Excuse me?

I can't comment right now, and only about every third comment makes it through the filters at my work email, but I needed to respond to my anonymous commentor...

 

Would you pay $100 for a hand-held computer game for your son? Yes, it is his only handheld device, unlike four thousand dollies my daughter owns.

Then why won't you spend the same for your daughter? I would for something unique.

You never know until your daughter gets the doll exactly how much she is going to play with it (same for hand-held computer games) but many girls get a phenomenal amount of play value out of their American Girls dolls (or Maplelea Girl dolls in Canada).   My daughter is equally happy with the funny bald baby from Target and the mutant freak looking  hand me down dolly that never sleeps (One eye is stuck open)--What a phenomenal amount of play value we've gotten from those dolls that didn't set me back a hundred plus dollars.

If you calculate the cost per hour of play, for many girls these dolls can be some of the best money a parent could ever spend. Unless One-Eye, the intensive care baby, lets her play hospital and means she makes up her own stories instead of getting locked into a scripted (although historically accurate) storyline that she would follow faithfully.  

 

Furthermore, the values put forth by American Girl and Maplelea Girls is far better than what comes with a Bratz doll.

 

If you had read my blog at all you'd know that I hate Bratz and their ilk with a screaming purple passion, and that they are banned from our house.  I have no problem with the AG dolls and their values, I have an issue with their price, and the unsolicited catalog sucking my daughter in...  Luckily I also have the ability to crush her eternal hopes of receiving a hundred dollar doll at five years old, of receiving a power wheels car, EVER, of getting a puppy and a baby sister under the tree simultaneously, and still letting my kid know that she is loved.  Why do people think more money makes it better?  Having said that,  I adore Pleasant Company and plan on buying many of their books for my daughter when she is at the right age.  Again, if you'd ever read my blog before, you'd know I'm a sucker for my kids, but am on a pretty tight budget, and whine to my bloggy friends when it gets to be too much.  Anonymous comments are weak--put your name in the comment, at least.

It is done.

I am moved out of my ghetto hovel (sob!).

 

I will not be getting my deposit back.  Even though the carpets had lived through several tenants before us, including a long stint with a rottweiller, we finished 'em off.

 

After five years, they cannot charge me for painting, which it also desperately needed even before we moved in.

 

But in spite of those facts, I am sure they will keep my entire deposit.  They sent me a letter telling me they were going to bill me for the tree service required to take care of the tree in front, in spite of the fact that I have a letter I faxed to them TWO YEARS AGO advising them that the tree needed some love.

 

Now we're waiting on the eviction of the flaky tenant living in my (future) house.  I figure I'll be in around October 9th. 

 

So I've got 2 1/2 weeks with the MIL. 

 

Wish me luck.

 

 

Mini Me

Last night I asked Little O to bring me my crack Starbuck's cup from the other room.

She ran to get it, and when she hit the living room, she paused, held it up and sang "Ahhh-AHHHHH!"

Oh, my bloggy friends, what have I done? This is sooooo my move. Down to the holding it up as if a light was shining down from the clouds.

I was dying.

I asked Little O what that was about, and she says,

"It's the Magic of Coffee, Mama."

If she ever stopped talking to take a breath, and did not demand active participation in her conversations these days, I would keep her home instead of sending her to Preschool, today.

Love my O's.

EEEEEEEVIL lurks among us.

Still packing.

Mailman just came.

Little O is home with me today.

sigh.

Remember when all of the seventies bands had secretly sold their souls to the devil, and everyone played records (HA! RECORDS!!) backwards to hear the evil messages... C'mon, this wasn't just a Seventh Day Adventist thing, right?

Well friends I am here to tell you there is a new source of EEEEEvil in the world, cleverly disguised as wholesome girl power fun. I used to be a part of it.

The mailman brought us our first ever American Girl Catalog today.

Good Hell. (Thanks, Maria.)

Eighty-seven dollars per doll, with each accessory being sold separately. And there are pages and pages of accessories.

I love the modern American Girl books. The crafty ones, the ones about puberty, and hygiene. The historical books are....alright. I used to host American Girl parties at the bookstore. For the most part, they were a hoot.

This catalog is so very very wrong. Little O is pouring over it, it is her new bible and best friend all rolled into one. Shit, she just found the matching pajamas for girl and doll.

Evil in a 60 page catalog.

Good Hell.

I like to Move it, move it....I like to move it, move it!

Okay, that's a damned lie.

We have reached the halfway point in this journey to homelessness, and I MUST give a mighty shout out to

The whirling Dervish that is an uncaffeinated

Breanna.

Okay, I see why she does not drink coffee. She would be unstoppable. This chick single handedly packed up my entire kitchen. The WHOLE thing. She rocks.

That is all.

Descent into Madness...

You think I'm talking about moving?



Hell, no.


Hi, my name is Jen, and I am a birthday-holic.

 

Hi Jen.

 

Yes, friends, that time is almost upon us. We alternate years here. An even year means Big gets a party, odds are reserved for Little O. (If I ever have a third, I am screwed on several levels.)

Little O was enchanted with the Alien masks we made for Big O's party last year. Being a soon to be five year old girl, however, as well as being MY daughter, Little O had to bring it up a notch (Okay, that might have been me). But the theme is totally on her. It started out very simply. Then Cade at daycare told her he did not want a GIRLY mask. So I found a boy thing. But for the mask to work, the ears were going to have to be attached separately, and would spin.

It's HER birthday, for Pete's sake. The boys can't have something COOLER than the girls.


Which is how I ended up making thirty-two tissue paper flowers (and counting).

 

My name is Jen. I'm a birthday-holic.

Wednesday Hero

Staff Sgt. Richard P. Ramey
27 years old from Canton, Ohio
703rd Ordinance Compan, supporting the 82nd Airborne Division
February 8, 2004


Richard Ramey always knew what he was going to be. Once, while in the third grade, his teacher asked him what he wanted to do when he grew up. His response? "I’ll go to war and fight" Concerned by his answer, his teacher called his mother, Julie Ramey. She told her "No, that's my son".

SSgt. Ramey was killed when insurgents attacked his and other convoys in Mahmudiyah, Iraq.

"Richard loved to do his job. No matter where it would take him," said his mother. "He really felt deeply that he wanted to protect people that couldn’t protect themselves"

In a statement released through Fort Knox, the Ramey family said, "He was adventurous and smart, combining both qualities in what he did for the Army. We knew his work was dangerous but also knew he wouldn’t have wanted to do anything else".

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 blog, you can go here.

My big beautiful nephew has re-upped. sigh. His younger brother has been assigned a ship upon completion of his training. sigh. I am proud as hell of both of them, but keep 'em in your prayers, okay?

Another reason to rue the day...

blink-red-dress
Originally uploaded by dicesix.

Blog friends are a strange phenomenon. Most you've never met, and never will. But they have let you into some small part of their lives, and even if you are a shy lurker, they affect you with their writing and (for me) their humor.

This red dress is in honor of Greg Beck, a man I never met, but whose writing made me feel like I had. I feel like a dork for getting misty eyed over someone I never met, but there ya go. I will miss his wicked, profanity laced take on every day stupidity, his ghost stories, and his insight.

The girl in the picture is moving out of the frame--hopefully on to something wonderful. Here's hoping Greg has done the same.
Rest in Peace

...must...pack...boxes...

RESIST the lure of the computer....
GAHHH.
Where are the packing fairies when you need them...
I'll be back soon...unless I go live with my MIL, in which case you'll al be stuck with emailed posts from work with no photos or visits/comments from me. (SOB!)

See?? Even now I'm stalling to avoid the boxes.

The Honey? He's found a Steelers Bar here in town, and invited a buddy from Roseville down to watch them at ten on a Sunday morning. Because I refuse to get cable. So I kind of did it to myself.

HAAA!! I'm still stalling!

Bow down before me, the Mistress of Procrastination! One week until we are homeless!!










Right.







Boxes.

This Ulcer is brought to you by the letter Dubya

I will quit my job to campaign for the candidate that promises swift and terrible retribution for things like THIS.

Soldiers are being maimed and killed because we don't allow the GOOD body armor, even if sent from home, and you KNOW not all of the humvees were sent over properly equipped. I know there isn't anything we can do to take that back.

But the fuckers in that Rolling Stone article should be prosecuted. Villified. Could we spend oh, say, one tenth of Paris Hilton's airtime on something that matters? Can we see a story about how the staggering debt we've incurred is residing in these men's pockets?

(This article was stolen from Some Guy's Blog. No, really--Some Guy's Blog.)

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

They are finally at least naming that poor baby in Portugal's parents as suspects. I'd say yay, but I can't really find an upside to the loss of an innocent. Justice, I suppose, but that really remains to be seen, doesn't it? UGH.

13 Things to do on a Slow day when Internet access has been DENIED

1. Crossword.

 

2. Mock your co-workers' terrible typos.  Yesterday's Crossword.

 

3. Making up tragicomical life stories for the people walking up to pay before they open the door.  (Crack for breakfast.  The weight of his giant mustache makes him walk funny.  Crack for breakfast.  They are sitting in the car fighting over the look he gave the hoochie that just walked by.  Crack for breakfast.  He's a Virgo, his hobbies are Trans Am maintenance and Meth cooking, and he has a Myspace Page that lists him as 21.)

 

4. Don't laugh at the stories, or when they walk into the door that doesn't open--this is less fun since we added a please use other door sign, but we had to.  It's awkward to talk to them when they still have a doorprint on their face.

 

5.  Excel spread sheet Boggle.  (God, we're so sad)

 

6.  Rant again about how much I hate Jon Bon Jovi, and Fergie should stick to slutty pop songs--that big girl song is getting old fast.

 

7.  Movin' on to Sunday's Crossword.

 

8.  Add a running commentary to someone else's conversation--they have a phone call, the lucky bastard.  Go back to the crossword.

 

9.  Cover the stack of crosswords when the boss walks by, not to be sneaky, just out of respect.  Okay, now what do you have for fifty-six down?

 

10.  Does anyone know how to make one of those paper footballs the guys used to make in grade school?

 

12.  Mock the cutting edge fashion choices made by fresh hip young interior designers in Domino Magazine.  (FYI? When they tell you it's a budget decorating magazine?  They mean the budget of a small third world country.) 

 

13.  Develop a deeper understanding and appreciation for the subtleties and nuances of Bill Murray's performance in Caddyshack.  I hate gnats.  Where are they coming from?  I will kill them all.  I'll never be a Buddhist.

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Mama, I'm Bored.

 

Me too, baby.


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

Little O is watching The Wizard of Oz for the first time. Mama, she does NOT look right.

The tornado hits and I ask Little O what happened.

Mama, it is a VERY wind day at her house...

California living, baby. Not a clue what a tornado is...

Time has stopped.....

The MAN has completely blocked blogs at work.

 

The radio STILL plays Jon Bon Jovi every two hours.

 

Still no home in sight, and it's two weeks til we are outta there.  Have I packed?  Anything? 

 

So what do you do when you stop at the market with your spanish speaking mother in law and she stops to speak to every.single.person. in the produce section, while you are itching to go? 

 

Okay, I'll have to wait until I get home to show you.  Let me just say that there are only 26 letters in the alphabet for Little O and I to make out of twist ties.  We did them twice.

Weds Hero Anniversary!

I got nuthin'

The honey saw a great bumper sticker the other day, though.

"Party like it's 1/20/08."

Just Say It.

The best laid plans can always go awry, so it's always a relief when my body announces we have officially dodged the baby bullet for another month.  Once the initial dirt-poor, broke-like-the-great-depression sense of relief is over, I'm just pissed.  This sucks.  I wish I was one of those people raised to call parts and functions what they are, but I fall into the Euphemism trap. 

 

At least I have not used these old standards:

*Visit from my Aunt Flo

*My monthly visitor

 

No, in my head I take on some weird Boris and Natasha Slavic accent and say "I bleed like stuck pig"

 

 

Why am I sharing this with the four people who read me that I've never met?  I don't know.

 

 

The kids get reminded to wash Pits and Privates.    I envision trying to introduce proper names at this point in the game and admit to a chortle over the look on Big O's face if I reminded him to make sure his scrotum gets proper soapy attention.

 

 

Nope, I'm a punch line kinda girl.  I'll just break out another inappropriate Saturday Night Live, and we'll watch the Alec Baldwin "Schweddy Weiner" routine.  

 

 

Poor Big O.  Crystal over at Boobs, Injuries, and Dr. Pepper is my guide for raising boys.  He's in for it.... 

 

Wednesday Hero

This Weeks Post Was Suggested By Randy Thorsvig

Ken Leonard (On The Right)
From High Point, North Carolina

Every once in a while you run across one of those "feel good stories". Those stories that show us just what a person can do when they really want it bad enough. And Ken Leonard has one of those stories.

In 2005, Ken Leonard left his job as a police officer in High Point, North Carolina to go to Iraq to work with a private security firm. In December of that year, Ken, along with five other men in his vehicle and six others in the vehicle behind him, was hit by a roadside bomb outside of Baghdad. "After the bomb went off, I knew exactly what had happened," Leonard recalled. "My feet got jarred, so I knew they were hit." While others in his vehicle were injured, he had received the worst of it. He had lost both his feet.

The vehicle behind them pushed Leonard's to a safer area. But flames were coming out of the air conditioning vents and they had to get out. Leonard crawled from the car and fell to the pavement. "That’s when I saw my feet," he said. "I could tell they were gone. They were still attached, but they were shredded."

On July 19, 2007, Ken Leonard went back to North Carolina to get his job back with the police force. To do that he needed to pass the Police Officers Physical Abilities Test, which, among other things, consisted of a 200-yard run to be finished in under 7 minutes, 20 seconds. And he did just that with 24 seconds to spare.

"Somebody told me one time they said, 'You know, what you've lost is just bone and muscle. You've still got heart, and you've still got, you know, what's up here,'" Leonard said, pointing to his head.

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.


It's another happy one!

...And we're back.

I read the blogs of the parents whose children strive for A's. Who cry when the dreaded B appears. Then there is my eldest, who sadly takes after his mother and finds ANYTHING else to do when homework is due. It hasn't been a WEEK, people. Huge blue stamp in the handy planner required by school....ASSIGNMENT NOT TURNED IN.


It hasn't been a WEEK. Foolish me for not checking this thing Friday night when I got him back from his lame-O/touchy feely/let's do affirmations father. Um, how about doing affirmations while you CHECK HIS WORK?

I am going to be on my poor kid like white on rice. We WILL develop some kind of discipline before high school. He HAS to go to college. Or become a plumber. Who will buy me pudding when I'm old?

Not.Even.One.Week.


sigh.

While you are contemplating my life under the bridge at seventy, go peek at this site to see why I am going to Hell. It makes me laugh. Maybe I should write a letter.

Hoagies and Grinders, Hoagies and Grinders...

My dumpr
Originally uploaded by supa_jen_10.

Big O loves his new junior high, and I know it's only been a few days, but it's such a refreshing change from last year.

As a seventh grader, he is taking Engineering and Criminal Law/Ethics as his two electives. I hope the euphoria doesn't fade away altogether.

He called me on his second day (It was his Dad's week) to tell me that he got his PE locker, and he hated it.
My heart just sank--I thought he hated changing in front of everyone (hmmm, project much?). Then he went on to say that everyone hated it, because only like three kids could open their lockers. He hated the LOCKER, not PE. Oh, just wait, son....

The picture is apropos of nothing, I just made it from a toy I found at Michelle's

Bre lent me the best of Adam Sandler, and I thought Big O would love it--ack. There was a whoooole lot more innapropriate stuff than I remembered. Bre sent it to my house because I could remember the lunch lady song easily, but I had no recollection of Chris Farley AS the lunch lady. Those were some HIGH kicks!

There was a book post there....it vanished?

Just a quick update on the housing front--a little old lady called in about a past due bill for a tenant, she is in the proces of throwing them out (for not paying their rent for the last three months) and did we know of anyone looking for a three bedroom place?
She's an older Polish lady, and looking at the notes on the account, seems like quite a character. She doesn't belive credit checks or rent hikes are important, she just wants steady tenants. I think this used to be her house, but she lives in the mother-in-law quarters now.

Send me lots of good vibes, I am going to meet her today....

Did you ever read...

I was describing a book, a futuristic (Hard?) sci-fi novel that I read many moons ago, where pretty much all computer functions, worldwide, were performed by the giant corporation Win-Disney, or microsoft-disney or something like that.



ARGH!

Bill and Walt had taken over the world, and I don't remember being especially fond of the book, but what was it? Who wrote it?

I will spend days trying to figure this out...

The Legend of Baby Hush

Derek worked with me at B&N, he was a receiver in the back. He was short and just pure muscle, and covered with tattoos. It took people forever to realize that he was hilarious, because he was pretty intimidating and scowly. He hung out with a hipster crowd who did the whole retro fifties rockabilly thing, and I loved watching the pompadours and Betty Grable dames come to visit him.

I was the kid’s supervisor, so I spent a lot of time in the back room, and Derek was such a doll. After years of avowed bachelorhood and no limitations on himself, he had found a girl going to college down south that amazed him, and who he was willing to see exclusively. We were talking about how amazing this was for him just before he left to go see her for a long weekend.

You make no money selling books, in the front room or the back, which is why Derek was driving on bald tires in a rainstorm, and on his way home he hydroplaned through a red light. He lingered in a coma for like a month and a half.

Derek's Funeral was huge, and afterwards we (the B&N contingent) went out for a salutary drink in his memory. We ended up calling in drunk, way too hammered to go back to work. I guess it was a good thing the store manager was hammered with us, hmm?

Another of that hipster set, Galen, was the one who had convinced Derek to come to work at B&N, and was really close to him. Galen dated the snootiest, prissiest, most obnoxiously Martha Stewart at her worst, WASPY twat ever, and she had the balls to question my presence at the funeral, because she had never seen me at any of their parties. I still loathe her five and six years down the line.

Mexican Wrestling is coming to town and Derek would receive in his wrestling mask some days, scaring the hell out of the UPS guy when he opened the door. He also one day was bitching at Galen, and wrote BABY HUSH across his fingers, prison style. When Galen came to the back next, Derek asked him if he wanted some Baby Hush, and a legend was born.

He was smart and funny, totally crass and obnoxious, crazy and on the verge of big things. Useless Twat Steph was right; I was never in his inner circle. But I think the world could still use a little Baby Hush.

WTF Wedsnesday is Back with a Vengance

My landlord rented my tiny two bedroom house out from under me, while I was scraping together the deposit.

MotherfuckerMotherfuckerMotherfuckerMotherfucker. 

I am back to square one.

How did I find out?  The landlord called to see if I could get out two days early.

I said no problem, since I was renting another house from them, just waiting to get the deposit together. 

Really?  Which house? 

Blah de blah blah way... No, that's already been rented. 

Yeah, to ME. 

No, someone is moving in as we speak.

 

My moving problems were solved, mentally I was already planning Little O's birthday celebration in October.

 

Tighty-Whiteys

Captain Underpants Balloon
Originally uploaded by BNSF Celyn.

The Honey came home from work the other day, went straight to the bedroom, and (slightly wild-eyed) said,

"I don't think I have any feeling in my left testicle."

Whereupon he dropped trou and told me there was something wrong with his underwear.

I held up long enough to tell him that HIS underwear were fine, but Big O's were never going to be the same.

And so we enter the land of boxer briefs in two sizes, one a men's extra large, and one a boy's extra large.

I laughed so hard I cried, but the Honey seemed unamused.

Raise a Glass...

Dear Derek-

 

You died a stupid pointless death way too long ago.  You should be raising adorable tiny brown eyed hellions with stick on tattoos so they could be like daddy.  I thought of you today because Lucha Libre Wrestling has finally made it to town, and I wish you were going. 

 

We'd all like a little "baby hush" right about now.

 

 

La Virgin de guadalupe quiere mi nina.

Maria wrote a lovely post about her saint candles. I am not Catholic. Not really religious. I was raised Seventh Day Adventist, back when they stuck to their guns and didn't allow vanities like make-up or competitive sports. I am amused to hear from my mom the kinds of things allowed at SDA these days. My parents drifted away when church became more of a social event than a spiritual one. Every once in a while my mom will startle me with a SDA belief or attitude.

My poor MIL is about to have kittens because Little O is still not baptized. My problem is that I am not raising her as a Catholic. The Honey pooh-poohs this as a minor detail, but it's HUGE to me. I may not go to church, but I'm not going to go into the Big Guy's house and LIE. My former SIL is a devout Catholic. We went to church with her on high holy days whether we liked it or not, because she was, for a ll intents and purposes, the Matriarch of the family. I listened to the Catholic Baptism carefully, as Big O was supposed to be baptized, too. You are vowing, BEFORE GOD, that you will raise your child in the Catholic faith. The god parents aren't there as part of your long term planning to care for your child, they are there to impart the Catholic line if you fail in that duty.

Okay, number one, the Catholicism practiced by MIL is markedly different from that of my former sister-in-law. Most of the family doesn't really tow the line in terms of attendance, even, so who would we choose as Godparents? Because proposing the elder sister of my Ex kinda went over like a lead balloon. The Ex thought I could just stand up there with a wink and a nudge to the Big Guy, and I think the Honey is much the same, but I am just not far enough removed from my upbringing to go THERE. If I vow to raise my kid as a Catholic, she will GO to church, and since I am not Catholic, who'd take her?

(cricket chirping)

Bueller?


Having said that, I envy people who have the comfort of religion, because I haven't found anything that really fits. Someday I will explore my bizarre reaction to Judaism, but I'm definitely not a Catholic. It doesn't help that I think Pope Benedict looks evil and creepy. I am sorry that MIL is so unhappy about it.

I've got nothing...

DSC00442
Originally uploaded by supa_jen_10.

Except to say thank dog it's Friday. I am soooo ready.

Oh, and what are you going to be for Halloween? Okay, I admit I'm a little early, but I don't want another fiasco like Little O's wings, which she hated and refused to wear for more than ten minutes. She wears them now, much to my eternal gratitude/irritation. But the night I was frantically sewing until just before showtime?

Hated them.

AND I need to top last year when I went as my uber boss.

WednesdayHero

This Week's Soldier Was Suggested By Kat

Sgt. Michael J. Stokely
23 years old from Sharpsburg, Georgia
1st Battalion, 108th Armor Regiment, 48th Brigade Combat Team
August 16, 2005


Next Saturday, August 25, the town of Peachtree City, Ga. will be holding it's inaugural Ride To Remember for Sgt. Michael Stokely who lost his life two years ago tomorrow in Baghdad, Iraq when an IED detonated near his position. The patrol he was with had stopped and the NCO in charge had everyone take a rest while he walked back down the road with a Corporal to check out something suspicious. Sgt. Stokely refused to to rest, and instead took up a flanking position at the rear of his truck to watch their backs. Which, as a Cav Scout dismount, he saw as his job. The NCO and Corporal heard cracking noises and made their way to the sound when they were hit by an explosion. The NCO was seriously wounded but the Corporal made it through without a scratch. Sgt. Stokely, however, wasn't so lucky.

You can read more about Sgt. Michael Stokely 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. To find out more about Wednesday Hero, you can go here.

He looks so young there.

Summertime!

Watermelon
Originally uploaded by • Weda3eah •.

Nothing says summer to my kids like Watermelon.
Unless you are Little O. Then it's Waterlemon.

Ding! Dong! The Witch is Dead!

No, Not Merv Griffin (RIP Merv, I owe you one for writing the world's most annoying theme song. I'll be singing Jeopardy all day now...).

I'm talking about the dark prince of world affairs, the Beelzebub of domestic policy--wait, Cheney? No, He's still praying for a good old fashioned grassy knoll.

But Karl Rove has decided he's wreaked all the havoc he can in lil Dubya's puddin brain. With one year to go has decided to "step down" back to the stinking bubbling ooze he crawled out of.

Can I get a Whoop! Whoop!

Sunday Quizzez--WTF?

You're Libya!

It seems that these days, you just say things to get attention.
 Shock value is the really important thing for you now.  You used to have
a cause, and this made you seem like a threat to the established order, but now you
just want to say wacky stuff once in a while.  Air travel doesn't really mesh
with your lifestyle, and you'd probably scare the security guards somehow
anyway.


Take the Country Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid

Jeez, Chuck, I'm freaking LIBYA? I'm like the squealing runt of the terrorist litter, here.

I'm finding another one...


Which Survivor of the Impending Nuclear Apocalypse Are You?
A Rum and Monkey joint.
Maker of mediocre action pics and son of an actual Nazi, you're perhaps an insane joke on God's part. Why should you survive while others perish? Is it your hair, your brains or that manly gap in your teeth? Is it because you're going to lead California to a new tomorrow? Is it because you've paid someone enough money so that radiation doesn't harm you? Are you a real cyborg?

Arnold is the new Jesus. Stat.



Crap. Can I be Libya again? And for the record, that's a very delicate, Girly gap in my teeth.

Third time's the charm...

Your Career Type: Enterprising

You are engertic, ambitious, and sociable. Your talents lie in politics, leading people, and selling things or ideas. You would make an excellent: Auctioneer - Bank President - Camp Director City Manager - Judge - Lawyer Recreation Leader - Real Estate Agent - Sales Person School Principal - Travel Agent - TV Newscaster The worst career options for your are investigative careers, like mathematician or architect.

What's Your Ideal Career?

I'd have been a kick ass real estate agent, but my Ex is doing it now, and good lord he sucks at it. I don't know why he hasn't given up by now and gotten a real job. He has made salaries three times my best year, but it sure wasn't in Real Estate!

Woo Hoo Honey!

The Honey totally stepped up last night and found all kinds of listings using his mad Internet skillz, so we have options.  Not a lot in our budget, but some options, at least!

 

Yay, Honey!!!! 

Because that's how we roll in the 209...

I've talked about the working girls that troll the area around my work.

 

But let's really TALK.

 

Our girls are ROUGH around the edges--and in the middle.  I was describing the latest fashion choice I'd observed when my manager shared another story from a few years ago.  At another job in the area, they were getting a shiny new building.  She was kidding with the architect, and told him his drawing was beautiful, but he had forgotten to draw in the hookers.  He looked her in the eye and told her that he had lived all around the world, in major cities in Europe AND third world countries.  He then added that he had never before seen such tired, ugly, tore-up lookin' working girls in any of his previous homes.  He'd spent years in Mexico City, and we were the very bottom of the barrel in the world of prostitution.  Bre says when her Midwest friends come out, she makes sure they drive down Wilson Way, and spot the hookers.  But at least Wilson Way has the fresh ones.  Here next to the truck stop, we get the road dogs.   Bre has been flashed some truly apalling visuals--skirts and shirts lifted, dirty deeds done in mime to try and entice the trucker stuck in traffic behind her.  I don't know why I never see these.  I think I don't ever look away from the cars--easier to stay in my happy place.  Bre says a lot of the truckers look a little green when they are flashed, too. 

 

Our area is like the big hair trap, catching the last few as they circle the drain. 

 

Ah, civic pride, Central Valley style.

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.