a comforter, tossed off the road. This cylindrical roll of comforter was carefully removed from whatever car it was in, carried just off the road, and placed perpendicular to the street, as if who put it there didn't want it to roll down the hill, and more so, when I circled back around and looked at it again, you could see that whoever put it there took the time to tuck the comforter flaps on the ground up underneath whatever was wrapped in it.

As I said, I circled back around, the presence of this comforter being there was so goose-bumpish to me, and on that second passing, I could make out a shape that I swear looked like a head, shoulders, and hips... bumps underneath that fabric that freaked me out enough to fly back here to the house, run inside and head for the phone. Eric wasn't asleep yet, asked me what was going on, I told him as I was looking for the handset, and he insisted that I had to be wrong. So, I tell him to come with me, and that we'll both go look. Maybe he can tell me I'm seeing things, and maybe I'll end up feeling happily mistaken. He agrees, we drive back by, him saying I probably just saw a crumpled up bedspread on the drive there, but once we get there, he shuts up, he circles the car back around, and when we drive by slowly the last time, he says 'Call 911', which I did, but only after convincing Eric that it wouldn't be a good idea to pull the car over and go unwrap the blanket to see exactly what's in it, something he really wanted to do. Sorry, but if this was indeed a dumped body, I both didn't want to see it, much less make myself or Eric a suspect by getting right up on it, touching it, disturbing it, etc.

Anyway, we call 911, who at first are politely acting as if I'm an idiot, then as I give them more info on what I'd seen, get more serious, and not long ago, my brother, who lives right off of Military, says that several police and unmarked cars have gone down the street in that direction consistently since I called awhile ago. Soooooo, I'm tuning in to the news tonight, wondering if I'll get a phone call from detectives, or if the sudden police presence on that street is a complete coincidence. In any case, my gut tells me that someone dumped something they really shouldn't have some time last night, probably, and that I found it. I'll let you all know what happens, and if I don't hear anything by news time today, I'm driving back by to see if anything's happened.

Onto other stuff-

Eric had a physical this morning. Blood pressure was perfect, everything else checked out okay....BUT, and I hate 'buts', he had an irregular heartbeat, at first heard by his physician via stethoscope, then confirmed by EKG. The doc assures Eric that this is from too much caffeine, something I've been keeping from him here, but that he admits drinking while on the road, and the doc wasn't concerned enough to refer Eric to a cardiologist or to put him on any medication. I however am plenty worried. I really do hope this is a caffeine thing, but what if it's not????? I swear, I'm going to have my own coronary worrying about everyone around me;)

Another note- checked my site stats and saw that someone had found my site by doing a search for 'Dog the Bounty Hunter fanfiction'. Forgive me, but it freaks me out enough that someone might actually write Dog fanfic... it totally blows my mind in the most unflattering of ways to think that someone was actually LOOKING for it! Big world we live in, I guess. Full of so many different tastes, some of which have a flavor I could never quite get my palate to appreciate.

Speaking of Flavor...

Flava Flav and his new reality show in which a bunch of gold diggers try to convince the less than intelligent former rapper that they love him and deserve to be his one and only woman... My first thought is that any man who thinks a huge wall clock hanging from a chain on his neck is sexy is a man living in serious denial. My second thought is that any woman thinking that a man wearing a huge wall clock around his neck is sexy needs a serious ho-slappin', followed by a six-inch heel bitch-kick, ending with a 10 minute, public bathroom stall toilet pimp dunking. Then again, as I watch the show, it becomes painfully obvious that the women don't find this man sexy in any way, shape, or form, and that at best, they're practicing a televised form of prostitution in this competition for Flava. They're simply competing for a prize, the winning of which happens to include pretending that they love a pathetically under-educated, unattractive in too many ways to list here, unappealing, and lackluster 15 minute celeb who's greatest contributions to mankind were the two phrases 'Flavaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh FLAVVVVVVVVVVVV!' and 'Ya know what time it is, baby'. Nobody's gonna win on this show, as 'train wreck entertaining' as it may be.

Final note- chatted with my vet today before my critters underwent surgery. He grew up here, and we got to talking about the Baker Hotel. Not only did his grandparents live at the Crazy Water Hotel, just around the corner from the Baker, but he stayed at the Baker... many times!!!!! He loved the place, saw many things there, and as a result, I think I have a new Baker supporter recruited:) Too cool!

Ok, hope you all are well, hope you're not as inundated as I've been, and I send you all the best wishes I can for the best times:)

Songsender.com rocks!!!!

For those of you who have run out of inexpensive yet cool gift ideas for the people in your life, this one's amazing. Songsender.com is a singing-telegram-via-phone website, and for 9.95, a former wedding singer fella named Steve will compose a 'Happy Birthday', 'Happy Anniversary', 'Just thinking of you', 'I'm sorry', 'Get Well', etc. song in a style you choose (country, blues, hip hop, etc.) and call your loved one, singing them your message. Beautifully cheesy and cute as hell. My mom's birthday was on the 26th, and I sent her one. Steve was wonderful, my mother loved it, and I've already ordered a couple more telegrams from him, I was so impressed with it all. Anyway, if any of you are ever interested in a great gift idea that's not going make you go broke and that will make an impression, check out Songsender.com. Tomorrow night, my dad and stepmom are getting a 'just wanted you to know I love you' hip hop phone call;)

And for ten bucks more, there's another site, Hollywoodiscalling.com, 20 bucks buys you a phone call to your loved one from one of a list of celebrities. Not nearly as personalized as Steve at songsender, but hey, if you have a relative who loves Leatherface, the Professor from Gilligan's Island, Lorenzo Lamas, etc., this isn't a bad investment, either!

Having my mother finally access the internet has been a real pleasure. One, she can't bitch about me never calling her anymore, and two, we've been in constant contact, having great conversation. I know just what's going on with her, and the distance between us is getting shorter and shorter. She's loving it, too, is starting to wonder why she didn't do this sooner:)

The husband's blood pressure is still normal, as is mine now, and for the last five days, I've been actually... get this... exercising! As old and out of shape as I've been feeling, I am tackling a workout that includes at least 500 situps a day (I shit you not... and hard ones, too!), stairclimbing for 15 minutes straight, and some serious body toning cardio for an additional 15 minutes. Now if I lose a few, that'll be SUCH a bonus, but for now, I'm just feeling better. Advice to any of you folks who are on the computer as much as I am... if you're not already, start making it a point to get your ass out of that chair, even if for just ten minutes, and do something 'brisk'. I have always felt that this computer has been a blessing, that the internet has been one as well, but it's also single-handedly been the one thing that's really gotten me out of shape.

I've become hooked on an extremely dysfunctional reality TV show, on MTV, of all channels. Viva La Bam. For those of you who don't know, Bam Margera is a Pennsylvania-born skater whose show involves him making his parents', April and Phil, lives a living hell with his pranks. If he's not crushing his uncle Vito's car with industrial machinery, he's having his parents' house remodeled into an indoor skating rink while they're away, or setting off fireworks in their bedroom at 4 a.m. while they're trying to sleep. Bam the sadist isn't the reason I love the show, though. His parents and particularly his uncle Vito and how they react to things is what has me addicted, not to mention the grand scale of some of the pranks Bam and his crew pull. Anyway, love the show, admit it proudly, and am hoping for a marathon on MTV2 soon.

To everyone I still need to get in contact with, I'm so sorry I've been behind in doing that lately. I'm doing my best to catch up. I know that some people get annoyed, and although most don't, I'm going to explain anyway why it takes me so long to write people back. At any given time on any given day, my email box has at least 600 emails in it, most of which are unread, even more of which are unanswered, and none of which are spam. I shit you not, these are all emails from real people, and as much as want to answer them all, I have too much going on to get that done. And if I don't at least move these emails to another folder, my mailbox will fill up. I have literally gone and cleared my mailbox down to a hundred emails, logged off, then logged back on in the evening to see over 800 there. So for any of you who get upset with me for not answering you, not to be rude, but please... give me a break!!!!!!! I do my best to read them all, usually read about 90 percent of them, so Jesus, I'm trying here. In between Catbroads, writer friends, cat people, family, real life friends, people leaving feedback over my stories, business e's, and online bill payment reminders, etc., there are alot of emails that I love to get, love to read, so please forgive me if it takes me awhile to respond, ok? Doesn't mean I'm mad at you, doesn't mean I dislike you at all:)

Oh, and for any of you who think I'm bragging or 'faux whining'.... kiss my ass.

Final note tonight... a few days ago, my friend Marie suddenly lost her father. It's just Marie and her sister now, and my heart, thoughts, best wishes, and all the positive energy I can possibly spare goes out to these two. Marie and Rose, if there is anything I can do for either of you, please just let me know. In the meantime, I'm sending you all my light and my love. I know that your father is okay, I know that he is in a wonderful place, so it's the two of you I concentrate on. Just let me know if you need anything... anytime.

For all of you who can spare your own positive energy to send these two sisters' way, I'm thanking you in advance for doing what I know you're going to do.

Just checked my friend Allison's blog and was Godsmacked (in that cool way that only God can smack ya) to see an entry in which she gave me major kudos as a Baker supporter, a writer, and as a friend. Now if this isn't the coolest thing in the world to see when you log on after a few busy days, then there's just nothing in this world that could adequately be dubbed 'cool':)

When I first discovered the Baker Hotel, it was entirely by accident. If I remember correctly, I had just seen 'Session 9' on the Independent Film channel, and had logged on afterwards to find out where the movie was filmed, the old haunting building in it was so interesting. I quickly found out, surfed the sites I'd found, then did another search, using something like 'beautiful abandoned buildings' for my search terms. Suddenly BOOM... the Baker Hotel presents itself to me, and I literally felt a connection with this place the second I saw the first picture of her front steps and beautifully looming structure.

I'm getting to Allison... seriously!!!

I keep finding all these paranormal investigation sites, most of which are entertaining, have good pictures, but I crave more. Fortunately, I find more.

First I find Blueivvy.com, a great site containing the most detailed account of an investigation there. As I read this account, I kept seeing the name Allison in it, someone I'd read about before, usually referred to as a tour guide, but in this account, I kept remarking to myself that this Allison was more than a tour guide. Anyway, I eat this account up, crave more, and thanks to this one site, I finally find the motherload... Spiritofthebaker.com.

Allison...

there she was, just one picture in a group of several pictures, just one of several serious supporters, but I also just as easily knew that this woman was the one woman who not only ran this site, but really 'felt' the hotel... not like I did... more so. I knew in this woman named Allison that I wasn't just not alone, but that I had a hell of alot yet to learn still. In all the other sites that talked of tours at the Baker, I'd heard a building's manager mentioned, NOT Allison, saw her picture even (and I swear to God, I'm not saying this to be mean, winced when I saw her picture), read that this lady was the one to contact, the one in charge, but a deeper part of me knew that even though the owner had chosen a building manager, the Baker herself had chosen someone else. See, that's another thing that I just 'knew' about this place, that it's not just a holding place for spirits. The building herself is alive... that's why the spirits go there. Allison was the first person in all my online research who I without a doubt knew this about as well. The Baker knew this, too, and she knew that Allison was her 'rep' far more than anyone else could ever hope to be.

I felt a connection with this Allison person right away; not just because of the Baker, but because of how she spoke, what she stood for, how she fought when she knew she had to fight. I just liked her immediately.

I found another now obscure historical architecture message board after finding SpiritoftheBaker where Allison had fiercely defended her group's fight to protect the Grand Old Lady, getting nothing but chastizing remarks from other message board members. Basically, one couple had posted a message on this board about how they intended to step in and save the hotel, after which Allison replied, basically saying 'Who are you? Our group is already trying to do that, have busted our asses doing so, and frankly, it's insulting to have you suddenly step in and think you're the first and only to care about this place.' Apparently, the other members of the message board didn't understand this reaction from Allison, but I understood exactly why she'd be upset about this...exactly. And hell, I left that message board with the distinct desire to shove this condescending couple's faces in my litterbox... before I'd scooped it.

It was this particular thing that gave me the courage to write this Allison, totally expecting and being cool with her never writing back, just as long as she'd read it and knew that someone didn't just appreciate the Baker, but her, too. And when she did write back, well hell, it rocked;) To put this as beautifully succinctly as possible, she 'got' me, and I 'got' her.

I have been extremely lucky enough to now call 'this Allison person' simply Allison now. I have been lucky enough to have her trust me enough to come and help when I can. I have been lucky enough to get to know her better, to learn and believe that we've been brought together as friends out of something above coincidence, way above coincidence. I have been lucky enough to read her writing (another thing I think I was meant to do, something I think higher powers made us meet for), and to encourage her to pursue her gift. I have been smart enough to know and never forget that my love and support of this great old hotel has nothing to do with what I can get out of it. I have been smart enough to recognize that this Grand Old Lady has chosen her representative, her human voice, her hope, in the form of Allison and nobody else, and that my place, the rest of all of our places, is not to seek any kind of gain, attention, any kind of profit. My place, as the Baker continues to tell me right down to my bone, is to support Her by supporting the one person most capable of supporting Her:) My reward comes in knowing that I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing, and that I made a great friend to boot. Oh, and I can't fail to mention that I'm also rewarded in that I've somehow become more receptive to the hotel in a sixth sense kind of way, something the psychic retard in me is still baffled by.

So, pardon the gushiness, the happy-hug-time praise, but in a nutshell, as much of a thumbs up as Allison can give me, I don't have enough appendages in which to raise the appropriate number of digits up to her. She has trusted me, opened up to me, let me experience the Baker, experience her friendship, never bullshitted me, and she has let me know that I am meant to do this. The least I can do in return is let her know she didn't fuck up in doing all of that, right?;)

Anyway, Allison and the great guys on her team have made some headway with the new owner of the Baker, and though Allison thanks me, I have to say 'Happy I could help, but a little research and a plant on my behalf didn't do it. Mr. P would've never responded if he didn't completely feel your dedication, know about your efforts, and believe that you're an asset .' I didn't do any of that.

I just follow, respect and appreciate the person who did:)

It's raining outside right now... finally! It's nice to see a non-drought day for a change. This has also been a writer's weekend, in that I got to do some, read some, and talk with some;)

Interesting little note that I'm happy about. Ever since bringing the blood pressure cuff home for Eric to use regularly, I've found that his BP has been consistently low with every reading. Two days ago, I told him to do me a favor and skip a couple of BP med doses, that we'd monitor his blood pressure and see if the pill really was doing anything, that if it started to get elevated once the medication was fully out of his system, we'd go right back on the pill. Five minutes ago, Eric just took his readings and had yet another well-in-the-normal-range reading, along with a perfect heart rate, so we're going another day without a pill, then another day, and we'll keep going until his BP reads high again... I'm starting to think that's not going to happen. And when he has his followup visit with the doc who put him on this Benicar, I'm going with him, and showing this doctor the BP charts and asking him if readings as consistent as this really do warrant a hypertension diagnosis, much less medication. If he swears it does, we'll go to one more doctor for a second opinion, but I have a feeling that this recently elevated blood pressure has been a result of a couple of lifestyle choices of Eric's that he's dropped since seeing the doctor- beer and smoking. We'll see. I personally, now that I'm watching Eric like a hawk lately, think that this is the case, and that the doc, who was doing his job, paid more attention to family history than he did Eric's actual body. We'll see how Eric's BP reads for the next two weeks without medication before I get too excited.

Allison-haven't heard from anyone yet that Mr. P's 'gift' was received, but I also haven't heard yet that it wasn't, something that usually happens if there's a problem with a Flowers.com order I make, so I'm hoping he got it. I'll let you know if I hear different, and hope you'll let me know if you've heard anything, either. I'm also wishing you massive amounts of good energy towards a great meeting tonight!

Danica, I got the attachment you sent, and I'm impressed. A little tweaking in the middle of the prologue (where Donal and Liam are being interviewed), and another once-over on part three should really do the trick, I think:) In other words, I totally agree with you, and will send you more of my thoughts asap. Just lettin' you know that I got it, am on the same wavelength as you, and haven't forgotten you!

Ariane, your board is giving me that 'reload' message. Strangely enough, so is most of EZboard and another message board site I go to for cat related conversation. This has got to be a 'me' problem rather than an 'everyone else' problem.... right?

Brenda-it was so nice to meet you, and such a compliment to have you contact me! I look forward to talking with you more in the future! I sent you an email about five minutes ago, but I have to apologize for how short it was. I have a wealth more to say, so don't doubt that soon you'll get a hell of much longer message from me. For now, though, thank you, and I am so blushingly flattered;)

Shelley and Marie-hope you two are doing well! I know I get busy, and that you two have your own full plates, but let me know when you can how things are:)

Watched 'Cinderella Man' last night. Rocky Balboa can kiss my ass. James Braddock made the Italian Stallion look like one of those turned-down American Idol auditioners, straining to croon out an harshly acapella Christina Aguillera number. Amazingly good movie, based on fact, though I bet they embellished. Still, excellent film.

On the supernatural front, we were watching Cinderella man last night, and 'someone' tapped Eric on the head, totally freaked him out. No cats were in the room, and nothing fell on him, yet he swears something patted him on the head in that 'sonnyboy' kind of way, like a loving little old lady would. I laughed and went back to watching the movie; Eric tried for about 15 minutes to explain what happened to him, looking on the couch for some fallen object, staring at the ceiling, etc. I think it was his grandmother, Ruby. He still won't admit that it was anything in particular.

My brother is back at work for about a week now, and says it's as if he never left. Excuse me while I drop to my knees, kiss the ground, then hop up and start to Diva dance in my relieved glee;) You all have no idea how absolutey grateful I am to Fate for making sure this all worked out so well. Someone up there does indeed like my family... at least most of the time:)

Ok, no huge news, no soul-stirring revelations, no veritable cornucopia of blither. Just me grateful for once that it's raining, and enjoying a much better weekend than actual week:)

No matter how much you may love a person, every once in awhile a situation will pop up and remind you of just how much.

Eric had a doctor's appointment yesterday. He'd taken his BP a couple of times at the WalMart pharmacy, got a slightly elevated reading, and given his family's predisposition to stroke and cardiovascular disorders, he and I decided it'd be best for him to go for a quick checkup.

Sooooo, I'm sitting at home, at first not worried, but as an hour past his appointment time passes, then another half-hour goes by, I start to freak, call him on his cell phone, and he's just on his way out of the office and heading toward's home... without good news.

Eric's blood pressure was in Stage 2 Hypertension, dangerously high, and not just a simple case of white coat hypertension (elevated readings due to being nervous about being in a doctor's office). The doctor basically told Eric that if he wants to live, he will now have to take medication every day for the rest of his life.

I realize the news could've been so much worse, but in that phone conversation, it dawned on me that my purely good 34 year old husband doesn't deserve something like this so young in his life. I didn't care that the medication will allow him to live well, all I cared about is that this should've been me, if either of us. I started crying when I should've kept my shit together, cursing genetics, fearing whatever other chromosomally fucked up conditions Eric's family passed to him, conditions that have yet to creep up. I went through a few reactions before finally calming myself down as much as Eric was. He took it all far better than I did, bless his heart.

I had my own life-changing realization, thanks to the ever lovely panic attack not all that long ago, but it wasn't until Eric's trip to this doctor that the painful truth that Eric's not getting younger really smacked me in the face. It's time to start some real prevention; I love him too much to lose him anytime soon, and I swear to God, if I can at all have a say in this, I will not outlive this man.

My memories of life before him are still there, I can remember what it was like to live without him. I had good years before I met him; it's just that the years with him have been infinitely better. I have loved this man since I met him, loved him more as I got to know him, and I love him now more than I knew I was capable of. Everyone who ever spends time around us always comments on how we really have something special, but I suppose I sometimes don't see it as clearly until a day like yesterday happens.

Anyway, first thing I did when I got the car back was force him to take the first of his new medication, then I ran down to Walgreen's and bought a blood pressure monitor, made him take it three times that day, recording the readings, three times today, recording the readings, and bought a crapload of healthy foods, juices, the works. Good news is that the medication must be working; his last six readings have been normal. Bad news? Mine's gone up from worrying, LOL!

Awww, I'll calm down. I just don't want to lose my best friend anytime soon, and frankly, I think Eric's enjoying the extra attention.

On to something else... Is it me, or is Ray Nagin one of the most idiotically racist sonofabitches to ever disgrace any city office? I thought my own city's government was a little Laizes Fare'ish' until this walking turd of a bigot came along. It's confounding, frustrating, and even hilarious to a point. I think of him, and the Dave Chapelle skit featuring the black KKK member comes to mind. If you haven't seen this skit on Chapelle's show, you've really missed out.

Final note-went to my friend Allison's blog, and she'd posted a snippet of writing, a paranormal one, and I enjoyed it so much, I thought I'd post it here:

"You want stories? I’ll give you fucking stories," the voice boomed from the speaker of the small micro-cassette recorder. "It doesn’t matter anyway. You can’t prove anything."

"Hot damn!" I jumped up quickly causing my trusting companion, Java, to stir from his afternoon nap. This beautiful hunk of chocolate lab looked at me as if he were not the slightest bit interested in anything I had to say. I have often wondered if he had been a cat in a previous life. He certainly behaved as if he was.

Where are my manners? My name is Charlotte Justus and I’m a parapsychologist. I left my cushy job at the University of Massachusetts eight years ago to move back to my hometown of Mineral Wells, Texas, to take care of my ailing grandfather. Sure, the family could have found a nurse for him or put him in a nursing home, but this is my granddad we’re talking about here, and there is no way in hell that I was going to let him spend the rest of his life in a place full of people he didn’t know. Besides, he’s not as ailing as my mother likes to think he is. In fact, he’s so ornery, he’ll probably outlive us all.

"Don’t act so enthused," Java cocked his head slightly as I scratched him behind the left ear. "This is a big breakthrough for us." Java yawned again and went back to his favorite spot under the kitchen table and went back to sleep. "We’ll forget you then," I teased.

I rewound the tape and listened to the words again. An electronic voice phenomenon, also known as EVP, is a voice captured on audio but not audible until it’s played back. Some call it a ghost voice. The voice that was ringing through the speaker was so crystal clear, it was hard to believe that it wasn’t a live human being. It sent chills down my spine. Once the tape is authenticated and doesn’t show signs of being tampered with, skeptics may find it a little hard to explain.

The phone rang, and I nearly tripped over the cord in my frenzy to answer it. I regained my composure by the second ring, cleared my throat, and was about to grab the receiver, when my grandfather came out of nowhere.

"C.J., how many times are you going to let the damn thing ring?" He picked up the receiver and said hello in his gruffest of voices. "Well, if it isn’t the asshole that broke my granddaughter’s heart. You have some nerve calling here. I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here, but…"

I placed my hand of my granddad’s, kissed him on the forehead, and said, "I can handle it from here. Thank you!"

"You let me know if the little bugger gets out of line, and I’ll get some of the boys from the Anchor Club to clobber him over the head for you. You hear that, Nate?" He yelled as I tried to cover the receiver.

"Granddad! I said I would handle it. It’s a simple business call. Now, will you please excuse me?" He smiled and went back to his recliner to finish watching an Andy Griffith rerun. "That damn Barney gets himself in more messes," I heard him say as he made himself comfortable.

I straightened my clothes and tossed my hair back, as if he could see me through the phone and said, "Sorry about that, Nate. He’s just being overprotective."

"You and I went out for three years, Charlie. I know how he can be. He does realize that you’re the one that broke up with me, doesn’t he?" Nate and I had a wonderful relationship for the first two years, but as we went into that third year, he didn’t want me to get so involved in my work, and I thought otherwise. So, I dumped him. Most normal couples part ways and spend the rest of their lives hating each other, but Nate and I started a business together, so we can’t afford that luxury. Not that I mind, and I would never admit it to him, but I still love him.

"Yes, he does. He just enjoys giving you a hard time."

"Sort of like his granddaughter," he said, laughing into the phone.

"OK, enough with the pleasantries. I suppose you are calling about the evidence we collected from the San Antonio investigation, right?" I always change the subject when I start noticing any sign of what some consider a tender moment.

"Oh, yeah. I was wondering if you had a chance to look at your video footage yet. It looks as if we caught an apparition looming behind Jake and Rayne. It disappears as soon as Rayne says something about feeling something cold touch her back."

"I haven’t had a chance to get to the video, but I have been listening to the audio tapes, and we have some really good EVP. I should have all of the evidence documented and authenticated by the end of next week."

"Sounds good," Nate said. "I’ll be by to pick you up around 7:00 p.m. tonight for the Rio Vista investigation."

"I’ll see you then." I hung up the receiver and sighed. He makes it very hard for me to get over him when I have to work with him on a daily basis. Although I was looking forward to tonight, I was even more excited about the prospect of getting to see Nate. What can I say? I’m just a glutton for punishment.

Our group is known as Spirit of the Baker, and we are a non-profit organization that spends a great deal of our time hunting ghosts. We all met during an investigation at the Baker Hotel, right here in my hometown, bonded immediately, and have been a group ever since. I’ve already introduced myself to you, but I didn’t give you the full story. When I was a little girl, I fell off of a horse and hit my head on a huge rock. I was pronounced dead at the scene, but was later revived on the way to the hospital. This injury opened up my sixth sense, and now I have the ability to communicate with ghosts. My parents are both very religious people and sent me to many head shrinks, but when I would give the therapists messages from loved ones on the other side, they were thrown for a loop. My parents didn’t seem too happy about it, considering that they’d wasted thousands of dollars on therapy I didn’t need. But I digress….

Nate is the skeptic of the group. Although he has seen things that he cannot explain, he still believes that there is a logical explanation for the things we encounter. I forgive him. He is an engineer after all, and they are the paranormal community’s hardest critics. He is in charge of all of our equipment. Rayne is a flower child whose parents were hippies, and brought her up to respect the elements. She is grounded, down to earth and free spirited, and she keeps the rest of our group on track with her meditation sessions. She isn’t a very high tech girl and prefers to use dowsing rods to electromagnetic field detectors. Honee is a trash-talking, potty-mouth from Alabama, who doesn’t give a flip about what anyone thinks of her. She loves to party, she enjoys sleeping around, and she has more problems than any one person should have, but she has a heart of gold and would do anything for the group and for me. She is in charge of setting up the investigations and does the pre-screening interviews.

Jake is one of our youngest member, but he has the gift of mediumship, much like myself, and he is a professional photographer. He is a very valuable asset to the group. Maria is our little Latin beauty with a great personality, and a "takes no shit" kind of attitude. She and Honee are the life of the party, but when it comes to her work, she takes it very seriously. She is our group’s videographer. And finally, there’s Diana. Diana is the mother of the group, and she helps keep everyone in line. She is the one person that I trust with my innermost secrets. I guess it’s her Cancerian nature. She is psychic, but she prefers the high tech gadgets to her natural born abilities. She does use her abilities when they are need, however.

Tonight we’re are heading out to an abandoned farm house in Rio Vista that belongs to the Borne family. The family used to live in the house and had several things happen to them. Dishes would fly across the kitchen and crash against the wall. Shadows would hover over them while they were trying to sleep. Whispers and footsteps could be heard in other rooms, and in the hallways. It pretty much sounded like your typical, run of the mill, poltergeist. The family decided to leave when their six year old son was pushed down the stairs. They still own the house, but haven’t lived in it in over 10 years. They wanted to tear it down but couldn’t get a construction crew to stay longer than a day. They were all out of options, so they sent for us.

Honee had completed the preliminary interview with the family, and as we trekked down Highway 174, a sense of foreboding filled the vehicle. We knew that we were going to be in for a disturbing evening.

We pulled into the driveway and were overwhelmed with fear, anger, evil, and every other negative emotion that a person could possibly feel. None of us really wanted to go into the house, but Nate, being the skeptic that he is, stepped up to the plate, and knocked on the door. The family had arrived just moments before we did, and even though the rest of us really didn’t want to go into the house, we couldn’t show our gracious hosts that we wanted to turn around and get the hell out of there. Feeling less than professional at that particular moment, we unpacked our equipment and began walking toward the wraparound porch.

The owner’s son, Steven, came outside and introduced himself to the group. He was the one that had been pushed down the stairs. He motioned for us to come into the house where Nate was already setting things up at the table, and he was preparing to talk to the family. The rest of us were introduced to the family, and we made our way through the kitchen to the living room.

The moment I walked through the living room door, I picked up on a woman named Agnes. She was an older woman with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. She was telling me that she had a connection with the man and woman in the home, so I asked Tonya, the owner’s wife, how this person was connected to them. She indicated that it was her grandmother who passed away in the house. Agnes indicated to me that she was not tied to the farmhouse, and would travel freely from the farmhouse to their present location. She also indicated that she would move things around to let Tonya know she was there, including a broach that she gave to her.

"She wants me to tell you that your daughter is not the one that keeps moving the broach, so stop getting onto her about it." Tonya laughed and confirmed that she had indeed scolded her daughter for taking the broach out of the jewelry box earlier that morning.

"I’m getting several different dates and time periods overlapping each other at once, so it’s hard for me to pinpoint the actual dates."

"I’m getting a decrease in the temperature, Charlie. It’s dropped from 78 to 63," Honee said.

"I’m getting a reading of 2 milligauss on the EMF detector," Nate said. "It’s spiking from 2 to 3. Jake, take a picture over here and see what you get." Jake snapped a picture of the location Nate was pointing out and confirmed a blue orb.

We are one big ball of energy. When we die, our spirit moves on, but because energy doesn’t die, it is believed that we leave a piece of ourselves behind. Sort of like an imprint in time. Orbs are balls of energy that are said to be that spiritual imprint of ourselves.

"Charlie? You don’t look so hot. Are you OK?" Honee caught me before the feeling of vertigo took over and I fell flat on my face.

This was the part of my job that I hated. I was fighting it, but this spirit was going to have his say, and he was going to use me as his soapbox. Before I knew it, my voice changed, and although I could hear what he was saying, I had no control over it.

"I don’t know what you’re going to find out. It’s too late now." I could feel the sweat beading up on my forehead. "Nothing can be done now. They didn’t know anything. People liked me. What’s not to like? You would have liked me too."

"Charlie, you’re really starting to creep me out. What the hell is wrong with you?" Honee’s voice trembled with concern.

"She’s channeling, Honee. You’ve seen her do this a hundred times. She’s OK," Diana reassured her.

"I know, but she’s never looked like that before. What’s wrong with her, Di?"

"Honee, go into the kitchen and get Rayne. Tell her that we need some smudging incense, dragon’s blood, and sea salt. We need to put a circle of protection around her." Honee ran out of the room and quickly returned with Rayne.

"Here you go, Di," Rayne said and handed the items to Diana.

"Thanks. Honee, I want you to go and get Maria, and tell her that she needs to come in here. Nate, would you please escort the family out of the here?" The family seemed visibly shaken by what they were witnessing and was more than happy to oblige Nate.

"Charlie, can you hear me?" Diane asked as she lit the stick of incense. Yes, I could hear her, but all that was coming out of my mouth was a low growl. What the hell? Why was this thing inside of me growling?

And just as quickly, my voice returned to normal. "Di, we don’t have much time. This entity is extremely powerful. He wants to talk, and I’m going to let him, but you have to make sure that the group is here to bring me back."

"Charlie, you know damn good and well that I’m not going to let you get hurt. I’ve already lit the smudging incense, and as soon as Nate gets back, we can put the circle of sea salt and dragon’s blood around us. I’ll make sure that Rayne handles that part."

Nate walked into the room, and Diana instructed everyone to their places. I sat in the middle of the circle, took several short breaths, and invited the spirit to make contact. My demeanor began to change again and my voice was very soft spoken, but there was a visible accent. "This was not the way it was supposed to be." The spirit inside of me was moaning and crying and saying things in a language I could not understand.

I could hear Jake telling the group that he could see a dark figure in the corner of the room, and my breath quickened. I felt a jolt shoot right through the middle of my chest, and my voice deepened. "Why are you here?"

"Why are you here?" Diana asked.

"It’s not your business," he said. "If this place were gone, I’d still be here. You all feel strong, but you aren’t as strong as you think. I’m not going anywhere."

"We’re alive and you’re dead," Diana said. "You have no power over us."

"I’m living too…..for now."

"What’s your name?" Maria asked.

"It doesn’t matter. Pick one."

Jake told Diana that he was picking up on a scared little girl, and asked Diana to ask the spirit about it. "Who’s the little girl?"

"She’s connected to the people that live here. She liked me."

"Did you hurt her?" she asked.

"She liked me." His voice was harsh, and I could feel the anger bubbling inside of me.

Diana asked him again, "Did you hurt her?"

He hesitated for a few seconds then responded in a low voice, "Yeah…..hurt…..playing."

"Who was here," Diana asked.

"Little boy, little girl. The lady was crazy. She didn’t know what was going on though."

Jake spoke up and said, "Who is Captain Jack?" The group looked at him quizzically, but Jake was usually very good at picking up names.

"It’s a nickname," he responded. "It doesn’t matter. It was just a title. I was friends with the people in the house. They liked me. They were unaware. People came and went all of the time."

"Were you a soldier?" Maria asked.

"I am a captain. Captain of boats. Everyone talked of faraway things. The lady trusted. We were religious types. You understand? I had a lot of authority. Everything I did was OK, but not always seen. The little girl would have things done to her. She was crying. No need for crying. Nothing can be done now!" he shouted.

I could feel my heart racing inside my chest. He let out a chilling laugh and said, "You’re going to give this poor girl a heart attack."

Diana, always the professional, and afraid that she was going to lose the connection asked, "Why was the little girl locked up?"

"For future use," he replied. "Control….understanding."

"Was it for punishment?" Rayne chimed in.

With his teeth clenched, he responded, "It was a lesson in obedience, reverence, understanding."

"Did you go too far?" Diana asked.

"Not for me. She doesn’t have to be here anymore. She lived enough."

"Who are you to decide that she lived enough, you son of a bitch?" Honee had been very quiet, but abuse was an all too familiar subject for her. Her uncle had been convicted of sexually abusing her younger brother, and she blamed herself because she couldn’t stop him. Tears welled up in her eyes. "How dare you!"

He laughed and I could feel my body try to get up out of the chair, but the energy of the group forced me back down into the chair. He reached out and grabbed Honee’s arm, which caused her to scream. Again he laughed and snarled as Diana told him to let her go.

He released his hold on Honee, and Diana asked everyone to pray to have the spirit release me. My spirit was battling this entity, and he wasn’t going to go lightly, but the group stood strong. I felt physically drained, and my head dropped to my chest.

Nate ran to my side and said, "Charlie, can you hear me?" I nodded and raised my head. I looked into his eyes, and I could see that the love he had for me had not diminished. "You gave us one hell of a scare," he said.

"I’m not really sure what all of it means, but we might be able to find out if the family knows any of this history about this place," Jake said.

"Jake, you go out and talk to them and Di, you take Charlie outside to get some fresh air. The rest of us will finish packing up in here," Nate said.

The ride home was a mixture of excitement when Jake told us that he had found out from the family that the house was once used as a boarding house in the early 1900s, and a traveling revival group was convicted of killing a little girl. Their leader, Reverend Jacob Patterson, was in the military before he decided to become a preacher. They called him Captain Jack.

After dropping the others off at the local bar, Nate drove me home. "You gave us quite a scare tonight, Charlie."
"Yeah, well. When the spirits want to talk, who am I to tell them no?"

"What I saw tonight gave me a whole different perspective about this paranormal stuff. I mean, I’ve seen you do this before, but you were always in control. Tonight, it was like you couldn’t control it. That scared the shit out of me. If I lost you, I don’t know what I would do." He pulled into my driveway and turned off the ignition.

"Charlie…"

"Nate, don’t do this. You and I both know that it will never work. I’m too damn stubborn."

"God, I hate it when you do that! Can’t you get out of my head for five seconds and allow me to say what’s on my mind without you telling me first?"

I laughed. "I can’t help it. It’s a curse."

"Well, it pisses me off, because there are never any surprises with you," he smiled, but I could see the hurt in his eyes.

"I’m sorry, Nate. Please continue with what you were saying."

"No. It doesn’t matter now. Have a good night, Charlie."

"Oh, come on, Nate, don’t be mad!"

"Charlie, when you broke up with me, you hurt me more than I ever thought I could be hurt. Working with you everyday has been pure torture, and tonight made me open my eyes and realize just how much I still loved you."

"Nate? Shut up and kiss me." He leaned over the seat, and I was bracing myself for impact as I heard a knock on the windshield.

"C.J., you get your butt in this house before you let that piece of a cat shit put those lips on you!" Granddad strikes again.

Nate and I looked at each other and laughed. "We’ll talk about this tomorrow?" he asked.

"I’m looking forward to it," I said and got out of the vehicle. I stood in the driveway and watched until his vehicle was out of sight. I turned around, put my arm around my grandfather, and we walked into the house.

I may not have gotten my kiss tonight, and if it had not been for my grandfather, I’m sure that that the kiss would have turned into much more, but morning would be here sooner than I thought, and I could sleep peacefully with the thought that there was always tomorrow.

Been thinking about my pet peeves, and how some are warranted while some aren't, and decided that maybe if I wrote about them here, I might be able to make some sense of them, of just why some things bug me so much. Sooooooo, here goes:

1. People who hint- nothing bugs me more in this world than a person who can't just come out and ask you for something. Take my sister, for example. Instead of saying 'Paula, is there any way you could loan me a few bucks?', I get to hear this long and drawn out 'Oh, I don't know what I'm going to do. My electric is going to get cut off by tomorrow if I don't pay the bill. Sighhhhh, I suppose I'll just have to go without food this week...'. Ugh. GOD, I hate that!!! Hint for people who know me... if you want something, ask honestly and straight up. Don't play the hint game with me, 'cause odds are, the more you hint, the more I'm not going to help you.

2. People who can't seem to think of anyone but themselves. Example-as I wrote in the last entry, I farted around online Friday night and ended up going into a couple of chatrooms I hadn't been to in awhile, ended up leaving with this being one of the reasons. Sorry, but if you're going to talk about yourself incessantly, it might be a good idea to at least ask other people how they're doing, not to mention try to listen to the answer before going right back into talking about what you want to talk about. I left a cat chatroom in record time last night over this. Another example... every single time my MIL finds out that my husband has some rare time off, she calls him and wants him to come over and do this chore, fix that thing, not once realizing that maybe it'd be considerate of her to let Eric have an actual day off for a change.

3. People who 'tell' me what to do rather than ask me. This is one of my worst pet peeves. Unless you're my boss, don't dare say 'Paula, you need to go and do this thing', or 'Paula, get me this', unless you want my eyes to swell and change into laser shooting weapons. I have been involved in way too many volunteer activities, given too much of myself to a cause to have someone take it for granted and order me around. I'm not asking to be bowed to and thanked eternally... just treat me with respect. If you need my help, ask with a please and a thank you, and we're cool... just don't order me to do something I really don't have to do for you if I don't want to. Fortunately, though, I haven't had this particular pet peeve present itself in quite some time.

4. People who think of animals as 'just a pet'/People who treat them as such. Do I even need to elaborate here? People who give up animals for less than legitimate reasons (and frankly, my list of legitimate reasons is MUCH shorter than most), people who don't take a sick pet to the vet, people who put their animal to sleep because they've been diagnosed with a manageable illness, only a costly and time-consuming one. I find that people like this who have pets usually go through plenty in their lifetime, and simply because they're so disposable. These kinds of people are grade A assholes, no leeway allowed in my mind. No matter how much I might like you, if I ever see or hear anything like this from you, you have forever dropped down the respect scale in my eyes, and you'll likely never crawl back up. If I can take care of all these animals here, including several handicapped ones, you don't have a single goddamned excuse for giving yours up, neglecting it, or simply not caring for it. I'll pray for you.

5. 'Drooling'...and by this, I mean anyone who sees someone else attractive and goes overboard in the 'ooh la la' department. However, this is one peeve of mine that I feel guilty about. Take a fanfic chatroom I used to go to- These women get together and talk about the object of their fanfiction, using words that remind me of a cross between a group of budding teenaged girls and construction workers. See, they're just having fun, and it's my problem for getting annoyed by it. It's just that this is all they talk about when in chat, pretty much, and it bores me to tears, a reason I rarely go and chat. The words 'drool bucket', 'thud pillow', 'guttah', and so on, in my opinion, can only be used so many times before they become duller than dull, and maybe it's just that I think that it kind of cheapens things. Maybe the part that annoys me is that I wonder how these usually mature and intelligent women can make the same silly innuendo over and over again, and still get off on it rather than yawn. I honestly haven't sounded like that since I was 15 and talking with my girlfriends about how 'fine' Nick Rhodes from DuranDuran was. Seriously, a part of me wants to scream 'When was the last time any of you had actual sex, much less good sex????', but I know that part of me is wrong. In reality, this really is my problem. I know that these women have fun doing this, are causing no harm to anyone, and I really should just laugh along with them, appreciate their pure enjoyment.

6. People who decide that all of us neighbors should hear their music choice of the evening. I don't even care if it's a musical group I love, don't turn your friggin' car stereo and subwoofer up in my presence, or I'm going to be in your driveway in record time, making your life a living hell until you turn it down enough for me not to vibrate when I'm sitting in my house on my couch.

7. People who think I'm beneath them, and treat me as such. This one's probably one of my worst peeves, the one that will get me the most fired up. I've known more of this kind of person than I care to, but fortunately, the one constant with all of them is that not a one of them has even come close to being worthy of condescending to me. I'm not better than anyone else, but you can bet your ass that if I'm treated as anything less than an equal, I'll make it a point to prove different to you. Long story, but a few years ago, my asshole neighbor got into a fight with his girlfriend, hitting her in front of dozens of witnesses, two of them being Eric and myself. Eric ran and jumped the guy, pulled him off the girl, the neighbor jumps in his car and takes off while Eric drives the girl and her son home (asshole neighbor was supposed to give them a ride home until the beating commenced). Meanwhile, I'm waiting for the police, and when they show up, they outright told me that my husband was an idiot for driving the girl home, and that if he got shot as a result, it would be his own fault, called all my hispanic and black neighbors second-class citizens, then called me and Eric white trash for living amongst them, and, oh, he used the word 'fuck' more times than any law enforcement officer should. Once again, Long story... but to make it shorter, I went straight inside, wrote out a full account of what had happened, what this officer had said, and I pursued this all the way to its end. The end? The officer was put on permanent desk duty, then later fired, and I was given a full and personal apology from the Chief of Police. I could've let it go, but I didn't, and honestly, I don't regret getting someone that unworthy of a badge out of service. Anyway, it's an example of how I tend to react to people with superiority complexes.

I have more pet peeves, as I'm sure you all know, but these are some of my worst ones. I really am a fair person in most cases. And after having written these few out, I realize that though I could lighten up on some things, I find myself grateful that I have this much passion for some things. It means I'm alive, and when you think about, the people who mean the most to me in this world seem to know all of this, yet still love me, keep me close, respect me... despite it? Naw, I'd like to think they do because of it.

What a weekend! Started out bored as hell Friday... didn't want to go out, didn't want to do anything here, so I ended up staying home, doing some computer maintenance, downloading some new software, etc., surfed around, went to some chat rooms, message boards I hadn't been to in awhile, still couldn't stop being bored, so I finished up my downloads and conked out early for the evening, surrendering to the blahs.

Saturday, however, was massive. Had a party here for my brother's birthday/getting his job back, and this house hasn't seen a party like that... ever! It was fabulous, I got to cook up tons of food, beer flowed like wine;), and it only took me all day yesterday to clean up the mess. There was plenty of good conversation, a mountain of laughter, and oh, Al came and decided to write some prose and poetry for us, which was unbelievably entertaining. Hold on... I have all his stuff here, and I'll type out one of his pieces here:

To my Baby Cindy:

Your love is so fatal

Why do I work with metal?

Your love is so strong

Why am I so wrong?

Your love is so deep

Why must I weep?

Your love is so happy

Why am I so sadly?

Your love is so giving

Why am I living?

It's the score of our love

And nothing more

It's us together

That's for sure

Happy Valentime

See what I mean? There's some potential there, but you almost don't want him to hone it, the original stuff is so bewildering;)

My mother sent me a letter the other day... including an email address because she finally joined the internet world! How weird emailing her, yet it was enjoyable, too:)

My catbroad Sue had an incredible cat rescue situation happen the other day:

At last email, little Freeway/DB is doing much better:) Cool story, huh? I'll see if I can't send some towards the vet bill for this little critter.

Last I checked, Julie still hasn't gone for her fancy dinner yet. Her Eric's been sick, and until he's feeling a hundred percent again, I think dinner can wait. She, however, is doing great, despite massive medical bills constantly popping up in her mailbox. Still, it's wild seeing her email address in my mailbox again, writing us with exactly the same 'oomph' as always... as if the nightmare of a couple of months ago never happened. Miracle woman, if you ask me:)

Message to Ariane... I am so sorry I haven't gone to the forum! I do have some problems getting into it in the last month, but I got distracted and haven't made it there in the last couple of weeks to try. I'll do that today!:)

Oh, watched a movie on On Demand a few days ago, and was so pleasantly surprised by it. A Jet Li movie, of all things. It's called 'Unleashed', and I almost didn't order it until I saw that Luc Besson was behind it. I loved 'The Professional' and 'La Femme Nikita', so I gave it a chance, and ended up really enjoying it. It's about a man who's been kept and treated like a dog (literally) since childhood by a loanshark thug, collar kept around his neck and used as a seriously fucked up psychological brainwashing tool. In other words, the loanshark has this young man trained to help him do his illegal business... when customers don't pay up, the young man's collar comes off, and he beats the living shit out of the customer until they pay, after which the collar is slapped back on, and this poor slave goes back to being the obedient 'dog' to his master. Anyway, circumstances end up allowing the young slave to get away, where he's taken in by a blind piano tuner, played beautifully, as always, by Morgan Freeman. It's with Freeman's character that this young man learns all about how a human should live, about family, and about love. Sounds wild, but you just have to see the movie. Poignant scenes, likable characters, and some kick ass fight scenes to boot. Who'd have guessed (ok, not too hard to guess. Luc Besson masters the art of giving an action movie some emotional depth.)?

Ok, that's it for now... nothing juicy, nothing even remotely thought-provoking, as usual, but I'm sure I'll find something to be pissed off about soon;)

Coolest news I've heard since Julie woke up and stayed up...

My brother got his old job back:) He called me early this morning to tell me they'd called him and offered it back to him (unbeknownst to me, he'd gone back in and groveled a couple of weeks ago), and I swear, I didn't realize what a weight this worrying about him has been on me until it was lifted. He's going to keep his house, keep his pets, and hopefully get back his self-esteem, and I'm so outlandishly knee-deep in relief, I can barely stand it.

It's been hard to keep a distance, including an emotional one when I've been around him lately, but I've had to for both him and myself. Now that things are looking up for him, now that he's making an effort to straighten himself out again, I hope he and I can get a semblance of our old close relationship back. It really has been hard to step back rather than step in and fix things for him, and it's going to continue to be hard to do that, but the less I step in and take over, the more he does for himself.

Checked my fiction press stats for the first time in awhile, and want to thank all the new people who added me as one of their favorite authors. You rock!!! How are y'all still finding my stories? And sorry I haven't even gotten around to finishing 'Average' yet. One of these days, I will:)

Had a dream last night, a very strange one in which I saw a friend of mine who died a few years ago. Kati was my best friend in high school, always troubled, but only because she was wise beyond her years, trapped in a city, school, body, and life that felt more like a cage than a learning experience. Kati injected herself with an overdose of heroin a few Octobers ago... on purpose. Last night, Kati was in my dream, sitting with me in a sunroom that overlooked what reminded me of an English estate's garden. She was dressed in Victorian white, looking as beautiful as she always did, and when she smiled, I felt the warmth penetrate me right down to the marrow in my bones. She talked to me more than anyone in any of my dreams ever has (in most of my dreams, they only say a sentence or two before the dream shifts and I'm somewhere else), and I listened, not saying a word. In these dreams, I somehow always know that it's never about what I have to say; I'm there, they're there because they have something to tell me.

Anyway, Kati told me many things.

She told me that 'It didn't hurt' when she died, that she didn't go to hell, to purgatory, whatever they call it. She almost laughed when saying that, as if the idea were preposterous. She told me that her mother still blames herself, though Kati couldn't understand why. 'She never failed, and I never failed. There's nothing to mourn.' She also said that she didn't understand her father, never forgave him, but she understands why that was necessary now. I know nothing about her father except that he was absent her entire life. She told me that she was sorry we'd lost touch since high school, but that she's watched me, followed up on me, both in life and on the other side, and that she'd always loved me like a little sister, which made me smile this time, being that she and I are the same age. She told me that I was lucky for so many reasons, and that she hoped I knew that. And as for what it's like on the other side, Kati would only tell me two things, one of them being that the love of her life on this side was there waiting for her when she crossed. I'm so curious about this, it's driving me nuts. If this dream was real, then that means someone Kati was in love with while here died before her, something I could really confirm if I looked hard enough.

The other thing she told me had me waking up in tears. She ended our conversation, and my dream, by telling me that my critters were all keeping her busy, and with a giggle, she told me that of all of them, little Yoda was her favorite, that Scooter was a close second, and that none of them were anything less than completely lovable. And with that, she told me that she needed to let me know that she and they were okay, and together, then sent me back to my waking world. And like I said, I woke up crying, not really sure if the tears were happy or sad, but nevertheless glad for a dream like this.

I don't know if this was real. I really don't, but with that one piece of information she told me, I'd like to prove that it was. I have lost so many of these little furry creatures, mourned them so fiercely because I loved them all so fiercely, and to think that Kati is with them, watching over them.... my God, how wonderful a concept, how healing a dream!

I don't know... in my waking world, I trust my gut. It comprises any psychic ability I might possess on this plane. But in the dream world, I trust the things I see, tend to believe that that's where I really see. And when I wake and my gut tells me that this wasn't 'just a dream', then I tend to bow to both worlds. So, I'll go ahead and see if I can't find confirm any of this, but even if I don't-

Kati, thank you:)

Damn near since I was born, I have known, thanks to having politically active parents, that our government isn't really made up of three branches of government, legislative, executive, and judicial. In reality, there exist two branches and two branches only... Democrat and Republican. And frankly? They both never cease to reach new tactical lows daily in my eyes.

Seriously... Partisan politics have worked my last nerve, no matter which little notch on the spectrum they might dangle from. Alito's taking a beating from the democrats at the moment, the Gestapo-like interrogation driving his wife to tears, fueling the conservative fires in the process, the big bad Donkey boy senators picking on the poor Bush choice du jour, kicking the liberal tuft of sand in his face just before stealing his lunch money. But let's face it; if this were an alternate universe and we were looking at President Gore's choice for Sandra Day O'Connor's replacement, we'd be watching the same assault, the only difference being the horselike tail traded in for a peanut eating trunk. How is the constant partisan bullshit I've seen exist during every year of my life not the same as blatant descrimination? Why is it that if you're a Democrat, any Republican is to be automatically hated, distrusted, and if you're a Republican, your duty is to treat the Democrats as if you're a vampire hunting the lycans? I look at our political system, and feel the urge to snap my fingers rhythmically and dance some choregraphed number while singing about whether or not I'm going to rumble with my switchblade on the side of the Sharks or the Jets.

'I like to live in Amerrrrrrricaaaaaaaaa... dadadada in Amerrrrrrrrrricaaaaaaaaaaa...' 

...and scene.

I'm so sick of it, and I'm thinking about forming my own party, the 'What the fuck is wrong with you pathetic bastards?' party. Then again, knowing that to be a politician means you're going to have to become corrupt to at least some degree, I'd probably end up being just as tainted, twice as mean, and hopelessly lost. As each year passes, I am simply just becoming less and less confident in the people we elect to represent us. Regardless of what gang they affiliate with, the last thing I think any of them ever do before pushing this bill or that referendum is to base their decision on what we actually want.

Oh, wait... maybe there are three branches... Democrat, Republican, and Lobbyist. And our country's motto should be 'One Nation Under Spin'.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, I'm a Democrat. I stand behind the principles, not the current mascots claiming to represent them. And, God forbid, should I ever find myself agreeing with a non-left wing viewpoint, you'll just have to stone me, because I happen to see logic as being something you can't slap a mammal logo on and market for all the votes that can possibly be attained.

Ok, with that all out of my system, I am now turning the TV from the latest hearing coverage to The People's Court. All the same dysfunction, half the calories;)

Final note- I've noticed a slight increase from certain IP numbers in visits to this page since my last entry, I think I know why, and I'd like to address it. To whom it may concern, my use of the word 'prolific' wasn't meant to specifically apply to any one person, nor was what I said about people writing the same thing over and over again. I have seen way too many examples of this from way too many people to ever write this in my journal and target one individual. Honest observation on my part, and not intended to single any one person out. Take it or leave it.

Ok, time's a-wastin', and I am way behind in so many things. Allison, if I don't email you today, just know I got your message, got all the contact information, thought the message was fine, and I'll make the order either tonight or tomorrow:)

Still sick, but felt well enough to read up on some blogs I frequent, went to my friend Allison's blog and spent a good amount of time catching up on what she's been writing. Funny thing... in her latest entry, she writes that her muse is fired... yet this entry and the several that follow are some of her best ever, quite possibly some of the best I've ever read:) Allison, I think your muse is still there, as strong as ever; she's just taking you down a slightly different path for a bit. The honesty, emotion, and detail I've read on your blog page these last few entries is nothing less but 'damned good reading'. From your past to your present, I'm captivated:) I have always believed that writers with real talent don't ever lose their muse, and you've proven that.

In fact, I tend to believe that gifted writer's are supposed to feel as if they've lost inspiration at some points. I'm not knocking prolific writers... hell, Stephen King's one of my eternal favorites, but talent grows and evolves as someone pursues their craft, and maybe these bouts of writer's block really are more of a recovery period between growth spurts. If you don't ever experience a waning period in your writing, I'm not really sure that you ever end up doing anything but writing the same thing over and over again, stagnant and staying safe. Maybe the seemingly missing muse is one of those necessary evils. That's what I think, anyway, and I know a couple of other writers who've had similar feelings of abandonment by their muses, only to find them again and create their best stories ever:)

Had another dream that scared the hell out of me. I don't remember much, other than the presence of one other person in a room with me, talking about me on a phone, saying that I was dead. When I interject, telling him in a desperate yet annoyed voice that I'm not dead, he pulls the phone from his ear, smiles at me, and says 'Yeah, but you will be soon.' Then I woke up. Now what in the hell do you do with a dream like that? Should I be extra careful from now on? Stay away from intersections and undercooked pork? I don't know, but I tend to be a fatalist. I'm going to die when I'm supposed to die. If it's soon, there's not much I can do about it, so why freak too much?

I was cleaning out some boxes yesterday, boxes of this n' that I had stored under the stairs, and ran across a bunch of love letters Eric and I wrote each other over the years. GOD, are we gooey!!!!! There was one back from when Eric and I were still dating, and I was sharing a house with my sister. He was working as a waiter, and in between telling me how much he loves me, how his heart feels like it needs me to beat now, blah, blah, blah, he mentions that the El Chico tortilla warmer was broken, forcing him to serve cold ones to customers and suffering lower tips as a result. Romantic, huh? We're much more romantic now, the both of us burping and farting while snuggling on our couch and watching Judge Judy. More than you needed to hear? Too bad;)

I've been getting on my dad to have his writing looked at by a pro. He's written two books, combinations of his two loves, the ocean and the supernatural. I've only read one all the way through, 'The Devil's Reef', I think it's called, and it's just a surprisingly good read, even scribbled in his handwriting on yellow legal pad pages. I'd like to see him pursue this since he's retired now. So along with a couple of other writers I find myself inspired to bug, I'm adding my father to the list.

I sit here now, weather finally getting cooler, and I look around my house, at my husband on the couch watching Lou Dobbs, at my cats all passed out here and there, their paws flitting in some dream chase, the dryer rotating and sending the industrial yet somehow pleasant smell of mountain fresh detergent through the air, feeling the occasional gust of warm air making its way to this computer desk, and it dawns on me that at this moment, nothing's wrong. Not a goddamned thing in my life in this amazing little time frame is even close to being wrong. I'd almost forgotten what this felt like, so please excuse me while I go and do whatever savoring I can do right now.

Still sick, but not as:) This has been, from what I can guess, a bad bout with stomach flu. No respiratory symptoms, but all the other lovely flu-like clinical presentation. It's finally fading, thanks to as much rest as possible, supplementation, and tons of detoxifying hot as hell baths. I'm finally starting to look and feel human again:)

Didn't get to head out and do the scenic driving with my parents, but I'm sure we'll do it soon. I was thinking that it might be fun to rent a couple of cabins up in Oklahoma and take them there for a weekend. I can get my brothers and my neighbor to watch most of my animals, and the three who are in need of the most intensive daily care could either be boarded or go with me. You know, that's one thing I am SO glad I did with Roc-took him camping with us. He LOVED it, and it's yet another memory that we have that brings a smile when thinking about Bubs:)

Made it out today with the husband, and got one hell of a great compliment. We were shopping at a huge thrift store when a male voice next to me says 'Has anyone ever told you that you look like Ellen Barkin?'. Incidentally, I love Ellen Barkin, and I think she's beautiful in such a non-classic way. To be compared to her, at least to me, brings a smile to my face. Anyway, I look up at the guy, and as much as he's telling me I look like someone, I can't get over how much he looks like George Clooney (Vikki would've fainted on the spot, this guy looked so much like him, the younger 'Facts of Life' George). I tell him yes, that one person had said that to me before, at which point, he said 'She's amazing. I just love her.'... hey, another compliment. What did I do to deserve this? I tell him he reminds me of George Clooney, and he says blushingly that he's been told that before but doesn't see it. Anyway, Eric, who was over at the used furniture section, fiddling around with an old Motorola console, sees this young stud talking to me, and heads over, macho air about him... the works, LOL! And when this young guy sees Eric, his eyes get wide, and he says 'Man, you look like Jim Caviezel', then goes on to joke about how everyone looks like someone today. Everyone who knows Eric brings up the resemblence, and Eric loves that (he loves Caviezel), so any worries that this guy was flirting with me were replaced by ego, and the two got to talking while I went back to my thrift store bargain hunting, flattered enough to make receding symptoms of stomach flu bother me a little less:) Not too bad a day.

Through the years, I've been told by most people that I've either looked like Lady Di, Molly Ringwald, Madonna, and believe it or not, Rod Stewart (how messed up is that? A guy who had a crush on me actually told me that. Like I said... WTF?). Though none of these people really look like each other, and though I can't see how I look that much like any of them, I've always appreciated the comparisons:) Beats the hell out of being told I look like Robin Leach or Janet Reno, right?;)

Anyway, enough of people resembling people... onto something else.

Watched 'War of the Worlds' last night. Disappointing. Not badly done, but still disappointing. Of course, it's impossible now to watch Tom Cruise in anything without thinking of the very real downward mental spiral he seems to be in. Damned Scientologists. Let me tell you, back when I was in California for one summer and looking for a summer job for my teen self, I answered an ad for an office job, went in for the interview, and was damned near kidnapped by the Scientolgists who'd run the ad, not mentioning once until I'd filled out all the paperwork, interviewed, then took some crazy test where I held onto two prongs while answering questions, that I was finally told that they'd love to hire me, and who I'd actually be working for. I'd gotten a weird vibe from the entire experience thus far, but the attention and downright shitting a brick over me had my insecure little 16 year old ego ignoring some major red flags. The words 'Scientology', 'Hubbard', 'Thetans', 'Dianetics', and a few more went in one of my teenaged ears and out the other, and as soon as I had one free second, I used their phone to call my grandmother, who I was staying with. When I told her I'd gotten the job, that they were paying an amount higher than I'd hoped for, she was psyched for me, but when I asked her about the words listed above, if she'd ever heard of them, the excitement in my grandmother's voice changed into a 'Paula, get out of there!!! NOW!!!!!!!!!'.

Needless to say, I ended up making ice cream cones at Foster Freeze that summer.

Onto something else-

The sole survivor of this horrible recent mining disaster is being treated... YES... with hyperbaric oxygen therapy, a treatment not usually opted for in a situation like this, I don't think. This is something incredible to me, and to my MIL. HBOT (hyperbaric oxygen therapy) isn't approved for treatment of most neurological conditions. At the moment, HBOT is mainly used for wound healing, 'the bends', things like this, not for brain injuries such as stroke, cerebral palsy, any kind of brain or neurological trauma. This means that your average person who suffers from such a malady won't get insurance coverage for a very likely beneficial treatment such as HBOT. If insurance doesn't cover it, they don't get the treatment, and it's heartbreaking to see people denied a treatment that I've personally seen heal.

Anyway, my MIL and the doctor in charge of the Hyperbaric unit that's treating this mining explosion survivor know each other fairly well, and she tells me that he's obviously a huge advocate for getting HBOT approved medically for more conditions, therefore making insurance cover more of this kind of treatment for more illnesses. From what I understand, the survivor, Mr. McCloy, is improving, thank God! I am thankful that he is staying with us and fighting, thankful that his family and friends have hope to hold on to, but I'd be lying if I also didn't think that his continued improvement may also be the very much needed evidence my MIL and other HBOT activists have been seeking in their fight to make this kind of treatment available to so many.

Mr. McCloy's healing could be the first opened door for so many other people in our world who are suffering, and who could benefit from a therapy that's just pathetically under-employed, if you ask me. In essence, Mr. McCloy's tragedy I hope not only turns into a blessing for him, but for thousands more.

It used to be that when you heard of hyperbaric oxygen chambers, you thought of Michael Jackson, immediately deciding such was 'kooky' at best. Maybe now, mainstream society will see that this is indeed a valid and effective treatment for more ailments than once believed. I hope so.

Ok, off my soapbox.

Finally, to the one girl who keeps emailing me from disguised email addresses and defending fanfiction so dysfunctionally, are you actually reading these entries? Do you still not get that I complain about certain personalities in fanfiction, not so much about fanfiction itself? Do you not understand that I often include and chastize myself as being one of those personalities that 'needs work'? Honestly, I still don't get what you're bitching about, nor do I get what you're up to. I know you have some sort of agenda besides shopping and watching your video collection of Season One 'Dawson's Creek', but forgive me... I can't seem to pinpoint just what your problem is, especially since when you're writing me and bitching me out, you end up agreeing with damned near everything I've said. You're welcome to continue emailing me... just please please at least try to make some sense next time, as awful as that may sound.

I need to email some people, read some blogs, and take some vitamins, but as usual, I hope you're all well, hope you're all happy, and hope you're all bathed in light:)

Well, I'm sick. I feel like shit, look like shit, and can't do shit. I have a 101 temp., my muscles ache, my stomach hurts, my joints throb, and I've gotten to know my porcelain 'bowl of sacrifice' far more than I'd like the last couple of days. I've been taking straight hot baths several times a day in order to soak my bones and sweat out toxins, but I've been too sore to do any bending that might be required for washing hair, so my lovely red locks are more of a cruddish brown color at the moment, and more the consistency of a well-lubricated condom rather than hair, due to the especially thick funk buildup. I've had on the same 'Spear Britney' t-shirt since Tuesday, I think, and other than the toilet, my couch has been my home. It has taken every ounce of me to get up and take care of the animals, so I bet you can guess how nasty my house is right now. Oh, and my period just started, meaning massive cramps are rushing through me like some hormonal psunami. Goody goody gooby goo, life is good.

I have two days to get better... we're going back out to Denton this weekend and taking a scenic country drive with Dad and Judy, the two of them along for the ride, Eric and I looking for some land to buy and eventually build on. I really don't want to call this trip off; I'm looking forward to it.

Anyway, Eric's been wonderful, as always, getting my food, running out to the health food store and fetching me things that'll make me feel better. By the way, if anyone ever offers you Noni Juice, some Polynesian health drink, just go ahead and drink the nearest bottle of shoe polish instead, 'cause that's what this nasty torture of a supplement tastes like.

If I can say anything about this little bout of illness, at least I can say the dreams have been interesting. Lord knows, I've had plenty of them, I've been asleep so much the last couple of days. I'm going to list the ones I remember here, or at least what I can remember of all the details, and after reading them, if you don't think they're bizarre, email me so I can block you from my mailbox;)

1. I win a free semester's worth of classes on... get this... the art of masturbation. I don't want to go, but I never win anything, so I decide to go. As I'm walking towards the door, other students are all carrying video equipment in, and I hear a wave of moans coming from inside, along with really way too realistic friction and slapping sounds. My reaction is strange; I get angry, and I start stomping towards the door to start bitching, then all of a sudden some guy who looks like a cross between Ron Jeremy and Danny Devito blocks the door, holding out a sweaty palm, telling me that I can't come in. And as his constantly morphing face is lecturing me about how I should embrace the circle jerk, and how anyone with the wrong attitude can't come in, I get upset now that I can't go in, and I pee myself (in the dream, not in reality), then I wake up. What in the hell? This one alone I'm considering going to a therapist for.

2. My house is on fire, and I have to evacuate all my animals, but I can't find their carriers anywhere, so in desperation, I brave the smoke and flames and start stuffing all my cats into suitcases, throwing them out the window to the fire department, who all are more dressed like hired stippers in firefighter costumes. When I rescue the last suitcase full of my pets, I jump out the window myself, and the head firefighter tells me that I did a great job, and that they all love my cats, so they're taking them home to all their houses. I freak out, cry, scream, but it does no good.

3. I 'wake' up in my dream to a normal day, go to the bathroom, start to brush my teeth, but as I put the toothbrush up to my choppers, they start swaying in and out against the pressure, loose in my jaw like poorly planted fenceposts. So, In my horror, I reach up, take hold of one of my upper teeth, and it just plucks right out. Do I stop? Hell no. In that 'dream-state dumbass mode', I pull the rest of all my front teeth out, finally shreiking when my smile looks like that old guy who used to be on the Benny Hill Show. Suddenly, I say to myself 'Paula, this is just a dream. You still have your teeth.', and as I look at them again in my dream bathroom mirror, new ones slide through my gums and take the place of the old ones. And they look better than ever!

Wait, it's not over- I reach up to admire them, and they end up coming out, too, followed by the shark-like spouting of a whole new set of teeth. Before I drive myself anymore insane, I tell myself once again that it's a dream, and this time, I tell myself to wake up, and I do.

4. I've somehow made it into the American Idol auditions, even though I'm way beyond their age cutoff, and as I walk in before the famous judges, I start crooning the theme to 'Welcome Back Kotter'. Paula Abdul's crying, Randy's grooving, and Simon is still, and the whole while, I can't help but keep telling myself that I sound like my dogs when the Amtrak train roars down the tracks behind my house, howling as if I'm giving birth to a watermelon. When I finish, they applaud and welcome me to Hollywood, at which point I say something like 'You people are so full of shit'. And I walk out, at which point I'm suddenly in a mall (and this is a dream I've had for years), and nobody's there, I'm free to take anything I want, and life is sooooooooo good.

5. I'm walking down my street when a pack of wild doglike monsters start charging me, and when I see them coming, I start running backwards as fast as I can, flapping my arms like a chicken until I start to slowly rise from the ground, just out of reach of those malevolently slobbering things. I've had this dream often, too, along with the one where I suddenly realize that I'm naked and sitting on a toilet with no stall around it in the middle of Grand Central Station, people walking all around me, and me not any less mortified that they don't seem to see me.

I had several more, but these are the ones I vividly remember, other than my Baker dream yesterday, and after writing these out, seeing in print just how disturbed they are, I find myself really wanting some serious psychotropic drugs at the earliest convenience;)

There's more to write, but I'm just too numb from recalling these dreams to share at the moment;) Plus, I have two glasses of orange juice I promised Eric I'd drink, some Ester C to take, and to wash it all down, a lovely ramen and tofu soup dish to eat. MMMMM Good! Hope you're all well tonight!

Only because I feel 'blah' today.

On one good note- couple of my neighbors came up while I was doing yardwork and actually told me they were glad I yelled at the gun-firing neighbors. The fact that these neighbors who told me this are Hispanic helped... very much. It tells me that Eric and I aren't as branded as I'd feared we'd be. Cool:)

My teenaged niece came by today, along with her mom, my sister. Sarah is gorgeous, a pleasure to be around, and it was great to visit with her. Her mother, however, came in the door, asked me right off the bat if I'd gained weight, I told her 'No', that I'd actually lost some, and she answered by saying 'Oh, well, you look like you gained a few.' LMAO!!!! Typical Donna. SO typical, LOL! Good news at least is that she's not pregnant, thank God. I can't see my sister able to handle one more child.

Eric and I have been discussing adoption again, particular the possibility of adopting a child from the Foster care system, an older boy or girl who doesn't stand much chance of escaping the severely lacking social services system we have here. I know people who work in social services, more than a few, and they and their departments are more than admirable. Here in Dallas, however, we have had too many stories on our evening news about foster children meeting tragic ends at the hands of under-screened foster parents, and children meeting equally tragic ends at the hands of parents who had been investigated more than once, yet their children had never been taken away. I have actually seen on our news former workers in this system giving interviews in which they reveal some of the severe problems our area's system has, problems that won't be fixed until some much needed additional funding is provided. Anyway, Eric and I have been talking about this, about either adopting or becoming foster parents. There's alot to consider, so no decision's anywhere close to being made.

Had a Baker dream last night. I was standing in the Baker's lobby, looking up at the mezzanine, and the prettiest young woman (I'd guess 17 or 18) was standing up there, looking over the rail that's closest to the Brazos Room. She had what I'd call 'Nelly from Little House' hair, curled in ringlets and pinned up on the sides with yellow ribbons. She was wearing a full-length yellow dress, puffy skirt, puffy short sleeves.... very Cinderella'ish', but here's the weird part- one of her arms was amputated just past the elbow. She entirely ignored me and looked instead over the railing towards the front door, on her tip-toed feet, as if she were eagerly expecting someone. Suddenly, she smiled as if she saw the person she was waiting for at the door, but instead of moving towards the lobby, she turned and walked to the elevator.

Then, all of a sudden, I'm in the Cloud Room, and BOOM, there's my long-lost dream buddy, Ginnie! I thought she was gone forever, but I guess I was wrong:) Ginnie wasn't her usual self this time. She was in some strange outfit that I can only guess was her time's dance wear... a long, too long, black skirt, leotard top that looked a size or two too large for her, and silver tap shoes (yet I couldn't hear the clicks those shoes should've made), hair wrapped in a black silk scarf, and she was most definitely practicing a choreographed routine, and very intense about it. No sassy remarks, no drinking... just repeating counts over and over again, stopping when she'd gotten something wrong, then starting over again. Oh, and the Cloud Room wasn't the broken down room I've seen in my waking world; the floor was shiny and smooth, the walls were freshly painted, the bandstand looked different... larger, and there was a stand up piano on it. The glass in all the windows was intact, and there were finely upholstered benches and chairs lining the walls. I could hear music playing from somewhere, sounding live, even though I saw no orchestra anywhere, just Ginnie. Then, just as I'm sure she can't see me any more than the girl in the Mezzanine, Ginnie stops, turns sideways, stares right at me, then says 'I have to get ready.', as if she's defending herself somehow... as if to say 'What're you looking at?'. Then she smiled, did one of those 'Ta-da!' kind of dance moves, said 'Waddya think?', winked slyly, then I wake up before I can answer.

This was one of the most visually realistic dreams I've had of the Baker, but when it comes to what it means, I have no clue. Here's hopin' I can go back tonight and see more of all this, make more sense of it all.

My email has been really interesting lately in that I've heard from quite a few people in the last few days that I'd lost touch with. What a great treat!!!! I'm still trying to catch up with all my emails, but I'm going to write each and every one back, and vow not to lose touch again. These are all fabulous people, and I'm thrilled they touched base with me. Tori, Keziah, and Suz in particular I hadn't heard from in ages, so the fact that they all remember me well enough to take time out to email me is an honor. These are three of the women I should've learned more from when it came to fanfiction. They never let it be anything but a fun way to express themselves, they never became competitive or ego-warped, were never less than supportive of everyone, and they were what I wish I could've been more like during my trek through Oded land. Anyway, all of you I haven't gotten to write back yet, I promise I will, and I'm smiling a big 'un at having heard from you!

My animals are all doing well, even the old and decrepit ones. Roc has visited me a few times, one in particular I have to share. On New Year's Eve, I wake up in the morning bright and early because my dogs are going nuts, so I put on some pants, look out the front window, and there's this TINY little white dog moving through my yard towards the next door neighbor's yard. I go out, whistle at it, call it, and the little fart, who is obviously beyond old, doesn't respond. So, I get up on him, reach down and touch him, and he jumps in fear. Turns out this tiny little thing is blind, deaf, and so old, I'm afraid to even pick him up for fear of hurting him. I do, anyway, see that he has tags, take him inside, and try to call the numbers on the tags to locate his owners. Being a holiday, everyone's closed, so next I hold him in my arms and walk down the street, knocking on doors I think might be his home. Long story short, turns out he came from all the way down the street, and that this particular old fart never goes out of his yard when let out front. His owner let him out this particular morning, turned her back for a couple of minutes, and he was gone. Entirely not what this little old blind and deaf dog usually does. She was shocked when I told her where I'd found him, and how far he'd gone. I wasn't so shocked. I think Roc sent him down for a visit:)

See, my brothers, my mother, and I all have had this happen when one of our old fellas passes away. Not long after they pass, they send a stray or lost animal we've never seen before to our houses. Happens every single time. Days after one of ours dies, we go outside and BOOM, there's a new visitor waiting outside. If they're lost, we find their homes and return them, but if they're strays, we take them in, knowing it's our passed pet who sent them:) Anyway, for some reason, Roc sent this old fella down to see me, just like he coaxed Blackie into getting out of his yard for the first time in ages right after Roc died.

Roc, I get the messages loud and clear, son:) Thanks for sending them, and thanks for letting me know you're still around:)

As much as I talked about my stepmom and her pendulum in a way that sounded as if I weren't digging it, I think I'm going to out and get one of my own. Don't know why, really, but something just tells me I should, so I am. I don't care how much your brain goes against anything; when your gut tells you that you should do something, do it. Your gut is one of the most powerful tools you will ever have, and the more you listen to it, the more you hone it. It has saved my life, saved my critters' life, taught me valuable lessons, and done a world more good than it could ever do harm.

Ok, I'm done with the babbling. Time to eat some couscous salad I made and do a little bit of exercise. Hope you're all having a good one:)

Well, New Year's was interesting. Went out to Denton, had a great time, met my parents new dog (both their senior dogs Pushkin and Ginger passed this year), my 'sister' Polly, the FATTEST 18 month old labrador I've ever seen. We exchanged gifts, and once again, they bought us way too much, then went out and had the best Cajun food I've ever had, including what I ate in New Orleans, then came back to their house where Dad kept trying to get Judy to watch 'The Devil's Rejects' with us.

Filler info here- Judy literally faints when she sees blood or anything gory, so Dad takes great pleasure in teasing her about it. Judy is everything Dad and I aren't, really. The things he and I love, she will literally faint over, and the things she loves, he and I don't quite get into as much. Eric, however, joins Judy at the hip when we're visiting, especially when they're talking about healing stuff.

For example, Judy brings out her pendulum and proceeds to test certain supplements that she thinks will benefit Eric, making him hold the hand of his holding the bottled supplement up to his chest while she hangs the pendulum over him and watches how it swings to see if it's a good one for him to take. At the same time, there's Dad and myself talking about how good Dawn of the Dead and Land of the Dead were compared to Wrong Turn and House of a Thousand Corpses. Oh, and then Judy takes Eric into her office, where she hooked him up to some machine that tests Eric's health by using radio frequency. Looked more to me like Eric was having his Thetan levels checked by a Scientologist than having his health checked out.

Anyway, it was a great visit, they loved their gifts, we loved ours, we had a great time visiting and at dinner, and we even got home in plenty of time to make sure our house didn't burn down.

And at midnight, things got interesting. The fireworks weren't as thickly firing as I'd feared...

However...

At 12:04, gunshots erupt. Round after round after round, and it's right smack friggin' dab next to our house, on our street. Eric and I go running outside, he screams 'Hey' and stops, but me? I keep running, all the way into the next yard, to the street, screaming across it at my gun-toting asshole neighbors, and to paraphrase, this is what I'm screaming

'HEY!!!!!!! What in the HELL is the matter with you???? Are you too fucking retarded to realize that those bullets are going to come back down again??? What in the HELL!!!!! You could KILL someone!!!!! You could kill a CHILD!!!!! HAVE FUN SOME OTHER WAY!!!!!!!!'

They didn't say a word. There was a large group of them, and not a one screamed back at me. I think they've all come to fear me through the years. I"m a cool neighbor, usually. The kids around here love me, their parents and I get along, and I don't ever lose my mind in anger unless one of them does something either entirely dangerous or entirely inconsiderate, sometimes both, as in this case.

Anyway, all is silent, we're walking back inside, and that's when my brilliant husband pulls what I like to call 'A Blitheringly Retarded Ass Move'.

As we're heading toward our front door, Eric stops, raises his hands, and yells 'WELCOME TO MEXICO!!!!!'

ACK!!!!!!!!

In that single moment, I went from wanting to kill my neighbors to wanting to kill my husband. What the ever-loving fuck was that about? What was that comment going to prove? What possible good could such a brain fart of an exclamation do for anyone involved? My husband is as much a racist as I am a ballerina, so this comment threw me for one hell of a bewildered loop. He might as well have painted a big swastika on our house, so many neighbors heard him. Any headway I'd made with any of my troublesome neighbors was out the window, thanks to this one absolutely I.Q. devoid yelled statement of his. So, the next four hours of my evening were spent sitting in our living room, me on the couch, he on the loveseat, me holding my face in my hands and stopping only to say things like 'What in the hell were you thinking?', 'Do you realize how horrible that was?', and 'What in the HELL were you THINKING?'. I guess I should be glad he didn't say anything about rivers, pinatas or green cards, but Lord!!!!

I have lived in this diverse neighborhood on purpose. I wanted to experience as much of the human race as possible, not just one color or culture. My entire family is that way, and to think now that I am going to be branded a racist pisses me off. I'm pissed at my husband for his comment, for saying something so totally unlike him, I'm pissed at my neighbors for being such assholes who now have an excuse to overlook any of my protests now and continue to behave with such inconsideration, saying 'Oh, she's just one of those Aryan bitches. Don't worry about her', and I'm even pissed that an overly pc world made this incident even worse. I say this because in Eric's defense, he's been told by our hispanic friends and co-workers that shooting a gun into the air on the Fourth of July or New Year's is something that happens all the time in Mexico, thus his comment. They've joked about it with him, but now when Eric yells it out loud, the distinct possibility that we're now fucked when it comes to neighbor relations looms dangerously close. This just sucks.

I'll deal, do some damage control, and I'll just make sure to duct-tape my husband's mouth shut come the Fourth of July.

Race relations... you know, why is it that we are all so hesitant to talk about real cultural differences that really and truly exist? Why do we attribute these differences to skin color rather than to what they really are- differences in culture? Honestly? The Mexicans in my neighborhood mostly do have way too many people living in their houses, too many cars in their driveways, play 'oompah oompah' music all night, the men get drunk out in their front yards way too often, and most of them are illegal. The black neighbors I have in my neighborhood all have either pitt bulls or rottweilers, at least one family member has one or more gold teeth, get their asses kicked by their girlfriends out in their front yard because, as we can all so easily hear due to her screaming, he cheated on her. I really do get followed around when I go into the convenience store down the street that's owned by the Korean family, them obviously watching me as if I'm about to steal something, and as if they're about to yell 'Hurry up and buy!'. And the white people? Oh, dear God, the ones around here most definitely have their NASCAR banners flying from their front yard poles, just under their confederate flag, which is just under their Lone Star State flag, there is never less than one non-working appliance in their front yard, and there are never less than two non-running cars in the driveway. Most of them have never seen a dentist, probably don't know what one is, and I swear to God, if I hear another pseudo patriotic Toby Keith song blaring from one more white neighbor's WalMart boombox, I'm going down and bitchslapping them just before forcing them to drink antifreeze, coaxing them into doing it by telling them that this is the only way in which to personally meet Dale Earnhardt.

For those of you who think I'm a racist, would it help at all at this point to tell you that I have a Peruvian Aunt, two black nieces, one black nephew, three black great nieces and nephews, two Indian cousins, and one Serbian Uncle, love 'em all as much as I do my pasty-skinned relatives? Or does it make me look more like a racist in denial? Should I have said 'African American' or 'Hispanic'? Jesus, I don't know what to do anymore;)

Stereotypes exist. Not everyone fits their supposed cultural stereotype. But you know what? ALOT do, and I think we all see it, yet few of us admit it for fear of being branded by the PC police. I think we still don't know where the line in the sand is when it comes to openly talking about things like this. I personally think that if you see these things, laugh at them, including the cultural weirdness you see in your own race (and in you), you're normal. And if you take that normalcy and choose not to hate with it, take the joke when you're the butt of it, you're getting closer to knowing where the real side of the line is. Appreciating other worlds besides your own, knowing it's okay if you don't like some things, and realizing that your little world may not exactly please others, and above all, accepting the differences and seeing past them... I think we'd all be okay if we could just practice all of this a little more.

If I can sum all of this extra wordy explanation up into the simplest of sentences, I guess I'd have to just say this; Eric and I really don't care what color you are, where you came from, what you do, or who you do it with. We'll accept you regardless, provided you're not an asshole. 'Nuff said.

Well, I've incoherently babbled yet again, and I have chicken terriyaki straight from the grill waiting, so I'm gone. Hoping you're all having the greatest of New Years, hoping you're all not in too much post-holiday debt, and hoping you're all feeling as well as you possibly can:)

That's what I call New Year's Eve around here. I call it that because each and every New Year's Eve, a handful of my most inconsiderate neighbors decide to share their celebration with all of us, starting around noon on New Year's Eve, and stopping no sooner than two midnights later, never once stopping to take a break from the Miller Lite drinking marathon. There are fireworks and music, something I usually don't bitch about on this night, but this year, there's a fire ban in every single friggin' county in my area. We've had grass fires all over the place this entire week, but how much do you wanna bet these asshole drunkards are going to go ahead and fire off as many fireworks as humanly possible over the next two days? Oh, and did I mention the gunfire? Some are too damned lazy to even drive out of the county to buy fireworks, so they just sit outside and fire their illegal firearms up into the air, too retarded to even consider the fact that bullets going up inevitably come down.

Now, usually I'm here to freak the hell out and stop any out-of-hand stuff that happens on my area of the street each New Year's, but tomorrow, we're heading out to Denton to see Dad and Judy, so I just know this is going to end up being a Mrs. O'Leary's cow kind of thing. I am so beyond stressed about this, but I'm going to Denton, anyway, and that one reason is because my neighbor Arla is going to celebrate at home, and she'll keep an eye out in my place, bless her heart! She has my cell number, and if things get bad, she'll be calling. That and the fact that Eric is watering our yard and roof thoroughly in the morning are the only thing keeping me from rescheduling.

We'll be back early to enjoy New Year's at home and to make sure our house doesn't burn down, so until the moment we pull into our driveway tomorrow night, I'll be nervous and stressed to at least some extent. When we do come home and I see that my house is intact, I'll probably be out in the driveway, alternating between a poorly-executed moonwalk and cabbage patch dance move combo.

I'm watching the 'America's Next Top Model' Marathon on VH-1, and I find myself continually laughing until I pee myself over how 'hard' these women think modeling is. I know there's a stereotype that doesn't necessarily fit the profession accurately, but DAMN! These girls are freaking out because they're not holding a tire with 'umph' during an automotive photo shoot. They're in tears because they're having to get up at 7, are accused of eating disorders, amongst other gossip about them, and are pressured to be beautiful 'inside and out' too much. Jesus Christ, you shallow little fashion sticks, come and live my life for one day... one DAY! Try cleaning five litterboxes three times a day, giving a cat an enema one time a day, emptying her bladder twice a day, then try to head on up to Wal Mart and think about what food you want to cook when you just did the previous. Hell, spend one hour with my mother-in-law; that alone will make you take anything Tyra Banks has to dish out with a sincere and glowing smile in comparison.

Still, though... I find myself rooting for some of these girls, continuing to watch them all in their naive take on what the world is. This last season featured an incredibly gorgeous girl who had real curves and gorgeous looks, feminine, sassy, and voluptuous. Her name was Diane, and she is what modeling should be. Sure enough, she didn't make it to the top five, but hell, she got further than I thought those insipid little judges would let her go. Funny... she was really not skinny, but she was nowhere near overweight, yet she was dubbed 'the full figured model', the one kept around out of what you can only guess is a sense of sympathy, along with that 'thank God it's not me' vibe those judges emit. Jesus, no wonder so many women in our world know what it's like to shove a finger into their throat. It's also no wonder the term 'Heroin Chic' ever disgraced reality.

Rubin had it right, and somewhere along the way, society got it wrong... very wrong. A woman's body does stuff naturally, and one of those natural things is NOT to get bony, not unless it's dying. If Nature does its intended thing, we're supposed to get thicker, rounder, curvier... we're not supposed to evolve into a lanky and starving female version of someone your average wayward Catholic Priest may get transferred over;) And as for America's Next Top Model, yes I watch, but if the world was coming to an end and Tyra Banks and her crew claimed to have a way to stop it, I'd still just look at them, say 'How cute', then prepare to die.

Couple of other notes- bought the INXS cd I'd talked about... not bad, and finally got the Office Space DVD, one of my all-time favorite comedies. There's just something about Mike Judge, and something about this movie. I just love it.

Ok, that's it for now. I have to wash my hair, roll it, then try to somehow get some sleep with these things on my head. And damn, this means that tomorrow I have to put on makeup. If I were still a cheerleader, I'd be doing a toe-touch right now in my glee;)

All of you, enjoy your New Years! May 2006 bring you dreams come true, motivation at an all time high, more love than ever, and as much strength as possible to deal with those not-so-good days:)

As this month rolls on into its end, I guess it's about time I reflected on yet another year of my life... the good, the bad, the lessons learned, the things I need to do differently, and so on.

Most important to me, I kept all my closest friends, and made some new ones to boot. I made a few enemies who weren't really such before, but out of all them, I'd say only one was even close to meriting the title of 'friend'; the rest were people I paid way too much attention to for way too long, 'nuff said. Not too bad a scorecard, I'd say.

I managed to stay alive, and though this was the year of the panic attack, I think I've learned to conquer them. This was the year that I and those around me almost lost a great deal, the year we all went through a maelstrom of bullshit, yet most of us are still here.

This is the year in which I faced the fear of being disliked, and DAMN, have I ever faced it;) It's still not entirely easy for me to sit here and write something on a regular basis, especially when I know what I say will upset people, but you know, this is also the year in which I finally learned that I am only responsible for saying what I feel and not for people's reactions. This year, I went back full-time to being the bully, except this year, all my targets have been other bullies.

This is the year in which I have trusted and downright liked more women than I've ever liked before. That's saying a whole hell of alot for me, the gal who has always preferred male company simply because men equal less estrogen-induced drama;) This year, I realized more than ever that I'm not nearly the anomaly I'd thought I'd been, that there were other women like me out there. I learned this year that Marie and her sister are absolute horror movie aficionados like me, that Allison thinks red-headed men with freckles are sexy, like me, that other women watched football, hated shopping, loved cooking, didn't wear makeup, and despised cliques as much as I do.

I learned that when I write something here I think will get a mailbox full of hate mail, I actually get emails saying 'I always thought that/always distrusted her/him/always felt this or that, too, but was SO afraid to say it!'. I learned that I wasn't as bad a writer as I thought I was, as other people tried to make me feel, and as I've met more and more people actually in the profession, I learned that my bullies really do, for lack of a better description, 'suck' more than I'd have ever given them credit for, if you can give credit for mediocrity.

This is the year in which I was able to use this site for some good, to raise awareness of the Baker Hotel (which has been sold to a new owner, something I'll write more about later), raise money for Katrina victims, both human and animal, and even get a few animals adopted.

This was also a year for really admitting when I'm being a major cooze, and moreso, for forgiving myself such sins.

This was the perfect 'total package' year for me... full of every emotion my hormonally challenged body is capable of, and I have learned enough this year from it all to feel and be stronger.

As for resolutions... I never make them. To make a resolution, I think, is to set yourself up for failure. To this day, I've never met anyone who got any semblance of a better life out of making a resolution, much less keeping one. Naw, when each year comes to a close, I prefer to just reflect. If anything, maybe I just resolve to keep learning instead of planning. Life happens, it is what it is, regret doesn't do anything but give you pimples and ulcers, and most of what we freak out over in our daily lives is really about as much of a big deal as a hangnail.

Ok, done with the reflection.

Finally made the final arrangements for Julie and Eric's honeymoon dinner:) Any day now, the two will recieve a certificate for Tcooks, a five-star restaurant in Phoenix, and it'll cover every single friggin' thing they could possibly want to eat or drink there:) The Catbroads are going to make sure those two have one wonderful evening, and thanks to the equally wonderful cooperation of the folks at Tcooks (Angelica, you in particular ROCKETH MUCHLY), it didn't entirely break our pocketbooks:)

Final note- went through and added up all I'd spent on my animals this year. The grand total came to 2765.83... and y'all have no idea how LOW this was. Good year with minimal unexpected vet visits. Not bad at all! Now, try not to hyperventilate, but that brings the total cost of having all these animals here for the past 12 years, all their food, litter, toys, bedding, vet visits, supplements, and other expenses that pop up hitting somewhere around 37,000. Yup, that's dollars, not pesos. And no, that doesn't include what I've spent on other people's pets.

As I look at all the receipts, see the huge amount of money I've spent on these guys, and I think 'What we could've bought, what we could have here now if we hadn't had all these animals.' I'm overwhelmed for a minute or two... okay, for more than a minute or two. But then, I think 'How much would I really have enjoyed those extra things if these critters weren't here?'. Sets me straight pretty goddamned fast.

Ok, it's early, I'm tired, so I'm off. Hope all your lives are feeling as blessed as mine feels right now, folks:)

Christmas ended up being different from what I'd planned, starting with later-in-the-day Christmas Eve.

Now, Eric's told his family way ahead of time that we wouldn't be out there on Christmas Eve, but on Christmas day, which also happens to be his mother and father's birthday. We thought everyone was cool with this... until later in the afternoon when his mother called, wondering where he was. He reminds her that Christmas day was when we'd come by, and she proceeds to guilt the living hell out of him, hang up on him, then have my sister-in-law Jennifer call back and try to guilt him even more.

At this point, I lose it. Jesus Christ, Eric has spent 32 of the last 34 Christmas Eves of his life with his family. And since I've been married to him, It's been me who's had to tell my family that I can't see them on Christmas Eve because we have to go and see Eric's family. Eric and I both have the absolute and completely earned right to stay home and be together in a nice, quiet night together,and goddammit, I don't appreciate anyone trying to not just guilt a good man into not taking a night out for himself for a change, but goad someone else into applying the same manipulative techniques until my poor husband is convinced that the entire world hates him. Anyway, like I said, I lost it, and said all of this and more to his entire family, stressing to them that though they may hate us for daring to spend one fucking holiday alone, they should look at their own manipulative tactics before passing judgement. I defended the hell out of my husband, and chastized an equal amount of Hades upon these people for being so conditional. I think my head exploded at one point, but at least it was enough to shut everyone up. My entire family, as screwed as some of them can be, at least respect us and our lives enough to grant us this one night, and more importantly, understand that we deserve it.

Long run kinda thing-all is cool now.

Now, onto me being so unbelievably sappy-

Allison, I just read your blog, and DAMMIT, why'd you have to go and make me cry? LOL!!!!! Honestly, it was the most wonderful and heart-warming treat for me today to check your blog and read what you'd written about me:) In a cliche-but-as-fitting-as-I-can-be-here way, I have got to say 'Ditto'... times two:) You rock, girl, I'm glad you found some stuff you could use, and thank you:) Anytime you need anything; you know what to do!

Well, we didn't get to leave presents on doorsteps Christmas Eve (I was so busy being livid at the in-laws, vainly hyperventilating at their 'gall'), but I finally got to hand them out today. Not as good, but still better than nothing:) We don't spend a ton. We buy stuff from Big Lots and Dollar General store, just little stuff, but it's still fun to just get a few things and give them to the kids on the street.

When I was a kid, I cleaned up at Christmas. I had my mother and my siblings on one side, giving me their gifts, then my grandmother and grandfather going into debt with the presents they bought me, then my Dad and stepmom taking me to Judy's family's house, where I got all my parents' gifts, plus the gifts Judy (my stepmom) got me. As we opened the gifts, I wasn't allowed to just rip 'em open like I've seen way too many other kids do. I had to take the label, note who each present came from, then open the gift, thank the person (if they were in the room), then save the label so that I could write 'Thank You' cards afterwards when I got back home. Only then was I allowed to open the next gift. I wasn't real keen on it at the time, but looking back, I think it was the kind of thing that really stressed the importance of thinking of others. I'm grateful for that now. I go to my in-laws' house, and the kids are grabbing one present, ripping off just enough wrapping paper to see what it is, saying 'cool', then tossing it to the side with one hand while grabbing for the other. WTF? And I've never gotten a 'Thank You' card from any of 'em... ever! Maybe that's too strict of me, I dunno. I just think it lacks a certain gratitude... not gratitude towards me, just any kind of gratitude by these kids for having a great Christmas when so many don't. I don't blame the kids, though. I blame the parents. And it's not just my in-laws. When I give my sister's kids presents, they'll be broken or lost in a week for sure, not to mention the fact that when they open them and don't like them, they'll say 'Ewwww'. Once again, WTF?

Called my Mom yesterday. She and Jim are sick from the flu, and Jim just got out of the hospital yet again, the stoma area from his colectomy bag bled so profusely. He was anemic this time, very anemic, but they got his RBC back up, and he's home now, though full of respiratory crud. Anyway, everyone's recuperating, they were having a great day, and we had a nice talk.

Re: my last entry- I don't care how mean it sounds; I meant it when I wrote it, so it's staying. I'm just waiting for 'the' response email, which I will be more than happy to respond to, and probably print here;) I really don't mean to totally go off on people, but when it comes to the overall subject of my last diary entry, you have to understand that during the time I was involved with these people, I saw so many things that made my blood boil, and boiled some of that blood over how stupid I became while involved with these people, that I just can't quite manage 'ladylike' status when I recall those things. I saw too many nice people made fun of behind their backs, too many manipulative bullying acts performed on these people, some of which I had a part in, some of which I fiercely tried to fight, and mainly, I see a small group of women who think that this one little internet facet of life of theirs is some huge world that millions worship, that their word is God, their decisions are always right, their actions always justified no matter how cruel they are, yet somehow don't seem to get it when I dish some of it directly back at them. The reality of the situation is that these women, even though they do have their good sides, are one drop in a sea of real people who have never, would never, and won't ever even know a single one of these women's names, much less care. Going against them, saying what SO many think but are afraid to say isn't going to end anyone's world, so sorry, but I say it.

That's it for me today. Got too much to clean, too much to do, and I'd better get started:)

Getting the unpleasant out of the way first-

Heard about a blog last night, written by someone somewhat involved in this unpleasant 'thing' that happened awhile ago, that I've written about here more than once, and that very well might be in reference to either me, some of the people involved, or all of us. It mentioned something about how some of us journal writers 'airing' things is something this writer is against, and with the usual condescension you can just feel surging forth from your screen as you read this person's text, it's rife with intimation that the subject or subjects of her entry have, yet again, done something beneath her, that she is above most around her.

You know, I write this journal for me. I don't share my opinions beyond this journal, I don't try to change minds, I don't expose exactly who I'm talking about to anyone, and if anything, I'm honest about my feelings. If I have to say this again, I will fucking climb a tower and start sniping... I write my journal for me, and if you don't like it, don't read it. If you don't like what I have to say, then I trust that one day I'll finally stop seeing all your IP's constantly peppering my daily stats. If not, I'll just trust that you continue to be a glutton for punishment. Your choice, and I'm open to whatever the hell you want to do. Just be glad I don't air nearly as much as I actually know, if'n you get my drift.

On the other hand, write what you want to write... about me, about anyone. I may not like you, may not like alot of the things you've done, but I will never not support your right to express yourself.

On yet another hand, though, on the rare occasion that I actually do visit your journal and read, I have the right to laugh at how hypocritical you are. I'm a hypocrite, too, guilty of a million stupid things, but the quintessential difference here is that I admit it. Apparently, that earns me and the women I know like me who dare to say what they're feeling the right to deal with a heap of chocolately good, sing-song condescension.

Can you tell that one of my most insurmountable pet peeves is people who think they're better than me?;)

Who you are, how worthy you are, the quality of your character lies nearly not as much in what you say than what you do. So, which person's character is better? One like me, who writes this journal, bitches like crazy about some people, annoys, is abrasive, knows she'll make enemies in the process, yet gives her time, money, complete support, and one hell of a set of balls to the things she believes in (friends, animals, causes, etc.), no matter who she pisses off? Or is it the person who doesn't get nearly as confrontational, avoiding it like the plague, nice in a Kindergarten teacher kind of way to people directly, then making fun of them in private emails with a small group of friends? Someone who tries their damndest to play the impossible role of Solomon to the public, or someone who knows they're not Solomon, will never be, and deals with it?

I don't think there's a pat answer to this. All I know is that I would rather be that person who is full of faults, embraces the ones I can't change, doesn't do you the disservice of lying about them. I'd rather be the one who doesn't just 'say' I'm your friend. I back it up, and though it usually costs me, I pay the price gladly.

So, back to this other person's journal entry and my suspicion that it's either about me or a couple of other women I happen to think possess massive amounts of real character-

Write what you want about who you want, don't mind your damned business if you don't want to. Doesn't stop me from wishing you'd just get over it and realize that you're no better than the rest of us, and that you can learn something even from a low-life such as myself. Really! I swear!

With that out of the way-

MERRY CHRISTMAS, Broads, Guys, Dudes, Chicks, Readers, Friends, Vulcans, Cabbage Patch Dolls, Porn Stars, Burly Truck Drivers, all of you!

We're having hamburgers and fries for dinner, and I am fantastically stupid in my happiness about it. I love breaking tradition, but only the commercial tradition. The real spirit of Christmas Eric and I will feel tonight when we sneak up and down the street and leave presents on doorsteps for the neighborhood kids 'From Santa'. It so completely rocks for us, doing that:) It's just good!

We broke tradition in another way in that we exchanged gifts last night instead of tonight and tomorrow. Eric got me some clothes, some primo new cookware and dishes I wanted, and he did just as I expected when I gave him his new entertainment system with surround sound... he shit... literally. He freaked, then had to run to the bathroom. I'm not kidding.

After the flush, I have been subjected to the three DVD's he got along with his new system. Yes, since last night, and while I sit here now, Earth Wind and Fire in concert with Chicago is blaring throughout the house. I complain, but I'm actually grooving. Boogie Wonderland's playing. Beats the hell out of last night's Iron Maiden and Bee Gees DVDS. Still, though, watching Eric jamming in complete joy like he's been doing since last night is enough to make me willingly sit through an Ace of Base video marathon if I had to. Maybe even a Yanni concert, though it'd be cutting things close.

Final note-get well wishes to Arla, who has one nasty as can be pink-eye infection going on. Hope you're looking less like Rocky Balboa and more like your pretty self ASAP!!!!

Ok, time to cut up some more potatoes. Plus, 'That's the way of the world' is about to play next, and I'm getting ready to cut a rug with the hubby here in a sec.:)

Finally got to spend some of that money I made today. I braved the shopping mob that is every goddamned store in Dallas, and got Eric a few things, mainly electronic stuff. The piece de resistance is a state-of-the art home theater system with dvd-changer, MP3 player, is Windows compatible, and just rocks like hell should rock. He's going to shit, and though it may be unpleasant at first, I'll overlook his shitting and enjoy his excitement;)

Had a horrible dream last night-that someone tried to write 'Sleeper Cell' fanfiction, and I was forced to read it. I don't care how good a writer you are, I doubt seriously that any Oded Sleeper Cell fanfiction will ever quite do the trick. If someone proves me wrong, I'll admit it, but my initial instinct is to 'gina' wrack the first woman who tries to do it, especially if it includes a Farik love scene. And if that love scene involves the terrorist cell leader sticking a single fucking finger into some bland female heroine's body to 'ready her', I will hunt that writer down and beat the living shit out of her. I'm not kidding. Still, though, the advocate of any writer in me hopes that someone will prove me wrong. If they do, I'll be the first to admit it here.

Cool thing-Blackie, the so-ugly-he's-cute dog got out of his yard the other night, headed straight for my front porch, and yapped there until I found him. I tried to take him home, his humans didn't answer, so Blackie spent the night at my house. I swear, I would take this dog in any day if his humans weren't treating him well. Unfortunately, they are (at least compared to most people around here), so the next morning, Blackie went home, where his humans were happy to see him. While he was here, though, he got to meet my youngest dog, T.C. Wagadoo, and the two might as well have been running through a flowery field towards each other, the 'luvvvvvvv' vibe was so strong. Major love connection there:) Anyway, Blackie's visit happened at just the right time, telling me that Roc and Ruphus sent him here. I haven't seen the guy in months, yet right after these losses, Boom, there he is. They always find a way to visit you, tell you that, though they've passed, they really aren't gone. I got that message in the form of Blackie making his way out of his yard for the first time in ages.

This Christmas, I'm really going to enjoy. One, Eric agreed that we don't have to spend the obligatory night at his parents' house. I don't have to deal with that son of a bitch new brother-in-law, dog-beater I no longer like or trust (seriously, if a person hits an animal with no remorse, how long will it be before he hits the humans around him?), and we don't have to eat the traditional dry as hell turkey, dressing you have to crunch more than chew, only stopping to pick the excess sage from betwixt our teeth, and I don't have to feign the desire to take leftovers of the same food home with me (Allene makes me take home way too much stuff, which never gets eaten).

Nope, this holiday, Eric and I are staying home and making Beef Stroganoff with burgundy sauce, tossed salad, and garlic bread on Christmas Eve, then big fat swiss, mushroom, and bacon cheeseburgers on Christmas day, tradition be damned. I am beyond psyched about this, btw. The cats and dogs, however, are getting game hens and steak for dinner:) I think my favorite part of the gift-giving is when the pets all get something, and this year, they'll be eating like kings and queens:)

We're spending New Year's with my Dad and Stepmom, going out to a nice dinner, visiting, and we'll probably drive out to their lake lot and go to the country club near it (actually a pretty cool place, not too hoity-toity). I need to see the both of them more, not just on holidays, yet I find myself seeing these two people maybe three times in a year, even though they live a short drive away, in Denton. Not all my fault, though. If we have a free weekend, usually turns out they're in Australia, Alaska, scuba diving in Cozumel, or somewhere just as far from here. None of us are getting younger; it's time for us to start seeing each other more, especially with Dad retired now.

My panic attacks are pretty much non-existant now, even though I never just assume one isn't on the horizon. Still, though... I ain't looking the non-panic-attack gifthorse in the mouth. Health-wise, my tailbone still aches, but it's getting better slowly, and overall, the health changes I've made in my life seem to be making a difference.

My Catbroads are amazing, as always. We had a gift exchange online the other night, something we've done every year since we formed this group, picking numbers and getting assigned one person to send a gift to, and we had a great time. We were all thankful for the great presents we got, but even moreso, we were thankful for each other, and all of us especially thankful that our Julie came back to us. It just never ceases to amaze me what a strong bond this group has. I am also never less than dumbfounded at how I've been able to love these women as much as I do, me not being the usual 'chick' kind of chick. They're just that great.

And to the women I've been lucky enough to meet in real life and online in the last couple of years, who I've gotten to know better... Shelley, Marie, Allison, Sue, Danica, Carol, Laura, and so many of you... thank you. Thank you for being you, for being real, and for letting me get to know you better. Thank you for not hating me when I can't email you immediately, and thank you for putting up with everything else I do. Thank you for letting me really know that there are real women out there I don't have to automatically be careful around and end up not trusting. You're all authentically wonderful:)

And thank you to those of you who come to this site, read this entry religiously, though I still wonder why I'm not boring you to death. Thank you to all of you who write me, and thank you to all of you who read but don't write. Totally okay with me. I know you're here, and I'm grateful for you:)

Thank you to all the people who write me about their cats and dogs, who trust me to share what insight I might have, and those who write just to tell me that my fellow Catbroad Sue and I have helped them just by sharing our stories on our cat website. All of you who take the time to ask questions, love your pet enough to want them helped, love your pet enough to share their lives with us, you all are blessing us by writing us.

Ok, enough of my being sappy. I am just grateful for so much. I have been fortunate in my life, and as much as I bitch about trivial things and people I shouldn't pay attention to, it's just about time for another 'these people rock' entry.

I hope you all have the merriest of Holidays (I say 'Holiday' because I'm not trying to be pc; I'm just too tired to try and spell out all the different holidays, so kiss my ass if you don't like it.)

First, I'd like to offer my sympathies to a friend and downright good person, Marie, and her sister over the loss of their 11 year old Rottie furkid, Ruphus, who died suddenly and unexpectedly recently. I'm making a donation in Roc's name to a couple of animal rescue groups this week, and with Ruphus meeting Roc up on the Rainbow Bridge so suddenly, I'm going to add Ruphus' name to the donations as well. I know that both our boys are chatting it up right now, looking down at us three women and wondering why we're so sad when they're having such a blast up there:)

Secondly, Julie got MARRIED!!!!!!!!!!!! Yes, my good friend, sister, catbroad, you name it, not only survived her hospital stay and came home, but yesterday, she and Eric tied the knot at the J.P.:) Is this not just the coolest thing in the world? The only sad thing is that the two are financially in a pickle right now, and can't afford a honeymoon at the moment. That's ok, though. I'm working, on behalf of all us catbroads, on arranging a romantic and wonderful evening for the two. I have a five-star restaurant picked out in Julie's town, and their management staff is happily arranging with me something special:) She and Eric are SO worth it:)

Also, Happy Birthday, Arla!!!!! I hope you got massively wonderful treatment today by all your loved ones, and if you didn't, let me know, and I'll personally kick their asses;) I also bought you a bottle of wine for the occasion, then realized when I got home that it was a kind I don't think you're going to like, so bear with me. Tomorrow I'm going right back up to the store and getting you something I'm sure you'll love:)

Personal note to Allison-not like you've done anything awful to make me say this, but have to tell you something... I know I haven't written you back yet, but woman, I've been reading your journals, and I can see in your words that you are still by far your worst critic. I'm not going to lecture you and tell you here that I think you should do this, or do that. I'm not going to try to even hint that you should change. All I want to do is tell you that I think you're beautiful. I think alot of people think you're beautiful:) And you deserve more than you think. That's all. I'll write you more when this whirlwind holiday and my aching tailbone allow, but for now, just wanted you to know that. And no, I'm not gay;)

Sue, when you have a minute, email me, 'cause I have something special in mind for Tony, and I need to know which wrestlers he likes. On second thought, maybe I should email you and give you the list of wrestlers I have in mind. I'll explain later, LOL!

My husband did something romantic last night before he went to work. It was cold as hell outside, my back and tailbone were killing me, I was cranky as Whitney Houston without a crack hookup, and Eric, rather than get annoyed with me, asked me to walk him out to the car before he left, which I did, grumbling the whole way. He got in the Jeep, turned the radio on, put it on some 'smooooooth' listening, then proceeded to take me into slow dance position in the front yard. We danced for about five minutes before he left, rubbing my back while we did.

I'm sorry, but this man is either gay or an alien. But God, do I love him:)

Ok, ladies and gentlemen. My ass hurts, so I've gotta go. Hope you're all doing well tonight:)

You know, it's always cool to me when I hear about people doing un-prompted generous things this time of year. It's good for the soul, and it's just good... period. If I have any complaint about this kind of thing, it would have to be 'why don't people do this all year-round? why does it take a shitload of media-manipulated holiday to bring out the best in people?'

Honestly? I know there are more than a few people who've crossed my path who downright despise me. I don't blame them, allow them their opinion, and mainly because they've seen a side of me that gives them some reason. In my defense, though, when you are a passionate person who believes in things, you'll make enemies, but you'll also make friends when practicing those passions.

In reference to paragraph number one, I am one who will out of the blue do something for someone else that I don't have to do. Whether it's donating money, sending a gift, giving my time, doesn't matter. It's not about what I get in return; it really simply is just about doing something nice for someone who deserves it, whether I know them well or not. It's about not worrying about whether the recipient wonders why you're doing it, it's about doing it because you should, pure and simple.

Anyway, I'm that way all year round (and I realize that I can also be a bitch year-round simultaneously), and I have been lucky enough to meet enough people in my life who are the same way, reassuring me that I'm not crazy. Then again, I've also met plenty of folks who don't understand when I do something for someone, shaking their heads at me because I paid this person's vet bill, or gave that person a piece of furniture outright instead of selling it. They don't get, and they never will, and that's not my problem.

'Pay it forward'-hated the movie, LOVED the concept! I wish more people would live by it.

Onto something else.... Watched the finale of 'Sleeper Cell'... good but anti-climactic (did I spell that right?). I somehow knew Farik would live, but as for everything else that happened (who could ever kill Oded Fehr? LOL!!), I found the events leading up to the 2 hour finale more interesting. I'll say that at least it wasn't entirely predictable, the finale, but still... it just lacked something. Still, though... an excellent series!!!!!

My brothers brought over Roc's cross today, and to my surprise, it was painted a freaky blue kind of color. I cringed for a split second, but then I remember that it took some work on their part to make and finish up this cross, that it was their 'goodbye' to Roc, whether I liked the color or not, so we put that cross up on Roc's grave, and it will stay there, easter egg blue color and all:)

And finally, one more thank you to all of you who sent your thoughts on Roc. I just finished answering the last of the 40 something email cards you all sent, and I'm working on now answering all the direct emails you sent. I promise that I will thank each of you personally by the end of this evening, I am so grateful to you. I think that your thoughts played a great deal in helping to make Roc's transition from here to the next world as loving as it was.

Ok, off to tackle more chores. As I always hope, I hope now that you all are well, in need of nothing, and if you are in need, I hope you'll let me know!

First and foremost-all of you who emailed me, sent e-cards, and just let me know you were thinking of Roc.... thank you! I need to email you all personally, and I will:) I can't believe how many of you took the time to let me know you were there for me and for Roc, so forgive me if it takes a little while to respond to you all. In any case, you are all wonderful people:) Bless your hearts, and any time I can return the favor, know that I sure as hell will:)

We buried Roc yesterday morning, buried him wrapped in his favorite blanket, and somehow, we came back inside, and life went on. I think that maybe it did because I know that life's gone on for him, too. I know this because I think in the last couple of years, I've found more faith than I'd ever found before.

I have never been one to seek out houses of worship; I believe that those are the last places you're likely to find your creator. Don't get me wrong; I've been to plenty of them, but usually because my parents made me go, or because social issues or something along those lines pressured me into going. No matter what house of what God I was in, I never felt the 'presence' like I have when I've just lived my life under roofs I choose to live and learn under, the way my given-soul tells me to live. I have found more of my belief in doing everyday what that little voice inside my head tells me to do, what is true, rather than show up on a designated Sunday and recite what others tell me to recite, sing what others tell me to sing, chuck a few bucks in a basket, kneel a few times, maybe drink a little grape juice after chewing on a stale wafer, then walk out of a high-ceilinged room full of benches, somewhat not convinced that anything remotely good for my soul just happened. I'm not knocking church-goers; maybe they find God there. I just didn't.

I have found God, whoever He, She, They, It are in Life, in the private moments in which I can choose to listen to my gut or find an excuse to ignore it. I have found God in not reciting someone else's prayers, but in my own private dialogue with Him. I have found God not in asking him to give me this, or keep me from going through that, but in asking him to help me find whatever is already in myself that may give me strength to handle whatever actually does happen, and to learn from it. I have found God in all the faults of Life more than in its miracles. Not in a book, not in a hymnal, not in a directive issued by anyone claiming to represent God, and not in a confessional. Some people really do find God there, but I just happen to think it's much easier to track the fella down in the rest of your life's locations. I have found God in being imperfect, knowing I'm that, and learning to accept the aspects rather than fool myself into thinking I can manipuate them.

In any case, I do believe. May not be in the way I'm supposedly supposed to believe, but I believe... powerfully.

Anyway, my faith, my God, tell me that Roc passed the right way, that I did all I could ever have done, and that I can't regret a second, nor mourn a passing that brings him a better world than he saw in his last years. That little voice in my head, the voice you all have, too, I listen to, and its entirely reassuring to me right now. I can look in the mirror and know that everything's okay when it comes to Roc. I don't need anyone else to confirm it.

Enough of my spiritual and religious rambling.

Is fiction press recycling writing now? I've noticed that reaction to my stories comes and goes in spurts, big ones. A month will go by with nothing from anyone, then BOOM, emails, new visitors to this site, and reviews come from new readers at a frenzied pace, just when I figure that the submitted works I dared to put up on Fictionpress.com are buried forever, people find it and read it again. It's a nice treat, I gotta tell you. I haven't updated anything in ages, have kept my writing to myself, yet somehow people are still finding it. Cool.

OH! Note to Allison... you were right! My neighbors who had the grandmother visiting in spirit form... after Thanksgiving, she'd gone away completely, and yesterday, they came over and told me the cabinet doors in the kitchen started opening again, I'm thinking in preparation for Christmas, maybe? In any case, I took the thoughts you sent me over to them a few weeks ago, and this time when they came over to update me, the mom of the family was much calmer about the 'visits', not worried at all now about her mother's visits, but more excited about it:) Thanks, oh great one!:)

A little worried today-Gorgeous Georgio, my newest regular stray cat visitor, didn't show up today. I'm hoping he's at someone else's home, and that I'll see him by dinner time. I'll dance a jig and a half when that happens, I'm so eager to see him alive and well.

Had another weird dream about the Baker Hotel, this one being entirely different, and including detail I never saw before. In this dream, some corporation bought the hotel, and fixed the roof, then refurbished a small number of floors of rooms, as well as the basement and kitchen, fixed the pool, but left the upper floors looking like they look now. In the dream, the same corp. decides to, rather than have a grand opening of the first floors to the public, lease the space out to a high-paying sister corporation (yeah, I know this is all weird) for a huge private celebration, and somehow, I get hired as a worker along with several other people I know in my waking world, mainly Allison, the Baker's main advocate, who brings a crew with her, all of us somehow kinda knowing we're doing more there than just serving as workers. Anyway, we all show up, are shown to our rooms (we all work there and live there during the event, which seems to be a long term one), and as the first of the opening events start, the spirits (same ones visually that I see in my other dreams) start coming down from the upper floors and protesting by going to all the gas lines and causing leaks by turning on stove burners, loosening gas connections so it spills into the air, and the rest of the dream involves Allison and her group, and me and the other people working there running frantically to where each and every leak is, trying to stop it. Anyway, that's the dream, basically. There's alot of detail in it that I don't include here, including a main spot over on the pool side of the building in which there's a gas meter/group of gas connections that the spirits totally vandalize, but you get the jist. Don't ask me what it means, 'cause I sure as hell don't know. It's probably because I've been watching way too much 'Sleeper Cell', maybe, and that I'm melding terrorist attacks into my dreams of the Baker. At least in the dream about the Baker, the angry spirits didn't succeed in their attempts. The Baker didn't blow up. The living stop it, but they and the spirits walk away not happy about sparing this roaring party the hotel's new owner throws in it. It all just leaves me wishing that someone who really loves this hotel would win a huge lottery so they could buy the place and protect it!

Ok, worn myself out, though there's more to catch up on. Once again, thank you all who wrote me, sent cards, and just plain old thought about my Roc. I don't just thank you, he does, too:)

Rocky 'Bubs', Aug. 1993 - Dec. 17, 2005

I've heard people say before that death is a thing of beauty. Never really got what they meant until tonight.

At 3:13 this morning, Roc made the most peaceful passing to the other side, his head in my lap, my arms around him, no pain, no suffering, and with enough kisses on his forehead to make sure he knew without a doubt that he's loved. There simply could not have been a more beautiful way for a soul to leave its body, and I'm grateful to God for that.

As I write this, I'm very much at peace, and there's even a hint of a smile on my face as I imagine him where he is now, imagining his mother and father there to meet him as he arrived. I think of him with no old age to slow him down now, no aches or pains keeping him from doing anything. I had 12 years with this wonderful dog, and knowing that he was actually more like 16 years old, I am immensely grateful that he was here as long as he was.

Rocky Bubs, it has been a pleasure, my boy.

Roc is still here. I don't know why. He's fighting, but each day, he loses his battle more, gets weaker and weaker, yet doesn't get to that point where he's absolutely telling me it's time to help him to the Rainbow Bridge. His life right now consists of us constantly changing his bedding, coaxing him to eat and drink, medicating him just to make sure he stays comfy, and keeping him right by us non-stop. Still, I'm calm. Still, I'm at peace. Roc has had a long and good life with us, and even now, he's here by my chair, on his bed, fading away, yet still happy as hell to be petted and paid attention to, seems to understand every single word I say when I tell him how much we love him, and how it's okay for him to go ahead and go, to stop fighting to stay here.

Some of you may read this and think to yourselves that I should put him to sleep already. Trust me; I've been here too many times before. I know when an animal needs me to help them. There just always comes that time when you 'know', when it's not about you needing to end things for your own soul, but completely about knowing when it's their decision. You simply just know, and Roc isn't ready yet. And until he tells me he's ready; until I see pain in him, total abandon in those eyes of his, I'll do what I can do to make him comfy here. And when he goes, I'll rest assured that I did everything I could do, hold no regrets, and will celebrate the new life he's in once that old body of his is shed.

Speaking of old bodies, mine is 37, yet feels like it's 80. Somehow in the last two days, I managed to re-break my tailbone, aggravate an old injury from years and years ago. Yup, that's right; my ass is broken. It hurts to use the restroom, sit, walk, and even cough. Hey, maybe the idiot who wants to put a curse on me succeeded, after all. Ugh.

Recently named a new stray kitty who's moved into my yard, gorgeous long-haired black fella, Maine Coon mix, looks like, and he's just a beauty! Therefore, I've named him Gorgeous Georgio. He's become friendly with me, so looks like soon, I'll be snatching him up and getting him fixed, possibly taking him in here. The problem is that for awhile there, he was showing up here and there, smelling like Gain detergent, making me wonder if he already has a home, but as time's gone by, he's here more and more, and if he does have a home already, sorry... whoever you are, you should've fixed this boy a long time ago, he should have tags, a collar, etc., so if you're not gonna do it, I am.

I watched Rock Star INXS on and off while it was on, and when I heard who'd won (missed the finale), I was upset that neither guy I'd picked was the winner. Then I heard the first single with the new guy. I have to admit I was so wrong. 'Pretty Vegas' is a fantastic song, and the new lead singer is the perfect choice. Kudos to the everyone who had a say in helping this guy win. I spent my teens and early adulthood loving INXS, never thought the band could go on without M. Hutchens. Now, I think they can. Totally nice surprise.

'Sleeper Cell'- this is really some excellent television. Absolutely excellent. And I think Farik is Oded Fehr's best role ever. I at first felt that he was being typecast yet again. Maybe he still is, but he's amazing. This entire cast, the storyline, the writers, the dialogue, the fact-checking, you name it is simply award-winning television. What's hilarious is that Eric's even more into sleeper cell than I am. Every morning Eric gets home from work, he's hitting On Demand for new episodes. I am just so pleasantly surprised by all of it, and if Sleeper Cell doesn't win a number of awards, at least several nominations, I'll be shocked.

And to print a foot-in-my-mouth retraction, got a card from my mother yesterday with a gift certificate for PetSmart enclosed. Mom, I'm sorry for jumping the gun and misjudging you this time. It's kind of nice, however, to be sticking my size 8 1/2 in my mouth with this particular thing, though. She thought of me. That's cool:)

Ok, back to changing bedding again, feeding supplements, and kissing an old fart of a dog until he's absolutely sick of me. I hope you all are well!

I should be in the best mood right now. No new panic attacks, got a few deep cleaning jobs done that I'd been needing to do, got two checks for a thousand dollars each yesterday, got some more new readers who stumbled on a couple of my stories and wrote me, weighed myself and was shocked to see I've lost six pounds since the last time I was brave enough to step on a scale, survived this last cold spell, and was getting ready to celebrate my latest sale and bonus by heading up to Central Market and splurging on gourmet food.

I can't celebrate anything today, though, and I can't reach deep down inside myself and do what those other annoyingly faithful people do when they're having tough times, buck up and trust. I can't do that today because my oldest, best buddy since moving into this house is dying right now. Roc, the dog vets tell me shouldn't even be alive at this point, started crashing last night. He's here at my side right now, very weak, but medicated to the gills, made comfortable until it's time for him to pass his own way, or until I look into his eyes and know that he's telling me he's ready for me to help him go. It's not going to be long, either way. I have always been comfortable with death, I think. It's the process leading up to the passing that I absolutely hate. To see a person or animal that I love waste away, suffer, or both, to see in their eyes and feel in their energy that they know what's coming, and that they're scared, is something I will never be able to embrace. When they pass, when they move on... that's the easy part for me. I can feel them not die, but fly away almost, and I can feel the peace wash over me, feel that peace sent to me directly from them, assuring me as they make their trek. That's the beauty of this stage of life... it's just the time frame leading up to that moment that sucks for me. I put myself in my loved one's shoes, and I feel what they feel, emotional and physical, and the frustration of not being able to make it all go away may be the most unbearable part.

In any case, Roc is here, beside me, Eric behind me, sleeping on the couch because if Roc passes in the next few hours, he wants to be down here with him, and I'm sitting here, doing what I usually do when this hospice of a house calls me in to work; nursing, waiting, not sleeping or eating, and just hoping this old chow mix by me really understands what a blessing he's been to us. And the weird thing is that I already feel a kind of peace I haven't felt before at this stage in one of my animal's passing. I can't explain it other than to say that I absolutely know that he is where he needs to be right now, that I have done absolutely everything I can do, and that Roc knows this, too.

Maybe I am one of those annoyingly faithful people, only in denial;) Maybe it's because I know where he's going, and how much better it will be for him, or maybe it's just that with Roc, with losing so many in the past, with meeting the spiritual people I've met, meeting the spirits I've met, I've finally come to really know that death is by far the most misunderstood word in the dictionary. I have had enough experiences in the last couple of years regarding spirits, animal and human, paying me, the skeptic, a visit, to know that there is an Other side. Me, the woman who used to lean towards death being a complete and eternal ending. I've seen too much, felt too much, smelled to much, heard too much, and know too much now to still feel scientifically sound in explaining each and every event away. I doubt alot of things... the fact that my Roc will not cease living, but instead shed a worn out old shell of a body like he's trading in a car, isn't one of them.

So, if you'll all indulge me, I'd like to end this entry by leaving a message for this little old dog who's been a part of my life, my love, and my family for the last dozen years or so.

Rocky Bub, Broccoli, Roc, Bubs, Baby Bubbs;

I never dreamed that when I went for a walk that day so long ago that I'd meet you. I never would've guessed that the human who once pretended to care for you would in fact treat you so horribly, but I'm glad he did it in front of me. I never dreamed I'd charge at a very large man and get physical, and I never dreamed I could do something so right in the kind of situation where so many people might do the wrong thing and turn their heads.

You were abused. You didn't deserve it. You were neglected. You didn't deserve it. Your former 'master' kept you chained to a tree in his front yard because he didn't think you deserved to be inside with his three purebred chows. When I took you to the vet a few days later, you had worms, fleas, ticks, were heartworm positive, and it was a week before I was able to bring you back here with us again. You didn't deserve any of that. If I regret anything about the day I took you from that son of a bitch, it's that I didn't stop long enough after pushing him down to chain his neck to his front yards' tree. He most definitely deserved it.

You have been my faithful boy, my Roc, my son, my source of laughter, tears, aggravation, worry, overwhelmed by gratitude, and there has never been a moment in my time spent with you that I haven't loved you less than infinitely. You're not 'just a dog'. You are my family, my friend, and you have blessed my life by being in it.

When you're ready to go, Roc, I promise you, I'll be right here, where I always am, holding you and seeing you off. So, when you go, Bubs, ignore my tears and make your journey. If you need my help, all you have to do is ask. And when you pass and come back to visit me to let me know you're doing well, I'll know it; don't doubt it for a second. Just don't visit too long; get back to your new world, your new life, and do all those things you couldn't do before, thanks to the aging shell you lived in for so long. Stop in and see me sometimes, but don't ever interrupt the wonderful time I know you'll have when you're on the other side.

And when my own shell wears out, just be there waiting with the others, Rocky, 'cause we'll have so much to catch up on:)

Above all, my boy, I could never say enough these three words, the three words this entire entry was written in order to define:

I love you.

It's cold as hell outside, and the forecast predicts that at some point today, snow is going to start falling. This forecast set in motion my all-night attempt at making sure all outside animals stayed warm. I spent most of last evening reinforcing my foster dogs' house, stuffing it full of blankets I bought at the thrift store, shoving tons of insulation up under the doghouse so the cold wouldn't creep up between the floorboards, and installing 'flaps' over their doghouse doors to keep drafts out. I'm actually quite proud of that doghouse. I built it myself not too long ago, replacing their former lean-to with a good and sturdy, very large and long ranch-style canine condo:) Anyway, making sure it was weatherproof last night was a challenge. On the other side of my house, I spent another chunk of last night putting even more thrift store blankets all over the spare bedroom, my four permanent dogs' hangout room, fixing a broken heater, and getting them all rounded up and settled in for the freezing temperatures. Oh, and another couple of hours were spent peppering my front yard and arbor area with little heated spots where my strays could gather and stay warm. By the time I was done, it was 5:30 a.m., and my fingers and toes, my nose and cheeks were all numb from cold, but as I checked on all those locations about 15 minutes ago, I was happy to see my foster dogs nestled comfortably in their doghouse, my permanent dogs all damned near comatose in the spare bedroom, and three of my five stray cats sleeping comfortably in one of the spots I made out front for them. Nice feeling:)

On another animal note, Eric and I went by WalMart the other day to buy Christmas lights, then on the way back, decided to stop by my brothers' house and borrow their stapler so we could actually keep the lights up on the eaves this month. Anyway, as we drive up, we see the most incredible sight. Now, remember; we're in Dallas, entirely Urban and nowhere near country. There in the driveway next to my brothers' house is a hawk, a HUGE hawk, and he's sitting there, with his white feathers with brown tips, on the ground, not even flinching as we got out of the Jeep and moved a couple feet closer. Took a second, but I realized that he wasn't moving because he had a fresh kill he was sitting on, his huge talons still tightly grasping... a squirrel. We couldn't believe it. I've had a possum move into the tree in my front yard before, seen a coyote on our street, had a regular nightly visitor to our yard in the form of a screech owl, and now there's a hawk two blocks from my house, at my brothers' house, of all places, entirely not afraid of me, almost basking in my awe, not to mention Eric's. So, while Eric goes up to get my brothers to come out and see this, I kneel down and inch closer to the hawk... and he lets me. He doesn't move once! By the time everyone was back and freaking out, I was literally about five feet from him, and if Eric and my brothers hadn't started telling me that hawks are strong enough to rip my hair and eyes out with their talons, I'd have gotten closer. Anyway, he stayed there so long, that by the time we got the stapler and went back to the car, he was still there, only just then starting to pick his kill apart. I felt horrible for the squirrel, but I was in awe of this gorgeous and powerful creature who, for some reason, was here in this urban neighborhood.

Did a tiny bit of Christmas shopping today, mainly for Eric. He's a gardener at heart, so I bought him several eco-friendly gardening gadgets this year, and it's also tradition that I get him a new kind of gizmo watch each year. Started three years ago when I got him the watch with built-in universal remote. He and my dad loved that one, turning off sports bar t.v.'s and freaking the bar employees out. The next year he got two-way radio watches-one for him, one for me, and though we had fun with them for about a month, we just stopped wearing them. I'm going to give the set to Allison for any future Baker hotel investigations. They worked so well for us that I'd initially ordered a set for her group, but the item was back-ordered at the time, so I cancelled it. I've been meaning to give her the set for ages, so I'd better do it soon! I can see them really coming in handy with Spirit of the Baker; while one person is up on the seventh floor, they can talk to anyone else in the hotel on any other floor, and all without having to hold a walkie talkie, just a raising of the wrist.

So.... this year? This year, I bought Eric a wristwatch color television. He's so entirely going to love that while at work, especially when a game is on:)

Haven't heard back from the gal who wrote me in her concern that another reader of this rant page was going to put a curse on me. Haven't had anything terrible happen yet, either, which is a major switch, considering how much hell I and the friends and family closest to me have been through in the past couple of years. I don't know about curses and spells, really. One part of me feels that nobody can be subject to someone else's curse unless they let themselves be subject to it, but then again, people emit energy, vibes, auras, whatever you want to call it, and I have seen proof that it can alter another person's mood. Hell, Eric's come home many times, and before he even shut the door, I can just feel what kind of mood he's in. Even in emails, I can sometimes feel what a person is thinking or feeling, no matter how hard they try to disguise it, so who am I to say that this same kind of energy can't be harnessed and used in an effective spell, good or bad? I dunno, but at least with this totally bizarre information I got recently, I'm not worried enough about it to really think that anything might happen.

Sleeper Cell- new series on Showtime, and at first I was reluctant to watch it. One, I love Oded Fehr, but I wouldn't say I'm an obessive fan of the man. The fanfiction genre I first dabbled in was an Oded Fehr one, and as much as I respect some of those women, I am sorry to say that many of them just confounded me. Some of these gals were, and still are, just far more 'into' the man than can be considered healthy. For example, when the movie 'Resident Evil 2' came out (Oded was in it, playing Carlos Olivera), I was eager to see it, partially because I like zombie movies, but equally because I was looking forward to seeing Oded Fehr again. He looked great, I did my share of drooling, but as the movie continues to come on cable, I watch it and end up continually disappointed in his acting with this role. It's just not a great performance on his part. There's one particular scene where they drop weapons from a helicopter for Nemesis to collect, and Oded and his men see it. Oded says something like 'They dropped something over there. Did you see it?'. I swear to God, that line is spoken by the man like he's reading it for the first time on a cue card. Could I say this to most of the Oded fanfic writers/friends I knew? Hell no. I'd be cyber bound, tarred, feathered, and quite possibly burned at the stake for my blasphemy.

Anyway, Sleeper Cell finally comes out, all the Oded women are going on and on about it, posting the air times on their websites, etc., and somehow this ends up entirely turning me off to watching it... until a couple of days ago, when nothing was on TV, and when On Demand had the first three episodes for me to watch. I'm glad I watched!! Excellent storyline, excellent portrayal of this Holy War we're all involved in now, authentic, unafraid, neither sympathetic to the blindly patriotic nor the blindly Jihad'ish', great cast, believable scenes, and Oded, honey, you are doing SO well in this role. You need to gain about 20 pounds, but otherwise, I don't have a single complaint about you. Great series, pure and simple! I watched the Manchurian Candidate remake in the same day's time, and it didn't hold my interest for a fraction of time in which Sleeper Cell did. Guys, even if you don't like Oded Fehr, you'll enjoy this series!

Ok, it's getting colder, I'm extremely tired from being up all night, so it's time to bid adieu yet again. I hope you're all staying warm, and that you're making sure your furkids are just as warm. I wish you all good health today, good spirit, and nothing but good moments:)

A friend sent me this game this morning, having no idea just how much I was going to love it:

http://www.quickflashgames.com/games/knifethrow/

I'm having more fun trying to hit Knancy than the targets around her, I'm that twisted;)

Saw another zombie movie last night that I'd heard some buzz about... 'Undead', an Australian film's take on zombies. While it was way too campy for me and just silly sometimes, I have to admit the last few minutes were pretty interesting, giving an explanation to zombies I haven't seen in a movie before. Still, I wish I had my 3.99 plus tax and fees back. I like campy in a horror movie sometimes, but usually if it's campy, I'm reminded too much of those really bad horror flicks you see on Cinemax after 11 p.m. on weekends... you know, the ones with former porn stars in them and effects I could whip up in my kitchen using Karo syrup and Heinz.

Another Cinemax phenomenon I can't stand, something I refer to as 'Cinemax Tit and Ass Night'... those late night soft porn movies that always have the words 'Dangerous', 'Obsession', 'Desire', 'Sensual', 'Night', or 'Passion' in the title. Usually if you mix and match the above words, odds are there's a profoundly retarded pseudo screw flick on Cinemax that month with a matching title. If I were a virgin watching this crap, I'd stay a virgin.

To this day, I can't understand how in hell these movies still get financed. About the only thing I can imagine is that the market for teenagers who aren't old enough to rent real porn or care about good acting must be large enough that Cinemax, Showtime, and a couple of these other cable channels continue to buy them and air them. That's about the only reason I can think of. Jesus, with these movies, you get the worst of both worlds-fake sex and bad acting. In my opinion, I'd rather watch a real porn where real things are getting shoved into real places rather than some gal sitting on a guy while inhumane Kenny G music plays in the background, pretending to hump him (the guy, not Kenny G), and doing an even worse job of pretending she's about to reach the big O. And if you're going to show pseudo sex in a movie, at least have some decent actors and a storyline that allows me to forgive bad psuedo intercourse. Hell, throw Lou Diamond Phillips or Eric Roberts a bone sometimes, would ya, soft porn makers? They're both sunken enough into the dark world of straight-to-DVD that I think they might consider doing a movie like 'Sensual Desires' or 'Night Passions' for a reasonable price. Beats infomercials. Bottom line, these movies suck. They suck so much that they blow, and the people who continually make them must be stopped.

I'm cooking at the moment, chicken and spinach enchiladas with sour cream and asadero cheese sauce, grilled red and yellow bell peppers, Spanish rice, refried black beans, pico de gallo, chipotle peppers, and guacamole. I promise you that I will be so swollen by this evening's end that I'll be walking around in a t-shirt only because none of my jeans will fit. And I don't give a flippin' frig if I have to go outside, either. They can all just admire my pasty white thighs from afar, those neighbors of mine;)

In between cooking and writing here, I am also doing some beta work on a story for someone, taking care of sick kittens, doing laundry, and listening to my John Mayer CD just so I can drown out Eric's snoring upstairs. Had a bit of a panic attack a couple of days ago, but it passed quickly, and other than that, I've felt pretty good. Animals are good, husband is good, finances are balanced for the month, the house is still filthy, but less so than it's been in awhile, Julie is home and doing great, Bill is home and doing great, the asshole I mentioned before who beat his dog in front of me at Thanksgiving just had his truck stolen (karma, you SO rock), and I really can't complain, even though I do... all the time. If anyone is trying to put a curse on me, let me tell you that I think your powers may be suffering from dyslexia.

I have a million friends I need to contact. Sue, I haven't talked to you in awhile, Ariane, I tried to access your board that night I wrote about you here, but I got booted, and I've gotten swamped since then, but I'll come and see you soon, Danica, I loved the pictures!!!!!, and the rest of you I haven't responded to yet, I am so sorry, but I'll talk to you soon!

Got the weirdest email today. Apparently, someone I've never talked to before emailed me today, concerned that someone who reads this rant page is thinking about putting a 'curse' on me. I could not be more serious when I say 'No shit'. I tend to be skeptical, yet somewhat open-minded about alot of things, but if this rumor's true, and someone can't stand what I say here, yet still can't just bring themselves to stop reading, all I can say is 'Curse away. Do your best.' Of the folks I know who practice Wicca or other forms, they all tell me that spells are to be cast for good and good only, and that anything less ends up hurting the spell 'caster' more than the target. We'll just have to see.

Fact of the matter is that I don't always like bitching here about people, as I've said before, and as I've also said before, this is my rant page, it's my therapy, it's helped me, and I can't apologize for that. Sooooo, let's see if I have huge warts or facial hair start to pop up on me, or if my hair starts to mysteriously fall out anytime soon. Let's see if my left boob shrivels into something resembling a pink prune while my right boob's areola enlarges to the size of a dinner plate. Honestly? If that happens, I'll be the first to take pictures and post them here, saying 'Cool!'.;)

My kittens are all still sick, all full of snot, and as a result, I find myself cleaning way too much mucus off of things. I live for the approaching day in which finding hardened snot on things is a thing of the past.

Rented a good horror movie last night-Land of the Dead. Great zombie movie in many ways, and when George Romero's involved, I can't help but enjoy it. I particularly enjoyed this one, despite its flaws, because the zombies were given a bit of a sympathetic angle. In this movie, a great deal of time has gone by since the dead started to rise again, and as a group of survivors has managed to barracade themselves into a metropolis, surviving yet not quite living, the zombies outside those barracades are doing the same. This time, they're starting to think, starting to protect their own rather than just mindlessly hunt down human flesh to snack on. Their leader, a large and ominous looking zombie who was a gas attendant in life, decides to seek revenge on the humans who leave the city and raid his town for supplies, killing as many zombies, his friends, as they can while on their runs. Anyway, you'd be surprised how much meaning you can find in a good horror movie, even one chocatastically full of hugely fun blood and guts effects.

I've always loved horror movies, read horror novels more than any genre, and think that the entire art of horror (and yup, I most definitely consider it an art), is completely lacking the respect in mainstream society that it deserves. Eric won't watch a horror movie with me, most the people I know won't watch horror movies, so when I meet someone who does like them, it's one of those silent nods of huge respect I find myself making, a nod that I'm not alone, not as weird as I think I am, and that if I am weird, at least the weirdness I'm in company with makes me appreciate the adjective.

Got an online friend, Marie, who loves a good horror flick. That alone was great to hear, but when I learned that her sister not only loves horror, but has pretty much decorated her room with the latest horror decor, I nodded enough to give myself whiplash. See, while mainstream society is running off to Bed, Bath, and Beyond, checking out Martha Stewart's latest line, or trying to match window scarfs to their tone on tone damask, dry-clean only, bedspread, doing to their room what they think is expected, Marie's sister is having a hell of a time celebrating her love for a great genre, and embracing her originality. You go, girl!:) There is unrivaled beauty in the honest expression of a human soul, you know? Whether it involves classic horror movie posters on your wall or 300 dollar exclusive prints, a wall full of family pictures, or a wall full of someone's halloween mask collection. If it's you, it's beautiful.

Time for a 180-the house next door to me has been empty and for sale now for months, the owner asking way too much, and the visitors to the house obviously not the kind to meet the asking price. For example, a couple of days ago, my dogs are going nuts outside. They have two kinds of barks-barking at dog barks, and barking at human barks. This particular day, I knew without a doubt that there were humans outside, so I walked out front to see what was up, figuring yet another couple of people were looking next door. I actually heard them before I saw them, and when I saw them, I hate to be stereotypical, but I knew what they'd look like long before my eyes confirmed it.

First thing I hear is 'Justin! Git yer ass outta that yard now fer I swat ya one!', after which I hear a kid yell back 'Ah'm comin', Maw, Jeez!'. Then I hear some guy I just know works on cars in his driveway for extra cash saying 'There's room enough on this porch here for all the lawn fernitchure'.

Sure enough, I turn the corner, and there they are, Maw with her hip-hugger stretch WalMart jeans on, about twenty pounds of her hips hanging over so much that I can't see her belt loops, and a half-tee above all that middle-meat with a big Tweety Bird splattered across her sagging boobs, at least what I could see of them; she had a little toddler, clad in a diaper and undershirt only, clinging to her. Her hair was blonde from about three inches past the roots down to her shoulders, fine yet greasy, and though I wouldn't say she was fat, I think the best description for her weight-wise is that I think she had reverse body-dysmorphic disorder, thinking she was thirty pounds lighter enough to wear what she was wearing.

Paw, and I can only assume that his name was Paw, weighed about 140 tops, and I shit you not, he had that worn out Copenhagen ring in the back pocket of his Wranglers, home-made tattoos on his forearms, which I thankfully could see because his shirt of choice was a Coca Cola t-shirt turned into a muscle shirt, courtesy of a pair of scissors. Oh, and the baseball cap... you know those caps they make where the actual skull part is way too big for the head? You either see truckers or homeless people wearing them. Since they were looking at the house, I'm not exactly sure which one he was, but I know the grease on the bill of his cap told me the driveway mechanic part was at least correct.

Oh, and did I mention that Maw only stopped yelling at her older child 'ta git outta that back yard' long enough to take a couple of breaths sucked in between her missing front tooth? Once again, I shit you not. Older child? He was about 12, the most normal looking one in the bunch, other than his obviously missed dose of Riddilin.

I went up, introduced myself, and ended up kinda wishing they could afford to live next door. If anything, they'd be entertaining. But when I told them the asking price, you could just see the dream deflate that spark in their eyes. As stereotypically lower-class NASCAR as they were, my heart just broke for them. They ended up seeming like good people who just want to live a better life, but thanks to so many things, the struggle looks like it will always continue. These are the people I clap out loud for, alone in my living room and in front of the TV, when I see on the news that they bought a winning lottery ticket, these are the people I think really know what a dream is, and I just wish the almighty dollar would give them a break once in awhile.

Ok, got stuff to do, so I'd better get to it. Hope you all have a wonderful weekend, especially you, Maw and Paw.

Do y'all remember Al? Scroll down to the very bottom of this page and read up on him if you don't. Anyway, Al wrote a poem he gave to my brothers and myself (my mother's visit, by the way, inspired my brother and me to start talking again). I thought I'd share it here, faults and all, so that you can get the most vivid picture of just who Al is and just what Alese is about:

Animal Farm

We all see the crime

When there is swine

They look like us all

When their at the ball

It's the left

And the right

It's the way

We think what's right

Then it comes

So much to the scene

A left and right

Is what been said

It's what not been done

There's what we do

And not to be Run

It keep on going

Just like a Rabit

It goes on and on

And not you

Would have it

It means that

Animal Farm

Is Run by animals

That will give in

And not to care

Animal Farm is

Here

Equality is everywhere!

Ok, I love Al like he's one of my biological brothers, but what the fuck? I honestly think there's some brilliance in there somewhere, but that he possesses not a single fucking tool needed to properly express it. I want to bitchslap his parents for not forcing him to go to school, for letting him drop out, and after I bitchslap them, I want to tie them up, cover them in super glue, then stick the pages of every book Al would've had to study if they'd made him stay in school. If I had time, I would home school the forty-something'ish' guy just to be able to see what he really wants to say end up being what we all really see when we read his writing or listen to his words.

Another moment of bitching, if you'll indulge me. My mother and I had a decent visit this year, yet she still left town and headed back home with me getting my feelings hurt a little yet again. See, she went over to my sister's house, where she was immediately hit up for money, my sister claiming that the electricity was about to be shut off, and in roughly ten minutes, my sister had 300 dollars cash in her hands, and the additional promise that my mom would also buy them groceries.

A couple of days later, mom goes to my brothers' house, and stops along the way to buy them some furniture as an early Christmas present. The next day, she gives my niece a large sum of cash to go and buy herself something.

Me and Eric? We didn't get so much as a card. Why? I know why because my mother has told me this time and time again... because I have a father. See, for years, my half-siblings have received a great deal from my mother while I receive nothing, and she's always said 'You have a father to do these things for you, Paula. He's rich, and you do well'. It's always hurt me, but it's never been about the money for me. Yes, it's true; I have a father, but goddammit, I need a mother, too. Why is my having a father some sort of punishment for me? I don't expect my mother to hand me a huge wad of cash, not even a small wad of cash, for Christmas or any other occasion, but what I do expect is for my mother to not use the fact that I was 'unfortunate' enough to have a father not killed at a young age as an excuse for her to snub me. And what rubs salt into the wound is that when the woman needs anything done, any help that requires someone responsible, it's me she calls. Every single friggin' time. And every single time, I help her, because 1.) I won't cheapen myself by refusing to, and 2.) Yeah, I have a father, but I have a mother, too, and when she needs me, I'll be there. Overall, I do not blame myself when this happens continually with her. I don't tell myself that I must not be a worthy child. This is my mother's problem, and it in no way reflects who I am. Takes a while to learn that, but I've learned it. It takes awhile to get over the devastation of facing the fact that a parent isn't the vision of perfection you once saw them as, but when you do face such facts, you survive them, and you grow. Still hurts sometimes when she does this to me, but I survive:)

Enough of ranting, and onto the absolutely best email I think I've ever received. I got it about two minutes ago, and I think it's self-explanatory:

If there was ever a happy note to end an entry on, it's this one:)

Forgive me for not going into greater detail, but I've been busy while I've been away, I'm still a little tired, so I'm going to paste here part of an email I sent my Catbroads. It gives a brief yet adequate synopsis of where I've been, even though for every one thing I list, roughly four more happened that I didn't have the time to list:

Since that email, all four of my kittens are sick now, so I'm nursing them, but I'm not too worried, just tired.

I've had so many people either lose loved ones recently, or have loved ones who've been recently diagnosed with serious illness. To all of you who're going through so much right now, my thoughts and prayers are with you, and I'm here if you need anything.

Caught up on a couple of blogs I love to read recently, and found that in one, my friend Allison went back to the Baker to talk with its manager, and could just feel the atmosphere had changed, enough to send her into depression. She left the hotel with a broken heart, and I have a feeling her broken heart matches the broken heart the Grand Old Lady's been given as a result of downright piss-poor management. So excuse me a minute while I get cryptic, but Allison, got a message for you, courtesy of Uncle Pete- bide your time, girl. She's still breathing, the door's still there, and just like he's saved a few sinking things before, he's going to be there for you this time. You're the one, Hon. That's as much as I'll say here, but I'll email you later:) Oh, other than to say that Uncle Pete's one hell of a smirker!;)

The other journal I read was from another friend, with what I thought was a tactful and extremely truthful message to two people she considered friends, people who later called into question whether or not they really were. I read her entry and did one of those funky flashback kinda things, where I was awash in memories of my own friendship with one of the gals mentioned above. I also remember this friend convincing me for the longest time that everyone was jealous of her, one of the jealous ones being the journal writer above. It is simply amazing how much bullshit you can convince yourself is real when you practice loyalty towards a person. It is also amazing how clear things end up being once you distance yourself from the bullshit. And it's even more amazing when you find out that person you stood up for so powerfully never once took the same kind of hits for you. Not once. It is once again amazing how you see it, but you don't... not until you're away from it enough for 20/20 to go back to being safe.

I once knew a group of women, all writers, who hung out together. Things happened, ways parted, and though the urge to wonder what all went wrong sticks with you awhile, it's time away from it that makes it clear, not to mention simple. This group of women split up because of feedback. Some didn't give it enough, some wanted it too much, some didn't give a shit about it, nor did they understand why a friendship, or a spot in a circle of friends should've depended so much on it, and some I suspect are still just too goddamned afraid to admit that feedback is their addiction.  And some, through it, wanted to hear that they were the best writer in existence in this particular genre, manipulating things so that they'd hear anything but the awful truth that they simply weren't.  It caused jealousy, insecurity, actions based on complete denial, and to this day, it keeps a couple of people refusing to listen, constantly cowering behind reasons that are anything but real reasons, never giving anyone the common decency of being heard, and eternally trying to keep that righteous facade from cracking and crumbling away. There was fault on both sides, yet only one hasn't acknowledged this, much yet apologized or at least allowed the other side to vent. I wondered why, and I finally figured it out. Why does one side fail to apologize for their role in the bullshit? Why has one side refused to speak to the other?

Simple...

Bad feedback-the one thing a feedback addict will avoid at all costs.

I'll go more into how I destroyed Thanksgiving dinner over an abused dog later. It deserves its own entry, and I'm too tired.