Was this funny to you?

My father outdid himself and threw a surprise birthday party for my mother. I took this poem.

The Honey and I heard this poem a few weeks before,and I thought it was perfect for my mom. We thought it was funny. Apparently,we really needed Billy Collins to read it to them, because no one else did. They thought it was deep, or touching, or even somber. I usually hate poetry, but I like funny. huh.

I'm glad the Honey liked it, too, at any rate.

sigh.

I'm also really hoping my mother snorts at "Dress your Family in Corduroy and Denim" on CD. Nobody had "Me Talk Pretty One Day" in stock. When your parents HAVE everything they need or want, gifts are a challenge. ESPECIALLY given that there isn't anything that I could buy for her, I thought the poem was perfect. I looked for a lanyard kit to whip one up for her, too, but no luck. Probably for the best given how well the poem went over. I'd have been cross-eyed from braiding the damned thing and not gotten the laugh.

Blogger, I've been Two timing you.

I have a new love...

No, Facebook doesn't count. That's like crack. It's different.

I just finished reading another fabby post by Maria, at Just Eat Your Cupcake. I have a long blogroll, but nothing makes my day like seeing that Maria has posted something new.

When I was little, my father brought home a treasure from one of his trips. It was a book, Conversations with a Pocket Gopher, by Jack Schaeffer, the man who also happened to write Shane, the western. (Total side story, when I was running my bookstore in Hanford, my fella took me to Yosemite, and when we saw the little bookstore on the way, you know I had to stop. I had always looked for another copy of my book in all the hippy granola bookstores, to no avail. When we walked in, I began the title and the lady who owned the store finished it for me. Her dad WAS Jack Schaeffer, and she had multiple copies, so I bought one for me and one for my dad. COME ON, that was cool.) Back to the point, Maria can make folding laundry with her dog at her side into poetry. She reminds me of that book. Whether she's talking about her partner, her daughter, her dog or her dishes, she takes you there. The lady's got soul, folks.

I've been cheating on Blogger with my new favorite, Open Salon. It's fun to browse their blogs and see who strikes a chord. My favorite so far has been Ann Nichols.

I'm not really blogging much these days, but I had a late latte, and Little O was quietly sobbing in her bed because of growing pains. The Honey doesn't remember having growing pains, but I DEFINITELY had 'em. Based upon Miss Priss' misery, my kiddo is gonna have some gams, let me tell ya. A little tylenol and some back rubbing and she is back out, but I am wide awake, too wired to even play a little bejeweled. It doesn't help that I've been off for the last week and am due back to work tomorrow (yikes, make that in 4 hours).

Wednesday Hero-and a lttle Jen

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


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.




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?

Happity Birthday to Meeeeeeeeeeee.

The origins of the Jen Factor Explained...

Seis--Happy Birthday, Little O

How can she be six?

I call it "Sorry, Floaty"

It's called a Wordle! I think it's all about the unfortunate demise of Floaty, but I dunno WHAT the technorati stuff is doing in there...

Do you ever go browse the Generator Blog? Interesting stuff, sometimes. Sometimes just something to post on a blank day...

Shut.Up.

So my very dear bloggy sister CRSE and I have noticed a certain cosmic sync in the brainwaves. This may impress you, this may scare the hell out of you--depends on if you have to live with us, I suspect.

I sent her latest stroke of genius over to Blogtations (even though what I reeeeally want is for them to make a category just for her categories--Sheer brilliance, I tell ya). Blogtations, of course, saw the light and posted her quote. Here's where the cosmic tin-can telephone thing comes in.

CRSE was inspired to publish for the bloggy world her second-grade prize winning poem about the noble giraffe. I happen to have a giraffe in my purse. How many times can you say that in your life? I happened to have a giraffe in my purse. It was given to me by a very earnest 8 year old last night.

Frrrrreaky.

Thursday 13-Vacation Sucks Haikus

Thirteen Vacation Sucks Haiku--haikus? nah, gotta be haiku. haikooses? Inspired by my bloggy hero, Casual Slack Called the city guy please sir can I have some more Axe falls on Friday Co-worker bite me No one called about my house Thanks for the support Clean Cleaner Cleanest I hate the smell of pine sol Want to go to work Fingernails are gone fumes creeping into my brain oooh, pretty colors die-die-die-die-die scrub, scrub, scrub a dub dub, dub Mr Clean, suck this my son is grounded much like the food in his rug cleaned his room, my ass i am so tired he is sleeping, why not me? coffee is my friend quit blogging and clean how can you be so stupid they'll be here Friday Aw, look at the snaps! Little O with my mom-oh, crap Distracted again Must invite in-laws "Come to dinner and judge me" Good thing I like them Wait, didn't I just Empty this stupid vacuum? Love my bagless vac. must buy more coffee and some steak ASAP on my knees already Last Haiku, thank you back to the wretched cleaning what a vacation

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surfing the blogrolls...

I love cruising other people's blogrolls to find new good stuff. Because we've all established how well that "Next Blog" button works out for us. I found this quote atGabalot's Bits.

Some People are like slinkies
Not really good for anything
But they still bring a smile to your face
When you push them down a flight of stairs

Jen

is one of those people with Fabulous links.

(sob) a luvvy poem to a best girlfriend

Kimmy is moving away.

Rather than giving her one single solitary more thing to pack, I am going to give her this poem/book/run-on sentence. It's called I like you. It was written by Sandol Stoddard Warburg in 1965. I wasn't born yet. But I sold lots of copies of this book once I read it, so I figure Sandol won't mind if I re-post it online.

I like you
And I know why

I like you because
You are a good person
To like

I like you because

When I tell you something special
You know it's special
And you remember it
A long long time

You say
Remember when you told me
Something special

And both of us remember


When I think something is important
You think it's important too

We have good ideas

When I say something funny

You laugh

I think I'm funny
You think I'm funny too
hah-hah

...

And I like you because
When I am feeling sad
You don't always cheer me up right away

Sometimes it is better to be sad
You can't stand the others being so googly and gaggly every single minute
You want to think about things

It takes time

I like you because if I am mad at you
Then you are mad at me too

It's awful when the other person isn't

Phooey

They are so nice and hoo-hoo you could just about punch them in the nose

I like you because if I think I am going to throw up then you are really sorry
You don't just pretend you are busy looking at the birdies and all that

You say maybe it was something you ate

You say the same thing happened to me one time

And the same thing did

If you find two four-leaf clovers
You give me one

If I find four
I give you two

If we only find three
We keep on looking

Sometimes we have good luck
And sometimes we don't

...

I like you because
I don't know why but
Everything that happens
Is nicer with you

I can't remember when I didn't like you

It must have been lonesome then

I like you because because
I forget why I like you
But I do

So many reasons

On the Fourth of July I like you because
It's the Fourth of July

On the Fifth of July
I like you too

If you and I had some drums
And some horns and some horses
If we had some hats and some
Flags and some fire-engines

We could be a HOLIDAY
We could be a CELEBRATION
We could be a WHOLE PARADE
See what I mean?

Even if it was the nine-hundred-and-ninety-ninth of July
Even if it was August
Even if it was way down at the bottom of November
Even if it was no place particular in January

I would go on choosing you
And you would go on choosing me
Over and over again

That's how it would happen every time
I don't know why

I guess I don't know why I like you really

Why do I like you

I guess I just like you

I guess I just like you

Because I like you

Sweet Jeebus that was a whole lot longer than I thought it would be. That's how much I love you, Kimmy. I feel this way about most people who make it into the inner Circle of Jen, but Kimmy is the one who told me I ought to blog, and who adores my son as much as me, and shit, she's KIMMY, the coolest, most generous, sweetest person on the planet. She's also witty and sarcastic as fuck, and is not at all traumatized when the word fuck falls outta my mouth.

I FUCKIN' love you, Kim.

And uh, Ahem. If Sandol Stoddard Warburg or someone representing S.S. Warburg is upset about my republishing most of their tiny gift book (ISBN 0-395-01716-3), please let me know and I'll remove it.

Photos of our drunken sob-fest to be posted once I locate my damned USB cable.