May 24, 2006

OH.... MY.... GOD! HE DID IT!!!!!!! HE... DID IT!!!!!!

I have been so wrong about this season of American Idol, but if I have been right about one thing, it's my love for Taylor... slightly pudgy, spastically dancing like a cross between a member of Devo and an epileptic, 'oooh'-yelling soulful Taylor Hicks. He's screwed now, so entirely pop screwed, but at the same time, I can't help but be beside myself in glee that he won. I was SO entirely not alone in my attraction to a real talent.

And what about the finale show in its entirety? Jesus, were the ratings this season that good? Good enough to warrant the kind of breath-taking, star-filled show they put on tonight? Granted I haven't seen much of the other season's final shows, but compared to the first season, this one kicked enough ass to leave permanent asscheek damage. Oh, with the exception of Meatloaf, who sucked as usual. Other than him, I actually watched the whole thing, not to mention fell on the floor when the great one, Prince, came out onto the stage. Prince? On American Idol?????????? This must be big. That and the Burt Bacharach medley that got so much applause makes me really wonder if the show is finally hitting the audience it really needs to hit. Now if they can just refrain from making Taylor record extremely shitty, assembly line songs with equally speedily manufactured lyrics, Taylor may have a chance. Judging from the original song they made him sing last night and tonight, I'm a little doubtful. Taylor, do what you can, wait it out, and break free the second you can, just like Clarkson did. And btw, oddly yet not surprisingly interesting that Ms. Clarkson didn't come near the finale with even someone else's ten-foot pole. Taylor, may you be the same penis-laden Diva once your obligations to AI wear out;)

Anyway, this was probably the dorkiest I'll ever get over any television event. If I ever get this dorky again, let it be known here and now that you the reader have full permission to euthanize me.

American Idol gibber aside, I'll move on to other stuff.

Wolf is still here, doing better, but still not the dog he was a month ago, but at least he's getting plenty of love. I got my own bicycle, btw, and have been using it early in the morning when it's not too hot, getting plenty of exercise, but Eric's been taking his bike out to White Rock Lake and going on their bike trail. His average distance per day is 30 miles. WTF?????? I am such a lightweight. Still, I'm glad he's enjoying his birthday present.

Lemme see... what else?

Oh, the gal I heard had put a curse on me emailed me about a week ago, swearing she hadn't, and I ended the conversation by telling her that I'd hoped she hadn't tried do something as retarded as that, and that I was glad to hear she hadn't, since most anyone with any semblance of a real life would never do something so unbelievably kindergarten. I haven't heard back from her since.

Yet another ex-boyfriend called me two days ago, making that phone conversation as awkward as hell when I first picked up the phone, telling me he'd thought about me often throughout the years, even when he was married to that evil wife who'd cheated on him with her boss, and was so happy to run into one of my Austin friends the other day, an Austin friend who was doober enough to give said ex my number, and that all of this was fate. However, the phone call became fun when I went on to tell the ex-boyfriend that I'd been doing well 'since the diagnosis', and that the thing growing on my head wasn't cancerous, and that it'd be removed 'real soon', and that'd it'd only take a couple of plastic surgeries to somewhat fill in the huge pockmark the initial surgery would leave on the right side of my face. I shit you not, I told him that, and that phone call ended so fast, my hair wafted in the breeze. That fucker;) Seriously, he probably knew I was messing with him, and just got the message. A part of me really hopes he actually bought it, though... that really sadistic bitchy part of me. And I like it;)

Allison, it was nice to hear an update from you, though not all your news was good. Even though it wasn't all good news, the way you wrote it, the spirit behind it tells me you're more than strong enough for these tough times. Still, just know I'm here if you need me. We've met a few times in person, email sometimes, but hey, a click is a click, so I'm here:) Anytime.

Funniest movie I've seen in ages... Team America.

Do y'all remember those freaky marionettes they made movies over back in the sixties? The little puppets they filmed saving the world, freaking us all out with how eerie they looked? I remember seeing them in re-runs throughout the years, laughing at how serious the storyline was, yet finding myself repelled at how these humanoid string puppets looked on film.

Anyway, the two creators of South Park remember this, too, and made a spoof film, featuring marionettes doing everything from cursing to blowing other marionette's guts out, to graphic sex scenes between organless puppets, to action scenes entirely rivaling live-action blockbuster films... all of which had me pissing my pants in laughter. Team America spared no one, from the extreme leftists to the uber conservative, from the stereotypical Jihadish middle-Eastener to the bleeding heart liberal movie star. This movie offended everyone and their beliefs, yet left me literally laughing until my stomach hurt. Oh, and the original songs in this movie are priceless. First, there's the Toby Keith patriotic spoof in the song 'Freedom isn't free', a song so sarcastic, yet so legitimate sounding, I'm convinced it'd hit the country Billboard charts if it were presented, with lyrics like, 'Freedom cost a buck o'five'. And then there's the 80's reminiscent hair band type anthem for the puppet heroes of the movie, played whenever they're about to go out and kick ass:

'America, Fuck yeah!!!!! Comin' again to save the motherfuckin' day, yeah!

America, Fuck yeah!!! Freedom is the only way, yeah......

America, Fuck yeah!!! So lick my butt and suck on my balls!!!.... '

You have to hear the whole song to get just how funny this is. Trust me; it's funny, hemorhagically so. There's also a song early in the movie where the lead character is starring in the long-running Broadway hit 'Lease' (ROTFLMAO!!!!!), and singing a song about how everyone has AIDS. Ok, trust me... this is one of those 'you gotta see it for yourself' kinda things.

If you have any kind of political or ethical views whatsoever, watch Team America, and try to appreciate the fact that the South Park creators are pretty funny.

And finally, my friend Shelley has adopted a new baby furkid! He's gorgeous, his name is Baloo, and he is definitely the kind of little Shit-zoo Bubby will approve of, and watch over. Congrats, Shel:)

There's so much more to talk about, so much more that's happened, but once again, I'm deflating like you average American Idol auditioner's ego, so I'll have to try and remember to include all of the updates in the next entry. As always, I adore you all, thank you so much for still reading this, even though I haven't updated regularly.

For now, though, have a good night's rest, a great day tomorrow, and an even better future:)

May 19, 2006

First and foremost, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARIE!!! I didn't realize it was your birthday until I saw the big and happy, super-friendly birthday greeting on another site. It took a minute because they got the name a little wrong, but I figured it out;) Glad your birthday was good, Hon, and I hope to know you for many more!

I'm also glad to see that some people who've unfairly treated you before found it in themselves to get over it and wish you a well-deserved happy birthday;) They should!!!!

Wolf is still here, and after a third vet and more testing, another 600 dollars, I don't know that much more about why he's not getting better. His labs came back this morning, his kidney function is off, but not enough to warrant the kind of behavior I'm seeing in Wolf. I'm disgusted with the whole vet clinic experience at this point.

I'm in such an 'ugh' state of being, drained by so much around me, tired and not very patient with some people when maybe I should cut them some slack. For instance, I've got one friend I've known for a good while now, someone I greatly admire a lot about, but have always come a little short of really trusting because I just know how she is. Though she's profoundly devoted to some things, I've also seen her easily betray others, and she does it because I know it's just 'fun' for her. I suspect she tried to do this with me this week (I won't go into details), and I'm sorry, but I had enough going on, so to quote the great Barney Fife, I nipped it in the bud... at least I think I did. And what sucks the most is that deep down, I know I'm not mistaken. I know this friend was up to something behind my back, fully engaged in secret emailing and backstabbing yet caring and concerned to my face, because I know her. And I know her because it takes one to know one. If anything ever sucked, knowing you have the ability to be a downright pitiable shit enough to dead-on spot it in others is the Deep Throat of sucking. At least I don't swallow.

Though I've defended people until I couldn't defend anymore, and though I would consider myself a loyal friend, and a good friend 90 percent of the time to 90 percent of the people, it's that last ten percent's worth of catty behavior I can't quite shake, that last ten percent of people I've betrayed that bother me. And don't mistake me, I'm not talking about the bullies I've written about here. The only regret I really feel in having bitched about them so much is that it's tended to make me look a little too preoccupied with them.

Anyway, we really do project ourselves onto those around us, throwing out our trash so to speak, somehow complaining about it when we see our refuse hit other people... as if it was never ours to begin with. I have a friend right now who I know was trying to bring me down a notch when she had the opportunity to, couldn't help herself by taking something I'd said and trying to turn it around on me... yet I'm just not that mad at her. I may be a hypocrite, but I'm not a fucking hypocrite;)

Anyway, I'm working on it.

Taylor Hicks... and Katherine??? Jesus Christ on an indigo and lime green Orange County Chopper, is Taylor going to win???????? I once again find myself caught between tear and girly shriek. I have adored this man since I first saw him on AI, never thought he was going to win, but have so entirely believed in him. Still, do I really want to admit in the future that I've bought an American Idol album? Taylor, you should've just flubbed some lyrics a couple of weeks ago, Honey. You still would've been stuck with doing those idiotic American Idol tours, not to mention a couple of collaboration albums with the other finalists, but Jesus! You would've been free after that. Now, whether you win next week or not, you're going to be stuck playing to masses of Jr. Highers with zig-zagged hair parts and and camoflauge clamdiggers, not knowing who in hell Joe Cocker, Michael MacDonald, Otis Redding, or any of these greats are, when you could be selling out venues packed with those of us who are taken back to some damned good years, and damned good music, thanks to your original yet reminiscent raspy croon. Then again, maybe the Blink 182 or Chingy crowd may be just the crowd for you to enlighten. Maybe.

No matter what, though, I'll be watching. And no matter what, Taylor... you are such a star:)

And with that, I am compelled to no longer pummel you with idiotic repartee, so I'm off to try and get an old dog to eat, and an old bitch to exercise;)

May 16, 2006

Wolf's still here, has improved in some ways, worsened in others, both ways once again assuring me that no matter how much you think you know about the canine medical condition, it's never enough. He's just stumping me, and on a second trip to the vet yesterday, he stumped Dr. Schultze, too. Meanwhile, Wolf is still here, still wanting to be here, so I'm here, too. As long as he needs me to be. And to those of you who sent your thoughts and prayers to Wolf... I adore you all:) Thank you so much, for so much!:)

Speaking of Dr. Schultze, I just have to say that I have gone to him with so many animals throughout the last decade that I can't help but see this good old country style veterinarian almost as family. There just aren't enough veterinarians like him in the world, believe me. He has helped me so often and to such an extent, has listened to me and taken me seriously when other vets are too stubborn to admit I might know a thing or two, and I honestly don't know what I'm going to do when he retires. God bless him, and if any of you folks in the Dallas area ever find yourself needing a veterinarian with a heart, go and see the man at The Animal Clinic of Pleasant Mound, and tell him Paula sent you.

Onto other stuff...

As for Dubya's speech last night, I could go into hideously painful detail, but I'll just sum up my thoughts on last night's blatant bullshit, aimed solely at raising poll numbers, by saying this...

I am more convinced than ever that George Dubya Bush has one brain cell left... and that he's named it Pooky.

I bought my husband a GM Denali ten-speed and a very nice grill for his birthday, and since May 10, he's used both damned near religiously:) He's been on vacation the last few days, so he's had lots of time to enjoy his new toys. Too much time, if you ask me;) We should've gone somewhere, done something special these last few days, but with Wolf being sick, I pretty much have ruined Eric's time off by staying here and nursing this old dog. Eric's been unbelievably understanding about having to stay home and do things around the house instead of having a real vacation, God bless him. I owe him... bigtime, and I apologize for using such an 80's kind of word, but unfortunately, it fits best;)

Kittens are cute as can be and doing well, by the way:) Any of you in this area who might consider adopting a kitten, let me know! I have a pretty intrusive application for potential adopters, but those of you who really get it won't mind answering all the questions. I'm a stickler, but the little life I hand over to those who understand my 'sticklernicity' is worth it:)

American Idol... I'm still reeling from Chris' leaving, wonder who in the hell will win now. And though a part of me is insidiously happy that my love for Taylor is well-enough shared to keep him around, I'm also bummed that he's now basically screwed, no matter which place he takes in the last three. Still, I'm watching like a hawk, glued to the show no matter what the outcome, or how much I like said outcome. Ultimately, whether Taylor becomes the ultimate pop whore or not, I love the guy.

Addendum here... just took a break to watch tonight's AI, and I now fear that Taylor's gonna win this thing, meaning he's going to be doing AI tours and AI records until his obligatory contract runs out and gives him freedom. I think Elliot's going to end up going home tomorrow. He has an amazing voice, but he tends to sing in an octave that can appeal to many, but grate others, and a tendency to concentrate more on vocal runs than connecting with his audience. Katherine is beautiful, has unbelievable vocal ability, yet also falls flat in my eyes, making me feel more as if I'm experiencing the next gal to headline the next Disney musical than I am the next great voice of our time. Then there's Taylor, whose moves make me want to shove a spoon in his mouth so he won't bite his tongue during the seizure, and whose voice is raw enough to alienate those who are so used to recording studio manipulated and smoothed vocals, they just don't get a real voice when they hear it, a voice that contains as much flaw and pomp as it does soul and spirit, yet manages to achieve a balance between the fluff and substance. Still, when Taylor sings, raw or not, he's the only one in this competition who you just know is entirely getting into what he's doing. He's entertaining... both us and himself, and because he's so interactive, it's infectious...

and unfortunately, I think this is exactly what gives him a real chance at winning.

A great part of me prays I'm wrong, wants to see him head on home tomorrow, yet another great part of me finds myself rooting for him to win, simply because I can't fathom other people not adoring him like I do, not voting for him. Ugh.

I'm tired, and I'm leaving for now, but I hope you're all well, you're all sated in life, and that you're all more than aware of how much you're appreciated by a gal like me:)

May 14, 2006

It's mother's day, I've sent my mom, stepmom, and mother-in-law gifts, called and talked to all of them, Eric's out working on the cats' new addition so that I can finally get all their stuff moved in, and me? I'm sitting here in a saddened kind of solitude, a 15 year old foster dog lying here beside me, getting ready to make his journey to the other side.

Wolf is his name, and has been his name since my old neighbors brought him home one day back in late '93... even though he looked nothing like a wolf. Though they fed him, it was really Eric and I who actually took care of Wolf all those years, enough to consider him our dog who lives in the neighbor's yard. We gave him heartworm meds because his owners wouldn't, we wormed him regularly, because his owners wouldn't, when we bought soup bones as a treat for our dogs, we always picked up extra to give to Wolf. When our dogs got frontline flea preventative, I'd go next door, let myself in their backyard, and give Wolf the treatment, too. When Wolf's neck was ripped open by another male dog in his yard, Eric and I were the ones who bundled him up in a blanket and rushed him off to the vet for surgery, and it was me who held Wolf while my vet put the stitches in his neck, us who paid Wolf's vet bill gladly, just so we could see our buddy in the next yard for a few more years.

Wolf's humans were shits I've written about before here, always were, but as the years passed, their shit stank even more. They started to leave their gate open and let Wolf and their two other dogs roam, sometimes forgetting to feed any of them, showing only the slightest bit of loyalty when one day I came out to find the two younger dogs gone but Wolf still there, neglected, the neighbors telling me that they'd dumped the two younger ones out in the country, but let Wolf stay.

I should've taken Wolf at any point in this story so far, but I didn't. I really should've. Instead, I just continued to take him food and water daily, watch over him like I'd always done. And when the two dumped dogs miraculously found their way back from where they'd been dumped, I took enough food and water for three over there.

I had forced myself to help to that point, stopping short of taking them all in... until the day I heard all hell breaking loose outside, and went out to find Dallas Animal Control rounding up Wolf and one of the younger dogs. I don't think I've ever heard a sound worse in my life than the one Wolf made when he was collared and shoved with a huge stick into the back of that animal control van. That dog knew where he was going, knew that it wasn't good, and anyone who doesn't think that animals have souls, feel all the emotions we feel, have never heard the kind of terror I heard in Wolf's wail that day.

My neighbors weren't home when this happened, so I begged the officers to release them to me, but I was met with them citing city code, telling me that there was no way I could ever get either of these two dogs back unless I was their owner. And I swear to God, as they drove away, I could still hear Wolf's crying from the back of that van. I was left standing there, one dog emerging from where she'd been hiding and cowering behind me, just as upset as I was that her family was gone.

When the neighbors got home, I went straight over, told them what had happened, and that I'd go with them, do whatever I had to do to help them get the dogs back. Their answer, the people who'd had Wolf for over ten years at this point, was smack-dab full of reciprocated loyalty to this good old dog...

'Hell no. I ain't getting' them dogs back.'

I've told this story before, so I'll make it short by saying that at that moment, I decided that no matter how little room I had, no matter that I was nursing my 16 year old cat Scooter around the clock, knowing that he was going to pass soon, no matter how hard things at the moment were, I was going to email every rescuer in this area until someone would help me get Wolf and his buddy out of the pound before they were put to sleep.

A couple of days later, I started one early morning in tears as I held Scooter in my arms while the vet helped him to the other side. But later in the day, when I found myself at the Pound, signing paperwork releasing to my custody Wolf (Thanks to the help of the Metroplex Animal Coalition, who read my frantic email and pulled strings to help me) and his cohort , who I'd now named Frankie, I felt a kind of peace I can only hope I one day feel again. And when I was finally allowed to go see these two dogs, led along a long and dismal kennel area, up to a cage where Wolf and Frankie were sitting, both sulking, not seeing me yet, not knowing just yet that they weren't going to end up a City of Dallas landfill statistic after all, I began to feel a surge of happiness. When Wolf saw me, then his brain registered who was there, and what it meant, and when Frankie shortly followed with all the same emotions, a tragic day was all the less so, strangely no longer so.

Wolf, Frankie, and Fuzzy (the one the pound couldn't catch) have been with me ever since, and though I have always told myself I'd find them other homes, they have remained with me for somewhere around two/three years now (my sense of time is horrible). To see them run and play in our backyard, groomed and adored by both of us... hell, to just see them alive... it's worth all the extras I didn't think I could do before, but am doing now. So worth it.

A couple of days ago, Wolf went from just being old to being old and very ill, and though the initial diagnosis was cystitis, an easily treatable condition, Wolf's age has thrown in a couple of complications, and as I sit here and type, this wonderful and loyal old dog who should've been 'mine' all those years ago instead of only recently is lying on a bed by my chair, where not too long ago my Roc lay. He looks up at me even in his weakness, leaning into my hand as I stroke him, no fear of me for giving him medication, fluids, supplements, tolerating my efforts to keep him alive, even though his eyes are telling me he's going soon, no matter what me or the vets do. And though I've been by his side constantly the last few days, watching his body slowly shut down, I can see in those beautiful brown eyes of his that it's really him being there for me, trying to tell me with everything he can it's all simply okay.

And as bizarre as this sounds, it really is okay.

When he goes, it'll be here, not in the death chamber of the Dallas Animal Control building, not with former humans who minimally cared about him. It'll be with two people who have always loved him, and who always will.

This never gets easier for me, but God does the emotion surrounding it never fail to grow more precious. We think of pets and what comes to mind is usually the playing, the silly little personality quirks each little furkid of ours has, all the good times, so to speak. But watching one grow, age, then fade, and ultimately pass onto the next life is just as powerful, and honestly, I think it's at this point that your love is strongest. As painful as it is, I am blessed. I am blessed more by these little lives than I will ever be able to bless back.

May 8, 2006

Correction as to my last frenzied ghost entry- I think I got the Bonnie and Clyde suite floor wrong (I kept thinking 5^th floor for some reason). I just went back and read Allison's account of the 'Dead Famous' experience, and it was on the 3^rd floor. I'm writing this without actually re-reading my previous entry, so if I got the floor wrong, let it be corrected now;)

Fate's said that the house in Mineral Wells we've considered buying is ours no more to consider. There's a contract pending, I just found out, and though I'm a little bummed, I also just know more that what's supposed to happen is going to happen. Stay tuned, folks!;) I promise you; Eric and I will move to Mineral Wells.

Talked to my mom today, who gave me my sister's new address, adding that Donna was 'really trying', and as much as I cringed at knowing she's not, I still refuse to tell my mother everything I know. I refuse to because my mother needs to believe that my sister is improving, and let's not bullshit here; she wouldn't have it in her to believe me if I told her the truth. And you know what? I can't blame her. What mother can easily deal with any messenger who tells her that her daughter has lied to her for ages, and that the stories of breaking free from an abusive husband who's an alcoholic translate into reality as 'Mom, I'm doing crack massively, and I'm leaving my husband because I've been cheating on him for months now with a fellow crack addict I happen to have more in common with'. I don't think I can blame any mother for at least initially wanting to prove the first story right before the latter. My mother needs to believe some things, and if I thought it would do any good, I'd dare to challenge these 'some things'. It won't, though. And I've done enough challenging when standing up for family. This one, I'm backing away from.

My husband's birthday is on May 10^th. He'll be 35... and bald;) So, I've gotta come up with something good in the next two days as his gift, and I have got to find some sort of Yul Brynnerish gag gift. I'm thinking of getting my songsender.com buddy to call Eric and sing a song about baldness. I know several of you have written and told me you've tried songsender and love it, so you know just how funny this birthday call will be to Eric:) As soon as I can, I'll let you know what happens, see if I can upload the song for Eric and play it here:)

My dad and stepmom got their gifts of smoked salmon and personalized Pinot Grigio, and they loved it:) I don't see those two enough. It entirely sucks to me that here I am, all these sides of our family usurping all of our time by needing our help to get them out of their current troubles, and the whole while, Dad and Judy are the only ones, the ONLY ones, who always try to give to us to much, never ask for anything, whether they need it or not, always thinking about Eric and me before asking for anything, and when they do ask for anything, it's never 'Help us do this, help us do that, do this for me, let me borrow this, Paula can you look up this, Eric can you come out and fix that'... it's 'would you please come and visit us this weekend, if possible?'.

Don't get me wrong; family always should be there for family, but when everyone else I'm related to (by marriage or birth) only gets in touch with us when they need something (which seems like all the time lately), and my father and stepmom do just the opposite, I leave comment on it here more out of appreciation for those two than disdain for the rest. I hate to sound so non-woven into typical family fabric, but Jesus Christ, I'd just like to hear from more than a couple of family members when things are going well and nothing's needed of either me or Eric. I'd like to just get a 'chat' call where I'm filled in on everyday things for once, just to break the monotony of the usual problem-solving contribution. I take that back... I can't seem to keep myself from expressing disdain for the rest.

Eric and I never ask anything of any of our family, and on the rare occasion that we do, we always compensate them in return, because whether we've done more for them or not in the long run, it's just right to compensate, you know? I have always given without expecting anything in return, but sometimes it hits me that if something absolutely devastating should ever happen to Eric and I, nobody but my father and stepmom would be there, the rest offering condolences, some sincere, some quasi-sincere, some entirely not, but all of which would be nothing more than the basic definition of condolence. Only Dad and Judy would actually step in and help, and how ironic is this? These are the two people who've never needed our help, never asked for it, never wanted it, have been immensely grateful for every little thing we've ever tried to do for them, Eric and I both knowing all the while that we'd never even come close to keeping an even tally with our efforts.

As much as I have tried to give all I could for family, tried to be a person I could look at in the mirror and like, the one who finds worth in being needed by family, and as much as I hate to admit I have been most guilty of the deadly sin of pride, there comes a time when you have to chuck idiosyncrasy aside, tell pride to take a walk, admit that you alone can't make your existence here on Earth a living Heaven, and acknowledge souls who are greater than you in all those regards.

My husband is one. And Dad and Judy? You're the other two 'immediates'. None of you three really need me, even though you say you do, God Bless you, don't need me for a Goddamn thing, yet you love me... so much. Thank you.

I love you, too, and as hard as I can find admitting it to be, you three have never failed to sate my needs:) For that, I love you even more.

May 7, 2006

God, what a long weekend. Too long.

I'll start with today, in which we woke up and were greeted by an angry mother-in-law, who thanks to my husband, thought we were going to lunch when he and I both thought we were going to dinner. She thought we'd blown them off, weren't coming, and it took me, like it usually does, to calm her down and ease her into a non-dramatic state. We got out to Rockwall in record time, and ulitimately had a nice lunch, I had nice sushi, and we all had a nice visit, though a bittersweet one.

I found out that my mother-in-law has exhausted every avenue possible in trying to keep her 400k house, and has to give it up. When I say has to, I mean it. This woman has taken care of a debilitated husband, always fiercely refusing those who try to talk her into putting him in a nursing home, and has managed to somehow both keep her house this long, pay his medical bills, and hold onto everything else she's fought hard for over the years. She's risked foreclosure for too long in doing all this, but it seems she's reached the end of her rope... by June, she will have to be out of that house, losing it forever. She's faced this before, but always found a way out. Now her resources are all gone; there's no one else to turn to, she has to give up the house she and Bill built in 1979 and start over. God, that's sad, but then again, God, is she ever ready for it. This woman has killed herself trying to hold onto a stack of wood, sheetrock, wires and pipes for too long. She has enough on her plate, has had enough for too long. It's time to start fresh, I say, and today while talking to her, I know she really is ready for this, too. I could see a strange degree of relief in her this time, a willingness to let this place go, get something smaller, and start a new life without worrying daily like she used to. I've already started today on looking for something new for her, and I know this sounds funny, but I made Eric go out and buy some lottery tickets... just in case. You never know:) Anyway, though it seems so sad, there really is some sort of release here that even I can feel with my MIL... an upcoming much more peaceful time for her that I think we all concentrate more on than on saying goodbye to this house.

With that said, let's regress back to yesterday.

Most of you regular readers know that I adore the Baker Hotel, and that I also adore some of its most ardent supporters. Well, ages ago, the BBC show 'Dead Famous' came to the U.S., filming several episodes, one of them being an episode in which they searched for the ghosts of Bonnie and Clyde. What's particularly cool about this is that Bonnie and Clyde had a suite at the Baker, and as a result, Dead Famous filmed there for this particular episode. I knew about it ahead of time, heard about how well it went before it even aired, yet until yesterday, as hard as I tried, I still never got to see the actual episode of the show.

I have literally tried for I think at least the last year to see this episode, and I've always missed it, so when I was doing my indoor jogging on my trampoline yesterday morning, trying to keep count of my steps while working the cable remote, I'm glad I lost count when I, on a whim, checked my cable guide and did a search for the show. I stopped jogging in place completely when FINALLY, I see that the Bonnie and Clyde episode was coming on the Biography Channe in about an hour and a half. I couldn't believe it, and honestly, even if I'd had lifesaving transplant surgery scheduled for that day, I'd have canceled, I've wanted to see this particular episode soooo badly.

So I resume jogging, rush and clean for the day, hurriedly get everything out of the way, then finally sit down right as the show starts, damned near bouncing off the walls.

I don't know what they were thinking with the entire first segments of the show. The hosts and the cameras concentrated on a jail neither had ever been in, though Clyde's buddy had been kept there, and rumor has it Clyde broke his friend out of it. Still... who in hell would ever expect either outlaw's spirit to be found there. Ugh.

Next segment, they were at Old City Park, getting closer to the mark by visiting a bank Bonnie and Clyde's pack has supposedly robbed, but still... if I were in the next life and able to travel back and forth to this world and the next, I doubt I'd visit a place I'd been to once unless I'd died there during that solitary visit, or unless I'd had such a good time there in my single trip, I couldn't help but come back. I was starting to get upset at this point, watching the show.

The next trip was to a different building relocated to Old City Park... Millermore Mansion... unbelievably haunted, yet having not a single friggin' thing to do with Bonnie and Clyde. You could tell that this location was a square peg shoved into a round hole by the show, included just to fit in an extremely paranormal location because 1.) It made for great viewing (on the show, they actually captured more than orbs, but an indentation occurring on the master bedroom's mattress, exactly the size and shape a human would make if sitting on the edge of a bed), and 2.) I'm sure the budget wouldn't allow them to come back from England and attempt to reshoot, much less have this same activity present itself for the camera. Anyway, it annoyed me, but I cut them slack on this one. I've been to Millermore, and trust me; it's haunted.

Finally... the jackpot! The best of the best when it comes to paranormal experience, evidence presented on the show, and reactions from the hosts...

The Baker Hotel:)

The wait was worth it, 'cause as I watched the final segments dedicated to the Baker, I saw Jeff first, nicest guy in the world, excellent in front of a camera, and just the type of guy you want to speak for those of us who don't just believe, but know that spirits exist. Hell, I've been to the Baker, smelled its smells, felt plenty, but as I'm listening to Jeff talk, I find myself re-experiencing for myself, and seeing why my site stats went up so high after the show aired yesterday, I could so easily comprehend how a first time viewer would be interested enough to do some online searching after the show;)

Then I see the other folks at Spirit of the Baker, then the folks at Mystic Ghost, and I see Allison, the always camera shy Allison, get in front of that camera and inform us the viewer just as well as Jeff did, God bless her. And by the way, the whole time, I'm just smiling wide, so proud I know these brilliant people!

I'm running out of steam, so please forgive me if I don't get as detailed in the last few paragraphs of this.

Anyway, finally, the investigation begins, after dark, in the Baker, a hotel without electricity, and the group divides into two teams. Both teams end up getting more evidence on film than the entire first portion of the show's investigations got (when one of the show's hosts, a real skeptic, starts freaking out in Bonnie and Clyde's suite because they hear unexplained footsteps, music, and party sounds, hey, you gotta wonder)... and this is where it gets weird.

Allison's team, while up on the fifth floor, have an experience in which one of Dead Famous' hosts, a medium, makes contact with a spirit several paranormal investigators have experienced there, a foul man with a German accent who usually makes himself known just so he can tell people to get the hell out. The host starts to channel this spirit (and trust me, I don't usually get into channeling. I tend to think most people I see channeling on TV are really just dramatically over acting and faking it), and as weird as he starts to act, as I live and breathe just as much as I'm sitting on my couch while watching this, wondering if he's real or just a massive thespian, I start to feel funny. I start feeling a buzzing all around me, like my brain feels when I'm about to have a panic attack, yet throughout my whole being. I keep watching, thinking a panic attack is beginning, but it doesn't. I instead watch on my TV screen Allison, Jeff, the host of Dead Famous, and the other members of Spirit of the Baker help send this spirit, along with a second spirit, a young girl believe to be his ill niece who died at the Baker, to the light. As I watch, the feeling doesn't go away.

In fact, just when I'm thinking I'm coming down with something and start to shake it off, the show backs up the experience with photos taken from this moment, showing me on the screen a photo of Allison standing there, a huge orb engulfing her skull at exactly the time she tells the cameras that a man with an accent is speaking into her ear. When I saw that photo, all of a sudden, I got a wave of nausea running through me that rivaled even the worst of bad shellfish experiences I've had.

I didn't even see the end of the show, the last few minutes of which were spent in the bathroom, bowing to the porcelain Goddess.

I spent the rest of the day on the couch, feeling awful until Eric woke up and came downstairs. He asked me what was wrong, I told him I didn't know, maybe had eaten something bad, told him my symptoms, and that I'd be okay if I could just lie down a little while. Then the next thing I told him about was finally seeing the episode of Dead Famous I'd wanted to see, describing to him in detail everything on the show... and as soon as I got to the German/Austrian Ghost experience, started to talk about it, guess what? Every single ounce of 'not feeling good' dissipated. Completely. Just talking about it, it was gone... so fast and so fully I couldn't help but take extreme notice of it.

Now, what does that mean, I ask?

Psychologists, psychiatrists, skeptics, and the like will surely have some sort of entirely logical explanation. And maybe they're right.

Then again, my mind feels safe with that dismissal. Safe, not sure.

My gut? My gut, something I've always relied on far more than the firing of synapses my chemically challenged brain seems to love to trigger, tells me something far more different, far less socially acceptable, something undeniable:

The Baker Hotel is haunted.

May 5, 2006

Man, I gotta tell you, I guess I was a little more than pissed off while writing that last entry about Illegal immigrants, particularly those from Mexico. It's just that I live smack dab in the middle of the controversy, and I'm becoming increasingly tired of the 'we're taking our country back' comments I'm hearing all around me, uttered by people who have no idea what they're talking about. I'm sick of our local newstation and paper owner, BELO corporation, both journalism sources who should be free of spin instead spewing so much pro-illegal immigrant bullshit, I'm surprised none of the editors or reporters have puked yet from the centrifugal force. I'm sick of pc behavior being practiced when it shouldn't, rights of people who busted their asses for years to come here legally being trampled on like Lucy in the famous grape-squashing episode of the show. And I'm most sick of a cause I once could see valid reasons for being hijacked by Mexicans, creating their Hispanic anthem, marching for their rights... entirely forgetting about our Asian, Middle-Eastern, European, Jamaican, Haitian, Cuban, etc. immigrants because there just ain't enough room up on that soapbox for anyone besides our agenda-laden south of the border neighbors. Oh, and I'm also sick of so many of these 'neighbors' hinting at and sometimes fully trying to play the race card when those of us who are offended by all of this feel so for reasons entirely NOT having to do with the color of your skin. It just makes me sick, and as time goes on, I continue to feel the nausea.

On a much more important level of rant, I have a friend who is facing so much in her near future. Gastric bypass surgery nearing, things with the Baker Hotel worrying her, and now she has written in her latest journal entry that things with her husband aren't working out, and that she's beginning to put together a plan to leave him in a way that'll impact her children as little as possible. She has stayed with a husband who hasn't deserved her for mainly noble reasons, and though I know it's got to be unbelievably hard for her to even think about what she's now thinking about doing, Goddamn am I proud of her for seeing that she deserves so much more. She deserves it, and I know she can get it. She has always been so strong in my eyes, so determined, so passionate and inspiring, and so... well, I can't think of a word that fits better than worthy. And though I know things seem so insurmountable now, as weak as she may feel at this moment, I am amazed at just how much stronger I see her becoming. Allison, I am learning so much from you, and I am honored you answered that first email not all that long ago. You're going to be okay. If I'm wrong about that, I will literally put on a Hefty bag with the asscheek area of the bag cut out, then run down my street singing 'Tiny Bubbles'. I'm that sure;)

I can't believe that I'm still jogging. Yup. Still. I refuse to weigh myself, but I know I've lost weight, started to reshape my figure, my metabolism has sped up, my energy level is increased, and I just downright feel better. I did 3 ½ miles today in record time, and had to stop myself from doing more, exhausting myself too soon. I'll finish the rest of my day's quota later, but today was another personal health milestone:)

This weekend, Eric and I are taking the MIL and FIL for an anniversary dinner. Ever since Bill had his brain bleed and hasn't been the same, the 'kids' have taken over on their anniversary, doing for Aleene what Bill would do now if he could.

And on Saturday morning, my friend Arla and I are going to a few salvage places to look for a few home improvement items. One of the places we're going to, and I'm excited about this, is the Orr-Reed wrecking company, a place full of old fireplace mantles, wainscoting, claw foot bathtubs, and other niceties salvaged from the demolition of old Victorian homes. I'm looking for a cool old fireplace mantel, but that's not why I'm excited about going there; I'm excited because as a child, Tom Orr was my mother's first real love after she divorced my father, and his family owned Orr-Reed. I never had that mean streak so many kids get towards a parent's new love interest... at least not with Tom. He was cool, would take us up to the place and let us run around, let us pick out little trinkets we wanted, would tell us the best stories, make us laugh with his goofiness, and though I know he won't be there Saturday (he's become a beyond-accomplished sculptor since I knew him, sells modern metal sculptures to countries like Japan for thousands of dollars a pop), it'll still be nice to go and revisit a place I knew so long ago, a good place in which I can remember a good man. Obviously, my mother and Tom didn't work out, but I'll tell you, from my father, to Tom, to my stepdad Jim, she has always had good taste in men, and I have good memories as a result.

Speaking of good men, my husband now has on his scalp a certain amount of stubble that I can't help but look at and be reminded of Don Johnson's Miami Vice 5 0'clock shadow. He still can't stop rubbing it, regrets it more than ever now, but I'm having a field day coming up with new bald jokes to greet him with each morning that he comes home;) I believe this morning's quip was 'Hey baby! You're home early; that's great!!! What, did someone rub the lamp sooner than you thought they would?'... or something like that;)

Finally, Shelley, If you're reading this, I hope you're okay. Give an update when you can, alright? And Marie, I've been absorbed in your latest journal entries. I hope this doesn't come across the wrong way, but as a reader who loves a great writer, I've become more your fan than ever by reading your entries. Like I said, don't take that the wrong way, because it is entirely a deep compliment.

Ariane, how're you doing? How are Ardeth and Angelina? Email me when you can and let me know what progress is being made, ok?

Carol, I know plans have changed, but next week... to quote really bad ebonics, 'it's on!'.

All the rest of you, forgive me. I'm out of steam. You know I love you, though!

May 3, 2006

First and foremost, I am now slightly embarrassed, yet even more proud to slap that 'post-it' label on me, declaring 'Hello, I'm Paula. And I'm a fitness whore'.

Yesterday, I miraculously jogged five miles... though not all at once, yet I'm still amazed. I did two miles in the morning, two miles in the afternoon, and just when I didn't think I had time or energy to do another, I did another mile. Thank God it was a slow day, otherwise I wouldn't have had the time.

Today, I did three and a half, three all in one run, and I'm stopping with that. I feel good enough, extra distance ain't gonna make that much of a difference, and frankly, I just want to sit on my ass for a little while today.

All in all, whether I actually lose weight or not, I just can't tell you all how valuable it is to me to know that I can still do this. For a woman having panic attacks and losing touch with her body as a result, taking control again and assuring myself that the impending sense of bodily doom I once saw was indeed was just a non-realistic fear, I don't care if I get bigger as a result. I feel better. My heart's beating good and strong, my brain is clearing the nastiest of fogs even John Carpenter could create, and I'm taking some kind of control back I hadn't even realized I'd lost until I started to challenge my body again. I've challenged my mind plenty over the last few years; it's just nice to see the body begin to catch up.

Monday... Mexican illegal boycott day, my emphasis being on the word 'illegal'.

I'm sure you all know that Monday was the day for Hispanic immigrants, as they put it, but as I'd more accurately put it- 'Illegal Mexican Immigrant Day', to not work, not buy, not participate in any single activity that might affect our American Economy, all in hopes of making those of us who are legal beg them to stay here on our soil.

I woke up Monday, did all my jogging, all my daily necessities, then grabbed my debit card along with my Chase Visa, and headed on out to spend as much as I possibly could, convinced that my mainly Hispanic neighborhood would be protesting, and that I'd need to get out and speak out for legal immigrants by buying all I could that day.

Uh... did the memo get out to all the Mexican immigrants, legal or illegal?

I kinda doubt that it did, because as I drove around my zip code shopping area, I saw Rodriquez Car Repair, Sanchez Auto Supply, Three Amigos Grocery, Fiesta Grocery, La Adelita Restaurant, Mi Casa party supplies, Dos Hermanos tattoos, and too many more hispanic-owned and non-hispanic owned businesses opened and doing good business.

And even more shocking... while I was in line at one store, I got into conversation with a young Hispanic couple, saying 'I really thought more businesses would be closed because of the boycott'.

The wife looked at me quizzically and said 'What boycott?'.

I'd say 'huh' here, but I think it's more correct to just sit back and let my day's experience speak more for this one young woman's response.

Of those who did come out and openly protest on Monday, I'm willing to bet you that maybe 25 percent actually had a valid reason, much less detailed argument, for why they were making their stand. The rest, I fear, were only skipping work because they thought they could get away with it, or even if they were more cognitive, just were tired of hearing white, black and all non-Latino people tell beaner jokes, and used Monday as somewhat of a venue in which to stand up and retort with a big 'Fuck You', regardless of what the real issue was, regardless of whether or not the actual organizers of these national events were looking more to use a race card to try and gain power rather than really seek any kind of justice for any kind of race.

I don't know about the rest of the country, but I can personally tell you that here in Dallas, Boycott Monday was an extreme flop, failure, fuck-up, and mistake. Our local illegal immigrants thought we the city would suffer as a result of their refusal to participate in contributing to our economy for a day, but as the business day came to an end, turns out the cash count at the end of the day still turned a profit, and guess what? A great percentage of that profit was achieved via Hispanic people's purchases, on a day when they weren't supposed to buy shit.

What a message, you know?

In other words, to all you Mexican Illegal Immigrants who are here, earning money, reaping our government's benefits, having children, counting on those of us who love children to cut you slack and support your right for amnesty while paying ever increasing property tax to cover your medical and school bills solely because you had an 'anchor baby', yet paying our government at best a fraction back, pc or not, I have to say this:

1. God love you for wanting a better life.

2. God damn you for thinking we legal citizens owe you that.

3. God bless you for thinking enough of this country to come here and seek to achieve your dreams, something you know you couldn't achieve in your birth country.

4. God forgive you for coming here without so much as an iota of respect for the citizens who took years to come here the legal way, a way that only a person really wanting to be an American, not just a person earning American dollars, will come here.

5. God keep you for working the jobs so many of us 'Americans won't do'.

6. God love you anyway for knowing that the only jobs Americans won't do are jobs employers won't pay a justifiable wage for, i.e.- God respect any human being, white, black, yellow, brown, purple, or fuschia for refusing to work 18 hours a day for, at best, half of minimum wage. And may God bless even more the people who stay in their own country and fight slave wages, make their own country better through demonstration than flee and seek only slightly better here.

7. Once you get here, move into wherever you're going to live, may God bless you in your journey. But once you start to inflict your culture upon neighbors, inflict every ounce of your lifestyle upon those who live next to you, across the street from you, etc., a lifestyle that involves anything that might intrude into the space and quality of life of those of us who share your block, then it's at times like this that I like to think that my God remembers everything, and doles merit out accordingly. In other words, may those of you who either swam across a river illegally or came here via paying a coyote, work now, earn money, send it all back home, all the while staying here on American soil, yet have the balls to get drunk on the weekends to the extent that us neighbors are awakened by either your music or your drunken brawls, make the rest of our weekend experiences a living hell, then dare to join the current activists and claim that you have a right to be here... may you all for once come up with a valid reason why our government should tap its figurative sword blade on your shoulder and declare you a knight.

I'm sorry, but of all the 'not born on American soil' knights I've seen, met, and known fully... the overwhelming majority of those I've seen on CNN, MSNBC, FOX News, not to mention all my local affiliates, aren't even close to meriting American Knighthood. To be such in this land, you have to have come here with our blessing, served this country's good with your good and whole intent, and never taken from this country a dime your spirit didn't deserve. And hey, if you have a complaint about the current way this country has treated you after your blind devotion, you have every right to complain as deeply as you can, and all because you've given as much to this nation as it's given to you.

I know several... family members, neighbors, friends, and more who fit the measurements the 'true legal immigrant' fits. They have all openly talked of their sacrifice, but they've just as openly admitted that our government recognized it, and granted them accordingly, and hey, if our government didn't recognize a certain complaint, guess what? They now had and exercised the right to bitch about it the way a legal/natural born citizen was given the right in which to complain.

I feel for the rest I know, especially those with children, but to support them now would be to completely lose all insight into what I know my law abiding loved ones have gone through to get here.

It's all apples and oranges, despite how hard the current media reps want us to believe otherwise, apples being illegal, oranges being allowed, no matter how much we love either fruit.

However, as much as I love both apples and oranges, I look into my past, my current, my future... my family, their struggles... my appreciation for a right that is challenged so much by a wrong even a good spin-man can't quite challenge effectively, I ultimately and easily find myself siding with the millions upon millions of people who love this country enough to know that any attempt to boycott on Monday served anything other than a selfish, entirely Un American purpose.

May 1, 2006

I don't know which is worse... going through my own personal rough periods, or watching people I care about going through them.

My life's been pretty okay lately. I'm still jogging every day, eating right, etc., and as a result I'm feeling great. No real money worries, animals are good, etc. I am in a fairly peaceful time right now, so I should sit back and enjoy. But I find myself unable to, and all because I have too many people around me swimming through rougher waters.

You all know about what some of my family is going through, and that I'm worried for them, want things to improve for my mother and stepfather especially. My friend Shelley just had to make the most selfless and brave decision any person with pets could make by helping her critter Bubby go to the other side this weekend, and she's mourning just like only those of us who really get what having a pet is about mourns. Another friend of mine is having relationship problems, worried that her partner of over a decade has lost interest in her because she's gained weight, and has seen some behavioral changes in him that really have her a little scared. And I read a couple of journals I love to read last night, and both had entries that left me wishing there was something I could do for these two wonderful people. One friend is having some financial worries to deal with, mostly as a result of some medical issues she's had to have taken care of recently, and the other friend didn't say much in her entry except that she was going through some personal things, then leaving an extremely powerful poem she'd written, one that left me both worried for her yet amazed with her talent at poetry. Another friend Brenna is still going through the grieving process with the loss of her mother-in-law, and though she's doing well, she's still having some tough moments.

I really do just hate not being able to snap my fingers and make problems disappear for the people I care about (I have said a million times to myself when a friend or familiy member's going through something tough. It's the most frustrating feeling in the world, to stand back and watch less than the best happen to people you know deserve so much more, knowing that other than a word of support, there's not a whole lot more you can do. Even knowing that these tough times are growing experiences for all of us, I still just can't deny that I'd rather have the power to just make them go away.

I can't, though, but my heart, my thoughts, and my faith are with all of my friends and family. I wish for better days for all of them soon, and if there is anything I can ever do to help those better days arrive sooner, all they need do is ask.

Speaking of one of these friends, Shelley, I had an experience yesterday that I hope added at least a little bit of sunshine to her loss. For the last several years, I have noticed that when either I or someone I care about lose a pet, often times that departed pet will send an animal in need to one of us. I can't even count how many times someone around me has had a longtime dog or cat companion pass away, only to walk outside a day or two later and find a little cat, kitten, puppy, or dog in their yard, out of the blue. Sometimes it's a little different in that when the person close to me loses an animal, it's my door the stray shows up at. Whichever way it happens, we all end up knowing that this didn't happen by accident. It never does.

Shelley helped Bubby to the Bridge on Saturday. Even as I was emailing her and telling her she'd done the right thing, telling her that I knew Bubby would send her a message soon, telling her that he was okay, I was also wondering if this would be one of those times when a stray would pop up. By Sunday morning, I stopped wondering.

We were walking our dogs out back like we always do, having a normal morning, when all of a sudden, our old chub Hyanna starts going ballistic over one small section of wall on the side of our garage. We rounded her and the others up, put them back in their areas, then Eric and I went back to that section of garage to see what the deal was. In this section of garage wall, there's a missing piece of siding we'd removed because it was rotted, leaving a small gap between the ground and the rest of the garage wall... and what did we see there????

A tiny, furry, whiskered little black face... belonging to a roughly 6 week old kitten. I immediately said out loud one word I know Eric didn't understand:

'Bubby'

Eric grunted, knowing what finding this kitten meant, I sighed, but only for a second before fishing the little tiny female out and inspecting her, cuddling her, and feeding her. And the rest of Sunday was spent emptying our cluttered garage out, not being at all surprised when we found two more solid black kittens.

So now, I have two little girls, one little boy, sweet as can be and cute as hell, in a kennel area until I can figure out just what to do next, and I've gotten about three hours of sleep since yesterday because I can't stop going out and checking on the cute little shits, cuddling them, cooing at them.

Bubby sent these kittens. I just know it, and when I told Shelley, she knew it, too:)

Final note- don't ever leave your husband alone when you have next door neighbors who keep their heads shaved.

Yesterday afternoon, I'd finished feeding the kittens, and while Eric was finishing up on the garage, I ran up to Redneck Heaven, a.k.a. WalMart, to get some steaks, kitten food, and a few other things.

45 minutes later, I drive into my driveway, and the first thing I see is my husband standing with his back to me. Funny thing is that I at first didn't think it was my husband. Why?

Because the man standing in my driveway was BALD!!!!!!

My husband, goober that he is, saw our male neighbors shaving their heads on their back porch, and via some uberly retarded gust of 'what the hell', went over, sat down, took off his cap, and said 'My turn'. Even if he was just kidding, apparently they weren't, thus my driving up to find Mr. Clean in my driveway yesterday evening.

My husband is now bald, and he spent the next hour watching me going through all the stages of grief in record time, starting with denial, then anger, and speeding right on through to acceptance as I finally just started to laugh my ass off at how pointy the top of his head is, not to mention how far his ears stick out. He literally reminds me of that guy from 'The Hills Have Eyes' (not the remake!), and I swear, if he put on a pair of combat boots and got a swastika tattoo, he'd look so Aryan, I don't think he'd make it more than a block down this street before someone seriously kicked his ass, despite the fact that our neighbors were trying to give him, as they call it, 'A barrio shave'.

Today was even funnier... he woke up and came downstairs, the first words out of his mouth uttered while his hand kept running back and forth over his scalp being 'What was I thinking? What was I thinking?'. All I could do was laugh and tell him 'Hey, at least it'll grow back. At least I think it'll grow back';)

Ok, that's about it for now. I've got kittens to go and play with, the perfect excuse to put off everything else I need to do today!;)

April 27, 2006

I stepped up my 'get in shape' plan about a week ago, deciding that I'd now start jogging, sometimes outdoors (when it's not too hot), sometimes indoors, sure that either way was going to make me drop from cardiac arrest. The first day pretty much did feel like I'd drop from cardiac arrest. I busted my hump to make it a quarter of a mile, and when I woke up the next morning, I felt more like I'd run ten miles. Still, I felt slightly more energized, my mood better, so I kept it up, and today, a week later, I just finished jogging TWO miles. I'm just outright butt-slappin' proud of myself, guys. I really am. And what's more; I feel better, more energized, I'm sleeping better, my mind is more clear, my mood is improved... I can really feel my body responding. Let's hope I haven't jinxed myself by writing about it, i.e.- I'm hoping like hell I don't see myself in a week, plastered across the couch with a beer in my hand and some sinfully bad for you Mexican food dish in front of me;)

For the last three years or so, I've been at the bottom of a physical rut that's felt more like a deep crevice, and if I've had one wish for myself the last few years, it's been to feel like I used to, mentally and physically. I don't care if I get a buff body, ridged abs, pfewwwtt... I just want to not worry about whether or not I'm dying all the time. Anyway, stepping up the pace this last week has at least given me a taste of what I once felt like, has assured me that a panic attack is what I've been having (I'd think that if my heart were going out, a 2 mile jog would be just about the thing to do it), and I'm resolved to keep going. I'm actually starting to enjoy jogging, an activity that only a month ago would've had me cringing like a Hell's Angel forced to ride a Green Machine. Let's hope for my sake that I stick this out... for a long time:)

My mother's about at the end of her rope with Jim's doctors, who I think are better dubbed 'Practitioners of all things God Complex'. They still don't know exactly why my stepfather is having these stoma bleeds, won't admit they don't know what in hell's going on, and are entirely clueless as to how to prevent the next bleed. To top this off, Jim is weaker than he's ever been... he's beginning to show signs of mental confusion, something the doctors are attributing to his anemia from the last bleed, and my mother thinks he's just starting to give up. If there were ever a time for these two to move back here, it's now, I say. I'm looking for small properties around here, trying to arrange something, and I'm also trying to set my mother up with some support groups in her area in the meantime. She needs to know that being a caretaker to your spouse is something she's definitely not alone in going through, and that all these emotions, stressors, etc., are natural feelings. I also think that by just knowing she's not alone, she'll feel at least some sort of relief. And fortunately, I found two support groups right in her town that meet regularly, groups dealing specifically with people who are caretakers for family. They should also have plenty of tips and resources that will help Mom, at least I hope so. Until I can get her moved closer to us instead of 600 miles away, this is about all I can do, and trust me, it doesn't feel like enough.

My sister's now angry with my brother because he can't take a day off to move her things for her to her new apartment, which I found out, btw, is in the heart of 'crackville'. She knows not to even think about asking me, and now my brother is tired of being taken advantage of over and over again, so it appears my sister's running out of bridges to cross. You know, they say that you have to hit rock bottom before you can come out of whatever addiction you've got. I wish my sister would hit hers already; hell, we've all thought she'd hit hers fifty times by now, but apparently we were all wrong. I hate to sound so harsh, so cold, about my own flesh and blood, but I've given so much of myself to her in the past, gotten my hopes up so high, and it's not that she's tried and failed... it's that she's never tried at all. At best, she's attempted to make us all think she was trying so that she could get from us whatever she needed, and that's a huge cow-patty flip away from actually trying. I just don't have enough left in me to keep pouring faith into someone who has absolutely no faith in herself, no desire to find faith. It's a kind of numbing severance, but it's what I need to do regarding her, how I need to feel in order to keep myself safe, I guess.

On another note, to any of you women who've ever been cheated on, I hope I didn't offend you by my rant about my husband's cheating co-worker. My frustration really is directed more at the mistress than it is the wife. Though I still think that both ends of this female spectrum shouldn't participate, give any man a look at and taste of the cake, I also really do understand that there are circumstances in some marriages that I could never imagine, and that maybe some of these circumstances can lend some understanding to why a wife would stay in a non-monogamous marriage. My opinion's just my opinion, and though most of my rants seem smack-dabbingly brimming over with judgment, I'm not quite as ready to swing my little rant page gavel as much you'd think;)

Oh, and PICKLER'S GONE!!!!!!! American Idol voters, I would go to bed with each and every one of you responsible for her ouster if I could... and if I had six vaginas. I don't, though (last time I checked, I could only count a couple), so let me just say 'thank you':) I thought she'd last a little longer, but I'm not about to complain about being so gloriously incorrect.

Final note-I'm going to be busier than usual the next few days, so I'm just not sure when I'll get another entry put up. I'll be online, I'll be reading all the journals I normally read (by the way, Allison, haven't seen a new entry. Are you ok? Let me know if you need anything!), will try to answer as many emails as I can, so if you want to write, please do!

Ok, I'm off. I need a post-jog shower, some dinner, and a good book:)

April 25, 2006

Ok, for all who've asked about the last entry, don't worry. I'm not being overtly attacked by tons of people, my symbolic jugular ripped and torn at by razor-sharp catty claws. I'm not upset and crying about things, and to explain a little better, I heard from someone I both know well and trust (and to you women my rant was about, NO, it's not who you think, so don't even try to guess) a few days ago that a small group of people who've had more than their share of gossip about me were once again poking fun at my expense, and that among the things they'd said, my panic attacks had been trivialized. I took offense, and though I haven't seen what these women have written with my own eyes, I believe the source who told me, completely believe these women would say these things, took offense to having something so real as a panic attack made to look so unimportant, thought it to be more than a tad hypocritical, considering what I know about these ladies' own personal problems, thus my last entry. I got over most of it, but to be honest, the things I know about these women are fascinating. If you were to actually believe the online personae these women try to display, you'd be shocked to find out just how different the real women are. Really shocked.

So, to my supporters, don't worry. If I have enemies, I don't even need a whole hand to count them:)

God, is Deadwood ever one hell of an excellent HBO series!!! The dialog/vernacular, I gotta admit, took me an episode or two to get used to, but once I did... goddamn!!!!!!!! I've never seen the word 'fuck' used so often, yet so accurately. I've been watching Season One over again on On Demand when time allows, and this is what all TV should be, if you ask me. I hate sitcoms and most prime time television because a lot of it just blatantly insults me. If I were to make any kind of analogy, I'd have to say that a show like Deadwood is prime rib with side of au jus, complete with asparagus, Hollandaise sauce, dinner salad, and baked potato with all the fixings while your average NBC, CBS, or ABC offering is more like a Hungry Man Saulsbury Steak TV dinner. And UPN? WB (have they merged yet?)? On their best night, they're a ham and cheese Hot Pocket. Prime Time network writers really do think we the viewers are idiots, and write just the amount of crap they think we need to take. What's sad is that enough of us do watch it, take the crap and mistake it for talent. That's just my opinion, though.

With that said, just a couple more things I need to say, then I'll get out of Dodge.

One... I would be just as in denial as the people I bitched about if I didn't realize, then acknowledge here that I know damned well that some people know about how I'm able to dig up things about people, and I just as well know that they must wonder if I do this with everyone, if I just live to dig up dirt. I'll admit that I have been guilty of looking things up and doing some digging in the past on people, but it's almost always been because someone else asked me to for valid reasons. When it hasn't been under those circumstances, I'll admit that I've done research on my own on someone who I feel is picking on a friend, even less frequently someone who's pissing me personally off. In other words, I don't live in this chair day to day and do nothing but try to find out the worst about everyone around me. I find lost family, deadbeat dads, confirm that certain businesses and organizations are legit, and once in awhile, do a little looking when someone is trying to tell me a fishy story, and when someone's being a complete asshole, I'll just check them out, find out a thing or two, not use it against them, but use it more to tell myself 'what a glass house this idiot lives in'. And even when I do any of this, it encompasses a fraction of the time compared to time I spend in my life doing actual good.

Ok, just had to say that so that anyone who might actually fear that I'm harboring secrets about everyone I know, including you, stop wondering. Out of all the people I personally know, good or bad, I've only looked about five of you up, and of those five, I think three of you asked me to:)

Finally, and this I've been wanting to bitch about for awhile now...

My husband drives a truck, does a 'run' to Shreveport, LA every night, and awhile ago, he told me that on Fridays, he exchanges runs with another driver at his company, lets this driver go to Shreveport. More recently, Eric told me that he found out just why this driver wants to switch runs.

And just why, are you asking? I'll tell you.

Because this driver has a girlfriend in Shreveport he likes to see, and when he switches with Eric on Friday night, it's so that he can stop there, spend a couple of hours with his girlfriend, then drive back here...

to his wife.

Eric told me because he was torn. He didn't want to support an adulterer, but he also didn't want to deny someone he considers both a co-worker and friend, so Eric told me, hoping I'd help him figure this all out.

I don't know if I helped him figure it all out, but I sure as hell told him what I thought.

1. Any man keeping a wife in one place and a girlfriend in another is NOT a man.

2. Any man who asks another man, particularly my husband, to help him keep his affair going is not only not a man, but an idiot.

3. I understand that this relationship between this trucker friend of my husband's and his mistress has been going on for years... and to his mistress, I say 'What in the FUCK is wrong with you?????'. I'm assuming you know the man is married, are willing to live with it, but I also wonder how small your self-esteem is that you'd carry on a once-a-week relationship with someone for so long, someone who prefers to give the rest of his week to his wife, obviously never thinking enough of yourself to break it off and strive for a life much better lived. I should sympathize with a woman like this, but when I think of what kind of excuses she must feed herself every week in order to keep this kind of charade going, settling for a second-best and unresolved existence, I just wave my hands in pitiful surrender.

4. The wife, who has to know that this is going on, should've dumped this man a LONG time ago, making me just about as ready to strangle her as I am the mistress.

I told all of this to Eric, followed by me letting Eric know damned well that if he does meet and want to be with another woman, he'd better just as damned well let me know before I find out about it, and Fate always makes sure we women find out about it, at which point I will bow out and let him do his thing, that though marriage is sacred, divorce can on some occasions be just as much. And trust me; I mean it.

Long story short, I told Eric that if he continued to switch runs with this guy, knowing what he knows now, it's up to him. Whether he decided to continue to help his friend or refused to for any reason, I'd shut my mouth and not say another word. Don't know if Eric believed me or not about keeping my mouth shut, but what I do know is that he told his friend that he wasn't going to switch with him anymore, and that if he wanted to see his mistress, he was going to have to find some other way to do it. The friend, to date, is giving Eric the silent treatment. Pfffggghhtttt.

Through the whole experience, I come away just wondering why some women will knowingly go into, much less keep, a 'thing' with a married man. They can't possibly convince themselves that it's love. If it is love, it's a degree of the emotion that only an insecure married man and an even more insecure woman can achieve. More likely, it's a safety device on the woman's part, enjoying some of the particulars of a relationship, mostly only having to experience the 'for better' parts, not nearly as often 'the for worse' ones, with the added bonus of being able to take off and start a new relationship without a divorce attorney getting paid.

In the saga of my husband's trucker friend, I tend to completely write off the 'horny trucker' in the plot, not excusing him, but more not giving a shit about him or his actions because he's just not worth it. The mistress and wife in this, though, I pay more attention to. I wonder what both could've been doing all these years with a more worthy mate, and the things my mind see just don't explain why these women have decided to let it happen. Maybe there really are reasons I haven't even thought of, but if there are, I can't even begin to think of them. And hey, I tend to think that's a very good thing.

April 23, 2006-you didn't think this nice streak actually would last, did you? Trivial out of the way, room made for what matters

It has come to my attention recently that a couple of folks have had a few laughs at my expense, using a couple of my imperfections as fodder. My panic attacks seem to amuse a couple of gals, as does my whole take on the beta thing, so please, let me get this out of the way before I go on and talk about some real subject matter.

One, as much as I may feel initial anger at these people, a desire to name names and spill every inch of grimy dirt I know, my soul swells more with a kind of pity that I'm grateful to feel at a time like this more so than anger. Considering the alleged source that mocks me, this is once again a small group of women, one of which keeps most of her entire online experience entirely secret from her spouse rather than face a certain multi-fold reality, another hides behind semi-colons and the most textbook-referenced correction, reminding me of the old 'those who can't do, teach' adage, siding with whoever benefits her best, not often actually making a truly honest stand on anything, another in this group spends her time claiming she's as noble as she'd like us to believe, yet whenever any drama I hear about unfolds, she's usually at the heart of it, knee deep in it, swearing all the while that she has a real life and family, didn't enjoy the drama at all, trying to convince herself more than the rest of us that she's not as addicted to the things she's addicted to. Oh, and then there's the one who'd love those of us who actually have an IQ to believe she's a diva on the exterior, yet a shy and compassionate soul underneath, when she's actually one of the most superficial and meanest ones of the bunch, a second-hand bully, first person facade. If I have ever in my life worried about seeming transparent, it's only because people like this are blatantly so.

So, I hear about the little things this group says about me or anyone, and once again, the words 'consider the source' make an otherwise hurt feeling all the more numb, them all the more pitiable, thus all the more forgivable. There is a power each of these girls, and I do mean girls, try to believe they have, all the while judging their power by who lets them think they possess it. In the eyes of women even more insecure, I suppose these gossipers are choc full of power, but in the rest of the worlds' vision, this small group of severely threatened little aspirers amount to... what do they amount to, actually? I'm not sure, really... but I can tell you it's not enough for me to waste too many more sentences on.

And the entire time, I say what I say not because I think I'm better than them; I say it because I sometimes wonder if I'm the only one in this mix who actually sees us all as equal. There are brilliant things I recognize about the people I bitch about, and if I get upset and complain here, say the harshest of harsh, it's because I am uber pissed off that these people choose to be trivial instead of what I think they can be. If this makes me look worse, let it, but when I bitch here, it's usually in an attempt to bring people down to a realistic notch on the belt, not to raise myself up to a notch I don't fit in.

Ok, with that out of the way, how are the rest of you? On my end, I'm having one hell of an appreciated break from family stress. I think that over the years, a survival instinct has kicked in when things get too stressful, a little inner switch my brain hits, followed by a soothing internal voice that coos 'Paula, let it go' in such a convincing way, I have no choice but to obey. Thank God.

Found a new musical group I love. The Gorillaz, the particular CD being 'Demon Days', a mix of retro, disco, funk, techno, rap, you name it. Two songs especially... 'Dare' and 'Feel Good, Inc.' are tracks that do just what you want good listening to do... take hold of your nervous system and make you groove, make your feet tap, make you bounce, whether you consciously ordered yourself to or not. The videos are strange, anime-based shorts featuring human/ape hybrids grooving, so I enjoy the actual music more, but I gotta admit, the videos are captivating, as weird as they are. In essence, it's good stuff:)

Also, please keep the prayers coming for Marie and Allison... Marie's recovering from her latest surgery, Allison's recovering from her latest pre-surgery procedure, both are troopers, both are kicking buttcheeks galore when it comes to those 'things' Life loves to throw at you.

And last, definitely not least, I'd like to send all my thoughts, vibes, and prayers out to my Catbroad Brenna. Those of you who read here regularly will know that Brenna's the Broad who's had a mother-in-law struggling with every hurdle cancer usually has to throw at its victim. Brenna's been a model of a daughter-in-law, not just being there for her husband's sake, but being there because she really loves her mother-in-law. I have read all of Brenna's emails, followed her through all the phases she and her family have been through since her mil's diagnosis, felt her pain each time she felt hope that her mil would be cured, cried with her when the last test results came back, wondered how in hell she was able to remain so strong all the while, and today, I cried for Brenna and her family when she wrote today that her mother-in-law passed peacefully to the next world. And though I know there's relief in this, peace, and a a knowledge by this family that this woman is in a better place, I also know that the family needs all the positive energy we can send their way.

To my Catbroad... Bren, I send you all my energy, Hon, and after I've sent all that, I'll find a way to send more. You're worth that much and beyond, my friend, as is your mother-in-law. May the peace and love I know she feels now be shown to you, let you worry that much less, let you be sure you did right by her that much more. May your entire family feel the same:)

April 22, 2006

I used to love Saturdays, but now I'm not so sure. The husband works nights, which means that when he gets home on Saturday morning, he ends up snoring on the couch behind me while I either go out with friends, family, or sit here at the computer, waiting for him to wake up;) Such is the case today.

Sooooooo... I'm sitting here at the computer, catching up on friends' journals, reading some, and also getting pissed off at the Dallas Zoo.

We adopted a spider monkey awhile back, and today, I go to the website to adopt both a Lion Fish and a Dart Frog as gifts for my dad and stepmom (long story, but Dad loves fish, particularly the Lion Fish, and Judy is terrified of frogs, so it's been a long standing tradition that she get at least some kind of frog-themed gift from Dad or me each year as a gag gift, something that sounds mean, but that Judy gets a kick out of), I go to fill out all the information on the online form, get to the payment page, and all of a sudden, there's an error message saying that there's a problem, the webmaster is aware of the problem, and that I can't at this time donate. Why in the hell didn't the all-knowing webmaster put this message up on the very first page in the step to adopting these animals? I just went through a shitload of unnecessary typing for nothing. Ugh.

At least I was able to adopt my Spider Monkey buddy from a few entries ago. I hear he's doing great, though I need to go and see him again soon:)

Back to writing again...

I checked my Fictionpress.com site stats again earlier today, and I am flummoxed. I haven't updated either story I put on that site in literally over a year, yet the stats say that people are still reading after all this time. How are y'all still finding these two stories???? I'm still getting reviews on the site and in private emails, and it's humbling, considering that the longer you go on Fictionpress without updating your story, the deeper your story gets buried, thus the harder it is for new readers to find it. Accidental Muse is approaching 40 thousand hits now, and Average, a one page story I haven't even begun to finish has over a thousand hits, not bad for a short and unfinished story at all. All in all, though, it really doesn't say much about me; it instead makes me grateful that there are some readers out there who'll dig a little into fictionpress.com and find this old stuff of mine, much less take the time to let me know what they thought. Cool people who I thank completely!:) I honestly just wanted to have fun with both, I did, and it's rewarding to see that more than a few of you got it, too:)

I have quite a few of you to thank re: my bitching about family entry... From Allison to Danica to Carol to some first-timers I didn't meet until you emailed me recently over this particular entry... thank you so much for letting me know I'm not alone, and for just thinking of me at all. You know, the internet is full of leeches and trolls, idiots and fuck-ups, but when you weigh that against the real and wonderful people you'd have never met had the cyber world never existed, the idiots are worth it. You are all just so much of a blessing, and if I had to have sex with Bill Gates in order to prove just how grateful I am for this cyber world, then consider me slapped into tacky lingerie and committing adultery with an extremely geeky billionaire.

Speaking of meeting online friends, I've met a few, and we've always just clicked. I'm hoping that'll be the case when Carol comes through DFW airport next month with a bit of a layover in which I can go to the airport and actually meet her before she connects to her next flight. The visit I just know will go well, and I'm sure I'll update you all in a few weeks to confirm it.

I've met a few online friends, had a couple stay here with me for visits, hung out with others who lived nearby, and I have to say that they all have been well worth it. The first was Heather, who came here and stayed during the infamous Millenium New Year's with her husband and beautiful little daughter. Then came Cindy, a local pet lover I met in person and bonded with immediately. Then Amy came to stay here for a few days on her way to New Mexico, where she was moving. You all should've seen our house at the time, full of all my animals, plus her dog, cats, and rescued Iguana. We had a great time, and I regret not keeping in touch with Amy as much now as I used to, a fault that I completely own, not her. She's had some things happen to her since she completed her trek to New Mexico, and we've made contact now and then since then, and I've helped her out without her asking for it, but I still should've kept a better line of communication with her in the last few years.

Then there's Allison, who I just knew in my gut wouldn't be a disappointment to meet in person. I met a few other Baker folks in the last few years that I'd only known before via the web, but Allison's the one person I really connected with, and adored as much in person as I did online. She's amazing, and even though she's not that geographically far away, I doubt I'd have had the pleasure had the internet not existed.

Now if I can just get all my Catbroads together in one place...

I watch talk shows, court shows where online people meet and self-destruct, thus their dysfunctional appearance on said show. And I've been lucky to not feel that kind of impact. Maybe I've just been lucky, but then again, maybe I'm just a kick-ass judge of character;) I've met a couple of freakazoids online, but overall, the majority of people I maintain contact with are people I just know meeting in person would do nothing less than gratify.

So, to those of you I talk to regularly, yet haven't met yet... if you ever find yourselves traveling this way, let me know, ok?

Time to go. Eric's about to wake up, which means I'm about to make the little ogre spend some time with me. Have a nice Saturday, folks;)

April 21, 2006

As I write this, I sit here in my 'forgot to bathe' glory, my hair oily and dippity do'ish', tied in a knot that balances itself precariously on my head as if it were trying to do an impersonation of Adabizi's cap from HBO's Oz. My jogging pants have cat snot on them, dried and brown, and my bright orange 'escaped convict' t-shirt has a hole around the nipple area large enough to let anyone who'd like to know what color bra I'm wearing... wait; I'm not wearing a bra right now. No wonder I feel so floppy.  Oh, and about 20 minutes ago, I farted so loud that my husband actually came into the room and gave me a nod of respect (if any of you reading this are offended, recover. Women fart; it's a fact).

What I'm trying to say is that I'm tired today, moody, and just lookin' for a reason to scream at someone, yet can't quite find one. My stepdad's doing better, so's my mother, my brother picked up his newly spayed female cats from my vet today, I just finished balancing the checkbook, and a couple of friends of mine who've been through some medical stuff lately are doing well, so at least I've got that goin' for me. Goonga galunga;)

I finally picked out a couple of special gifts for my Dad and Stepmom. Dad's getting hand-smoked Alaskan salmon and fixin's I custom ordered for him, and the quaint little business I ordered it from come highly recommended, so he should enjoy that. And Judy's getting a bottle of Pinot Grigiot with a personalized label I designed on it. She'll love it:)

Oh, and my sister... she had the nerve to call my brother the other day, and not ask, but tell him that he had to come help her move. She never ceases to amaze me. Never. I just don't get how people can take and take and take without remorse, much less even a bit of consideration, even much less gratitude. I've often referred to this kind of behavior as 'titty dancer mentality'. I've seen it a million times when working at a topless club... these girls whose lives are focused on extracting whatever they can from the men who come in to the club, so much so that it spills over into their real life, causing them to expect any and everything from family without so much as a tinge of guilt.

I've been thinking about this kind of mentality, about my sister, and I think I only got it half-right. I think that the women who exhibit this behavior who work in clubs work there because they're that way rather than becoming that way after becoming a dancer. My sister's the perfect example... she was a titty dancer years before she actually became one. She expected everything from everyone, yet I don't often remember her giving much of herself in return. Now, right off the bat, any of you who might read this and be offended because you either dance now or used to dance, calm the hell down. Not all topless dancers are like this. I've known a few, only a few I hate to say, who really were just nice girls trying to get by. And every time one got out of 'the business', I was happy as hell for them.

On another note, I was talking with a writer friend of mine, and we were discussing 'Purple Prose', a description often used in a less-than-flattering light, a term basically referring to a writing style that involves way too many adjectives, adverbs, way too much description in a story. It's usually used by other writers who, for whatever reason they use as excuse, tack this label onto the works of fellow writers.

Honestly, I think the term has gotten a bad rep. I think the only reason it's used to knock other writer's is usually because most writer's can't pull off Purple Prose.

At risk of getting in copyright trouble, I'm going to now show you an example of terrible purple prose, followed by one author whose vivid description absolutely works for me.

Ok, here we go...

Bad Purple Prose, an example created by me:

Arabella wrapped her French manicure-tipped fingers around the Tiffany-crystal chalice with the etched floral scene lining its rim, roughly, harshly, and lifted it up to her Chanel Berry Dream shade of pouting lips... only to blink and lower the glass again, a bubbling, rounded, and disappointment filled tear forming at the edge of her violet/blue eyes...

God, that was just bad.

Still, that's a fairly accurate version of bad purple prose.

Now, this is from a writer, one of the only ones I know who I think pulls off purple prose. I stole it without her permission, so I hope she doesn't mind:

Okay, this isn't too 'purply', but still, I would consider this particular writer to be one who writes purple prose... good purple. I know that romance isn't everyone's thing, but if you're going to write it, this is a great way to do it, if you ask me. Each bit of extra description becomes necessary, each word fits, and all of it becomes powerful to those of us who've ever enjoyed reading romance.

Anyway, this all makes me think of all the 'rules' so many online writers tend to create for each other, rules that some of these writers just love to try to enforce. Mary Sue's and Gary Stu's, for example... this is a huge no-no, but I've noticed that the folks insisting they're a huge no-no usually say so because they don't know how to create a good one. There used to be two gals who hung out at a fiction site I frequented, gals I'll call Ben and Jell-B, whose one desire in their fanfic life it seemed was to pick on anyone who wrote things they didn't like. Want to write about something supernatural? Oh GOD, NO, according to them. Want to have magic occur in a story? No way, they'd say, knock the hell out of writers who dared to go against them. Want to write a campy kind of thing that follows a 'done before' formula? Hell was where you were headed, if these two had a say in it. Never mind that all their stories were drenched in clichéd dialogue, plot lines, character names, and yes, even those smutty sex scenes where some woman gets fucked to the gills while she's pinned up against a wall (now that's really original, ain't it?). They bullied, intimidated, and picked on way too many people, and when they left, I think you could hear all the talented yet now free writers who'd felt their wrath too often all scream out simultaneous cries of elation.

Rules, rules, rules... so many online writers love to try and enforce them, yet so few actually have any kind of right to. As a reader, I get into a story because it's told well, and often when I think it's told well, not all the 'rules' are followed. I've read some stories where I've seen the 'rules' not just disobeyed, but thrown to the cyber ground, gut kicked a few times, then spat upon... and I was hooked on every sentence of every paragraph in these stories.

I don't really have a message here more than I'm just making some observations, but if I were to try and glean any kind of summary of this particular writer's rant, it'd be a message to any of you folks out there who spend more time picking apart other people's work than you do trying to improve your own creations...

Do me a favor, stop reading stuff you know you'll bitch about, log off every once in a while, and get a life.

Finally, something kinda funny.

The other day, I fell asleep on the couch in the afternoon before Eric went to work, and when I woke up, there was a plastic bag on the coffee table. In it was a container of milk, two oranges, some picante sauce, and chips. I'm scratching my head, wondering what in hell Eric went out and bought this for, put everything up, then forget about it until he calls later at night to check in with me. I ask him why the strange assortment of convenience store food, and the story he tells me both cracks me up and freaks me out at the same time.

He said that just before he went to work, he went up to me while I was asleep on the couch, tried to wake me and ask if I needed anything from the store. After a few tries, he says that I suddenly opened my eyes, sprung up in my seat, looking wide awake, and yelled 'Dairy, chips, dip and fruit, dammit!!!! Now!!!'.

And so the bag was bought and placed on the coffee table.

And so it's all still in the cupboard now, 'cause I didn't want any of that stuff, and wonder what kind of dream I was having that would make me yell something like that out. Huh. And I can't tell you the last time I actually used the word 'dairy'. Go figure, LOL!

Readers, thanks for reading and please keep reading. Writers, you keep on writing, guys and gals, and the next time one of those idiotic little lecturers tries to fuck with you over your stories, let me know... I beg you. Friends, I love you all and hope you're all doing especially well. And for those of you who fit all these categories? Hell, I'd marry you if I could;) Have a great weekend, folks!

April 19^th, 2006

Once again, I am now playing the mother role with not just my siblings, but my own mother.

I've been able to log on just long enough the last few days just so I could clear out email, as if answering a single one any time soon would've been a possibility. My mother's side of the family apparently all subscribe to the Murphy's Law take on life, therefore self-fulfilling destructive prophecy after propehcy to the point that I'm convinced soon I won't be able to be around any of them without wearing some sort of charm bracelet.

It started when I talked to my brother a few days ago. Seems Mom called him, asking him if she could deposit some money into his account, have him get it out, then take it all over to my sister, who said she needed the money to get a new apartment. See, according to my sister, her husband is this terrible man she has to get away from immediately, Mom bought it hook line and sinker, but I was a different story.

See, I know my sister, and though I love her, I have this ability to hear a single sentence from her and sniff out just how many lies she's inserted into it. And this time, I suspected a few things about Donna's latest request for money, and after calling a couple of other family members, I confirmed my hunches.

My 47 year old sister, who should at this age be  SO much more mature, lied to my mother, telling her that her husband was a direct threat, that she needed to move out of their home and start life anew, knowing my mother would send everything she could. Despicably, what really happened is that my sister has been cheating on her husband for months now with a guy she met at a psychiatric inpatient hospital (and he wasn't a member of staff, if you get my drift), has been doing crack with him for months, that it's her husband who actually already paid for a new apartment for Donna to move into, he was so ready to part ways with her, and that Donna is using the 'apartment money' request just so that she can get some extra cash from my mother.

Unfortunately, I found all of this out immediately after it was too late and Donna'd gotten Mom's money, so I couldn't stop it, but the following is an email I sent my mother, after the fact and holding back what I now know, and only because telling my mother now wouldn't do a single ounce, and fat-free ounce at that, a single bit of good. So, I wrote her, hoping that she'd maybe listen, may just decide to not let herself get juiced by a conniving daughter in the future:

Email title- Mom, just warning you that this will be long

And that you probably aren't going to like this email that much, but still, I have to write it.

I heard recently that you are yet again sending more money to Donna so that she can get an apartment, and that she doesn't want John to know about it. 

Mom, can you afford this?  Especially with all the health concerns you and Jim both have had lately? 

I know it's your money, and that you can do whatever you want to do with it.  If you decide that you want to take your last fifty bucks and get a tattoo of Tiny Tim pasted on your areola, I have no right to tell you not to, but on the same note, I hope you won't hold it against me if I tell you I think the idea's a little nutty;)

Mom, I know that you and I both remember a time in which I was a child who took you, my father, and everyone around me for granted, asked for things and took things I didn't deserve, never paying back. I have been a bitch, a burden, and a mess in my days, can still be now, so when I write an email like this, don't think Hypocrisy itself isn't giving me a swift kick in the ass.  Still, hypocrisy alone isn't enough for me to keep my mouth shut.

You and Jim have been through one hell of a few years, and frankly, it pisses me off that even in your toughest times, my sister is hitting you up for money I just as frankly think you need to keep for yourself. I understand that this money's supposed to get her into a new apartment, start a new life, but my question is how is this money going to pay her first month's rent, her next month's?  And when it doesn't, what could that money have bought you and Jim instead? 

I know that Donna is mentally ill, the one thing you always cite when she acts like less than a daughter.  I also know that it breaks your heart that I don't bond with her like I have with my brothers.  I love my sister more than I think you even realize, I have seen her potential, her beauty, and her ability, and if there is any reason for my not getting as close to her as I do my two brothers, it's because she fails to realize any of these gifts of hers.  She instead chooses to milk her mother for funds to bail her out of situations she both created and failed to resolve. 

This isn't about me.  Mom, you've told me on more than one occasion that I wasn't going to get the same kind of help from you, the main reason being that I 'have a father'.  This has hurt me when you've said it.  I've likened it to the same thing as saying 'Paula, since you weren't lucky enough have a father who died when you were young like your siblings were, you don't need this or that from me'.  So trust me when I say that this isn't about me.  I don't want or need your money.   My relationship with you, whether I have a father, no father, a father with money, or a father who sells empty soda cans for spare cash, is solely about me loving and appreciating the woman who bore me, nurtured me the best she could, and who I see in the mirror so often when I'm brushing my teeth. 

You have a son right now who screwed up royally a few months ago, but who made things right, and who got his old job back, is fighting like hell to catch up with his bills and continue to keep his house, yet he's terrified to ask you for any help he needs because he knows Donna's asked you for too much already, knows what you're going through with you and Jim needing so much medical care lately, and who would rather go without than put you out.  Now, that's a son, if you ask me, and if you helped him out, I wouldn't be writing an email even closely resembling this one because I know your money would be going to good use with him.  With Donna, I guarantee you it'll just lead to future requests for more money.

So when I hear Donna has yet again gotten more money from you that you could better use for yourself, you're going to have to excuse me for speaking my mind.

Donna loves you, Mom.  I know she's not just about asking you for money, but Mom, I love you, too.  So do both your sons... very much, and I'm sorry, but I also know that Donna leaves a lot of things out in her conversations with you, tells you only what she thinks will benefit her most.  I think you already know that, as we all do, and I won't elaborate, except to say that when she does the same to me, it's one thing.  When she does it to you, along with asking you for things, it's entirely another.

Mom, you've worked hard for your money.  You and Jim need it now, and I understand a loving parent bailing a child out once or twice when an honestly unfortunate situation pops up, but I can't help but worry now that you are going to spend the rest of your life bailing Donna out of situation after situation until you don't have a penny left to care for yourself when you really need it.  I know you're not stupid, and I know you're strong, responsible, and independent.  I just want to make sure you stay that way. 

I love my sister, I really do.  But I think that at a time like this, she could've bothered to concentrate more on how your wrist was doing or how Jim's stoma was than to ask you for apartment money. Mom, it's time to take care of yourself, help out one of your kids now and then, spoil a grandkid when you can.  When it's your time to pass on, I hope to God you don't have a dime left to leave anyone, that you spent it all on some wild cross-country trip you and Jim took and left this world wearing a tourist tee, saying something about how you saw this place or that, and all you got was this lousy t-shirt.

If you already know all this, if you already know damned well that you're financially ok, can give a little here and there, I'm glad, but I still won't stop worrying, nor will I ever fully excuse anyone's mental disorder excuse when it comes to your savings. I know too many people diagnosed with Donna's illness who don't try to use it as a source of income to know that my sister's bipolar disease isn't the cause or effect... it's a promotional item in her eyes.

Mom, whether I piss you off or not with this letter, please just promise me you'll take care of you and Jim before you take care of everyone else, ok?

Ok, I've said enough, and I shall now slink off to my dark corner and shut my trap.  I love you both, and though I don't apologize for my concern, I do apologize for being so 'cyber' vocal.

Me:)

Mom wrote back with this response:

Dearest daughter, thank you for your loving concerns. Rest assured that
I do not give more than I can afford.I give help only when I deem it a
worthy cause. I feel it is necessary to get Donna out of John's house
now. She has plenty of other people to help her after that. I am there
for all of my kids in an emergency, as you know. If I don't give
equally, it's because not all needs are equal. I am very proud of my
children who have worked hard and done well, but I love you all. So,
thanks for speaking your mind, but stop worrying. We are not down to our
last dime, and we enjoy our simple life, such as coming to Dallas now
and then for a visit.            We are doing pretty well now. I am
recovering from my second surgery, and Jim has decided to delay his
until after our trip to Az. We jst bought a new t.v. and finally got it
wired up to the web, after a few mistakes, so I'm back in touch with the
world.  we have jst a few things to do before we hit the road again!
we should be there May 15 or 16. I'm looking forward to seeing you then!
Love, Mom

Unfortunately, before any more could be said, Mom wrote again; this time, an emergency:

Fate has thrown a monkey
wrench into our plans for the trip we had planned in May to Dallas and
Arizona. Last night was horrible. Jim isback in the hospital. He once
again amost bled to death. It was so scary. If we had been in a
wilderness area or an isolated little town, he might be dead now.                      
Re-reading this I realize that I seem totally nuts. But I have told the
story so many times today-to Donna, Sarah, my neighbor who took me to
the hospital, Jim's family, that now it just seems like a very bad
dream. For details you have to call. He is in the Doctor's Hospital at
Renaisaince.Tomorrow he will be in and out
doing tests, but I will be there most of the time. We hope they will
follow up with surgery, even tho that means weeks of recovery. I just
don't want him to bleed to death. I will call Tommy, but if you want to
you could  give him the message that we will not be there in May, or
anytime soon. Thanks for being there for us, even if "there" is
cyber-space. Love, Mom

At reading this, I logged off, called my mom, only to find out that my stepdad had a massive rupture and bleed in his colostomy bag area, and had lost so much blood by the time the paramedics got there, that he couldn't even sit up, much less stand, was vomiting, and couldn't speak a coherent sentence if his life depended on it. I also found out that afterword, Mom called Donna to tell her, and Donna, although expressing her condolences, also expressed that she was just as upset that my mother was no longer able to come up in May and pick her up to take her on a trip to Arizona, something my mom was planning on doing in May.

What the FUCK??????

Oh, and it gets better. My mother ended up promising to pay for a plane ticket for Donna so that she can fly to Arizona instead now, visit family, have a grand old time while my mom is at home, spending her time alternating between changing out the dressings on her recent cancer-removal wounds and nursing her husband.

I once again asked 'Mom, did Donna at least feign concern over Jim's situation before she started bitching about you not being able to drive her to Arizona? Please tell me she at least did that before she complained.'

Mom once again just said 'Donna has a mental illness', as if bipolar were some doctor's note, and that my question sounded more like 'Please excuse Donna from being a an unselfish human being this lifetime. She has a case of bad brain chemistry.'

Oh, and as all this is going on, I find out that my brother, who took in a pregnant cat, kept Momma cat and all her kittens, yet ignored my pleas to at least get the two females out of the bunch fixed so that no new babies would be created, didn't heed my advice. Not only are the only two female cats in his house not spayed, I was over there yesterday, and find out through a routine checkup I performed that one is already pregenant. Oh, and not only that, my brother, though he got his job back, isn't making what he was before he quit, and that the unemployed time period he was in produced major debt, meaning he barely has enough money to keep his house now, much less spay his two not-yet-spayed female cats. So, guess who made my brother get up today, round up his two intact females, one of them already a couple of weeks pregnant, put them in a carrier, drive to my house, pick me up, then go to my vet, have both girls spayed, and pay for it herself? You don't have to guess, do you?

You know, I was outside the other day, looking at my house and noticing all the shades of gray I'd painted different parts of my home's exterior. And when looking at it all on a particularly sunny day, I realize I am indeed even more of a hypocrite than I realized.

Me, always determined not to be the fence-rider, choosing to paint a house with three shades of gray paint when it should've been purple, royal blue, pink, and crimson. Me, seeing all the dysfunction in a family, in my own house, and expressing it all in a monochromatic theme for all those who drive down my proverbial street. Me, stepping in and bitching to the gray people in my life, then ultimately taking care of their business for them, all the while knowing what I do will never produce a single streak of contrasting color in the people I love because that ashen color's just way too set to allow a stain.

My stepfather is failing, my mother is weakening, both my brothers need a babysitter, and my sister cares more about herself than any of us. All along, I'm just wondering... what shade of gray would you call that?

April 15, 2006

I woke up today with another panic attack, my heart rate going over 100 again to the point that if I wanted to, I could take my pulse without so much as laying a single digit on my wrist or neck, I could feel it pound so fiercely through my chest wall. I pulled out the BP monitor, took my 'official' readings, what I usually use when an attack like this hits, saw that my heart rate wasn't too far over the normal limit, and that my blood pressure was entirely normal.

You'd think that seeing on a monitor confirmation that a heart attack isn't happening would be proof enough for those of us having these freakish bodily assaults occur, but trust me; it's not. Panic attacks are wicked, entirely so, as if the onslaught of adrenalin surge has a mind of its own, also figures out just what you're going to say to yourself to calm yourself down, doesn't like it, won't have it, and already has an alternate explanation handy to feed your brain, hoping all along that you'll continue to be as freaked out as you were... never calmer, hopefully more frantic than before. For example, I feel that buzzing feeling in my brain, followed by the official panic attack, and while my brain knows these sensations, knows what's going on, there's another voice in my mind that also chimes in at the most inopportune moments, saying 'Yeah, Paula, your heart rate's up. Be scared. Be real scared, 'cause you're dying. Hey, is that a pain in the left arm I feel? Radiating up to my jaw? Oooh, I think it might be, and you know what, Paula? I seem to remember that being a sign of an impending or occurring heart attack. Damn, girl! You're going to die here. You're going to leave Eric alone, all these cats with just him to care for, which means the special needs ones will die for sure since Eric doesn't know just how to care for them. Maybe you should've written all the instructions down for him, but hey, too late... your heart's about to stop, you're about to die, and everyone around you who needs you is about to suffer, too.'

Can I say 'add to the panic' here? Yeah, I can. Even though I didn't die, and a part of me knew I wasn't going to die. A panic attack is that powerful.

I've been blessed until recently with fewer of them, much fewer, thanks to natural alternatives I've chosen. But I can't continue to live my life wondering where and when the next one will pop up. I have had in the last year especially increasing responsibilities that require I be around other people at extremely important times, and though what you think I might act like during a panic attack isn't actually what happens ( I don't freak out, scream, spasm, seize, or say freaky things, don't really give much of a clue to the observer that what's going on internally with me is going on), it's still mentally distracting enough for me to feel that even a once a month occurance is way too much. I am seriously just about ready to give in and take whatever pill my primary care doc will prescribe. The thing that prevents me is the research I've done on these medications. I see that so many of them are effective, but the second you miss a dose, much less quit a medication altogether, you run the risk of having the attacks not just return, but come back with a vengeance. So, though I'm on the razor's edge, another part of me tells me to wait this out a little longer and pray that medical science figures out a little more, learns just which molecule in the chemical formula they'll have to shift that'll make me a little less dependent on any future drug I may end up taking.

I'm addicted to enough things... aren't we all? So, who needs a new monkey squawking on our shoulders?

All of this makes me think of my husband, always the bright light shining though every day of darkness I've ever had since I met him.

I know what the divorce rate in this country is, know the even higher statistics of couples who are considering divorce. And when I recognize these things, I don't for once knock a single person on either side of any marriage that's having problem enough to make one consider the pros and cons of leaving. If anything, I look at Eric, on the couch now, and I wonder how in hell a person as fucked up as myself has managed to not just keep a husband like Eric, but to know that he absolutely loves me... still.

He can wake up, walk down those bedroom stairs, past me in his his torn Fruit of the Looms, permanently stained undershirt, hair sticking up in ways that only the coolest of grungers find attractive, and glance at me with the sleepiest of gazes, but no matter how cranky or tired still he may feel or look, those eyes of his tell me without a doubt that I, looking just as cranky, just as tired, am the only human being he'll allow himself to look this way in front of.

I have gained weight in the most unsightly of places, lost some, still have some, wear less than feminine clothes most of the time, which is more often than I wear makeup, curse like the devil child born of a drunk trucker mom and sailor dad, constantly bitch about the dimply fold I see forming around my middle and elsewhere, but this man still grabs at all of those spots of mine with a gleam and real desire in his eyes. He could easily pay for slimmer, discreetly hire someone to fulfill his every sexual visual desire, but he doesn't, because he wants me. I've asked myself more than once what's wrong with him, loving this imperfect woman who has more pets than can be counted on digits, the woman who has panic attacks, a sideshow family he's had to deal with more than once, an ability to tell him he's full of shit when he needs me most to tell him that he's entirely right about something I know he's not right about, a woman who can cook a bit, but who will never be found at the doorstep, waiting eagerly for his arrival, wearing an apron and set of white gloves, a woman who can never promise that the house he works so hard to pay for won't sometimes smell deeply of cat shit.

I am everything this wonderful man doesn't deserve, yet in his eyes, I am every day made aware of the fact that I am exactly everything this man needs.

Sylvia Browne has said many a time in her books and on her regular income-pumping appearances on Montel Williams that there is no such thing as a soul mate in this realm.

She's wrong. About a lot of things. I'll write all about Sylvia some other time.

Eric is my soul mate. I'm his as well. Quote every cliché you can when recalling the best of both romantic comedies and best-buddy films, and my husband and I both will gladly admit to not being original but more so to living the cliché.

I've made plenty of mistakes in my life... plenty. But marrying this goober of a man isn't one of them. I just don't see how loving a human being, much less feeling loved by a human being, even more now than the day you got married, can be anything even remotely resembling a mistake, especially when cats, dogs, in-laws, and everything that normally can fuck up matrimony happen. And when those things happen without so much as causing a dent in the union, nights like tonight happen, where you look behind you at the snoring soul mate on the couch...

And smile:)

April 14^th, 2006

'I have PMS and ESP, which means that I'm a bitch who knows everything'

God, does that ever fit me;) It's from a sign a friend sent me a picture of yesterday, and I'm thinking about ordering one for myself, along with the one saying 'I don't skinnydip, I chunky dunk'.

My husband is comatose right now, behind me on the couch, curled up and snoozing away, me waking him slightly every time he rolls on his back and starts to snore, telling him to get back on his side. I woke this morning to find Sylvester actually walking around without being dizzy, the old fart. He keeps surprising me. He's so old that with each illness, I'm convinced this is 'it', then he just hangs in and gets better. I could learn a thing or two from this ancient feline;)

I also need to get a picture of me with my blonde hair here soon, 'cause I'm already tired of it and am ready to go back to my natural red. I'm pale, very pale, and this blonde ends up making me look more anemic than sexy. I literally look as if a hoard of starving vampires just had a gang-suck at my expense. I don't know how I pulled off being blonde for so many years with my skin tone.

By the way, would someone please email me and tell me that you've found some legal loophole that'd allow the overwhelming majority of the American voters to go ahead and just chuck Dubya out of office now? How many more years are we going to be forced to deal with this special needs president, how much worse is he going to drive the nail into our country's coffin before another inauguration can give we the people some iota of hope? This man is as retarded as I am big-breasted, and trust me; I got some hooters on me. If it weren't for his staff grooming him (I think a more appropriate name for his employees would be something more like 'nannies'), I am convinced Junior would appear more than once in front of cameras wearing either a bib or a trail of toilet paper dangling from the ass-end belt loop area of his slacks... possibly even both. And I bet his Ivy-league days were filled with classes Daddy specially had formed for him, classes like 'How not to eat your own boogers 101' and 'Honors Strategery'.

What gets me is that I have had the displeasure of being around people who bitch about Bush as much as I do, the only difference being that these people who dare to bitch now actually voted for him... twice!!!!!!! To those people, I say this:

1. Shut the hell up.

2. He ain't my president.

3. Here's your official helmet and pair of knee-pads. When the short bus gets here, I'll help you put them on, you whining bastards.

4. You're going to need number three, 'cause guess what? You've won an all expense paid trip to... drumroll... Dubyapalooza!!!! Yes, that's right; you and a friend will be treated to a weekend of excitement in grand old Crawford, Texas, where you'll be a special guest at events such as the Cheney Skeet Shoot, the Scooter Libby Leakfest (bring an undercover agent, and the first two hours of drinks are on the house!), followed by a tobacco sampling party hosted by our wrinkle-lipped First Lady herself, Laura Bush. But wait, that's not all! Barbara and Jenna will be waiting to escort you to the annual Bush family barbecue, where you'll dine on grilled Alaskan Salmon steaks with a side of petroleum aspic, newly drilled, followed by tequila jello shots, hand fed to you by Jenna herself. Once she's passed out from swiggin straight from the Cuervo bottle, you'll be whisked away to the VIP barn, where you'll sit by the likes of Toby Keith and Jeff Foxworthy during the night-closing traditional bull-milking ceremony, and if you survive that, you'll be rewarded with a 'You might be a Redneck' t-shirt, a CD single of Toby Keith's greatest hits (the B side of the CD contains an extremely informative advertisement for Ford Trucks), and after spending your final night in the Bush house's acclaimed 'Buzzard Room', you'll be safely flown back home with a year's supply of Turtle Wax and autographed picture of Donald Rumsfeld in a Petticoat Junction dress presented to you in a snazzy basket hand-woven by a crafty Afgahni widow whose husband was accidentally taken out by a faulty grenade launcher. Congratulations!!!!

Ok, I'm done for now. Long evening ahead, so I have to cut this short.

April 13, 2006-a loose end entry

Pretty good day today:)

Sick cats are doing better, Eric found out that he won an NCAA pool he'd bet on and got paid today, I also got paid for writing something awhile ago that I was proud of, but not too sure of when it came to the departure in style on my part, and the first thing I did today was go out and spend my newly paid money on a couple of people I adore:) Felt good, is about all I can say.

My new neighbors are continuing to prove that my instincts are correct. They're a good family, good neighbors, and I hope just as much that we'll become better than good friends. They're catching on to being homeowners quickly, and it's fun watching them doing yardwork with that gleam in the eye all of us first-time homeowners have had. It's a trip watching them, a good trip:)

Allison, I hope that your not updating your blog the last couple of days is because you've either been just too busy or (and this option I love!) working instead on Virginia's story;) By the way, email me when you can and let me know if you know what new stuff is up with the Baker. I say that because the dreams have started again, with a vengeance the last week, so I know something new has happened.

Called my niece last night and left a message.... she still hasn't called me back. Not good.

Just found out another of my nieces was just voted Prom Queen:) Go, Sarah!!!!

I have a new stray kitty gracing my front porch, a young female brown and gray tabby, gorgeous little thing who's absolutely terrified of me, yet meowing at me constantly, as if to let me know not to give up on her. So, I'm working on her, hoping to get her to come around and let me get closer to her, pet her, eventually tame her enough to find her a home:) Wish me luck.

My stepmom's birthday's coming up, so I'm going to spend some time today coming up with a good gift for her. Dad and Judy are extremely hard to shop for, being that they have everything they need, and whatever they don't have, they can buy for themselves, so I've got to bust my cranium trying to think of a gift that's both sincere, touching, and gives them something they didn't even know they needed. Not easy.

Bucky is GONE!!!!!!!!! I completely missed the Tuesday night airing of American Idol, so I don't know how all the performances went, but to see last night's elimination episode and watch Bucky finally leave us made my skin tingle in the kind of way that doesn't so much bespeak hatred of Bucky, but of a feeling more like 'AI callers, you FINALLY did some justice'. Taylor stayed safe again, and I was happy to see it, but I'm telling you, if we go on much further and Taylor stays safe, though I should be happy, I'll be worrying about the guy. The further you go on American Idol, it seems, the more those kiss of death lips plant themselves firmly on the contestants' asscheeks. It's kinda like the MTV best new artist award in the 80's.... if you won, you could kiss your ass goodbye, seemed like. Seriously, has anyone heard from Men at Work since they won that award? I loved those Aussies, and other than a couple of them closing the Sydney Olympics, I thought they'd all been abducted by aliens.

Oh, for those of you who've written and asked... Eric and I decided to fix this house up, get it ready for lease or sale, then if the house in Mineral Wells was still on the market when things worked out, we'd buy it, fix the roof immediately, then move in and live in it while we fixed the rest. We decided that the fatalists in us would take care of loose ends here first, and if that gorgeous old house were still available to us, it was meant to be. If it doesn't work out, then that's okay, too. We still want to and will move to Mineral Wells, and we both just kind of know that it's going to happen the way it's supposed to happen:) And when it does, believe me, I am still going to dread moving all these animals!

Ok, that's about it for updates today. I have to wake up a sleeping husband, feed him some corned beef and cabbage, give him a few things I bought him today, medicate two old cats, feed them, make a couple of phone calls, finish some laundry, then shop for linoleum for the cats' room floor. I'm tired just thinking about all that.

April 12, 2006

When it rains, it not only pours around here. The rain's also 50% urine, I'm convinced.

Since last entry, I am still exhausted, two of my oldest cats have two new and completely unrelated illnesses I'm nursing them through now, and it looks like one, maybe both, might not make it at all, I had a massive panic attack out of the blue right before all of this sprung up, and I got some family news I just really wasn't in the mood to hear.

Sylvester, the cat my mom left with me several years ago, has had a world of problems in his old age, and now it seems he's developed an inner ear/vestibular problem, meaning he can't walk straight or stand up long without falling down. He eats and drinks just fine still, thank God, but he's needing quite a bit of medicating and nursing while we wait for this to clear up. And Blanche, my solid white deaf gal, has had her respiratory infection return, and she's having to be force fed until the amoxicillin kicks in. Oh, and it doesn't help that she hates my guts, hisses at me every chance she gets, the old little shit;)

As for my panic attack, I'd been up about an hour that morning, had a cup of coffee, felt great for a change, actually energized and looking forward to getting some work on the house done, then... the head starts buzzing, the ears start ringing, the adrenalin surge rushes through me, my heart starts pounding, and I spend the next two hours once again trying to reason with my mind, explaining that this wasn't a heart attack, that this would pass soon. It did, but by the time it did, I was once again exhausted, and it's at this point that Sylvester first stumbles into the room, announcing for the first time that we had a problem we needed to go see the doc for.

All in all, things are okay now, which leaves me to reflect on the family news I got last night, but I'd better add a pinch of backtrack to the mix to make this happy family recipe help make more sense.

My sister, as most of you who've read here regularly will remember, is an overwhelming emotional vampire of a person, God love her. She blames it on her bipolar disorder, but having known way too many bipolar women who don't put the DQ in Drama Queen, I don't buy it. Anyway, all my life, my sister's major percentage of energy she sucks out of all of us has been put into herself, even when she had children, who needed that energy more. Every motivation she's ever had has been for her sake far before it was for her children's, and as harsh as it sounds to say it, I can't honestly think of a single human being I know in this world who's been a worse mother.

As time's gone on, it's started to show through in her children, especially her oldest, Dorothy. Dorothy is a beautiful, smart, and gifted girl... unfortunately, she's also the one child who saw my sister at her worst on a regular basis, and over the years as Dorothy's grown, her behavior has continually let all of us know that she saw and remembers every night her mother stayed out all night, coking herself up and drinking 30 shots of vodka, every birthday her mother slept through due to hangover, every single thing like this. At 15, Dorothy had her first baby, who's being raised by her paternal grandmother. At 18, Dorothy called me crying one night. She was pregnant, the boyfriend was beating her, and she'd left him, but wanted to get an abortion. Donna wouldn't take her for one because she was against it. I did take her, paid for it, nursed her when it was over, took her to counseling, and though I see both sides of the abortion issue, in this situation, I don't regret doing this for Dorothy.

For awhile, Dorothy'd gotten it together, gotten Chelsea back, was working, going to school, staying out of bad relationships... in a nutshell, she was trying.

Now, Dorothy's added two more children to her family, has been in jail twice for theft charges, appeared on Jerry Springer, and after talking to my brother last night, who had the most recent update, it looks like all three children are now being cared for by paternal grandparents, no hint of when or if she will or should ever get Everett, Destiny, and Chelsea back, and get this, the huge shocker tidbit my brother shared with me...

Dorothy's come out of the closet. Now this alone, I'd embrace her for, and not give a shit about, but...

I just found out that she's now living in the worst part of town, shacked up with a woman 20 years her senior. No, that's still not the worst part. This woman and Dorothy were out together at some club not long ago, I'm told, and a man hit on Dorothy. Her girlfriend not only took offense to it, but pulled out a gun and shot the guy. So, Dorothy's now about to be evicted from an apartment she can't afford because her lover's not making a paycheck and contributing, being that there's not much money to be made while you're in jail awaiting trial.

It's official; I am one hundred percent related to the stuff that's kept Cops on the air for years.

People, if there were ever proof that some people were never meant to be parents, my sister is it. I get so angry at Dorothy for being so much like her mother, for seeing the fork in the road ahead and taking the worst one because a deep part of her soul still remembers too much of what her mother didn't do, chooses to treat herself as horribly as her mom did.

I get even angrier at my sister for her selfishness, for not seeing just how much her actions have affected everyone around her. Maybe she does see it, but tells herself it's too late to change anything now. Or maybe she just doesn't want to.

I get angry at my mother for living in this denial that filtered down to Donna, then to Dorothy, for not being strong enough to this day to not just admit that she failed Donna in particular when she was a young mother, but for choosing to tell herself that Donna, Dorothy, and any of her offspring are doing fantastically when they aren't.

But as angry as I've been at all of them, I am by far the angriest with myself.

Where in the hell have I been?

I have purposefully stayed away from my sister as much as I can for my own survival. I have avoided my mother for years because it was easier to not give in to my urge to strangle her if I wasn't close enough.

But in staying away from two people I've only recently tried to bond with again, I also ended up not always being there for those children. Granted, when Dorothy was growing up, I was still living with my father, then in college, not always able to keep in touch, but still, once I found out about some of the things she'd been through as a result of her mother's neglect, I should've stepped in. And as much as I hate to admit it, I have found myself in the last few years distancing myself from not just my sister, but Dorothy, too, because I was tired of helping, getting my hopes up, always somehow knowing that news would always come, news like last night's, that'd dash it all. She's tended to only call me when she needed help, money, favors, and sometimes I helped, sometimes I refused to when I felt bailing Dorothy out wouldn't do her any good, but I should've been there between the need, lovingly bitching her out for some things, praising her for the times I know she'd done something good, times when I can guarantee you nobody else in her life patted her on the back. I am so unbelievably guilty of having faith in this child, for defending her on so many occasions, then of distancing myself when she reminded me too much of both my mother and her mother.

I have had a life full of my own problems, none of which even come close to the kind of self-inflicted drama I've seen happen with my sister and hers, and I have been there for some important things, but the point is that I knew better, wasn't in denial, and I did nothing when some of the most important things happened. That makes me the worst of the bunch. It really does take a village, folks, and I should be tarred and feathered for selling my hut and moving off to the village suburb for fear of how bad the neighborhood was getting.

Dorothy never had a real mother, but maybe from this point on, she can really start to know what it's like to have a real aunt. I don't know what I can do at this point, much less how I can do it, but I'm going to try, provided she'll let me.

On another note, I have two friends now heading for surgery. One, Allison, is really starting to see the mountain in front of her she'll have to climb in going through with gastric bypass surgery. If you all could, please say a prayer or two that she keep on climbing as brilliantly as she has been. I know she's going to make it, but any help she can get along the way would be much appreciated.

The other friend I'm convinced has super powers, but only in a different way. See, she had her tonsils removed long ago, and just found out that, get this, they've grown back!!!! I'm sorry I'm laughing, but I'm tellin' you, I'm convinced some genetic lab got ahold of her at some point and juiced her up with some regenerative DNA cocktail. Anyway, a second surgery for such an icky procedure I know can't be great, so could you pass on your quick recovery vibes to my friend Marie? Oh, and could you add a few that she doesn't grow a third tit or an extra kneecap once she recovers from this second tonsil-snipping?;)

April 10, 2006

I have been one busy woman lately, too busy, and perhaps that's why I woke up this morning out of the blue, in the most depressed mood I've experienced in ages. I felt like crying one second, felt like screaming the next, yet no matter what my emotional urge was, my body couldn't follow through anyway, it was so tired. I forced myself to exercise, go on a walk with Eric, and it helped a little, but all in all, I spent today dragging my feet, shoulders slumped, wandering around the house in this pathetic state of absolutely unexplained self-pity, not getting a goddamned thing done. And the kicker is that I have no reason to. Life is pretty good right now, and I have no real motivation to be this way. Hormones, I'm tellin' ya. Can't live with 'em, can't keep your upper lip hair-free without 'em.

Didn't help when I finally turned the PC on, logged on and saw that I was 1 email away from having my mailbox fill up, then went through them, adding an additional happy spot of sunshine to my day when I opened one from my mother-in-law, asking me where in the hell I was, hinting that I needed to do more work on her website.

I wrote her back, reminded her that 1.) I built her website 2.) wrote most of the material 3.) pay for its domain and webspace so that she won't have to 4.) she hasn't emailed me a single request to add this or that to it, change anything in months 5.) I've told her repeatedly that I have way too much to do to continue to run her website for her and that she needs to find a replacement (I told her this a year ago), finally ending my rant with number six, that she is so disorganized and befuddled with ADHD, she probably completely forgot that I just talked to her a few days ago. I haven't heard back from her yet, but when I do, I'm sure it'll be fun. I can't even sigh here. I can only exhale;)

On a more uplifting note, read Allison's blog and she mentioned me in it, thanked me for a couple of things, and to you, Al, I say 'thank you, honey'. I think you're pretty damned cool, too:)

Been checking my site stats again on my subscription service, and you all have really been so supportive, continued to visit this page, no matter how superficial I may get, and I thank you so much:) You're amazing, and I'm honored that you bother to come here still.

Still, though, it's kind of bizarre to check these stats and see that so many of the particular people I bitch about here come here so regularly. I'm not just talking about one person here... from the small group of fanfiction people I've complained about, to the ex-boyfriend I pretty much tore apart here in past entries, to anyone else I've said a less than flattering thing about, it's just weird to me to log onto my site stat account and see that these people are coming here so often to continue to read. I mean it can't be because they find what I say fascinating, it can't be that they wait eagerly to learn from my spew, and that's exactly what I write here... spew. I'll be the first to tell you that though I can sometimes entertain, my rants here are nowhere near what I'd call addicting.

So, if I know the previous isn't explanation for why I keep seeing people who I know hate what I've had to say come back here so often, then what is? Are they gluttons for punishment? Are they plotting some wild scheme aimed at hurting me as much as they feel I've hurt them? Are they looking for more gossip material? Are they hoping to load this page someday and see a full apology from me? Or is there some reason I just don't have the wherewithal to fathom yet?

I don't know. But what I do know is that if I can exercise my right to make this page therapeutic for me by writing things that don't exactly stroke egos, things I may sometimes even hesitate to publish to the web here, then I can be progressive enough to allow these IP numbers to continue to appear, whether the people behind them mean to just read, retaliate, or do whatever. And on the same note, anyone who wants to complain about me in your own journal, go for it. I'm a hypocrite in a million ways, but this is one of those times when I really can't be. In any case, let's just say that people some would call my enemies read here... a lot. And if they want to read, search for ammo, whatever reason... folks, you just go right on ahead.

Changing topics-

Hyanna and T.C. Wagadoo are together again, both healing nicely, and not another fight, thank God. I'm following the whole 'dog hierarchy' idea and stressing when I'm with the dogs that Hyanna is the alpha, meaning that when I feed them, pet them, do anything, Hyanna is first, Ike is second, and T.C. Wagadoo has to wait. The idea is that when the real alpha, the human, asserts the dog's positions in the hierarchy, they challenge less, and fights are no longer necessary. So, I'm trying this, and so far, it's working. T.C. Wagadoo sees me recognizing Hyanna as the alpha girl, and so far hasn't tried once to challenge her. Wish me luck.

Finally, talked to a good friend this weekend who has been trying to talk Eric and I into putting video on this website because he gets a kick out of us. He thinks we should hook up a camera here, perched in front of the living room area, where Eric and I sit and talk, sometimes in heated debate, sometimes in silly/stupid blabber, sometimes alone and sometimes with visitors, and sometimes just react to the tv in front of us. He thinks we should film a few days' worth, single out some of the funnier things, then put them up here. We do have some whopper conversations, and though it'd embarrass the hell out of me, I think that maybe a bit of video here might at least make our relationship more clear to the folks here who've read what I've written about him. He can be pretty funny, and some of our interactions just might be fun to put up. Anyway, I'm thinking about it. I've seen a lot of reality shows, so wondering if video slices of our daily life might be interesting or not is intimidating. We'll see, LOL!

Ok, that's it for me. I'm a little less 'ugghhhyyy' now, so maybe I can get up and get some real things done this evening. Hope you all are well, even those of you I wonder about;)

April 8, 2006

I need the dog whisperer, as annoying as I think he is.

Yesterday, early in the morning, I was awakened by my two female dogs, out on the deck and in the throes of a severely violent confrontation. This has happened rarely with these two, but this one in particular was horrible. By the time Eric and I were outside and had the two broken up and separated, T.C. Wagadoo had a severe foot laceration, another on her upper lip, puncture wounds on her neck, and couldn't walk on the wounded foot. Hyanna, the alpha of the two who is usually in charge, was actually wounded worse. Her ear was pretty much split in two, and blood was pouring from the wound.

The situation was made worse by the fact that Hyanna is in the early stages of heart failure, meaning that if she were to be put under anesthesia for stitches, she stands a much greater than normal risk of not surviving. So, and I stress to you here that I have extensive vet tech/nurse training, a full inventory of medical supplies, and my vet's consent to do this at home, so don't try this yourself... T.C.'s wounds were irrigated, treated, and I started her on ampicillin, and I spent two hours debriding Hyanna's ear, cleaning it, medicating it, butterflying it, then 'casting' it with surgical tape and gauze, then pasting the whole ear flat to her head with more bandage. She's also on ampicillin and an anti-inflammatory... and looks so silly, she's actually kind of cute (see the above picture).

So, health-wise, everything is under control, but as for what to do with these two girls and this aggression they exhibit, I have no idea what to do other than to keep them separated. They've been together for about four years now, and have had a total of four or five fights in that time, but this one was by far the most serious. I don't know why it happened or how to keep it happening again, and herein lies the conundrum. Medical conditions from infections to diabetes to megacolon and on, I can handle. Behavioral problems? I don't know shit, and I'm stumped. So, until I can at least consult someone who can help me, T.C. Wagadoo remains alone and in the backyard while Hyanna and Ike share the courtyard, and my three foster dogs (who am I kidding? I haven't even tried to find Wolf, Frankie, and Fuzzy a home. They're mine now, too) live on the southern side of the property. And as difficult as this extra separation is going to be, I'd rather live with this than with running outside to find two severely damaged dogs again.

Cats never fight like this. I have a house full of cats, and they fight sometimes, make all kinds of noise, but there's never damage; it's all talk. Dogs, especially females, are a sadly different story.

Speaking of dogs, last weekend was interesting. Saturday evening, someone knocks on our 'demon knocker', Eric goes out to see who's there, then shortly calls to me to come to the door. I do, and I see eight kids all standing there, four of the girls crying their eyes out, telling me that their dog is hurt 'real bad', and can I please come and look. I ask what's happened, and am beyond irate at the story they tell.

One family down the street has an Irish Setter mix puppy (about 8 months old), that they let run around the front yard when they're out there. This weekend, they had a barbecue, let 'Bear' run around, but when Bear trotted two houses down, a couple of drunk neighbors threw a beer bottle at him, it shattered, and as he ran away, he stepped on a shard and sliced his foot open. The girls were crying because they said he was bleeding everywhere and couldn't walk at all. Like I said, though the circumstances pissed me off, at least I knew that this was likely a situation I could help with. In my days, I've seen some nasty, nasty, wounds, and this actually didn't sound like one of the worst.

Anyway, I tell the kids to wait a sec while I fetch some supplies, do just that, and we head on down the street, where I can see under a street light a huge group of people surrounding Bear. One of the women is looking at his wound while another older woman behind her is alternating between crying and yelling curses at two men on a neighboring porch, obviously the bottle-throwers. The rest are just gawking at the dog, then at the idiot men on the porch, then at me, the gringa/animal woman they're real happy to see right now.

Way too long story short; I get a look at this cut, it's not simple, but it's also something I can take care of right there and then, and I'm impressed to see that they've already cleaned it up and stopped the bleeding. All I had to do was pack it with antibiotic, wrap it up, then give them a week's worth of antibiotics and instructions on what to do, what to expect, what signs to look for that might tell them they need to come get me so we can go to the vet, and a few words to everyone who was crying that explained that Bear was going to be fine, and why I knew he was going to be fine. And with that, I went back home and finished watching my movie. Three days later, two of the girls walked Bear down to my house, thanking me with pork gorditas their mother made for me:)

I do this all the time, and while some of you may read this and bitch me out for not insisting they go to the animal ER immediately, let me tell you why it didn't happen that way.

I live on a street, in a world, where the people, whether they're struggling immigrants or struggling natural citizens, white, black, hispanic, etc., have just enough money to share with a pet, but not enough for the vet costs an ER visit, sometimes even a regular, less-costly visit, may entail. Some of my neighbors are assholes guilty of animal neglect, and sometimes even cruelty, and when a case like that pops up, I help... by taking that animal away from them, the reason I have so many pets now. But when a family like the ones who were shedding tears over this puppy I know they love have something like this happen and try to help, I am faced with either stepping in and helping, or opting instead to refuse to help while citing legalities, liability, that it's not my place to step in, and telling them to go to a vet that instant, knowing full well they don't have the 75 dollars needed just to walk into the vet ER door. So sue me for choosing option A.

I'm sure that I'm probably breaking a few laws when I do this, but that's just too bad. If an animal is brought to me with a condition I absolutely know I've diagnosed correctly, If I have all the supplies needed, and I know exactly what the vet would do if this animal were brought into the clinic, more so know that I can do the same here without putting the animal in any danger or pain, I'm sorry, but I'm going to do it, especially if I know the family loves this pet, and that a vet simply won't let them pay out the cost of treating the animal in installments.

I honestly would rather get busted than sit here and not do anything.

Sometimes, I can't do anything. Sometimes the injury or illness is severe, and I'll take the animal up to my vet myself, pay for the treatment myself. Sometimes the illness is incurable, and the animal is dying, and there's nothing I can do other than to tell the family the truth, and tell them, sometimes go with them to the vet when it's time to put them to sleep. Fortunately, most of the time, the problem is treatable, and either I or my doc treat it:)

Anyway, as much as I bitch about fanfiction, George Bush, or any other topic, animal welfare is the one passion I live most for. If I am defined by any label, it'd be that of an animal rescuer. I gladly accept that badge, and I wear it proudly, despite what some by-the-book sticklers might think. Sometimes, law and reality mix like oil and vinegar, and sometimes I'm guilty at the most by shaking up the combination.

Oh, and as for the two idiots on the porch who threw the bottle that cut Bear, I went up to their porch on my way home, and told them in as calm a voice as I could that the 'crazy gringa' would let this one slide, but that the next one better never happen. They retreated into the house as I was speaking, and haven't seen either since. I kinda hope I do see them again;)

Finally, re: the last entry, I apologize to the majority of you who come here with absolutely no interest in writing, much less desire to know what my fanfic and online writing rants are all about. Why you keep coming back, I have no idea, but I'm just greatful that you do:) And as for those of you who do understand what I'm talking about, are you like me in that you can just hear the clicks of the 'send' button between the gals who are emailing furiously back and forth, saying anything and everything they can to discredit me, which essentially means the same thing as making themselves feel better? Let 'em.

Okay, time to go and check on Hyanna. By the way, if you looked at her picture and were reminded of both a boar and a Hyena, don't worry; you're not alone;)

April 6-American Idols and self defense

Once again, it seems that Bucky has survived the American Idol vote-off. I'd have never guessed his fan base of doublewide junkyard trollers would have a phone, much less be able to speed-dial each week and save this mediocre singer so many times. Mandisa felt the swing of the axe this time, and I'm shocked as a result. Even more shocked, Kelly Pickler is once again in the top three, despite her constantly crumbling attempt to portray herself as a Joe Dirt version of Marilyn Monroe.

On the other hand, Taylor's hanging in, and I completely adore Taylor Hicks. I don't put my money on him going all the way, but then again, that's how I'd like to see things happen. If he's lucky, he'll make it to the top four or five, get cut, and go home to some legitimate contract offers that won't quite enslave or 'pop him up' too much.

I was looking back at my past picks for American Idol, and my record's pretty good, considering this is the only season I've watched regularly. The first year, I put my money on Tamyra and Justin, and if Tamyra hadn't had that one bad week, I still think she'd have been the first Idol over Kelly. And Justin did come in second, though finding out where he is right now would be about as easy as locating Jimmy Hoffa's corpse, Justin fell so far off the map. The next year, my money was on Clay, and that was early on in the season (I didn't even see the final shows), and once again, he came in second, has had more overall success than Ruben. The next year, I watch two entire episodes, one of them being one of the very first, where I saw Fantasia. I told Eric 'That's the one who'll win', and I was right about that one. I did the exact same thing the next year with Carrie Underwood during the first audition episodes, knew without a doubt she'd be the winner, didn't watch another episode, but wasn't surprised when she indeed won.

This year's harder, because I am beyond supportive of Taylor, so my picks are distracted, but I'll still take a guess at who my choice would be for the next American Idol... and that choice is Chris. I also hate to say that Kelly (or is it Kelli?) is likely to make it to the top three, maybe the top two, and just might win. I just don't have a solid pick this year, though, because I'm just too immersed in Taylor Hicks lovin' to really assess the rest of the brood.

Anyway, moving on to non-reality TV-related topics, I have discovered that I have a case of amnesia when it's come to my history as a writer. I have spent so much time admitting my weaknesses, I'd almost forgotten about my strengths. I spent so much time being affected by less than a handful of troubled people who lived to knock other writers, I forgot to remember that I don't fail as much as they'd have me believe. So, whether I sound like I'm bragging here or not, you're just gonna have to forgive me. I need to write this and get it out of my system, so bear with me:

I come from a family of authors... from a great great grandfather who had a series of poems published, to another relative who wrote Stella Dallas, to my grandfather, who was an award winning journalist with the U.S. Air Force, to my great Aunt, whose historical romance was published as well, though didn't sell all that well... my family writes, and until my days in fanfiction, I never really realized that I might not suck at it, either.

As a kid, I ignored writing, but I read... all the time. Mostly non-fiction true crime and supernatural stuff. When my friends were reading Judy Blume, I was reading The Amityville Horror and In Cold Blood, immersed in every paragraph. I remember in sixth grade, having to do a book report in which we analyzed a novel and did a collage/artwork addition to our report. I picked 'The Fog', and after I'd put together the presentation of presentations, my teacher, Ms. Tweedt, informed me that though it rocked, the subject matter in the book was too mature, and that I had to start all over again with a novel more in my age range. My heart broke, but I did what she said, slapping together a stupid summary of some stupid story meant for pre-teens, a paperback that I don't even remember. I got an A, and a pulling aside by Ms. Tweedt, apologizing for not being allowed to let me do my original thing, and that she'd been impressed nevertheless.

In middle school, during my first week at my new private school, my first assignment was to write an article on the daily life of a particular Native American tribe that originated in the area I'd just moved to in East Texas. All the kids had the same assignment, but when all the reports were turned in, Miss Walker picked my report out, called me forward to read it. Maybe I should mention here that this report stood out because 1.) I was in Catholic school for the first time, and 2.) the essay focused on how this particular Indian tribe recognized and treated in the most unusual of ways its homosexual community. You'd think them damned Catholic folks would've scorned the mere mention of homosexuality, but this teacher singled my report out, had me read it, encouraged discussion, and afterwards, pulled me aside and told me that I'd done a good job.

High school... and though I know this'll turn a lot of you disbelievers off, I had a past life 'thing' happen while studying in my freshman Honor's history class, a kind of vision, I'd guess, of a past life as an English infantryman, wrote about it until I couldn't write anymore, and my History professor ended up getting a drama student to read it as prose at an assembly, after which it got a standing ovation, I shit you not.

A year later, I and four other classmates entered a screen writing competition in which we all collaborated and created a romantic tragedy... and we won. Our teacher, Mrs. Post, was the quintessential mentor when it came to inspiring the writer in everyone, God bless her.

Senior year, I applied for five scholarships at five different colleges, all of which required an essay. Four granted me one, citing my essay(s) as the deciding factor. In the long run, I ended up bypassing all of them and going to Angelo State University because it just 'felt right'.

Angelo State- I discovered the world of parent-free living there, and I blew my academic experience as a result, opting instead to party way too much. Still, the one class I sailed through was an English Lit. class, in which the first assignment involved writing something. I did, turned it in, and when the following class session began, my professor stood in front of our group and read my submission, following the last paragraph of my story with her own personal praise, telling the rest of the class that her goal was to make the rest of them 'tell it' like I did by the end of the semester, pulling me aside at the end of class and telling me that I should pursue being a writer.

The next few years involve a version of me who never even thought about putting stories in print. When I took a job as a country music radio disc jockey, I didn't realize that writing would be part of the job description... not until I listened to some of their commercials, written by the station staff, gagged at how bad the narrative was, then began to write new ads myself. The station ended up loving the new commercials I'd written, the clients/sponsors loved them, too, and I now ended up not just doing the dj thing; I spent an additonal five hours a day at the station writing. I liked it, but not that much, and when the management offered me a raise and promotion, provided I dress and act more 'country' to fit the station's image, I declined, and never looked back.

I didn't write much after that, not even a letter to family, really. I forgot all about putting into text things I thought about. I worked other jobs, choreographing, bartending, managing... things that required a lot of most things, the least of writing. And I liked it, enjoyed it fully, didn't miss putting a single thought down on paper.

Even when I found the internet and started writing about my life with cats, I didn't consider that real writing. Not even when folks at the website I wrote on let me know that they were putting together a few books, one of them being a book on pets, and that my stories belonged to them now since I'd submitted them freely on their site, that they were politely letting me know that they were exercising their right to use the content I'd submitted. Even then, I was flattered that they wanted to use a few of my cat stories, yet more indifferent than I should've been. To this day, I don't know if they ended up using any of them. I don't even know if they published any book. I honestly don't really care.

Then, to bring us up to date, I watched a movie a few years ago, was intrigued by one of its characters, did an internet search on him, and discovered the world of fan fiction, a world of writers I was both unprepared for, and ill-equipped at. Still, I took a step into that world, mainly out of defense for people I saw being picked on, but also I submitted my own writing, a genre I just ain't used to, and I braved what followed. What followed? I'll tell ya... most welcomed me, respected me, some became girlfriends, a few became real friends, I became a bitch, a loser, a hero, and a student as a result. I at least really rediscovered writing in the process, had a few weird collisions with people in the publishing business who tried to pull me aside, so to speak, people I listened to at first, then finally saw the situation for what it really was, after which I withdrew.

And that brings me to now, here, this very moment, though I'm sure I've left too many details out for length's sake. It may sound as if I've bragged, defended myself, played myself up... if I have, it is more clear to me than ever that it's not for the reasons you'd think.

See, I try to validate myself as a writer not for myself so much, I swear to God. I wrote here a long time ago that I'm a hack, that I don't 'feel' it like so many of the aspiring writers I've met do. That's not me fishing for a compliment, likening my words to something like 'I look so fat in this outfit', waiting for my gal pals to immediately chime in and tell me I'm gorgeous. I have sold a few short pieces to a few small operations, made a small amount of money fitting the small amount of what I was willing to put down in submittable word. That's not why I'm spilling all this now, defending myself by whatever qualifications I can. It's not to change the minds of the few competitive gals who've taken pleasure in pointing out flaws, nor is it to tell the one former friend that I wasn't as bad a beta as she told everyone I was.

No, if anything, I tell all of you this now so that when I tell you I adore a certain writer, when I leave a review for a piece that touches me, when I defend an author I think got screwed by bad and undeserving feedback, maybe my opinion might be taken a little more seriously, and maybe that writer I defended and support might actually start to believe that when I say I think they're full of ability, they'll look at me and seriously hear the things I've said... at least the things that help them to keep on writing, keep on pursuing a gift I know they have.

Don't get me wrong; I'm also defending myself to a sizable degree. Those of you who've been reading here long enough know all about the gal who picked on me for my 'dots' in my stories, for other things, and her circle of cruel clique chicks had plenty of fun singling me and others out. I write a lot of this for them, and for their victims, whose number I can't accurately count, the toll's been so high.

In any case, this long entry of mine, this defensive explanation of why I dare to encourage anyone to write, etc., can really be summed up into a smattering of words on my part:

I am not the best writer in the world. I never was, I'll never be, nor will I ever be the writer so many of the people I know are; it just ain't in me. And I never said I wanted to be, don't ever hope to be now. But in the very least, I'm with it enough to know the art, know talent, see it, and I say so when a soul shines through with the writing I read.

I've been pulled aside plenty in my life by people who wanted to tell me they believed in me. And now, I know that happened so that I would be able now to pull some of you aside because I believe in you.

Don't fail me, folks.

April 4, 2006

God, I'm tired, and man am I more blah than usual. Hormone, thy name is bullshit.

I was doing some paper work today when a knock comes on the door, and I shit you not, before I was half-way to the door knob, something in my gut just screamed 'Don't! Don't, Paula!!!!!'. I really have to trust my gut more, because when I opened that door, I was met by a group of five Jehova's Witnesses, handing me the most retarded little flyer and casting these simultaneous 'poor sinner. I hope we can save her' look, as they began their schpeel. Maybe the condescension was a result of them seeing the gargoyle door knocker and dragon statue mounted on my roof, not realizing that both are not demonic, but Celtic symbols of good fortune. I dunno.

Ok, maybe hormones can sometimes be a good thing.

I don't know why... maybe it's the demon possessing my soul (the power of Christ compels you, the power of Christ compels you!), but these people at my door, daring to think that I need to be saved, pissed me off.... and I let them know it.

I told this soon to be speechless group that I thought they were all brainwashed, were just a handful of crazy rituals away from qualifying as a cult, and that since they believe that only about 150, 000 people would be admitted into heaven when the big day came, I didn't understand why they were bothering me, since I'm sure they've already met their quota. Then I told them I'd pray for them, and shut the door. When I went out to get my mail an hour later, I saw they'd left their poorly assembled and borderline 'godssip' mag on my porch. I plan to send it back to them with a picture of Maurice Applewhite and Jim Jones attached.

I overreacted a little, didn't I? Ah, well... stuff happens.

Several years ago, they came by when Eric was home and awake, and he opened the door, listened to them for about five seconds before telling them that he was sorry, would love to hear more, but our scheduled ritual was about to take place out back, and that it was his turn to slaughter the goat. At least it kept them away for a few years. Well worth the blasphemy;)

I'm sorry, but these door to door religious tithe-herders offend the living fecal bulk out of me. They have about as much right to come onto my property and violate my space as Mariah Carey has to declare herself an acclaimed actor.

On the same note, I watched a program on TLC not long ago about the Mormon family with 14 kids, and as positively as they portrayed this family, I was nothing but disturbed at watching it, especially when good old Mormon mom, with the Bon Jovi perm and feathered bangs spewed on and on about how she wants to have more children. The girls all wear prairie dresses and long braids, as if wanting to start some new fashion trend called 'polygamist chic' or 'the Salt Lake look', and the multitude of boys in that family look like they're just one Village of the Damned moment away from mounting those ten speeds of theirs and beating the next group of Jehovas to my doorstep.

The way the program portrayed this family, you the viewer was meant to believe that nobody ever yells in this family, that life is always happy, and dysfunction is a thing of myth with this cheerful little group. NO way in hell, I say. You could tie me down with razor wire, douse me in lighter fluid and dangle a match over my bound body... but I will never admit that those children aren't anything but made to feel insignificant, and that no matter how hard those Energizer bunny parents try, they will never be able to really meet the individual emotional needs of those kids. You know, I never liked Donny and Marie. Never. Even as a kid in the 70's, I often suspected the Osmond family weren't born on earthly soil, if'n you get my drift ( I mean, come on... Paper Roses? Puppy Love?). Ok, I had the dolls, I'll admit, but only because their outfits were cool. Mormons, polygamist or not, just freak me out, and every ounce of my being screams at me that the modern Mormon bloodline originates from somewhere around Roswell, New Mexico, and that Brigham Young fed on mucous and roach legs while here, 'cause that's what matched the diet on his previous planet the closest.

If you don't believe me, next time you see a Mormon, try walking up to them with one hand shaped in a Spock-like pose, saying 'Meep meep, glip glip, fooka foozle gocka doober', and watch their eyes change color and glow for a second before they compose themselves. Trust me;)

The God I believe in sends no one door to door with His message, has nothing to do with printing out flyers to distribute, sees no part of any donations and tithes too many of the congregation are milked for, wants no part of one group of souls daring to deem another group in danger of seeing hell. The being I pay my daily respect to doesn't demand that you spew out children like a Chicklet dispenser, doesn't have a maximum limit for who is worthy enough to see the afterlife and who is not. The God I believe in couldn't care less about contraception, commandments, celibacy, or any other 'c' our fellow humans love to enslave us with. As long as you live your life treating other people the way you'd want to be treated, then my God is cool with you. And you know, even when you can't always do that, my God still loves you. All my God asks is that you try.

Life is hard enough without the sea of verse and scripture-regurgitating fanatics out there doing their inadvertent best to muddy waters that can be pretty damned clear when they aren't all thrashing around.

You know, looking back, maybe I should've slammed my front door shut today instead of just shutting it.

March 31, 2006-Friends and girlfriends... big diff

You'd think that the mere four letter difference between the two words bespeaks the most minor of things, but as I've lived, learned, grown, suffered and prospered, I can say with every inch of what's real in me that there's a whopping contrast between a girlfriend and a friend.

I'm apt to think that my current analysis was always meant to be; I always hated the term 'girlfriend'... always, even before I really knew what the word meant via average definition. Just something about that word perturbed me, pissed me off, gave me that feeling reminiscent of the sensation we've all gotten from that memorable scene from Jaws, where Robert Shaw drags his fingernails down the chalkboard.

In its defense, though, I've come to learn that the term 'girlfriend', specifically used by heterosexual females about other females, has a valid and bona fide reason for being used. In my experience, you need both terms in order to separate the real friend from the aspiring version of such.

So, what's a friend? And primarily, what's a girlfriend?

I suppose the best way to answer both is in list format:

What's the difference?

1. A friend gets to know you, all your peccadilloes, realizes that you're human, and just appreciates you for you anyway because a real part of her likes the real part of you. A girlfriend likes you at first meeting, but then sees all your little faults, hates them, vents about them to everyone she can (partially out of jealousy, partially out of outright misunderstanding), but stays friends with you because she sees personal gain in being your girlfriend, and to not stay friends with you would be too inconvenient in personal goal cost.

2. When a friend hears gossip about you, she may agree with some of it, may take an interest in it (after all, we're all female), but before she's even asked her opinion on the gossip, she'll offer her own 'get a life and kiss my ass' reply, in which she defends her friend's position, not giving a flying fuck about who avoids her afterwards, and all because above all, she felt honest anger over the idiotic attack on her friend. Furthermore, if she thinks you can handle it, she'll tell you what was said, especially if she thinks you personally can add your own two cents into the mix, confront the nay sayers, can both liberate you and notch-down the few wannabes responsible for all the crap.

A girlfriend will hear the gossip about her 'friend', feel a pang of guilt at the things she agrees with, but instead of telling the rest of the trivial group guilty of the gossip to kiss her ass, she'll insert a mild mixture of agreement vs. I-still-love-her obligatory conversation, attempting to have her cake and eat it, too; attempting to make herself the enemy of as few a number as she can. She'll never tell the subject of the conversation what's been said about her because she's both guilty, and she lacks balls. She'll wonder spiritually about it, but she'll hide behind a number of excuses too many of us are guilty of when trying to make sense of why we didn't outright kick ass for a friend when they needed it.

3. A friend may feel natural feelings of hurt, jealousy, competition, worry, disagreement and the like during phases of the friendship, may ponder all they're feeling, weigh out and choose the next step that will will insure that the friendship remains, and that both people in it understand what's happened and evolve.

A girlfriend? Well, a girlfriend just won't.

All in all, and I'll stand behind this with all I've got, a girlfriend may seem to be there for you, may really want to be there for you, may try to be there for you. But in the long run, when you need a girlfriend the most, she won't be there, and you know ahead of time that she's not going to be there.

A friend? A friend will be on your ass, asking you to tell her what's going on with you before you even realize you need her. Her timing is dead on, her reasons unselfish, and her motive is pure. I'm not saying she's perfect, that she won't ever fuck up, but when she does, you'll get through it. You'll get through it because you love her, you know she loves you, and you also know that if it'd been you who fucked up, she'd forgive you.

I've been a girlfriend more times than I care to admit, but I've been a friend more times than I can count enough to admit. And in my life, I have known a sea of girlfriends far more than I've known friends, but you know, I think that's how it's supposed to be. Without that sea of girlfriends, the real friends just wouldn't shine through, poking through the proverbial clouds with their rays when you particularly need them.

I think of people like Marie and Shelley, who are as real a couple of friends as I've ever known. They did the girlfriend thing, and when the girlfriends they knew turned on them, they stuck together, and stay together now, former girlfriends be damned.

I have never been real keen on women as friends, as I've said before here, and I suppose this whole girlfriend vs. friend rant of mine explains why. But sometimes I stray from my life's guidelines, dare to meet new people, and as a result, find a lot of girlfriends initially, but as a result, I filter out and really appreciate the few real friends who come out of the osmosis;)

Girls, you know who you are; at least I hope you do! Here's a hint in case you're wondering; if I've praised you here, if I've never once bitched about you here, you're a friend. You are people I admire, respect, trust, and will stick my neck out for anytime it's needed, maybe even sometimes when it's not necessary. And all I ask in return is that you all never send me an email or start a phone conversation with the word 'girlfriend';)

March 30, 2006

Over the years, and especially in the last four or five, I've found that approaching daily, my life's invoice of things I think I know is constantly changing.

For example, I thought that watching my body get older and not obey me nearly as much as it used to was sometimes excruciating. Then watching my husband get a hypertension diagnosis came along and challenged everything I thought was the worst about aging. But getting a phone call Tuesday night from a nervous and scared mother took that little old mental eraser I've used so much lately and put it to use on that life list of mine.

My mother has cancer... basal cell carcinoma, a skin malignancy that is usually treated through surgical excision. It's not likely to kill, but it does have a nasty habit of infiltrating surrounding tissue and requiring that a great deal of tissue's removed along with the tumor. My mother's tumor is on her wrist, she knew it was there, but having had experience with this particular cancer in the past, decided to wait until she was 65 to have it removed so that she could qualify for Medicare.

She called me Tuesday night, a mother needing a daughter to soothe her worries. See, the tumor was removed a few weeks ago, she was left needing skin grafts, and yesterday morning was the first of a series of plastic surgeries required to fill this hole of a wrist back in again. Mom was tired, afraid of more pain like the pain she'd had with the first surgery, and plain old sick of the change in her usually nomadic life her and my stepdad's medical issues have brought about. She and Jim have spent so many of the last years traveling whenever they felt like it, going wherever they pleased, never once having to worry about when this doctor's appointment is, or when those test results might be called in to the house. Jim is getting weaker, and Mom is exhausted. Her voice last night wasn't filled with the usual spirit I've heard before; instead it held such a need in it for someone to tell her that everything was going to be alright, that the surgery in the morning would go smoothly, and that she and Jim could forget about waiting rooms and blood samples, follow-up visits and new prescriptions for awhile once all this was out of the way. So that's exactly what I told her, along with the fact that I knew these two would be back on the road again come summer, to bide her time, take care of all of this now, and that better days would come soon. In that conversation, I heard the spirit return to her voice, and I was happy to see it. I've missed it for longer than I realized.

Anyway, I talked to her yesterday, and the surgery went smoothly, the pain was more tolerable than she'd imagined, and though the doctor found another basal cell tumor on her thigh when harvesting skin for the graft, it was small and easily removed. Tomorrow, she and Jim have an appointment to attend with his gastroenterologist, Mom has one more follow up visit, and the two will be on the road and here by May. I'm looking forward to it.

Most of us grow up looking at our parents as these icons, invincible superheroes we rely on for everything while we're growing up... at least I did. We get older, we start to see their faults, and as a result, we start to fill our little life's suitcases full of baggage, but even then, I think we do so because we still don't quite see just how human our parents are. But when our parents enter this phase of life, a role reversal begins to take place. With it comes a lightening of luggage, the chucking of a few burdens that just don't matter as much anymore, and if you're lucky, it's now you who gets to close the circle and let a parent know that they're not alone.

I'm going to start now on getting my mother to consider moving herself and Jim here, or at least closer. I'm going to try to make her realize that if she's here, I'll know about an upcoming surgery in time to be there, that she won't have to take a taxi to and from the hospital after a procedure because her husband can't drive. Sooner or later, it'll get through her stubborn skull... at least I hope so. In other words, I think it's about time to redo that list of mine, put caring for a senior parent up a little higher than worrying about my panic attacks or confirming constantly with our home blood pressure monitor that Eric's no longer hypertensive.

On another front, the young couple whose dreams I feared were crushed at the price of the house next door drove up two days ago... with the keys!!!! I almost felt as if this were myself and Eric buying this house, I was so happy for them. They came over and actually thanked me for encouraging them when they first came to look at the house, for telling them to try and negotiate with Mr. Vance for a price range they could afford. They took my advice, made Mr. Vance an offer, told them exactly what I'd told them to tell him (which was 'Paula told us to tell you that this is what the house is worth'), and he accepted:) That's just the kind of news that lays a solid happy kick to my ass, I'll tell ya.

So, as I sit here and type, drink my hot cocoa, a young husband and wife are moving their belongings from their old one-bedroom shithole of an apartment into their new house. There are far better houses in Dallas, but as I've been going in and out today, I look over at them and can see in their faces that this is the most beautiful house they've ever seen:) I couldn't be happier for anyone.

On a final happy note, I put on a pair of pants I bought when I'd gained some weight, and was flabbergastingly spiffy in delight when they were loose. So I dared to dream and go up to my closet, where my 'old' pants have dangled, neglected and abandoned. I brushed a few cobwebs off, put the first thigh into one leg.... I didn't have to tug. I put the next thigh in... didn't even break a sweat, and the clincher...the waist. When my asscheeks didn't protest and my stomach didn't push the zipper and button apart, I outright cried and woke Eric up, who muttered something in his sleep about hormones, then asked me if I wanted to fool around.

Though I have a ways to go, this was cause for celebration, so I went out and bought a couple of outfits, then had my hair lightened and trimmed (it's still down to my mid back). I'm almost a blonde now, and though I'm not sure I like it, I'll play around with it for awhile and see if I get used to it. If not, I'll go back from light reddish blonde to my natural red. I'll get a picture of it in the next few days and put it up here. I'd do it now, but I just woke up, I have no makeup on, and I have no desire to traumatize any of you today.

There's more for me to be happy about, a few more things to bitch about, but I'm about ready to get up and get busy, so it'll have to wait for another time.

March 29, 2006

At any given time of any given day, statisticians tell us that approximately 12 million illegal immigrants are in the United States, living amongst the 'legal', going about their lives, raising their families, and working the jobs Dubya tells us we Americans are too lazy to do. 12 million... not a bad estimate entirely, but I wouldn't so much as half-heartedly guffaw at finding out this is a conservative number... very conservative.

I live in a mostly Hispanic neighborhood, a minority in my Euro-Caucasian pastiness. I know most of my neighbors, know that many are illegal (hell, who am I kidding? At least half are illegal). I like most of them, save the trogladytes who think firing a Budweiser-steered gun into the air on holidays is something we should all consider cool, and I talk with them, listen to the stories of how difficult life in their home country was, understand why they want to be here, how much they risked and risk now to remain here. I see where they're coming from, and an elemental part of my soul can't fault them.

Being born in a toilet of a third-world country whose government makes absolutely no effort to help their needy isn't any illegal alien's fault, nor is being born on American soil the same as sovereign right. We are indeed a melting pot, and it would seem the Dubster would have us all believe that this reasoning is reasoning he nobly stands behind when pushing this immigration bill. If he were able to convince more than those blindly partisan die-hard voters who're still too distracted by their pin-the-tail-on-Osama parties, he'd have the world believing that he honestly cares about the plight of the 'immigrant who dares to dream'.

But remember, we're talking about Bush here, meaning that the only plight he cares about is that of his corporate cohorts who dare to profit.

Bush and his backers tell us that this proposed immigration bill isn't a free pass, that at best it won't grant amnesty to the millions of illegals among us, but that it'll allow for better regulation of them, the strengthening of our borders, and beef up our national security.

Lord knows, I'd like to see all of that... but not this way.

As much as I see both sides, gotten personal insight into both points of view, this country is a nation of law. Becoming an American citizen is a privilege that at no time, in no way, for no reason should be attained out of disregard for our country's laws. Illegal aliens are illegal. And while it is difficult to blame them for wanting a better life, while it's not easy to know that so many of my neighbors, neighbors I like, are illegal and that I take this position knowing this, it's also just as hard to look at my next door neighbors who came here from Honduras legally, did everything our laws required of them, look at my Aunt Juanita who spent five years of her life doing the same, and tell them that their respect for this country doesn't mean anything. As a matter of fact, I see it as no less than a back-handed slap in the face to immigrants who came here legally from poverty and violence ridden countries. They suffered no less than any illegal immigrant, had exactly the same reasons for wanting to come here and start a new life. There is little difference between them and the aliens backing this bill... except for one. The law.

Do I even need to bring up taxes here? I can't tell you how many times my property taxes have jumped here in order to pay for illegal immigrant hospital care, the building of new schools due to ever-growing numbers of students born to those who didn't come here by the book, not to mention the added cost of finding and training more bilingual teachers because the students' parents refuse to learn English. Maybe if I were getting a free ride, too, I wouldn't be nearly as offended by all of this. God, sometimes I really do wonder if I'm as liberal as I say I am.

On the flip side, I would be just as heart-broken as I am offended to see Gestapo-like tactical forces storming my street, herding up my neighbors and carting them away, children crying, women screaming, men resisting at the taking away of the new lives they've started. I'm a realist, not a heartless bigot.

I'm just saying that there has to be a better way than this bill suggests. There has to. Hell, if anything, maybe it's Mexico we should've sent our troops to instead of Iraq, cleaning house and helping a new government and economy form so that no other human being born on Mexican soil would ever lack there what they so often break laws to seek here. Maybe our government should crack down on the sleazy coyotes and businessmen who so often exploit these immigrants instead of turning a blind eye so often. Maybe Vincente Fox oughta get off his greedy power mongering ass and take care of his people for a change, rather than encouraging them to get the hell out of his country. I don't know. I just know that what's going on now isn't working, and that the only thing this bill would ultimately succeed in doing is encourage more and more breaking of the law.

We owe it to our country and to the citizens who came here the way our laws asked them to so much more than this.

March 28, 2006

I don't think I am ever going to figure out just which entries in this journal are interesting versus which are boring, lol! Just when I'm convinced the last few days' worth of entries are not only embarassing to me, but have turned most of you off to reading here, I look at the site stats the last three days, and the hits have doubled. I'll never figure it out, LOL! Anyway, thanks for sticking with me, all of you, and thanks for the supportive emails:)

I have become addicted to blogs lately. I find that no matter how busy I am, I make time to check certain friends' online journals for new entries, literally feeling a bit bummed when I don't see an update;) Anyway, I'm finding that a good journal is sometimes a much better read than the average paperback I have handy.

Oh, and speaking of that, one of the gals started a writer's challenge on her blog, and was disappointed to see that I'm the only one who responded to it. I've seen that happen with a lot of challenges, actually, and if it makes my friend feel any better, I'm about a hundred percent sure that the lack of response in adding to the story she started was likely because people prefer reading her journal, and are a little intimidated (not sure this is the right word) to play along/add to it for fear of screwing the story thread up. I know I'm that way about adding to story challenges, and I think lots of other folks are that way, too. So, gal, I wouldn't feel too disappointed, ok? I know I'm not the only one addicted to your journal!

I'd like to ask those of you with your miraculous healing prayers and vibes to spare some, if you can, for someone I know who's husband has gone through some hard times. He recently went through surgery for a condition, is home now, but could use some of your energy sent his way for a continued recovery and complete return to good health. I know you folks will do your powerful thing, so I'm thanking you in advance:)

On another note- yesterday, I caught the end of Pat Robertson's show while having breakfast and waiting for Moral Court to come on (I love Moral Court!). Anyway, they had this story on about a man who was saved from selling his soul to Satan, and as I watched this segment, I found myself alternating between extreme laughter and pure anger. The segment was about this man who was disenchanted with the Church, so he strayed from it, and took this downward spiral into drug use and crime before finding Jesus again. Now this wasn't the part that pissed me off. Nope, what pissed me off is that the drug use and criminal activity is not what Pat Robertson's 'reporter' (and I really hesitate to call him that) blames this guy's lost soul on; the man in the story had turned away from Christ and damned himself to hell because, get this... He was dating a Wiccan. WTF??????? Oh my God, they way this segment portrayed Wicca!!! The born again Christian talked about how he and his girlfriend sold their souls to the devil through pagan ceremonies, how the Devil himself came into their home and made the bed levitate nightly, and how they engaged in animal sacrifice, etc.

What in the hell is wrong with Pat Robertson? Anyone who knows anything about Wiccans knows that this is complete and utter crap. I have never watched this man's program before, but I can guarantee you, I'll never watch it again. How can any human being this full of blatant intolerance and propaganda possibly represent anything having to do with God? The man sticks his big old Bible-thumping foot in his mouth so often, I can guarantee you he's got Athlete's tongue by now.

I believe in God, I pray daily, and I am spiritual, despite how unpleasant I can be here. I am rarely anything less than completely suspicious and wary of organized religion, and seeing a story like the one I saw yesterday only confirms that I'm right in feeling the way I do. I can't say 'ugh' enough here.

Time to go and work on the front of the house again, so I'm off. Folks, be good today, live well, and sleep tight tonight!:)

March 27, 2006

No Spam in my email since Saturday night, thank you, Jesus, Hallelujah, and pass the fishsticks. I am beyond happy it's gone.

I spent the last couple of days talking with one person, clearing some things up, and agreeing to a truce, then chastizing myself, slapping my own forehead for being such a complete idiot with so many of these entries. I have been downright mean too often when expressing my displeasure with some people, and though I don't apologize for keeping this journal and expressing thoughts in it, I do want to kick myself in the ass for having harped on a few people for the wrong reasons. And I feel this way not because I feel I was necessarily wrong in my assessments. I feel this way because while I could've been writing about far more important things, I let a bunch of stupid gossip consume too many diary entries here.

I miss the old me, who heard a rumor about someone and told the person spreading the crap to shut up and get a life. I miss the me that chose to stay away from jealous and insecure people rather than join them. I miss the me who could see right through people's bullshit, and as a result forgive them their sins instead of having to forgive myself of mine now. I miss not being a bully, not feeding off someone I want to bitchslap and taking the high road. The old me is still here and shows up a lot of the time, the old me has friends like my Catbroads, Allison, Arla, Cindy, Carol, Richard, Sue, Vicki, Ariane, and so many others in my online and offline life, friends I have always been true to, never betrayed, and who I know have never done a single malevolent thing towards me. These are all people I can only wish I was like more often, the people the Old Me reminds me of. These are the people I aspire to be. If anything, at least I've done my bitching right here, out in the open, and not behind backs, but that's still just not good enough.

I still plan to bitch here, but who and what I bitch about, I'll try to make a little more healthy, and if this makes any sense, with some attempt at nobility.

For those of you who've spread more than a little gossip about me, and you know who you are, I want you to know that I can see why you'd say I'm a wannabe know it all, a horrible writer, and full of shit;) Sometimes, I'm all of those. I also want you to know that it's okay. I'm guilty of making fun of you, too. And though I at least did it here, it's still stupid.

Onto other stuff-

A neighbor had a 'deck-warming' party last night, and Eric and I had a great time over there. The food was great, the conversation was great, and I wish Monday hadn't been on the horizon, the party ended too soon. Oh, and I almost forgot to add... the deck looked fabulous!!!! Our neighbor's one hell of a builder:)

My front room is on hold until I can get off my butt and go get a floor-sander. Still, everything is coming along:) My pets are all doing well, driving me nuts yet filling me with happiness, and I'm currently trying to figure out how to catch a neighborhood feral and get her spayed. She showed up the other day, belly full of waiting-to-be-born kittens, so for now, I have to wait for these babies to be born, catch them as soon as they're old enough, find them homes, then catch Momma and make sure this doesn't happen again. I was dumb enough to catch her once, then lose her again before I could get her to my vet, and being that catching her the first time took five years' worth of trying, it'd be a miracle if I could nab her again.

I can't even remember the date of my last panic attack, thank God. It's been that long. Eric's BP has been consistently normal, and his health is great, my family's all doing just as well, and despite all the crap I bring up here, real life has been something I really have been grateful for. I wish I'd have talked more about it here.

The Baker Hotel has had some major activity, not necessarily by spirits;), and at this point, I think we're all just sitting here and waiting to see if this activity's going to be a good or bad thing. I suspect it's good, and I hope to report more here about it in the near future.

I never had a recurring dream about that awful shooting, and I'm grateful about that, believe me.

The house in Mineral Wells is one we still want to buy, but what we've decided is to get this one in shape, get it valued, see if we can either sell or lease it, and if things go right, that gorgeous old house will still be there, and we'll still be able to buy it. If it's sold, it was never meant to be, and we'll move on, accept whatever the next step in our lives is.

And with that, I'm off. Friends and family who're here, I love ya, I hope your day is great, and I hope you forgive a gal like me for being more like a tabloid lately than a real person:)

March 25, 2006

Well, I finally did it, I guess. I went and got someone ticked off enough to retaliate against me.

Yesterday, I get an email that automatically gets me suspicious. First of all, when a writer contacts me, they usually tell me about their writing, share what they know, rather than ask me about what I know. This person didn't do that. It was uncharacteristic, I had some doubts, and in a couple of clicks, I confirmed that this email wasn't from who it claimed to be from.

Anyway, as you can read, I let this person know here, and today, they emailed me from their real address, admitted that they had, in fact, been the one to do this, that they'd had a plan and that this plan was successful.

Uh... Ok ... Fine. Good for you, though I still don't get it.

Then the spam emails start coming, and they've been coming ever since. You see, someone has taken my domain name, Eripaul.com, and started sending tons upon tons of idiotic spam email, and as a result, I'm getting 'delivery failed' emails out the wazoo, despite my spam filter. The person above denies having had a part in this, but the timing is suspicious, the circumstances are suspicious, and oh, hey... did I mention that these fake email addresses are all either writer's names or characters from my fictionpress stories? Names like AnneBruce@eripaul.com? Now, ain't that odd?

Don't get me wrong; I have written some things here that make me understand why someone would get this angry at me. I definitely understand that, but then again, I only write about this stuff here, I have never named names, and I have never done anything like spamming to the person/people I suspect are behind this. And if this person's telling the truth about not doing this with my domain, I have a pretty good idea which one of her friends did.

Anyway, now I'm faced with having to decide whether or not to pursue this. I have an IP number here that can be traced back to a work computer, and I have a few more IP numbers that traced back with interesting results. So do I report this? I don't want to get anyone fired, but at the same time, I know this isn't a coincidence, the fake names being used in these email addresses are deliberately trying to clue me in on who this is, and I'm getting tired of wasting this entire day collecting headers and running traceroute and whois information, saving it all, and I'm getting real tired of my email still filling up with spam. I've got a lot of thinking to do before contacting people's ISPs, jobs, etc. I don't want to make this situation any more difficult than it's already become, but I will if have to.

And all of this stupidity has happened just because I keep a journal, and some people couldn't stop reading it. At most, this has been an annoyance, and I wouldn't be surprised if it's not over yet. Sigh.

For the rest of you, I apologize for yet again writing about this. I will get back to a different topic as soon as I can:)

After much thought, a Mar. 24 extra edition

For most of you, please ignore this extra insertion. It's trivial, unimportant, and pathetic.

A quick note to that one 'special' person who sent me an email under a fake address today, I have a message for you:

I know it's you. I knew it was you when I first read the email, and the IP's confirmed it. Still, I answered you, decided to play along with you, but after some thought throughout the day, decided that I was tired of that particular kind of B.S., whether I'm the giver or reciever.

In the future, I'd appreciate it if you had the balls to email me directly, say exactly what you want to say, ask exactly what you want to ask, and refrain from trying to do whatever it was you thought you were going to do, find out whatever you thought you were going to find out. Anything you want to know, just flat out ask me. I have too many legitimate emails to go through a day to deal with the kind of idiocy I once did myself on your behalf.

If you don't heed this advice, and still try to pull this again, do me a favor and learn something about traceable IP addresses. I might give you a nod of respect in that case, but for now, all you've managed to do is convince me that every opinion I've had of you lately is more than on the money, honey, including how much you think of me. If you want me to get much more specific, all you have to do is try this again.

This is my rant page; let me have it. And if you don't like it, stop reading, as if I need to say this for the thousandth time. You and I are so much alike in so many ways, but sometimes, it's really nice to see the differences between you and me.

Finally, to you and your friends who I know were right behind you in this attempt, you're lucky I'm talking about this now rather than giving you more rope.

All in all, Jesus... go and write something, go and cook something, go and make something! You're better than this, and I honestly don't have the mailbox space left to put up with this stupidity.

For the rest of you, I'm sorry about this. Ignore it and go have a great Friday!:)

March 24, 2006

Had a pleasant experience yesterday. I was up early yesterday morning, made myself a cup of coffee for a change, and sat down with it to watch a movie on Starz. I didn't get off that couch for another hour and a half. The movie was called Plain Dirty, starring Dominique Swain and Henry Thomas, and the story centers around a young 'white trash' southern girl (Swain) married to an abusive petty criminal of a husband (Thomas). She longs for a better life, meets a wealthy upper crust man, starts an affair, which does nothing but make her see just how much more horrible her life is. Thomas catches wind of her affair, and 'solves' his problem by keeping her chained up in the house while he's out, leaving his best friend, a backwoods and not-too-hygienic 'swamp hick', to guard her. And as for the rest of the story, I'll just say that things happen;)

Anyway, I thought the movie was interesting enough on its own, Thomas and Swain's performances were fantastic, but it was the hillbilly best friend's role that kept me captivated. I've never seen this actor before, but his performance as Flowers, the shy and insecure underling with a world of, for lack of a better phrase, deep shit going on underneath his exterior, was just a brilliant performance.

So, a little while later in the day, I go and look this movie up online, read reviews of the movie, and find out what this actor's name is along with other movies he's been in. In the process, I see that he has a website, and after debating the degree of retardation I might achieve at sending him a fan mail, I decided to just be retarded. So I wrote my fan email, clicked send, and forgot about it.

That is, until a couple of hours later, when I logged on and saw that he'd written back:) And not an automated response, like one might suspect, but a genuine and nice reply. Now, that's just cool.

Anyway, keep your eye out in the future for an Irish born actor named Arie Verveen. He's just starting to break out, and I have a feeling his career's going to continue to be a growing success. Also, catch the movie, if you can... 'Plain Dirty', also titled 'The Briar Patch'. This guy's not only very talented, he's a nice person, too:)

Onto other stuff-

I love it when gossip about me gets back to me. I'd be a fool not to expect a few people to despise me because of this or that thing I've written here. I'd also be a fool to not understand them saying things amongst themselves, both out of anger, and out of self-defense. Totally understandable, and if the shoe were on the other foot, I wouldn't be Mother Theresa, either. What does never cease to amaze is how some people honestly don't think I know what's being said behind those unbelievably porous cyber doors. Still, though, I don't blame them, but I don't particularly care, either;)

OMG, the sun just came out! I swear, I'd never survive long in Seattle. All that rain year-round would have me on more psychiatric meds than a Glaxo Smith Kline lab monkey. Don't like heat, but I love the sun, so while it's out, I'd better get outside and enjoy it.

Allison, looking forward to hearing how the girls' day out went! Take some pictures if you can!

March 23, 2006

Outside, it's colder than a warlock's third testicle at the moment, and with this being an older house in the middle of being torn apart, It's not exactly warm in here, either. It's gloomy, it's still muddy outside, I'm too cold to do anything, and as a result, I'm in an emotional rut. My animals are all passed out in their respective hangouts, not too bothered by the weather, and the husband is upstairs on his heated mattress pad, alternating between snores and mumbling in his sleep, so at least the rest of the living in this house are currently comfy.

Just saw an On Demand commerical for the Dukes of Hazzard, urging me the viewer to shell out the 3.99 plus tax and fees to enjoy such a highly anticipated remake. Deceptive advertising; the husband and I ordered it a few weeks ago, and for the first time in ages, I actually turned a pay per view movie off before it ended, deciding that getting my money's worth was never going to happen, whether I watched the whole thing or not. This was by far the worst remake I think I've ever seen, and considering I've seen the McHale's Navy remake, that's saying a lot. If you haven't seen Dukes yet, don't waste your money. If someone offers to give you the DVD, kick them in the nuts and run away as fast as you can;)

I had another one of those vivid dreams the other night, one that I suspect wasn't just a dream. I was a witness to a gruesome event, and even though I told myself in the dream to wake up, the dream wouldn't let me. In it, a man and woman are arguing. He's tall and fit, a handsome black man with a shaved head and striking features. She's an equally attractive white woman, shoulder length dark blonde hair and very naturally appealing. She's pacing frantically around between a living room and a kitchen while the man stands there, a definite contrast between their postures, and it seems he's calmly begging her for something while she's telling him 'asbolutely not'. She's telling him how tired she is of his addictions, how she's given him more than one chance to stop, that she's sick of his promises, and finally, she stops pacing and looks him in the eyes, tells him it's over, that he needs to leave now, and as soon as she says it, as soon as I see her face, I know what's about to happen.

He remains calm, glassy eyed, and pulls what looks like a revolver out of his pocket. She does nothing; she's had him do this before and she thinks he's going to put it to his head. He doesn't; he points it at her, and shoots. It hits her in the stomach, but she's still standing, disbelief, shock, and the kind of emotional hurt on her face I just can't find words to describe. She doesn't say a thing, not even when he raises the gun again and shoots her in the head this time. This time, she falls.

At this point, I've already screamed to myself 'WAKE UP!!!!!', over and over again, but now I watch him as he stands there just as calm, looking down at her on the floor, blank face, blank stare, and complete numbness. He raises the gun to his own head now, but finally the blank stare changes, he becomes uncertain, lowers the gun, sits on the couch next to him, gun still in hand, looks over at her body again,then finally starts to show some real emotion. Some tears form, but more than tears, he exhibits fear. He raises the gun one more time, puts the barrel to one spot on his head, then to another, once more unable to pull the trigger, stands up and looks around, as if something in the room is going to tell him what to do next, walks up to her, hesitates, then ultimately pockets his gun and walks out. Finally, I wake up, and that fucking dream is still with me. It's still with me now.

I wondered if it was connected to me somehow, if I was seeing something someone wanted me to see, or if my imagination was getting the best of me, so I have been looking and thinking the last couple of days, seeing if I can make a connection. I know of one incident having to do with a fellow I talked to a couple of times online a couple of years ago, I'd heard he was involved in a similar situation and the man in my dream resembled him somewhat, but from what I was able to read about his situation in the last couple of days, a lot of what I saw in my dream vs. what reports say don't match up, enough for me to think this wasn't him I saw. Some things were eerily similar, but most weren't.

Anyway, this is either one of the most intense otherworldly things I've ever had happen to me, or I am entirely in need of a padded room for the rest of my life. I just hope I don't have this dream again... ever. I say this not so much because of what I saw, but because during that entire dream, I could feel the basic emotions going back in forth in that room, thick like blankets being thrown around my shoulders with each exchange of words. I'd really rather not ever feel that degree, that solid an air of despair everywhere around me again. It just bothered me more than any dream I've ever had. I don't know that anything will ever come of it, if I'll ever figure out just what it means, why I had this dream, but frankly, the coward in me doesn't particularly care about the answers.

Okay, enough with the weird yet bumming diary entry. I'll try to end this on more upbeat one:)

Carol... I LOVE YOU!!!!!!! Carol found the story I'd lost, and I'm ecstatic!!! She didn't have all of it, but she did have most of what I'd written, and sent it back to me, God Bless her!!!!! Pick an organ, Carol;) It's yours should you ever need it;) LOL!!!! Thank you so much, Hon!

Oh, and also... talked to another good friend a few days ago (speaking of that, someone email me and remind me to call Cindy! I haven't gotten in touch with her since the flood screwed our backyard up, I've been so distracted), and she turned me on to another writer's site some of you may appreciate. I need to get her permission to post the URL here first, but let me tell you, if you really want honest feedback and not obligatory circle-of-friends reviews that are nice, but not exactly your reader's true thoughts, this site looks more than promising, indeed!:) I think most of you writer buddies would do well on this site!

Ok, that's it for today. Weird, I know, but humor me, and once again, hope you're all having exceptionally good times right about now. OH, hey... thanks for the prayers for my friends, re: my recent requests. I knew you'd all send what you could, blessing wise. You all rock!:)

March 21, 2006

This house next door to me is still empty, still for sale, and for months now, maybe a handful of people have come to look at it. Today, I came home from grocery shopping to see a young couple and their two very young daughters walking around the house, looking in the windows and reacting with the kind of excitement I can only describe as infectious. I said hello, asked them if I could answer any questions for them, and immediately, the wife spoke up and asked the price. When I told her that Mr. Vance, the owner, wanted 2K down and 800 a month, once again, I saw prospective buyers' dreams just deflate in a single moment.

I'm getting so tired of this.

Mr. Vance... Ed, is asking 80 thousand for this house, a house worth about 20K less. Years ago, he gave Eric and I, a still struggling Eric and I, a break on our house, sold it to us for next to nothing. I don't exactly fault him for wanting so much now for a house I know damned well he bought for a whopping 10K, but at the same time, I wish he'd help another young couple achieve a dream.

This was a nice couple from what I could tell in the time I spent talking to them. They'd been living in an apartment for the last five years, subject to a worsening neighborhood and constantly rising rent, despite the area, and despite the fact that repairs needed in their apartment were never made by management. They both were tired of living under someone else's roof, worrying about what their two little girls would be exposed to, and all they wanted was for someone to just give them a chance to raise their children in a real house, in a real neighborhood, at a reasonable price.

My heart breaks for this couple. They should be able to afford this house. The mortgage should be in the same range their rent should be in, but because my already filthy rich former landlord wants to be about 20K richer, this couple is likely going to have to find a lesser quality house, or an apartment complex just as bad as the one they're in now.

I both love and detest capitalism... right about now, I'm detesting.

I know there's a whole other side to this... reasons why someone may not want to cut a couple a break, and I know all too well that the term 'No good deed goes unpunished' rings true often in this world. Still, though... sometimes it doesn't ring true, and sometimes all that stands between a good family and a good life is just one person doing a good thing.

Changing topics, I've gotten yet another series of fanfiction related emails, from aspiring writers who are now terrified to submit their works, thanks to me and my constant tirades re: the genre. Girls, please, forgive me. I aim not to taint a new and aspiring writer from braving this world.

Don't be afraid to upload and click 'send'- If you love the world you're writing about that much, then that's enough reason to submit it. It's more than enough reason to stick with your 'child', more than enough reason to share that child with everyone. As hard as it can be, share that child, regardless of who may kootchie-koo it or not. Don't worry about what I say, and for that matter, what anyone else says. If your gut tells you to jump in and give it a try, honey, you'd be an idiot not to listen to your gut:)

If you have dream enough to write a piece, then you should have dream enough to share it. You should also have dream enough to brave the waters, take what comes, but never let it really change you. I've seen it change a lot of people, so that's why I bitch so much about it here, but then again, I've also seen a lot of people stay true to their vision.

I know there's a lot more to update, a lot of things I've mentioned a few times, yet have failed to keep regular visitors here caught up on, such is my borderline ADD brain, so forgive me. I'll try to tie up loose ends in an upcoming entry. In the meantime, I've got a call to make to a good friend, some rain damage in the yard to clean up, and some dinner to eat. As always, hope you all are well, and hope I hear from you all soon!:)

March 19, 2006

The above picture was taken about an hour and a half ago, when my backyard was flooded to the gills by nonstop rain. As you can see, the shed out back, the shed we built from scratch, was less than an inch away from being flooded.

I was sitting here at the pc, waiting for Eric to get back from the store with tonight's dinner ingredients, when my neighbor emailed me, telling me that she and her husband had looked out their back window and seen my yard completely flooded. I'm used to this during heavy rain, seeing water pooling on the lawn, so I wrote her back, not too concerned, telling her that as long as neither garage got flooded, I'd be okay with all this downpour. Thank God I thought about it again and went to look, because when I walked up the stairs and looked out the back window, I saw a lake in the yard... no pools... a friggin' lake!!!!

Anyway, the drainage ditch in our yard that lets runoff go down it was blocked by fencing and a couple of landscape railroad ties that had come loose, so I spent the next hour ass deep in icy cold water, tearing down fence and moving railroad ties out of the way so that the water could drain properly. And let me tell you, I am TIRED!!!!!! Wouldn't you know it... Eric comes home the second I get the section of fence loose and torn away, and the yard goes from being a lake back to being a yard full of small puddles. Ugh.

Right now, I'm tired, I'm cold, still trying to dry off, and still pissed off at this one Baker Hotel emailer whose only goal is to cause a ruckus in our email group. If you ask me, this man's sole purpose isn't to defend his being able to go in and see such a grand old structure... he couldn't care less about the Baker Hotel. Nope, this man came into our email circle and deliberately tried to upset exactly who he wanted to upset by saying exactly what he thought might do the trick, and it did.

What the idiot didn't know was that in a few clicks of a ten dollar mouse, I know his full name, his home address, his birthday, where he was born, his phone number, his criminal record, who his neighbors are, websites he calls his own, message boards he likes to frequent, and the list goes on. If this man does break into the Baker, does any kind of harm, we at least know who to tell the police to go after.

I prefer to use these databases for good reasons, but every once in awhile, an asshole comes along and makes me not feel too shitty about digging up his dirt.

On an entirely different note, I'd like to ask you all for a couple of prayers, something you all do really well!

1. My good Canuckian girlfriend Brenna, not to mention her entire family, is going through a sad time right now. Brenna's MIL has cancer, and at this point, the doctors are saying that it's just a matter of time. The fear Brenna's mother in law is feeling, the pain all her loved ones are feeling, the things Brenna herself is feeling for her husband, for his family, for her children, for herself... all of it. If y'all can just say a prayer for this family that peace finds all of them soon, it would be appreciated.

2. My other catbroad Danielle has a very young son who's had several problems with allergies, and he's going to have further testing done soon in hopes of narrowing down the specific allergens and treating them. Prayers for him having much less congested days would so rock from you all:)

3. My friend Allison is taking a huge life step in going forward with gastric bypass surgery. She's well aware of all she'll go through, all that will change, physically, emotionally, you name it, but your thoughts and prayers to help her go through this I know will give her any extra strength she may need. In a personal note to her, I have to say 'You GO, girl!!!!!!'. I know, very cliché, very nineties, but you still go;)

On yet another note, even more of you have emailed me about feedback on your writing today, LOL, and gals, trust me, just about all of you who've emailed me are entirely normal for admitting that you do care about getting feedback. We all do. You're not the kind of person I was talking about, so rest assured, okay?

Alrighty, then... I'm making a HUGE pot of hot and steaming shrimp, crawfish, sausage, and the fixins, and as cold as I still am from swimming in my backyard, it's going to be such a nice treat today:) And as it's getting to be just about ready, this is my cue to get the hell out of rant page Dodge;)

March 18, 2006

Oh my GOD, GODDESS, WHOEVER!!! I have to thank the many folks who emailed me about my feedback rant and totally agreed with the whole feedback assessment. I knew it happened, knew I saw it, had no idea damned near everyone else saw it, too, LOL! I have been the hugest feedback whore myself, didn't like that ugly part of me that reared its nasty head. I see it in others now, and just want to hoslap 'em for not snapping out of it like the rest of us have. It's a thankless job, I know;)

I have been beyond ill the last couple of days, my sinus infection sending my temperature up way too high, and my body way too low. I feel a little better today, though not a hundred percent, so if this rant goes on tangents that make no sense, forgive me. Tangents? Hell, I've already started, looks like;)

I belong to an email group for the Baker Hotel, and I logged on today to see a message to us all from a group member, some guy nobody really knows, bragging about how he plans to break into the Baker this weekend, inviting anyone who wants to come to join him. WTF?????? Anyway, an email argument broke out between other members and this idiot, them telling him that trespassing was illegal, him telling them that they were fascist, him totally unable to see what was wrong with not just his thinking breaking into the hotel was okay, but that anyone who didn't think it was okay was a fascist.

I'm not going to expand on what happened here, why myself and everyone else disagreed, why his email got us all in a tissy. No, instead, I'm going to just concentrate on profiling this guy. I will now post two of his emails, after which I will try to give my best FBI profiler assessment of the person behind these emails:

Who wants to join me in sneaking inside the Baker tomorrow night? Private tour! Bring your EMF detectors!

Baron

First email above... after which he got a few protests, and this was his response to them:

You're right, I have posted before and it never occurred to me until today to break into the Baker.

If I have an agenda it is this: life is too short. Many of us have not had the opportunities you have had to go inside this amazing place. Would I like the new owners to renovate and offer a glimpse inside? Sure. Is that going to happen? Who knows, but even if there is a small chance that the place is going to be torn down before we can get back in, then it is totally worth it to go right now and walk through the door. I'm serious. We're not going to break anything or vandalize anything. We have total respect. We will try our best to be careful and not get hurt, and I will not sue anyone if I do fall. I will write out a will right now telling my family not to do so either.

But is it worth it to go in, yes it is! We are talking about a possible sanctuary for the dead, a nexus for spiritual energy. Is it worth it to witness this activity? Yes, it is! It is totally worth it.

The cops only care about safety...fair enough. They don't want anyone to vandalize the place...OK, we won't and if we see anyone doing so, we will call the cops ourselves and face the consequences.

The owners of the hotel...they paid for the place, sure, but they don't own the spirits that live their. No one does!

So, if you look at it from the perspective that Life is Too Short, stepping inside the Baker this weekend is not only worth it, but the right thing TO DO.

Thanks.

And now, my profile:

Name: Brian Russel C.

Age: approx. 16-21 (possibly older, depending on whether or not he just works at MacDonald's or manages the place)

Height: either very tall or very short

Weight: More than likely very skinny, though possibly pudgy enough to take on a womanly form he tries to hide with large t-shirts. However, statistics say that lesser weight is likely, due to the probability of atrophied legs he's likely to have from sitting in a pc chair all day.

Further profile assessment:

Suspect is a legend in his own mind, surmising his intellectual capacity to be beyond the average person he deals with, while in reality he is of average intelligence, sometimes thought to be less than average due to his overwhelming collection of HeMan, She-Ra, and Rubik's Cubes, possibly Strawberry Shortcake as well. He owns a smattering of comic books, Faces of Death dvd's, and at least two Marilyn Manson cds that he keeps visible, just to make sure his fellow friends don't find the Carpenters greatest hits cd hidden under his bed.

Suspect lives at home with mother and stepfather, spending most evenings in tech chats. Statistics show that suspect most likely has a girlfriend he only knows by screen name, rather than by real name, location, or physical description.

Suspect dress may or may not include skater shorts, Sid and Nancy t-shirt, and most likely has hair dyed black from charcoal he soaked in water and ran through his pseudo-gothic haircut, due to the fact that his mother strictly forbade his using actual hair dye, describing it as 'heathen vanity'.

Suspect masturbates frequently to Lara Croft gamer websites, only stopping to watch the latest episode of 'Ghost Hunters', at which he will sometimes continue to masturbate, depending on what the lead paranormal investigator is wearing.

Suspect has seen all the Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings movies, and refers to the latter strictly as LOTR, an internet acronym he is convinced won't sound just as nerdy in a speaking voice.

In conclusion, suspect is most likely not apt to appear at the Baker Hotel this weekend, due to his fear of actually having to carry out something he says he's going to do... that and the fear of become some guy named Eldred's 'bitch' that weekend in the county jail after he's arrested for trespassing.

However, this profiler advises that someone provide surveillance of said hotel, and for said suspect, looking specifically for a group of virginal skater/goth wannabes who will more than likely drive up to Hubbard St. in a station wagon borrowed from one of the virgin's mothers. Be on particular lookout for a christian fish bumper sticker on said stationwagon.

March 16, 2006

Fanfiction bitch again... and don't get me wrong; I'm bitching about myself in this entry, too. I admitted to myself yet another reason why this tiny chip out of the structure that is my life has affected me so much, and why I harp on the small group of people I tend to harp on. I respected them. I really did. I didn't just respect them, but I aspired to be the writers they were, looked up to them, and wanted them to look up to me as well. Sometimes they did, most of the time, they didn't.

Anyway, this hit me today when I went back to an old fanfiction haunt, a message board, and browsed through it, particularly the fanfiction review page, where something really hit me pretty hard. One gal had 46 reviews for her story (and trust me, everyone measures their number of reviews, somehow thinking it determines their worth as a writer. Ain't correct, but we've all done it at least once, probably more), and here's where the revelation hit me. I got trivial and actually counted these reviews... 25 were from a handful of repeat reviewers. 21 were responses left by the author herself, and trust me, she wasn't just trying to acknowledge everyone and thank them... she was adding her comments to this list to make the reply count rise under her thread, make it look more popular. Not just that, but to make her entire post stay at the top of that message board page. Once again, trust me... this is what was going on, and it goes on all the time, people thinking they can somehow solve the insecurity within them by making their reviews 'look' large.

Anyway, it dawned on me that these people I'd wanted so much to give me some amount of respect I actually looked up to because I was a dumbass and assumed they were great writers because the replies to their posts on a message board were through the roof in number. I know without a doubt that I was wrong, and I know now that keeping your thread going on a message board doesn't say anything about you as a writer, but says volumes about your personality. I guess I knew this before, but today for some reason, I really know it. Feedback yet again rearing it's snaggle-toothed and evil head.

I've seen some promising writers get stagnant because they spend way too much time trying to convince themselves that they need no correction with their writing, spend way too much time hovering around a message board on a review day, waiting for the obligatory 'you rock' feedback. In the long run, the insecurity remains, and they fail to grow as a writer, and all for one real reason; they don't have faith enough in themselves to take criticism, can't admit for the life of them that they may need a little work.

To any writer who reads this and finds this offensive, I'll just answer you with a single challenge...

I know I've bitched about Urbis.com, but if you really care more about your ability than you do about the approval, go and submit a story there. You will most definitely hear exactly what's liked and not liked about your story, and for someone not addicted more to the feedback than the writing, this ain't gonna be a good thing. So, if you read this entry and find yourself pissed of at me, go to Urbis and prove me wrong. I dare you.

And if you absolutely know it's you I'm talking about, I dare you even more. I dare you because I want you to do better, to expand and evolve that promising talent I know you have, but don't use nearly enough. I dare you to stop measuring yourself by only the good feedback, freaking out when one review out of a hundred good reviews tells you that something isn't right with your story. I dare you to really try, as compared to stopping short of what you can be. I know I've said that reviews on Urbis piss me off because I'm just not sure the advice offered is sage, but you know what? It beats the hell out of the same generic pat on the back some authors seem to beg their readers for. Get real with your writing, get honest, and though you may not like it a whole hell of a lot, the worst it will do is make you stronger....

rather than keep you stuck in a rut you so need to break out of.

I realize that I sound mean as hell here. Get over it. I'm not in the mood to enable addiction today, nor am I particularly looking to make anyone upset. What I am in the mood to do is bitch honestly about something I've seen way too much of in any kind of online writing, particularly fanfiction, and hope that at least one of you gals I'm talking about gets it, gets your ass in gear and starts to write for the right reasons again.

March 24, 2006

I am exhausted and despondent, whoa is me, and as I swipe my forearm over my little ole forehead, I'll give you guys a minute to feel mah pain.

Naw, truth of the matter is that I'm just pissed off that this little 12 by 12 front room is taking me FOREVER to finish renovating!!!!! It's only been a few days, but the impatient bitch that I am is up to my areolas in disgust with how slow this is going. Not just that, but as I'm devoting all my time and energy to doing just one of many rooms I've got to do, I'm letting other stuff go, and as a result, this house and my life completely suck testicle. Though I realize some might find this term to be a good thing... trust me; I don't.

I miss my friends (especially my catbroads), I miss my husband, who's tried to help me this weekend, only to have me scream at him and send him out on errands I don't have time to do myself, and I miss having at least some semblance of an orderly house. I threw a hammer today in anger, a result of the kind of impatience and idiocy I normally am not familiar with, and when I spent the next ten minutes I could've spent finishing up Venetian plaster instead patching the hole I made via that hammer-throw, I decided to take a break, stop the do it yourself stuff for the day, and secretly wish curses on every single fucking 'how to' show on television. Damn them for making me think I could do this all by myself. May they all burp up chunks of cartilage and intestine the next time they drink a beer, the bastards. Anal retentive and sing-songy sons of bitches who take an evil pleasure in making those of us watching their how-to shows think that our trek into this kind of repair or that kind of renovation will be as easy as theirs, not telling us that they have a huge crew behind the camera who steps in and really does the work. Not like I didn't already know this when I started my front room project... I just know it even more now.

Dean Johnson, Bob Villa and your effeminate lumberjack-looking lackeys who took your show over, and all you nerdy buttfaces on HGTV and the DIY network, those of you who 'trick' houses in record time on Trading Spaces and While You Were Out on TLC: kiss my ass. Except for Andrew Dan Jumbo on the latter show. And I excuse him mainly because he is just too hot to look at, if you'll pardon my Hiltonesque phrase. I could never be angry at Andy Dan J.;)

Read my friend Allison's latest journal entry, and I'm ashamed to say that I didn't know before I read it that this was Women's History Month. Even though I didn't know before, I at least know now, and I'd like to pay tribute to all you women who have made a difference in my life. I'd like to thank those of you I have loved, liked, learned from, admired, pulled my hair out over, been pissed at, been disappointed by, extended an arm to so that I could help, and whose hand has reached out to me to catch my fall a time or two. Whether you and I are on good terms, bad terms, or somewhere-in-between terms at the moment, you're all my sisters, and there's not a one of you I don't respect in at least some way, and there's not a one of you I won't step in and back up, should you ever really need it. Good to bad, you have all made an impression on my life, and as a result, you've all had something to do with who I have become over these years. You go, girls. You go, and you keep going:)

Ok, I think I've had break enough so far. Time to go back in and tackle the room that wants to defeat me. I will keep my hammer in my hands this time, keep my calm, keep whatever I have to keep that'll make this room get finished;)

March 11, 2006-Insomnia and an early morning entry plea to Taylor Hicks

Woke up at 1 am last night, shocked to see that the hubster was already back from work and sitting on the couch. No good deed goes unpunished, looks like; he'd switched his run to Shreveport with a fella who normally drives to Houston so that this driver could see his girlfriend, who lives in a town near Shreveport. Eric goes to work, ready to drive to Houston when they tell him that there's not enough freight to ship on this particular route tonight, thus my waking up at the sounds of a husband returned home early, and thus my being awake all night, awake now.

I have decided to change my mind when it comes to one particular American Idol praise session I gave here not long ago... I am no longer going to call in and vote for Taylor. Why? Not because I don't absolutely adore him. Actually, it's because I completely adore him. It dawned on me that Taylor will never win, but he'll at least be in the top five, I think, and it's conceivable he'd make the top three. It also dawned on me that, if he continues on with this competition much longer... the fresh yet throwback, rock-mixed-with-soul musical stylings of Mr. Hicks will end up being doomed to a career sacrificed to the fiery hell of Pop Satan, a hell every past winner has been saddled with, a hell that makes even the most talented artist from AI taken that much less seriously by most of the music industry. Yes, I know Kelly Clarkson finally won herself some Grammys, but notice that in her acceptance speeches, she kinda forgot to acknowledge American Idol. And speaking of that, why in hell is Paula Abdul a judge? I've always had a problem with that. Of all the singers who ever hit the Billboard tops, this wonderful dancer yet annoyingly nasal vocalist was somehow chosen to give her 'expert' opinion on this show. I guess they needed a female that badly on the panel, and I also guess that the likes of Samantha Fox and Lita Ford just couldn't find an opening in their schedules.

Anyway, message to Taylor Hicks... Honey, you have been a pleasure to watch, a complete treat to listen to, but you know what? You've gotten plenty of exposure now, have a multitude of new fan base, so... GET OUT NOW!!!!!!!!!!! I beg of you, I beg you on behalf of myself and all of us who know that your Joe Cocker-like moves, infectious personality, and throaty classic voice are something beyond any reality talent show. Please, turn and run... as fast as you can... and let the bald guy whose teeth remind me of a woodchuck take on the role of 'pop idol slave'. Get off that stage, out of that lot, and back home, where I know several contracts more suitable will be waiting for you. Let Ace, Mandisa, or any of the other front-runners end up gracing your average Trapper Keeper jacket. You're an artist, not a pop star, and as I've watched this competition, I've become increasingly grateful for that. Kill someone if you have to in your escape attempt... just as long as you get the hell out of there!;) If I turn on the boob tube a year from now and catch the tail end of a video duet between you and Britney Spears, I will literally go out of my way to buy black market anthrax and send it to Simon Fuller. Not really, but I'd sure find it tempting.

March 10, 2006-mish-mosh, hodgepodge, and flifflyflookerdoodle

Can you tell I'm tired?;)

I have been tackling this front room, tearing down walls, putting new ones up, getting nothing else done in this house other than the basic necessity, and every muscle in my body now aches from carrying sheetrock and paneling around, hammering, cutting, plastering... and I'm not nearly done yet. Once this room is done, it's on to gutting and re-doing the kitchen, then the bathroom, and so on, and so on, a never ending hell that will slowly sap the last of my spirit out. Don't ya just love it?

I have a million of you to catch up with in emails, so I'm apologizing in advance for not doing so yet. I haven't forgotten about anyone, I swear! Oh! This reminds me... quick note to Ariane! I finally made it to your LJ, and I hope you're feeling better, Hon!!! Update me when you can and let me know how you are, ok?

Got two surprises in my email yesterday. One, my long-lost fellow Dallas cat lover, Cindy, emailed me. I'd lost touch with her, and hearing from her was stupidly excellent:) It's hilarious-we met online when she entered a cat health chatroom I used to go to ages ago, we got to talking, became email buddies, then when I was stuck here without a car and worried about one of my sick kitties, Cindy and I met for the first time when she drove over to give me a ride to the vet. We clicked right off the bat, and if she needed me, I was there for her. If I needed her, I didn't even have to ask; she was there.

Anyway, it was wonderful to catch up with her again, and we're getting together soon to do some real catching up. She's been through quite a bit since we talked last. She had a gastric bypass, lost a load of weight, has been even more politically active than her awesomely liberal self was when I last saw her (she was right down there in Crawford, TX with Cindy Sheehan, in Washington, and wherever else her causes lead her), and she and I have a lot to catch up on. I'm really looking forward to it, and I'm looking forward to seeing her again. Hell, I don't know anyone else here who has or loves as many animals as I do, especially no one like Cindy.

The other email yesterday was from a man who'd found my story online because one of my characters in Accidental Muse shared his name, and apparently a few other coincidences. He didn't email to get angry about the name similarity at all or to accuse me of stealing his identity; he emailed me a wonderful and appreciative letter, letting me know that he was happy to find my story... pardon the pun, by 'accident':)

The hubster and I actually had a 'fight' this morning, and since this is usually a funny thing, I thought I'd recall the dialog as best as possible and share it with you here:

(Eric arrives home from work, walking in the door only to find that the cats haven't been rounded up into the front area of the house. This sets a usually docile Eric into a menstrual kind of tailspin.)

'Uh.... MAN! What? Goddamn!!! Fuckin' cats....get!' (he snaps his fingers while trying to herd cats out of the living room and into the front of the house) 'Get! I said GET!!!'

Some cats do get... most continue to sit and lick their anuses.

'What are they doing in here still? I can't sleep if they're running around here! What the hell???'

'Nice to see you, too, ya pimp.'

'I'm serious!!!'

'You were supposed to bring me litter. I'm out and I'm not rounding them up in the front with dirty litter boxes.'

'What??? Oh, MAN!!! Why didn't you call me and remind me?'

'I dunno.'

Eric proceeds to move around and grunt in a way that reminds me of the kid who was