Thursday, February 19

Dark Confession Time--possibly a Dorkfession.

I have a secret to confess.

I really can't believe I'm going to tell you this.

Kristy, my world music loving friend, you should look away. I'm about to expose the shallow end of my musical gene pool.

I need to quit stalling.

Friends, all two of you still reading this FB orphaned blog, I have a weakness.

A prediliction, if you will.

I've tried to stop. I've tried immersion therapy in the good stuff, trying to cleanse my palate. (Jeebus, is that spelled right?)

But...but...I kind of, um, well, I may have spent more money on bad euro pop than on anything with a guitar in it. Music seems like such an indulgence, and because my tastes are sort of thrash-y I tend to leap at anything lighter.

Which is how I ended up with:

Robbie Williams*

Lilly Allen


Freaking Lou Bega (Oh, the shame)

I also purchased my first Madonna album as she was going through her cowboy/Ali G phase.

I hope you don't think any less of me. (sob!)

I know that Robbie Williams is a former boy band member, and come on, Lou Bega just seems like an ass. Don't mess with Lily, though, 'kay? I love to hear little O sing that song. It's less fun to hear her sing Alfie, which is her true favorite, but she doesn't know what she's singing yet, and it's still not Genie in a Bottle or anything.

*The Robbie Williams video goes a little fangoria on you at the end, just a warning.

Wednesday, February 18

Wednesday Hero-and a lttle Jen

Sgt. Kelly Keck
Sgt. Kelly Keck
34 years old from West Liberty, Kentucky
U.S. Army

Secretary of the Army Pete Geren congratulates Sgt. Kelly Keck after presenting him the Purple Heart.

On September 13, 2008, Sgt. Kelly Keck, a combat medic serving in Afghanistan, was wounded while trying to aid his fellow soldiers who's truck had just been struck by an IED. "I stepped off the road to try to get to the side of the truck, and the next thing I know I hear a loud boom, and I'm laying on the ground," he said. Sgt. Kelly had stepped on a land mine. He was flown to a field hospital in Jalalabad where he ended up losing three fingers on his left hand and his right leg below the knee. "It was quite an ordeal," the soft-spoken soldier said.

These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives so that others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am proud to call them Hero.
We Should Not Only Mourn These Men And Women Who Died, We Should Also Thank God That Such People Lived

This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. For more information about Wednesday Hero, or if you would like to post it on your site, you can go here.

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I watched Black Hawk Down over the weekend for the first time.

The Honey was baffled to look over and see me crying. I never cry at movies*.

I don't think I was crying for my nephews, at the though of them being in a situation like that. I think it was the thought of ANYBODY in such a clusterfuck. Knowing what was coming, too, because I had said at the beginning of the movie that there was only one story I remembered about Somalia, and it wasn't pretty. Yup, that's the one.

The Honey saw my point though about streamlining benefits, because anybody who has gone through something even remotely like that while we eat pizza and watch football should be TAKEN CARE OF by the entity that sent them there, not made to jump through hoops.

Come on, Mr. Obama, I am looking forward to hearing your plan for THAT mess, too.

* Once upon a time, the bad boyfriend & I went to the movies with his best friend and HIS roommates. They were older than I was, and all very artsy and philosophical. They were by far my favorites of the bad boyfriend's friends. So we went to see Jacob's Ladder with Tim Robbins, and when we got out of the movie, they were all nowhere to be seen. Turns out they had all gone home to cry for the rest of the night at the deep concepts and heavy thoughts the movie had provoked. All I could think was, really? I thought it kind of sucked.

I'm not a great follower, I think. These were people I admired and wanted to hang with, but all I could think was that they must have been hitting the bong too hard, because huh? I think it's related to my loathing of most poetry. My old friend Ray relishes deep philosophical conundrums to the point that he is pursuing theology in school. I think I could make a living writing infomercials. Different paths, but the same need for faith, right?

Sunday, February 15

Valentine Madness

So my favorite of the Honey's car guy friends got married last night.

At the hockey game.

We're tickeld because Garry is over the moon for his sweetie, and if she would agree to get married on the ice at a hockey game for the texan-hockey nut? It must be love. It was part of a radio station promotion, so there were 103 couples doing the deed, including one guy dressed in a turkey suit. Whatever.

Garry looked sharp in his suit, Shannon was pretty in her polka dots, but as the hockey game went on, I became distracted.

Down in front, right up against the glass? I swear he looked like Biff Henderson. It may have been the baseball hat, it may have been the big earpiece.

The Honey was laughing at me as I snarled obscenities at the bloonde who kept blocking my photo. But I got him, Not until the game was over, and you can't see his earpiece, but I got him.

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Not sure who Biff is? He's Letterman's Stage manager guy:

The Honey says it could just as easily have been James Earl Jones and maybe white girl should shut her pie hole.

I'm such a dork. ARGH! I'm a bad dork, though, 'cause I missed the Dorkteenth. Shit. Consider this my Dorkteenth confession.

Monday, February 9

in love with love

A few weeks ago Little O was studying a baby shower invitation, cooing over all of the fuzzy baby details, when she stopped and asked what R.S.V.P meant.

I explained that you put that when you want someone to write back to you.

Her latest obsession is making homemade valentines by the THOUSANDS. At the bottom of each one, she writes R.S.V.P. Then she sends them all to her father and I. I have tiny paper hearts and full sheets of paper all over my house. We no longer speak, we write love notes.

The Honey says I'll have to explain RSVP soon, and I know he's right.

Her stick figures are getting more lifelike every day, though. We can't spell BACKWARDS in front of her anymore. She's getting that same wierd fakey laugh her brother has. She remembers her knock knock jokes.

So for just a little while longer, I am going to savor each little RSVP she writes and I'll Respondez Si Vous Plait to each tiny scrap of love she sends me in her fanciest curli-q writing.

Thursday, February 5

My name is Jennifer

...and some days I feel like this guy. I refer to myself as socially retarded, but some days it's just that I'm annoying. I fall into patterns and say the same things over and over again in conversation to fill in the gaps. If we're walking by each other and you seem to be expecting something but we've already said hello for the day? You'll probably get a snippet from Camptown Races.
If someone is giving me news that I don't want to hear? "It's all an adventure."

Is is like social tourette's? I know it's annoying, but it just falls out of my mouth.

I'm filling in for a different department and it's fun to learn a new job. My co-worker's not the fishbowl, let's call it the tank--the toilet tank. Don't get me wrong, it's nice back there, and there's a lot more room, but there's also the potential...well, you get the idea. Anyway, my co-worker in the tank is someone I really like. She's new to the company, but our sons are friends. People, I am trying so hard to NOT be annoying. I've told her she can stop me when I start singing, because half the time I don't realize I'm doing it--which wouldn't be so bad if I sang anything good. No, I hum the Chicken Dance for no reason. It's annoying to ME.

I'm also really bad at ass kissing, apparently, because interpersonal politics are so NOT my bag, baby. There's a whole lotta ass to kiss in the tank.


And on a happier but FB related note, I just realized (When she joined four more stupid groups including "no-such-thing-as-pro-choice" and "Global warming--see? I told you they were making it all up!") that I could opt to get less news from the sweet but misguided eastern cousin, so unless she actually asks me to join, I don't have to get mad each day. Because seriously, If I wasn't so boy crazy I'd be flying a rainbow flag in my front yard. Just because. I AM a California girl,, and the only reason my dad turned out to be a republican is because he made money. I know I got my hippie ideals and need for logic and reason from my parents. I think my mom secretly IS a democrat. Because she's my hero like that.

Wednesday, February 4

Wednesday Hero

Gunnery Sgt. Nick Popaditch
Gunnery Sgt. Nick Popaditch

In 2003, Sgt. Popaditch, along with 1st Tank Battalion, rolled into Baghdad from Kuwait at the start of the Iraq War. They had just taken the city and the tank that Sgt. Popaditch was in had rolled up to a 40-ft statue of Saddam. I think we all remember that statue. Popaditch was given a cigar by a fellow Marine and as he smoked it an AP photographer snapped a picture of him.

Fast forward to April 7, 2004. Sgt. Popaditch's wife was vacationing with their son when she received a phone call informing her that her husband had been injured in an attack. The turret of his tank, that he was situated in, had taken two direct hits from RPG's. He fell through the hatch to the floor of the tank. As he struggled to his feet, he began to shout orders to his men but go no response. He then realized that the attack had caused him to go deaf in both ears. But that was only temporary. He then reached up and felt that his head was wet and knew it wasn't good.

In the aftermath of the attack, Gunnery Sgt. Nick Popaditch had lost his right eye. And because of that he now proudly wears a prosthetic eye with the Marine Corps. logo embossed on it. On November 10, 2005 Gunnery Sgt. Nick Popaditch was awarded the Silver Star, the nation's third-highest award for heroism in combat. He also has a book out titled Once A Marine.

You can read more about Gunnery Sgt. Nick Popaditch here and here.

These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives so that others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am proud to call them Hero.
We Should Not Only Mourn These Men And Women Who Died, We Should Also Thank God That Such People Lived

This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. For more information about Wednesday Hero, or if you would like to post it on your site, you can go here.
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