Wednesday Hero

This Week's Soldier Was Suggested By Gary

Col. James W. Harrison Jr.
47 years old from Missouri
U.S. Army Command and General Staff College, Combined Forces Command Afghanistan
May 6, 2007


Duty, Honor, Country. Col. James Harrison Jr. embodied that ethos, said his family. He was committed to the mission of the United States in Afghanistan and spoke with great pride about the accomplishments of the men and women with which he served

Col. Harrison was killed on May 6 when a Taliban fighter, dressed as an Afghan police officer, shot him at point blank range at Pul-e-Charkhi prison near Kabul. Also killed along side Col. Harrison was Master Sgt. Wilberto Sabalu Jr. and two other soldiers were wounded. All four men were working as mentors to Afghan troops providing external security for the prison.

Harrison graduated from the U.S. Military Academy in 1981. He also graduated from the Military Police Basic and Advanced courses, the Combined Arms and Services Staff School, the Command and General Staff College, the Army Inspector General Course, and the Industrial College of the Armed Forces. He earned a Master of Business Administration from Syracuse University and a Master of Science degree in national security and strategic studies from the National Defense University. Before going to Afghanistan in December 2006, he was assigned to Fort Leavenworth as director of the School for Command Preparation at the Command and General Staff College.

He is survived by his wife and three sons.

To read a letter from the Afghan general in charge of the detention facility, visit Amy Proctor's site.

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. To find out more about Wednesday Hero, you can go here.

Whining self-pity ahead.

the scandal of the starving baby
Originally uploaded by Djuliet.

Another suck ass day in the house hunt.

I think the Honey genuinely doesn't realize how much this is sucking for me. He lived on the East Side of town before we were together, and I would live there if we had no kids. But I have a son going into junior high, not fantastically socialized for THIS side of town. I could just dress him in Target bags on the East Side.

My yammering insensitive clod Ex called me to see if he could show my house, because the owner is selling it a full forty thousand dollars below market value, just to unload it, and am I SURE I couldn't find the money to buy it? FUCK OFF you lackwit. If I could buy a house, I would already have been out the door (but man, it IS going for CHEAP!). Ex's sister was a little distant at Big O's party, and that stung. Maybe it's just that we aren't close like we used to be, but I felt a chill and it made me sad. I named the Ex "Uncle Ex" to Little O because he's always going to be in our lives, which makes him more than some guy to her, but if Ex tries to chide her for her behavior again, I WILL put my foot so far up his ass He will be my new left shoe. I don't care if she is the spawn of Beelzebub himself, shut your pie hole.

(Little O is doing the exorcist thing again, channeling a demon child that bears little to no resemblance to my sunny brown eyed girl. I may have to call a priest.)

I am acutely aware of all the things I want for my kids that I cannot give them. A study came out that said that sharing a room helps kids learn people skills and how to compromise, and I can totally buy into that. But cramming a twelve year old boy and a soon to be five year old girl into a room that will require bunk beds to open the door seems to be asking a bit much of them. Can I get them a pet to make up for it? Can I afford to feed a pet? Can we tame/train the rats and call them pets?

I bought Big O new tennies for school and almost cried when he turned his nose up at the forty dollar shoes I showed him and picked up the 23.99 plain white sneaks and said "Now THAT's a Shoe!" I have a feeling my luck won't run that way with his sister.

I know we'll make it through and part of my angst is that I feel so low when I know we are so fortunate for all that we DO have.

Fucking print this post and show it to every kid you know who thinks they can afford to take a semester off. THIS is what happens when you step away from school for a "break" --Shit job, no money, wondering if the kid at In-N-Out makes more than I do.

This could be bad.

Guitar Hero
Originally uploaded by kushana.

He's already kicking my ASS, but Big O and I are about to spend some quality time.

Guess what I got him for his birthday?

If only this translated into real-world musical skillz.

It's SO on. As long as I'm in training mode. Very slowly.

Must.Redeem.Myself.

Gimme that guitar, kid.

Happy Birthday, Big O!

I don't know which of these pictures he'll hate more, but I'm saving them both for prom...


Happy 12th birthday, Bubby!

Rock and Roll, baby!

So today at work we were forced to change the radio station as the alterna-pop station played Bon Jovi for the third time. Bre said he sounds constipated, Ann said he sounds like Adam Sandler doing a parody of an 80's rock ballad. Do you see why I luv these wimmin?

Lo and behold, the rockin' cool AM station was playing yet another song that I adore and Bre is too young to remember. Okay, this one was not a SPECIAL favorite or anything, but a trip to Wal Mart the Dentist with a Rush song beats a slow work day trapped with Jon Bon Jovi and his impacted colon.

I was amused to find debates about the intended deeper meanings of this song. Rush has some deep and meaningful songs, but man, who has time to ponder those once you've retired your bong? They rock, and I love 'em. I still want to see them live, and am very jealous that the Mind has seen them multiple times. But I just don't have it in me to actively debate the deeper implications of ANY rock ballads anymore. Is that parenthood? Old age? Is my iTunes membership going to be revoked now that I have confessed?

Oh, yeah--the song.


There is unrest in the forest,
There is trouble with the trees,
For the maples want more sunlight
And the oaks ignore their pleas.

The trouble with the maples,
(And they're quite convinced they're right)
They say the oaks are just too lofty
And they grab up all the light.
But the oaks can't help their feelings
If they like the way they're made.
And they wonder why the maples
Can't be happy in their shade.

There is trouble in the forest,
And the creatures all have fled,
As the maples scream "Oppression!"
And the oaks just shake their heads

So the maples formed a union
And demanded equal rights.
"The oaks are just too greedy;
We will make them give us light."
Now there's no more oak oppression,
For they passed a noble law,
And the trees are all kept equal
By hatchet, axe, and saw.

Like Buttah.

My children get the shaft. 

 

I KNOW I don't do enough fun things with them, I KNOW I don't take advantage of "teaching moments" and impart my wisdom.

 

On the days my mommy guilt gets to be too much, we do something simple with the ingredients on hand.  Last night it was cookies.

 

I told Little O we'd make sugar cookies, from scratch, and roll 'em out.  Needless to say, she was very excited. 

 

"Let's make them NOW, mama." 

 

"We have to wait for the buter to get soft, Baby."

 

"Soft like furry hair?"

 

I love my O's.

 

 

I got a Rock.

What color is your soul painted? Grey Your soul is painted the color grey, which embodies the characteristics of elegance, humility, respect, reverence, stability, subtlety, wisdom, strong emotions, balance, and cancellation. Grey falls under the element of Water, and symbolizes the moon, tide, ebb and flow. Click Here to Take This Quiz

Quizzes and Personality Tests

On the brutally honest personality test? I got boring.
I am the Charlie Brown of Blogs.

Tee hee. I find myself a wee bit more colorful in person, but I AM quiet and understated by choice, and I DO like grey. Um, hello, Grey on grey, trimed in Dark Grey. Nice Blog.

Dear Daniel-

Your haircut sucks ass.

If you were not so busy trying to get your suck-ass hair to follow the traditional comb over pattern favored by middle aged men in the seventies, you might have heard me when I told you I had an EXCHANGE. Your temper-tantrum sighing fit and repeatedly asking me if I had a reciept was not endearing in the least. If you had left your stupid "edgy" hair alone while greeting me, perhaps made eye contact, or even (gasp) attempted something close to conversation, you might have had MORE time to play with your hair at the end of the transaction, instead of having to call for a manager to void out your fuck up.
I don't have the patience for girls playing with their locks while I am trying to conduct business, and my experiences with male grooming in the service industry lately almost make me appreciate the time and attention you spent on your hair.

Oh, but that's right, your haircut sucks ass. Big hairy donkey balls, boy.

Just like your customer service.

cc: Border's Bookstore.

Zippers, and Kidneys, and Houses, Oh My!

House hunting, on a teeny budget, with terrible credit.

Still a middle class white girl who'd like to keep her children away from gangs, meth, roaches, and freeway underpasses.

I've looked at some funkadelic houses in the last few days. The things that are in my budget are all three bedrooms made out of one bedroom houses. I'm not sure I'm ready to put Big O in a bedroom that is not technically attached to the house. I answered an ad for a 2 and 1/3 bedroom house. That one was detached, too. I saw another one that had, if I'm not mistaken, plywood counter top in one spot.

Is it bad that I'm considering the plywood one? I asked the landlord if he'd mind if I tiled it, since I'm kind of crafty, and he said he wouldn't mind at all. I will have to clarify that I expect materials to be shaved off of the rent.
Can we talk about rent? Sweet lord tiny baby Jesus. I'm too old and fat to sell my eggs, so I'm going to have to sell a kidney.

Wait! Can't you regenerate your liver if you donate part of it? How long does that take to regrow, and can I just have 'em put a zipper in so we can do it again when it grows back? I thinks the Honey's is pickled...Big o is a fine strapping boy, though. We could probably get two or three runs from his liver...

I'll keep you guys updated. But if you know anyone shopping for a kidney...

***************************

Okay, I've tried being respectful, and I can't take it any more!

Look down.

WTF is WRONG with Chesty Puller's forehead?

Did they photoshop two pictures together?

FRRRRReaky.

Wednesday Hero

This Weeks Solider Was Suggested By Robert

Lt. General Lewis B. "Chesty" Puller
June 26, 1898 - October 11, 1971


Lieutenant General Lewis B. "Chesty" Puller was a colorful veteran of the Korean War, four World War II campaigns, and expeditionary service in China, Nicaragua, and Haiti. He is the only Marine to win the Navy Cross five times for heroism and gallantry in combat earing him the distinction of being the most decorated Marine in the history of the USMC.

A Marine officer and enlisted man for 37 years, General Puller served at sea or overseas for all but ten of those years, including a hitch as commander of the "Horse Marines" in China. Excluding medals from foreign governments, he won a total of 14 personal decorations in combat, plus a long list of campaign medals, unit citation ribbons and other awards. In addition to the Navy Crosses, the highest honor the Navy can bestow, he holds its Army equivalent, the Distinguished Service Cross. A list of his awards can be found here.

Born 26 June 1898, at West Point, Virginia, the general attended Virginia Military Institute until enlisting in the Marine Corps in August 1918. He was appointed a Marine Reserve second lieutenant 16 June 1919, but due to force reductions after World War I, was placed on inactive duty ten days later. He rejoined the Marines as an enlisted man to serve with the Gendarmerie d'Haiti, a military force in that country under a treaty with the United States. Most of its officers were U. S. Marines, while its enlisted personnel were Haitians.

After almost five years in Haiti, where he saw frequent action against the Caco rebels, Puller returned in March 1924 to the United States. He was commissioned a Marine second lieutenant that same month, and during the next two years, served at the Marine Barracks, Norfolk, Virginia, completed the Basic School at Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and served with the 10th Marine Regiment at Quantico, Virginia.

In July of 1926, Puller embarked for a two-year tour of duty at the Marine Barracks, Pearl Harbor. Returning in June 1928, he served in San Diego, California, until he joined the Nicaraguan National Guard Detachment that December. After winning his first Navy Cross in Nicaragua, he returned to the United States in July 1931 to enter the Company Officers Course at the Army Infantry School, Fort Benning, Georgia. He completed the course in June 1932 and returned to Nicaragua the following month to begin the tour of duty that brought him a second Navy Cross.

In January 1933, Puller left Nicaragua for the United States. A month later he sailed from San Francisco to join the Marine Detachment of the American Legation at Peiping, China. There, in addition to other duties, he commanded the famed "Horse Marines." Without coming back to the United States, he began a tour of sea duty in USS AUGUSTA of the Asiatic Fleet. In June 1936 he returned to the United States to become an instructor in the Basic School at Philadelphia. He left there in May 1939 to serve another year as commander of the AUGUSTA's Marine Detachment, and from that cruiser, joined the 4th Marine Regiment at Shanghai, China, in May 1940.

After serving as a battalion executive and commanding officer with the 4th Marines, Puller sailed for the United States in August 1941. In September, he took command of the 1st Battalion, 7th Marines, 1st Marine Division, at Camp Lejeune. That Regiment was detached from the 1st Division in March 1942 and the following month, as part of the 3rd Marine Brigade, sailed for the Pacific theater. The 7th Regiment rejoined the 1st Marine Division in September 1942, and Puller, still commanding its 1st Battalion, went on to win his third Navy Cross at Guadalcanal.

The action that brought him that medal occurred on the night of October 24-25 1942. For a desperate three hours his battalion, stretched over a mile-long front, was the only defense between vital Henderson Airfield and a regiment of seasoned Japanese troops. In pouring jungle rain the Japanese smashed repeatedly at his thin line, as General Puller moved up and down its length to encourage his men and direct the defense. After reinforcements arrived, he commanded the augmented force until late the next afternoon. The defending Marines suffered less than 70 casualties in the engagement while 1400 of the enemy were killed and 17 truckloads of Japanese equipment were recovered by the Americans.

After Guadalcanal, Puller became executive officer of the 7th Marines. He was fighting in that capacity when he won his fourth Navy Cross at Cape Gloucester in January 1944. There, when the commanders of the two battalions were wounded, he took over their units and moved through heavy machine-gun and mortar fire to reorganize them for attack, then led them in taking a strongly fortified enemy position.

In February 1944, Puller took command of the 1st Marines at Cape Gloucester. After leading that regiment for the remainder of the campaign, he sailed with it for the Russell Islands in April 1944. He went on to command it at Peleliu in September and October 1944. He returned to the United States in November 1944, named executive officer of the Infantry Training Regiment at Camp Lejeune in January 1945, and took command of that regiment the next month.

In August 1946, Puller became Director of the 8th Marine Corps Reserve District, with headquarters at New Orleans, Louisiana. After that assignment, he commanded the Marine Barracks at Pearl Harbor until August 1950, when he arrived at Camp Pendleton, California, to re-establish and take command of the 1st Marines, the same regiment he had led at Cape Gloucester and Peleliu.

Landing with the 1st Marines at Inchon, Korea, in September 1950, he continued to head that regiment until January 1951, when he was promoted to brigadier general and named Assistant Commander of the 1st Marine Division. That May he returned to Camp Pendleton to command the newly reactivated 3rd Marine Division in January 1952. After that, he was assistant at division commander until he took over the Troop Training Unit, Pacific, at Coronado, California, that June. He was promoted to major general in September 1953, and in July 1954, assumed command of the 2nd Marine Division at Camp Lejeune. Despite his illness, he retained that command until February 1955, when he was appointed Deputy Camp Commander. He served in that capacity until August, when he entered the U. S. Naval Hospital at Camp Lejeune prior to retirement.

In 1966, General Puller requested to return to active duty to serve in Vietnam, but was turned down because of his age. He died 11 October 1971 in Hampton, Virginia, after a long illness. He was 73.

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. To find out more about Wednesday Hero, you can go here.


I often type my own little addition to these posts, marked as mine by the color green. I wish this could be a BIG addendum. In the years that I worked at the bookstore, I sold many biographies about this heroic man. Then one day another heroic Puller wrote a book. It was Chesty Puller's son, Lewis. He was a man who had a superhero for a father, who went to Vietnam, and was nearly killed by a landmine. He lost both legs and much of his hands. He was really conflicted about what had happened to him and his book won the Pulitzer prize. I was saddened to hear of his suicide in the early 90's. His family understands why his name is not on the Vietnam wall, but they feel that he died as a direct result of Vietnam.

The reason I bring him up is that there are several efforts to streamline the benefits process for disabled soldiers, efforts to make benefits automatic instead of having to fill out thirty one page applications about why an amputee vet might deserve a little help from the government he sacrificed a limb for. There was a story on NPR about it today. Find out what your congressman is doing to make sure these things happen. Regardless of your opinion on this war, these men and women deserve everything we can afford to give. Probably more than that. I highly recommend following
Charles' links. There are stories there that will give you screaming fits.

(I can't believe I wasted my 400th post on Northern California's hippie/meth/trash population)

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jig

I went home for my vacation. It was interesting.

Everyone has a religion up there. That religion may be traditional steeple and stained glass, it may be ecology, it may be meth.


You know what, I am teetering on the razor's edge of the poverty line, so I should not judge. But even at my lowest, my kids were clean and dressed. I cannot get over how many babies were clothed in diapers and dirt. The crappy cars also had drivers with ciggies dangling, men without their shirts, women in the least amount of clothes possible. It's HOT there-- one hundred and twenty is not at all unusual, and there is no gentle delta breeze to counter balance it. We were driving around without A/C--but EEEEW, our sh*t was covered up!!!



I miss my parents, I miss the hills and I miss the river.



Redneck/White Trash/Crank fiends? Not so much.

**************************
Editorial postscript here: I'm not sayin' don't let your babies run around in nothin' but their nappies--that's a joy you really only get below four and after eighty four. But if you are clearly GOING somewhere, knowing full well the kids will be getting out of the car or going IN somewhere, put some clothes on them.

That is all.

flying fish rainbow

flying fish rainbow
Originally uploaded by hialoakapua.

I found this picture on Flickr, and I love it. I would hang that up in my house, and it would make me happy. Seriously. Sometimes Watercolors just GET to me, and simple gets to me much more than busy frenetic stuff.

I was originally looking for a picture to go with a pithy post about the children's book, "The Rainbow Fish."

I bought a mobile of the fish from this book before Big O was born. Oh.My.God. My son loved that mobile. CRSE, maybe you can tell me if it's bad that my son's first word he used with any regularity was not mama or dada, it was FISSSSS. Fisss. He loved those sparkly fish. I bought a board book version at the same time, and yeah, I get that it's about how good it feels to share, and giving is good.

I get that.

But it leaves me with the feeling that the rainbow fish bought friends. I hated that book. The mobile is long gone, but Little O just found the book and we read it, and ten years later, I still hate that book.

But MAN, do I love this picture!

Sunday quiz (just one)

Because Gretty rocks.

Your Score: Longcat

71% Affectionate, 48% Excitable, 40% Hungry

Protector of truth.

Slayer of darkness.

Loooooong.

Longcat may seem like just a regular lengthy cat, but he is, in fact, looong. For proof, observe the longpic.

It is prophesized that Longcat and his archnemesis Tacgnol will battle for supremacy on Caturday. The outcome will change the face of the world, and indeed the very fabric of lolcatdom, forever.

Be grateful that the test has chosen you, and only you, to have this title.

To see all possible results, checka dis.

Link: The Which Lolcat Are You? Test written by GumOtaku on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

...And We're Back.

the scandal of the starving baby
Originally uploaded by Djuliet.

Fabulous vacation, surgery went okay, sucktastick return, a sixty day notice stuck on the door and realtor bringing someone through TODAY. UGH. More later.

But Ash had her bebe, and she looks adorable! Go see!

Sunday quizzez

76%The Movie Quiz

FilmCritic.com - Movie Reviews

I thought I'd do better on that one...

What Your Latte Says About You

You don't treat yourself very often. You find that indulging doesn't jibe with your very disciplined life. You are a very serious person. You don't have time for silly antics. You have a good deal of energy, but you pace yourself. You never burn out too fast. You're addicted to caffeine. There's no denying it. You are responsible, mature, and truly an adult. You're occasionally playful, but you find it hard to be carefree. You are deep and thoughtful, but you are never withdrawn.

What Does Your Latte Say About You?

See, I would say I treat myself a little too often.

What kind of pirate am I? You decide!
You can also view a breakdown of results or put one of these on your own page!
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey

If I suck at being a pirate, does that mean I don't get to join the flying spaghetti monster after I die?

Can we talk?

The Dick Cheney Memorial Thanksgiving Sweet Potato
Originally uploaded by mrwaterslide.

Two items today--

Does anyone else have craptastic dial up and use AOL?

When I venture to read a news story from AOL, there are always comments at the bottom, and they are always apalling. They are spewing venom, or bagging on the previous commentor's spelling or assumed nationality. Why have comments there at all? Isn't that what you start a blog for? It's full of crazies, man.

Speaking of a big box of crazy, my Wednesday Hero posts are a pre fab service provided by a lovely individual who does them free of charge. I appreciate this. From time to time I wander through the WH blogroll to visit other people honoring our troops and those that suppport them. The other day I came across someone bagging on the LiveEarth (wasn't that it?) concerts and how bad THEY were for the environment, even IF she believed in global warming, which she didn't. HUH?
I haven't watched An Inconvenient Truth, I have yet to see a single Michael Moore movie, but who DOESN'T think global warming is for real, anymore? I had just assumed it was politicians not wanting to admit it, so they wouldn't have to support any proactive measures. There are still people who don't think it's happening? Are these the same people who claim the Holocaust was faked? I don't go on people's blogs and attack their positions, but I was dying to ask her some questions.

Dorky moments...

So I thought and thought about what story to share, and the one that kept popping up is totally inappropriate for a dork post. Someday I will reveal the shame of the sheep named Jenny, but I'm not ready to do that yet (Best Jen, you hush.)

But I will give you two stories from my tiny Hanford, California Bookstore.

Ours was the closest bookstore to the Naval base in Lemoore. We saw a lot of sailors. My store's good numbers were due in no small part to the pretty and friendly girls I hired to staff my store. We loved them and they loved us and there were certain boys we adored. Best Jen still remembers the super tight faded jeans of (James?) Heidi. They were something--so were his eyes... hmmmm....

right. back to it.

One day we got a couple of lovely Australian fellows. When I say lovely, I mean they looked like volleyball gods. We wanted them hot and sweaty and showing those dimples, and hmm? oh. right. Love God number one was trying to find a book for his Navy host, and asked us to look up the "pair of one." I was sooo happy to be helping him, and I searched frantically for his book. No luck. I was looking it up in books in print, even, which back in the day was--literally-- a set of huge books listing every book in print. It finally dawned on my lust-fogged brain to get him to spell the author.

It turned out that he was looking for "The Power of One" by Bruce Courtenay, a book I had sold a thousand times. I was just so ga-ga over him that I hadn't taken his accent into account for anything but it's lust-inducing qualities.

I was beet red.

Now I'll share a dork moment from my ex husband that I found endearing at the time.

I have always been baby crazy. So when a charming family came into the bookstore, with a moon faced baby in a bonnet, I played with that baby all night. The two older boys were well behaved at eight and four, and the parents were nice enough. That night we re-arranged the entire store, and the next day, this guy kept coming into the store, looking at everything and nothing, and then leaving. Best Jen finally told me she thought he was going to ask me out. I looked up and watched as he picked up a book from the shelf and pretended to read it while listening to us do our schtick, and laughing at all of our jokes. He was standing in what, the day before had been science fiction, but thanks to the shuffle, was now romance. I asked him if he had read anything else by that author, and he looked down at the book he was holding in curiosity which turned to horror.

He did, in fact, ask me out, and as I stood there talking to him it dawned on me why he was so familiar. He was the DAD from the nice family the night before. EEEEWWWW. I promptly told him what I thought of him in no uncertain terms and told him to hit the road.
He eventually convinced me that he had been out with his sister and her kids, and I agreed to go out with him.

*********
This has been a very weak post from Jenn Factor 10. I hope to post lots of fabulous pictures from my working vacation next week, up to the blazing heat of Redding to care for my mom after her eye surgery. Actually, my mom is horrifyingly self sufficient, so I'm probably going up to save her from a week of chili and corn from my dad. His entire repertoire consists of chili, corn, and bran buds cereal (Actually, he poaches a mean egg, too.).

Don't forget!

It's Friday the Dorkteenth.

I will post one from work, later.


Just wanted to remind y'all.

Not technically Drunk Blogging

To Go -- fancy and tasty
Originally uploaded by lindes.

I went to a fah-ncy restaurant tonight, to say farewell to a favorite co-worker.
I may have imbibed more than one glass of wine.
Possibly two-threeish?

I never drink anymore.

We'll call this buzz blogging.

I thought it was a french restaurant, it was actually just good food.

I had pan seared ahi tuna with wasabi mashed potatoes.

It was art. A giant gob of green potatoes with four pretty tuna steaks, topped with a big frizzy spray of fried noodles.

This was all on the uber boss' dime, and it was heavenly. But the Honey was stuck with crack donalds while I ate art. I could at least share a little of my bounty.

I was careful to save easily a quarter of my green taters and one entire steak for a to go box. I noticed other people were holding back, so I figured I was golden. The snooty waiter (who also really needed to pluck that unibrow) took my plate without asking if I needed a box, and since it was so clearly a neatly trimmed quarter of a piece of art, I thought ooo-la-laa, I'll get a foil swan, and all will be right with the world.

Did I mention they were clearing to make way for the grand marnier souffle?

HWah-hwah-hoh-haaaa! (that was my cheesy french laugh, phonetically)

I turned just in time to see that dirty mock frenchman plop the evil accountant's seafood alfredo on top of my plate. Smashing my beautiful quarter gob of green wasabi potatoes. Burying my perfectly seared ahi.

AIEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

Okay, I screamed silently in my head, distracted only by the steam burns from my souffle. My foodie soul is still screaming.

Jacques Unibrow killed my aluminium dream.

As my old friend Galen would say,

Fuck the French.

Wednesday Hero

This Weeks Hero Was Suggested By Sunni Kay




Ryan Rahe has been active in the Special Olympics since he was in Middle School. The now 25-year-old has won quite a few medals over the years, but not all of his medals are at his Tennessee home. Some of them have been sent, by Ryan, to soldiers fighting the War On Terror for "good luck".

Jayne Rahe, Ryan's mother, said the idea of sending support to the soldiers in harm's way came about when she and Ryan were talking about news coverage of the war in Iraq. Jayne visited www.anysoldier.com and discovered how she and Ryan could let the men and women in Iraq know their efforts are appreciated.

Ryan, named 2006 Special Olympics Athlete of the Year for the Blount County Sports Hall of Fame, said he felt good when he received the box from the soldiers. He said if he could talk with them face to face, he would say, "Thank you."

The Rahes plan to continue sending care packages to soldiers, including the medals.

"Ryan is a pretty generous fellow," Jayne said. "He doesn't mind giving things to people."

In a letter that Ryan received, Chief Warrant Officer 2 Anthony W. Grillett wrote:
"I and the Battalion can never thank you enough for sending us your medals. They have brought us luck and good fortune, and now as we prepare to deploy home we send them back to you with our eternal gratitude.

That you would send us something so precious is a reflection of your character. As you called us heroes; to me you are the hero. For I believe it is not who you are, or what you are that makes you a hero, it is the ability to give all especially when it is never asked.

Your courage to face the challenges required earning those medals and then so freely send them to us here in Iraq will forever make you a hero to me. I will never be able to truly express in words how honored I was when I read the letter from your Mother. It truly humbles me and shows me that what I fight for in our country will always be worth the small sacrifices asked of me. Thank you again."

Sometimes a hero is one who sacrifices everything in their life to help others. And sometimes a hero is one who sacrifices nothing more than their time.
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. To find out more about Wednesday Hero, you can go here.

Has anyone noticed that people with the least amount of STUFF are frequently the most generous and sharing when it comes to others?

Caption This Picture!

 

C'mon, people.
I know you're up for it.
Apparently, so was Shark MacGuire.

Waaaah.

Enough whining and crying.

Let's get to the good stuff.

My new favorite time wasting blog?

Come with me as we Judge a Book by it's Cover! We did a lot of this at the bookstore, and this blog is very nostalgic for me. I love the old smutty porn covers. I was tempted to stop at the mexican novels at the flea market today (yep anther trip to the boiling hot flea market, this time the scary one!), because they had some great ones!

My secret love, even though I can't make even a third of them show up on my blog?

The Generator Blog

The fact that I can't get them to show has nothing to do with them, and everything to do with my technopathy. It's only through the blessed wonder buttons at the top of the blogger box that I manage what few pics and links are here. If it doesn't give me an HTML code to cut and paste, I am screwed. Like a phillips head facing a makita, my poor head (or my poor computer) is powerless against the spinning vortex of technology.

Why can't I title anything?

Links:
I've added several blogs that I have been stalking for a while, and then just reverse alphabetized the whole thing, so if you notice that I've stopped visiting for a while, it may be that I have lost you in the shuffle.

Okay, seriously, why can't I title anything?

We've got a whole lot of nothing going on--oh, except that I just got a call from a realtor who is representing my property owner in the sale of my home, would I like to buy it? If I could tack on another bedroom, sure, I'd love to. But my credit sucks ass, and there is no way in hell I'm going to be able to get into anything on this side of town for the bargain rate I'm paying now. Not even to rent.

I do not want to move in with the Honey's mother, as much as I like her. I went down that path with my first marriage, and living with Mama Dina would mean essentially living with all of them. I can't do it.

I don't want to go to the TOUGH side of town--BIg O is NOT prepared for that. Little O's preschool is right before I get on the freeway to go to work. I am beautifully situated, even if my four year old sleeps in our room. I can suck it up for this zip code, but my finances can't. I want to cry.

No one is ever going to believe that I didn't do it on purpose.

I have a thing about public restrooms, and using even the one at work is a last resort. 

 

My back teeth are floating if I'm peeing here.

 

I walked into the loo a few minutes ago and almost considered peeing outside.  Good lord, the STENCH.

 

I held my breath and frantically searched for the OUST which is kept on hand for just such occasions.  Nope.  None.

 

Did what I had to do and was washing my hands when the evil accountant walked in.  She froze in the doorway with a look of horror.  She muttered a faint prayer and managed to look me in the eye. 

 

"I know.  It hit me when I walked in, too, and there isn't any air freshener."

 

You know what? 

 

She is the evil accountant, and I can hold a grudge like nobody's business, but I am a decent human being.

 

I ran to the front of the office and grabbed the tiny air freshener concentrate that is supposed to be on a time release.  I ran back and sprayed two good doses into the bathroom.

 

"I hope this helps."

 

"Anything would," was the reply from the stall.

 

I ran away feeling like my good deed had been done.

 

But as I sit here and the mango scented cloud is emanating from the back, I fear that I forgot just how concentrated that stuff is.

 

She still hasn't come out, and I am afraid we're going to find her unconscious from the toxic blend of sewer mango.

 

**************************

 

Oh thank Dog, she made it out.

 

Wait, are her eyes crossed? 

 

 

It's not Sunday, but I can't pass it up...

Which Historical Lunatic Are You?
From the fecund loins of Rum and Monkey.

Need Details?

Which Historical Lunatic Are You?
You are Pope Stephen VII ... or possibly VI!

Made Bishop of Agagni by Pope Formosus, you became Pope yourself in 896 by putting your immediate predecessor, Boniface VI, to death. Your reign lasted all of fourteen months. However, you firmly assured your place in history by putting the rotting corpse of the aforementioned Formosus on trial in the splendidly named Synod Horrenda. Naturally, Formosus was clad in full papal vestments. Having dug up the stinking remains once already, you proceeded to have them found guilty, reburied, re-exhumed, relieved of the three fingers of the right hand used in consecrations and finally thrown into the Tiber. All ordinations performed by the luckless Formosus were annulled. After this delightful display of gratitude, you were promptly strangled, paving the way for an increasingly short-lived series of successors and the reinstatement, dereinstatement and rereinstatement of Formosus' Papal deeds.


I heart Rum and Monkey. Also, strangely, rum and monkeys.

EEEWWW! Not like that! (okay, maybe the rum)

Cheerfully stolen from Some Days It's Not Worth Chewing Through the Leather Straps.

Wednesday Hero

On this Fourth Of July, a day in which we celebrate the birth of this great nation, we must also remember the brave men and women who made this day possible. To everyone who has and are currently serving in the United States Military I say Thank You. What you do day in and day out are what make this country great and me proud to live here. The sacrifices you've made for people whom you will never meet face to face will never be forgotten.

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. To find out more about Wednesday Hero, you can go here.

There was a news story about a military dad who had missed all of his son's first tee ball season, and is now home. They are having a special game today so he gets to watch his son play. That is my favorite story of the day. Better than parades and hot air balloons, and don't tell Little O, but I think that tops the fireworks, too. Hug your families and shake the hand of a veteran today of all days.

YOU STUPID BITCH

Hang up your cell phone.

I can't be any clearer.

If you would like customer service, stop talking on your cell phone. It's hard enough hearing you through my plexiglass spit shield, without you mumbling asides to me throughout your animated cell phone conversation.

Learn some fucking manners.

...and brush your teeth. That was nasty.

That is all.

I am shocked. SHOCKED, I tell you.

Dumbya gave Scooter a pass on the almost three year prison sentence.

Didn't see THAT one coming, didja?

I think the fact that as a grown man he still allows anyone to call him Scooter is reason enough for some hard time.

Somebody gimme a cigarette

Oh, sweet lord, my knee just popped at work.

I think I tasted honey.

Do they make calamine lotion for this?

It's kind of like having chicken pox.

You know better, but all you can think about is SCRATCHING...

I have a knee that occasionally rocks completely out of the socket, just long enough to make me see stars, then rocks right back into place. So I feel like a total wuss for the greenish tinge to my face, and the whimpering I'm trying to suppress. My lamaze breathing that I learned before Big O's arrival has done more for my knee than during either of my 8 lb bowling balls getting punched out of my vajayjay.

Why bring this up? Because after Little O's final tee ball game, the coach took us all to Crackdonald's. In trying to squeeze past someone to get into our booth, my knee did the old rock and roll maneuver, and the Honey watched all of the color drain from my face. I did not blow chunks, and I did not cry (it was a close one on both of those options, though). I sat there breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth until my eyes were no longer crossed, and a week later, I am fine except for a slight limp and a very tight knee.

Man, is that bitch tight. It feels like I want to crack it, but I really envision my whole knee exploding if I were to attempt it. But it's just a sick sick temptation to push it just THAT much further as I am stretching it--because it's soooo close to being normal again. I am craving that release of tension. It's like getting to just before that point, you know, THAT point, and then getting a pat on the shoulder and he goes to sleep. I can't divorce my knee.

But I could pop it...

Happy Birthday!

I am so happy that you have found your bliss.

As much as I miss you, I hope you never come back.

I'll just have to come and see you.

Happy twenty-fifth, Kimmy!!!

Today the part of Jen will be played by a moody, whiny little bitch.

I am blue.

I think it's a combination of things, several having to do with money and housing, but I also would like to blame my co-worker(s).

Work: I think my base line personality is pretty happy and pretty mellow. I can roll with your verbal punches, and if you throw one too many at me, I'll smack you back.

What stresses me out to no end, is having to listen to you throw them at someone else. Someone who is too classy (and bound by certain labor laws and working conditions) to slap the ever-loving shit out of you, even in a verbal sense. Even though she could make you cry and you would deserve every bit of it. I know it's not worth the drama to stir shit up. It will all be over soon. But you ruin every goddamned day that I have to sit and listen to you spew your bile. Have you EVER focused on the positive things in your life? EVER?

ahem.

I would like my man, my partner, my one and only, to help me around the house. I am tired of being the only one who does dishes. That's why they aren't done. Because I am tired. Not sleepy, TIRED.

I adore babies. I could eat them with a spoon. I loved every single second of being pregnant. I would LOVE to have another one. But we cannot afford it. Can.Not.Afford. We are a couple of bounced checks away from being on the Government dole, and I can't do it. If I won the lottery I'd be pregnant yesterday. Sigh.

I want the TWO books I have started to POOF! appear in front of me. I don't WANT to start a third. I want my very good books to come back to me. Where in the hell did I put them? Why don't I have any clue here?

Um , crazy ass recycle man? SHUUUT UP. It's FREE, asshat. Stop talking to me.

Sensitive new age guy ex husband who cannot earn a living because you insist on chasing your dream? Grow the fuck up.

Crappy mothers who have bred and then mistreated girls who turned into amazing women without any help from your sorry asses? Shut up and leave them alone--you do not deserve your incredible daughters.

Here is my list of demands:

Be nice. Even to the person helping you at wally world, even if they seem to have a family tree with only one branch. Be nice.

Be considerate. Think about the other person. Whether that's me or someody else.

Be patient. Are you really so important that you can't wait three seconds more?

Less is more. You don't need more stuff, you need to pay more attention to what's in front of you.

Shut up. Listen. No, REALLY listen.

bleah. This has been bitchy moments with Jennifer. Your usual psychotically chipper (hmm, that's probably more real life Jen than Blog Jen) girl will be back shortly.


*********

On a completely unrelated note?
My throbbing blog-crush on Greg Beck is only deepened by his confession about poetry. He needs (other)Jen's Tuesday Work Sucks Haikus.

Wednesday Hero

Staff Sgt. Darrell R. Griffin Jr.
36 years old from Alhambra, California
2nd Battalion, 3rd Infantry Regiment, 3rd Stryker Brigade Combat Team, 2nd Infantry Division
March 21, 2007


"He was a really patriotic young man", said Darrell Griffin Sr. "He said that the people there really needed us and he felt it was the right place to be. He wished we didn't have to have wars, but since that's the way mankind is, he felt he was contributing an important part to his country".

SSgt. Griffin lost his life in Balad, Iraq when his unit came under fire as it was returning to base after conducting security operations in the Iraqi capital.

The eldest son of six children, SSgt. Griffin worked as an EMT before joining the California Army National Guard in 1999. He enlisted in the Army two years later, and in July 2001, was assigned to the 1st Brigade, 25th Infantry Division, in Ft. Lewis, Washington. He served with that unit in Iraq from October 2004 to September 2005.

On his second tour of duty, SSgt. Griffin had been awarded the Bronze Star for valor in 2005 when he was credited with saving the lives of three U.S. and two Iraqi Army soldiers injured during battle in Tal Afar. He had also received the Army Achievement Medal, Army Good Conduct Medal, National Defense Service Medal, Iraq Campaign Medal, Global War on Terrorism Expeditionary Medal, Global War on Terrorism Service Medal, Non-Commissioned Officer Professional Development Ribbon, Army Service Ribbon, Overseas Service Ribbon, Combat Infantry Badge, Expert Infantry Badge, Parachute Badge, and the Meritorious Unit Citation.

"Griff was the type of man you want to have by your side in a fight," Maj. Brent Clemmer, his former company commander, wrote from Iraq. "He was the type of squad leader every young soldier wants to have".

"Darrell was my husband, my Soldier, my gift from God who was also the love of my life and always will be." Said his wife, Diana. "He was also 'a Soldier's Soldier of Strength and Honor' whose commitment to duty, honor and loyalty will be forever remembered by all who know and love him. The news of his death saddens us deeply and we ask for your prayers in our time of grief. Please also continue to keep our Soldiers in your prayers

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. To find out more about Wednesday Hero, you can go here.

Kisses to You and Yours, Kimmy. Please tell your cousin we're very sorry for her loss.

It's good for the Soul...

I have a confession.

In this journey of self discovery we call life, there are times when you have to face certain truths about yourself.

Sometimes they are not pretty.

I am a handbag whore.

I'm not saying that I'll spend thousands on a Coach bag. No, no. That would make me a high class call girl kind of handbag whore.

I am like a crow with shiny objects. I am simple. I am called by a shape, or a design element, and if it's more than forty bucks, I'll touch it one more time and regretfully move on... I do not need one more bag, certainly not another one that is more than I spend on my son's shoes.

But oh, I have discovered a crack in my willpower armor.

My daughter has five purses. She is four years old. That's averaging more than a purse a year.

To be fair, one is a vinyl Hello Kitty that her daddy got for her when I sent him out to get her a lunch box (I could have kissed him, and it really is the right size for a preschooler's lunch!). One was given to her by her favorite auntie, for her birthday, with a matching hat. One came from the demon Target dollar bin.

Here's the shame...

One is a cute little brown and pink corduroy barrel bag from the gap. I loved it. Little O? meh.

Friday we went to the dollar store. After lecturing my sweet girl that she only got ONE dollar, and she would have to choose her treat carefully, I saw it.

Little O could have cared less.

I was forced to admit that there was no way we were leaving the store without that bag, and told my girl she could pick one more thing.

That's her Strawberry Shortcake doll sticking out of the top. She likes this one more than the last one, and is already using it. But she could have lived without it. It would have caused me physical pain to leave it behind.

Oh, the shame...

Nectar of the GODS, people...

Homemade tamales (not by ME, thank you) so spicy they BURN, and a cup of hot coffee is the ULTIMATE California Breakfast.  I heart the tamale lady.

 

On an unrelated note, why do city planners torture me so?

 

If you decide that parking lots in parks are bad, for some reason, and decide that no one can ever park there again, RECLAIM them for the park.  Don't leave them paved and beautiful, sitting empty, so I stare longingly at them as I lug all of our shite to the baseball game.

 

At some point, and I'm sure it has to do with the crime rate, our lovely city planners decided to block off 98% of the parking for the city parks.  I can, I guess, live with this if it means we miss the crunch of crack vials beneath our shoes.  But don't rub my nose in the fact that there USED to be parking here-- Plant something, for frick's sake. 

YAY!

Happy Birthday to my Best Jen!

I'd never have survived without you!

Midweek Meme Madness

I am the last stop for Memes.

I just don't know enough people to pass them on. I should also, according to the emails, be spending an eternity's worth of bad bad luck for all of the emails I have not forwarded on. I have to admit, I consider that taking one for the team.

Here is Mert's slightly modified midweek meme, and Ash's will follow shortly....

Mad Madam Mim 7" Walt Disney Playing Record for Children
Originally uploaded by XNDR.

INSTRUCTIONS: Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot, like so:

**okay I'll fix the links after work...**
1. BlondeMomBlog
2. Holly's Corner
3. Daddy Forever
4. Almost Somewhat Positive
5. me!
Next select five people to tag:
(I'm not taggging!)

What were you doing 10 years ago?
Living happily in a submarine apartment, finally out of sister-in-law’s house, blissfully unaware that my new marriage was already done.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
Wishing I had a new job, wondering what this voodoo HTML was, and blog-stalking Casual Slack.

Five snacks you enjoy:
1. Chocolate croissants, from a REAL bakery. The flaky…and the chocolate… and a cold glass of milk…mmmmmm.
2. Lemon Coolers…evil cookies covered in powdered sugar.
3. Watermelon with chile, lime, and salt.
4. Is it salty? We’re good, then.
5. Blocks of Crisco! Okay, not really, but fried foods in general are pretty high on my snack-y list and I need to think of them that way….

Five songs that you know all the lyrics to:
1. Bad—U2
2. Babyseat—Barenaked Ladies
3. Shotgun—Southern Culture on the Skids
4. Jamming-Bob Marley
5. Should I Stay or Should I Go—The Clash

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:
1. Build a stone church on top of a mountain, no roof, and instead of stained glass, I’d have an empty window so you could see the valley below. It would be available to any denomination that does not involve animal sacrifice. (When I went to Glendalough in Ireland, I fell in love.)
2. Buy a new, larger house with 4 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms!
3. Invest part of it
4. College funds for each of the kids. If they don’t use it for college, It goes to a homeless shelter and they don’t see one thin dime.
5. Travel—er, this WAS a multimillionaire, right?

Five bad habits:
1. Eating late at night
2. Eternally late. Yes, I am one of THEM.
3. Thinking anyone else is going to do the dishes if I don’t. Hahahahaha—Wait, that’s not funny.
5. Leaving things partially finis

Five things you like doing:
1. Stupid crafty projects when I should be doing something else!!!! (see also: bad habits)
2. Reading, which I literally, physically, psychologically, cannot get enough of.
3. Decimating arbitrary numbers like budgets and allowances.
4. Lazy days with my family—nuclear and extended.
5. Target is my friend AND my enemy. What a bitch.

Five things you would never wear again:
1. Big Glasses
2. Feathered hair
3. Stupid Uni-boob sports bras that claim to be made for the well-endowed, but use the same support principles they used for the A cups.
4. Stirrup pants
5. My ex-husband’s ring

Five favorite toys:
1. My ATM card.
2. Big O’s Eye Toy for PS2
3. Other people’s high speed internet (as opposed to my own craptastic dial-up).
4. Magic Window by Wham-o
5. Stereo (car and home)

Wednesday Hero

Lance Cpl. Hatak Yuka Keyu M. Yearby
21 years old from Overbrook, Oklahoma
3rd Battalion, 3rd Marine Regiment, 3rd Marine Division, III Marine Expeditionary Force
May 14, 2006


Hatak Yuka Keyu Martin Yearby was remembered in funeral services as a small town boy who balanced his Choctaw tribal heritage and his military life.

He did traditional American Indian dances with grace, compassion, discipline and free spirit — "the way he lived his life," the Rev. Timm Emmons said Monday.

"He had a desire to be in the military since he was a young boy. And he believed in what he was doing. He was a warrior, and he was a hero and he finished the course."

Yearby was killed by a roadside bomb, along with fellow Lance Cpl. Jose S. MarinDominguez Jr., in the Al Anbar province of Iraq, two months after he arrived in that country.

Friends and family, fellow American Indians, teachers and classmates filed past his open casket for an hour after the funeral while a U.S. Marine Corps honor guard stood at attention.

About 1,000 people attended a funeral service meant to celebrate the life of the 21-year-old newlywed from Overbrook in southern Oklahoma’s Love County.

Those who spoke in the packed Marietta High School auditorium talked of how he loved to hunt, but never came back with anything. He played tricks, won dancing awards at powwows and appeared on a recruiting magazine for Upward Bound because of a headdress he made from a T-shirt.

Nine of his friends stood on stage to remember Yearby. Jake Barber spoke for them, pausing several times to regain his composure.

"Many great words describe Hatak. The only real word you need to say is 'brother'. He will always be known to us as the ace of spades, the most important card in the deck. He touched us so dearly that words cannot explain,".

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. To find out more about Wednesday Hero, you can go here.

He was 21 years old. Killed after only 2 months in Iraq. I feel evil that I sent up a little prayer of thanks for my nephew who returned safe when I read that. Not so guilty about the pleading whiny one about the nephew yet to go.

Just remember the sacrifices being made. It doesn't matter if we should have gone over or not at this point. Let the historians debate that. What matters now is that we are there, and we need to find an honorable way out. Equally important, we have to take care of the people WE sent. I didn't vote for Dubya either time, but if I am an American Citizen, and I value what that stands for, if I drive a car, if I claim any part of this country, then I think I must claim it all. I sent those boys to Iraq as much as anyone, because I didn't fight harder against Dubya. I sent them to Iraq because they are there for me and my kids, and the concepts I want to teach them--be free to speak your mind, don't kick a guy when he's down, help him to his feet. Those things are part of the America I want to live in.

It's about the Spirit of the law, not the letter. Right??

Here's my Supa-star, holding her glove, rather than wearing it. But she IS implementing the step-and-throw combo we've worked on all season. She just likes it to be in slow motion, so she's sure everyone is watching her.

Here she's making her stately progression towards first. A Princess doesn't really RUN, you see...

I have decided that since you cannot see her face, it doesn't count as posting an actual photo of her. In fact, this is not my child AT ALL.

My girl is so freaking cute that it KILLS me not to post photos. It causes me actual physical pain. She is THAT cute.

Did I mention that I signed up to be team parent, and that I have no idea what that means? I took down names for snack, and I am faking cheesy gifts for the coach and his assistant. Was there supposed to be more to it? Oh, well....one more game to go.

********************************

More amazing Meme Madness Later this week, kids!

On the book front?
Nora, Nora, Nora.
You don't have to put recipies at the end. It makes you seem very needy, and you are the bestselling women's fiction/smut/romance author EVER. You have to have outsold Danielle Steel years ago. Quite frankly, you're better than that. If you have a crazy gun toting granny who sets funeral homes on fire in your next book, I may have to break up with you. It was a great book except for that bit at the end.

xoxo,

Jen

Insane Meme Weekend, part 1

One of the Reader MEMEs. I copied and pasted from a blog into Word one day and have just dusted it off and answered. If I stole it from you, I apologize.

Hardback or trade paperback or mass market paperback?

Just like it says in my profile, I love cheap mass market fiction! One handed reading, no sharp corners or stupid dustcovers. Portable and practical.

Amazon or brick and mortar? Um, Hi, former bookseller. I need to touch, and I really really need to scan the shelves looking for something to catch my eye. I miss bookstores. I will totally hunt down sequels online, though!

Barnes & Noble or Borders? Barnes and Noble – I worked for them for more than a decade. I miss them still.

Bookmark or dog-ear? Hahahhahaha. Dog-ear. Books are consumed at my house. Then they are passed on!

Alphabetize by author or alphabetize by title or random? Author if I were that anal. Again, books are meant to be passed on.

Keep, throw away, or sell? Give away. I pass it on because I loved it, or smut because I am embarrassed to be caught with it. I buy several copies of a book that I love, because I give it away, then find another copy at the used bookstore, and buy it to pass on again. I have re-re-re-purchased several books.

Keep dustjacket or toss it? MMMM…keep it. Toss it…keep it.

Read with dustjacket or remove it? I like my books naked. I do not fuss with books. Do not lend me a book you love and treasure. I get down and dirty with my books.

Short story or novel? Full Length Novel, thank you. I read waaaaay too fast to have the patience for short stories. I want something to engage me for at least a couple of hours.

Collection (short stories by same author) or anthology (short stories by different authors)? I kind of think collections are good for Erotica and not much else. I guess it depends. See my answer above, but I like finding new authors…

Harry Potter or Lemony Snicket? Potter. Can I say also that I …enjoyed the Golden Compass when it came out, and WANTED another one, read the first three, I think (are there more now?). But I am not sure that I ADORE the Golden Compass, or think it deserves the hype it’s getting. There were some elements that rendered it kind of Madeleine L’Engle for me. Concepts almost too off kilter, but you like the characters so you persevere. Does that make sense? Did any one else get that sensation?

Stop reading when tired or at chapter breaks? When it’s over. I have to be truly exhausted to stop in the middle. Or my real life interferes and wants to be fed or changed. Is it bad that I was actually referring to the Honey?

It was a dark and stormy night” or “Once upon a time”? Once upon a time is more likely to be fantasy or smut, so definitely Once upon a time. I have enough dark and stormy nights in real life.

Buy or Borrow? Buy. Then pass it on.

New or used? I don’t care. A book is a book. But no library books, I never return them on time.

Buying choice: book reviews, recommendation or browse? Hours spent browsing is the beginning of my perfect day. With the advent of the freaking Thomas table, I see very little of the rest of the store, though.

Tidy ending or cliffhanger? Wrap it up for me! When Stephanie Plum left you hangin’ between Ranger and Morelli I though I was going to have to hunt Janet down and smack her. Whew!

Morning reading, afternoon reading or nighttime reading? Yes. You forgot mid-morning, late afternoon, early evening, and butt crack of dawn why can’t I sleep.

Stand-alone or series? A series gives me something to look forward to. A stand alone is so deliciously tidy…mmmm.

Favorite series? Hmmm… that’s tough. I don’t know that I could choose ONE.

Favorite Children’s book? Secret Summer of LEB, Gone-Away Lake, Wilfrid Gordon MacDonald Partridge, and Julius, Baby of the World. (I would totally consider a Lilly Tattoo.) All of the James Herriott books. Conversations with a Pocket Gopher by Jack Schaeffer. Narnia. Farley Mowat. Three Investigators. Frog and Toad. Are you my Mother?

Favorite book of which nobody else has heard? Skellig was a YA book that I liked, but the next book by that author was awful. Genellan by Gier was Flipping fantastic (Sci-Fi) or Keeper by Greg Rucka.

Favorite books read last year? I was poor last year. OOOH! I think I found George RR Martin last year, so I’ll say those. My best Jen also keeps me stocked with her leftover Sookie Stackhouse novels, which I enjoy—even though vampires are outside of my usual tastes.

Favorite books of all time? What kind of BS question is that? That list would go on forever. Animal Dreams by Barbara Kingsolver made me cry… um, At home in Mitford was a wonderfully peaceful book about nothing. I didn’t WANT to read anything for a while after that. All of the books listed above under Children’s. Sleeping Dogs by Thomas Perry.

Least Favorite book you finished last year? EWWWW, a Carole Higgins Clark someone gave me. Bad. Not my usual thing at all, but I was desperate, it was very.very.bad. . .

What are you reading right now? Just finished Valentine’s Rising by E. E. Knight. Wishing I had the fifth one.

What are you reading next? GRRRRRR. Little O carried off the Naomi Novik book I just got, Black Powder War, the third in the Temeraire series. You cannot scold a four year old into remembering where they left something. My fault for thinking it’s cute when she grabs my books and reads with her babies in her lap. (I don’t know WHO could have taught her that one. She has to have a Grown up book for that, not a little girl book.) oops.

Did I mention the invisible ink?

Create your own Scratch Ticket


I've obviously done something wrong.

I am Dorkk, hear me sigh.

**************
Oohhh! It worked! The text didn't show in the preview!! SQUEEEEEEE!

Bare walls and belly button lint. Now THAT's Appropriate.

Okay, I know I've been rant-y and bitter lately.  I know.

 

But we need to talk about the death row guy in Texas.

 

Have you heard about him?  It's very controversial that he wants to tell a joke for his Last words.  He's having a contest on his website, and he and his fellow inmates will choose the winner.

 

What was wrong with that last statement?

 

What.

 

 

the. Fuck.

 

His WEBSITE?  He's on Death row for shooting 2 people point blank in a Texas field, and he gets to have a WEBSITE?  I have a little old blog, and I find it to be loads of fun.  Why  does this bastard get to host his own website? 

 

This is the point where I fail all of the "Are You A Flaming Liberal?" quizzes, because I understand that he's going to die, and that's a whole lot of punishment.  However. 

 

Do the people he killed get to play on a website until he dies?  No?  Then why should he? 

 

I believe in Capital punishment, and I believe that prison shouldn't be any fun.  Most especially if we have already determined that not only are you beyond redemption, you are so FAR beyond that you must die for your crimes.  I DO think we should not take twenty years to kill ya, but if you have to wait twenty years due to appeals and legalities, I am okay with it if you get bored in the interim.   

 

If you want to tell a joke for your last words, fine.  It's your last choice.  Should you be covered by the media if you choose to do so?  Nope.  If it were me, I'd do a question and answer type joke, and die without revealing the answer. 

 

 

 

Personal Space, People. Personal Space.

So, apparently, WTF Wednesdays are back ON, because bitches keep messin' with me.


Bones and Babs have a third member of their inconsiderate herd of cows. She shops at Safeway.

I was in the express lane with Little O and the lady in front of me was taking FOREVER, but all I had to purchase was a paperback book. I was going to take the least amount of time of anyone in that line. The mid-to-late forties lady behind me bumps me with her cart.

Now I am a big puss when it comes to those times in life I refer to as "Lucy Moments"--you know, when Lucille Ball was about to humiliate herself beyond all redemption? I cringe on other people's behalf for the mortification to come. I can totally put myself in their shoes, and I feel for them.

So I get bumped by this cart, and I don't even turn around, because I don't want to embarrass this lady, who has accidentally attempted to turn my bikini briefs into a thong. Then she does it again. This time I DO turn, and see that she is unloading her cart onto the belt, and is leaning over the cart to get to the conveyor belt.

I am still thinking how embarrassed I would be to realize that I've been molesting someone with my shopping cart. So I turn back to my endless conversation with Little O.

Yay! It's our turn. Remember, I have one freaking item. Bitch bumps me again. Her cart is EMPTY. I have moved forward to the ATM terminal, and I think okay, she pushed her cart a little too enthusiastically when the line moved.

WTF? She pushed me AGAIN with her cart. I had ONE item, had my ATM ready to go, and she is still fucking pushing me?

By the time I would have turned to her, my transaction was done. I resisted the urge to explain the law of physics that says two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time and could she please stop attempting the anal probe while I entered my PIN number?

But I was seething as I waited for my overpriced iced coffee at the Starbucks inside the grocery store, and I kept turning around, trying to get a better look at her, because she HAD to be senile, or early onset Alzheimer's, or SOMETHING. Right? Yeah, I don't think so. Just another one of Them.

I don't know if my restraint demonstrated good manners, or just indicates why I got stuck as the mild mannered asassination victim. If I had had more groceries, I might have gone a little Saddam on her.

Wednesday Hero

This Weeks Hero Was Suggested By Malinda




69-year-old Bert Brady has never stepped foot in Iraq or Afghanistan, yet many soldiers who have know who he is and appreciate what he's done for them. You see, for the past year Mr. Brady has made a trip to the Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport nearly every morning to welcome home returning American troops. Bert Brady, along with fellow veterans, is a member of the Welcome Home a Hero program. They make sure that every soldier who steps off a plane in Dallas gets a special homecoming.

Brady shows up each day with the goal of making soldiers feel appreciated and proud of their service. He's often joined by veterans of the Vietnam and Korean wars who did not get a warm reception when they returned from battle.

"We are not going to forget them like a lot of Vietnam soldiers have been forgotten," Brady said. "We are not going to forget the soldiers of today."

To read more about Bert Brady, you can go to ABCnews.com

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. To find out more about Wednesday Hero, you can go here.


I love the happy ones. I hope when I am retired, I have the gumption and still care enough to do things like this. Can you have a more classic WW2 name than Bert Brady? Awesome. Supporting the troops LITERALLY, not just a magnet on his car or a flag on the holidays.

My grandfather came home from WW2, and like much of his generation, didn't talk about it. He committed suicide in the early sixties. How much did war change him? We'll never know. But I wonder how different my mother's life would have been if he had never gone to war? I hesitate to ask my mom about my grandfather, because I don't want to stir up memories for her. I think it's because I cannot imagine losing my father.
We need to make sure that our vets get the counselling and help that they need, without having to justify it to anyone. I find it absolutely abhorrent that we are denying coverage and Dishonorably discharging people, for fuck's sake, for seeking help.

bah.
Write your congressman.
Put up your magnet on your car.
But hats off to Bert Brady for DOING something. (No guilt in this post, hmmm?)

Mayberry we're not.

This is the biggest town I've ever lived in.

It was once a very scary place, with shootings in the mall, and crazy drive-bys. It has settled down in the last fifteen years or so, and I appreciate that, since I have lived here for the last ten. We are still consistently in top five cities nationwide for car theft, but hey, it's almost a point of pride that we can beat Oakland.

My initial wild eyed terror and twitchy hyper-awareness of my surroundings has been replaced by a common-sense based resignation/fatalism. If they REALLY want it, I'll probably fork it over but as long as I stay out of the truly BAD areas, I'll be okay until Murphy's law calls my name--and really, at that point, I'll be screwed either way.

It can really be a lovely town to live in, but it's gentle veneer can wear thin at any time. This weekend, after Tee-ball, I took Little O to the Flea Market held at the local Community College. We wandered the aisles looking at craptastic wares manufactured in Mexico, or China, and almost bought a bitchin' pair of fake Vans for my Tee ball superstar (always out of the size I need, Damn you, Murphy!).

Then we came upon my favorite vendor in the place. I wish I'd had my camera, but it's probably better that I didn't. Two guys in their early twenties had a couple of rubbermaid tubs full of dirty wires bundled together, and a table full of car stereos.

Oh, you mean the fake Kenwoo and JBC manufactured in Korea? no no. Just a banquet table filled with the stereos that had been ripped out of dashboards all over town. Wires still hangin' from 'em. It was such a Stockton moment.

The only thing that topped it was reading the crime report in the newspaper today. Two guys tried to rob an ice cream vendor pushing a cart in one of the parks nestled in a residential neighborhood in north Stockton. They pulled a knife on him, and must have been dreaming of the cold hard cash they'd be getting from him. Instead the crazy bastard chased them away with a machete. Rock on, Crazy Ice Cream Man.

Note to self: Don't bitch about the incorrect change any more when we go to the park.

Legal Action Pending....

Dear Frito Lay-

I am bringing this matter to your attention in hopes of a speedy resolution. Chili's Restaurant has shamelessly stolen your formula for Chili Fritos, and I'll be Dogdamned if they are not sprinkling it on any shrimp type food item that they sell. My next letter will be to them, demanding my money back for the two horrible dinners that they have conned out of me. Their "Cajun" shrimp was frito flavored, I accepted it and moved on. Remembering my experience with the Cajun stylings, I instead opted for the garlic lime shrimp. Imagine my horror when I realized it was exactly the same. They are just crushing your product up and sprinkling it on things indiscriminately. I urge you to consider a cease and desist order.

Sincerely,

JennFactor10



Dear Chili's-

If I want frito's, I will go to 7-11 and buy a bag. The next gift card we are given will be spent solely on alcohol. To the smarmy superior waiter? If I wanted to buy a T-shirt at the Skynrd concert, you would totally be the guy I'd look for. If you are serving my food, however, please trim that shit on your face into some semblance of order. I am the most mild mannered easy to please customer you will ever run across. If I felt compelled to check my food for stray whiskers, you are in bad shape, indeed, dude. If you MUST have a pony tail like a matted weasel dangling halfway down your back, could you braid it maybe? comb it? I found myself wishing for a mullet that would imply some sort of vanity and haircare. Your tip was maintained only by the fact that you spelled Dessert in front of my four year old.

Sincerely,

A Concerned Customer