My (much) younger half-sister with whom I share a Q tattoo, is spending her college Christmas break in Alabama with her mother, who lives forty-five minutes away from me. I'll have partial custody so I'm sure we'll be spending puh-lenty of quality time getting drunk, shopping together, and making cds. She's cuter, younger, with a killer bod so I've taken the only logical step: I started the Atkins diet today so at least I'll be thinner. I expect the excruciating headache tomorrow, followed by extreme bitchiness by mid-week. I will be svelte.
And what the hell are pork rinds, anyway?
Monday, November 28, 2005
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Virgin Turkey Chef
Confession: I'd never cooked a turkey before Thursday (or baked a ham or ever made a roast - basically I cook chicken or hamburger). During my marriage, my ex- cooked the "meat", while I made/burnt all the go-withs. Granted, it wasn't that difficult, but a round of applause here might be appropriate - I DID IT!
I prepped, cooked and baked all morning (the kittens like to wake up around 5 a.m. and there's no way to sleep through four sets of paws barrelling up and down the hallway), took a shower and put on clean pyjamas (why bother with buttons?). Then my son & I commenced feasting, washing it all down with a watermelon Bacardi Breezer in a fancy wine glass.
Today, I'm feeling kind of cocky - I may bake a ham.
I prepped, cooked and baked all morning (the kittens like to wake up around 5 a.m. and there's no way to sleep through four sets of paws barrelling up and down the hallway), took a shower and put on clean pyjamas (why bother with buttons?). Then my son & I commenced feasting, washing it all down with a watermelon Bacardi Breezer in a fancy wine glass.
Today, I'm feeling kind of cocky - I may bake a ham.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
I'm dreaming of a white Thanks-giv-ing...
Sometimes it's all too easy to bash the state of Alabama: rednecks, homophobes, possum, horrendous schools, no lotteries and not being able to buy alcohol on Sunday. BUT, one thing I have loved about this state since moving here three years ago is the scenic cotton fields blooming this time of year – it looks like miles and miles of snow when you squint just right. (No snow tires required).
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
About last night
I watched the American Music Awards last night while getting my neck licked by a sandpaper kitten tongue. Best moment: Cyndi Lauper and Sarah McLachlan performing Time after Time (in black and white). Flawless.
My son redeemed himself slightly: "Look at Lindsay Lohan - that's disgusting. Her arms are only this big...she has to wear a big dress to cover up how skinny she is. Why would she do that to herself - that's just gross."
Bless him.
My son redeemed himself slightly: "Look at Lindsay Lohan - that's disgusting. Her arms are only this big...she has to wear a big dress to cover up how skinny she is. Why would she do that to herself - that's just gross."
Bless him.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Home boy don't roll like that...
My son was grounded this weekend. It started with his attitude as I walked through the door Friday after a long, alcohol-free week at work. "There's no food in the house and you're so mean and you're starving me..why won't you drive me across town to McDonald's?" (I gave him a 5.0 for technique, 4.5 for timing). Then he kicked the dog. Sure, he SAID he was playing, but that’s obviously unacceptable.
Imagine two entire days and three WHOLE nights spent with an angry fifteen year old boy - listening to loud rap, watching crap tv shows and nagging for him to pick up after himself.
Next time I ground him, I’m sending him to someone else’s house.
Imagine two entire days and three WHOLE nights spent with an angry fifteen year old boy - listening to loud rap, watching crap tv shows and nagging for him to pick up after himself.
Next time I ground him, I’m sending him to someone else’s house.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Take one placebo and call me in the morning
We have a family tradition: avoid health care, medical professionals and medication at all costs (except beer, of course, which falls under the category of holistic numbing). This aversion isn't rational, but I suppose it's considered a weakness if thy body cannot heal thyself. Like any other ridiculous trait, I've inherited it.
My son was four when we were living on Ft. Campbell base housing. The playground was behind our house so I'd fill his little canteen with water, give him some chewy fruit snacks and send him out for the afternoon so I could study/play Minesweeper on the computer. There were huge concrete pipes - probably leftover bunkers from WWII or something - and the kids played on them, hiding inside or trying to knock one another off. One evening he came running in the house screaming, tears running down his dirt-streaked face. He had fallen off the pipe and hurt his arm, so I made him dinner, gave him a bath, and tucked him into bed.
His dad came home later and checked on him as he was sleeping. He asked me why I didn't take him to the emergency room - his arm was still discolored - what kind of idiot was I? (how many different types are there, and is it possible to fall under multiple categories?). A few hours later, they returned from the hospital with my son's full arm cast. I DID feel horrible. And I had been a medic? Thank goodness I never saw combat: "Oh, that's just a sucking chest wound - get your ass back out there!"
Oddly, this "suck it up" mentality doesn't extend to my kittens. Crackhead's (whose real name is Kennedy) fur fell out this week, and the other three's whiskers broke. I researched it on the internet and came to the conclusion that they had a rare and contagious fungus from the Amazon. I bundled up the kittens in the cat carrier, and off to the vet we went.
He checked for fungus, parasites, leukemia, aids, etc. and gave them a clean bill of health. He said they were very healthy, well-socialized and the fur must have fallen out from the stress of being abandoned or switching to solid food, since he could find no other medical explanation. Apparently, white kittens with blue eyes are often deaf, so Darren's kitten may have to learn to read lips.
Combined total weight of my four kittens: 5 pounds.
My son was four when we were living on Ft. Campbell base housing. The playground was behind our house so I'd fill his little canteen with water, give him some chewy fruit snacks and send him out for the afternoon so I could study/play Minesweeper on the computer. There were huge concrete pipes - probably leftover bunkers from WWII or something - and the kids played on them, hiding inside or trying to knock one another off. One evening he came running in the house screaming, tears running down his dirt-streaked face. He had fallen off the pipe and hurt his arm, so I made him dinner, gave him a bath, and tucked him into bed.
His dad came home later and checked on him as he was sleeping. He asked me why I didn't take him to the emergency room - his arm was still discolored - what kind of idiot was I? (how many different types are there, and is it possible to fall under multiple categories?). A few hours later, they returned from the hospital with my son's full arm cast. I DID feel horrible. And I had been a medic? Thank goodness I never saw combat: "Oh, that's just a sucking chest wound - get your ass back out there!"
Oddly, this "suck it up" mentality doesn't extend to my kittens. Crackhead's (whose real name is Kennedy) fur fell out this week, and the other three's whiskers broke. I researched it on the internet and came to the conclusion that they had a rare and contagious fungus from the Amazon. I bundled up the kittens in the cat carrier, and off to the vet we went.
He checked for fungus, parasites, leukemia, aids, etc. and gave them a clean bill of health. He said they were very healthy, well-socialized and the fur must have fallen out from the stress of being abandoned or switching to solid food, since he could find no other medical explanation. Apparently, white kittens with blue eyes are often deaf, so Darren's kitten may have to learn to read lips.
Combined total weight of my four kittens: 5 pounds.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Capital (One) Punishment - death by interest
I've always had a love-hate relationship with credit cards: I love the way they allow me to impulsively buy whatever my heart desires. I hate the way my heart desires forty pairs of shoes and the same shirt in five different colors!
My mother used to loan me her mastercard when I was sixteen years old since we had the same first intial and last name (I had to pay for it - she wasn't that generous). I was using it to charge a pair of jeans when the saleslady asked if I would like my own store credit card - with a driver's license and a master card, I'd have my own name stamped on a Hudson's card. The subsequent power trip was wonderful.
As a newlywed private in the Army four years later, my then husband told me that I'd have to cut ALL my credit cards...we would never get them paid off...then handed me scissors. Oh, sure, I fought and tried to cry my way out of it, as any decent drama queen will, but eventually they were cut and stuffed back in my wallet (you can still use the cards for phone orders with the account number - if you're a tad sneaky like that).
My credit has been fantastic for the past ten years or so, but moving three times this year meant sometimes there was a delay getting my mail and I made a few late payments (we're talking a DAY!). I bitched about the $35 fee each time, but paid it, thinking I had been duly punished. Au contraire. Capital One recently jacked up my interest rate to 27.9% .
I was livid...furious at this blatant robbery. I transferred the balance to a new credit card at 5.9% and feel like the best bargain shopper ever - I believe I will be buying myself a new digital camera - surprise! Credit card season is upon us - don't go to Capital One, even if they do have really great faux leather credit cards and their commercials are cute.
My mother used to loan me her mastercard when I was sixteen years old since we had the same first intial and last name (I had to pay for it - she wasn't that generous). I was using it to charge a pair of jeans when the saleslady asked if I would like my own store credit card - with a driver's license and a master card, I'd have my own name stamped on a Hudson's card. The subsequent power trip was wonderful.
As a newlywed private in the Army four years later, my then husband told me that I'd have to cut ALL my credit cards...we would never get them paid off...then handed me scissors. Oh, sure, I fought and tried to cry my way out of it, as any decent drama queen will, but eventually they were cut and stuffed back in my wallet (you can still use the cards for phone orders with the account number - if you're a tad sneaky like that).
My credit has been fantastic for the past ten years or so, but moving three times this year meant sometimes there was a delay getting my mail and I made a few late payments (we're talking a DAY!). I bitched about the $35 fee each time, but paid it, thinking I had been duly punished. Au contraire. Capital One recently jacked up my interest rate to 27.9% .
I was livid...furious at this blatant robbery. I transferred the balance to a new credit card at 5.9% and feel like the best bargain shopper ever - I believe I will be buying myself a new digital camera - surprise! Credit card season is upon us - don't go to Capital One, even if they do have really great faux leather credit cards and their commercials are cute.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Formation at 1300
My dog Skylar has taken over stepmother duties for my four new kittens. When she comes into the house, the first thing she does is count heads (preferably with tongue): okay, two kittens wrestling in the kitty litter, one hanging precariously on the curtains and one in the food bowl. Yep, all play toys present and accounted for.
When I took them all outside to enjoy the beautiful weather on Sunday, I know they wanted to run and frolic through the leaves. Nope. That overprotective stepmom wouldn't even let them wander.
When I took them all outside to enjoy the beautiful weather on Sunday, I know they wanted to run and frolic through the leaves. Nope. That overprotective stepmom wouldn't even let them wander.
Monday, November 14, 2005
Office Space(d)
What should have been a three-day weekend filled with adventure, glamour and travel turned into a couple of days to catch up on work and clean up cat vomit instead. Yeah, I've got your champagne wishes.
I went into work Friday AND Saturday to get caught up and because we're having an office relocation project - moving around desks and personnel (you know, 'cause I don't move enough in my HOME LIFE). I took over the area of my coworker AmesJay's - sexual freak extraordinaire IT guy who likes to watch porn at work. Yes, I doused the area in Lysol and spermicide.
Apparently, there are other inappropriate things he enjoys at work. He had forgotten to remove his things from two drawers, so I was helpfully throwing all his crap in a box. Guess who had a ziploc baggy with marijuana in it? On a MILITARY INSTALLATION! Oy.
As an amusing sidenote, my mom gave me the "drug" talk with me when I was fifteen after she found catnip in my desk drawer.
Lesson: keep your hands in your own drawers.
I went into work Friday AND Saturday to get caught up and because we're having an office relocation project - moving around desks and personnel (you know, 'cause I don't move enough in my HOME LIFE). I took over the area of my coworker AmesJay's - sexual freak extraordinaire IT guy who likes to watch porn at work. Yes, I doused the area in Lysol and spermicide.
Apparently, there are other inappropriate things he enjoys at work. He had forgotten to remove his things from two drawers, so I was helpfully throwing all his crap in a box. Guess who had a ziploc baggy with marijuana in it? On a MILITARY INSTALLATION! Oy.
As an amusing sidenote, my mom gave me the "drug" talk with me when I was fifteen after she found catnip in my desk drawer.
Lesson: keep your hands in your own drawers.
Friday, November 11, 2005
Have you groped a veteran today?
From private high school to a geeky college, I was as wholesome as they come...didn't swear, hadn't tried drugs, didn't drink (much), and had only been with one guy. I was young, idealistic, and determined to put myself through college, one student loan at a time. Enter one Army recruiter who promised me the world. And I, young naive thing, believed him when he said I could choose where I'd like to be stationed. Lying bastard.
We all have defining moments in life, a specific incident or event that changes our perspectives forever. There I was, in Basic training, with my well-behaved self and stylish asymetrical haircut...completely out of my element. Reserved and quiet means I usually come across as arrogant, but a big female oaf from the Projects in Chicago was determined to put me in my place.
This particular day of training was spent with pugil sticks (from the latin meaning, "to fight, rock 'em, sock 'em, robot style, while bopping your opponent in the head"). I've seen a similar set up on Survivor: two opponents face each other on a beam, then try to pummel one other using a long pole, with two padded ends, until one falls off. This was also the day we learned how to gore a potential enemy with a bayonet attached to an M-16...bloodthirsty drill sargents, geez.
My opponent, Ms. Badass Chicago street fighter thought being street savvy meant she was going to wipe me all over Ft. Jackson, South Carolina and I'd run back to the barracks snivelling, begging her in the future to help polish her boots. She was a gangly 5'10", I was a slight 5'7", which I think actually helped me in the end (lower center of gravity). What she didn't know is that I had been captain of the lacrosse team - I was well-versed in the handling of sticks. So I played her like a weekend tournament, pushed her ass off the beam, and emerged victorious. HA! I learned that I'm not intimidated by anyone (with the possible exception of Colin Farrell, naked) and she learned not to judge OR trust the quiet ones in BDU's. Win-win.
My two years as a medic was child's play compared to the sacrifices soldiers and their families make daily for our freedom. Give thanks for them today and every day - I do.
We all have defining moments in life, a specific incident or event that changes our perspectives forever. There I was, in Basic training, with my well-behaved self and stylish asymetrical haircut...completely out of my element. Reserved and quiet means I usually come across as arrogant, but a big female oaf from the Projects in Chicago was determined to put me in my place.
This particular day of training was spent with pugil sticks (from the latin meaning, "to fight, rock 'em, sock 'em, robot style, while bopping your opponent in the head"). I've seen a similar set up on Survivor: two opponents face each other on a beam, then try to pummel one other using a long pole, with two padded ends, until one falls off. This was also the day we learned how to gore a potential enemy with a bayonet attached to an M-16...bloodthirsty drill sargents, geez.
My opponent, Ms. Badass Chicago street fighter thought being street savvy meant she was going to wipe me all over Ft. Jackson, South Carolina and I'd run back to the barracks snivelling, begging her in the future to help polish her boots. She was a gangly 5'10", I was a slight 5'7", which I think actually helped me in the end (lower center of gravity). What she didn't know is that I had been captain of the lacrosse team - I was well-versed in the handling of sticks. So I played her like a weekend tournament, pushed her ass off the beam, and emerged victorious. HA! I learned that I'm not intimidated by anyone (with the possible exception of Colin Farrell, naked) and she learned not to judge OR trust the quiet ones in BDU's. Win-win.
My two years as a medic was child's play compared to the sacrifices soldiers and their families make daily for our freedom. Give thanks for them today and every day - I do.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Beware of Couch Potato
I accidentally locked myself out of the house, popped out the screen in the living room and crawled through the window - while my dog casually watched from the couch.
No, no, honey, don't get up...here, let me fetch some of your toys for you (my smart ass dog enjoys sarcasm).
Crazy napdog...
No, no, honey, don't get up...here, let me fetch some of your toys for you (my smart ass dog enjoys sarcasm).
Crazy napdog...
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Audience of One
2:45
This is my new record for a monologue cleverly disguised as a phone conversation.
Bill & I have been friends for over twenty years. We don't see each other often because we both move regularly and frequently, but I'm starting to think our "friendship" should be redefined...he probably couldn't tell you what I do, where I live or if I'm single. Our phone calls, you see, consist entirely of BILL.
This summer, he:
This is my new record for a monologue cleverly disguised as a phone conversation.
Bill & I have been friends for over twenty years. We don't see each other often because we both move regularly and frequently, but I'm starting to think our "friendship" should be redefined...he probably couldn't tell you what I do, where I live or if I'm single. Our phone calls, you see, consist entirely of BILL.
This summer, he:
- quit his job of seventeen years in order to enjoy life and travel
- took second in a Mr. Speedo contest (why would someone admit to owning a Speedo?).
- learned how to sail on Martha's Vineyard with James Taylor
- went to the Emmy Awards, where he sat behind and talked to the cast of Desperate Housewives
- talked to Donald Trump
- met and discarded 72 soulmates (fortunately, I had the sense to lie about picking up my son somewhere before he could carry on about his love life)
Hmmmm. No wonder we never talk about me.
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Stop the Cheesecake
Pet peeve for the day: Sarah Lee's slogan "Nobody doesn't like Sarah Lee".
Since when are double negatives catchy? HUH? Good grief. I will be boycotting her frozen cheesecake until something less grammatically awkward comes along.
Since when are double negatives catchy? HUH? Good grief. I will be boycotting her frozen cheesecake until something less grammatically awkward comes along.
Friday, November 04, 2005
Uh-oh...better get Geico
Ever been standing in your bathroom, freshly showered and wrapped in a towel, when you look up and notice a lizard curiously watching you? Okay, so maybe he wasn't curious - maybe he was just as FREAKED out as I was.
It's closing time, pal - I don't care where you go, but you can't stay here.
I grabbed last month’s Cosmo, put it near the lizard, and gingerly had him crawl onto…Scarlett Johansson. So far, so good. I started walking towards the door, when the lizard decided to take a FLYING leap for freedom…and havoc ensued.
I’m a cult leader of my house – a dog, two cats and four kittens are usually no further than 5 ft away from me at any given moment (under my feet is preferable). As the lizard dropped (semi-flew) and scrambled towards my closet, I screeched, the dog bolted, the cats pounced, and my sleeping son yelled ("MOM! I'm trying to sleep!"...concerned about me, per usual). My towel also fell off at some point during this chase, which somehow seems more appropriate: naked lizard hunting.
Sometimes I seriously believe my life is a series of Animal Kingdom episodes.
I grabbed last month’s Cosmo, put it near the lizard, and gingerly had him crawl onto…Scarlett Johansson. So far, so good. I started walking towards the door, when the lizard decided to take a FLYING leap for freedom…and havoc ensued.
I’m a cult leader of my house – a dog, two cats and four kittens are usually no further than 5 ft away from me at any given moment (under my feet is preferable). As the lizard dropped (semi-flew) and scrambled towards my closet, I screeched, the dog bolted, the cats pounced, and my sleeping son yelled ("MOM! I'm trying to sleep!"...concerned about me, per usual). My towel also fell off at some point during this chase, which somehow seems more appropriate: naked lizard hunting.
Sometimes I seriously believe my life is a series of Animal Kingdom episodes.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Embarrassing moment #1,037
Arriving at the McDonald's drive-thru pay window just as you remember your son taking your last bit of cash the night before.
Payback's a biatch, I hear.
[early training session for my son: yes, it's bread and water - you'll eat it and LIKE IT!]
Payback's a biatch, I hear.
[early training session for my son: yes, it's bread and water - you'll eat it and LIKE IT!]
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Solitary confinement
I’m a bit of a loner, I suppose. Being an only child for fifteen years, never having to share a bathroom, and always winning my Monopoly tournaments (my banker persona always won – bitch!). I’m self sufficient. In fact, if I were to ever marry again, the perfect scenario would be a duplex, with a Holiday Inn-like adjoining door so we could just visit. And I would never have to watch Fox news. Or listen to AC/DC. EVAH!
Some days, though, when I'm hormonal and overly sensitive, what I really want, more than anything, is a nice strong pair of arms…to put my clothes in the dryer for me (and could you bring me a beer, while you’re up?)
Some days, though, when I'm hormonal and overly sensitive, what I really want, more than anything, is a nice strong pair of arms…to put my clothes in the dryer for me (and could you bring me a beer, while you’re up?)
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Tuesday's Quirky Six-ish
Main Entry: id·i·o·syn·cra·sy
characteristic peculiarity (as of temperament);
broadly: ECCENTRICITY
Seems easy enough:
1. I love LISTS!
2. I only eat one thing on my plate at a time (this seems to drive people crazy).
3. I can bake, but not cook.
4. I wrap Christmas presents for my pets every year and put them under the tree.
5. Sleep: I need a FLAT pillow, complete darkness and no noise. Even then, it's not a given.
6. I keep all the money in my wallet facing the same way, with larger bills in the back, and silently curse cashiers who hand me change going every which way.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
MSN Archives: June 2005
Dickless in Alabama
The more I try to understand people and their motives, the more I realize I just have no fucking clue. I should probably try to spend more time focusing on...shiny objects and comic books.
Donnie Darko....wow. Interesting movie with quite possibly the best soundtrack out there (Tears for Fears, Echo and the Bunnymen, etc.). Which brings me to my thought of the day:
"What is the point of living if you don't have a dick?"
- Donnie Darko
Outsourcing
The Plan: my dad and his new wife, both teachers with the Summer off, drove from Michigan to Alabama this weekend to take my 15 year old son back with them (yahooooooo!). My dad will have cheap labor for his canoe livery and my son will have money for more Insane Clown Posse cds. Win-win. It sure sounds a helluva lot more interesting than spending nights on AOL instant messenger and sleeping in 'til noon.
Revision: they think it will last for the summer - I'm hoping for two weeks (I'm a realist). Still, that's fourteen days without that drama queen AND I won't have to cook...I can have beer and popcorn for dinner EVERY night...walk around naked if I want and go gambling in Biloxi. Well, er, actually nothing much will change, but I'm still looking forward to the break.
I will now be under the constant and diligent care of my therapist, Bud Light.
Will the real Indigo...please sit down
Busted. I get sucked into drama rather easily, which causes me to stay awake all night overanalyzing EVERY little thing. True to form, for today anyway, lots of introspection (with the added bonus of headache and bloodshot eyes).
Only ONE person in my real life, a very dear friend, reads my blog. We talked about some things last time I saw him, how I have a hard time telling him about some of my less-than-stellar moments because I don't want to lose his respect. He made me realize it's an insult to our friendship if I feel he'll judge me for mistakes I've made. He's absolutely right, so sometimes maybe he won't want to hear about my vibrator or sex-capades, but it was the right decision, apparently, because he's still talking to me.
Am I real here?
I opened up about being a cheater in my marriage recently, and the events that led to its demise. Someone told me they didn't agree with my actions, but the fact that I opened myself up made them respect me and feel they knew me better. I don't always have earth-shattering confessions..it's entirely too draining but I open up a little at a time.
Flaws? You betcha.
Who the hell doesn't have them?? I'm insecure, always have been. I mentioned once a few months ago that I wish I could fix that and not be concerned with negative feedback. I posted my legs last weekend - a HUGE step for me.
I'm also petty, perhaps (okay, yes). My feelings were hurt when Pariah deleted mine and other's links yesterday - it seemed to me he wasn't being supportive of Lisa. I delete some here occasionally to clean house - people don't update often or I realize I'm not visiting their spaces. I didn't agree with his reasoning, but it's HIS decision. I probably didn't need to keep calling him a fucker.
Final observation:
I hate being ignored. Doesn't everyone? If I ask for an explanation...I want one, dammit (slightly off topic, but a pet peeve: people that leave comments saying "this is too long for me to read, but hello anyway"...uh...then why are you saying anything?)
In real life, you have the advantage of seeing facial expressions when you speak...here, you have to wait for some sort of acknowledgement. Have you ever seen Harley motorcycle drivers nod to one another on the highway? It's a simple gesture (I think it means "yo, our hogs are better and our dicks are bigger"). If only there was a way to share a space "nod" with someone. Or a checkbox in the comments section "Yes, I have read and understand what you're saying" for some sort of feedback.
Say something, say something, anything
I’ve shown you everything
Give me a sign
Say something, say something, anything
Your silence is deafening
Pay me in kind
- James
Employee Evaluations...who's next?
So my boss is on vacation this week and we, as the three managers under him, are rotating days of being in charge. Hump day had my name all over it.
Lunch included margaritas...and we're having some sort of rum coconut concoctions this afternoon. Days like these, I can't believe they actually PAY ME to work here.
----
I wasn't going to write about this because I don't want my IT guy to read it (I think he found my blog site)...but yesterday at work after everyone else had left, he had locked the front door and was "working" at his desk. I received an email that I needed to reply to so I wasn't paying much attention - but then I could hear some rustling and out of the corner of my eye I could see his hand - he was WHACKING OFF at his desk.
What kind of freaking perverts (um, and lushes, crackheads and whores) do I work with??
This Moron's Mantra
After breaking up my ex- and his new girlfriend, I had a change of heart. To assuage my guilt, I kept trying to call her, explain things to her and apologize - something I seem to get an excessive amount of practice doing. I'm the tornado and the cleanup crew, rolled into one. My ex finally said, "please stop helping."
In the immortal words of Britney, "oops, I did it again." I offer my heartfelt apologies for my actions, which always seem to come together like a good sitcom in my mind, but fail miserably upon execution. I WILL NOT MEDDLE.
If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, I'm three-quarters of the way there.
On the 10th Day, He Strode Again
Great news: a phone call from my son last night. After a week and a half in Michigan at my dad's, he hasn't worn out his welcome yet, YES! Looks like plan "ship the kid out and find trouble" is moving along according to schedule! My father, obviously, is a saint.
Vanity vs. Sanity
I've broken my nose twice. I don't recall the first time, but for the second, I was backstroking my way across the pool during swim team warm-up. Daydreaming and admiring the way my boobs floated above the water (okay, confession, I still do this in the bathtub - surround them with bubbles and they look like islands in the clouds - fascinating). I hoped I would drown after a diver landed on my face. Score: 5.8
As I was adding up my lodging, gas and food receipts from my Florida trip the other week, it occurred to me that I spent more than if I had gotten a nose job, maybe something along the lines of Meg Ryan's cute little button of a nose...or Sharon Stone's. Looks like I'll be living with my twice-broken, slightly crooked, nosebleeding, deviated-septum monstrosity a little longer.
Sometimes being impulsive is not all it's cracked up to be.
The more I try to understand people and their motives, the more I realize I just have no fucking clue. I should probably try to spend more time focusing on...shiny objects and comic books.
Donnie Darko....wow. Interesting movie with quite possibly the best soundtrack out there (Tears for Fears, Echo and the Bunnymen, etc.). Which brings me to my thought of the day:
"What is the point of living if you don't have a dick?"
- Donnie Darko
Outsourcing
The Plan: my dad and his new wife, both teachers with the Summer off, drove from Michigan to Alabama this weekend to take my 15 year old son back with them (yahooooooo!). My dad will have cheap labor for his canoe livery and my son will have money for more Insane Clown Posse cds. Win-win. It sure sounds a helluva lot more interesting than spending nights on AOL instant messenger and sleeping in 'til noon.
Revision: they think it will last for the summer - I'm hoping for two weeks (I'm a realist). Still, that's fourteen days without that drama queen AND I won't have to cook...I can have beer and popcorn for dinner EVERY night...walk around naked if I want and go gambling in Biloxi. Well, er, actually nothing much will change, but I'm still looking forward to the break.I will now be under the constant and diligent care of my therapist, Bud Light.
Will the real Indigo...please sit down
Busted. I get sucked into drama rather easily, which causes me to stay awake all night overanalyzing EVERY little thing. True to form, for today anyway, lots of introspection (with the added bonus of headache and bloodshot eyes).
Only ONE person in my real life, a very dear friend, reads my blog. We talked about some things last time I saw him, how I have a hard time telling him about some of my less-than-stellar moments because I don't want to lose his respect. He made me realize it's an insult to our friendship if I feel he'll judge me for mistakes I've made. He's absolutely right, so sometimes maybe he won't want to hear about my vibrator or sex-capades, but it was the right decision, apparently, because he's still talking to me.
Am I real here?
I opened up about being a cheater in my marriage recently, and the events that led to its demise. Someone told me they didn't agree with my actions, but the fact that I opened myself up made them respect me and feel they knew me better. I don't always have earth-shattering confessions..it's entirely too draining but I open up a little at a time.
Flaws? You betcha.
Who the hell doesn't have them?? I'm insecure, always have been. I mentioned once a few months ago that I wish I could fix that and not be concerned with negative feedback. I posted my legs last weekend - a HUGE step for me.
I'm also petty, perhaps (okay, yes). My feelings were hurt when Pariah deleted mine and other's links yesterday - it seemed to me he wasn't being supportive of Lisa. I delete some here occasionally to clean house - people don't update often or I realize I'm not visiting their spaces. I didn't agree with his reasoning, but it's HIS decision. I probably didn't need to keep calling him a fucker.
Final observation:
I hate being ignored. Doesn't everyone? If I ask for an explanation...I want one, dammit (slightly off topic, but a pet peeve: people that leave comments saying "this is too long for me to read, but hello anyway"...uh...then why are you saying anything?)
In real life, you have the advantage of seeing facial expressions when you speak...here, you have to wait for some sort of acknowledgement. Have you ever seen Harley motorcycle drivers nod to one another on the highway? It's a simple gesture (I think it means "yo, our hogs are better and our dicks are bigger"). If only there was a way to share a space "nod" with someone. Or a checkbox in the comments section "Yes, I have read and understand what you're saying" for some sort of feedback.
Say something, say something, anything
I’ve shown you everything
Give me a sign
Say something, say something, anything
Your silence is deafening
Pay me in kind
- James
Employee Evaluations...who's next?
So my boss is on vacation this week and we, as the three managers under him, are rotating days of being in charge. Hump day had my name all over it.
Lunch included margaritas...and we're having some sort of rum coconut concoctions this afternoon. Days like these, I can't believe they actually PAY ME to work here.
----
I wasn't going to write about this because I don't want my IT guy to read it (I think he found my blog site)...but yesterday at work after everyone else had left, he had locked the front door and was "working" at his desk. I received an email that I needed to reply to so I wasn't paying much attention - but then I could hear some rustling and out of the corner of my eye I could see his hand - he was WHACKING OFF at his desk.
What kind of freaking perverts (um, and lushes, crackheads and whores) do I work with??
This Moron's Mantra
After breaking up my ex- and his new girlfriend, I had a change of heart. To assuage my guilt, I kept trying to call her, explain things to her and apologize - something I seem to get an excessive amount of practice doing. I'm the tornado and the cleanup crew, rolled into one. My ex finally said, "please stop helping."
In the immortal words of Britney, "oops, I did it again." I offer my heartfelt apologies for my actions, which always seem to come together like a good sitcom in my mind, but fail miserably upon execution. I WILL NOT MEDDLE.
If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, I'm three-quarters of the way there.
On the 10th Day, He Strode Again
Great news: a phone call from my son last night. After a week and a half in Michigan at my dad's, he hasn't worn out his welcome yet, YES! Looks like plan "ship the kid out and find trouble" is moving along according to schedule! My father, obviously, is a saint.
"These boots are made for walking, and that's just what they'll do...one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you."
Sitting Quietly
A lot running through my mind right now...mostly that no one deserves to have such a misguided force called Indigo in their lives. Heaven help them.
AP - 1 hour, 6 minutes ago
BAGHDAD, Iraq - A U.S. Apache attack helicopter crashed Monday north of Baghdad, killing both pilots, a day after a series of suicide attacks left nearly three dozen people dead in northern Iraq. The AH-64 crashed in Mishahda, 20 miles north of the capital, and was in flames on the ground, an Associated Press reporter at the scene said. The two pilots were killed in the crash, which is still under investigation, said Lt. Col. Clifford Kent, spokesman for the 3rd Infantry Division.
Beyond Surreal
Yes, my ex-husband/sperm donor is an Apache helicopter pilot assigned to the same company in Baghdad as the two pilots that died and yesterday was probably the single scariest day of my life. If you're going to rank life events and give them medals, I now have the coveted gold to share the award stand with childbirth and heart surgery. My thoughts are still swirling, a chaotic mess on any given day…yet for a few hours, I had amazing clarity (don't worry, it's gone now).
My Irish/ German heritage means I'm strong in public, rarely cry or get upset, but have major emotional turmoil just beneath the surface. My co-workers probably didn't even realize what a difficult day I had (of course, they're obtuse, so that could be part of it). Reading my blog comments, all the support, concern and hugs people took the time to leave...wow! Thank you from the bottom of my black and rusty heart.
I understand the difference between real life (RL) and space life (SL) and the dangers in living exlusively in a fantasy realm, BUT when strangers offered solace to Barb/Lavender Rain when her mom died, got psychiatric assistance for Hopeful Jo, and consistently offer shoulders to lean on...what a wonderful SL world it can be (if you think I'm being too mushy, shut the hell up or I'll kick your cyber ass).
When my son was little, he would say "double u" (W) instead of "I love you." To those of you who care and let me into your lives (including those who don't particularly want to but begrudgingly allow me to force myself): W.
Don't forget the lube, honey
HOLY SHIT!
I work on a military base with 9 other people. Earlier this morning, some undercover investigators from a nearby town came in to arrest one of my co-workers. Apparently, he owed money for crack to someone, who stole his car at gunpoint Saturday night and used it in a robbery.
Nobody knows all the details (I’ve been trying to eavesdrop from my desk all morning), but we know he admitted to smoking crack and the investigators are taking him and his car for a police lineup. It's not looking like clear blue skies.
Who said Mondays are boring?
**
Apparently, my good intentions of giving my co-worker a healthy addiction like the internet failed miserably since he sold the computer I gave him FOR DRUGS. I suppose it could be kind of funny if the key logger program is still on there and EX is reading. Heh.
Dead Dog Walking
They say man is a dog's best friend...but my dog Skylar has been best friends with a massive Rottweiler for the past 5 years. I used to dogsit for him once in a while when we lived in Kentucky (you never met a more spoiled dog, with his designer travel bag, water bottle, etc...140 pound pussy!)
I was talking to Skylar (which mortifies my son to no end..."mom, people can see you!" although I'm thinking it's his age since EVERY friggin' thing I do seems to embarass him!) and decided to tell her Gunner had been put to sleep this weekend. I don't know HOW this is possible, but I think she understood. She's been moping around for five days now...and I feel SO BAD. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything...
Chains of Love and Big Fat Clocks
How can I explain, when there are few words I can choose
How can I explain, when words get broken
We used to talk about the weather, making plans together
Days would last forever
Remember back in March when my friend in Boston bought me a ticket to go see Erasure with him on June 3rd? Yeah, I forgot, too (SHIT!). The nice thing about Bill is he always calls me when he's drunk...or listens to 80's music...or decides he wants to have a kid. I returned home from vacation to 6 messages from him on my cell phone...holding it up to the stage so I could hear Erasure. Not quite as nice as memorex (or being there), but...
When I called him back, he told me he decided to quit his (really good) job after eighteen years, take the summer off (by training for a triathlon?) and enjoy life. I happen to know the truth: Bill has more sex than any person I've ever known. He's GOT to be exhausted trying to hold a job on top of it! Three different guys/day is probably average...I especially think he deserves a good bitch slap for bragging when I happen to be celibate, but...I wonder if he needs a playmate...?
-----
I've taken continuous slack for failing my sexual harassment test. I find inappropriate groping humorous, what can I say? When I arrived at work this morning, my co-workers called me in to watch a spoof of a training video on the internet.
My favorite scene:
Two men walk up to the water cooler and one says, "So, word around the office is you have a fat cock. So do I. I was thinking we should put a little oil on them and rub our fat cocks together." HAHAHAHA.
Maybe you had to see it...
To thine own whine be true
Note: DO NOT take a vacation on a romantic island getaway with your son. And dog. During pre-hurricane/rainy season. In a house with nothing but dial-up.
----
I hate you and your soulmate cuddling together on the couch while you watch t.v. And you, calling your wife when you're out of town ("you hang up first" "No, you"). I detest the way you bring him a drink before he has to ask. I cannot stand the way you say "I love youuuuuu" and it drifts off and pierces my eardrums. And I especially hate the two of you, strolling down the beach, hand-in-hand, stopping occasionally to gaze into one another's eyes.
Mostly, I hate myself for wanting someone like you to share my life.
Homeward Bound
**Apparently, it's LEGS DAY on Spaces...at least mine are tan
Hair at Home:
1. one of 5 shampoos, depending on if I need clarifying, thickening, conditioning, highlighting or want to smell like coconut.
2. Aveda Brilliant foaming gel
3. Blowdry
4. John Frieda's Sheer Blonde spotlight in the area around my face
5. Sebastian Mess to separate and stick up the back
6. Sebastian Shaper Plus Hairspray
Hair at the beach:
1. Wash and air dry
Wisdom Teeth and the Trick to Ultimatums
Cruel joke: I designated a whole week for a high school dance, and mine lasted less than thirty minutes. Since it's rather anti-climatic, I'll be supplementing it with some pre- and post-event fluff...
At the end of my senior year, I started dating a junior named RK. He was a tall, smart, funny, and extremely romantic virgin, saving himself for that special girl (*gulp* - no pressure there). Since we had just missed going to prom together by a week, he took our separate cheesy prom photos and had a professional photographer edit them by cutting each of our insignificant others out, combining us, and taking a print from that negative. He presented it in a frame for our one-month anniversary. I remember hearing Wham's Everything She Wants when we started dating...and that pretty much summed it up.
That summer together was fantastic - trips to Toronto, Cedar Point, up north to go camping. This would be the first and last time I was ever treated like the budding princess I imagined myself to be. He gave me all the attention and affection he had...it wasn't until years later that I fully appreciated the quality of his...length...and girth, too.
When I went off to college that fall, we agreed we would overcome any obstacles - young love is so cute...and stupid. As a senior in HS, he made the commute from Birmingham to Ann Arbor (2 hours?) a few times a week just to spend time with me. What initially seemed romantic and wonderful, soon started making me claustrophobic. How the hell was I supposed to experience life, bars and and embrace my inner slut if he was always around?! and expecting letters? or calling?! I resented it, we bickered about it, but neither of us was apparently willing to let the relationship go.
Not having been born with a silver spoon, or even cheap imitation silver-plated one, I started looking into loans and other options to help supplement the cost of college. I talked to an Army recruiter about investing two years time in the Army to get the GI Bill.
FINALLY! After a whole year together, our real prom together was rolling around. I had two impacted wisdom teeth pulled a few days before.
7:30 Location: Prom, at some upscale country club
I told RK about my meeting with the recruiter about becoming a medic in the army. He told me I would have to chose the military or him - that it would be too diffult to have a long distance relationhip under those conditions. "Fine", I icily replied "I guess that means we're officially breaking up."
That shithead called my bluff and break up we did...I suppose I expected some pleading and tears, damn him.
8:00 He drove me home.
The last time I caught up with him...he went to law school (did he even thank me for all those arguments I let him practice on me with??), moved to California and started a company to make pages load faster on the internet (? or something) then sold it for $200 million. He's writing a book, volunteering legal services to people that can't afford it, and has three kids. I'm happy for him - he deserves it - but I am SO thankful I didn't end up with him! Imagine what a spoiled rotten bitch I would be!
Fort Savannah
Time for the requisite cat photo - it's been a while and the cats are grumbling.
Vanity vs. Sanity
I've broken my nose twice. I don't recall the first time, but for the second, I was backstroking my way across the pool during swim team warm-up. Daydreaming and admiring the way my boobs floated above the water (okay, confession, I still do this in the bathtub - surround them with bubbles and they look like islands in the clouds - fascinating). I hoped I would drown after a diver landed on my face. Score: 5.8
As I was adding up my lodging, gas and food receipts from my Florida trip the other week, it occurred to me that I spent more than if I had gotten a nose job, maybe something along the lines of Meg Ryan's cute little button of a nose...or Sharon Stone's. Looks like I'll be living with my twice-broken, slightly crooked, nosebleeding, deviated-septum monstrosity a little longer.
Sometimes being impulsive is not all it's cracked up to be.
Sunday, May 01, 2005
MSN Archives: May 2005
Granny Clampett busts a move
A few years ago, I was living in Kentucky when my then-husband was sent to Bosnia. At the end of my son's school year, I wondered why the hell I was staying in Kentucky when my family was in Michigan enjoying life and beer without me.
Being Miss Independent, I rented a U-Haul trailer and single-handedly packed our belongings for the trip north. Space and volume estimation have never been my strong suits, and it seems I sorely underestimated the size trailer needed to haul one house worth of STUFF. I planned on leaving the following morning, so, much to the neighborhood's delight, out on the curb FOR FREE, I left: a couch, loveseat, king size waterbed, kitchen table, assorted household goods and one slightly-dented storage shed (seems my drinking buddy thought she had the car in reverse when it was actually in drive - she drove into the shed and knocked the Harley soft-tail custom over....oops).
I DID, however, manage to fit all my books, cds, houseplants and the kid so the journey wasn't a total loss.
Out of the Closet
Stephen wants to know how we met out significant others. I can't figure out WHY I don't have one...
A few years ago, I was living in Kentucky when my then-husband was sent to Bosnia. At the end of my son's school year, I wondered why the hell I was staying in Kentucky when my family was in Michigan enjoying life and beer without me.
Being Miss Independent, I rented a U-Haul trailer and single-handedly packed our belongings for the trip north. Space and volume estimation have never been my strong suits, and it seems I sorely underestimated the size trailer needed to haul one house worth of STUFF. I planned on leaving the following morning, so, much to the neighborhood's delight, out on the curb FOR FREE, I left: a couch, loveseat, king size waterbed, kitchen table, assorted household goods and one slightly-dented storage shed (seems my drinking buddy thought she had the car in reverse when it was actually in drive - she drove into the shed and knocked the Harley soft-tail custom over....oops).
I DID, however, manage to fit all my books, cds, houseplants and the kid so the journey wasn't a total loss.
Out of the Closet
Stephen wants to know how we met out significant others. I can't figure out WHY I don't have one...
...unless, of course, it's because I'm a FREAK!
Spy vs. Spy
Three years ago, I discovered AudioGalaxy, a music-sharing site that had everything: rare music files, message boards, fascinating people. And a man named "Sean". Ohhhh, he was funny, smart, knew everything I was interested in and was also an animal lover, a sure sign of a great heart. Flirty banter developed into something deeper. I stopped sleeping because of the time difference - I had to be online when he was.
My husband "EX" was overseas. I was lonely, and spent most of my waking hours looking online for Sean, or laughing once I’d found him. Don’t ask me how we could talk online for 8 or more hours a day (I’d tease him that I was a full time job)...someone I’d never met, yet conversation was never dull. We shared so many interests, the same outlook...everything, it seemed. And he listened, REALLY listened to me, making me feel special - he even saved my life a few months later.
After my year of bliss and freedom, EX came back and started cutting into my Sean time. He would go to bed at 9:00 - I’d stay on the computer until 2:00 in the morning. He’d go to the grocery store - I’d sign in and meet my online lover. He and our son went to Disneyland - I said I had no vacation time at work. He said I needed counseling - I professed my undying love to Sean.
Husband EX gave me an ultimatum: stay off the computer or MOVE! OUT! NOW! Hey, I had an addiction - if I was a rational person, I wouldn’t have half the trouble in my life that I do. I started getting up in the middle of the night to send furtive messages, or email all day long from work. EX asked, "are you still emailing and using the computer?" Self preservation helped my poor lying skills because I dug deep, made eye contact and told him of course I wasn't. "Pfffft....what computer?"
He started asking me about things I KNEW I hadn’t told him...I thought he might have figured out my password so I started changing it religiously every day. He asked me specifics about Sean...I knew something was up (he would also disconnect and take the cable modem WITH HIM when he left the house). I eventually figured out he had put a key stroke program on the computer, which he later confirmed. Every word I typed went straight to his email inbox. I’d change my password, he’d know what it was and would go to yahoo to read all my sent messages...
We had a blow out - he had a stack of my printed messenger conversations and started reading them, throwing pages at me and threatening to forward them to everyone I knew...I cried, wondering when EX would stop yelling at me so I could get to a computer and tell Sean.
The marriage had been rocky for many years but I no longer felt the need to stick with it. I had no choice - I left my husband of 16 years. Left with the cat, a suitcase and my cds. I didn't even see a lawyer - just signed the paperwork he drew up. It was worth it to have my freedom and I get to talk to Sean whenever I WANTED!
Yes, I'm a cheater and I wasn't surprised by the outcome, but I don't consider cybersex to be physically cheating. Words can't get you pregnant or pass STD's, right? If wanting someone else is a sin, I'm afraid I'll never be faithful.
Are you finished with the newspaper yet?
I generally leave all the doors in the house, including the one to the bathroom, open.
If I don't:
Mil-wau-keeeeee!
My favorite place in the whole world, hand’s down, bar none, is Cinque Terre, Italy. I read a seriously great blog entry the other night by Patresa, the newlywed (read it here) concerning her spirituality and thoughts she arrived at while in Italy, specifically while sitting alone on a rock in Cinque Terre. Most people have never heard of this tiny village up on the cliffs above the Mediterranean. I’ve been three times and I’m sure I could live there and be content for the rest of my life...okay, and if I could have a hot Italian man to share my experiences and bring me gelato, I would NEVER leave (pictures are in my photo album - not of an Italian stallion, sheesh, but the scenery and one of my son holding gelato, probably mine so I could take the photo).
When I was living in Germany a few years ago, my best friend from Wisconsin came over to visit for two weeks. The two of us, sans kids and annoying, controlling men, explored the back cobblestone roads with my little Mustang...we drove the winding, one-lane mountain pass to Vernazza, the first of the five villages (hence the name, Cinque, for the 5 bottles of wine you must consume while getting there). No cars are allowed so we parked outside the town limits and hiked to find a room. Real women don’t make reservations..okay, real DUMB women that don’t speak Italian and like to have adventures, don’t make reservations....
There was one main street, with all the houses terraced up above. We found a room, finally, about 3 levels up and decided to unwind with dinner and wine. I don’t remember what I ate, but I’m sure pesto was involved...and we finished off 3 bottles of wine. We found a bar and tried ordering screwdrivers. The other unique thing about Cinque Terre? NO ONE else speaks English...so we had vodka and Fanta orange soda (do not try this at home, gag!)
We started sharing a table with 2 German men - one spoke a few words of English, the other some Italian...I speak a little Spanish and my friend is fluent in Turkish - and enjoyed sign language, alcohol and laughter. Eventually, we paired off and I headed out to the rocks along the shore with Hans..or Martin...or whatever his name was, and we fooled around for a while. I wasn’t really into it - his tongue was fat and his mouth too warm - and I started seeing flashes of light. There, a few feet away, was my friend taking pictures of a very naked me...my first and only porn! (those photos are NOT in the album...you will find them in her special blackmail folder under lock and key).
We stumbled off to our room, but apparently my friend had forgotten to say goodnight to her German beau...we heard him, wandering the streets below, yelling, MIL-WAU-KEEEEE, hoping to find her. It's a memory, and a hangover, I'll treasure forever.
It takes a raise to get a raise...
Recently, a new company took over our contract at work and hired most of us to stay - oh, sure, there were skillful negotiations and tears, but I managed to keep my job and even got promoted. One condition: all employees MUST complete 40 hours worth of online training courses, ranging from the fascinating subject of bloodborne pathogens to the hot topic of sexual harassment by noon on May 4th or face termination. Uh....guess what? I still have a few to finish. Damn, sometimes I HATE being such a procrastinator - but I'm so good at it...seems a shame to waste a gift.
I've always worked in predominantly male fields and apparently it's warped me (if you want to know what hell is like...try Basic Training with 39 other women...UGH! Never again!) This week's activities have included:
a compliment to my lovely coworker: "Jessica, could you show a little more cleavage? I can't quite see your nipples."
a bet by one of my co-workers that he could shoot a load from his desk to mine (I'm hoping he hasn't actually followed through with this one).
a fake grab for my subordinate's ass (well, I DID warn him that the next time he wore the jeans with a hole in the pocket, I was going to try); and
a conversation in the break room about a Prince Albert
I know it's hard to believe, but lo and behold, I FAILED the sexual harassment course. I am never going to live this down! Guess I'll have to try bribing them all with beer again this week...
UPDATE...11:46. I finished my training AND I'm going to keep my hands to myself for the rest of the day. Probably. Unless someone else starts it...
Working on my plumber's crack:
I tend to avoid my son's bathroom (see no evil, hear no evil, avoid piss spots on the floor) so when I tiptoed in for a Kleenex yesterday, I was surprised to see his tub full of water - HOURS after he had taken a shower. "Oh, yeah" he said, "it's been doing that all week." Common sense might dictate he MENTION it earlier, but apparently there's no place for logic in a teen boy's brain.
Armed with gloves, a plunger, drano and a twisted hanger, I spent a good half hour fixing the drain...to finally emerge victorious with the BIGGEST, nastiest, blackest fur/hair ball I have ever seen. I told him to quit shaving his legs (*eyeroll* accompanied by that "my mom is such a dork" look)...He was sufficiently grossed out...and I've vowed not to give the dog baths in there again.
Yes, I share in the responsibility in the creation of this monstrous hair clog...I use the hand-held shower massager to give the dog baths in the tub (mmmm, lucky girl) because she's afraid of water and slippery porcelain walls are the best way to pin her down. Hard to believe, but she runs from the hose...and I'm quite sure she doesn't know how to doggy paddle. One year we took her to the beach, and she stood on the shore, watching the other dogs run and frolic in the surf..it was the saddest thing. She's not little and you'd think a 45 lb rottweiler/chow would be a little less fearful...pussy dog.
I suppose I'll load her up and haul her fur-shedding self to Petsmart...I just hope they have the coconut-scented conditioner she likes.
A list for the XY's
MEN...here's a handy "honey don't" list...cut and paste for future reference:
DO NOT:
1. run over my cat
2. check the mileage on the car before I leave or when I come back
3. leave the toilet seat up or put the toilet paper on the roll "under"
4. tell me you'll divorce me if I ever weigh over 130
5. friggin' talk to me about politics if you're just going to call me an ignorant liberal
6. grind your teeth while sleeping - it makes me want to sucker punch you in your stomach
7. open my mail or eavesdrop on phone conversations
8. forget our anniversary...every! single! year!
9. use the debit card without saving receipts
10. put a key stroke logger on the family computer to spy on me
Short and Stupid
Summer, 1973: I decided to take the slowwwwwww train to death's door by...overdressing myself to death. Two weeks, every day, I wore 5 layers of clothes: tights, corderoys, winter coat, boots, hat, etc. and played outside in the yard (of course, it was Michigan so the high temperature. was probably only 70 degrees F.). My parents wanted me to be myself and never interfered. There's probably a good reason I'm an only child.
The Tooth Fairy Strips Again
Chipping my tooth while skinny dipping was probably one of the most excruciating thing I've ever done (and that was before I chipped the tooth, heh)..
Location:
The Au Sable river , where my dad and uncles own 3 of the 5 canoe liveries in a small town in Northern Michigan. Yes, it's technically a monopoly, but we spend enough on beer in town, that no one really minds.
Crew:
5 bored teenagers (3 male, 2 female) aged 15-16.
Living in small towns means there is rarely anything going on...well, besides alcohol. Or how to get alcohol. And sex. This particular night, we had been drinking and playing Truth or Dare when one of us was dared to strip and float down the river, from one livery, under the bridge, to my uncle's house. Apparently, it seemed like such a a great idea, that we all joined in. We stripped, grabbed cushions, and floated and laughed our way downstream.
The river in the summer is about 5' deep and generally clean. Unfortunately, one of my greatest fears in life is...SEAWEED. Yeah, yeah, I know it's stupid, but it freaks me out if I think it's going to touch me...one of the guys decided to swim under me and graze my legs to scare me. Yep, sure enough, it worked. I yelped, tried to jump out of the water...but being drunk means the plan never traveled from my brain to my limbs for execution. I managed to smack my mouth into the concrete portion of the bridge. It was excrutiating, honestly.
Two members of the group (fraternal twins) lived above a drug store, which their mom owned in "town" (located at the ONE traffic light). Since we were now on the other side of the river, opposite our clothes and I was busy whining (okay, crying), we decided to run the 4 blocks into town, break into the store and get anbesol to numb my tooth and shut me the hell up.
Five drunken, naked, wet teenagers running down the streets of a small town...not something you see every day.
obsessive-compulsive-impulsive trigger finger
im·pul·sive
Pronunciation: im-'p&l-siv
1. buying LOTS of clothes without trying on any
2. putting in an offer and buying a house after looking at it ONCE (over the internet)
3. getting married to a man you've known 4 months (oy...)
4. booking a house on the beach in Florida for next week without bothering to tell your boss you've decided to take a vacation
5. see Indigo
Destination: St. George Island
I'm not coming back. Carry on without me.
Saturday, April 02, 2005
MSN Archives: April 2005
C is for Cookie...not!
C" is for cookie - that's good enough for me
"C" is for cookie - thats good enough for me
"C" is for cookie - thats good enough for me
Oh...cookie, cookie, cookie starts with "C".
Bad news...seems Sesame Street has decided to make my favorite blue monster a more healthy role model for kids. His theme song is being changed to "A Cookie is a Sometimes Food"...while he'll scarf down assorted veggie snack-tray fare. Geez. I'm all for healthy, but at the expense of COOKIES?! I can't wait for him to start his low fat/high protein program...and I suppose Oscar the Grouch will soon be answering to Oscar Needs-his-medication...and Bert and Ernie will be just "friends".
C" is for cookie - that's good enough for me
"C" is for cookie - thats good enough for me
"C" is for cookie - thats good enough for me
Oh...cookie, cookie, cookie starts with "C".
Bad news...seems Sesame Street has decided to make my favorite blue monster a more healthy role model for kids. His theme song is being changed to "A Cookie is a Sometimes Food"...while he'll scarf down assorted veggie snack-tray fare. Geez. I'm all for healthy, but at the expense of COOKIES?! I can't wait for him to start his low fat/high protein program...and I suppose Oscar the Grouch will soon be answering to Oscar Needs-his-medication...and Bert and Ernie will be just "friends".
No Spitting
It bothers me that I'm bothered by superficial CRAP. I hate that I still care what other people think. I have a smart kid, well-behaved cats, friends, enemies, credit card bills...I drink too much, make bad decisions, eat unhealthy, and watch mind-numbing tv sometimes...and I'll NEVER understand men, but I like me. Most of the time, anyway (waking up feeling fat, overemotional and irrational...now, that I could live without).This weekend, I set a goal for myself. To be more "real" and more secure in showing who I am...not just how I'd like to be.
1986. I've gone from a SMALL private high school with classrooms holding 15 to a HUGE University with lecture halls seating hundreds. Not realizing there were class requirements when I registered, I had the perfect schedule: Australian Aborigines, Primate Social Behaviour, Evolution and Extinction and Sociology...(someone could have TOLD me I'd have to take Math and English, geez). I was living in an all-girl's dorm, listening to Depeche Mode and the B'52's...just enjoying the hell out of life! Life was good...nah, life was AMAZING!
My friends and I had our rooms at the end of the hall...we went out drinking on weeknights (gasp!)...we had Budweiser stocked, cigarettes, loud music and boyfriends illegally spending the night...but what I miss most is always having a large "NO SPITTING" sign behind my head in pictures.
Friday, April 01, 2005
MSN Archives: April 2005
Anger Management II
After three weeks at this grueling pace of frantic behavior, I agreed to a pool party (yeah, 'cause even psychos need a day off)...all day with minimal clothing, lots of beer, splashing and sun...my pain and rage were temporarily numbed. I followed the advice in a Supertramp song, and took the long way home...driving by the ex's house out of habit by this time, when I had a brainstorm: I'll STEAL the dog out of the backyard! She loves me more, and he doesn't deserve her...drama-filled phone calls followed when he noticed she was gone so he called to fight about dog custody (tell me: WHY argue with a drunk woman? Do you think I'm going to suddenly think like a rational human being?). I also vaguely remember calling his girlfriend and rambling on to her answering machine about the fact that she was white trash. I'm quite intimidating with a drunken slur, let me tell you.
The next morning, I was in bed (petting my dog, heh) when my heart started palpitating...no biggee, I'm used to it, it's happened all my life. My arms went numb and I started to worry a little but decided to give it another 10 minutes just to see if it would stop - it didn't. I drove myself to the hospital a few miles away (and repeatedly got bitched out about this...but I have crappy insurance) and could barely talk at this point. After an hour in the E.R. with a heart rate of over 240 bpm, they injected something to make my heart stop and start some sort of normal rhythym...twice! I'm in my THIRTIES!!
Maybe the events are unrelated...maybe it was a coincidence...but until you're in my shoes...or my hospital gown with hangover hair and your heart stopped...crying with waterproof mascara clumping around your eyes...PLEASE don't ask me to hold onto anger any longer than I have to.
Parenting tip #37
If all else fails, use corn-on-the-cob:
Gin and Platonic
For any doubters that men and women can permanently reside on the friendship plane…I give you M.
I started my first post-college job in Nashville in ’94 (I shoulda stuck with bartending). My studies were vague….I had an idea of becoming a physical therapist, but somewhere between registration and graduation, life got in the way. Too many moves, a husband, kid and the military lifestyle forced me in the direction of Plan B. I was hired on as a Field Chemist for an Environmental firm, which basically meant I traveled a 5 state region and was on the road and in hotels all week.
M. had been with the company about a year before I started. He was a newlywed (lovesick, blech, but I tried not to hold it against him) and an all-around great guy. We hit it off immediately with our shared sense of humor and interest in beer and music - anyone who owns a Depeche Mode cd gets 20 bonus points in my world!
Sometimes, for me anyway, you meet someone and know…we were instantly friends - no walls to break, no awkward silences to overcome. It wasn’t lust, or love or any other complicated emotion – just a feeling that we had been close before and he would never hurt me. And he never did.
After I moved to Germany, we kept in touch via email...and we've continued to make cds for each other over the years. Neither of us ever crossed that line of friendship...which is amazing considering how weak I am with temptation. Part of what I admire so much about him is that he would never consider cheating on his wife - it forces me to be a better person.
He lives in St. Louis now, but when his company won my contract, he was sent down to make sure the environmental program was running well...and now I expect I'll get to see him regularly. Next time, however, we are NOT staying up all night talking...one of us is getting too old for that.
I have 16 years worth of "he's a controlling ass" stories from my marriage...I was so relieved when that divorce was final and I had a chance to start over and gain control of my own life - FINALLY! Last summer, when he somehow successfully snagged a serious (and HOT!) girlfriend, I went OUT OF MY MIND with rage - that tramp was in MY house, petting MY dog and how could HE find someone to love when I couldn't and he's rich and I'm poor and life's not fair, wahhhhh! I drove by the house several times a day, used my garage door opener in the middle of the night, searched through the house when he wasn't there, contemplated poking holes in his condoms, called at half-hour increments, googled his girlfriend, then called and drove by HER house...my anger was consuming me.
After three weeks at this grueling pace of frantic behavior, I agreed to a pool party (yeah, 'cause even psychos need a day off)...all day with minimal clothing, lots of beer, splashing and sun...my pain and rage were temporarily numbed. I followed the advice in a Supertramp song, and took the long way home...driving by the ex's house out of habit by this time, when I had a brainstorm: I'll STEAL the dog out of the backyard! She loves me more, and he doesn't deserve her...drama-filled phone calls followed when he noticed she was gone so he called to fight about dog custody (tell me: WHY argue with a drunk woman? Do you think I'm going to suddenly think like a rational human being?). I also vaguely remember calling his girlfriend and rambling on to her answering machine about the fact that she was white trash. I'm quite intimidating with a drunken slur, let me tell you.
The next morning, I was in bed (petting my dog, heh) when my heart started palpitating...no biggee, I'm used to it, it's happened all my life. My arms went numb and I started to worry a little but decided to give it another 10 minutes just to see if it would stop - it didn't. I drove myself to the hospital a few miles away (and repeatedly got bitched out about this...but I have crappy insurance) and could barely talk at this point. After an hour in the E.R. with a heart rate of over 240 bpm, they injected something to make my heart stop and start some sort of normal rhythym...twice! I'm in my THIRTIES!!
Maybe the events are unrelated...maybe it was a coincidence...but until you're in my shoes...or my hospital gown with hangover hair and your heart stopped...crying with waterproof mascara clumping around your eyes...PLEASE don't ask me to hold onto anger any longer than I have to.
Parenting tip #37
If all else fails, use corn-on-the-cob:
Gin and Platonic
For any doubters that men and women can permanently reside on the friendship plane…I give you M.
I started my first post-college job in Nashville in ’94 (I shoulda stuck with bartending). My studies were vague….I had an idea of becoming a physical therapist, but somewhere between registration and graduation, life got in the way. Too many moves, a husband, kid and the military lifestyle forced me in the direction of Plan B. I was hired on as a Field Chemist for an Environmental firm, which basically meant I traveled a 5 state region and was on the road and in hotels all week.
M. had been with the company about a year before I started. He was a newlywed (lovesick, blech, but I tried not to hold it against him) and an all-around great guy. We hit it off immediately with our shared sense of humor and interest in beer and music - anyone who owns a Depeche Mode cd gets 20 bonus points in my world!
Sometimes, for me anyway, you meet someone and know…we were instantly friends - no walls to break, no awkward silences to overcome. It wasn’t lust, or love or any other complicated emotion – just a feeling that we had been close before and he would never hurt me. And he never did.
After I moved to Germany, we kept in touch via email...and we've continued to make cds for each other over the years. Neither of us ever crossed that line of friendship...which is amazing considering how weak I am with temptation. Part of what I admire so much about him is that he would never consider cheating on his wife - it forces me to be a better person.
He lives in St. Louis now, but when his company won my contract, he was sent down to make sure the environmental program was running well...and now I expect I'll get to see him regularly. Next time, however, we are NOT staying up all night talking...one of us is getting too old for that.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
MSN Archives: March 2005
Inertia and the Teenage Boy
"Well if you ever plan to motor west
Travel my way, take the highway that’s the best
Get your kicks on route 66..."
- Depeche Mode
My son is fourteen years old, which you would never guess by looking at the 6'1", lanky teen. He'll start driver's training soon, so I figured now would be the time for him to get behind the wheel and practice on something other than a go-cart. It was sunny, we were headed to the grocery store, and I tossed him the keys. I figured he could drive out through the neighborhood and I would drive from there - how many years could I age in a few short miles, anyway?
I have his dad's truck while he's in Iraq, which seemed even better from my perspective. The only trouble is it's a MONSTER Dodge truck with one of those hemi engines...not that it competes in the monster truck showdowns or anything, but it does require 3 steps for parking: pull in, back out, straighten and pull back in. It's a little intimidating sometimes - I've scraped the side mirror twice while pulling next to the ATM machine at the bank, but I figured he'd be fine, driving in the middle of the street anyway.
He's buckled in, I tell him the basics about Park, Reverse and Drive, how to hold his hands on 10:00 and 2:00 on the steering wheel, and which pedal is which...I suggest taking his foot off the brake and coasting first to see how it steers, then gradually pushing down the accelerator. He must not have understood the word "gradually", as he stomped on the pedal and we went flying forward...he did, however, remember where the brake was located because he used his other foot and stomped on THAT immediately afterwards! That Dodge apparently goes 0 to 60 to 0 in 5 seconds...
He looks over at me with this endearing little smirk on his face and says, "Guess I'll have to practice getting the right angle with my foot." You think?
*This photo should be ample punishment.
When the going gets tough...
...the tough...GO THONG SHOPPING!
Crappy couple of days filled with too much work and not enough fun or men...so I headed to the mall for my soft, satiny, lacy thong fix.
Definitely more productive than spring cleaning...
Moore Spring Break
My son has been on Spring Break this week. He's gone nowhere, done nothing except watch Bowling for Columbine and Fahrenheit 9/11 SEVERAL HUNDRED times! I think I might have to strangle him if I hear his Bush imitation one more time*:
"I call upon all nations to do everything they can to stop these terrorist killers. Thank you. Now, watch this drive."
*Not that I'm not proud to have raised a mini-liberal, but he needs more material.
Generally, I have 3-5 people on my shitlist. This week, I have only two:
The other day, my coworker/friend (?) said I will never find a man in Alabama. I can't decide whether it's the rudest thing ever or some sort of backhanded compliment.
And another insists on telling me his sex dreams (starring ME!). Apparently I was doing everyone in the office simultaneously and ordering them around like a director...(while wearing a strap-on - i don't even want to ask where that came from....and I can't wait for the google searchers to find me NOW!!)
He needs a serious reality check - I'm NOT BOSSY!
Guess the movie:
"...and I want to look him straight in the eye and I want to tell him what a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is. Hallelujah. Holy shit. Where's the Tylenol?"
My son P. has been giving me grief lately (for 15 years, actually) and today he's "celebrating" his birthday (he's on spring break, but grounded with no computer, tv or phone so I'm sure if you asked the drama queen, he would say it's the worst day of his life - EVAH!).
One of his teachers is a bible-thumping, closed-minded, immature, rides-for-Jesus, conservative ass and the two of them have been bumping heads all semester - big surprise. Every little thing my son did led to weekly in-school suspensions, which caused him to miss all his other classes . I couldn't get P. out of this required course so I withdrew him from the school and will drive him to another school on my way to work starting next week.
I can't decide whether to take him out to dinner tonight or not...afterall, I'M the one that did all the work 15 years ago - surely I deserve cake...
Inside the Box in the Dining Room
My computer's story: he was born a poor black Dell...sorry, wrong tale. For those of you that don't know, when I was married, my semi-control freak husband installed a keystroke program, which was the final proverbial straw...my first purchase as a newly-single woman was this HP...it has issues, doesn't always like to do what it's supposed to, but it's MINE and it doesn't track my whereabouts or tell on me when I've stayed up too late.
In February, I moved into my ex's house while he went to Iraq (so my son wouldn't have to change schools, blah, blah, blah). His office has his computer, bookshelves, etc. so I promptly took over the dining room. It is now my official READING ROOM - for reading blogs, duh. I bought a cheap computer armoire (I believe that's the fanciest word I know...roll it off your tongue a few times) and a wireless router...so I open the doors and sink into my own little world. Bonus: I can eat and drink in there as much as I please. Welcome to my space!
Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's off to the Vet We go
The day has finally arrived...little miss horny Savannah is getting spayed!
Savannh is 7 months old and has been in heat 3 of the past 4 weeks. When I took her to the vet for the big snip last month, he informed me that her protein levels were too low, indicating a parasite, feline leukemia or feline AIDS (no, I don't even want to know how much I've spent on this stray!). The tests all came back negative, she was treated for a parasite, and I'm scheduled to bring her back this morning.
As tough as it's been for me with the incessant meowing and scratching and general whininess, I have to admit the dog is the one that's taken the brunt of her hormones. The tramp has most definitely spent HOURS rubbing herself against the dog...uh, yah, Savannah, if it was THAT easy, I'd be doing her! I'm sure she just wants a peaceful night's sleep without feeling molested.
The rule was no food after 6:00 yesterday evening - I currently have all 3 cats on the desk, not-so-gently reminding me that they're hungry, HUNGRY NOW! DAMMIT!
Anger Management II
I have 16 years worth of "he's a controlling ass" stories from my marriage...I was so relieved when that divorce was final and I had a chance to start over and gain control of my own life - FINALLY! Last summer, when he somehow successfully snagged a serious (and HOT!) girlfriend, I went OUT OF MY MIND with rage - that tramp was in MY house, petting MY dog and how could HE find someone to love when I couldn't and he's rich and I'm poor and life's not fair, wahhhhh! I drove by the house several times a day, used my garage door opener in the middle of the night, searched through the house when he wasn't there, contemplated poking holes in his condoms, called at half-hour increments, googled his girlfriend, then called and drove by HER house...my anger was consuming me.
After three weeks at this grueling pace of frantic behavior, I agreed to a pool party (yeah, 'cause even psychos need a day off)...all day with minimal clothing, lots of beer, splashing and sun...my pain and rage were temporarily numbed. I followed the advice in a Supertramp song, and took the long way home...driving by the ex's house out of habit by this time, when I had a brainstorm: I'll STEAL the dog out of the backyard! She loves me more, and he doesn't deserve her...drama-filled phone calls followed when he noticed she was gone so he called to fight about dog custody (tell me: WHY argue with a drunk woman? Do you think I'm going to suddenly think like a rational human being?). I also vaguely remember calling his girlfriend and rambling on to her answering machine about the fact that she was white trash. I'm quite intimidating with a drunken slur, let me tell you.
The next morning, I was in bed (petting my dog, heh) when my heart started palpitating...no biggee, I'm used to it, it's happened all my life. My arms went numb and I started to worry a little but decided to give it another 10 minutes just to see if it would stop - it didn't. I drove myself to the hospital a few miles away (and repeatedly got bitched out about this...but I have crappy insurance) and could barely talk at this point. After an hour in the E.R. with a heart rate of over 240 bpm, they injected something to make my heart stop and start some sort of normal rhythym...twice! I'm in my THIRTIES!!
Maybe the events are unrelated...maybe it was a coincidence...but until you're in my shoes...or my hospital gown with hangover hair and your heart stopped...crying with waterproof mascara clumping around your eyes...PLEASE don't ask me to hold onto anger any longer than I have to.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
MSN Archives
So THAT explains it...
Since I arrived on the scene too late for the messiest/new spokesman for OCD-desk, I'd like to offer this, my refrigerator:
The big question of the day: who snuck that non-alcoholic diet pepsi in there??
Puppy love, drumsticks and a broken heart
Sure, Valentine's Day, first love, roses, love lost...here's Jon:
I was tall and awkward (all legs and arms - I would kill for that metabolism today!) - a blonde teenager that was going to spend my 15th summer living with my dad. I had just gotten my braces off, excited about getting my driver's license and had no real experience with boys...just a few crushes. I walked the two blocks to work every day and would see Jon outside, washing cars. He would stare at me as I walked by - I would pretend not to notice. I continually wore shorter shorts as that summer went by...
He was 17, with jet-black hair, a great physique and the whitest teeth I think I'd ever seen...and HIS! OWN! CAR! After about a month of "walk-by's", he got the courage to talk to me. I still remember those butterflies, though...is he going to talk to me, is he going to notice me?
By mid-July, he managed to ask a group of us to go out for pizza with him (2 friends in town I had met). He stared at me the entire time, talked to me, and pretty much ignored the other two...I found it romantic, they probably thought it was rude. We went to his house afterwards and he played the drums for us - he played along to the Police album Synchronicity and some Toto album I had never heard. He gave each of us a quick drum lesson, then let us try playing (we didn't have to worry about the noise because his mom was a nurse and worked night shift, which would come in VERY HANDY the rest of the summer).
He started writing poems for me, and would give them to me as I walked by each morning...sweet, flowery stuff (I prefer the dark and macabre, but...we were young). I'd sneak out my window every night since my curfew was 9 p.m. and we would walk around town, or drive down to the lake and sit on the beach. It was all very chaste at first - he didn't kiss me until a few weeks after that first date...on the swings at the beach, actually...and he ASKED ME FIRST! (well, duh...JUST DO IT!)
After that, we would make out for HOURS...laying on his bed listening to records ("Sailing...take me away to where I've always heard it could be..."). To this day, I'm amazed I never got busted for sneaking back into my window at around 4 a.m. every morning!
At the end of the summer, I had to move back downstate to live with my mom and start school. We packed my suitcases in her car, drove off, and Jon followed behind us for at least an hour, crying and waving. It was the sweetest puppy love imaginable, and I played my albums that reminded me of him NON-STOP (ask my mom). He had given me a set of his drumsticks, which I proudly hung on my wall and hauled around with me for years afterwards...
We kept in touch after I went to college, through letters and phone calls. He moved to the Virgin Islands and always wanted me to visit, but I had another boyfriend by then, so I never went. I heard later that Jon was gay, and living with a man...
Blogshares Ho
Blogshares depresses me.
I sign in every hour, right BEFORE I check out Ameritrade (which is stupid: hello...pretend money vs. REAL money!) to see how my site is progressing. You'd think I could stop torturing myself, there's nothing to gain or lose, no competition, it's not a popularity contest...why does it bother me so much to see my value flatlined?
I don't understand all the numbers, indexes, equations involved in giving me a "value"...why can't I just be judged according to honest-to-goodness shallow factors such as looks? Or bra size...is that not relevant?? Even the Miss America contestant is judged on personality and talent (yeah, right: ever see a talented flute player with a cottage cheese ass win? Didn't think so)...there need to be more factors involved in this!
In the meantime, you know where to find me...wonder if the blogshare guys are up for a little bribe? And I DO play a mean game of strip poker...
All Things Must Pass
When I was a teenager, I wanted to be George Harrison...not his wife, his manager or psycho fan club president, but the man himself . In the bylaws of reincarnation, there was a way we could both share the talented body and sensitive mind of the youngest, quietest Beatle.
- For 24 years now, I have celebrated George Harrison's birthday every February 25th.
- I had two cats, George and Ringo, when I was a teen, so technically we've shared a bed.
- The Beatles song Long, Long, Long is my earliest musical memory.
- I forged his signature perfectly and did so on all my parental permission slips in high school.
- I taped and watched his interview on VHI 2 or 3...or 47 times (an interesting sidenote: Ravi Shankar's daughter is Norah Jones).
When he died, in 2001, I didn't leave my house for 3 days. I mourned the loss of this talented songwriter...a man whose voice could make me cry...a man who would rather garden and jam with his friends...a man whose wife left him for his best friend (Eric Clapton) and they STAYED friends! His ashes may be in the Ganges River...and Kasey Kasum isn't around, but I have a long distance dedication: play Something, Here Comes the Sun, While My guitar Gently Weeps, My Sweet Lord...and absorb some GEORGE.
P.S. If you're curious, the Beatles song Long, Long, Long will fit 23 times in a row on a cd-r.
Higher Mathematics
Hypothesis: the number of blog comments is in inverse proportion to the length of the blog (the harder I try, the less feedback I receive...kind of like with men).
-----
When my son was about 2 years old, we lived up in Northern Michigan. Every time he would see a chipmunk (or squirrel), he would yell, at the top his lungs: "MOTHERFUNK!"
Try explaining that to the neighbors...
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