Dec. 21, 2006- The fine art of catching up without killing yourself

Well, it's official. My brain is irreparably damaged from this last month's overload.

How do I know? Here's proof; a sampling of some of the ultra strange things I've done in the last days:

-I actually watched the live Tara Connor(Miss USA) press conference, and cheered for the blonde sexpot when The Donald announced that he wasn't going to fire her from her job for drinking, partying too hard, and tarnishing the image of the Miss USA and Universe organizations. On this one, though, I actually came to my senses when my right arm involuntarily rose up and thumped me in the nipple really hard, snapping me out of it. Close one, that was... I was thisclose to actually believing that her dethroning might actually hurt our chances at world peace. And I'm not even touching the Rosie vs. The Donald thing, except to say that I'm hoping to find a Team Rosie tee somewhere soon.

-I am completely not going to be forgiven for this, and I don't blame you...I've been watching coverage of the Mt. Hood climber's tragedy religiously, praying for the recovery of at least one climber who's survived. My hopes, like everyone's, have been dashed in the last two days, but here's where I am damned to hell... Yesterday, Eric and I were watching the coverage, and suddenly, when a snow-capped and alp-like image of the peak of Mt. Hood filled our T.V. Screen, in the midst of all this sadness, I yelled out something I sooooooo should not have-

Riiiiicolaaaaaaaaaaa!

That was bad, wasn't it? I swear to God, folks, I don't know what hit me.

-I told a guy who'd been heavily hitting on me at WalMart Saturday that I had a dick... a big one. Then I winked.

-My mailman, who happens to be a pre-operative transexual, walked up while I was outside Friday, and when she handed me my stack of mail, I actually said 'Thank you, sistah! Keep fighting the good fight.'....

What in the FUCK was that??????

Anyway, I think it's safe to say I'm frazzled lately.

I sent my Mom off Saturday to New York, where Jim's family has been a great support for her. The whole family went out on a large boat yesterday, had a nice ceremony, and scattered his ashes over the Hudson River. Jim, you're home now:) I sent Mom off with my cell phone and my digital camera, so she should come back with plenty of wonderful pictures for me, and I'll share some here. She's coming back on Saturday, and on Christmas Eve, all of us down here are gathering together and having our Bon Voyage party for Jim.

And I guarantee you, my in-laws are going to shit frisbees over this because I (and possibly Eric) won't be with them on Christmas Eve. Too bad, though I would kinda like to be there to see aforementioned frisbees fly out of anuses;)

With everything that's happened with Jim this last month, I honestly have just chucked Christmas. I usually get excited about picking out things for Eric, but this year, I'm just too tired. Howeverrrrrrr, I did get him one gift, and he himself just might shit a happy frisbee over this- I Ebayed like a sonofabitch, and on Christmas Day, Eric and I will be at Texas Stadium watching the Cowboys play the Eagles from extremely good seats. And the Cowboys had better not get slaughtered, 'cause these tickets were anything but cheap.

That's all for today, folks. I hope your holidays are filled with far more cheer than I've mustered or experienced to date. I hope your presents rock, your holiday food is beyond tasty, and the people you're around are nothing but the best company:)

Dec. 16, 2006

Befuddled by real life, and not willing to put you readers through more of the same, I figured I'd just do a good and honest, though trivial, rant entry today.

Mottos, euphemisms, phrases, and sayings that should be punishable by nothing less than major violence:

• If you love someone, set them free. If they come back to you, etc.- Who in hell came up with this saying? If you know, let me know, so I can go spit on their grave, 'cause I guarantee you they're dead by now. Not like this saying isn't true, but still, there are few words truly capable of capturing the real emotions felt by someone who's lost a love... and this phrase doesn't just NOT cover it, it also tends to piss off most of the dumped people it's way too often quoted to at the most inappropriate times.

• He/She looked as if he/she was rode hard and put up wet- Beyond its redneck 'feel', this term I've heard way too much, and as a result, I've had to say or think 'What the FUCK does this mean?', way too 'mucher'. Really, if any of you know the origin of this term, let me know. I know what it refers to, I just can't figure out this little saying's origin for the life of me. Gotta be a cowboy thing.

• Might makes right- I know Dubya's gotta love this particular one, which is a great deal of why I absolutely know this is probably one of the most untrue sayings ever spewed.

• When the going gets tough, the tough get going... I swear to God, if anyone ever tries to say that to me while I'm going through a tough time, I will indeed get going... on beating the living shit out of them. Come on... has this saying EVER made a single human being surpass any hardship they were faced with? Clue, folks... if someone ever says this to you in your time of need, chalk them off your Christmas list, because they're either heartless idiots or mindless goobers who would rather quote outright crap they don't really get rather than help you in any real way. Seriously, if someone you loved were facing some awful plight, would you really choose this particular time, this particular phrase, to console? If you would, let me know so I can either pray for you or ban you from my email and IM lists;)

• An apple a day keeps the doctor away- Uh, no it doesn't, no matter how many apples you consume. Hell, if that were true, all our insurance plans would have a major discount for avid apple eaters, and there'd be no deductible for surgeries requiring removal of apple seeds blocking the small intestine.

• The Bible says Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve- To you folks who've ever used this beyond retarded saying, do me a favor and go off to your Evangelical strip mall house of worship, grab one of your rattlers from its cardboard den, and let it bite you in the jugular... twice. And once it's done that, drink some paint thinner... then tell me while you're dying that you have the right to judge any human being's choice of partner, without speaking in tongues. If you ask me, God's first children didn't have names, didn't have labels, didn't come from dust or ribs, and didn't know a single instinct or thought beyond just staying alive, staying who they were. Humans created the rules, the details, and the insanity... maybe their names were Adam and Steve;)

• Beauty is skin deep- Am I the only one who never really got this? What in the fuck does this mean? Does it mean that beauty lies only in the skin? It, at least to me, seems to imply so. Shallow mutha;)

• Every cloud has a silver lining- apparently this chip, chip, chippy term was written by vampire and werewolf haters;) Apart from that, what in hell is a silver lining in a cloud going to do for me, anyway?

  I could go on, sooooooooo on, but I won't. Thank me later, friends;)

Dec. 11, 2006

Seems life is going on so far. Mom's driving up this week, staying with us for a day or two before going off to Jim's hometown in New York to scatter his ashes. In the meantime, I've been kind of hoping for a visit from Jim, some little sign or signal meant to let me know he's okay. Hasn't happened yet, though, but I have a feeling it's because he's a little busy in his new world;)

I've been thinking about ways to memorialize Jim the last few days, and after going through several ideas, I think I've found the perfect choice. Jim's best memories as an actor happened at La Mama theater in New York, and it just so happens that La Mama is asking for donations right now. They're selling engraved bricks to be placed along the walkway to the theater's main entrance, the proceeds going towards expansion of the theater. Soooooo, I think I'm going to do a little fundraising and see if I can't raise enough to both buy a brick with Jim's name on it (that's only 250-500 dollars), or even more and see if LaMama can't do some other kind of tribute to Jim there. He was there when they first started, had a great deal to do with their initial success, so I'm hoping I can talk with them and arrange something special there to honor him. If a PayPal button pops up on this site soon, folks, you'll know what it's for, and anything you can give, from a nickel to a twenty, will be greatly appreciated. We'll see, though. I'm going to do some local fundraising here first, I think... garage sale, ebay, etc.

Eric's been so cool through all of this, and I regret not mentioning him much lately. He's dealt with my emotional tsunami of a personality since Jim got sick, stepped in and took over some responsibilities for me so that I could concentrate on other things for awhile, and he hasn't complained much at all about being neglected lately, even though looking back, I can see that there were times the little boy in him was missing the way things usually are. For Christmas, I think he and I will be ditching the usual Christmas thing, family be damned, and going back up to Caddo Lake for a couple of days, just the two of us... and a couple of gimped up cats;)

You know, I'm still just in awe of the kind of support you guys have shown me and my family. When I started this rant page, I knew I was going to make enemies, pretty much expected that saying exactly what was on my mind would both alienate many and infuriate a few, not to mention paint me in a weirder light than I already bask in. What I didn't expect, though, is that so many of you would actually accept me as I am, out there flaws and all. Times like these last several days with Jim, and your support during them, every time I write the kind of entry I think is going to get me assassinated when instead I get a mountain of 'Thank GOD you said that' emails, and times when the not so functional side of me runs rampant through every sentence of my rants, yet you still are here.... well, damn! I am humbled, and I am grateful, folks. Thank you:)

And if I can finally get off topic (not to mention far FAR more trivial) from these last few rants, I find myself increasingly feeling the urge to gouge my own eyes out with rusty corkscrews for having been stupid enough to order a year's subscription to Star magazine. I'm frankly surprised this magazine doesn't come with free crayons, its contents are so childish.

Every week, I get two issues of this goddamned magazine, and every week, I'm inundated with pseudo journalistic celebrity dysentery... complete with tons of pictures . I am a hundred miles past sick of stories of pantiless club whores named Paris, Lindsay, and Britney, couldn't care less about Brangelina's next baby, and I swear to fucking God, if I read one more fluffy story about K-Fed, Jennifer Anniston, Beyonce, TomKat or Kate Hudson , my IQ will drop about sixty points due to a gossip-ruptured medulla oblongata.

I shit you not, this magazine's feature articles consist of roughly five or six paragraphs of poorly written drivel, and at the end of said articles, two or three writers are given credit for the piece of shit I just read. Star magazine actually needs multiple writers just to produce one 'challenged' blurb of material. Huh? That's about the same to me as someone needing help blinking. And I subscribe to this magazine! If there ever were a definition for the words 'brain fart'...

Here I was, given the chance to order any number of real magazines at a discount. I had my choice of any political, educational, or truly entertaining subscription. Hundreds of magazines to choose from, and what do I choose? I choose tabloid images and paragraphs full of what I call 'Hollywood ebonics' (for example, these writers use terms like BFF and Sci Ti instead of the actual words, as if they're in either a teeny bopper IM from hell or the official Dawson's Creek chatroom), poorly going on about anorectic actresses, cheating pop stars, fashion savvy singing divas, and could-be-pregnant celebrities. But hey, at least they have great fashion, diet, and make up tips (I'm still half-expecting to get an issue any day now telling me that I can lose ten pounds in 24 hours on the Carrie Underwood antifreeze diet).

I suck, and as long as I continue to get new Star issues, I'm just going to have to keep sucking, just so I can get my money's worth of suckiness.

Ok, it's way too early in the morning, I need a little sleep, so I'll end my Star tirade and hit the sack for now. Just do me a favor and send a prayer or two that my dreams don't end up involving me getting chased by paparazzi because I got knocked up by anyone from Lost or Grey's Anatomy;)

December 8, 2006-An obituary for one hell of a stepfather

Wednesday evening, in the ICU ward of Rio Grande Hospital, at 8:30 pm, James 'Jim' Hilbrandt took the last required breath of a long, enviable, well-lived life, and graduated peacefully into the next. By his side was his wife of 22 years, there to see him off onto his next adventure, unable to join him in the sights just yet, but instead wishing him a fantastic journey until they meet up again. Wishing she was there to see him off was his stepdaughter, who loved all his facets just as much as any biological child could love a parent, and who will miss those facets more than I'd ever imagined I would... the spellbinding storyteller, the spirited traveler, the oddly humble yet larger than life blessing, the artist, the life student whose glass house was never hidden, always open to us all, his hand never knowing the weight of a stone.

There will be no funeral for Jim; he specifically requested that such a sad and dismal word should never be associated with anything that's happened to him. Instead, he requested that he be cremated, and that his ashes be taken to the Hudson River Valley, where he grew up, and scattered over the Hudson River, and that afterwards, he'd be pissed if a huge Bon Voyage party weren't thrown for him.

Don't worry, Jim. I'm already planning the menu;) Mom's already sending out the invites;)

Jim, you know... this redheaded stepchild is going to miss you... severely, and I'm sorry, but as much as you want us to celebrate your passing, allow us a little selfishness here and there and in between, some tears in between the smiles and laughter that remembering you will bring. Allow us that because no matter what, we're all ultimately going to fear leaving this world a little less, knowing you'll be there in the next to greet us when it's our turn.

Finally, not just for me, but for Jim and all his loved ones, I thank all of you who sent us your prayers, thoughts, energy, blessings, love... all things positive. It was appreciated beyond any words I can say here would ever hope to express, and we are all better as a result. I know that many of you prayed for recovery, that Jim would stay here with us for awhile, and that since he didn't stay, some of you may feel that your prayers weren't answered. Ditch that line of thinking as fast as you can, and instead know that your prayers helped a wonderful spirit make a huge yet difficult passing, a passing he was meant to make, surrounded by as much love as any human soul could hope for... kind of like a huge collective Mother of all bear hugs:) You did good, friends, and I love you for it:)

I'll catch up here with all of you soon. I'll catch up and get back soon. Life goes on, and I'm not talking just about me and my family. If that term really applies to anyone here, it should apply most to Jim.

Life goes on.

Dec. 5, 2006

Somehow, I don't think this is going to be an especially merry Christmas.

After a couple of days of Jim starting to come out of his coma, his bloodwork showing signs of steady improvement, Mom went in to see Jim today, and was immediately called by Jim's pulmonologist into his office. About an hour later, Mom called me.

Jim is dying... really dying. According to the doctor, who'd also consulted with all of Jim's other doctors, Jim's organs are shutting down now, and rapidly. They pretty much gave Jim a zero percent chance of recovery, urged her to sign a DNR order, which she did, and tomorrow, Mom's going back to the hospital, at which point the doctors will remove Jim's respirator, take him off of his medication, all except for his painkiller, Mom will tell him that it's okay to leave now, and then we'll wait. And as for the doctors, they are one hundred percent sure the wait is going to be short. Saddest part of this is that my heart tells me they're actually right this time.

This was just going to be routine surgery to move his stoma... what in God's name happened here? I don't think I've ever quite felt this combination of numbness, profound grief, and anger before. I know that Jim is going to go when he's ready to go, that he's going to a better place, but my gut tells me so strongly that somebody seriously fucked up here. This is not my anger stage of grief; this is my gut screaming at me that something on the part of this hospital is not right. Jim was failed here, by more than a few, and now I'm sitting here, knowing what tomorrow's going to consist of, and instead of having some comfort in expending all my energy into grief, I'm distracted now by that digging sensation in my soul. If it weren't for my complete faith in Karma, I think I'd be in a heap right now.

My God, he's been such a wonderful stepfather. No awful fairytale cliché here realized whatsoever when it comes to this short yet grand man with the shock of white curly hair and sparkling eyes that tell his life tales just as well as his vocal chords ever have. He really is going to be in another world soon, and through my sadness, I can at least smile in thinking of the life of the party he'll be when he gets there. I can take comfort in knowing he's had an excellent life, and I can take comfort in knowing that everything good I've ever felt about him, he's known I felt. Mom just did damned good with Jim, pure and simple.

I wish I had better news today, y'all. I really really do.

Nov. 30, 2006

Five days since my last entry, and things have gotten worse, I'm afraid.

On the 26^th, Jim seemed to have improved a bit, my mother's mood greatly uplifted as a result. I got off the phone with her early that morning, hopeful about heading down to McAllen to help my stepdad recover.

In my happier mood, I went about house cleaning while Eric went out to walk the dogs, and two minutes later, Eric's knocking on the window, telling me to come out and check one of our dogs, Frankie, because he didn't look so good. I make it outside just in time to see Frankie urinate a stream of blood-soaked urine onto the ground, then stumble and almost collapse. We weren't even a couple of miles away from here on our way to the ER when Frankie took one last gasp and passed away in the backseat, his head in my lap, both Eric and I beyond shocked. He'd been 100 percent healthy just hours before, so I'm forced to think that this acute renal failure that killed him so quickly had to be a poisoning of some sort. Even that's improbable, considering there's just no poison for him to get into here, and there's no access to the dogs' living area for an intruder to poison him. Eric's taken Frankie's death especially hard, constantly questioning whether he should've done this or that differently, wondering if Frankie's water bowl was toxic, whether he bought the right food, basically blaming himself a million ways over for a death that just is not his fault.

Frankie's buried next to his father Wolf now, and I know Frankie was met on the other side by his dad. And as for Frankie's two sisters, T.C. Wagadoo and Fuzzy Wagadoo, I'm watching them like hawks in the meantime.

On the 27^th, I get a call from my mother especially early, and the time alone told me that this wasn't going to be good news. It wasn't. Jim is now in a coma, and the doctors don't really know why. All they do tell my mother is that she should start making funeral arrangements.

It gets worse when Mom asks me not to come down, that she needs me here at the computer to contact relatives, set up this and that, including arranging for my mess of a sister to go down instead. Donna's the only one without responsibilites, the only one who can be gone long term and not have to worry about other things, and since she doesn't have responsibilities, she also doesn't have a dime to her name. Mom wanted to pay for Donna's travel expenses, but I offered to cover the cost as well, thinking this wouldn't end up being a huge drama. God, I can't believe the kind of amnesia you can get when it comes to family dysfunction.

I call Donna to go over things, ask her if she wants to fly or take the bus, she says she doesn't care, so I go online to make arrangements. I find a flight, start to book it, but decide to call her first and see if the time's okay. While I'm talking to her, just before I'm about to hang up and pay 300 dollars for the ticket, she suddenly says 'Oh yeah. I lost my driver's license. Is that going to be a problem?'

Uh... 'Donna, looks like you're going on the bus'.

So, I hang up, log on and buy her a bus ticket, log off, only to have the phone ring, Donna on the other end, happily telling me that she found her expired ID, and that a friend of hers was going to take her to the DMV to get a new license.

'Donna, I already bought the bus ticket'

A long whine follows.... 'But that's like elevennnnnnn hoursssssssssss'

Hola? I am fucking paying for your ticket, giving you pocket money for your trip, taking you to the station, Princess.... I'm also obviously way more upset than you are about Jim's condition, plus I'm doing all the contact work for Mom while also coddling your ass while trying to keep my own life and its responsibilities going, you crack wench. I don't think a whine here fits into the situation nearly as much as a single 'thank you' might.

That's what I wanted to say, but then I thought about how Donna would do nothing but bitch about what I said to her to Mom while down there, something the current situation and Mom doesn't need, so I bit my tongue, said 'fine', then went back online to make flight arrangements. I call Southwest Airlines, ask them about the ID situation, they tell me that Donna can get on board and fly if she has the renewed license, the expired one, and her social security card. I call Donna back, who says great, but who then can't find her social security card. So I go back online to re-do the bus ticket arrangement, Donna calls on the cell phone to tell me she found her SS card, and after pulling a huge chunk of my own hair out in frustration, I tell her I'm going to get her airline ticket, and that she has to go get her driver's license renewed, she promises to do so, but this time I hesitate, wait for the next day before I make any kind of reservation.

The next day, Donna calls to tell me that she didn't get a ride to the DMV after all... busline, here we come. I go and reorder the bus ticket.

Five minutes later, She calls again, telling me that she had a friend call Southwest, and that they told her she didn't need the renewed license to take the flight as long as she had the expired license and her SS card.

Folks, manners at a time like this disappeared. It's hard for the manner part of your brain matter to still work when your brain has exploded.

I ordered her fucking plane ticket, sparing her the precious eleven hours of her selfish life, booked it, called her back and told her that she was going to get her wish of flying instead of riding in a bus, that somebody else was going to have to deal with getting her to the airport, that a shuttle would take her the 30 miles to Mom's house, and that if they denied her access to the flight for any reason at all, she'd better start walking to McAllen, because I was done.

Donna's response?

'Can't Mom pick me up? I don't know how those shuttle things work.'

I told her to figure it out, and I ended the call. About two hours later, my mother, who's already driving a total of 60 miles a day in a gas guzzler of vehicle going to and from the hospital, calls me to confirm Donna's travel arrangements, telling me she'd talked to Donna and was leaving the hospital early on Saturday to drive out and pick Donna up, to not worry about paying for a shuttle service.

I swear to God, if I ever get an elephant gun, I'm making the fucking news. I can see the headlines now... 'Dallas citizen makes doughnut out of sibling's head'.

And where are my brothers through all of this, you may ask-

I called them early on to let them know Jim wasn't doing well, only to find their phone had been disconnected, ended up taking my ten speed and cycling to their house at 10 at night, passing loose and chasing dogs and even more drunk Mexican men whistling with an accent, only to get to their house, find one brother drunk and the other high, find out that they're two months behind in their mortgage, haven't done a single fucking thing to try to fix the situation, and when I try to still remain calm, I ask my oldest brother if he wouldn't mind going down and spending time with Mom, too, that she could use his company, that I'd pay for it.

He fidgets, comes up with a million excuses, which inspires in me the kind of tirade the fanfic lightweights I've laid into online would turn to stone from. It also ends up making me feel like shit, laying the awful news about Jim on them in one minute, then verbally neutering them both the next.

I am so tired... by things and of things. And it sucks that I have to at least try to be strong here because so many others just aren't, no matter how much I just want to run away.

I'm just about done with the rant for now, but do you know what sucks most? Above and beyond everything? The fact that Jim's name has come up so scarcely in this rant. Family didn't let it when I should've. There's a man in an ICU bed right now, hooked up to a respirator with a million tubes jutting out of his body, and he deserves SO much more than the bullshit the last few days has involved... on all the family's parts.

If I can say one good thing out of all of this, it's a profound and sincere thank you for all your wishes. I know I haven't written but a couple of you back, I've been so swamped, but to all of you who have taken the time to send me your thoughts and your wishes for Jim, please know I've gotten your emails, read them, and love you for them.

Nov. 23, 2006

Well, it's the day before Thanksgiving, and I just don't know where we're going, if we're going anywhere. It seems every branch of our family is having their own thing, and I'll be damned if I'm going to spend tomorrow driving all over kingdom come just to appease people. Call me a Thanksgiving Scrooge, but I just don't like this holiday that much. The food is definitely not my favorite, the stress is at damned near stroke level, and frankly, any holiday that celebrates our ancestors' (or should I say descendants'? Only Marie's gonna get that one) sharing of both a meal and thanks with the Indians just before we started to screw them royally is not particularly a holiday I eagerly await every year. Bah, humbug;)

If it were up to me, my Thanksgiving would involve a huge platter of Sushi and Saki, a good game of Trivial Pursuit, and a three hour backrub. Though I know I can dream, I try not to... 'cause the reality hurts too much;) I should've just volunteered to go and help out at a shelter or soup kitchen and made the holiday really count. I wonder if it isn't too late to do that?

I just finished a short story I was writing for my dad, a horror story that I think he's going to enjoy as a present. It's about a guy named Joe Laspina, a door to door salesman who hocks kitchen knife sets in middle class neighborhoods. It's his second job, a job he doesn't want, a job he hates, in fact, but he has to work it due to the fact that his wife's spending habits have put them in danger of losing everything. Anyway, he's having particularly bad luck on the day this story takes place, not selling a single cutlery set and suffering more than one slammed door in his face... until he knocks on the door belonging to the Byrnes, a husband and wife who are more than glad to see Joe, let him in, and listen to his schpeel. Long story short, the Byrnes want the knives because they're both psychopaths, and they want Joe to test them on. Joe's taken prisoner, is given a massive dose of the Byrne's sick world for way too long, and just when he thinks they're about to end his suffering, he gets a chance to break free, does, kills them both... then goes home and kills his wife... Only to become the company's top salesman later.

I know, sick, but it's just one of those 'synopsis doesn't do it justice' kind of stories. I think Dad's going to love it;)

I found the perfect Christmas gift for Eric this year. He's been talking for years about building his own log cabin, and he found a school up in Washington that teaches you how to in a few days' time, but he's never actually signed up and gone. I found an affiliate of that school just two hours from here, signed Eric up for a January class, and pre-booked his lodging, etc. He's going to shit a brick, or should I say log? I honestly don't know if he'll ever end up building a log cabin, but he's wanted to take a class like this for so long, it really doesn't matter whether or not he actually uses the information they teach him. And besides, I'll get the house to myself for a few days;)

Fairly short entry today, but I just wanted to wish everyone a very happy Thanksgiving, personally thank my lucky stars that life here has been good, especially thank those of you who take my idiotic rants and still come back, still support me, and miraculously still remain my friends;) I hope your holiday exceeds each and every one of your expectations... and I hope you'll tell me all about it!

Nov. 21, 2006-Turkeys and in-laws and stress, oh my!

I hope all you guys are having that kind of approaching holiday you actually look forward to:) You know, as opposed to the one where you have to drive in crappy weather to the house of whoever it is you hate to be around for more than a couple of hours, even just once or twice a year... the house full of all those cousins, uncles, and other, less-qualified kin sitting around and telling you stories about how excellent their life is, their latest promotion, their new house, their latest project they're spending all their extra money on, etc. I don't know why it is that people still tell these kinds of stories, knowing damned well we all know what's really going on, due to the ever-open and flowing family grape vine. It kind of takes a certain heaviness of the cohones to tell everyone how great your life is going when we all know your new promotion was from the prep counter of Burger King to the deep fryer, that your new house technically isn't your new house; you just drove it to the other side of the Bloomin' Moss trailer park, and that your latest project was gluing a seven dollar Star Trek Enterprise model together with only a few spare plastic pieces left over once you were done.

Hell, of all the family I'm around during the holidays, I get the most enjoyment, and give the most appreciation to the ones who don't try for a second to hide their dysfunction. Now, I'm not talking about the relatives who damned near brag about how fucked up they are. I'm not talking about my sister, who takes this family holiday as complete excuse to pull out all her psychiatric meds and whine about how many she has to take, contradictory twinkle in her eye as each pill eagerly flies down her throat.

I'm talking about the brother-in-law who sits in the living room while the rest of the family's in the kitchen, pretending to adore each other, taking sips from his HUGE, ever-emptying beer and looking at the faux function going on across the house, reaching up with a tattooed hand to rub his bald spot and say 'Man, I can't believe there are times when I actually miss prison', accentuating the sentiment with a hearty and bubbly burp.

Now that's a relative;)

I have the most diverse kind of family you could imagine, partly due to being a child of divorce, then remarriage, partly because all my siblings have branched off in different directions, and partly because I married a man whose family encompasses all things NASCAR. I have wealthy family, dirt poor family, in-between family. I have redneck relatives, immigrant relatives, upper crust relatives, New Age relatives, Bible Thumping relatives, Agnostic and Atheist relatives, country relatives, gangsta relatives, vato relatives, and Yanni/John Tesh relatives. I have relatives who have done time, and I have relatives who put criminals away. I have relatives who do drugs, and I have relatives who choose to get high on God, or on meditation. I have relatives who have been on TV for good reasons, and relatives who've been on Jerry Springer. I have relatives who can give me expert legal advice, and I have relatives who can come and save me a bundle by fixing problem wiring in our house or rebuilding our spare car's engine. On one weekend, I can be with one side of my family at some gala event, mixing and mingling with people I'd only seen before on T.V., dressed and groomed smartly, and the next weekend, I can be in another side of the family's 600 square foot house, dressed in my torn jogging pants and dirty Tee, listening to the sounds of goats grazing next door mixed in with the sound of Jimi Hendrix playing on the stereo in the room I'm in, visually taking in my relative's expansive hockey puck and bong collection. And the next weekend, I could be with the husband's relatives, tolerating the background 'rhinestone style' country music wafting gently around me, yet grating me still, wincing every time my little nephew runs past with his talking Teddy Bear, whose vocabulary consists of phrases like 'Jesus loves you!' and 'Hallelujah'. Then the next weekend, I can be visiting with yet another side of my family, gawking at the newest huge Old English tattoo my niece is showing off, despite the fact that it's on her pubis, trying to pretend that 'Property of Pooky' is such a sweet sentiment. Meanwhile, Pooky sits off to the side, smiling widely with his gold grill and adjusting his Tommy Hilfiger doo-rag.

It's funny... writing about them all here (and I think I've only covered a fraction of the family intricacies thus far), I find myself torn. I find myself fascinated yet annoyed, claiming them all yet wondering just which group I really fit more into, proud of them yet apologetic in some ways.

But if I think just a little deeper, admit just a little more, I think I end up realizing that these people I bitch the most about during these holidays are actually the people I'm most grateful for. They entertain me, give me things to think about, inspire in me laughter, tears, anger, worry, pride, and intense affection. Any group of people, whether they collect bongs, beers, Bibles, or bearer bonds, who can inspire that much feeling in me, who can love despite our differences... well, that's family, and I guess that's why Eric and I are probably going to end up driving in crappy weather this week when we'd rather be home alone.

At least that's what I tell myself;)

To the particular fanfeedback fickers who were hoping to find something here today to sate your needs (and you know who you are). It's about time I got back to writing about real life as much as I live it, so this is most likely going to be a 'fade out' of a fan fiction comment to follow. I suggest you try it, too, concentrating on your real life vs. the one you wish you had. There are no stables, the feedback isn't as gratifying, the men in it don't have six-pack abs (or at least they don't have the abs and a personality), and guess what? You have to actually admit that you're powerless on many an occasion, you have to admit that you're not God, can't create your life's storyline, that you're not the best at most things, including fan fiction, and that the people you've messed with before...gasp!... are your equals when it comes down to the bare bones of the human spirit. If you dare to give up a few message boards and update days, you just might gain an appreciation for the things that really matter, and reap the subsequent rewards.

The real world; I have a feeling a couple of you won't think it's that bad once you actually decide to try it. Get past hating me for being the messenger; live your life so well that you forget I even once had a word to say. Hell, forget I even exist. I personally wouldn't mind the absence of your IP numbers from my stats if it meant for once that a single negative word on my part about fan fiction wasn't read by you because you simply didn't need to.

Hey, Christmas is coming up, and if you Oded clique members really want to do something good this season, you might start by logging off, getting up out of your computer chair, and spending time with someone you can actually touch, someone whose personality you had no part in creating.

You might actually like it;)

Nov. 18, 2006-Four hours sleep is definitely not enough

An insomniac's time for reflection and philosophy (i.e.- odd thoughts from a weird redneck)

• I continue to be amazed by the amount of attention paid to today's TomKat wedding. I tend to think that maybe it's a combination of the psychology involved behind our fascination with things like the Royal Family, a huge dash of morbid train/auto wreck magnetism mixing in and making the recipe just spicy enough to crave more than one bite. We love celebrities, but boy do we love fucked up celebrities, and folks, today's Thetan-charged union is choc full of both. I always wondered why I never liked Tom Cruise when I was in high school while all my friends were freaking out over him... now I don't question; I just thank God I've never seen 'All the Right Moves' again.

• What happened to Taylor Hicks? I'll tell you what... nothing. I always feared the singer I adore would end up being buried by American Idol, but I didn't think far enough ahead to think that Ford and it's commercials would be holding one of the shovels, too. Like I said, Taylor... bide your time, fill your obligations, then get as far the hell away as you can from each and every Simon you've ever known.

• Been watching the new Discovery Channel show 'Man Vs. Wild', where this studly little Brit guy (or is he Australian), is dropped into harshly wild locations, given not much more than a knife, and has to survive for several days using just his strength and wit. I've watched him climb impossible heights, raft through dangerous waters, trek through dangerous terrain... and all the while I'm thinking 'If he's so tough, the camera man following him through all that same bullshit in order to get the shot must be fucking Hercules'. I don't care if the star of the show (I think his name is 'Bear') is catching fish with his bare hands and climbing down waterfalls; the guy lugging the seriously heavy camera and catching all the stuff I'm now seeing is probably doing the same, with baggage. Still a good show, though.

` Apart from the regular readers and their support, ever since harping on the fan fiction thing, I can't help but notice that there are more emails from people I hadn't heard from in ages and an increase in hits to this page from people I knew when I was a fan ficker. And this isn't the first time this has happened; it's a bit of a phenomenon. Don't take this as a complaint, though. Just know that I see you and send you all my best, hope that you're writing at least as much as you're surfing;) 

Ok, that's it. I'm entirely out of steam and just about at that point where the lack of good sleep starts to cause hallucinations. So, before my husband's voice, calling me to come up to bed, turns into a raspy version of Nancy Pelosi begging me to come up and loofah her stretchmarks, calling me 'Chuck', I'd better finish this up and hit the sack for a few.

Nov. 16, 2006

A couple of quick notes re: the last entry.

I know that only a small number of you guys who come here are fanfiction readers and writers, so bear with me while I address the topic again briefly... please? I promise, I'm getting on to other stuff:)

Just to clear this up; I don't have a problem with fan fiction in general, so those of you who read and write it regularly, please don't think I'm knocking you... hell, you're the reason I put up with some people as long as I did before leaving. The unbelievable majority of FF writers I've met in my day are great people, writing for the right reasons, and supportive of each other. And hey, a few of these girls have made certain well known characters far more interesting to me than the original stories ever were:) Most of these folks steer clear of the politics, don't get too deep into gossip, much less start it, appreciate the art, do their best, never try to 'puff their feathers' in front of other writers, and have never once sent me into 'rabid mode'. So, to you gals who might've wondered, let me just tell you that I support your choosing FF, and am your fan:) Keep writing!!!!!

To everyone else who reads here, would consider me your friend... I know that I seem rabid when I get angry with a particular person or thing, and I'd be not only naïve , but borderline retarded if I thought you never wondered if I might turn on you one day. Odds are, I won't... ever. It takes a hell of a build up of condescension (and I think at this point it's more than obvious that condescending people are by far my biggest pet peeve), insincerity, and outright high school behavior on someone's part towards me or my friends to make me foam at the mouth. And judging from those of you I know/what I know about you, I think it's safe to say that you'll never find me personally going at you.

I'd say that, out of all the good friends I've made in the last ten years, 95% are still good friends, we still talk regularly, I'm still there for them when they need me and vice versa, and of the remaining 5%, there was no bad blood being behind why we're no longer in touch; we just lost that touch. Not a bad track record:)

With that out of the way-

I fell asleep last night on the couch while watching a foreign film, forgetting to turn the heat on, and when I woke up early this morning, seems the temperature outside had dropped from tolerable temps down to the low 30's... and that the only reason I felt warm on my couch was due to the eleven cats on and around me;)

So, the next three hours involved my yearly ritual of stuffing blankets into doghouses, putting the winter shelters back out for the stray cats, who so appreciated them, and adding every extra pillow and throw I could to the cats' new room. I've said it before, but there really just isn't anything like watching a formerly cold animal find warmth, then drift into sleep... comfortable sleep:)

Eric's using his drums religiously, sans headphones, and I still am not minding. He's actually sounding pretty good!

My stepdad is recovering rapidly, the docs are pleased, my mother's doubly pleased, and now I can go back to concentrating on getting both to move back here soon. And with Jim moving closer, the next thing I'll be working on is getting him back in theater. Putting family prejudice aside, my stepdad really is a genius of an actor. He's just too good to not do what he loves doing anymore. If he moves back here, he'll have no reason to not return to the stage:) I don't think it'll be a hard sell.

The house we'd wanted to buy in Mineral Wells, the one we thought was sold, not only hasn't been sold, but has dropped in price by about 10K. We could literally write a check and own the thing, and that is exactly why I'm hesitating. What's happened to that beautiful old 100 plus year old house that made the thing drop that much more in value? We're thinking about driving out this weekend and seeing if we can find the answer.

Okay, that's about it. No individual messages today because I have a friend coming over to share some ceviche with me, and then I have to do a little stock trading. I'm going to do a bit of share-switching and purchase some stock in alternative energy companies and the like. I just have a feeling that this balance of power in Congress from Dumbo to Donkey is going to make an economic impact in some areas, so I'm going to gamble and see if I'm right. Wish this redneck luck!

Nov. 14, 2006- Well, today's been interesting;)

I wake up, feeling an unusual amount of icky, take care of the animals, run a couple of errands, then finally boot up and log on to go through a few emails, and this is where I have to add some back story-

About a week ago, I finally got around to going to a new location for an old message board I used to visit. However, with this new MB, you have to 'apply', so I did, and started to regret it the second I hit 'send'. Why? Partly because I honestly had visited the old message board erratically in the last couple of years, would probably do the same with the new location, and mainly because the administrators of this board are some of the very people I've gone off on in this rant page... more than a few times.

Anyway, forgot about it for a few days until today, when I get an email about my registration... denied.

Shocker, huh?;)

I think I'm supposed to be upset, and as sour grapes sounding as this may be perceived, I'm not particularly sure that upset is what I'd call my reaction.

I mean, seriously... I have gone off on these women, said some extremely harsh things about them, and for me to have the gall to register for this new board can definitely be construed as insulting. Yeah, I think I'd have denied me, too. As mean as I am capable of being, as abrasive and caustic as I can become when pissed off about something, I actually am pretty fair when it comes to assigning my own blame.

I donated a good deal of money to the old site, don't think I ever caused any trouble on it, and to be fair, when I was on that board, I spent my fair share of time advocating for the picked-on writers, and I don't think I'm exaggerating in saying that I contributed my share of good to that place.

Then apparently I joined the Dark Side;)

I went through an entire phase with that site, its board, and its people, going from advocate for the bullied to being the bully myself, then to giving up on most of them and leaving.

I have been more than harsh in the recollection of that phase when it comes to this diary, bitching about betrayal by a friend, condescension by cliques who don't seem to think they're cliques, and the equally prejudicial judgment of people in that world who just want to write, but aren't always allowed to.

So, yeah... I don't blame them for telling me to stay the hell away from their new message board; if I were them, I wouldn't want me there, either. I may regret not trying to see the good side of some of these people as much as I should've. I may regret continuing to harp on something that takes up such a small percentage of my life, taking time to bitch in diary entries when I should've been concentrating on everyone and everything else in my life. I may regret messing with some people's world's, and believe me, for some of these people who are so pissed off at me right now, fanfiction is their world. You just don't mess with a person's world, no matter how clearly you see it, and that's something I've tended to do here. I may regret knowing I've hurt feelings, but here's what I don't regret-

I don't regret being angry at people who think they're better than everyone else. I don't regret being angry about the resulting things said about me (and trust me, there isn't a thing said that I haven't heard), I don't regret standing up for both myself and the rest of the gals who've been treated less than civilly on more than one occasion, and I don't regret any intention behind anything I've ever written here. I don't regret dabbling in fanfiction, meeting the many good people I did meet while there, and I don't regret trusting some people, even when I paid for it. And I don't regret saying what I feel, despite the hurt feelings and retribution that might entail.

Soooo, you ladies who've been hitting my site the last couple of days, and you know who you are, by all means, be as angry with me as you want to be. Beyond denying my membership to your new board, act on that anger in any way you feel you need to. I won't blame you, I'll take my licks, but it's still not going to make me like the things I've seen you do and heard you say in the past about good people any better. As much as it may seem I like bitching about you here, I'd much rather be praising you because word gets back to me that you're now good friends with and supportive of the people you used to bitch to me in emails about. I will happily abandon all whiny talk of your world once that world becomes better...

For everyone in it. And I'm sorry, Ladies, but you know Goddamned well that so far, this isn't the case.

Onto other stuff, good and bad-

My MIL has officially moved out of her house, officially lost it to foreclosure. We helped her move this weekend, and my heart broke for everyone who ever grew up in that house they were moving from. My husband's family has known that house, and that house only, since they were tiny ones, and seeing it empty now, no longer theirs now, hurts.

On the other hand, she's free now. She found a gorgeous house in McKinney to rent at a price she can afford, and the burden of trying to meet an impossible house payment is now gone. Old memories die hard, and they die painfully, but hey, in this case, I have a feeling the new memories created will be more of a cure than an anesthetic ever could.

My stepfather had a major incident several days ago, started bleeding again, and has been in the hospital since. Good news to this is that he went through several hours of surgery yesterday, where they changed his stoma location, he's doing well, and is expected never to have a bleed again (for you newcomers, my stepdad had a colostomy bag attached to him a few years ago due to colon cancer, and has been in the hospital several times since due to unexplained bleeding in that area).

Allison, hey... read your journal, and right off the bat... re: the new weight loss... OMG, YOU ROCK!!!!! And I loved that you went to the writing workshop!!!!!! I've been meaning to email you, hon, but have been swamped, but I still think about you daily, send you all my vibes, and as mushy as this is, you really are a sis to me, and I don't think I'll ever not regret first emailing you that day. Keep studying hard, writing well, cleansing instead of hunting, and loving those kids. Like I need to say that; I know that's what you'll always do:)

Ok, I'm tired now, so I'm going to make dinner with the last bit of energy in me, call my mother, take a hot sitz bath, then try to get a nap in, which probably won't happen.

To those of you who come here, all of you, I wish you a million things, and believe it or not, none of those wishes are evil;)

Nov. 12, 2006

My husband gave me goosebumps the other night, something a marriage of 12 years tends to not produce as often, so when the goosebumps come, you'd better either goddamned well appreciate them and take equally grateful advantage, or learn to be the baddest bitch at Yahtzee on the block in your blindness.

We'd had some more than busy days lately, and a couple of days ago, we both found ourselves for once here together, alone with not a single 'thing to do' nagging at either of us. So we just sat, ate dinner, talked, and while talking, the subject of music came up. With that subject in mind, I asked Eric to take a couple of minutes to think, then tell me what song reminds him most of me. He agreed, provided I do the same for him, and two minutes later, I was first... choosing a song from the late 80's (I think), 'When I See You Smile' by Bad English. Cheesy, hairbandish, but the lyrics entirely fit the way I feel about Eric. When I see you smile, I can face the world... and when the rain is falling, I don't feel it, 'cause you're here with me... etc.

Yeah, break out the Aqua Net and stonewashed jeans... I'm a shallow whore. Especially after Eric told me his song selection. Actually, he didn't tell me. He played it for me while leading me from the couch to the 'dance floor' area of our living room, slow dancing with me while the song played...

We got the afternoon

You got this room for two

One thing I've left to do

Discover me, discovering you

One mile to every inch of

Your skin like porcelain

One pair of candy lips, and

Your bubble gum tongue...

... And if you want love, we'll make it

Swim in a deep sea of blankets

So take all your big plans, and break 'em

This is bound to be awhile

Your body is a wonderland, Your body is a wonderland (I'll use my hands)

Your body is a wonderland...

Somethin' 'bout the way the hair falls in your face

I love the shape you take when crawling towards the pillow case

You tell me where to go, and, though I might leave to find it

I'll never let your head hit the bed without my hand behind it...

Damn, baby...

You frustrate me...

I know you're mine, all mine, all mine...

Just part of 'Your Body is a Wonderland' performed by John Mayer. A song that, despite how physical its tone seems to be, goes so much deeper, the physical description being the only way the song's writer can even come close to touching how much and why he wants the subject of his song.

I love that song, and after seeing the look in Eric's eyes as he played it for me, I love it and him even more now. I just knew it wasn't husbandly and obligatory romantic b.s. behind that selection. In that moment of mushily swaying on our laminate floor with my husband holding me in his arms, I was reminded yet again that it really doesn't matter if I've gained weight, aged, or changed in any truly unimportant way. I've been the only critic in this marriage, seeing flaws in me that my husband's gaze obviously just hasn't recognized, even after all these years.

It's been twelve of 'em (years)... and I still just can't quite stop asking myself how I've been able to deserve this:)

Ok, gushing over the husband is done, so you can stop looking for the Pepto, folks;) The nausea stops here;)

'Fancy the Fanficker' continues to be a freakshow of an enigma to me. Why? Because I just can't get over how many good writers in that genre still care too much about what she says or thinks about them. I'm not knocking them, really, even though those who really do care about Fancy's opinion usually steadfastly deny that they do. I think I'm more questioning myself for not seeing what they see. When I look at Fancy, I see a gal who winces at the mere raising of your hand... a hand raised to scratch your forehead, though she's already preparing herself to defend against a blow. I see a gal who has intricate storylines in her head, a grasp enough of written language to choreograph them, but an equal tendency to purple prose the hell out of the number in an obvious attempt to over-emphasize the fact that she knows how to write, she's so insecure. More so, Fancy tends to get mean with those who also know how to write, doing all she can to 'correct' them 'nicely' and get them to find their 'place' again so that she can continue to let them bask in her little radioactive glow. She's a rabbit pretending to be a lion, while the people bowing to her are lions contented to act as rabbits, if you ask me. Fucks with my head, it does, as Yoda would say;) Pisses me off and makes me more than willing to bitchslap her into the real world, I'd personally say.

Ladies, there is no Fancymeter in fanfiction. And if there was, I'd do time gladly for being caught blowing it up with as much C4 as I could find. And what pisses me off more is that for every Fancy who patrols fanfiction, there are five or six real writers in the same nook who stay in Fancy's little nook, intimidated by her, agreeing that it's Fancy's nook rather than realizing that they can make a far better dent than she ever could. I just don't get it, gals. I really don't. To me, it's like watching Jane Austen bow before V.C. Andrews. Lucky for you, though... I don't hold it against you;) You'll come around, you'll graduate, and when that time comes, I'll be vindicated;)

Oobleey doobleey, I'm done for now.

November 7, 2006- Ebay Rocks!

Got some extra money a few days ago, thought I'd save it for Christmas, but then Eric and I ended up watching 'The 40-Year-Old Virgin', a hilarious movie on its own merits, but as we were watching, Eric kept freaking out over an electronic drum set Steve Carell's character had in his apartment. Sooooo, as I saw my husband, the former metal band drummer, freak over this thing, his eyes lighting up each time this drum set appeared on our television screen, I decided that my Christmas money would have to come from another source, and that Ebay and me had a little bargaining to do... real soon.

I'll summarize here to spare you all...

-I researched, found a set on Ebay, bid the hell out of it, and got a great deal on the perfect set.

-Yesterday, the UPS guy drove up, and I yelled at Eric to go outside... somebody needed to see him.

-Three minutes later, Eric is coming inside the house, lugging a heavy and huge box he's bitching at me about having to carry.

-Five minutes later, Eric is opening the box at my urging, his annoyance shifting to severe gratitude and even more severe repentance at ever bitching about the Toms, Snares, motherboard, etc. he's now seeing and unpacking from inside this generically marked box.

-Six minutes later, I'm being squeezed to the point of suffocation, but only for a second... Eric has a drum set to put together, you know?;)

-Three hours later, with my help, an electronic drumset is put together, the motherboard plug is plugged in, and my husband freaks because he's not getting sound.

-Three hours and five minutes later, I pull out from under the staircase storage area the old amp for Eric's old guitar, take it upstairs to where Eric is looking at connections and freaking out still, plug the amp cord into the motherboard, plug the amp's cord into the wall, and smile, though just a small smile, when Eric finally hears his drumstick hit Tom 1 and actually make a noise.

-Four hours later, I'm listening to a hardworking and wonderful husband play the hell out of a drum set, peeking around upstairs corners and smiling widely at the 'jam' expression on his face, not really minding the volume, and never once regretting giving up the chunk of moolah I gave up.

-Two hours later- Eric hesitantly stops playing and goes to work.

-8 a.m. this morning- I wake up to a drum solo occuring just feet from my bed.

-8:01 a.m.- I decide that the first thing I do after I feed all my animals is to head up to Best Buy and buy headphones for that drum set.

Still, it's one of the best things I've ever bought for anyone;) That spark in my husband's eyes I see fed all the more now is worth a wealth more than anything I could ever win on Ebay, headphones or not.

Hey, guess who visited me today?

I'm cleaning litterboxes, hear a knock on the door, peek out between the curtains of my front window, and see a young girl who looks a hell of a lot like my niece, Sarah.

I open the door, and BOOM, it's not just my niece's look alike, but five other women, dressed to the nines, and all holding religious pamphlets in their hands...

Jehova's witness pamphlets.

God DAMN!!!!!!!! Do these people ever stop??????

Unlike past incidents, where I've directly chewed them new assholes, or when Eric hilariously tried to convince them that we were Satanists who sacrificed goats, Today I just opened the door, looked at them, sighed heavily, said 'God, forgive them, for they know not what they do', then shut the door and went back to scooping out the last of the cat crap that took far more precedent in my immediate world.

Has anyone ever filed a restraining order against Jehova's Witnesses? Do any of you know? And if you do know, tell me... did it work? I'll repeat what I've been bitching about to my Catbroads earlier today... these people are like roaches!!!!!! I think I've gotten rid of them for awhile with some sort of extremist behavior meant to drive them away, and at best, they'll stay away for six months, only to fuck up my sense of security and re-appear at my Celtic door knocker when I least expect them, trying to hand me their religious pamphlets while I'm too busy staring at their ass ends, looking to see if they have egg sacs full of baby Jehova larvae hanging from their silk skirts, ready to detach and hatch on my street, forcing me to lay out 'tribes of Israel hotel' traps, baited with poisonous images of Michael Jackson, praying silently that by the next day, I'll walk outside and have to do nothing other than throw into my waste bin a huge Roachova Motel full of really fucked up, really confused, and really dead judgmental cult fetuses.

Seriously, there have to be chemicals in this world that specifically repel the mistakenly religious, right? We have chemicals that will kill a grubworm, yet not even slightly affect a praying mantis, an argiope spider, or any other lawn-friendly creature... why can't we come up with some kind of concoction that will allow your friends and family to approach your door safely, yet will totally vaporize anyone riding a ten-speed (I know, that's Mormons, but Mormons only differ from Jehovas in that they don't have the quota, and their dress code is less exciting), carrying cheaply-printed propaganda, automatically wincing when they see my Celtic Fairy door knocker because it looks more to them like a demon than anything, and taking one look at me and my home, then deciding that I need to be saved. Ortho, get busy, because I have too much life to live, too much good to do instead of dealing with zealots and their underlings trespassing onto and into my world. I don't care how much your ultimate product's gonna cost... I'll pay any price you ask for a bag of 'biblethumpercide granules', sprinkle them on my lawn, pardon the pun, religiously. I will, after sprinkling, gladly rake up all the fancy hats, literature, Sunday dresses, and now deceased attitudes that once accompanied them without complaint one on my part...

But I'll pray for them as I bag their possessions and clear the litter from my yard. I'll pray for them, in my way, to the beings I believe in, and somehow, I know my prayers will be heard, despite the fact that I've never read beyond the cover page of one of their pamphlets.

Okay, I have to go make dinner, and prepare for more drumming, so I'm now officially out of here;) Friends, I love you:) Enemies, I'm frustrated because I don't understand you:( Everyone else, doesn't matter what I think, really. I just say 'Welcome'!;)

 NOV. 6, 2006

First and foremost...

ALLISON.... NEW STORY IDEA????? I smile now, knowing...

LIFE IS GOOD!!!!!!!!!!!

And as for the rest of this entry, I'm stealing from Allison's blog and posting a survey from it with my own answers.

I've been busy, but I'll post more later, and in the meantime, hope that you're all good, gooder, and goodest!;)

FOODOLOGY

What is your favorite fast food restaurant?

Taco Bell... their crunchy tacos in particular. I'm also a whore for their Frito Burrito;)

What is your favorite sit down restaurant?
La Adelita... best Mexican food I've ever had... here or in Mexico:) Nice atmosphere, excellent food, great prices, and it's run by nothing but women.. really cool women:)

what size tip do you leave at a restaurant?
Having been a woman who's lived by gratuity and gratuity alone (because the hourly pay for 'tip' workers is usually so bad), I always tip. I know that some people can just have bad days, be just way too busy to give great service because their managers understaffed the place that day, etc., so it'd take some particularly shitty service, bad food, bad attitude, and a few other 'bads' for me to not leave a tip at all. Otherwise, if the service is 'okay', I leave 15 percent. If the service is better than okay to excellent, I'll leave anywhere from 20 to 35 percent. I think most people who've worked for any amount of time in a gratuity-based business tend to do that, though.

What food could you eat every day for two weeks and not get sick?
Sushi or ceviche. I love that stuff!!!! It's just too fresh and healthy 'feeling' for me to ever puke it up;)

What are your pizza toppings of choice?
Pepperoni, green olives, mushrooms, and try not to wince... anchovies!!!! I only have pizza about once every two months, though, so don't worry, I don't go around smelling like fish and grease all the time.

What do you like to put on your toast?
I don't really like toast that much, but when I do have it, I tend to like it with just a little bit of real butter on it. Maybe a little strawberry preserves.

What is your favorite type of gum?
Anything cinnamon, the more cinnamon, the better!

---

TECHNOLOGY

Number of contacts in your cell phone?
Between Eric and me (we use each other's phones all the time), there are probably about 15, maybe 20 that we talk to regularly via cell.

Number of contacts in your email address book?
I don't even know, 'cause I rarely use it. Let me look... I have too many to count. Although I only talk regularly with about ten percent of the total number of addresses in my address book, I just tried to count the names on the list, and lost count at the 'D' section. Between animal stuff, writer friends, my Catbroads, my family, my real life friends, my MIL's hyperbaric friends, etc., I just end up getting a lot of emails, and a lot of contacts I need to save, even though I don't regularly write most of them.

What is your wallpaper on your computer?
A picture of George Bush dressed as his mother.

What is your screensaver on your computer?
A scrolling text that says 'Myrtle Danielle' on it, flying by at a pretty good speed. Story behind that... my cat Myrtle Daniel freaks at the screen saver, trying to attack the words as they fly by, so I created one just for her to 'play' with;)

How many televisions are in your house?
Two big ones, though we only use the one downstairs, and one 3 inch by six inch hand held for camping, trips, and one wristwatch TV.

What kitchen appliance do you use the least?
My bread machine, though when I finish redoing this kitchen, I'll use it more:)

What is the radio station you listen to the most?
I like MIX 102.9, and when I can, I listen to my email sleaze bud Gordon Keith when he's on 1310 The Ticket.

---

BIOLOGY

What do you consider to be your best physical attribute?
I like my eyes... men freak over my boobs.

Are you right handed or left handed?
I'm right handed now, but I was ambidextrous for awhile until my teacher literally made me use my right hand more, telling me I'd thank her for it later. I'm still waiting to thank her.

Do you like your smile?
Nope. I end up looking like a serial killer about to pounce on his latest hooker/victim;)

Have you ever had anything removed from your body?
An anal alien probe (I'm kidding), a few drunk letches during my years as a bartender, and a BB pellet from my ear when I was a toddler (nobody shot me... I just was a goofy toddler and stuck a pellet in there, freaked when it wouldn't come out, and an ER ended up getting involved). Sorry, no coke bottles, gerbil, or dildo stories to be shared here, folks.

What is the heaviest item you lift regularly?
About 50 pounds of cat litter every other day when it's 'box-gutting' time, not to mention my animals, including Ike, my 90 pound dog who has be picking him up fairly regularly.

Have you ever been knocked unconscious?
Hell, I'm unconscious now.

---

MISCELLOLOGY

Who was the last person whos house youve been to?
My neighbor's house yesterday evening.

Who could you listen to everyday?
Good music, my husband,the sounds my animals make when they're healthy and happy, and anyone who's funny;)

If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die?
Uh.. no. And I'd really like to know what kinds of gluttons for punishment would like to know.

If you could change your first name, what would you change it to?
I always hated the name Paula (my parents named me after that dorky 60's song 'Hey, Hey Paula'). Sounds so plastic to me, gives off the same kind of vibe. But then again, it was given to me, I was meant to have it, so I'll live with it. If I had the opportunity to pick any other name for myself, I think I'd have to say I look and act more like a Rachel or a Claire than I do a Paula.

How do you express your artistic side?
Honestly, in just about every way that involves my life. I am weird in every way, therefore, I am artistic;)

What color do you think you look best in?
I honestly have no idea and don't care, as long as it's comfortable, though I know I don't like to wear red or anything flourescent;)

How long do you think you could last in a medium security prison?
About five minutes before I either kill myself or whoever's messing with me.

Have you ever swallowed a non-food item by mistake?
I think I sucked in a spitball or two during my days as an elementary-schooler, that straw can be so tricky. I'm just wondering, has anyone ever answered this particular question in the survey with the word 'semen' being anywhere in the list? If nobody has, then I betcha we've got some liars on this list;) I'm not talking about me, though...

If we weren't bound by society's conventions, do you have a relative you would make a pass at?
Nope, and that's especially impressive, considering my step-cousin Val is a dead ringer for Ben Affleck. Fortunately, I'm a Jim Caviezel kind of gal;)

How often do you go to church?
I don't attend church.  There aren't any that share my beliefs in these here parts. (this is Allison's original answer, and I'm keeping it because I couldn't find better words if I tried)

Have you ever saved someone's life?
In a way or two, yes. I stopped my sister from committing suicide once, but I don't really count that because I don't really think she was serious... however, if you count animals in this question, I'm proud to say I've been a part of more than one 'miraculous' recovery with an animal I've taken in. In essence though, I think that higher powers and the spirit of the creature were the real factors in recovery. I still at least give myself credit for being there and doing absolutely everything I could to help them heal.

I think I've also helped saved my own life a couple of times.

Has someone ever saved yours?
Oh my god, yes. Many times, many ways, and much loved by me as a result.

---

DAREOLOGY

Would you walk naked for a half mile down a public street for $100,000?
If cameras were there, no. If only eyewitnesses were involved... consider me a bare naked lady.

Would you kiss a member of the same sex for $100?
Who wouldn't? Hell, I'd do it for free just to piss off the ultra-conservative Bible thumping buttwads who still think homosexuals are evil sinners.

Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000?
With anesthesia... yes. Thumb's a different story.

Would you never blog again for $50,000?
Don't really know, but what I do know is that I'd gladly pay a couple of fanfic bloggers I know to do us all a favor and stop their spewing of complete bullshit.

Would you pose naked in a magazine for $250,000?

Probably not. I'd end up getting sued for a refund.

Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1000?
I would if I could, but I don't think my tolerance for spicy foods would let me.

Would you shave your head and get your entire body waxed for $5,000?
Head, no... body waxed?... make it 7K and I'm there.

Would you give up watching television for a year for $25,000?
As long as I have some sort of media source to listen to that'll catch me up on world events, hell yes!

Oct. 31-Happy Halloween!

Now I've seen it all. I sadly have seen it all.

I was doing some writing for a bud around noon today, and while listening to the T.V. in the background, I hear some man asking a woman what her name is, and I hear her say her name, which stops my typing dead in its tracks and forces me to swing my chair around and look in disbelief at the screen.

'And your name is?' the interviewer says.

Her response...

'Chalupa.... Chalupa Payne.'

What the FUCK????????

That's it. I'm officially disgusted with the names the last couple of decades' worth of idiot mothers have been trying to dish out on their victimized children.

Chalupa Payne??????

The mother who named this gorgeous young Nubian woman is due for a mammography involving a junkyard car-crusher. I'm serious; if I were on a jury that had to decide whether or not Chalupa Payne was guilty of murdering her mother, I'd be the hold out vote resulting in mistrial, convinced that only justifiable homicide could be the reason Chalupa would kill her mother. And what's her mother's name, anyway? Chimichanga? Taquito? And are Chalupa's siblings slapped with horrible monikers like Burrito and Guacamole Payne? And what about the name in its entirety? Chalupa Payne... Anyone who's ever had braces really feels that name, and if they were on the same jury with me, maybe I wouldn't be the only hold out.

People, when you name your child, please try to not be original, or at least don't try so hard to be original... especially if you didn't graduate high school. The world is not only sick of you choosing names like 'Chalupa', we're also sick of you picking popular names and changing the spelling in order to be original, such as Danielle becoming Dany'ell, and we're also sick of adding extra consonants to names, particularly 'De' before your average name, such as Demarcus instead of Marcus, Dejames instead of James, and I swear to God, if I find out you named your kid DeSkip, I'm finding you and beating you down until Medicaid turns you away, so you'd better step up on the Pilates, bitch;) I literally can't spell half of my nieces' and nephews' names, their parents dorked the names up so much.

If I am ever fortunate enough to finally have a child, I'm going nice and safe, yet what I feel to be solid. If I have a boy, his name will be Ethan. If I have a girl, her name will be Emily. Not D'Ethan, Deethan, Dirkson Ethan, and not Emiliqua, Aemelie, or M'lie.

And if you think I'm being cultural here, shut up now while you can, because I've seen retarded names chosen by retarded parents of every color, culture, and background. Stupid names have nothing to do with skin, but they have everything to do with people who end up on talk shows way too often.

Back to the original thought...

Chalupa? Girl... I feel for you, and if you ever should need anything, let me know... as long as it doesn't involve hot sauce;)

Final note- looks like a friend of mine has been having some problems lately, the source of which we both suspect is an old fanfic character I've been lucky enough to not even think about until now. However, since I'm having to think about her now, I thought I'd give her a review, rather than her stories.

We'll call her 'Fancy'... ok?;)

'Fancy' is actually a talented writer in a lot of ways. She really is, and I have received many an email in my fanfic days from people who knocked her writing ability... hell, at times, I have, too... sometimes with validity, sometimes just to be mean, but I have never not seen her ability. Anyway, as much credit as I do give her, it's still not enough to explain why she's such a bully to other writers. Writing about stables of impossible male characters doing impossible things described well enough, yet not quite well enough, at least in my opinion, does not give any writer license to pick on other writers she deems 'below' her (and trust me, Fancy thinks just about everyone in Oded Fehr fanfiction is below her; I have emails from her that scream it). It doesn't give any writer any kind of permission to accuse other writers of stealing, doesn't give her permission to goad her 'underlings' into doing mean things to people she's too cowardly to do herself, and it sure as fucking hell doesn't give her any single reason to think that she rules, reigns, or even remotely controls any aspect of any world of fiction, particularly fanfiction... just about the smallest grotto in the art there is.

Yet how is it that 'Fancy' still gets to people? People are still bothered by her, still influenced by her words or actions, regardless of whether those words are harsh or benign.

I'll tell you why-

Because she's good.

She's good at hiding her otherwise obvious flaws, good at promoting her perks, good at exploiting her 'tenure' at this particular genre, holding on with bare knuckles to the assumption that anyone whose been in this particular field of fanficiton as long as she's been here isn't at all desperate, unhappy, and a feedback whore, but instead an icon upon which all newcomers should kneel. And she stays with that genre, never abandoning it, yet extremely bad at being able to fully just rely on being there via her talent, never quite able to stop talking shit about the comrades who threaten her.

God Bless the oldtimer in her, God damn the bitch.

From what I hear from my 'pro' buddies, she should fit in quite well with the real literary world, provided she can stop writing nonstop about Arab hotties while insisting at the same time that the love between herself and her real life, nothing like an Arab Prince, husband is flawless;) Okay, that was bad, but you know what? It's true. I know stuff that even I wouldn't lower myself to share here.

I realize that this last half of this entry reads as if I'm personally bashing one particular writer I just don't like. Okay, yeah, that's the case... part of the case. I don't think I'd give her a moment's notice if it were just me involved, though. She's done incredibly crappy things to me, but I dealt with them. Honestly, folks, particularly you fanfic writer folks who've ever talked with me... this entry is written more for you.

You know who you are, and because I know you know who you are, I say these things...

1. Let her go. She's a mess, moreso in her real world than her literary one, but she's nevertheless a mess in both, far more than she's ever tried to make you think you were. Stop giving her power, start redirecting that power to yourselves, the far more worthy ones.

2. Forgive her for her 'problems that unfortunately spilled onto you'

3. Realize that if she cared enough to fuck with you, you were good enough to scare her. Be even better than that... as if you already aren't;) Still had to say it, though;)

Okay, that's it. I'm done for now, but as always, wish every single one of you folks the absolutely best you can possibly experience. One of these days, one of you is going to email me and tell me that exactly that just happened to you, and when you do, I'll expect a percentage;)

October 27, 2006

Watched Bush's 'impromptu' press conference a couple of days ago, our Googler in Chief, and apparently, he was so busy listening to rumors on the 'internets', that he didn't take enough time preparing for his speech, much less the Q and A period that followed. Tell you what, if you still read this journal (and believe me, I've dealt with plenty hate mailers who've taken the time to respond to my Bush-related/politics related entries with their own equally heartfelt lectures, swearing their disgust with me, yet they always end up returning eagerly to my diary yet another day to blast me for the next entry, God love 'em!), and if you can still tell me that Bush's latest speech about the war in Iraq, the 'benchmarks', and the sudden halting of using the term 'stay the course', was in fact sincere and not one of the most pathetically transparent attempts to take the grenade for his fellow Republican candidates in hopes of gaining a couple of votes, then let me know....

along with giving me your address, so that I can personally show up at your home with my barbed wire whip and strap the living hell out of you until your skin is non-existent and you resemble something more out of a Hellraiser movie than you do a human.

I'm sorry, but Dubya Googler is by far the worst president I have ever experienced in my lifetime. I've said this before, but because the internetser continues to prove my point, I continue to say it. And I thought Billy Carter was a redneck! At least all he was in charge of was beer. I can only hope that we remain the exact level of 'fucked' our country currently is, no worse, until the next elections fix it.

Speaking of the next presidential elections, has anyone else heard this rumor?...

That Hilary is planning on running, drumroll.... with Bill as her VP ticket?

Holy shit, that's brilliant! If it can be done, and the rumor's true, how unstoppable would this partnership be? Jesus, the only way Bill and Hilary might stand a chance at losing a presidential election would be if JFK rose from his grave, shook off the dust, farted out the embalming fluid, and started doing the campaign thing.

I hope this rumor's true, and if it is, I will be literally waiting outside my local voting booth 12 hours ahead of time, flicking my Bic and swaying in the wind to nothing in particular, sleeping in my WalMart camping bag until I'm finally ushered in to cast my vote.

Seriously, who could possibly compete against this pair?

Onto other stuff-

Star Magazine... I get 'em regularly still, and guess who's grabbing and reading them first? Yup... Eric. It's official; my man is gay. Okay, it's not quite official yet, but the second he tries to do my hair for me, I'm wracking him.

Speaking of gossip... Madonna and her African baby scandal... apparently a shitload of adoption agencies in this child's country have filed suits to stop the adoption of this little boy whose mother died from childbirth complications, and whose father approves of Madonna as his caretaker. My question is WHY???????? ONE THIRD of your country consists of orphans!!!!! It's a little too late to be proud, you bastards. Granted, Madonna's not exactly June Cleaver, but then again, she's also not incapable of giving this one child the kind of life he never would've dreamed of having before. And granted, I wonder why she didn't first consider adopting one of our own country's many many available foster children before deciding to bypass them and head for more third-worldish ground. Then again, though, a life is a life, and she's trying to make one better. I say let her.

Yet other stuff-

Humorous note... Eric and I got into one mother of an argument the other day... over mythical giants.

We were watching a program on Egypt and its pyramids, and while we're watching it, Eric gets all worked up, going on and on about how he believes that the Egyptians couldn't have built these pyramids alone, how no modern machine in existence has the ability to lift or move the heavy cornerstones of these huge structures, blah, blah, blah. I then ask him in annoyance 'If humans didn't do it, then who are you saying did, Eric? Aliens? Jesus.”

Eric responds by staring straight at me and, with the straightest face, says 'Nephilim Giants'.

'Eric, you are now forbidden from listening to late night Art Bell radio talk shows. We're at a point now in which it's interfering with our life.'

I was joking, but I was also serious. Nephilim Giants, supposedly, are a race of giant beings who walked our earth ages ago, and who, according to the late night weird talk shows Eric listens to, performed many a great feat while here, including helping the ancient Eqyptians erect the pyramids at Giza, 'cause lord knows all those dune jockeys were just too dumb to think up something like that on their own. Ugh.

So I ask Eric why these giants aren't around anymore, if the 'scientists' on his radio shows know why they died off... he doesn't know, nor do they. I then ask Eric where they're keeping the latest skeletons of the most recently unearthed giants, knowing goddamned well nobody's ever found one of these giant's remains... Eric answers by telling me that I'm not getting laid tonight due to my condescension.

I answer by telling him that it's okay, I'm not in the mood, anyway, but that the second I turn on CNN to find coverage of a mass grave full of Nephilim Giants, Sasquatch, Leprechauns. and Chupacabras, not to mention the Roswell Alien crash victim remains, I'm going to grab him, drag him into the bedroom, and fuck him 'til his buttocks shrivel.

He didn't appreciate it, and I spent the rest of the night alone, watching horror movies on On Demand. Not a small price to pay, I admit, but it at least was a funny price to pay.

Hey, folks... I hope you're all well:) I'm answering emails the last couple of days, catching up on what I'd missed while at Caddo Lake, and if I haven't answered you already, don't worry; I will:)

Marie, read your journal, and I'm thrilled you're okay, though DAMN!!!!!!!! The stuff you've gone through!!!!!! I would've been panicked way before they started taping me to the board. How'd you handle that so well?

Danica... I've wondered where you've been, but after hearing your update, I'm just so glad to hear you're okay. Call me again tonight, okay? I'll be here if you need to talk, ok?

Allison, I'm waiting for a N.O. Update!!!!!! How different is the Big Easy now? How was your trip?

Richard, Steve is a bitch, and if you ask me, I say 'Fuck him'. He's what I call a feedback whore, the basic definition of which you already described. I think you'll agree, and If you'd like me to personally tell him that he's such, honey, you know I'm there;)

Newbies Jenn, Mark, PaperMoon, and Leslie... WELCOME, and more importantly, thank you!!!!!! I hope you keep coming back, and I hope you keep writing:) You're all Broads in my eyes... even you, Mark;)

To all the rest of you fabulous folks, I wish you the best as always, and send you all the best wishes you haven't already been granted;)

Oct. 25, 2006

The ting ting! of the little brass bell over the door announces the arrival of two unfamiliar faces into the simple little hybrid grocery/convenience store. Eric and I are in Bayou country, and as we walk into Caddo Grocery to pick up some cat food, a six pack, and some batteries for my camera, I expect to see some bearded man in coveralls behind the counter, either cleaning his shotgun or whittlin' an alligator shape out of a hunk of cypress while his genetically deficient son sits a few feet away, grinning through drool while a-pickin' with the four fingers he was born with at his banjo.

The man behind the counter did in fact sport a beard, and though the coveralls weren't his clothing choice of the day, the t-shirt and blue jeans he did have on weren't too far a cry from the 'Bayou Wear' I'd imagined. The inbred was nowhere to be seen, much less the picking and grinning, and genetically, everyone in the store looked like their family trees did indeed have branches;)

The man smiled, welcomed us into the tiny little building called Caddo Grocery, obviously used to seeing strange faces in his establishment, and just as obviously not minding it a bit, despite my original bayou folk assessment. I have a feeling he'd been there, done that, bought the tee, and is currently using it as a rag.

Eric and I surprisingly find that this Herve Villachaize of a grocery store has everything we were looking for, as well as a few things we weren't, yet still decided to buy, and as we walk up to the counter and fish out our credit card, the magic of Uncertain, TX and its people begins.

'I'm sorry, but we don't take credit cards here, young feller' The man at the counter tells Eric.

'Debit cards?' The man shakes his head, and we think we're screwed there for a minute, knowing the nearest bank/ATM is about 20 miles away. The man smiles and says 'A personal check will do just fine, though.'

I look at Eric and shrug. 'I left the checkbook back at the cabin. Let's go get it.'

'Where you folks staying?'

'At the Moonglow Lodge' I answer.

'Tell you what; just take this stuff along with you, and when you get yourself some time, stop back by and drop the check off.' He reaches for a business card as he's saying this, jotting the amount of the sale on the back of it. “And if you don't have time while you're here, just send us a check when you get home.”

Huh?

Eric and I stood there in shocked silence.... sad, isn't it? Sad that we'd been so used to the urban world, a world lacking in both trust and faith so much that this simple act of Samaritanism by this man would cause us both to lose all vocal reaction in our shock.

Finally, I did find words, and when I said them out loud, everyone laughed...

“We are SO not in Dallas, anymore!'

Long story short, we took our purchase home, grabbed the checkbook, then drove right back up to the store and paid the man, who ended up being the store's owner, and who we happily chatted with for a good while before heading back to our cabin.

Folks, as refreshing as this was, it turns out that this simple act of Mayberry like hospitality was the rule in Uncertain, TX rather than the exception. Everyone in this tiny little town of roughly 150 people was like this!

Beverly Knott, for example... the owner of Moonglow Lodge, the cabin we rented... She showed up while we were unpacking (the cabin was unlocked and waiting for us, the key on a hook right by the door... unheard of here in Dallas), greeted me with a huge bear hug, showed us around the cabin, which, by the way, was GORGEOUS, and on her way out, said 'I don't have a lot of rules here, but this is the one I insist you follow,' and while pointing at the screen door on the huge wrap around porch, smiled at us....

'Leave all your worries right here'.

And then there's our tour guide who took us on an outback tour of the lake. John Winn grew up on this swamp/lake called Caddo, and in many ways, it was his parent. His father, as John told us, was an alcoholic, and though he was a happy kind of drunk, John's childhood was spent without a father who was really there. Whether it was to escape the reality of his household, or to simply go out and catch the food to feed his family his father didn't provide, John got to know Caddo Lake well, allowed it to nurture him, teach him, protect him, and as a result, he now gives private tours to people in hopes of showing them at least a glimpse of the beauty he knows and loves so well.

When we first met him at his tour location, we were ready, checkbook in hand and needing to just know how much we needed to pay him, but Mr. Winn refused payment right away. 'I'll take you on the tour first, then if you liked it, you can pay me. If you don't think it was good enough, then I don't need to get paid.'

Huh?

And after a superb tour through part of the lake's bayous, after breathtaking views of animals, habitat, plant life, and incredibly interesting information provided to us by Mr. Winn, who sounded just as excited about telling it as if this were the first tour he'd ever given, we ended up paying him more than his tour usually goes for. He not only showed us the kinds of things any tourist would want to see, his love for this mystical lake was infectious, giving us 'the bug' more and more with each and every word he spoke.

I've seen this kind of pure devotion in others... but only a select few others. I've seen this in just a few Baker Hotel lovers, and in even fewer animal rescuers, and every time I've seen it, I've become a lifelong supporter. Mr. Winn has now been added to that special list:)

Uncertain, Texas... we hated to leave it, but we'll be back. I don't think I could bear the thought of not seeing this place again, from the alligators to the turtles, the Herons, the huge beavers, the Bald Eagles (Caddo actually has a couple of them!), to the infinite and almost supernatural landscape of towering Cypress trees draped in Spanish moss, to the people who live there in harmony with Nature, never wanting to change her or manipulate her to suit their needs, but instead wanting to just experience it as it is...

I am just so glad I changed our vacation plans!

October 15, 2006-the vacation arrives, and with it comes unrelated pedigree talk

Okay, folks. All of the planning, worrying and preparation has finally come to a head, much like your average really good abscess or pimple, and me, the icky stuff inside, is about to burst.

In other words, I'm gonna be gone until at least late Thursday, the first vacation I've even attempted in six years. Wish me luck, and do me a favor... wait 'til Thursday to start emailing me again. Otherwise, my email box is going to get flooded, it'll close up and refuse more emails, and I'll miss out as a result.

Ariane, got your email, and don't worry about the deadline, friend. Though I know they can be inspiration sometimes, I've also worked with other people who put so much importance on deadlines that it ended up interfering with the quality of their work. In the meantime, I'd like to see you explore both 'Business of Pleasure' and the Donovan story, but if I absolutely had to choose, I honestly think I'd like to see what you have in mind for Donovan first, so if you're feeling up to it, write up as much as you can and send it to me as soon as I get back from holiday, ok? ;)

Marie, I got your last e about the addy change. Hey, does that mean I can send you stuff now?;)

Allison, I am SO hopeful that your critter Zoey will come back. I'm so sorry she got out, and if you're like me, I'm especially sorry because I know that the not knowing where they are, what's going on, downright sucks. I do have to tell you though that (re: Casper) I'm opposed to animal breeding for so many reasons, just a couple of those reasons being that purebreds tend to have far more inherited medical problems than mixcd breeds do, but mainly because animal shelters everywhere are choc full of wonderful animals who need good homes, so I just don't see why their chances have to be so much more slimmed by the purposeful breeding of any other animals. Anyway, I'm so glad you decided not to breed Casper, and I think it's fabulous that you've decided to neuter him:) You are NOT a terrible pet owner!!!!!!!

For the rest of you reading this who have purebred furkids, please try not to take offense. You have all taken little lives into your hands, and you rock for it:) Pedigrees and Muttigrees are equally beautiful in my eyes... but my eyes also see that the Heinz 57 stands much more undeserved chance of getting euthanized at your average shelter than the the dog or cat who looks more like a fancier bred animal, and when I say what I say, it's in defense of the cowering dog or cat in your local shelter's cages, the ones who don't look like anything 'official', far more than it is a judgement of anyone who actually bought a 'papered' pet.

If you're still offended, then just consider the source.. Me, the bleeding heart 'animalist';) That should make you feel better;)

Seriously, I was raised with pedigreed dachshunds whose papers were longer than my body's height. Both Pepin Von Barker and Pushkin Von Barker were dachshunds from championship bloodlines. My father bought both boys for phenomenal sums, and I grew up with them, loved them fully. He never showed them, never bred them, but boy did their bloodlines always come up when visitors asked about them.

But seriously, I have personally found a world's more reward in the mixed breed animals I have now, but I at no time knock the kinds of characters both Pushkin and Pepin were:)

Incidentally, though...

After my dad's dachshunds passed away from old age... VERY old age, guess who he adopted next?

A mixed lab named Polly that my dad's vet had to talk him into adopting:) She wasn't a puppy, she wasn't a purebred, didn't have papers, didn't have manners, but Goddamn, does my dad ever love that dog now as his vet chuckles during each checkup:) Polly's about three now, is spayed, looks a little like a lab, but more like something else you can't quite name, and above it all, she is such a cool dog:) She makes my dad and stepmom happy, they make her happy, and life is good in Denton as a result;)

I guess my point is that any of you who love animals and share your lives with at least one of them are so worthy of a huge pat on the back:) And I like you so much that I sincerely suspect that the next time you decide to add another furkid to your home, you'll find him or her in a place/adopt him or her from a place that cares more about the animal than they ever did about the profit they might receive from that animal's sale. You'll adopt an animal by far more for its personality, the vibe you get from them, than you will just from how it looks. Hey, I have some ugly animals here, and you know what? Some of my ugliest animals are absolutely the coolest, LOL!!!!! On the other hand, I also have spectacularly beautiful animals here who don't have page one of any 'official' confirmation that they're beautiful. Sam, for example, was a stray born to a gray and white female mom and a black Siamese father. Sam, as a result, is a gorgeous example of what they call a 'seal point'. He is literally breathtaking. And guess what? This boy has no ribbons from cat shows... because I never showed him. He also has no balls... because the first thing I did when he was old enough was remove them. Sure, he would've had gorgeous babies with any mate, but then again, I've been to the pound more than once in my day, and trust me, there are enough gorgeous babies of every kind for me to not ever regret trimming the testes off of Sam. And these gorgeous babies at the pound, by the way, sit in their pens and beg us humans to give them a chance , knowing that they're more than likely going to end up being tossed into a landfill in a HazMat bag before they'll end up in one of our homes or yards.

Looks like I got off on an animal rant tonight, and rather than jumping on a soapbox, I jumped on an animal cracker container. However, don't expect me to apologize for any of it.. ever.

And if you're a real animal lover, you'll read my asinine spoutings and not hold a word against me because you'll get the real message embedded in my words.

October 12, 2006

Well, getting ready for this vacation has been a little more difficult the last couple of days. Why? Because my mom and my stepdad came into town Tuesday, and it's hard to take care of things here along with taking care of them while they're here. My other siblings honestly just don't do that much when our mother's here... my sister sees them maybe one day out of their entire stay, and while my brothers do let them stay at their house, they usually don't think about feeding everyone, and when it comes to keeping them company, those two sons usually just sit in the living room and watch T.V., knowing I'll sit with Mom and Jim and chat.

What bothers me is that all three of my siblings seem to be either intimidated or afraid of my mother, more likely both. They behave a hell of a lot differently when she's in town, behave 'stiffly', hide things about themselves from her, choose their words carefully when around her, and I know that this is because a great deal of who they think they are depends on whether or not Mom approves of them. Mom is famous for making judgmental comments to all of us, and when she does, it tends to bother all three of my siblings eternally.

Me? Maybe I'm just a sociopath, but my mother doesn't scare me, and while I love her, what she may or may not like about me (and what she may say to me about it) isn't much of a factor in the scheme of my 'things'. I will tell her what I think, exactly what I think, and if she doesn't like it, I'm sorry, but I'd rather respect her with honesty than insult her by kissing her ass when I don't think her buttocks are particularly appealing.

As a result, my mom is almost afraid of me. I think she sees me as the kid who's just looking for a fight, comparing me in an inappropriate way to my siblings, wondering why I'm not like the others rather than appreciating me for not being like them.

For example, my mother is a liberal, a bleeding heart liberal, and I've always admired that, but she can be so stuck in the partisan world, she'll automatically defend any democrat's wrong, and just as easily be ready to pounce on any republican indiscretion. Last night, we were talking politics, and the topic turned to Foley, and she immediately started in on the right-wingers and how screwed up they are, how Foley is a sick bastard, all of which I agreed with, but when I said that I had no doubt that Democrats were behind the leaking of this particular scandal, she hit the roof, swore that no Democrats would be involved in this kind of mudslinging, I laughed at that statement (and this was not a good reaction), and after that, she refused to find any common ground in the conversation.

Anyway, in the meantime, my brothers are in the next room, damned near shaking because 'Mom's upset at our little sister', Jim's still brave enough to be in the kitchen with Mom and me, but not saying a word, and while telling Mom that I'm not going to change my mind, that I'm going to just agree to disagree, much to her displeasure, I'm also wondering why everyone else around her is so goddamned afraid of what will happen if you disagree with her.

Yeah, she's stubborn, yes, she may not be the greatest at listening to differing viewpoints, and hell yeah, she has a hell of a lot of issues, but she's not a monster! And it just bugs me that my siblings all seem to see her as such, mentally running from her like your average 60's Japanese citizen in any of the Godzilla/Mothra movies. It bothers me even more that Mom sees how they 'cower' around her, and mistakes it for admiration.

The way we all deal with our issues... it's morbidly fascinating to me. My mother has made a great deal of mistakes in our raising, but Jesus, she did a hell of a lot of incredibly good things, too. She did her best, and she loved us. She still loves us. I don't know, I just think that's not really something to fear.

It's a simple fact that my mom just doesn't like me as much as her other kids. I know this, and I know that it's because I both stand up to her regularly, refuse to feed her need to hear from us kids constantly that she did everything right, not to mention the fact that I remind her so much of my Dad, who she still loathes even though those two have been divorced since the mid 70's. I will never be treated the same by her as the other three are, I will never get the kind of support from her that my siblings do as a result of how I deal with her. I know all of this, my siblings know it, and believe it or not, I'm okay with it. Hard to believe, but I am. I'm okay with this because who I am is not a fault, and whatever about me that makes her uncomfortable is her problem, not mine. I am good to her, respectful yet frank, and will always love her, no matter what. As dysfunctional as this all sounds and is, it's really just ok to me. Recognizing the truth in this has really given me peace.

I just wish my siblings could resolve their 'stuff' and feel the same kind of peace. Acceptance of both who they are, and of who Mom is would free them so much. If they could see that she's not this invincible monster they love yet fear, but a human with her own issues, her own strengths, her own opinions that never should play a part in defining them, I think I'd have a lot less to worry about, knowing they have much less to worry about!

Ok, I'm done whining about family stuff. I have an ear infection bugging me, so I'm going to take a break and try to rest a bit. I have a million emails to go through, so if you haven't heard from me, bear with me. And those of you who've invited me to join your MySpace groups, do me a favor and email me about them with 'MYSPACE' in the subject line, all caps. I've gotten invitations in the last couple of days, but when I click on the link to see the group, I either get an 'invalid ID' message or nothing at all, and I'd like to know what groups I'm being asked to join. I know this isn't spam, so if you've sent me an invite lately, please let me know.

I hope you're all well, and if you aren't, I hope wellness greets you again by the time you read this!

October 9, 2006-Yippee Kay-Ayyyy!

Ok, here's the deal:

Hubby brought home a 12 pack of beer earlier today, drank a couple, then fell asleep. I didn't touch one until this evening... late this evening, and now it's 2:17 a.m., I'm starting my fifth beer, and I'm not so sure I'm gonna make it to a full six, though I'm feeling spunky enough to try. It's just been that kind of day, I'm in that kind of mood, and anyone who doesn't like it can smooch my buttocks and call it a love story.

I've been working on plumbing today, replacing the faucet in the kitchen because it went out, and because my otherwise wonderful husband turns into a six year old when he tries to do anything repair-wise that doesn't go smoothly. Actually, I started removing the old faucet early this morning when Eric woke up, came down stairs, saw me under there with my wrench, and insisted he take over. I insisted I could do it by myself, his machismo still insisted that I move out of the way, so I did, knowing goddamned well what was going to happen. An hour later, Eric is on his back under the kitchen sink, swearing filthy words I've never heard before (and you have no idea what a complete rarity this is), snapping at me and everything around him, living and inanimate, yet I'm calm until he thinks he's got it, turns the water back on, only to see streams of hot and cold water spew from both supply lines, at which point I tell him that if he doesn't get the hell out from under the sink and out of my sight immediately, I'm going to test his colon for polyps using only my big toe and momentum.

He moves, griping all the way to the living room, I get under there and fix it, something he could've easily done if he'd just calmed the fuck down. Eric is the most mellow man in so many other ways, we get along beyond well in a multitude more, but we just do NOT do well when we're working on any kind of household repair. He loses his patience, I don't help by backseat driving his every move, then when he entirely blows a cranial gasket, I end up not being understanding, but mad as hell at him for being such a punk ass bitch. But I guess my reaction is the right one, because the second I finally yell at him, and I rarely yell at anyone about anything (believe it or not), much less him, he starts to calm down.

Anyway, we have a wonderfully working new faucet now, Eric is nice and mellow again, and I can rest before we attempt to even be in the same room during the next plumbing catastrophe.

Further evidence this beer's soaking into me...

I went outside earlier this evening wearing my 'Support Fine Arts... Shoot a rapper' tee shirt... while my neighbors were playing just this genre of music from their car stereo. I wasn't even angry, couldn't even hear the bass like I have in the past from neighbor's stereos... I just forgot I had that T-shirt on.

Actually, I've done worse inadvertently. I shit you not, I once ran up to WalMart wearing a shirt from TshirtHell.com, the caption on the front of my shirt saying 'There are two people fucking on the back of my shirt', and when the people reading it turn to see the copulation taking place on my back, they see instead 'Just kidding!!!! Believe in Jesus!!!', complete with smiling son of God picture. And yeah, it actually took a minute to figure out why people were double-taking me as I shopped, I'd so completely not paid attention to my choice of clothing? Honestly, who really tries to dress up for WalMart, not just jumping in the car and running up there 'real quick'? If you do primp and preen just before making your trip up to Redneck Heaven, you're either way too single or way too anal to be shopping in a place that sells both motor oil and raw chicken under the same roof in the first place.

Okay, that's it. This beer's getting lighter in weight, I'm definitely not making it to beer number six, and before I end up puking up chunks of bile-tinged liver and pancreatic tissue, I think maybe it's best that I leave now before I start typing things from 'the bad place';) I will leave you, my friends, with these simple kernels of knowledge learned by me through the years in hopes that I may pass on a life-affirming thought or two:

1. Well hidden fact- One of George Bush's nannies once hung herself in front of Dubya during his sixth birthday party, screaming out to him 'It's all for you, Dub!' before plunging from the second story window, noose around her neck. And for those of you who don't get this reference, let me know how many cents a day I need to contribute so that you can get good food, medical care, and proper schooling.

2. North Korea has a little dick.

3. Saying 'Candyman' over and over again into a mirror is full of shit, legend wise. I did it, and no evil killer with a hook ever showed up and tried to gut me, though Sammy Davis looks good, says he likes my bathroom, and says hi to all his fans from the Other Side.

4. That guy 'Billy' (don't know his last name) who sells all those Oxyclean products on TV... don't buy his products. Why? Other than the fact that this guy just screams 'related to the Mafia' with that sprayed on looking beard and icky sales voice, all his products end up on the clearance shelf at Walgreen's, complete with 'As seen on TV' sticker, which translates to 'Buy me now, sell me in your garage sale not that much later because I suck'.

5. Time Warner Cable.... do NOT trust these people, and do not subscribe to any service they offer, cable or internet. If you do, you'll wake up one morning with strange dreams of green/gray people shoving metal suppositories up your butt, you'll find your dog in your yard, completely mutilated without a drop of blood anywhere, and even when you're being re-abducted so that they can harvest the half-alien, half-human embryos they planted in either your uterus or abdominal cavity... you'll still lose service to most of the good movie channels at least once a day.

Okay, I have shared. Take this knowledge and use it wisely, Grasshoppers;)

October 5, 2006-Hoobledy Fricker and Tootenschplotz

Exhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaale....

I belong to an email group for Baker Hotel supporters, and yesterday, a couple of folks decided that the group was too boring, and like a crack-addicted version of Emeril... BAM, they kicked it up a notch, posting downright aggressively rude messages, attempting to start a pissing contest that nobody really wanted to add their yellow stream to. Why do people do that? If I have ever started shit with anyone, and believe me, I have, it's because I really felt I was seeing something wrong going on, and didn't want to play the role of sheep by turning my head. I have never made anyone's life a living hell for any amount of time just so that I could enjoy myself... at least I don't think I have;) Okay, maybe I have. Nevermind.

Anyway, I'm just drained by exasperation at how some people can entirely not see the hard work, spent tears, and never ending resolve in a person(s) and instead complain. Then again, maybe they do see all that, envy it, so they try to attack it. In any case, a group I hold the highest respect for is yet again having to wade through sewage, yet there they are, wading away, even though they could easily shed those waders and abandon the muck. Now that is what I call dedicated! Go Spirit of the Baker/Baker Preservation Society!!!! Anytime you guys need anything, I'm here... will always be:)

I have been in massive pain for two days now. Filler material here... all my wisdom teeth erupted normally, so I never had to have them removed. However, two days ago I bit into a cracker with cream cheese and smoked salmon on it, and felt a kind of pain shoot through my entire head that I can only describe as indescribably hellish. Long story short, a wisdom tooth cracked, a piece fell off, I accidentally swallowed it along with the salmon and Philly, and for the last two days, there is a pain shooting through the right side of my face that aches and nags so much that it just drains my every move.

Still, I can't bring myself to see the dentist. I am terrified of dentists. I know I'm going to have to get over this fear real damned quick, because I'm frankly sick of the exhaustion 48 hours of constant pain has wracked me with. I just can't seem to get past thinking about dentists and associating them with Corbin Bernsen in that really awful, extremely gory horror flick 'The Dentist', or Steve Martin as the mad dentist in 'Sgt. Pepper's' (anyone remember that movie, starring the BeeGees and Peter Frampton? I freaked over that movie, had the soundtrack, posters, etc., and if you tell anyone else that, I'll fucking kill you).

The Foley email scandal is definitely disgusting, but anyone who doesn't clearly see that this is nothing but an attempt by Democrats to go at the Republican jugular is living in a dream world. Don't get me wrong; if it were the Democrats in danger of losing control of congress, I don't doubt for a second that the first good and juicy scandal about a liberal politician would get just as 'leaked' by the conservatives, just as exploited, and just as much eaten up by the viewing public. This is all just dirty politics, transparently dirty (oxymoron?), and one of these days, I'd just like to read the paper or turn on CNN and hear more about real issues than about dirty emails sent to Congressional pages. Our government makes the girls from Heathers and Mean Girls look like Mother fucking Theresa in comparison.

I am becoming ever more cynical as I age, and this scares the hell out me. I wonder if I'm going to be one of those bitchy and cranky old women who lives alone with her thousand cats, yelling at everyone who walks along the sidewalk passing my boarded up house with the overgrown, cat-turd filled lawn. I don't want to end up that way, but you know, as I see the world, deal with the world, I am constantly faced with the fact that this planet inarguably has a huge asshole surplus problem. Fuck landfills... selfish asses present far more of a stink and contamination problem to me.

Anne Frank, bless her heart. She believed that everyone was basically good, despite what she went through, the absolute horror she experienced. I admire and respect her, but at the same time, I find myself increasingly sure that this young girl was more naïve than anything, or perhaps believed such because that's what she needed to believe in order to live each day of her sadly short life. Then again, maybe she was right. Maybe I can believe that, and just add to it by saying that maybe we all do have good in us, but that when given the choice to let that good lead our lives, many people just aren't strong enough to do so. It's easy to practice the seedier aspects of ourselves, give into the id instead of listening to that little angel on your shoulder telling you what you should do, even though it's more difficult. It's easier to do what benefits you most in the short term, much harder sometimes to sacrifice what you deep down know you should give.

I don't know... I just see people absorbed in the fascia of things, the superficial, the inconsiderate, the 'me' over 'we' so much especially lately. And I see myself do it, too, even when I try my best not to.

But if, through all my bitching, I can find the good as Anne did, it's that in the sea of selfish anuses I meet, have met, and will continue to meet, the presence of the truly opposite shine through just that much more. I have made friends in my life, real friends, witnessed the best in some of my family, and I see in them that amongst the assholes walk precious roses. I see it because it's impossible not to see it in them, their examples radiate so. They're the ones who keep this kind of bitching to a minimum in my rants (yeah, believe me, these rants could be SO much worse!), and they're the ones who keep me going in hopes that one day, some of who they are will rub off onto who I am.

Ok, I'm done. I was just inundated with the worst the human condition has to offer lately, and had to vent about it, which I suppose makes me a hypocrite yet again in that I'm venting to make me feel better, not so much to provide the rest of you with something to read;) Anne Frank would SO bitchslap me right now if she could.

October 3, 2006

I'm gettin' quite psyched about our upcoming vacation, though preparing for it is exhausting me. Instead of the original cabins and location I'd chosen before, I stumbled across some old cottages in an entirely different part of East Texas, fell in love with the area, the cottages, etc., so the plans changed. Now Eric and I will be going to Caddo Lake, and we'll be staying in the coolest old rustic cottage at Moonglow Lodge (the woman who owns it is a sweetheart! And she loves animals). Caddo Lake is a lot like Bayou country in Louisiana, so we'll be taking a tour of the lake, where we'll get to see alligators (I can hardly wait!), snakes (Eric's going to probably scream like a bitch, he's so afraid of snakes), and all kinds of other wildlife. We'll also take a 20 minute drive into Jefferson, Texas, supposedly very haunted, where we'll take a supernatural tour and probably a historical tour, the town has so much history! I'm just about burstin' from anticipation!

In the meantime, though, I'm swamped (pardon the pun) trying to arrange how these animals are going to be taken care of while we're gone. Most people with one or two cats or a dog have no problem going out of town, but with the brood I have here, the specific things some of them need diet wise, etc., I'm not even sure having the three people I have coming in to watch them while I'm gone will be enough, LOL! Plus, I've got to figure out how to best travel with the special needs guys I'm taking with me. Eric seems to think we can just hop in the car and go, the little bastard. He knows nothing! Naïve little man, he is, which I guess means I'm doing my job as a wife quite well:)

My uncle was in town this week, so we spent Saturday in Denton at my father's house, where Uncle Preston was staying. It was so funny to walk in the house and see my dad and his brother watching football, the two of them wearing matching Hawaiian shirts, shorts, and sandals, looking so much alike, all the while knowing the two are so different. Dad's reserved, quiet, with a subtle sense of humor while Uncle Preston is loud, curses like a sailor, and thinks the definition of funny is going to a confessional and telling the priest that he just went on a killing spree at a nursing home, then broke into the zoo and drugged, then took advantage of a rhinoceros... just to see the priests' reaction.

Not to say Dad's not funny. We were talking about movies he and Uncle Preston had gone to this week during his stay, and Dad started to complain about some football movie they'd seen Saturday morning, and elaborates his displeasure by saying 'It was horrible... I thought it would be a great football movie, but instead it was a Christian movie', Dad's expression during the utterance of Christian resembling the look a person gets when they burp and find that a little vomit's come up with air. I died laughing!!!!! I also solved the mystery of where my intense dislike for organized religion comes from, LOL! Dad went on to explain the storyline to me, the two of us laughing at every cheesy and cliché predictable plotline this film was apparently choc full of, me laughing harder every time Dad would say something like 'That coach kept praying through the whole movie, it was just so bad'. I guess you had to be there to realize just how funny it was, as well as how neither of us were knocking a higher power, but the religious people who too often think they've come closer to God than the rest of us.

Anyway, we all had a great visit, went out to a great restaurant (If you're ever in Denton, Texas, check out Hannah's), and despite Uncle Preston going off on a rant about how full of shit Steven Segal is (he says he runs into Segal sometimes in L.A., and swears the next time he sees him, he's going to challenge him to a wrestling match), it was great catching up with my uncle.

Miss Callie is still hanging in, improving even, and it looks like I won't have to add her to the list of two cats I'm taking with us to Caddo Lake. She is sooooo old, yet is happily surprising me.

Ariane, I got your email about using the old email addy, hon, and I'll send to it instead of the newer one. I got swamped with travel/family/pet things this weekend, so I haven't even opened the new chapters yet, but believe me, I will asap, and I am completely looking forward to it:)

There are a million more things to write, but for now I've gotta run and do some pet feeding, research a couple more things re: Jefferson, answer a few emails from some concerned catparents whose critters have the same condition TeeTee has, finish up some laundry, and so some writing for a friend who needs it by tonight. Wish me luck, and in return, I wish you all the best luck you could possibly have today!:)

Sept. 29, 2006

Quick notes right off the bat...

Allison, read your journal, and read about your Saturday deadline. How's that going, and if you need help, will you please email me? And by the way, if I were to take that survey and fill it out, it'd be pointless, so many of my answers matched yours, LOL! Sisters in a past life, most definitely.

Ariane, got the new Rubicon chapters, and speaking of deadlines, it was fun giving you one, cracking the whip, LOL! I'll start on it tonight, my friend:)

Okay, onto jibber jabber and rambling thoughts-

Terrell Owens and the infamous overdose incident... did he or did he not attempt suicide?

WHO CARES????? I frankly find a four hour documentary about toenails more interesting. This huge media 'thing' over T.O. has yet again proved that we as a society care more about the trivial ass-wipings and nose-pickings of the celebrity than we do the real issues. Stop any average person on the street and ask them what they know about the Terrell Owens incident, and they'll be able to tell you at least something, but ask that same person what they think about Woodward's latest allegations concerning the Bush administration and the war in Iraq, and I guarantee you you'll get the kind of look, followed by odd silence, befitting your average Valley Girl.

Miss Calliefornia, my kidney-failure, old as hell cat, has made a bit of a turnaround, eating well, rehydrating herself without my needing to give her fluids via needle, and it looks like she's just not ready to leave as soon as I'd suspected. You know, when you live the life full of animals I live, you find that it's not always about the diagnosis. Nope, I've found often that no matter how bad the dx is, just seeing them have some good days, really good days, is enough. The more you see in life, the more the definition of 'enough' changes. Other people call that sadder but wiser... I call it 'enough'.

Idiocy- the other night, I had an erotic dream about Mike Rowe, the host of Discovery Channel's 'Dirty Jobs'. I can't feel awful about that, but what I can regret is telling Eric about it, who now says 'There's your boyfriend' every time Mike Rowe pops up on the TV screen. Now if I can only hope Eric has a dream soon about Meredith Viera or Mary Hart...

I'm a bit miffed about some recent happenings at the Baker Hotel. The city of Mineral Wells has re-issued an order banning any kinds of tours there (after an incident in which a group was caught there during an illegal tour), and while reading the articles about it, I see that the Baker's manager is getting off scott-free, claiming she had no knowledge of tours going on there when I know for a fact she's not only known about them, but benefitted from them monetarily. She's not the only one, and that's not the only thing bothering me about it. I just feel as if this place is being shit on yet again by people who just don't 'get' the Baker, but this time, the turds are larger, the smell more offensive than ever. And here those of us who care are, putting all of our hopes into a potential buyer who may make all of this go away. But what if the deal falls through? What if the same people raping the place now are allowed to stay around and continue the molestation? The dreams haven't been coming lately, the people in them from the Baker not visiting me like they used to, and I literally am terrified that it's because they've given up. Then again, something tells me they're waiting. For new readers who have no idea what I'm talking about, you're just going to have to read up... sorry.

Fictionpress is at it again, and this time I'm complaining. Three different people sent me three different absolutely awful pieces of fiction this last week, all inviting me to join their message boards and post my comments. Needless to say, I declined. In their defense, their pieces were well-written, but what gets me is why they'd think I'm into writing overly erotic stuff, anyway. My stories have sex scenes, true, but they're not the focus. If I focus on anything sexual, it's two souls frustratingly needing to be together, but aren't able to right away, and the 'orgasm' comes, pardon the pun, when the two characters finally do 'join'. It's about a deeper craving than anything involving fucking, 'cumming', or anal sex. I wonder why I get things sent to me sometimes, and I wonder even more why I read them, but in the long run, I end up reading them and answering anyway because as pure as I think my stories have been, romance-wise, I've noticed that my readers have read and re-read my stories' sex scenes an average of three times more than the rest of my stories' chapters.

On a good note, though, one gal in particular did write me and send me something I read and fully enjoyed. She took a spin on a love story that could've bombed, but ended up being refreshing. Her female character was blind, and let me tell you, to read a love story from a blind woman's perspective.... omg, incredible!!!!! So maybe Fictionpress isn't something to bitch about after all.

Ok, hubby just woke up, trudged (is that a word?) his way downstairs wearing nothing but his Calvin boxers, looking way too sleepily cute for his own good, so it's time for me to abandon the electronic for a bit and sit with the hubster, waiting for the next Mike Rowe dig;)

Sept. 25, 2006- An unbelievably weird entry concerning metal

For the last four or five years, I've felt as if I was wearing a lead jacket. I think it started out as a vest, slapped on me at first around 2001, tailor made for me as the responsibilities and worries I was used to grew in way too many ways. It was heavier than I'd previously known, but still, I kept it on. By 2003, the vest had sleeves, large and thick ones, with thick folded cuffs and weighty buttons that made raising a hand just that more difficult. And today, I look in my minds' mirror and sadly see that the vest has lengthened, formed wide lapels, and grown in every heavy way.

I want to take this jacket off, because I know the load is killing me. I dream of waking up one day to find myself nude with a glorious kind of weightlessness I'll not find it hard to adjust to. I want to do the things I'd done before my life's experiences had me don this metallic garment, feel the unheavy things I so often miss, know a less-clad, simpler life again.

But still that jacket stays on me, my being never quite able to forget it's there, adjust to its demand, much less take the goddamned thing off.

Though I type this in metaphor, sometimes, the things I have heaped on me in my life make this lead jacket of mine feel more real than anything tenor or vehicle might try to demand I put into words.

I have concerns... big ones, flooding my mind daily for the last few years. So many concerns, so many levels of responsibility, and if I let any of them go for any amount of time, more than one world I'm involved in will fall apart. Literally fall apart. I worry about my health all the time, knowing that I can't afford to be any kind of ill for more than a day or two, knowing that I especially can't afford to be ill enough to be taken away... and the knowledge really doesn't help keep me spiffy, I guarantee you.

This lead jacket I don is stifling, toxic, strangling me in places I didn't think a soul could feel strangled, yet I don't shed it.

And I ask myself as much as I answer here... Why?

Because I chose to put it on in the first place. Because it was tailor-made for me. Because my loved ones depend on me to wear it. Because as easy as it would be to throw it off me and walk away from its pile, the looking in the mirror part that would follow would be worse than wearing this lead. Because this load hasn't entirely left me without reward, lightening me with wisdom and feeding me with reason enough to not disrobe. Because I put this jacket on in the first place out of love unconditional, belief unphased, and destiny unquestioned.

Because I was meant to.

Because of it all, this lead jacket will remain on this frame, it will serve its purpose, and when it is truly time to be free of it, if it's time to be free of it, my faith will let me know.

Just do me a favor in the meantime, would you? Every once in awhile, tell me it looks good on me;)

Sept. 21, 2006

Weird happenings last night-

I'm dozing off on the couch, Miss Callie by my side, and I wake up to the sounds of a baby crying. I first think I'm dreaming, but as I sit up and rub my eyes, I hear the crying again. I then look at the television, and see that one of those bad Cinemax shoot 'em up/karate movies is on... no baby anywhere on the screen. It's after 2 in the morning, the sound isn't coming from outside or the neighbor's house, who don't have an infant anyway, and as I hear the cries again, I know positively that the sound is coming from inside this house, yet no specific direction, a muffled kind of crying as if it's in another room. And as I stand up to wait for it to happen again so that I can hopefully follow it, it fails to happen again. This is entirely weird, I have yet to explain it, other than wondering if I'm schizophrenic now, and after calling Eric and telling him what I'd just heard, he agreed... I'm probably schizophrenic;) I love that bastard.

Nancy Grace is a self-absorbed pit bull of a uterine-possessing monstrosity. I don't know if you all know the story behind my statement, but in a nutshell, a little boy has gone missing under suspicious circumstances, Nancy Grace had the mother on her CNN Headline News show, during which she reamed this woman mercilessly. Shortly after that show's airing, the mother killed herself. My gut tells me that this mother was indeed involved in her son's abduction, is guilty of, in the very least, something veryyyyyy bad, but turning back to Nancy Grace, I'm sorry, but this flared-nostril rabid former prosecutor couldn't care less where that little missing boy is, what's happened to him, if he's alive or deceased. All Nancy Grace is interested in is ratings, that's just how it is, and I frankly fart in her general direction for making me steer a good portion of my disgust from this suspicious mother towards Nancy in my annoyance. Some would say that I just don't like strong women. Couldn't be further from the truth. A strong woman and a power-driven one are two entirely different things; I adore the first, rarely can even stand the latter. Examples- A woman like Ann Richards, who will be greatly missed, is strong.... Nancy Grace is a bully who needs to feel an advantage as desperately as Nicole Ritchie needs to eat.

Other than the two above paragraphs, I don't have much to add, so I'm going to close with an entry I started awhile ago, yet didn't finish until now:

Started on May 22, 2006

I have pretty much not even a brain fart to contribute to this rant page today. Not even a rumbling in the bowels of original expression, so I figured I'd just make up a survey thingy. You all know them, I can guaranfuckintee you you've gotten at least one in your day from a friend, and had fun answering it, but you've also equally gotta admit that a lot of the questions on all these different surveys are the same, even though the questions are great. Anyway, I'm going to try to come up with one that doesn't have a single question you've seen before when you've gotten one of those email surveys. No need to send me your answers; I just want to give an example of the kind of survey I'd love to answer. Ok, here we go:

1. Celebrity you reluctantly admit you have the hots for, and why-

2. Do you own a sex toy? Have you ever owned one? What kind?

3. What's the biggest lie you ever told and got away with?

4. Would you kill someone if you were guaranteed 100 percent to not get caught? If so, who and why?

5. Ladies, what's the longest you've been without shaving your armpits?

6. Michael Jackson or Steven Hawking- If the world were in danger, and saving it all came down to you having to perform a sex act on one, would you and which one would it be? And what sex act would you choose?-

7. If you were offered a million dollars cash to take a crap on a stage with a full audience and millions of TV viewers tuning in, would you do it?

8. Funniest line you've ever heard in a movie, but here's the catch- You found it hilarious, even though the actor and screenwriter didn't intend that line to be funny.

9. Da Vinci Code- love it or way too sick of the hype?

10. Take a guess at inches on this one- on a grown man, what's the smallest penis you've seen, and what's the largest?

11. Addiction- do you sympathize with addicts, or do they anger/annoy you?

12. Dorkiest song you ever freaked out over, you loved it so much-

13. Freakiest thing you've ever seen-

14. Worst TV show on television... ever-

15. Ever faked an orgasm? If so, ever had an orgasm... with someone?

16. Does gaydar (being able to spot gay people with few clues) exist? And if you think it does, how good is yours?

17. What's the biggest racial myth you think exists, and of all the things said about different races and their 'peccadilloes', name one you think is actually true.

18. Most over rated author you've ever read-

19. Most under rated author you've ever read-

20. Mary Kay LeTourneau- Pedophile... or tragic love story?

21. Addicted to anything? If so, what?

22. Single worst influence in your life currently-

23. Single best influence in your life currently-

24. Name the one thing in your life you have to say you were most wrong about-

25. Name the one thing in your life you have to say you were dead on about-

Sept. 20, 2006- Miss Calliefornia

... The name I gave to this now-old cat who was once so young, scared, yet eager to greet us when Eric and I moved here so long ago.

She was a feral who'd haunted this street for a couple of years before I moved here, a beautiful calico who'd show up on my patio often to eat the food I put outside for strays, but who didn't have trust enough in a single human being to let me within ten feet of her... but that's okay. I was happy enough to put food outside, walk inside, and watch through the window while she carefully approached the food and the other strays eating, finally joining them, only to run back across the street again.

That was in the early nineties.

In the mid-nineties, Miss Callie had gotten used to me enough to come up and eat while I stood on my porch overlooking the patio. She knew what times I brought the food out during, and while other ferals had come and gone, this solid little orange, black and white survivor had found it in her to be waiting several feet away when I opened my door two times each day, bowl of dry and canned food mixed together and ready to be doled out onto my 'stray plates', and every time I opened that door, I was both amazed and so grateful she was still there, yet never truly surprised she'd survived as a feral stray yet another day. By 1996, she'd conquered the feral in her enough to not just tolerate, but seemingly enjoy my baby-talk to her while she ate five feet away from my perch spot on the porch. I believe that same year, I tried to get closer, almost being able to touch her at one point before she saw my hand and freaked the hell out.

In 1997, on a cold early spring morning, I walked out onto my porch to see that Miss Callie was there in a box... six newborns nursing from her. I freaked for a sec, she freaked, and though I turned and went back inside so as not to freak her out any more, she still ended up moving the babies off my porch within minutes, despite how welcome they all would've been here. She'd trusted this house and me enough to safely give birth, but apparently once they were born, the trust still wasn't strong enough to let her or the babies stay here.

A little over two months later, my dogs wake me because they have a little orange tabby kitten cornered behind a fence post in the back yard. I run out, scoop the wee boy up, take him inside, calm this tiny little kitten down (which isn't easy, but ultimately happens because I wrap him in a terry cloth dish towel he somehow finds comfort from), then go back outside to find five more little kittens on the other side of the fence... Miss Callie behind them and hissing at me ... yet not leaving, even when I scooped her babies all up, took them inside, and adopted them out. A month later, five of those kittens had new homes, good ones, the sixth baby... the little orange tabby who'd narrowly escaped death by my dogs, was living here, named Linus because he grew attached to the original dish towel I'd wrapped him in and was his most content when it was near, and Miss Callie was now letting me sit directly in front of her while she ate on my patio, even let me touch her sometimes on her back while she chowed down.

It was at this point that I finally was able to see where Miss Callie was disappearing to after she ate here every day. A house across the street had a missing crawlspace vent cover, and after meals, Callie would run across my lawn, look both ways at the street (I kid you not), then dart across and straight into that crawlspace opening, hiding in that safe yet dark area her entire day, with the exception of coming out for meals.

Three months later, the house Callie lived underneath was bought by a new family, and not a night after they moved in, I went out to feed the strays, and was shocked to not see my little Calico friend there. In my shock, I fed the strays, then walked across my lawn, looking at the house across the street, particularly at 'the vent'. And what I saw made my heart sink. I saw a new shiny vent cover, nailed into place, the kind of thing that appeals to everyone else but me.

Callie was trapped under that house, and unless I did something, my little stray friend was going to die a miserable death amidst that house's foundation. I go over, knock on their door, frantically tell them that there's a cat trapped under their house, pointing to where the vent cover is, sure they're going to remove it, ask them to remove it, they tell me they don't want to, and my heart damned near stops as a result of a combination of emotions I have yet to find words to describe. They couldn't care less about a cat being trapped under their house, my telling them they have to remove that vent doesn't help, neither do my threats, I come home, call the SPCA, get the animal abuse investigator's voice mail, leave a frantic message, come back outside, watching the vent as if watching it will keep Miss Callie alive and okay, and holding the handset in my hand, praying the investigator from the SPCA will call back.

The phone ended up not ringing again that night. In fact, Eric got home from work, went over and asked the same of the neighbors I'd asked, and this time, at least they told him that they'd remove it 'tonight' sometime.

I sat outside 'tonight', and 'tonight', not a soul came out and did anything with that vent. In fact, some other guy drove up and unloaded two tires... stacking them against that vent cover...

And that's when I finally lost it. Miss Callie was under there, had missed two meals, and was probably as freaked out as I was that her once available exit was now sealed.

Late that night, I put all my cats into one room, shut the door, dressed in all black (I shit you not... I could almost hear the Mission Impossible theme playing in the background), and ran across the street, crowbar in hand, pried that vent cover off, called out in as high a 'whisper' as I could to Miss Callie to come, all the while sure the neighbors would hear, come out, and shoot me. They didn't, thank the Gods, so I ran back to my yard and stood there, waiting. Fortunately, the wait wasn't long, because a little orange white and black stray kitty poked her head out of that newly opened space within minutes, she popped out of that opening, and made a glorious beeline for my patio...

where I had more in store for her.

See, I knew my Peta-like act wasn't going to do a bit of good in the long run, pulling a vent cover off to rescue a cat if the cat was just going to go right back and get nailed in again once the neighbors discovered my dastardly deed in the morning. Tonight was the night to offically take Callie in my house, and keep her there...

Now if only Miss Callie would cooperate with this plan.

Anyway, she comes running up to the patio, looking for her food, but it's not where she usually finds it.

In fact, a little sniffing on her part tells her that there's better food available tonight... tuna and rotisserie chicken... but where is it? I'll tell you where it is... in my front room, on a nice fancy plate, just enough inside so that when she comes in to eat it, I can shut the door and trap her in the house with me before she can make a run for it.

I watch behind my living room's open front door, through the cracks the door hinges provide me, thrilled when Callie finally sees the source of the heavenly smell she's taking in, and tensely praying this feral cat will come closer. She does, moving from the patio to the porch steps, then from the porch steps to the porch, me still as a statue, yet ready to pounce, and just when I'm about to burst from anticipation, Callie steps over the front door's threshold, into the house, stopping to smell the air for a minute, then walks up to the plate of food...

I sprang, slammed that door shut, Callie freaked out, tried to climb a couple of walls for a minute when she realized she couldn't run back outside, me apologizing to her the whole time, telling her why I'd had to trap her the way I had, both giddy for us both while equally sympathetic to the fear I know she was feeling.

This story's way too long already, isn't it? Too bad, I have to tell it, even if it bores you all, because it's just necessary. You'll see.

Callie ended up spending the next two weeks under our couch, me having to slide her food and water under it for her, all the while talking to her and jokingly telling her why I'd kidnapped her, that I should've named her Patty Hearst instead of Callie. My cats all knew she was under there, tried to introduce themselves, to no avail at first, but we all kept trying, and kept being patient.

Within three weeks, Callie was venturing out all around the house, only running and hiding when my most alpha cats gave her hell, not even recognizing her son Linus, who definitely recognized his mother.

Within a month, Callie was walking around and inspecting the house despite the fact that me, the evil human, was in sight. And she was letting some of the other cats, including Linus, sniff her butt.

Within six weeks, Callie was letting me pet her while she ate.

Within two months, Callie was sleeping on the couch beside me... the kind of sleep a stray cat has never known, and watching Callie sleep it fully was just the kind of reward I needed to see, the kind of affirmation any of us who rescue should ever need to see to keep us going.

By 2006, Callie is still here, lets me pick her up, hug her, kiss her, scratch her here and there, and enjoys every second of it.

Despite the fact that she's dying:(

Callie, Miss Calliefornia, is old now, started showing some 'real old' signs and symptoms recently... very old, and some muscle-mass loss and other bodily changes lead me to the vet, where we got the news that her kidneys aren't going to hold out much longer. Callie's leaving me soon, and no matter what I do, I can't change that.

All of you who read here know that I've been here before. But Callie hasn't. I can see in her little once-feral eyes that she's terrified, but moreso, I see in them that she expects me to make it all okay. Callie, I'm going to try as hard as I can, honey. If I lose another decade's worth of my lifespan in making your illness as painless as possible for you, let me die at 40, 'cause it'll be worth it, little girl. Whatever your little soul's path needs to take, my calico friend, you won't take it alone, I promise you. We've had more than a few journeys together, girl, and trust me; we didn't pick each other so many years ago just so the most important journey would be traveled solo.

My wary little Calliefornia, my lovely little lady, my wonderful little friend, thank you for finally trusting me, thank you for so much, so, so, so, so much! I love you, little one, and though I still wonder sometimes, watching the life you've lived the last several years tells me that you didn't mind so much being kidnapped. And if I'm right about that, let this captor tell you that this has been nothing but a pleasure, my girl.

Sept. 18, 2006 More Fodderfiddle and Sistywhomple

translation- 'I have nothing much to really go on about today, but I'm online, not too busy, and am just going to wing a few paragraphs, if possible'

Well, I haven't had a real vacation since 2000, when we went to New Orleans, but I finally found a place an hour and a half away from here that Eric can enjoy, and that I can take my 'really' special needs cats to as well. We're renting a log cabin for a couple of days in East Texas, and Eric is beyond psyched. I'd be psyched, too, and I will be... once I get everything else arranged. My brother's going to come and watch the dogs, check on the house, and my neighbor (hopefully; I just asked her via email but haven't heard back yet) is going to come and check on the critters as well, so knowing the two people besides Eric and me I trust most with my critters are going to be on the job while I'm gone will help me breathe easier. Having TeeTee Sprinkles and Wrigley Doodle with me (both of them need particular care that I don't even trust a vet to do), is going to help, too, and I think they'll both do just fine exploring the cabin:)

Did 'Starting Over' get cancelled? I'm wondering because I noticed a couple of days ago that its time-slot was now taken over by the annoying 'Greg Behrendt' show, which I give one season... tops. Anyway, if 'Starting Over' is cancelled, let me just say this...

There IS a God, and I believe in him now more than I ever did!!!!! Oh Merciful Father, THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I also see that Maybline Ephram no longer presides over Divorce Court. My faith has reached new heights, and I'm considering now joining the priesthood;)

WE OWN OUR HOUSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's official, it is written, it's a fact... we own the mother, and we no longer have to worry about a Contract for Deed turning nasty on us, a landlord/seller who should've been named Half-Ass instead of the name he was given, and all we have to worry about now are property taxes and insurance. Not a damned soul's gonna milk another ounce of interest out of my white trash butt.... Kumbayfuckinya!!!!!

Fictionpress must be once again recycling the stories they make more viewable, because I've had a ton of emails from reviewers lately, went to check my stats for the first time in months, and it flummoxes me that people are still reading anything I've written. I'm grateful for the reviews, don't get me wrong, but I look back at that version of Accidental Muse, look back at everything I've ever written and submitted online, and though I don't wince or cringe, I oddly end up looking at what I've written since and am thankful for the evolution, and by that I mean my being's evolution, not the growth of how I put thought into readable word. I'll leave that to other folks who are far more skilled at storytelling than I am. They're writers... I'm just engaging in self-therapy;)

Eric... I don't talk about this man enough, I've said before. I suspect it's protectiveness on my part, but whatever it is, this man continues to touch every emotion in me like no other human being in my life ever has. I got him Texas Rangers Tickets for Sunday's game, really good seats, for him and one of his work buddies, and the man called me twice from the ballpark just to let me know what a good time he was having. I told him to leave me alone, hang up, and get back to having a good time.

Anyway, around the time the game's wrapped up, I have the radio on KLIF, a local talk radio station, and I'm listening to it while doing housework, minding my own business. The topic was about a now-pro football player, a former Heisman trophy winner, who has been recently accused of accepting money/gifts while he was a prized college player. The two hosts of the radio show were defending him, saying they could understand this economically challenged young man accepting gifts from Alumni and whoever, even though he knew it was prohibited.

And then I hear 'Let's hear what our callers have to say... Next up is Eric. Eric, what's your opinion?'.

Then I hear a voice that makes me stop everything I'm doing and say 'Oh my God, No, Eric!'.

Yup, it was my husband on the phone, listening on his way home from the game, calling in on his cell phone to disagree with the show's hosts, saying that there's no excuse, no matter how poor you are, etc., and as a result, a five-minute debate went on between the hosts and Eric, me going from mortified at first to being damned proud of my husband for taking his somewhat unpopular stand, even when the two radio guys attacked him, even when he counteracted with valid points, and especially when they both didn't cut him off (telling them about prized college players he personally knew who took their scholarships, never took an 'extra', and got degrees the right way... friends of his who are doctors, lawyers, and successful businessmen now). Not only did the radio hosts not cut him off, they both acknowledged that he was indeed making some sense.

Anyway, Eric comes in the door finally, having no idea that I heard his entire radio conversation, and he's beyond the definition of 'worked up'. I say 'What? Did the Rangers lose? Or are you as pissed off as I am over everyone's defense of Reggie Bush?'.

I let about ten seconds of him looking bewildered at my amazing psychic ability go by before I winked and clued him in on my radio station choice of the day;) Anyway, I'm proud of him. He did well standing his ground.

Ok, that's about it for now. All you friends of mine who come here... I, as always, am thinking of you, appreciate you, am behind you a hundred percent, and am here should you ever need anything. Though I'm still behind in emails, I kinda suspect you all know the above, regardless. Live well, guys, and know you're loved:)

Sept. 17, 2006

Stole this from my friend Allison's blog (btw, Al, OMG, I LOVED your answers!!!!!!)

Friday Five (Sunday Edition)

What's your favorite line from a movie, and why?

1.  I love you... I always have... 'Braveheart'. Jeez, who doesn't love that scene, or such purely spoken words?

2.  Sometimes being a bitch is all a woman has to hold onto.- Dolores Claiborne.  The reason goes without saying.(I kept Allison's answer here, it was so dead-on with my thoughts)

3.  I am gonna straight up murder your ass... Luke Wilson in 'Anchorman; the Legend of Ron Burgundy'. Why? Because it's just funny. Deadpan, straight-on, and funny.

4.  Until you do right by me, everything you do gonna fail... Miss Celie from 'The Color Purple'. Nobody put the essence of Karma into words better than this character.

5.  I haven't found a date yet, and I've been combing the high schools all day.... College nerd Booger Dawson from 'Revenge of the Nerds'. Just funny, and one of my all-time favorite movies.

6.  Nobody puts Baby in a corner. - Dirty Dancing.  Patrick Swayze standing up for his woman was priceless.

7. We're dicks! We're reckless, arrogant, stupid dicks. And the Film Actors Guild are pussies. And Kim Jong Il is an asshole. Pussies don't like dicks, because pussies get fucked by dicks. But dicks also fuck assholes: assholes that just want to shit on everything. Pussies may think they can deal with assholes their way. But the only thing that can fuck an asshole is a dick, with some balls. The problem with dicks is: they fuck too much or fuck when it isn't appropriate - and it takes a pussy to show them that. But sometimes, pussies can be so full of shit that they become assholes themselves... because pussies are an inch and half away from ass holes. I don't know much about this crazy, crazy world, but I do know this: If you don't let us fuck this asshole, we're going to have our dicks and pussies all covered in shit! .... Gary Johnson (puppet) in Team America. Graphic, hilarious, and brilliant.

8. We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams... Willy Wonka from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

And those are just a few

Who's your favorite villain from a movie, and why?

Gary Oldman... in the Professional and The Fifth Element. He's incredible, especially as a bad guy.

Name one movie everyone else loves that you hate.

Rudy... and let me break this piece of shit movie down for you. People love it because it's about a young man who's too small and not good enough at football to be a football player, but wants to play at Notre Dame so bad, he works at it, makes the team, and finally gets to suit up and play the very last game of the season. That's what I hate about it, adding to that the fact that this kid didn't care about getting an education, didn't care about living any other facet of life during his stay at Notre Dame, and ultimately (you really have to see the movie to see what I'm talking about) only did what he did so that his borderline verbally abusive Notre Dame fan father would recognize him for a change. This movie is considered one of those 'underdog inspirational' movies by so many... what I see is one of the most dysfunctional biopic pieces of bad example that ever existed.

Name one movie everyone else hates that you love.

I have a lot to choose from, but I guess one of my higher picks would be Nell, starring Liam Neeson and Jodie Foster. Foster plays a young woman discovered by scientist Neeson, a woman who has never seen civilization, lived in an obscure lakeside shack her entire life, and who speaks an unintelligible language. The language she speaks ends up being English, just warped English, due to the fact that the old woman who raised her had a stroke and couldn't speak normally. Anyway, it's cliché, but Jodie's character ends up teaching the well-learned 'civilization' people all about being human. I just liked that movie:)

What's your favorite Pixar film, and why?

Is Shrek a Pixar film? If it is, OMG, why do I need to even explain why I love both this movie and its sequel. Mike Myers, you are a god.

Sept. 16, 2006 - “They love to tell you 'Stay inside the lines', but something's better on the other side... John Mayer's 'Room for Squares'

It's official... I am one-hundred percent retarded.

My friend Sue in Utah has an animal rescue foundation, and she emailed all of us Catbroads recently to let us know that she'd joined forces with a magazine subscription group, and wanted us to take a look, with no obligation to buy. Well, I went and took a look, saw that I got a huge discount by ordering from them, plus an equally huge contribution was given to Sue's organization as a result. So, I went and looked, ordered two subscriptions immediately, both for Eric... a log cabin magazine (he LOVES log cabins), and an organic gardening magazine (DITTO). Then I ordered Discover Magazine for my brother, who I knew would entirely soak up every page... but then it came down to picking something for me. And what did I choose, with the immense cornucopia of reading stimulation displayed on the site's pages before me? Something educational? Something artistic? Something thought-provoking? There were plenty of all three, believe me, but no....

I chose Star Magazine. I believe I was ovulating that day.

I guess I am a shallow gossipy bitch to a degree of which I've never even imagined... or maybe I'm not.

I get the first issue a few days ago, and eagerly whisk it away with me to the bathroom, where bowel movements and Star Magazine sadly go together beautifully. I'm eager to see shocking photo evidence of celebrity misdoing, but instead am shocked to find that by the time I've wiped, about the only articles Star is full of involve who might be pregnant, and who might be getting married, tacky taglines about Kate's plan to escape from Tom Cruise, Demi and Ashton doing this or that, Brangelina adopting a Vulcan kid, and Beyonce and Jay-Z becoming Republicans tempting my reading eyes, only to go on and read articles so fluffy, I could sleep on them and cure my back pains, the headline so NOT matches the article. Writing-wise, I can name ten writers I personally know without even thinking who could write for this magazine and turn it into something actually worth reading. Hell, I could make up anything about anyone, writing something with a headline like 'Angelina Jolie's secret sex romp with Colin Powell', the article going on to explain what these two would do if they ever got together.

Hell, I got more entertainment out of seeing online photos of both Jude Law's micro-dick (granted, it was taken right after he'd gotten out of a swimming pool in England, but trust me, no water is ever that cold) and John Travolta smooching on and lovingly fondling a handsome young man (like this was a shocker. If it weren't for the Scientologists, Travolta would be openly sharing his same-gendered 'Summer Lovin' preferences with all of us... and would still have a good career. As if we all don't already know that Kelly Preston willingly went into this marriage, knowing all about John, to help Barbarino keep up the image in exchange for children ).

Anyway, just as I'm feeling my most retarded, days later recovering from the shiny photos of Paris Hilton, Hilary Swank, and any one of the Desperate Housewives, issue two arrives, and at this point, I know I've completely fucked myself out of too much money's worth of subscription.

This time, I'm seeing pictures of tiny swells in celebrities' abdomens, accompanied by filler material they call journalism, in which the writer is basically just wondering if Nicole Kidman is baking a Keith Urban biscuit in her 'woman-oven', reading boring piece after piece about Lindsay Lohan, who I would personally beat the living shit out of if I ever had the chance to, just to incapacitate her long enough to keep her out of the spotlight so that enough pre-menstrual girls can wean themselves of thinking that anything about her is actually meaningful. Oh, and by the way, I couldn't care less who Jessica Simpson was dumped by, nor who Star says Nick Lachey is thinking about proposing to. Newlyweds is over... as looks like both careers are... let some of us dream, would you? And the cheapest part? The cover, a photo of Anna Nicole and her son, the tagline claiming that Anna saw her son die, a pseudo-quote claiming that she said this, a la Jon Benet, when after reading the article, nothing like that's said.

Oh, but hey, here's what I did enjoy... shots of Val Kilmer's huge beer gut and Jack Nicholson's oddly supple man-boobs, Martha Stewart's freakishly huge ears, and Sienna Miller's alien big toe... at least those weren't accompanied by articles about who those funky physical features were pregnant by or about to marry. The proof was in the pudding with these simple photo layouts.

Anyway, above all, as much as I bitch about all, I'm the biggest person worth bitching about here, because I ordered this subscription. And the saddest part of all of it is that I have several more copies coming.... and you know what? I'm gonna read 'em.

Sept. 12, 2006

9/11-

We all know where we were when it happened, the first generation since the Kennedy assassination who has the misfortune of being able to say that ( I take that back; I know too many women who know exactly what they were doing the very second they found out Elvis had died). We all remember fully the whirlwind of emotion we felt while watching the live broadcasts, flipping furiously back and forth between CNN, MSNBC, FOX News channel, not to mention our local stations. Disbelief at that emptier NYC skyline, extreme sorrow, and despair filled us all, but then determination took over, and out of anger, yet despite it, we as a collective people bonded. Hell, some of our numbers even decided to like Bush for awhile.

September 11, 2001 was the ultimate experience for the average American, showing us both the best and worst the human condition has to offer...

It's just too goddamned bad that every anniversary ends up being more of a hunt for profit and search for ratings than it ever does a real remembrance of one of the few events in American history that every single citizen felt fully.

We have 'The Path to 9/11', a 40 million dollar ABC venture which ended up not just disappointing me in its conservatively-directed agenda, but in Clinton and his former staff, who should've just burped or farted in response to it rather than throw the stink they did. The major mistake made by both sides here was this...

This is network TV... NOBODY takes it seriously, so why is one side seriously attempting to 'provoke thought' while the other is seriously trying to bitch about them 'provoking thought'. This is ABC!!!!! Home of the former TGIF shows featuring actors like John Stamos and that guy who played Urkel. Why is anyone pitching a fit over any show this network vomits out?

We have the increased sales of those goofy magnetic ribbons, ribbons whose display on a car don't make anyone more of a patriot, just more of a person who doesn't think it all through and realize that this piece of 3.00 magnet is probably made in China.  Go patriots!!!!!!

Oh yeah, and the finger-pointing. According to the latest polls, too many people think Bush was involved in 9/11. Seriously, folks, do any of you honestly and ultimately think this is really true? That this man is capable of doing anything more than repeating what his speech writers tell him to repeat and eating his own boogers without too many people seeing?

And, I'm probably going to get shit for this, there's the recent push to make 9/11 a holiday. This frankly disgusts me. At first I was in favor of the idea, thinking that though this was a tragedy, the souls whose brilliance and heroism shone through the evil deserved a designated day. Then I got to thinking. If we make 9/11 a national holiday, over time, it's going to end up being the kind of empty date every year in which the most remembered about it by too many people is that you get a day off... with pay. There will still be memorial services held all over the nation, but only the die-hard'est' of our citizens will give up their barbecue parties in lieu of actually attending a service and really thinking instead of drinking. Fireworks sales will go up, as will the number of grass fires, illegal aliens will get louder, and through all of it, not a single one of them will be able to tell us a single name of one of the many, many, many Americans who died that day in 2001. Hell, if anything, we should work on that day just to let those extremist bastard terrorists know that they were just that less successful.

Jesus Christ, I guess what I'm trying to say is that on the next September 11, maybe all of us should turn off our TV's, refrain from buying any tacky plastic pseudo-patriotic memorabilia, and instead do something worthy of this day. Spend the day with your family, visit a passed loved one's grave, visit a VA hospital, a retirement home, call that friend you've felt bad about not calling for ages, take a few cookies to a neighbor....  in other words, just keep this country's real spirit, honor it, and all those who so fiercely demonstrated it five years ago.

Sept. 8, 2006

I have recently decided (well, not decided so much as reaffirmed) that I am a dork of gargantuan degree. I know y'all are laughing because you've known this for ages. Kiss my ass... ;)

Everything I do is either dorky or outright weird... from the way I dress, to the way I write, right on through to my basic demeanor. Hell, I went up to WalMart yesterday wearing jogging pants that were covered in cat hair, a novelty tee shirt with an Orange County Lawnmowers logo on it, a pair of shoes that didn't really match because I'd cleaned one, but was too tired to clean the other, and a Notre Dame baseball cap covering my dirty hair. I was a vision, no doubt. And what did I buy? I shit you not... some pepperoni, a bag of cat litter, and drumroll... a cucumber and a jar of vaseline. Nevermind that I was making salad for dinner, my lips were chapped, and my cats' litterboxes were filthy, explaining this list. Nevermind the fact that I had balls enough to get this stuff.... all at the same time...

I am legend now at 'the Mart'. I'm almost proud:)

Heard from one of my oldest and dearest friends Phillip the other night. I lived with him and his family back ages ago, them taking me in when I was in a phase in my life in which living with any family member was about as pleasant to me as the idea of giving Richard Simmons a blow job. Phillip was the best caliber of friend anyone could hope to have, my memories of my time hanging out with him never less than smile-inducing, so to hear from him again, catch up and regain touch has been something I'm grateful for. If there's a sad note to this, he's had a hell of a hard time lately, I'm sorry to hear, so to all of you whose prayers and vibes have produced for me in the past, could you send a few on to Phillip for much better days to come? Thank you again in advance!

Holy shit, someone sent me some Deadwood fanfiction.... Slash fanfiction!!!! For those of you who don't know what slash is, it's basically purely graphically sexual fanfiction, I believe mostly involving anything deemed 'lovemaking taboo'. I can handle the idea of slash, I guess, but what I can't handle is Deadwood fanfiction butchered, which this site seems to have done. I gave up when reading a piece about Seth Bullock and Sol Starr having a steamy interlude, not because it was a homosexual piece, but because the dialog didn't even come close to actual Deadwood speak, the dialog that did exist was awful, and over all, the piece read more to me like a person writing just to turn themselves on rather than a writer with a truly interesting story. It was simply just more affirmation for me that Deadwood should rarely ever get to know the fanfic world, not unless David Milch is feeling silly one night and accepts a dare.

Oh hey, for you writer friends who visit here... I have a resource for you that I can't believe I'd forgotten about. Triggerstreet.com is one of those submission sites for those of you who really are serious about becoming better writers. Back a couple of years ago when I was writing on Fictionpress.com, a couple of people contacted me and told me about it, I went to it, submitted, and was thrilled to get both constructive criticism minus the bitchiness, plus extreme encouragement that I did have ability. I can't believe I forgot this site (btw, I was told that Kevin Spacey started this site, but I haven't confirmed it), but now that I remembered it (I was cleaning out my 'favorite' links the other day), I have to mention here for you ladies and gents I know are really dedicated to your craft. This isn't a site for everyone, though. If any of you are looking more to be told that you are the best, can't handle much of any criticism, then you're obviously way too in denial to handle a site like Triggerstreet.com, but... if you love writing, want to be the best at it you can be, and need some real opinions on how you can achieve that, visit the site. I know it's still around, don't know if it's changed all that much, but you still should be able to join and submit. When I was there, it was mainly short stories and screenplays, but I believe they've changed the format to include much much more. If you go for it, do me a favor and let me know, ok?

We are now in the process of owning our home, by the way. Went to the title company, started the paperwork, and probably tomorrow, we'll be handing over a huge check to own this house outright. Hurts to give up that much money, but then again, it feels good to know this house is ours, no matter what:) I decided to go against my last claim that I wouldn't throw a party here anytime soon, and throw one in celebration of this accomplishment. God help me.

Wrapping up, Allison, FINALLY.... an update!!!!!! Glad to hear you're hanging in, glad to hear what's been going on with you, Hon:) If I can complain about anything, it's that I don't know if you're writing or not. You have got to... and soon! Please, just keep up the gift, okay? I know you're busy, so as long as you do it when you can, I won't bitch at you too much.

Ariane, I got your email, and I didn't get the revised version of Rubicon, so send it when you can. Also, I'm glad you finally escaped the heat (you know how much I hate heat and know you hate it too!!!!!), that is my livejournal name (don't know why I signed up, 'cause I never actually used it, LOL!), totally agree with you re: Oscar winners, and as for Red Ghost, to be cryptic here and not give away what you're writing, I love the way you're headed, especially when it comes to 'the Queen'. DO IT!!!!!!!!:)

Sue, have a wonderful vacation, honey!!!!!!!! All I ask is that we all get plenty of details when you get back, oh great Maker of Divinely Scented Candles:)

Marie and Shelley, we have got to have some new email sessions soon. I'm eager to hear all you're up to lately! And kiss your critters for me.

Arla, I'll be over next weekend to help with Eartha's headstone. I have just about everything we need, and I don't doubt for a second her memorial will be beautiful!:)

Richard, did you win the auction???? Please, please tell me you did!!!!!!!

Carol, how are the kids? And how's your arm???? Is everything back to normal? By the way, loved the pictures you sent me!!!!! Now if you can just come to my house and do the same thing here;)

Gordo, sorry I misunderstood your Steve Irwin piece, but still... if anyone didn't need advice, it's you, my little Mansonesque Doppelganger;)

To the rest I've already written, I love ya, send you smooches, and wish you a Nirvana kind of weekend... the heavenly place, not the band;)

Sept. 6, 2006- Sometimes being a bitch is all a woman has to hold onto

• Doesn't the great Delores Claiborne line go something like that? Verbatim or not, it's true.

I have been what all my siblings call 'Mini-mom' for years now, the baby sister everyone comes to when they need help, and as I've written here before, I've been through hell because of it.

One of the people crying at my party the other night was my brother, who picked that time to tell me that he was in danger of losing his house, that when he went back to work, it was at less pay, and that now he was falling behind on bills, including his mortgage.

I know my brother, and I know that he was sincerely upset about it, but I also know that he was hoping little sis would step in and say 'I'll fix it, bro'. Well, I didn't. My brother didn't get a tear-consoling hug; instead, he got a thorough bitching out from me. I didn't do the whole 'you should've never fucked up like you did' or 'I told you so' thing. What I bitched about went a little something like this:

'You know, Tom, you sit here and cry about how hard you have it, but have you done a single fucking thing to get yourself out of trouble? Have you called the mortgage company? Have you checked into refinancing? Have you made any effort whatsoever to get yourself out of this mess? Don't answer, 'cause I already know... and guess what, bro? I can't help you anymore until you help yourself.'

He didn't appreciate it at first, duh. He had a few choice words, words I met with a few of my own more choice ones, and I ended the conversation by telling him that for once in my life, I wanted to see just one of my siblings stand up and fight for what they wanted instead of having so little faith in themselves, they defer to me. I believe my final sentence was 'Tom, if you don't get your ass in gear and do what I know you can do, I will kick you so hard in the nuts, you'll menstruate'.

He went home, I spent all night with no sleep, worrying about, being angry at, and hoping for a miracle, yet most fully feeling horrible for not giving into instinct and paying his bills for him like I wanted to do, convinced that in the near future, I'd find out my brother had just packed up and moved away somewhere, leaving his house and every other responsibility behind... as if abandoning it would make it go away.

Being wrong, as I've said before, can be not just good, but damned near orgasmic.

The next day, I wake up from what little sleep I had, trying to do my own thing, worry about my own thing, yet still unable to stop worrying about my brother. Just when I find that tiny groove in my psyche that allowed me to forget about him for just a little bit, he calls. I hesitantly pick up the phone, and the man I hear on the other end is not the same Tom who was crying just hours ago.

Long story shorter, he'd called his mortgage company, told them exactly what was going on, all about him not working for awhile last year, the details, falling behind, getting his job back, the whole shebang, that he wanted to keep his house, and they're going to work with him to make sure that happens. Not only that, I was happily flabbergasted that he'd also demanded a raise from his boss (called the man and outright told him he deserved it and wasn't going to settle for less), and got it!

He'd done it, just like I knew he could!!! Didn't need me to do a single fucking thing, dammit, and for once, a sibling besides me knew that:)

I don't know where this fear of standing up for yourself comes from with my siblings, though I often blame my mother. Wherever it does come from, I'm just glad to see less of it lately. And if my being a bitch is what was needed to give my brother that push he needed, then let me be one hellacious beeyatch.

Gets me to reflecting.... those of you who've had any kind of contact with me know damned well that this is not the first time I've been a bitch. I have been colossal in my bitchiness, and as a result, I've hurt more feelings than I ever really meant to, shed a shade of light on me that I never intended to bask in, and have sparked enough defensive gossip from my victims to merit me at least one week's cover shot on your average tabloid. I know all of this, and I know that maybe I should apologize for it. Then again, I also know that the overwhelming majority of the time, if you've ever crossed my path and I've gone out of my way to be a bitch to you, as morbid as the following will sound, it's because I have seen ability in you that I know you don't see in yourself, much less take advantage of. The bitch in me gets pissed off at this, and because she sees the situation best, I tend to let her shriek forward and make the point far better than any other facet of me could. She usually is hated, but then again, she usually gets through, and whether it makes a friendship stronger or totally destroys one, that's a price I am totally willing to pay, an apology I'm just not ready to make anytime soon.

Quick note... I'm catching up on emails, so if you haven't heard from me yet after writing, bear with me, friends, ok? I owe you!

Final note-

-excerpt from an article written by Gordon Keith at QuickDFW.com

I've mentioned my 'boyfriend' before... Gordon Keith, a local radio personality on The Ticket, a sports station here. Gordo is an anomaly in sports radio in that he has very little to actually say about sports, but is so hilarious, The Ticket can't bear to not have him on the air. Anyway, he's been cool enough to share emails with my redneck self over that time, even though I'd lost touch, stopped keeping up with his site for awhile. Recently, I found time to go back and catch up, and was plesantly surprised to see that he was now a columnist for DFW Quick magazine. I clicked on one of his articles, and was so floored by this man's talent, I had to email him, asking him why in hell he wasn't a household name. His answer floored me even more... he said that he'd had a taste of fame before, and after sampling it, he decided to stick with the local fare:)

Personally, I can understand him deciding to stay local, just as long as he continues to write things I can access. I have been so blessed to interact on many levels with more unbelievable writers than you'd think my share merits, and Gordon Keith is absolutely one of them. Eric adores him, I adore him, and thank God, he's grounded enough to sate our adoration:) Check him out at Gordonkeith.com and QuickDFW.com... the man is a genius.

Ok, that's it for today. For all of you who stay so faithful... why? ;) Seriously, God bless you all, and if you don't have an absolutely great day today, let me know so that I can let the bitch loose on those who screwed your day up!

Sept. 5, 2006- more abstract, non-sequential thinking

I am kind of weirding myself out over how much I'm reacting to Steve Irwin's death. It's really almost as if I feel like I've lost a good friend. I've watched him and Terri for years, and adore them both. He was the kind of animal activist I could only dream of being, and sorry, but of all the famous folks' deaths we've seen in the last several years, this is one of the ones that will leave this world just that less special. He was a bit dorky, a bit silly, a lot hyper, even more special, but when impact is most respectfully defined, Steve Irwin met the definition. And if the national and local news stations would try for once to not exploit such a death by doing pieces from aquariums where the reporter's in a wetsuit, standing in a sting ray aquarium, maybe those of us who really did appreciate Irwin for who he was could get on with continuting to appreciate him instead of guffawing at just how hoaky even the most 'respected' news channels tend get in their cheapening coverage.

Political polls.... most people hate Republicans now. I couldn't agree more, and to kick you Lefters just as hard, the same polls say that the Democrats are only slightly less loathed than their conservative adversaries. What do I say? I say good Goddamn call. We are in a re-visitation of the Gilded Age, substituting a Boss Bush for the usual Tweed, figuratively mutating and replicating the smaller historical Tammany Hall into the Tammany States of America. For those of you who don't have a clue as to what I'm talking about, I'll just say that political corruption, derivation from the true American Spirit, and the strangling of the people's collective voice are all reality now more than ever, not just some easily dismissable conspiracy uttered by nerdy virgins with political science degrees... people we used to dismiss. And I don't apologize for a second in saying that unless both parties undergo hearty soul-felt makeovers, I'm voting Independent, even if voting such means I vote for a former porn star, wrestler, or current Ty Beanie Baby. We'd all fare better with any of them than we would the current puppets we have on Capitol Hill, I hate to say. In a nutshell, I for once am really, really worried about the state of the Union.

The holiday weekend was peaceful for the most part, but only because it was drenched in rain, keeping my usually 'assholic' neighbors inside and quiet. I did have a fairly big party here Sunday, a party which wasn't quite so peaceful because I ended up having to counsel and console drunk friends rather than actually enjoy the party. Then again, those of you who've ever had any kind of gathering at your house that involves the words 'proof' or 'pack' know full well that throwing a party is not nearly as much fun as attending one. Hostessing is a job that starts long before the party's start and extends long past its end, but to me, the worst part of hostessing is during. Throwing a party should give a person automatic college credit, if you ask me... either that or a complete tax break.

Anyway, I ended up spending my night between making sure people didn't let cats out of the house, calming down dangerously macho men, and drying people's tears, especially when they were 'hurt' that I wouldn't give them their car keys. Pool table or not... I ain't having another get together anytime soon unless I wake up one day and find that my tits have turned to platinum, the areolas to gold, and my nipples to flawless diamonds. That's about the only event in which I'd consider having a celebration and dealing with higher-volume messy drinking dysfunction anytime soon.

The house is coming along, the demolition just about done, the lipstick and rouge stepping in and making this girl we call our house just that more desirable. It hurts to write those checks that make the previous possible, but I'll live.

Ghost-wise, I believe I finally met my grandmother-in-law this weekend. Background to what I'm about to tell you... Eric's grandmother owned and ran a bar and grill for years before she passed on. Her place was successful, very much so, and I suspect (from all Eric, his family, and everyone who knew her told me), that her success had a lot to do with the kind of woman Ruby was. She had the looks of a siren, the balls of a man, the pool-playing wit of Mizerak, and could clean a table full of poker sharks out of their savings in an hour's time. She was beautiful, passionate, smart, and tough as hell when she needed to be... even when she didn't need to be, and from everything I've heard about her from everyone who ever knew her, I've always thought the powers that be sucked for not letting me know this woman while she was alive, for making sure that I didn't even meet Eric until she'd been on the other side for years.

Onward in this story, awhile ago, Eric's mother gave me Ruby's pool stick to safeguard, which I did, and still do. When I bought this pool table for Eric, I decided to take Ruby's stick, the one I'd been told she'd won bet after bet while using, and have it repaired... and this weekend, after the party we threw, after everyone was gone and my freedom was restored, I decided to pull 'the stick' out and try it. A solo practice game of 8-ball, just to see how the stick felt, my respect for its origin fully in place, and my hope that maybe the grandma I never knew might be there, give me some support.

Apparently, I was aiming a little too high.... a lot too high.

I sucked while shooting with this stick, practicing over and over again, still hitting misaligned cut-shots and outright retarded bank shots, cursing out loud and deciding that I really am just going to let Eric, our friends and family use the goddamned table.

But that's not when Ruby comes in.

Ruby comes in when I'm leaning over the table for the umpteenth practice game, trying to make the 2-ball into the corner, and just before I shoot, I feel a tug on the back of my stick behind me, snap around and see nobody there (Eric was at Home Depot, nowhere near the house), much less any animal, piece of furniture, or anything that might cause that sensation.

Still, I dismiss it after a few seconds, sure I've just felt something totally explainable, then turn back to resume setting up the shot... and this time, I swear to God, someone takes a huge grab at the thickest part of the stick, right as I'm about to shoot, and shoves it forward, ruining the shot, after which I spin around again, do not freak out, but instead say 'Whatever, Ruby. Your stick sucks anyway', and immediately after that, I put her stick up and grab one of the sticks that came with the table... and I shoot the best practice game of the day.

So, my grandmother-in-law apparently either doesn't approve of me as a whole or she doesn't approve of how horribly I play pool, and doesn't want her stick associated with it. When Eric came home and I told him about what had happened, he seemed to think that she was trying not to jerk the stick away from me, but help me aim. Then again, Eric's sometimes a bit too much the diplomat;)

For those of you who don't believe in this kind of thing, maybe that's good, 'cause I really would hate to think that any of us could receive the same amount of shit from our passed in-laws when the living ones are bad enough;)

Ok, that's it. To all of you who come here so often.... I love you punks:)

Aug. 29, 2006

Hallelujah, the cooler weather's here! After sooooooooo many 100 plus degree days, my area was inundated with rain, bringing a heat-hater like me cooler temperatures and a much nicer attitude. I can only pray that this is the official end of three-digit days around here. Oh, bad news about the rain... we discovered a leak in the cats' new room, which at first freaked both Eric and me out, but fortunately we think we located the leak's origin, and if we're right, it's not going to involve any more than resealing a tiny section of flashing. Not bad for having built an entire addition from the ground up, huh? Now I just jinxed myself. Watch me go to bed tonight and wake up in the morning with a collapsing room.

Speaking of cooler weather, I'm looking forward to October, my favorite month sporting my favorite holiday. Thanksgiving's okay, if you like turkey and football, green bean casserole, puffed up family members you'd really rather not be around even once a year, and Black Friday. Christmas has totally lost all its charm in my eyes, its magic sapped out of me by too much commerce, not enough good will. But October and Halloween... that's a season, and that's a holiday. I just love it, still feel its magic thick around me in the air, plus there's a shitload of good scary movies splattered across my cable that whole month;)

Charges have been dropped against Karr in the Jon Benet murder case. And according to the several emails I got after my first entry on this subject, looks like I'm not the only one who's not surprised. At risk of lacking major couth here, I'm sorry, but I don't think that Barney Fifish little pedophile has enough intelligence or strength in him to pull off a good bowel movement, much less a ten-year cold murder.

I've been so busy with this house, I haven't had time to do much of anything. In fact, and this is gross, I was working on a front room yesterday when it dawned on me that I was not only wearing the same thing I'd had on yesterday, when I stopped to smell myself, I realized that this was the same thing I'd had on two days before, too. Even worse, I hadn't bathed, AND I couldn't remember if I'd brushed my teeth more than once in the last couple of days. I am such a hottie. If I were still single, homeless men would be lining up around the block to take a stab at winning my unhygienic affections. I'm all cleaned up, brushed up, shaved (no, not my face. Give me a few more pre-menopausal years for that), and cleanly dressed now... I almost regret it;)

I have seriously slacked off with writing, and I don't fret about it, which separates me from most real writers. I don't have time right now, and as I've always said, I just don't have the passion needed to pursue being a writer. However, what I do feel bad about is that I've run out of things to read when it comes to my online writer friends. Guys and gals, you know who you are, I know you're reading this, so get your fingers off of whatever they're on right now (and with some of you, I can only imagine what they're on), and SATE ME, GODDAMMIT!!!!

Don't know if I mentioned this before, but two of my foster kittens, little solid black females sent to me by an angel dog named Bubby, I've renamed. They are now Sassy LeFay Dunbar and Pickles McFrench. Pickles especially loves her name, and I do, too. I find it so reminiscent of a 50's burlesque dancer who's sugar daddy was probably someone like Jack Ruby. Anyway, both names just fit the girls better, and who am I kidding, calling them fosters; they're probably going to end up living here permanently.

Family all seems to be holding their own, and I say that because not a one's called us and asked for help in awhile. It sucks to know that just about the only time you're ever going to hear from any of your blood, it's because they need something. Then again, it's also nice lately to know that nothing's needed, you know?

Ghostly stuff- I haven't written much about it, the Baker or anything supernatural lately, but that's because not much is happening. Nothing new that I know of at the Baker other than a couple of dreams, no new visits from my passed pets, but if anything, my 'stink' ghost (for you newcomers, he's a spirit who died in this house twenty or so years ago and who has pulled a couple of pranks here in the house relating to litterbox smell and how much he doesn't like it) is apparently thrilled to death that we're doing so much work on the front of the house. Someone patted me on the back two days ago as I chunked the last bit of old sheetrock out the window into my wheelbarrow, and when I turned around to ask Eric what he was doing up so early, nobody was there. And a few days ago when I was standing in the front bedroom with Eric, looking at the floor I'd just stripped all the old parquet up from, I said 'I think this floor's just going to have to be carpeted, it'll be too much to refinish it', the door behind us closed on its own fairly hard, something that door's never done. I don't know if that was our 'landlord' agreeing with us or bitching about carpet, but if he doesn't like Berber, all I have to say to him is 'too bad, buddy'. Other than that, though, not much of anything. A few dreams of a few things, but nothing that digs at me to write about here. Maybe October's approach will change that:)

My friends are good, my animals are good, and my husband, bless his heart, is better than ever:) He's got a vacation coming up, during which he wants to head up to upstate New York and rent a cabin, and this is something I'd like to do, too, provided I can find a cat kennel in the area who can watch both TeeTee and Wrigley. I've been trying, believe me, but it's hard to find a good deal for both when my opening words are something like 'Hi, I was reading up on how great your kennel is, and I was just wondering if you could take in a cat who has grand mal seizures daily despite medication along with a cat who can't pee or crap on her own, and who needs you to do it for her. Whatcha think? Can you watch these two for a week without either killing them or killing my bank account?'. Yeah, this will be tough, but I haven't had any real kind of vacation since we went to New Orleans in October of 2000. I'm due. I am SO fucking due!!!!! There are how many millions of people in the DFW area??? Odds are, at least one kennel/clinic will be able to watch TeeTee and Wrigley on my terms at a price I can afford.

Ok, that's enough catching up for now. I'll get deep again one of these days with these entries, as if I were ever truly deep. Still, depth shoved aside, I hope you all are kicking life's ass with gusto, living, never forgetting, and always laughing... even when you probably shouldn't be;)

Aug. 25, 2006- More random observations

I've been busting my ass on renovations the last couple of days. I've been ripping up parquet flooring (with Eric's help), tearing down hideously outdated paneling from a front bedroom, only to find sheetrock walls underneath with phrases like 'Fuck you, motherfucker', and 'suck my dick' scrawled across them in pencil (Gee, I wonder if the people who had this house before us had a teenager?), tearing down ceilings, and laboriously scooping up all the demolition and hauling it away. Yeahhhhhh, go happy special funtime. And during all these activities, I think I've said 'fuck' or one of its derivatives a record number of times.

The word 'fuck' is a good word, I think. Often snubbed by those too anal to handle it's hearing or utterance, yet a damned good word, nevertheless... sometimes, it just feels good to say the kind of guttural sound the word 'Fuck' makes. I haven't looked it up to verify, but from what I understand via plain old coffee table convo, seems the word originates from an acronym... For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge. If it's true, that's funny, because I don't think I hear the word used nearly as much to describe anything carnal as I do to describe outright frustration, and I'm sorry but there are times in my life where no word but 'fuck' will really allow me to truly express myself. Seriously, which sentence, given the circumstances, just 'feels' better to say and express- 'My goodness, a bus just crashed into my house and destroyed it. I am so upset'... or 'FUCK!!!!!! A bus just crashed into my house and destroyed it! FUCK!!!!!!'. Either you get my point or you don't, and if you don't get my point, I bet my fuckin' ass you don't ever use the word, religiously citing pseudo-moral reasons when in reality those reasons involve Freud more than Jesus.

I've been watching more 'Starting Over', and as I watch it, I wonder why I punish myself with such therapeutic bullshit, yet also thank my lucky stars I've never met this kind of therapist. For example, one woman who moved into the Starting Over house came there to battle both her addictions and her body image problems. So, what do the therapists do to cure her? They make her, amongst other bullshit, take a tequila bottle and smash it into a fireplace, then make her go and put on a bikini so that a couple of guys can paint 'body art' onto her... problems solved. One, if you're going to make a woman with body perception problems dress skimpily in front of a couple of men, at least make the men cute while paying them to flirt with her, and two, that was a damned nice bottle of tequila that show wasted. I could've lived a week off that Mexican concoction, but nooooooo!

Seriously, though, this show and their therapists I don't think are nearly as inclined to actually help their patients/participants as they are to induce reaction that might grab ratings. And in their defense, any idiot who goes on a reality TV therapy show with the expectation of actually getting better damned near deserves the idiocy they experience as a result. Ultimately, I'm the worst hypocrite, 'cause I watch it, therefore, I enable it. I rock. At least Jerry Springer doesn't pretend to help anyone in exchange for ratings. The Jerry Springer Show is what it is, as dysfunctional as it is, makes no apologies, and that's a far cry from a show like Starting Over, whose dysfunction is severe enough to claim that they restore function when they don't.

Dysfunction junction, what's your function... fuckin' with women just to cause a commotion... (Thanks, Allison, LOL!)

Onto other stuff-

Nigel the parvo dog is doing well... in fact, so well, he's driving us nuts. He's hyper, loud, and loving being with our foster dogs Frankie and Fuzzy so much that he literally bothers them all day long, jumping on them, wanting them to play with him while they just want him to leave them alone long enough for them to have a good nap. Also, I have to put fresh water on their side of the property three times a day minimum (in a HUGE bowl, btw) because the second I pour fresh water, Nigel's attacking the water bowl and splashing the stuff around so much that by the time he's done, Frankie and Fuzzy don't have enough left to drink. Still, this is all a much better problem to deal with and look at than the other option we were faced with not all that long ago... watching Nigel continue to poop and vomit bloody 'stuff' until he died. He's alive, and you know what, if I were dying, then miraculously beat death, I think I'd be hyper, too. Therefore, we all just let Nigel be Nigel, as annoying as that can be;)

Oh, and as for the opinions on what future job I should pursue, looks like most of you think I should be a vet tech, with Marketing/writing commercials coming in at a close second. We'll see, folks, but thanks for writing in!

Ok, I've had enough of a break, written all I can, so it's time to go back and tear down more house. Friends, I love you and send you all my thoughts and energy, and if you need more than that, just ask, and I'll give it:)

Aug. 22, 2006

Once again, a disorganized and often full of shit gathering of thoughts and what not-

• Well, we still haven't paid off the house yet, and I'm pissed off about it. Long story short, we've been buying this house for years from a couple under what they call a 'contract for deed', meaning we pay them monthly, they remain the property owners until the contract's fully met, then we all hit the title company and get the house fully in our name. Well, we've been sitting on an 18k final check for how many weeks now, waiting to hand it over and fully own our home, and this couple is shuffling their feet in finding a time to meet up with us at the title office. I will not be screwed on this, I promise you. I can see why they're shuffling; imagine the interest profit they're going to lose over an early pay-off, but trust me, they ain't screwing me.

• The cats' new room has officially been devirginized by the cats, and what a first time it was. They love their room, and at this very moment, while most could be in here with me, all but about five are in their room right now, lying across catruns, perches, you name it, just 25 feet away from me, and getting them to leave their room's about as successful as asking the American Idol execs to put Taylor Hicks in something other than a horribly cheesy Ford Commercial... i.e.- ain't happening anytime soon.

• I've been thinking about going back to 'outside' work again, have some avenues open to me, some job offers, some offers available upon completion of training, but I can't decide what I'd do best at pursuing, so those of you who either know me in person, have known me online for awhile, both, or for those of you who lurk, don't regularly talk to me, but who also feel you have an opinion on this question, which area of employment would you see best suited for me? And if you don't see it listed, please email me and tell me what you think I should pursue. Ok, here we go:

Marketing/Advertising-small time (very small), of course, but having to do with figuring out what a customer's product is about, and figuring out just the right way in which to best sell it to that customer's market(s).

Veterinary Technician-all the stuff I already do with my animals, only I get paid to do it to other people's animals.

Pharmacist assistant- drugs, drugs and more drugs, and there's a program offered here that I can take that'd make me able to help hand that lab candy out.

Bar Manager with possible ownership/investment opportunity. Good pay, I have experience, and the location is good.

That's what's been 'offered' to me recently, so if any of you think I should pursue any particular one, let me know. If you don't know it already, the email address is on the site:)

• Oh, my injuries from building the cats' room! The knee's fine now:) No more cyborgish knee brace required, and the injured calf on the other leg is nice and loose again, not giving me any problems.

• On another health note, there's a doctor whose site I found online who pisses me off. His name is Gabe Mirkin (M.D.), and according to him, if you take your resting heart rate and it's over 83, he says you're three times more likely to have a heart attack in the next three years. Guess what, Mirk? On my best day for the last fucking decade, I've had more than one resting heart rate reading of over 83, and I have yet to fucking keel over. You say that this is because the higher blood pressure involved in a higher heart rate is more likely to 'knock' arterial plaque loose and cause a heart attack. Guess what again? My blood pressure is gorgeous, Doc, and other docs say my heart's fine, but I'd like to thank you anyway for scaring the living shit out of me and every other human being who stumbled on your site who now is just waiting to keel over from the stress your incomplete and not-well-edited article gave them. I should be beyond maggot phase by now, according to your article. Ugh.

Finally, I have so many dear ones I'm thinking of right now. From my family to Arla whose kitty Eartha died unexpectedly, to another rescuer friend who is busting her ass as usual to make life better for the stray animals she encounters, to the rest of my Catbroads, who have a whole world of things going on with themselves and their families, to Allison, who's just amazingly strong enough for me to always marvel at, to my alpha buddies, who I am still amazed let me hang in with their group, to my 'graduated fanfic buds'... the women I either knew or knew of during my trip into the genre who are still around, who I've gotten to know better, and who I adore for their wit, talent, and so much more... All of you are in my thoughts every single day. But don't worry; none of you invade those thoughts, you're urged into them, greeted happily and welcomed with open arms, and I thank you for that!

August 17, 2006

Right off the bat, and if you want to hang me for saying this, then hang me, but after watching the recent coverage of the recent arrest in the Jon Benet murder case, I'm not so sure this guy's who they're looking for. Someone else besides me please email me and tell me you're doubting it, too. This man strikes me as a whacko with an obsession for Patsy Ramsey rather than Jon Benet who's confessing to something for either attention or to punish himself (he has a 2001 conviction for sex crimes). I'm sorry, but something about this just isn't right. The Ramsey's don't claim to know him, there are no ties as of yet proving that he's had any reason to know the family, much less be in Colorado during Christmas of 1996, but even more than that, just watching the guy during that whole Thailand press fiasco, watching his movements and bodily reactions.... something ain't right. And why is he saying things like 'I was there...', 'It was an accident', etc., implicating the hell out of himself, but when asked how he got into the house, all he can muster is a 'No comment'?

I may be wrong, and if I am, I hope they nail the bastard, but if I'm not, this will yet again be another example of the media gone wild, given too much power by us the viewers. At this point, though, I'm really leaning towards the possibility that this is a severely fucked up man who for whatever reason has decided to claim responsibility. Maybe as more information comes to light, more will make sense to me. I dunno.

Asshole of the month award, and to you country music lovers, I ain't apologizing-

-Troy Lee Gentry, of Montgomery Gentry, apparently thought it would be cool to pay someone for the right to purchase a tame bear, put it in a cage, then shoot at it with a bow and arrow until it was dead. But wait, he wasn't done. Mr. Gentry then tagged the body with a Minnesota hunting license and claimed he'd hunted it down in the wild.

You know, hunting a bear down for sport is bad enough, but if this is true, and Mr. Gentry did indeed do the equivalent to hunting fish in a barrel, I hope to God someone sticks him a cage in Watts, and lets a bunch of Crips and Bloods play hardcore rap in the background while they take shots at him with their nine MM's, intentionally missing the first several shots before graduating to flesh wounds and the more serious.

And if he is indeed 'innocent', I don't care. The sonofabitch hunted down a bear one way or another, and I have now added him to my list of asshole country folk who give the word Redneck a bad connotation.

In other news, seems a plane was diverted yesterday, making an emergency landing in Boston, fighter jets were sent scrambling, and all because a woman had a panic attack on the plane. I wonder how many of you at first wondered if it was me?;) Looks like me and the friendly skies won't be seeing each other too soon, at least until I can find a way to legally make myself unconscious during any flight I might take;) Seriously, though... Muslim extremists? Guess what? Whatever fear you're trying to install in us, the evil infidels, it's sadly working.

I have a new 'earworm' song... Gnarles Barkley's 'Crazy'. I can't get that goddamned song out of my head, and at this point, I don't know whether I love it or hate it. I'm leaning, though, towards hating it, especially since I've found myself answering the husband's latest questions and ramblings with things like 'Who do you, who do you, who do you, who do you think you aaarrreee?' and 'Maybe I'm crazzzzzzzzzyyyyyy, maybe you're crazzzzyyyyyyyy'. I'll save you the rest. I haven't had a song stick annoyingly in my head this much since 'Hey Ya'. Still, I like the song, and if there's any annoyance on any listener's part, I'd tend to blame it on play list saturation before the actual artists. Then again, maybe I'm craaaaaaaazyyyyyyyy! ;)

Hell, I have to go. I've punished you all enough today, anyway. Hope you're all well despite my blabbering, though!!:)

August 15, 2006- Probable multitude of typ-o screw ups and blabbering to follow

Why? Because in the last couple of days, I blew a knee out, pulled a calf-muscle (all as a result of constructing catwalks for the cats' room), I'm on heavy duty painkillers, and as a result, I'm flying high, more accurately highing fly, and am in a happy go lucky kind of pharmaceutical mood that insists I either talk my ass off, or write my ass off. And a not small ass it is. In any case, since the two different injuries have occurred on two different legs, I'm walking like someone who has a bladder insisting it empty itself in five seconds when the bathroom's a minimum of ten seconds away (if you're a woman, you really know that walk). I'm wearing a knee brace so big and thick, I'm pretty sure it qualifies me as being more robot than human now, and enough absorbine junior on my right leg's calf to make a huffer orgasm. I'm only 37. What the fuck is this?????

I managed to haul my crippled ass into the Jeep today and head up to the store to hunt for cats' room decorative stuff. Anyway, while driving up to WalMart and the Family Dollar store, it dawned on me during that short one-mile trek that I'd perhaps hit upon a not often thought about consipiracy. See, as I was driving down Saint Francis Avenue, I passed no less than four chunks of raven-black hair weave tendrils lying in the road.

As I passed the last one, noting how many chunks of weave strands I'd just seen, it occurred to me that this has been a less than unusual occurrence in my life. In fact, I can't tell you how many times I've been sauntering on down the road in my car, my eyes drawn to this and that piece of hair weave lying somewhere in the road.

Am I the only one who's seen this so often? And regardless of whether or not I'm the only one who's seen this, what in the hell is a piece of hair-weave doing in the road, anyway? How did it leave the tightly embedded place it had in a head of hair and fall off suddenly? And why is it always in the gutter or thoroughfare of a major street? I smell a weave conspiracy here, my friends, and I have a feeling it has something to do with the missing-sock-from-the-dryer thing.

Anyway, I get up to the store, despite the weave conundrum wracking my trying-to-drive-the-car brain, get my stuff from Wal Mart, then head on over to Family Dollar, where I pick out all the stuff I need for the cats' room, go to check out, then encounter an employee who I try to plesantly chat with, yet who doesn't know any more English than the words 'Thank you', 'Hello', and 'I don't Englissss'. I'm sorry but this pissed me off, because I ended up having to speak to her in my horribly broken Spanish, during which she looked at me as if it was ME who sucked, me who knew more Spanish words than she did English. Incidentally, while I was in there buying curtains and curtain rods, litterboxes, hinges, brackets, etc., half of the other customers were either black or white English speaking clientele, yet hispanic music is playing in the background on the overhead speakers, and the employees are all entirely not capable of communicating with half their customers. Why do I keep thinking 'Illegal' here? And if I'm right, how is Family Dollar Store getting away with this? This really bothers me.

I realize that we Americans are lazy in that most of us just haven't become as bi/multilingual as other countries have (I tend to think the majority of Americans just expect that our language should be 'the' language). Hell, go anywhere in Europe that doesn't boast English as the national language, walk into damned near any store, and in the very least, someone will be able to understand at least some of what you're saying and respond back to you because those countries have taken it upon themselves to learn a language beyond their own. I admire them for that, anyone for that, but Jesus... if you're not just visiting the U.S., but living and working here, in a national chain store, no less, shouldn't you know more than SIX FUCKING ENGLISH WORDS????

Moving on, the cats' room is turning out to be soooooo nice, not to mention cool, and the other night, I opened the door and let the cats go in and all check it out. They love all the nooks and crannies I've built for them, yet I don't quite expect that they've noticed that everything for them to climb, run, sleep and play on and in was all put together by screws, so that when we decide to sell the house, I can easily remove everything. Ignorance is bliss, but building a new cats' room in a new house will be anything but. In other words, I still want to move, but I'm just not looking forward to what that'll involve.

OH, and I'm going to be adding a recipe page to this site, by the way. I've had requests for recipes when I've written about cooking here, so I might as well put a recipe page up. There may be other changes to this page soon, so don't freak;)

God, I'm worn out again. So much more I wanted to say, so little energy reserve left in which to say it. And while I still have enough 'umph' in me to feed the husband, much less wake him up and get him ready to go to work, I'm afraid it's also my cue to get out of here.

I have so many friends I want to acknowledge first, but forgive me for grouping them... to those of you healing from recent wounds, to those of you who just recently first met face to face, having a wonderful time, to those of you who've had anything from the best of times to the worst of times, to those of you who are just so sure I'm not your friend or supporter... just know I'm thinking about you, and as much as I'm a cringer of organized religion, I still talk to my creator daily, and I never fail to ask him to give all of you more than enough.

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