Too tired to blog tonight, I leave you with the following statement I made at work today, captured in a moment of unbridled anger.
I whipped around, hand on hips, my nostrils flaring and my eyes burning with anger, as rage overwhelmed me. I'm so sick of this, sick, sick, sick!
You walk away from me, away from the problem in my hands, leaving me standing there speaking to nothing but an empty wall. My blood boils, hot pipes of steam come whistling from my ears.
Arrrgh! I am so done!
It is a full blown temper tantrum in the hallway. The F's start flying. Candy reminds me it is not after 5, but I could care less. I stoop my shoulders, my eyes darkening like the coming of a storm.
"Want to see me turn into Super Bitch?" I say, my voice laced with sarcasm. "LOOK, just did."
Send in the salt and chocolate boys, this girls out of control!
This week is taking forever to get to its culmination. The weekend still seems years away. I woke up this morning thinking, God it's only Wednesday, and promptly wanted to throw the blankets back over my head and go to sleep.
Amazingly, I was only tempted to sleep through 2 alarms before dragging myself from my bed and into the shower. Sometimes it helps, if I just imagine my morning routine is an ejoyable experience. But even I couldn't bring myself to believing that this morning, knowing what you're getting ready for, can do that to you.
Work is burning me out. The daily grind of repeating the same chore over and over again is starting to get to me. This is what happens when a creative person is made to do a non-creative job out of necessity. I'm the kind of person who would be much better suited to the Bohemian lifestyle. Sitting around collaberating with a group of unique individuals, discussing our ideals and how we could change the world.
But there are bills to be paid and school clothes to be bought, so like it or not, I'm pretty much stuck in the 9 to 5. Or in my case, 8 to 5, which means it's time for me to get to the going.
Amazingly, I was only tempted to sleep through 2 alarms before dragging myself from my bed and into the shower. Sometimes it helps, if I just imagine my morning routine is an ejoyable experience. But even I couldn't bring myself to believing that this morning, knowing what you're getting ready for, can do that to you.
Work is burning me out. The daily grind of repeating the same chore over and over again is starting to get to me. This is what happens when a creative person is made to do a non-creative job out of necessity. I'm the kind of person who would be much better suited to the Bohemian lifestyle. Sitting around collaberating with a group of unique individuals, discussing our ideals and how we could change the world.
But there are bills to be paid and school clothes to be bought, so like it or not, I'm pretty much stuck in the 9 to 5. Or in my case, 8 to 5, which means it's time for me to get to the going.
Liquid fertilizer should be illegal.
The smell of "farm fresh" is wafting across the fields tonight, like hot garbage in the sun. Proving my point, that even though I love the wide open spaces of country life, it can also have its drawbacks too.
The word ripe doesn't even come close to describing just how foul the air can smell after a good crop dusting. But, living in the country, it's something you unfortunately come to terms with. After all, there's not a lot of choices. You can either deal with the stench or keep your house locked up tighter than Fort Knox.
Around dinner time, Fort Knox seems like the better option of the two. It's really hard to enjoy your meal when everything smells like cowshit. "Pass the bread ma and the manure too.", is not something you hear around most tables and yet the smell is so repugnant, you almost feel like you're staring at a heaping plate of cow pie.
It's so powerful, it can even wake you from a sound sleep at two in the morning. Take my advice, leaving a fan on, when you are directly down wind of a foul odor, is not exactly in your best interest, unless you've got it on exhaust.
Not the case with me however, KC turned on the fan in the middle of the night and I nearly woke up choking. Confused, I looked around the room trying to figure out how the smell had gone stereo. The familiar purr of the fan along with the accompanying snores from a small body camped out on the bedroom floor, provided the answer.
At 2 in the morning, it was beyond me why KC would have bothered with a fan, when she was covered from head to toe, with not one, but two fleece blankets. It made absolutely no sense, but then nothing rarely does in the wee hours of the morning.
Tonight, I'm taking no chances.
I've already hid the fan.
The smell of "farm fresh" is wafting across the fields tonight, like hot garbage in the sun. Proving my point, that even though I love the wide open spaces of country life, it can also have its drawbacks too.
The word ripe doesn't even come close to describing just how foul the air can smell after a good crop dusting. But, living in the country, it's something you unfortunately come to terms with. After all, there's not a lot of choices. You can either deal with the stench or keep your house locked up tighter than Fort Knox.
Around dinner time, Fort Knox seems like the better option of the two. It's really hard to enjoy your meal when everything smells like cowshit. "Pass the bread ma and the manure too.", is not something you hear around most tables and yet the smell is so repugnant, you almost feel like you're staring at a heaping plate of cow pie.
It's so powerful, it can even wake you from a sound sleep at two in the morning. Take my advice, leaving a fan on, when you are directly down wind of a foul odor, is not exactly in your best interest, unless you've got it on exhaust.
Not the case with me however, KC turned on the fan in the middle of the night and I nearly woke up choking. Confused, I looked around the room trying to figure out how the smell had gone stereo. The familiar purr of the fan along with the accompanying snores from a small body camped out on the bedroom floor, provided the answer.
At 2 in the morning, it was beyond me why KC would have bothered with a fan, when she was covered from head to toe, with not one, but two fleece blankets. It made absolutely no sense, but then nothing rarely does in the wee hours of the morning.
Tonight, I'm taking no chances.
I've already hid the fan.
Can't call.
Can't write.
Can't just say hello ...
The BOY irritates me.
Irritates me because he doesn't seem to know I'm gone. Doesn't seem to miss emails of random silliness, with crazy messed up subject lines, that never actually pertained to anything.
Doesn't seem to miss the fact that I could make him laugh and smile, even when he'd be in the foulest mood. Or the way I used to purposely set out to annoy him, just so he could enjoy a good argument.
I swear it used to make his night if he got me to type "Humph!" To him it was like the sound of victory. Of course, immediately following, he'd be made to suffer the consequences of the silent treatment.
But that didn't mean he'd limit himself to silence. He'd start flinging comments of why men were better than women. A completely groundless theory, but one he pursued nonetheless, as it was always a surefire way to put an end to the silence.
It wasn't as if I could have held out on my own for too long anyway. Silence isn't exactly second nature to me. But ending it before it had barely begun, seemed to inflate his ego to seismic proportions. I'm sure if he had been a gorilla, he would have danced around his living room while beating his chest like a drum.
But, like it or not, he just doesn't seem to miss me.
I have to say that the BOY is a complete idiot. Normally, I might feel bad for saying this. But, in this case it happens to be absolutely true. The Boy IS a moron. There is no other possible reason for why he just doesn't get it! I am a completely missable person! In fact, there are plenty of people out there missing me right now! I just can't seem to figure out why he's not one of them.
The BOY must be out of his mind!
So my dear Mr. B, hiding in the great big blue somewhere out there, even though you don't miss me the tiniest little bit, this girl still misses you ... a smidgen.
Can't write.
Can't just say hello ...
The BOY irritates me.
Irritates me because he doesn't seem to know I'm gone. Doesn't seem to miss emails of random silliness, with crazy messed up subject lines, that never actually pertained to anything.
Doesn't seem to miss the fact that I could make him laugh and smile, even when he'd be in the foulest mood. Or the way I used to purposely set out to annoy him, just so he could enjoy a good argument.
I swear it used to make his night if he got me to type "Humph!" To him it was like the sound of victory. Of course, immediately following, he'd be made to suffer the consequences of the silent treatment.
But that didn't mean he'd limit himself to silence. He'd start flinging comments of why men were better than women. A completely groundless theory, but one he pursued nonetheless, as it was always a surefire way to put an end to the silence.
It wasn't as if I could have held out on my own for too long anyway. Silence isn't exactly second nature to me. But ending it before it had barely begun, seemed to inflate his ego to seismic proportions. I'm sure if he had been a gorilla, he would have danced around his living room while beating his chest like a drum.
But, like it or not, he just doesn't seem to miss me.
I have to say that the BOY is a complete idiot. Normally, I might feel bad for saying this. But, in this case it happens to be absolutely true. The Boy IS a moron. There is no other possible reason for why he just doesn't get it! I am a completely missable person! In fact, there are plenty of people out there missing me right now! I just can't seem to figure out why he's not one of them.
The BOY must be out of his mind!
So my dear Mr. B, hiding in the great big blue somewhere out there, even though you don't miss me the tiniest little bit, this girl still misses you ... a smidgen.
Children should be quarantined until they reach the age of 30. After a day like today, I'm quite sure pigtails and pint size people, are really clever little buggers of mischief and mayhem in disguise.
Normally I find my niece quiet and charming, a nice alternative to KC's loud and louder still. But today's visit was far different. Today, I was counting down the minutes, until her Mother would arrive to take her home.
The trip to Wally world alone could have landed me in the loony bin. The girls, who begged to go together, spent the entire time arguing, as to who would hold onto the cart and who would get to ride shotgun.
Of course, it was just my luck that the cart I chose had a bum wheel, making it next to impossible to allow either girl the coveted riding position. Still, I gave it a try, utilizing every ounce of my strength to push one and hold onto the other, while doing my best to keep the cart from crashing into fellow shoppers, as we cruised from aisle to aisle.
To make matters worse, KC had five dollars burning a hole in her pocket and decided that come heaven or H E double hockey sticks, she wasn't leaving Walmart without emptying her purse of its life savings.
Thanks to my Mother, the giver of the dratted 5 dollars, I landed directly into toyland torture. I can get through this, I lied to myself, as we began the vile descent into Barbie village. It was then the loud shrieking began ...
"Mommeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I waaaaaannnttt thisssssss!" said KC, pointing to everything within eyesight.
"Saycee ... I wan this too." Jordy said tugging at my arm, her soft little voice, and puppy dog eyes pleading with me.
Be cool. I reminded myself. You can do this. Just say NO! Hundreds of people say no everyday. KC meanwhile, was making her way down the aisle faster than a flash flood. For a girl with 5 dollars, her tastes sure were running expensive, I thought, waving first one and then another toy away.
"$5 dollars." I reminded her. "5 which is not 10, not 20, and certainly nothing above that either." I said, shaking my head as she reached for yet another unobtainable item. Evidently my little math instruction on what 5 dollars was and wasn't, wasn't worth much more than 3 seconds of her short attention span.
Though it could have been a faulty florescent, I swear, just at the moment when I was about to well and truly lose my mind, a beam of light, accompanied by the sound of an angelic choir, settled on a lonely item tucked back on a dusty shelf.
Lightning grabbed it, holding it to her chest in a giant bear hug, a giant smile spreading across her face. "Shrinkidinks!" she cried, holding them above her head for all the world to see.
I half expected her to twist back around and sit down in the middle of the aisle while crooning, "Mine, all mine. Precious ..." Lucky for me, Lord of the Rings was not a movie she'd been allowed to see.
Armed with her prize, KC decided that Jordy should be able to get something too. "Here you go Jordy." she said, randomly plucking a toy from the shelf. "You can get this."
My jaw dropped to the floor. Normally a nice gesture from cousin to cousin would be cause for me to celebrate. However, KC's little moment of kindness had me wanting to throttle her.
"Are you planning on paying for that?" I asked her, trying to keep my eyes from bugging out of my head as I read the price tag.
Hands on hips, her mouth puckered up into a saucy bow, KC got ready for her moment in the spotlight.
"Well, she needed something too, ya know. It shouldn't be fair that I'm the only one getting something here." Her toe began to tap.
"You're absolutely right darling ... But it doesn't need to be a forty dollar item that you're telling her she can have. If you had just waited a moment, I could have found her something a little more affordable on my own. Now I have to take that away and convince your cousin that she really wants something else."
Jordy not being a fool, increased her hold on the toy, unwilling to let it go. "Mine Saycee.", she said. "Dis is Mine."
Normally I find my niece quiet and charming, a nice alternative to KC's loud and louder still. But today's visit was far different. Today, I was counting down the minutes, until her Mother would arrive to take her home.
The trip to Wally world alone could have landed me in the loony bin. The girls, who begged to go together, spent the entire time arguing, as to who would hold onto the cart and who would get to ride shotgun.
Of course, it was just my luck that the cart I chose had a bum wheel, making it next to impossible to allow either girl the coveted riding position. Still, I gave it a try, utilizing every ounce of my strength to push one and hold onto the other, while doing my best to keep the cart from crashing into fellow shoppers, as we cruised from aisle to aisle.
To make matters worse, KC had five dollars burning a hole in her pocket and decided that come heaven or H E double hockey sticks, she wasn't leaving Walmart without emptying her purse of its life savings.
Thanks to my Mother, the giver of the dratted 5 dollars, I landed directly into toyland torture. I can get through this, I lied to myself, as we began the vile descent into Barbie village. It was then the loud shrieking began ...
"Mommeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I waaaaaannnttt thisssssss!" said KC, pointing to everything within eyesight.
"Saycee ... I wan this too." Jordy said tugging at my arm, her soft little voice, and puppy dog eyes pleading with me.
Be cool. I reminded myself. You can do this. Just say NO! Hundreds of people say no everyday. KC meanwhile, was making her way down the aisle faster than a flash flood. For a girl with 5 dollars, her tastes sure were running expensive, I thought, waving first one and then another toy away.
"$5 dollars." I reminded her. "5 which is not 10, not 20, and certainly nothing above that either." I said, shaking my head as she reached for yet another unobtainable item. Evidently my little math instruction on what 5 dollars was and wasn't, wasn't worth much more than 3 seconds of her short attention span.
Though it could have been a faulty florescent, I swear, just at the moment when I was about to well and truly lose my mind, a beam of light, accompanied by the sound of an angelic choir, settled on a lonely item tucked back on a dusty shelf.
Lightning grabbed it, holding it to her chest in a giant bear hug, a giant smile spreading across her face. "Shrinkidinks!" she cried, holding them above her head for all the world to see.
I half expected her to twist back around and sit down in the middle of the aisle while crooning, "Mine, all mine. Precious ..." Lucky for me, Lord of the Rings was not a movie she'd been allowed to see.
Armed with her prize, KC decided that Jordy should be able to get something too. "Here you go Jordy." she said, randomly plucking a toy from the shelf. "You can get this."
My jaw dropped to the floor. Normally a nice gesture from cousin to cousin would be cause for me to celebrate. However, KC's little moment of kindness had me wanting to throttle her.
"Are you planning on paying for that?" I asked her, trying to keep my eyes from bugging out of my head as I read the price tag.
Hands on hips, her mouth puckered up into a saucy bow, KC got ready for her moment in the spotlight.
"Well, she needed something too, ya know. It shouldn't be fair that I'm the only one getting something here." Her toe began to tap.
"You're absolutely right darling ... But it doesn't need to be a forty dollar item that you're telling her she can have. If you had just waited a moment, I could have found her something a little more affordable on my own. Now I have to take that away and convince your cousin that she really wants something else."
Jordy not being a fool, increased her hold on the toy, unwilling to let it go. "Mine Saycee.", she said. "Dis is Mine."
Well folks, I hate to be a quitter but I'm all blogged out with nowhere to go but bed.
Thank you to those of you who pledged. It was very much appreciated.
To all of you still blogging on ... May your cups of caffiene runneth over.
There's a 0 % chance that I'll survive the 'thon.
Will you survive the Blogathon?
There's always next year ...
Naked With the Lights On is signing off until tomorrow.
Thank you to those of you who pledged. It was very much appreciated.
To all of you still blogging on ... May your cups of caffiene runneth over.
Will you survive the Blogathon?
There's always next year ...
Naked With the Lights On is signing off until tomorrow.
I told you it wasn't looking good and my test scores prove it!
There's a 20 % chance that I'll survive the 'thon.
Will you survive the Blogathon?
Ahh, at least there's hope for future blogs after the 'thon ...
My weblog owns 50 % of me.
Does your weblog own you?
10 hours gone, too many more to go ...
Will you survive the Blogathon?
Ahh, at least there's hope for future blogs after the 'thon ...
Does your weblog own you?
10 hours gone, too many more to go ...
It's early and yet I am ready for bed. A full day of blogging isn't as easy as it sounds. My hands hurt, and I'm quite sure my ass went numb many hours ago.
I don't think I'm going to make it. There is no second wind to speak of, no companion to keep me company and tell me to keep plugging on, no more Mountain Dew, save for the smallest little drop still clinging at the bottom of the bottle and no music I can listen to loud enough to ward off the closing of my eyes.
I am, in a word, exhausted by the sheer thought of blogging until 9 a.m. tomorrow morning.
I don't think I'm going to make it. There is no second wind to speak of, no companion to keep me company and tell me to keep plugging on, no more Mountain Dew, save for the smallest little drop still clinging at the bottom of the bottle and no music I can listen to loud enough to ward off the closing of my eyes.
I am, in a word, exhausted by the sheer thought of blogging until 9 a.m. tomorrow morning.
I've got this thing about empty rooms and empty space. Like there should be something more than painted walls and old window curtains left behind.
Sometimes I imagine there's a ghost in the walls, going about from room to room, in search of that which gave her life. A ghost who like the shedding of skin, lives in the same breath and time of its former self. Always searching for a way of reconnecting, like Peter Pan and his infamous shadow, to merge the two back into one.
The past plays over and lives again in silent houses late at night. Footsteps in the hall, echo like forgotten memories, while we slumber.
I wonder how you can ever go in a room without remembering me? So many things to remind you of home, but not the family that once lived there.
Sometimes I imagine there's a ghost in the walls, going about from room to room, in search of that which gave her life. A ghost who like the shedding of skin, lives in the same breath and time of its former self. Always searching for a way of reconnecting, like Peter Pan and his infamous shadow, to merge the two back into one.
The past plays over and lives again in silent houses late at night. Footsteps in the hall, echo like forgotten memories, while we slumber.
I wonder how you can ever go in a room without remembering me? So many things to remind you of home, but not the family that once lived there.
It's that time of night, just as the sun is beginning to fade, that my brain starts humming into overdrive. Today it's getting there a little faster with help from the blogathon to cheer it on its way.
I am the sum of everything I remember.
A constant thought that runs about my head, like the even sway of a pendulum, back and forth, marking time. The sum of the whole, the whole of the sum. If you think about it, we're all just parts and pieces of history moving in a forward motion.
I am the sum of everything I remember.
A constant thought that runs about my head, like the even sway of a pendulum, back and forth, marking time. The sum of the whole, the whole of the sum. If you think about it, we're all just parts and pieces of history moving in a forward motion.
"The sharp odor of gin hit me. Charlie was drowning his sorrows, and they apparently were dying hard."
~ Marcia Muller, Edwin of the Iron Shoes (1977)
Be a good girl.
Can't you see he really loves your mother?
Made in heaven,
perfect for each other.
Go to sleep.
I left the light on in the hallway.
I know you say it makes you feel safe.
I checked your closets, and there are no monsters
in your room.
Did you see the flowers in the kitchen?
Who even knew he had it in him?
To think of something sentimental,
on his way home from work today.
The pictures hanging on the wall now.
I don't even know just how it fell down.
It must have been that strange sound,
You thought you heard last night.
Say your prayers and then it's bedtime.
See out the window how the stars shine.
Make a wish and then it's night night.
Sweet dreams, I'll see you when you wake.
Be a good girl.
Can't you see he really loves your mother?
Made in heaven,
perfect for each other.
Go to sleep.
~ SL c.2003
~ Marcia Muller, Edwin of the Iron Shoes (1977)
Be a good girl.
Can't you see he really loves your mother?
Made in heaven,
perfect for each other.
Go to sleep.
I left the light on in the hallway.
I know you say it makes you feel safe.
I checked your closets, and there are no monsters
in your room.
Did you see the flowers in the kitchen?
Who even knew he had it in him?
To think of something sentimental,
on his way home from work today.
The pictures hanging on the wall now.
I don't even know just how it fell down.
It must have been that strange sound,
You thought you heard last night.
Say your prayers and then it's bedtime.
See out the window how the stars shine.
Make a wish and then it's night night.
Sweet dreams, I'll see you when you wake.
Be a good girl.
Can't you see he really loves your mother?
Made in heaven,
perfect for each other.
Go to sleep.
~ SL c.2003
Tumultuous.
There were times when nights seemed to last forever, when mere moments seemed like days. Anger hot and seething, seeping through the walls and into my bedroom, as I hid silently crying beneath the blankets.
Scared.
Words flew like dishes leaving holes in the plaster, shattering into a million pieces scattered across the floor. Voices raised above whispers, screaming in the darkness. My name brandished upon bitter tongues, as lines were drawn and crossed.
There were times when nights seemed to last forever, when mere moments seemed like days. Anger hot and seething, seeping through the walls and into my bedroom, as I hid silently crying beneath the blankets.
Scared.
Words flew like dishes leaving holes in the plaster, shattering into a million pieces scattered across the floor. Voices raised above whispers, screaming in the darkness. My name brandished upon bitter tongues, as lines were drawn and crossed.
Break out the mountain dew, it's time to get down to some serious business around this blog. I think a little mood music is in order. Hmmm ... Now let me see. What do I want to listen to? Something with energy I think, to inspire a second wind.
A little of this and a little of that. An alternative mix I think, is my best bet to get the night off to a good start. Something that gets the blood moving in your veins, something with a little kick to go with all the caffeine I'm drinking down.
Letting the Cables Sleep
Bush
You in the dark
You in the pain
You on the run
Living a hell
Living your ghost
Living your end
Never seem to get in the place that I belong
Don't wanna lose the time
Lose the time to come
Whatever you say it's alright
Whatever you do it's all good
Whatever you say it's alright
Silence is not the way
We need to talk about it
If heaven is on the way
If heaven is on the way
You in the sea
On a decline
Breaking the waves
Watching the lights go down
Letting the cables sleep
Whatever you say it's alright
Whatever you do it's all good
Whatever you say it's alright
Silence is not the way
We need to talk about it
If heaven is on the way
We'll wrap the world around it
If heaven is on the way
If heaven is on the way
I'm a stranger in this town
I'm a stranger in this town
If heaven is on the way
If heaven is on the way
I'm a stranger in this town
I'm a stranger in this town
A little of this and a little of that. An alternative mix I think, is my best bet to get the night off to a good start. Something that gets the blood moving in your veins, something with a little kick to go with all the caffeine I'm drinking down.
Letting the Cables Sleep
Bush
You in the dark
You in the pain
You on the run
Living a hell
Living your ghost
Living your end
Never seem to get in the place that I belong
Don't wanna lose the time
Lose the time to come
Whatever you say it's alright
Whatever you do it's all good
Whatever you say it's alright
Silence is not the way
We need to talk about it
If heaven is on the way
If heaven is on the way
You in the sea
On a decline
Breaking the waves
Watching the lights go down
Letting the cables sleep
Whatever you say it's alright
Whatever you do it's all good
Whatever you say it's alright
Silence is not the way
We need to talk about it
If heaven is on the way
We'll wrap the world around it
If heaven is on the way
If heaven is on the way
I'm a stranger in this town
I'm a stranger in this town
If heaven is on the way
If heaven is on the way
I'm a stranger in this town
I'm a stranger in this town
If only my work day would pass as quickly as today has flown. If I'm not posting, then I'm already beginning another post or thinking about the next one that is going to come after that.
Lucky for me, Amy has volunteered to keep KC overnight. So at least I don't have to worry about amusing a 7 year old at the same time. I just wished I lived close enough to town, so I could grab something for dinner and a few good movies to watch into the midnight hours. Out in the sticks, the luxuries of town life can sometimes seem a compelling alternative to a rusticated existence.
Lucky for me, Amy has volunteered to keep KC overnight. So at least I don't have to worry about amusing a 7 year old at the same time. I just wished I lived close enough to town, so I could grab something for dinner and a few good movies to watch into the midnight hours. Out in the sticks, the luxuries of town life can sometimes seem a compelling alternative to a rusticated existence.
Slimeball Physics: A Single Girls Guide to the 411 of Recognizing a Jerk When You See One
Contrary to the popular belief that you can always spot a slimeball by the type of rock he lives under, this go to guide, goes below the surface to come up with cold hard proof that the man of your dreams, just might be a nightmare in disguise.
Warning Signs (Random order)
He sells his Grandmother on the blackmartket in order to fund your romantic get-away.
He finds your medicine cabinet to be his favorite shopping mall. I don't care what anyone says, Secret may be strong enough for a man but it's still made for a woman!
He likes your friends ... a little too much.
His favorite saying is "You gonna get that?"
You find an Al Bundy shrine in his closet.
He still lives with his Mother.
He wishes your Mother lived closer.
He thinks Coco Channel is a type of mixed drink.
He's more than willing to let you foot the bills ...
He lives by the theory that two heads are indeed better than one.
His idea of a romantic marriage proposal is a plastic spider ring bobbing in a glass of cheap wine, while sitting in the front seat of his car.
Contrary to the popular belief that you can always spot a slimeball by the type of rock he lives under, this go to guide, goes below the surface to come up with cold hard proof that the man of your dreams, just might be a nightmare in disguise.
Warning Signs (Random order)
He sells his Grandmother on the blackmartket in order to fund your romantic get-away.
He finds your medicine cabinet to be his favorite shopping mall. I don't care what anyone says, Secret may be strong enough for a man but it's still made for a woman!
He likes your friends ... a little too much.
His favorite saying is "You gonna get that?"
You find an Al Bundy shrine in his closet.
He still lives with his Mother.
He wishes your Mother lived closer.
He thinks Coco Channel is a type of mixed drink.
He's more than willing to let you foot the bills ...
He lives by the theory that two heads are indeed better than one.
His idea of a romantic marriage proposal is a plastic spider ring bobbing in a glass of cheap wine, while sitting in the front seat of his car.
Wish it could be Thanksgiving all the time? Try this easy crock pot recipe and gather friends and family around your table, for a quick holiday fix.
Chicken, Gravy And Stuffing
Very easy to prepare. (This recipe also great with turkey.)
8 hours 15 minutes (15 min prep, 8 hrs cooking)
6 servings
4 chicken breasts
4 slices swiss cheese
1 can cream of chicken soup
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 cup chicken broth
1/4 cup milk
2 cups herb stuffing mix
1/2 cup melted butter
salt and pepper
1 Season chicken breasts with salt and pepper and place chicken breasts in crockpot.
2 Pour chicken broth over chicken.
3 Put 1 slice of swiss cheese on each piece of chicken.
4 Combine both cans of soup and milk.
5 Cover chicken with soup mixture.
6 Sprinkle stuffing mix all over.
7 Drizzle melted butter on top.
8 Cook on low for 6 to 8 hours.
Dish it out and serve it up.
Chicken, Gravy And Stuffing
Very easy to prepare. (This recipe also great with turkey.)
8 hours 15 minutes (15 min prep, 8 hrs cooking)
6 servings
4 chicken breasts
4 slices swiss cheese
1 can cream of chicken soup
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 cup chicken broth
1/4 cup milk
2 cups herb stuffing mix
1/2 cup melted butter
salt and pepper
1 Season chicken breasts with salt and pepper and place chicken breasts in crockpot.
2 Pour chicken broth over chicken.
3 Put 1 slice of swiss cheese on each piece of chicken.
4 Combine both cans of soup and milk.
5 Cover chicken with soup mixture.
6 Sprinkle stuffing mix all over.
7 Drizzle melted butter on top.
8 Cook on low for 6 to 8 hours.
Dish it out and serve it up.
Spy Kids 3-D, in my opinion was a predictable flop. Not only did I find it incredibly unexciting, but wearing the 3D glasses made me nauseous. I don't recommend it, unless your kids are really begging to go see it. Even then, I suggest you try to point them in another direction.
2 thumbs down ... Way, way down.
2 thumbs down ... Way, way down.
The garden is growing lovely this year, despite numerous attempts to remove unwanted weeds. I might be the only gardener out there, who can admit defeat, when it becomes apparent that even weeds have a right to grow. I just wish they would do it somewhere other than my garden.
Right now, there is a brilliant burst of color among my flowers, from the pink blooms of tea size roses to orange gerber daisies resting on their stalwart stems. But nothing can compare to the delicate bloom of the poppy. It never ceases to amaze me, that even after a torrid downpour of summer rain, the poppy still stands to bear witness to the storm.
Right now, there is a brilliant burst of color among my flowers, from the pink blooms of tea size roses to orange gerber daisies resting on their stalwart stems. But nothing can compare to the delicate bloom of the poppy. It never ceases to amaze me, that even after a torrid downpour of summer rain, the poppy still stands to bear witness to the storm.
Right now, I'm seriously doubting that I'm going to be able to go the distance and blog until the wee hours of tomorrow morning. Heck, just a second ago, I was thinking how nice taking a nap would be. It's probably because my eyes are already shot from watching the screen for so long already.
Short and sweet. It's what I'm all about right now.
Short and sweet. It's what I'm all about right now.
Just Because You Never Wanted To Know ... (A space filler by Stacey)
I am right handed.
I have exactly 6 keys on my keychain.
I am watching Pop Icons, because there is nothing else on and I can't decide which movie I should view from my DVD collection.
I have way too much money invested in my DVD collection.
My Father is online at the moment, he is somewhere in Vermont, visiting friends.
Squiggy the fish does not have a middle name. Emma the cat no longer believes she has a chance of eating him for dinner.
Emma needs a bath.
I am right handed.
I have exactly 6 keys on my keychain.
I am watching Pop Icons, because there is nothing else on and I can't decide which movie I should view from my DVD collection.
I have way too much money invested in my DVD collection.
My Father is online at the moment, he is somewhere in Vermont, visiting friends.
Squiggy the fish does not have a middle name. Emma the cat no longer believes she has a chance of eating him for dinner.
Emma needs a bath.
I just can't seem to get away from my computer. No sooner than I've posted, it's already time to start writing again.
So anyhoo, I'm still drawing a blank on things to discuss. Somehow earth shattering secrets or forays down into the depths of my soul, don't seem appropriate in the daylight hours. Those kind of things require the cover of the night, and the proverbial cloak of darkness.
So right now, we are far and away from the true meat and potatoe offerings this site tries to offer. I guess we'll all have to be a little patient.
So anyhoo, I'm still drawing a blank on things to discuss. Somehow earth shattering secrets or forays down into the depths of my soul, don't seem appropriate in the daylight hours. Those kind of things require the cover of the night, and the proverbial cloak of darkness.
So right now, we are far and away from the true meat and potatoe offerings this site tries to offer. I guess we'll all have to be a little patient.
And then there was one.
On the bright side, at least KC won't be stuck inside with me, while I'm blogging into oblivion. I did so hope for rain, but it's just my luck, that the sun has actually chosen to shine today then display its normal hide behind the clouds attitude.
Maybe I'll soak up some rays myself, while I'm taking a short lunch break. Besides I need a moment to think of more exciting topics to go on and on and on about.
On the bright side, at least KC won't be stuck inside with me, while I'm blogging into oblivion. I did so hope for rain, but it's just my luck, that the sun has actually chosen to shine today then display its normal hide behind the clouds attitude.
Maybe I'll soak up some rays myself, while I'm taking a short lunch break. Besides I need a moment to think of more exciting topics to go on and on and on about.
Wow. This whole posting business, isn't letting up for a second. Everything I write is coming from scratch, nothing and I do mean nothing, has been pre-prepared around here.
This is all me, right now, in the moment when thoughts become ideas, become words, become blogs. I am a one woman blogging machine! (I am also a moron, but that is neither here or there.)
Speaking of there, my nether regions are starting to hurt. I should have thought of getting a more comfy chair for the occasion. You'd think I would have thought of that prior to the blogathon, but my organizational skills are severely lacking at times. Oh well, time to get up, stretch and grab some Mountain Dew.
Blog on!
This is all me, right now, in the moment when thoughts become ideas, become words, become blogs. I am a one woman blogging machine! (I am also a moron, but that is neither here or there.)
Speaking of there, my nether regions are starting to hurt. I should have thought of getting a more comfy chair for the occasion. You'd think I would have thought of that prior to the blogathon, but my organizational skills are severely lacking at times. Oh well, time to get up, stretch and grab some Mountain Dew.
Blog on!
Catastrophe!
Aunt Amy forgot that today was the Blogathon and when she couldn't get through on the phone line, proceeded to the parade minus one very disappointed little girl.
Quick to redeem herself and still the quiver of a trembling lip, she has offered to take KC on an even better outing of sun, fun and excitement. KC is singing in the shower as we speak, the theme song to their destination.
"Fort Rickey discover the fun. Fun for Everyone!"
Aunt Amy forgot that today was the Blogathon and when she couldn't get through on the phone line, proceeded to the parade minus one very disappointed little girl.
Quick to redeem herself and still the quiver of a trembling lip, she has offered to take KC on an even better outing of sun, fun and excitement. KC is singing in the shower as we speak, the theme song to their destination.
"Fort Rickey discover the fun. Fun for Everyone!"
I've just spent the last few minutes or so sneaking a peek around the blogging world, to see how all the posting was going. I was surprised to see that a lot of people are using photos for their half hour entries. Well, paint me blue and call me a smurf, cause I am green with envy!
At the moment, I use free blogger which doesn't provide the means to post pictures. I checked out the upgrade info last week and even attempted to do the upgrade, but of course, some technical difficulty interrupted the whole process.
The day is young and I suppose there is time to try again. But until the time that I have photo capabilities on site, I'm going on the record to say that photo posting is cheap, cheap, cheap.
Yo people, the smurf link is cool. It's actually a smurf name generator. According to the powers that be, my smurf name is Heterosexual Smurf. I for one can only say that I am relieved to know my true identity at last ...
(Heh ... Mom's smurf name is Man-Eating Smurf. Oh too funny.)
At the moment, I use free blogger which doesn't provide the means to post pictures. I checked out the upgrade info last week and even attempted to do the upgrade, but of course, some technical difficulty interrupted the whole process.
The day is young and I suppose there is time to try again. But until the time that I have photo capabilities on site, I'm going on the record to say that photo posting is cheap, cheap, cheap.
Yo people, the smurf link is cool. It's actually a smurf name generator. According to the powers that be, my smurf name is Heterosexual Smurf. I for one can only say that I am relieved to know my true identity at last ...
(Heh ... Mom's smurf name is Man-Eating Smurf. Oh too funny.)
It seems I spoke too soon. Not even 5 seconds after submitting my post, I could hear the patter of little feet overhead. Armed with blanket, teddy bear and some really serious bed hair, KC trudged down the stairs with eyes half closed. Still in her semiconscious state, she managed to fit more words in one breath, than the micro machine man.
"Mom ... Can we go see Sinbad today? Can you get me something for breakfast? Can we do something fun today? Can I play outside later? When are we going to the Renaissance Festival? Can we go there today? Can I wear a costume? Can I bring a friend? Can I get my picture done alone? Can I change the channel?"
My answers in their respective order, "No. Yes. Aunt Amy is taking you to a parade later. Sure. Soon. No. Not for seventy dollars a pop. No way. We'll see. If you must."
So now we are watching SpongeBob SquarePants and I'm about to go fix the little princess something good to eat, while she kicks back on the couch.
It seems the picture we had done the first time around at the Renaissance festival had the right of it. The caption reads, "Princess KC and her servant and Queen Stacey."
"Mom ... Can we go see Sinbad today? Can you get me something for breakfast? Can we do something fun today? Can I play outside later? When are we going to the Renaissance Festival? Can we go there today? Can I wear a costume? Can I bring a friend? Can I get my picture done alone? Can I change the channel?"
My answers in their respective order, "No. Yes. Aunt Amy is taking you to a parade later. Sure. Soon. No. Not for seventy dollars a pop. No way. We'll see. If you must."
So now we are watching SpongeBob SquarePants and I'm about to go fix the little princess something good to eat, while she kicks back on the couch.
It seems the picture we had done the first time around at the Renaissance festival had the right of it. The caption reads, "Princess KC and her servant and Queen Stacey."
So KC is still sleeping, which is quite amazing since a normal Saturday begins, with her waking me up at the crack of dawn. I guess the little munchkin must be tired from all the recent excitement.
Still I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth ... I really hope that is how the expression goes, cause right now I'm rereading that and thinking it doesn't sound very right at all.
It's quite possible that it's another one of those expressions, I get mixed up on. I don't even want to admit how many years I spent saying "Fish out of luck" rather than "Fresh out of luck."
You know I always did wonder how it was a fish could be out of luck. I guess I just figured it had something to do with being on the hook and bound for the frying pan.
Regardless of what expression, I should or shouldn't be using, if the minor child is still sleeping, let it not be me who wakes her up.
Still I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth ... I really hope that is how the expression goes, cause right now I'm rereading that and thinking it doesn't sound very right at all.
It's quite possible that it's another one of those expressions, I get mixed up on. I don't even want to admit how many years I spent saying "Fish out of luck" rather than "Fresh out of luck."
You know I always did wonder how it was a fish could be out of luck. I guess I just figured it had something to do with being on the hook and bound for the frying pan.
Regardless of what expression, I should or shouldn't be using, if the minor child is still sleeping, let it not be me who wakes her up.
Let the blogging commence!
I'm not really sure how all of this is going to work, other than the fact that I will be updating NWTLO every half hour (not necessarily right on the half hour) for the next 24 hours, or until exhaustion takes it toll.
Things are bound to get more interesting as the day progesses, so buckle up, hold tight and enjoy the ride.
I'm not really sure how all of this is going to work, other than the fact that I will be updating NWTLO every half hour (not necessarily right on the half hour) for the next 24 hours, or until exhaustion takes it toll.
Things are bound to get more interesting as the day progesses, so buckle up, hold tight and enjoy the ride.
Well good morning, Saturday morning. Well rested and ready to go, I decided to get an early start to the 2003 Blogathon. Sit back and relax, while I go fix myself a cup of hot chocolate and pop a slice or two of rye bread into the toaster.
"Nothing, of course, begins at the time you think it did." ~ Lillian Hellman, An Unfinished Woman (1969)
"Nothing, of course, begins at the time you think it did." ~ Lillian Hellman, An Unfinished Woman (1969)
Woo Hoo! I have Sponsors! Now I'll be blogging with a purpose.
Still haven't signed up to become a sponsor? It's not too late! A simple click and you can Sponsor me in the 2003 Blogathon! (Don't make me beg, it's not a pretty sight.)
Uh oh ... Word around the blog is that some would be sponsors are having a bit of a dilemma completing the sponsoring process. Don't give up! The link above, as well as the one on the sidebar of the page should take you directly to my blog sponsor sign up page.
If it doesn't you can always check the really long list of other bloggers. I know, it's tedious ... But to help you out, I'm located a little over halfway down the page in the far right column. Just remember, nothing ever got done without a little elbow grease.
See you all in the morning. Nighty nights.
Still haven't signed up to become a sponsor? It's not too late! A simple click and you can Sponsor me in the 2003 Blogathon! (Don't make me beg, it's not a pretty sight.)
Uh oh ... Word around the blog is that some would be sponsors are having a bit of a dilemma completing the sponsoring process. Don't give up! The link above, as well as the one on the sidebar of the page should take you directly to my blog sponsor sign up page.
If it doesn't you can always check the really long list of other bloggers. I know, it's tedious ... But to help you out, I'm located a little over halfway down the page in the far right column. Just remember, nothing ever got done without a little elbow grease.
See you all in the morning. Nighty nights.
After Silence
Rape & My Journey Back by Nancy Venable Raine
"I just can't imagine how you can write about something so ..." She paused, searching for the words. "So very personal."
"Why is it more personal than writing a book about having a life threatening illness or a wretched childhood?" I replied.
"Because rape is a sexual act - such an intimate invasion."
"The most personal part of my rape," I said, "doesn't have to do with my vagina." I was angry, and my voice had a nasty edge.
"Why is talking about being raped any more personal than talking about being mugged on Central Park West?" I continued. "People talk about being mugged all the time. They aren't ashamed - it isn't too personal to bring up. Why should I or other victims of rape be any different?"
"But rape is different," she said.
"I beg to disagree." I replied. Then I thought for a minute. "You're right," I said. "It is different - but it shouldn't be."
I immediately felt sorry about directing my anger at this woman. She was only saying that it was embarrassing for her to imagine how she, as a woman, would feel about such an intimate invasion of her body. I'd reacted without thinking, without checking whether my anger was a reasonable response or an overraction.
I realized that I loathed the notion that sex and rape were conceptually related and argued against it whenever I got the chance. I wanted a precise distinction, a syllogism: Rape is violence. Sex is not violence. Therefore, rape is not sex.
****************************************************
Sometimes I feel like I'm beating a dead horse with this issue, but it just never seems to get better. Ignorance seems to be rampant among our American culture. People are more inclined to ignore the wolf that snarls and growls, just as long as it comes nowhere near their door.
Rape is the silent fear that dogs your steps in an empty parking lot at dusk. It is the bump in the night and the baseball bat you keep beside your bed. It is the belief that it could never happen to you, you're too smart to be caught unawares, too strong to submit. It is a silent shame that can only belong to someone else, someone much weaker than yourself, someone far away that you will never know and never have to call your friend.
It is the choice to remain ignorant, to believe that the victim somehow wills her attack by walking alone at night, by going back to her date's room, by wearing the wrong clothes. It is the belief that if she is raped, she must have asked for it. She must have laid the trap to catch her man. She must not complain when her actions are misconstrued, and her no's ring as yes's in someone else's ear. She must suffer the indignity as her punishment for being such a lure, one that no man could resist.
And when she tells, when she goes to the police, when it becomes another story stuck back in the middle of page three in the local newspaper, she must be prepared. Prepared to defend all of her actions from the moment she first drew breath, when her mouth closed to form around her first word and her wobbly legs first had the strength to stand. Surely rape is the only crime where the accused is innocent until proven guilty, while the accuser is guilty until being proven innocent.
Sides will be taken. Some will hold their banners high in hopes for a National Championship. Others will come forward with "damning" evidence to earn their own glory and their short fifteen minutes of fame. Still some will come with sensitive hearts, feeling as they do, the public damning of a victim, like a flogging upon their own skins. Fingers will point and wag, as words are battled back and forth in a perpetual he said, she said.
What is the truth the public will wonder? Is this another case of Peter crying wolf or is there really a wolf walking around in sheep's clothing? But it must be money that is the main motivator ... Why would we possibly want to believe that rape should be a matter of justice? Money makes a much better storyline, people just love the intrigue.
Because if it was rape, it'll be so much harder to hide from our own ignorance, and maybe it will be us, who can no longer sleep at night.
(Conversation around the workplace took a nefarious turn when the subject of Kobe Bryant came up. I was extremely disappointed to find, that the beliefs of many of my coworkers, are far from being of an educated point of view. It seems the easy answer is to blame the victim and find all the reasons why she couldn't possibly be telling the truth. I can only imagine that the beliefs I encountered today, right within my own sphere of being, represent the norm of public opinion across the country. It saddens me to know, that even in this day and age, our collective rape beliefs remain archaic at best ...)
Rape & My Journey Back by Nancy Venable Raine
"I just can't imagine how you can write about something so ..." She paused, searching for the words. "So very personal."
"Why is it more personal than writing a book about having a life threatening illness or a wretched childhood?" I replied.
"Because rape is a sexual act - such an intimate invasion."
"The most personal part of my rape," I said, "doesn't have to do with my vagina." I was angry, and my voice had a nasty edge.
"Why is talking about being raped any more personal than talking about being mugged on Central Park West?" I continued. "People talk about being mugged all the time. They aren't ashamed - it isn't too personal to bring up. Why should I or other victims of rape be any different?"
"But rape is different," she said.
"I beg to disagree." I replied. Then I thought for a minute. "You're right," I said. "It is different - but it shouldn't be."
I immediately felt sorry about directing my anger at this woman. She was only saying that it was embarrassing for her to imagine how she, as a woman, would feel about such an intimate invasion of her body. I'd reacted without thinking, without checking whether my anger was a reasonable response or an overraction.
I realized that I loathed the notion that sex and rape were conceptually related and argued against it whenever I got the chance. I wanted a precise distinction, a syllogism: Rape is violence. Sex is not violence. Therefore, rape is not sex.
****************************************************
Sometimes I feel like I'm beating a dead horse with this issue, but it just never seems to get better. Ignorance seems to be rampant among our American culture. People are more inclined to ignore the wolf that snarls and growls, just as long as it comes nowhere near their door.
Rape is the silent fear that dogs your steps in an empty parking lot at dusk. It is the bump in the night and the baseball bat you keep beside your bed. It is the belief that it could never happen to you, you're too smart to be caught unawares, too strong to submit. It is a silent shame that can only belong to someone else, someone much weaker than yourself, someone far away that you will never know and never have to call your friend.
It is the choice to remain ignorant, to believe that the victim somehow wills her attack by walking alone at night, by going back to her date's room, by wearing the wrong clothes. It is the belief that if she is raped, she must have asked for it. She must have laid the trap to catch her man. She must not complain when her actions are misconstrued, and her no's ring as yes's in someone else's ear. She must suffer the indignity as her punishment for being such a lure, one that no man could resist.
And when she tells, when she goes to the police, when it becomes another story stuck back in the middle of page three in the local newspaper, she must be prepared. Prepared to defend all of her actions from the moment she first drew breath, when her mouth closed to form around her first word and her wobbly legs first had the strength to stand. Surely rape is the only crime where the accused is innocent until proven guilty, while the accuser is guilty until being proven innocent.
Sides will be taken. Some will hold their banners high in hopes for a National Championship. Others will come forward with "damning" evidence to earn their own glory and their short fifteen minutes of fame. Still some will come with sensitive hearts, feeling as they do, the public damning of a victim, like a flogging upon their own skins. Fingers will point and wag, as words are battled back and forth in a perpetual he said, she said.
What is the truth the public will wonder? Is this another case of Peter crying wolf or is there really a wolf walking around in sheep's clothing? But it must be money that is the main motivator ... Why would we possibly want to believe that rape should be a matter of justice? Money makes a much better storyline, people just love the intrigue.
Because if it was rape, it'll be so much harder to hide from our own ignorance, and maybe it will be us, who can no longer sleep at night.
(Conversation around the workplace took a nefarious turn when the subject of Kobe Bryant came up. I was extremely disappointed to find, that the beliefs of many of my coworkers, are far from being of an educated point of view. It seems the easy answer is to blame the victim and find all the reasons why she couldn't possibly be telling the truth. I can only imagine that the beliefs I encountered today, right within my own sphere of being, represent the norm of public opinion across the country. It saddens me to know, that even in this day and age, our collective rape beliefs remain archaic at best ...)
Instructing a seven year old, on the fine art of how to dip, without double dipping, is a true art form. One which requires patience, perserverence and a fine sense of humor.
Dining out at a local pizzeria tonight, KC finally let go the last of her reservations and finally decided to see what the buzz was all about with a tentative dip of a breadstick into marinara sauce.
Taking a bite, she scrunched her face up into an "Eeeew this is nasty" look, but then gave herself completely away by going back for more.
"This is yummy." she said, dipping her half eaten stick back into the marinara before taking another large bite.
"I've only been telling you that for the past ... hmmm ... let's see ... Seven years?" I sighed, almost regretting that I had, as I watched her double dip yet another breadstick. KC grinned her cheeky smile.
"OK. Since you evidently like the sauce, we're going to need a little lesson here. First things first, you only dip the breadstick once ..." I said, even as KC was going for her second dunk.
I raised my eyebrows, giving her the classic Mom look.
"Once KC, meaning one time, meaning not two." I stressed. "You dip it once, take a bite and then, and this is the key part so pay attention ... Then you turn the breadstick around to the side on which you didn't take a bite and then you're allowed a second dip. It's as easy as that."
KC was none too impressed however, moving on from the sticks to the pizza.
"Let's have a stare contest." She said, widening her eyes, "You know why you blink Mom? It's so your eyes don't dry out."
And so dinner went on, double dipping and all ...
Dining out at a local pizzeria tonight, KC finally let go the last of her reservations and finally decided to see what the buzz was all about with a tentative dip of a breadstick into marinara sauce.
Taking a bite, she scrunched her face up into an "Eeeew this is nasty" look, but then gave herself completely away by going back for more.
"This is yummy." she said, dipping her half eaten stick back into the marinara before taking another large bite.
"I've only been telling you that for the past ... hmmm ... let's see ... Seven years?" I sighed, almost regretting that I had, as I watched her double dip yet another breadstick. KC grinned her cheeky smile.
"OK. Since you evidently like the sauce, we're going to need a little lesson here. First things first, you only dip the breadstick once ..." I said, even as KC was going for her second dunk.
I raised my eyebrows, giving her the classic Mom look.
"Once KC, meaning one time, meaning not two." I stressed. "You dip it once, take a bite and then, and this is the key part so pay attention ... Then you turn the breadstick around to the side on which you didn't take a bite and then you're allowed a second dip. It's as easy as that."
KC was none too impressed however, moving on from the sticks to the pizza.
"Let's have a stare contest." She said, widening her eyes, "You know why you blink Mom? It's so your eyes don't dry out."
And so dinner went on, double dipping and all ...
5 Bad Things That Happened Today
5. The Chinese delivery guy was LATE bringing lunch! Cold pork
fried rice is very unappealing! (Mildly irritating.)
4. The power went out again (from yet another thunderstorm)
cancelling the preset time record on my VCR. Hence I missed all but the last 15 minutes, of the one and only show I watch on a daily basis. (Yes, I admit it, I am addicted to CHARMED. I wish it could be something a little more earth shattering for you, but there it is.)
3. Very false rumors were being spread about my love life at work.
None of them were true ... Truth be told, it was far more depressing than it was irritating.
2. An order that got all messed up last week, got screwed up even
worse this week! This of course, after I had promised, on
everything I hold dear, that there would be absolutely no more
problems with this order! Shipping, in its infinite wisdom,
packed the order off to New Hampshire, when it was supposed
to go to Maine. (Calgon, take me away!)
And the number one highly irritating moment of my day ...
1. KC's behavior in an after work shopping expedition was nothing
short of awful! It was embarrassing, it was ridiculous and it is
the reason why she's already in bed! "Don't mess with me ...
I'm the Mom." I tell her. But for some reason, she still clings
to the belief that someday the odds may change and she just
might come out the victor in a Mom Vs. Daughter match. Oh, I
so don't think so ...
On a positive note, I got 3 new shirts which I absolutely love. They are quite "boobalicious" for lack of a better word. Thank you genetics!
I've raised a depressing total of $10.00 for RAINN. Surely 24 hours of around the clock blogging deserves a little bit more than that ... Please, please, please consider supporting a really good cause. Sponsor me in the 2003 Blogathon!
5. The Chinese delivery guy was LATE bringing lunch! Cold pork
fried rice is very unappealing! (Mildly irritating.)
4. The power went out again (from yet another thunderstorm)
cancelling the preset time record on my VCR. Hence I missed all but the last 15 minutes, of the one and only show I watch on a daily basis. (Yes, I admit it, I am addicted to CHARMED. I wish it could be something a little more earth shattering for you, but there it is.)
3. Very false rumors were being spread about my love life at work.
None of them were true ... Truth be told, it was far more depressing than it was irritating.
2. An order that got all messed up last week, got screwed up even
worse this week! This of course, after I had promised, on
everything I hold dear, that there would be absolutely no more
problems with this order! Shipping, in its infinite wisdom,
packed the order off to New Hampshire, when it was supposed
to go to Maine. (Calgon, take me away!)
And the number one highly irritating moment of my day ...
1. KC's behavior in an after work shopping expedition was nothing
short of awful! It was embarrassing, it was ridiculous and it is
the reason why she's already in bed! "Don't mess with me ...
I'm the Mom." I tell her. But for some reason, she still clings
to the belief that someday the odds may change and she just
might come out the victor in a Mom Vs. Daughter match. Oh, I
so don't think so ...
On a positive note, I got 3 new shirts which I absolutely love. They are quite "boobalicious" for lack of a better word. Thank you genetics!
I've raised a depressing total of $10.00 for RAINN. Surely 24 hours of around the clock blogging deserves a little bit more than that ... Please, please, please consider supporting a really good cause. Sponsor me in the 2003 Blogathon!
Need a little rest from fun in the sun? Rush to your local bookstore and grab a copy of Why Girls Are Weird.
A wonderfully entertaining read, you'll fall head over heels in love with its realistic characters as their lives play out in a blogging world.
Sponsor me in the 2003 Blogathon!
A wonderfully entertaining read, you'll fall head over heels in love with its realistic characters as their lives play out in a blogging world.
Sponsor me in the 2003 Blogathon!
Put your money where my mouth is ... Or should I say where my text is.
You may have noticed by now, a newly added link on the sidebar of my page. A most wonderful idea, and an upcoming event I'm proud to say I'll be participating in, on July 26th. I urge you to lay down a little green for a good cause.
It should be no big surprise, that I've chosen RAINN as my charity of choice.
That being said, I promise to do my best and complete a full 24 hours of nothing but extreme Nakedness. If you can pledge, I can blog ... even if it means downing serious quantities of Mountain Dew and belting out Barbara Streisand tunes for hours.
Come on you know you want to Sponsor me in the 2003 Blogathon! I promise, it will make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
You may have noticed by now, a newly added link on the sidebar of my page. A most wonderful idea, and an upcoming event I'm proud to say I'll be participating in, on July 26th. I urge you to lay down a little green for a good cause.
It should be no big surprise, that I've chosen RAINN as my charity of choice.
That being said, I promise to do my best and complete a full 24 hours of nothing but extreme Nakedness. If you can pledge, I can blog ... even if it means downing serious quantities of Mountain Dew and belting out Barbara Streisand tunes for hours.
Come on you know you want to Sponsor me in the 2003 Blogathon! I promise, it will make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Perusing the wonderful world of the web, I came across a board already posting on the highly publicized Kobe Bryant, who stands accused of sexual assault. A topic that I had already intended to blog about this morning, the following is my reply to a poster who believes, (as do many) that sexual assault is really a "small incident being blown into huge proportions."
I will go on the record, that while these allegations have yet to be heard by a jury, the Eagle County District Attorney Mark Hurlbert was quoted to having said, that he ''can prove this case beyond a reasonable doubt.''
Still there is a presumption of innocence for Bryant, which this author will respect, until such time as he has been found guilty of committing the crime of which he has been accused.
The following is my post in its entirety:
****************************************************
A poster writes:
"Mike Tyson has done hundreds of things that were either morally wrong, against the law, or both, but look at the ratings for his recent fights. "
****************************************************
Sad but true, it amazes me that Mike Tyson is still allowed to show his face in the public spotlight and that there are people who are more than willing to forgive his grievances. Far from being rehabilitated, and certainly without any help from his chosen profession, Mike Tyson's history of violence is far from being a thing of the past. But this post isn't about Mike Tyson, the convicted rapist, it's about the allegations against Kobe Bryant.
****************************************************
A Poster continues:
This is not like a murder charge, it was Kobe having sex. This is a small incident being blown into huge proportions because of his fame. His talent will make up for his poor judgment in this instance, but he has to be careful from now on.
****************************************************
It is neither a murder charge or one for having sex, that Bryant is being accused of. It seems that the mass population of Americans, have a hard time understanding the meaning of the term "having sex." "Having sex" implies that it was a consensual act between two consenting adults. Forgive my overuse of the word consent, but I feel the need to make the point that the charges against Bryant are for SEXUAL ASSAULT. No where in the definition of sexual assault, will you find any form of the word consent.
I hardly think allegations of rape can be construed as a "small incident being blown into huge proportions." The fact that Bryant is a public figure, does put this case into the national spotlight and therefore will be sure to produce a media frenzy. Opinions will go back and forth, between those of us who know the facts and those of us who think we know the facts. But truth be told, his guilt or his innocence is up to a jury to decide. A jury who will be privy to more information than we would ever hope to know.
I ask all of you out there to consider how you would feel, if the woman pressing these charges against Bryant, were your sister, your mother, your daughter or even a close friend. Would that simple fact make you reassess your initial opinion, would it make a difference?
I for one, would like to believe that no woman would ever "Cry rape," where there was none. Has it happened in the past? Unfortunately the answer is yes. But that doesn't make every victim a liar, it makes the perpetrator of those lies indecent human beings for slandering the life of the accused and for every victim that was only trying to tell the truth.
Rape is a hateful crime, against the body, soul and mind of a person. It takes away a victims right to live her life unfettered by images of horror, terror and grief. To think that any victim can go on unscathed is naive, as rape is a crime against memory, once the physical body has begun to heal.
My only hope for this case and every other case of sexual assault, is that justice be done and the guilty be punished, no matter who that person might be.
Narrow views are a direct result of miseducation.
RAINN :: RAINN Statistics ::
I will go on the record, that while these allegations have yet to be heard by a jury, the Eagle County District Attorney Mark Hurlbert was quoted to having said, that he ''can prove this case beyond a reasonable doubt.''
Still there is a presumption of innocence for Bryant, which this author will respect, until such time as he has been found guilty of committing the crime of which he has been accused.
The following is my post in its entirety:
****************************************************
A poster writes:
"Mike Tyson has done hundreds of things that were either morally wrong, against the law, or both, but look at the ratings for his recent fights. "
****************************************************
Sad but true, it amazes me that Mike Tyson is still allowed to show his face in the public spotlight and that there are people who are more than willing to forgive his grievances. Far from being rehabilitated, and certainly without any help from his chosen profession, Mike Tyson's history of violence is far from being a thing of the past. But this post isn't about Mike Tyson, the convicted rapist, it's about the allegations against Kobe Bryant.
****************************************************
A Poster continues:
This is not like a murder charge, it was Kobe having sex. This is a small incident being blown into huge proportions because of his fame. His talent will make up for his poor judgment in this instance, but he has to be careful from now on.
****************************************************
It is neither a murder charge or one for having sex, that Bryant is being accused of. It seems that the mass population of Americans, have a hard time understanding the meaning of the term "having sex." "Having sex" implies that it was a consensual act between two consenting adults. Forgive my overuse of the word consent, but I feel the need to make the point that the charges against Bryant are for SEXUAL ASSAULT. No where in the definition of sexual assault, will you find any form of the word consent.
I hardly think allegations of rape can be construed as a "small incident being blown into huge proportions." The fact that Bryant is a public figure, does put this case into the national spotlight and therefore will be sure to produce a media frenzy. Opinions will go back and forth, between those of us who know the facts and those of us who think we know the facts. But truth be told, his guilt or his innocence is up to a jury to decide. A jury who will be privy to more information than we would ever hope to know.
I ask all of you out there to consider how you would feel, if the woman pressing these charges against Bryant, were your sister, your mother, your daughter or even a close friend. Would that simple fact make you reassess your initial opinion, would it make a difference?
I for one, would like to believe that no woman would ever "Cry rape," where there was none. Has it happened in the past? Unfortunately the answer is yes. But that doesn't make every victim a liar, it makes the perpetrator of those lies indecent human beings for slandering the life of the accused and for every victim that was only trying to tell the truth.
Rape is a hateful crime, against the body, soul and mind of a person. It takes away a victims right to live her life unfettered by images of horror, terror and grief. To think that any victim can go on unscathed is naive, as rape is a crime against memory, once the physical body has begun to heal.
My only hope for this case and every other case of sexual assault, is that justice be done and the guilty be punished, no matter who that person might be.
Narrow views are a direct result of miseducation.
RAINN :: RAINN Statistics ::
If you haven't seen it, wake up, get out of bed and get to it!
Pirates of the Caribbean, is this summers best kept secret. Despite the trailer, which gives off the distinct impression of nothing special, a true gem in this movie lies.
Johnny Depp was magnificent, and devilishly handsome in an arrrgh, shiver me timbres sort of way. Proving that the romance of the high seas is alive and well for this landlubbing lady. Give me naught but torn bits of fabric to wear, a smoldering look from Captain Jack and I'll be more than happy to just swab my days away contentedly. Although my nights may very well be spent in a more pleasing way ...
Captain Jack however, is no match for Orlando Bloom, now that he's lost his blonde elfin look. I simply cannot make any comment right now that would do him any justice for such a superb performance, though wonderful would begin to describe. As would charming, dashing, handsome, and a plethora of other complimentary adjectives. I am infused with love ...
Well, a girl can always dream ... or hope to dream when she goes to bed, as I am about to do.
May the seas be calm and your skies be clear.
Pirates of the Caribbean, is this summers best kept secret. Despite the trailer, which gives off the distinct impression of nothing special, a true gem in this movie lies.
Johnny Depp was magnificent, and devilishly handsome in an arrrgh, shiver me timbres sort of way. Proving that the romance of the high seas is alive and well for this landlubbing lady. Give me naught but torn bits of fabric to wear, a smoldering look from Captain Jack and I'll be more than happy to just swab my days away contentedly. Although my nights may very well be spent in a more pleasing way ...
Captain Jack however, is no match for Orlando Bloom, now that he's lost his blonde elfin look. I simply cannot make any comment right now that would do him any justice for such a superb performance, though wonderful would begin to describe. As would charming, dashing, handsome, and a plethora of other complimentary adjectives. I am infused with love ...
Well, a girl can always dream ... or hope to dream when she goes to bed, as I am about to do.
May the seas be calm and your skies be clear.
Family dinner tonight at Dad's house. Although more than half of the family has decided to boycott said festivities, as a silent protest against houseguests that have overstayed their welcome.
I'm going ... But only because someone has to show up and aren't I lucky, they elected me when I wasn't even looking. (Gooney bastards!)
Anyhoo ... I've got to go save the garlic bread from burning in the oven and then I am off to Father's to play Pied Piper. I'm thinking about going into the rat removal business. I've even got a slogan ...
You've got pests, I've got answers ... No family member too big, no family member too small. You want them out, I'll get rid of them all ...
Rather catchy, I think.
I'm going ... But only because someone has to show up and aren't I lucky, they elected me when I wasn't even looking. (Gooney bastards!)
Anyhoo ... I've got to go save the garlic bread from burning in the oven and then I am off to Father's to play Pied Piper. I'm thinking about going into the rat removal business. I've even got a slogan ...
You've got pests, I've got answers ... No family member too big, no family member too small. You want them out, I'll get rid of them all ...
Rather catchy, I think.
Once again ... My counter statistics are depressing me! I am getting way too many hits from horndogs in search of, (dare I even type the words) n*ked pics of random celebritites and/or n*ked pics period! If I didn't like the title of my blog so much, I'd considering changing it, as the whole affair is simply unsettling to me.
So I will, (for the benefit of those seeking something that will not be found here) post yet ANOTHER reminder, that such (cough) "enlightenment" is not what this blog is all about.
Move on little doggies ...
Shit ... It's 6:02 ... I'm two minutes late to officially starting my day. Later y'all.
So I will, (for the benefit of those seeking something that will not be found here) post yet ANOTHER reminder, that such (cough) "enlightenment" is not what this blog is all about.
Move on little doggies ...
Shit ... It's 6:02 ... I'm two minutes late to officially starting my day. Later y'all.
Mothers are devious creatures when it comes to getting what they want. Withholding information to the whereabouts of their new blog home, until such time as their daughter does the same.
Don't think that I don't know, that she thinks, I won't be able to hold out much longer. I've got at least another few days before I cave and until then, I am the picture of strength and perserverance. A regular poster girl.
If I had a picket sign, I'd be out marching past her house, singing Peter, Paul and Mary songs at the top of my lungs. I'd set up a tent and camp beneath the loblolly trees, and order take out to be delivered in. I'd call all the news media and hold a press conference, standing out in the cold rain shivering, black mascara running down my face. I'd talk in a small girls voice, and demurely raise my face to the camera as they zoomed in for a close up.
"Be kind to your daughters." I would say, between racking coughs, struggling with myself to remain standing. "This all could have been avoided if she'd only shown me her blog ... If only she'd ..." I'd try to finish saying, before passing out, my body slumping down in exhaustion, as two brawny ambulence attendents come tearing across the lawn to my aid.
"We need mouth to mouth over here stat!" They'd yell, ripping open my shirt to better perform the compressions. "Good Lord, check out the set of lungs on this one!" And then I'd be breathing again, my eyelids fluttering open to find myself staring deep into the golden brown eyes of Mr. "Thank You Very Much Can I Have Your Phone Number Please".
"Forgive me, forgive me!", my Mother would cry. "I'll never try to hold my blog hostage from you ever again. Oh how could I have been so cruel to my youngest child ... Oh the horror, the horror!"
Reaching out my hand from my semi-reclined posistion on the hospital gurney, my new beau by my side, I'd clasp my Mother's hand. "I love you Mom ... I forgive you. Now go get me a lap top and tell me the name of your blog!"
*
Second to the right
straight on till morning
that's where I'll be waiting
Second to the right
straight on till morning
Hola, tick-tock
my time is up
Pedro says
I will forget him in days
in my new life, no room for a lost boy
boys can be so dumb sometimes ...
~ Operation Peter Pan ... Tori Amos
Just a little of what I'm listening to tonight.
Don't think that I don't know, that she thinks, I won't be able to hold out much longer. I've got at least another few days before I cave and until then, I am the picture of strength and perserverance. A regular poster girl.
If I had a picket sign, I'd be out marching past her house, singing Peter, Paul and Mary songs at the top of my lungs. I'd set up a tent and camp beneath the loblolly trees, and order take out to be delivered in. I'd call all the news media and hold a press conference, standing out in the cold rain shivering, black mascara running down my face. I'd talk in a small girls voice, and demurely raise my face to the camera as they zoomed in for a close up.
"Be kind to your daughters." I would say, between racking coughs, struggling with myself to remain standing. "This all could have been avoided if she'd only shown me her blog ... If only she'd ..." I'd try to finish saying, before passing out, my body slumping down in exhaustion, as two brawny ambulence attendents come tearing across the lawn to my aid.
"We need mouth to mouth over here stat!" They'd yell, ripping open my shirt to better perform the compressions. "Good Lord, check out the set of lungs on this one!" And then I'd be breathing again, my eyelids fluttering open to find myself staring deep into the golden brown eyes of Mr. "Thank You Very Much Can I Have Your Phone Number Please".
"Forgive me, forgive me!", my Mother would cry. "I'll never try to hold my blog hostage from you ever again. Oh how could I have been so cruel to my youngest child ... Oh the horror, the horror!"
Reaching out my hand from my semi-reclined posistion on the hospital gurney, my new beau by my side, I'd clasp my Mother's hand. "I love you Mom ... I forgive you. Now go get me a lap top and tell me the name of your blog!"
*
Second to the right
straight on till morning
that's where I'll be waiting
Second to the right
straight on till morning
Hola, tick-tock
my time is up
Pedro says
I will forget him in days
in my new life, no room for a lost boy
boys can be so dumb sometimes ...
~ Operation Peter Pan ... Tori Amos
Just a little of what I'm listening to tonight.
Yesterday was a bad impulse shopping day for me. Had I known what sort of melancholy mood I was in, I would have stayed far, far away from anything remotely resembling a mini mall.
It's useless to resist you know, said the money in my wallet. You know you're going to spend me, if not here, then in some other store. Come on, get yourself something nice. You've been a good girl lately, go ahead. Come on, no one has to know, go ahead and splurge.
Is that Barnes and Noble? Girl, tell me you're not even thinking about being so close and not going in there. You're a book addict, you need to read, you live to read ... Hell, I hate to tell you this, but if it wasn't for all those books you've read, you'd hardly ever have a life. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. You know I've got the right of it.
So what's it going to be today? Another one of those single girl reads where the girl finally gets her man in the end? Or one of those books that requires five boxes of Kleenex and a dozen advil by the time you're through? You know, you're so predictable sometimes, it's a wonder they haven't made a section in there just for you.
Poetry today?
Now THAT'S different. Yeah, I was being sarcastic. I know how you love a good tortured writer. Credence to the soul ... Isn't that what you say? The stuff that puts the power behind the words. You got to have angst, without it you're only a red wheelbarrow, in search of story, that needs an author.
Remember that time you wrote a poem about grilled cheese. You wrote it because the "Creative Writing" teacher couldn't handle reading the intense stuff. It made her uncomfortable. She used to hand those papers back to you so pristine, you wondered if she even bothered to read it long enough before grading you with a B. And how you hated her, when she'd make those comments in the margins, or suggest a change in the words you'd chosen to use. Rewriting the very thing that had come straight from your heart.
And do you remember, all the times she'd make the entire class sit through an hour of poetry readings. Her with her glasses slipping off her nose, in her peacock blue polyester pants, trying to shove her ass up higher onto the desk. Reading away in her nasally tone, poem after poem, of flowers, lollipops and her wonderfully, perfect offspring.
And wasn't it a lucky coincidence, that her daughter happened to be in your class. How she'd beam and smile, when her mother was reading yet another "original" poem to her hostage students. Sitting there, preening away in the front row, while the rest of us tried our best not to vomit on each others shoes. And how many times, did you have to hear about how she had been published ... Though you never saw the proof of any such thing. One thing was certain however, the teacher favored cheesecake poems over those of substance. If you wanted to make the grade, you had to conform to the going standard.
So you wrote about grilled cheese and got an A. And she asked you to stand up and read it in front of the class. But you didn't want to, in fact bluntly refusing to read those nambly pambly words out loud. Your friend Lee sat snickering in the chair beside you, if you could have, you would have kicked him. "That'll teach you." he said after class, "I guess now you'll think twice before you turn the art of sandwich making into a profession."
I remember how disappointed you were, when you realized the class was nothing short of a joke. You, who had wanted her entire life to do nothing more than write something, that could mean something to somebody, somewhere. Instead you're teacher prompted you to write about the kind of soup that would best compliment a grilled cheese sandwich.
So you decided to keep your writing to yourself. Hiding it away like a shameful little secret, cramming it all into notebooks you knew you'd never share. But every writer craves an audience.
Words are the bridge between mankind. They make sentences, they express emotions, they give reason to everything under the sun. Nobody can own them, no word is ever exclusively yours, we all simply borrow them for a time.
So you bought your book of poetry yesterday and took the children to the park, listening to their sounds of glee as they dashed madly about the play yard. You stood there like a bird poised and ready for flight, the wind softly tugging at your raven black hair.
You raised your face to the sky, alive with the warmth of the sun, sat down and began to read outloud, verse after glorious verse. Pausing for breath in the moments when the poem told you to be still and building to a crescendo, when the words dripped like nectar from the page. And although there was still a little bit wrong with the world, just for a moment, it all felt so right.
It's useless to resist you know, said the money in my wallet. You know you're going to spend me, if not here, then in some other store. Come on, get yourself something nice. You've been a good girl lately, go ahead. Come on, no one has to know, go ahead and splurge.
Is that Barnes and Noble? Girl, tell me you're not even thinking about being so close and not going in there. You're a book addict, you need to read, you live to read ... Hell, I hate to tell you this, but if it wasn't for all those books you've read, you'd hardly ever have a life. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. You know I've got the right of it.
So what's it going to be today? Another one of those single girl reads where the girl finally gets her man in the end? Or one of those books that requires five boxes of Kleenex and a dozen advil by the time you're through? You know, you're so predictable sometimes, it's a wonder they haven't made a section in there just for you.
Poetry today?
Now THAT'S different. Yeah, I was being sarcastic. I know how you love a good tortured writer. Credence to the soul ... Isn't that what you say? The stuff that puts the power behind the words. You got to have angst, without it you're only a red wheelbarrow, in search of story, that needs an author.
Remember that time you wrote a poem about grilled cheese. You wrote it because the "Creative Writing" teacher couldn't handle reading the intense stuff. It made her uncomfortable. She used to hand those papers back to you so pristine, you wondered if she even bothered to read it long enough before grading you with a B. And how you hated her, when she'd make those comments in the margins, or suggest a change in the words you'd chosen to use. Rewriting the very thing that had come straight from your heart.
And do you remember, all the times she'd make the entire class sit through an hour of poetry readings. Her with her glasses slipping off her nose, in her peacock blue polyester pants, trying to shove her ass up higher onto the desk. Reading away in her nasally tone, poem after poem, of flowers, lollipops and her wonderfully, perfect offspring.
And wasn't it a lucky coincidence, that her daughter happened to be in your class. How she'd beam and smile, when her mother was reading yet another "original" poem to her hostage students. Sitting there, preening away in the front row, while the rest of us tried our best not to vomit on each others shoes. And how many times, did you have to hear about how she had been published ... Though you never saw the proof of any such thing. One thing was certain however, the teacher favored cheesecake poems over those of substance. If you wanted to make the grade, you had to conform to the going standard.
So you wrote about grilled cheese and got an A. And she asked you to stand up and read it in front of the class. But you didn't want to, in fact bluntly refusing to read those nambly pambly words out loud. Your friend Lee sat snickering in the chair beside you, if you could have, you would have kicked him. "That'll teach you." he said after class, "I guess now you'll think twice before you turn the art of sandwich making into a profession."
I remember how disappointed you were, when you realized the class was nothing short of a joke. You, who had wanted her entire life to do nothing more than write something, that could mean something to somebody, somewhere. Instead you're teacher prompted you to write about the kind of soup that would best compliment a grilled cheese sandwich.
So you decided to keep your writing to yourself. Hiding it away like a shameful little secret, cramming it all into notebooks you knew you'd never share. But every writer craves an audience.
Words are the bridge between mankind. They make sentences, they express emotions, they give reason to everything under the sun. Nobody can own them, no word is ever exclusively yours, we all simply borrow them for a time.
So you bought your book of poetry yesterday and took the children to the park, listening to their sounds of glee as they dashed madly about the play yard. You stood there like a bird poised and ready for flight, the wind softly tugging at your raven black hair.
You raised your face to the sky, alive with the warmth of the sun, sat down and began to read outloud, verse after glorious verse. Pausing for breath in the moments when the poem told you to be still and building to a crescendo, when the words dripped like nectar from the page. And although there was still a little bit wrong with the world, just for a moment, it all felt so right.
Fierce winds and rain, could not keep a good party from going on yesterday. A good thing for us, since housing the number of attending guests inside, would have been nearly impossible. Despite our best attempts and the collective usage of 3 independent, high school graduated brains, the assemble yourself outside structure didn't happen, though it wasn't from a lack of trying.
Considering my well known camping survival skills, setting up an overhead tarp, should have been a breeze, mere childs play in the hands of a capable female approaching 30. According to the diagram, all we had to do was post out 4 corners at 45 degree angles, attach rope slides from the stakes to the poles and wahla, instant rain protection guaranteed. Of course, attempting such a setup in gale force winds took the level of difficulty up a notch.
Try as we may, things just continued to go wrong from there. Breaking from the strain of trying to remain upright in winds clocking speeds somewhere beyond that of sound, each and every attempt was met with frustration and disappointment, as line after line of rope snapped in half. Curses filled the air from our small patch of lawn, only to be returned quite vehemently from porch side, when the pig on the roast burst into full flames and had to be doused with the water hose.
Finally conceeding to failure, it was with heavy hearts that we packed up the remains of the kit. Rob even delighted us, with an improptu demonstration of the proper technique, required for condom applications. The tent equipment and it's carrying bag, providing the perfect models for his lesson. Quite familiar with the process already, I could only assume that his indecent ramblings were for the benefit of the recent graduate, who stood blushing before him. Information hardly beneficial, for a girl on her way to an all girl Catholic college, or at least much to the hope of her older sisters.
As I eluded to in a previous post prior to the celebration, there was a hint of hositility to be had in the air. Some people are just born miserable, and it surely was the case in truth when considering the permanent bad attitude of my cousin's future wife. Intent on being a Grade A, Class 1 Bitch, her voice could be heard over the celebration, complaining about both this and that. Between my 3 sisters and I, we had heard more than we ever wanted to hear, and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to avoid her at all costs.
Not an easy thing to do, considering that neither her or my cousin, were too concerned with watching over their 18 month old terror of a son. After about 5 minutes alone with him, it was apparrent to almost everyone, that cuteness does indeed wear off. Still, I'm not the kind of person who can willingly let any child walk into harms way, when his parents seem too oblivious to realize that he's too close to an open inground pool or taking off into the back 40 unsupervised.
It seemed every one of my sisters got unofficailly appointed at some point during the day (sometimes more than once) to be babysitter to the future teenage deliquent. His parents too busy drinking back beers, playing volleyball, eating, and/or swimming to keep an eye on their bustling baby boy. Even KC was not safe from babysitting detail, being told by the Baby's Momma to keep an eye out for little Bailey and then suffering the barbs of the bitches tongue for manhandling the toddler, when all she was trying to do was keep the boy from escaping into the neighbors yard.
This Momma had had it! Taking the baby from my daughter's arms, I marched in the direction of his mother, unceremoniously dropping him into her arms. "Special delivery." I said, my voice sounding as sweet as sugar, "I think this little guy misses his mother." Little Miss Priss looked none too happy with the drool king being back in her arms, and quickly deposited him down onto the grass as if the boy had been fire in her arms. Reigning in my temper, I took KC's hand in mine as we walked away. Explaining that she was to have fun and not worry about watching the baby anymore. "That's his Momma's job." I told her, "Not yours."
It couldn't have been even 5 minutes before that baby was off wandering again, with someone other than his parents in hot pursuit. My sisters by my side, the 4 of us stood huddled in a circle, each hissing angrily against the ostracities of both our cousin and his wife when it came to their idea of parental supervision. No matter the amount of hints we dropped or in some cases flat out requests for them to take charge over their son, neither parent was moved enough to do anything about it, preferring the kindness of strangers and cousins to keep watch over their son.
The day progressed and soon a brilliant moon shone bright overhead. Everyone was ready to just relax and enjoy the remainder of the night when suddenly the banshee was screaming once more.
"Have you seen Bailey?", she cried, appearing frantic.
"Isn't he with you?" I asked, since the last time I had seen him, he had been dogging his mother's steps out in the kitchen as she fixed herself a plate of goodies.
She didn't bother to respond, giving me a snotty look as her big mouth screamed for Daniel. On the alert, my sisters and I quickly divided to find the boy, I to the pool, Jodi to the bedrooms, Audrey to the front of the house and Amy to the back. I could hear my cousin's fiancee tearing into him, "Daniel! You know I'm trying to eat! You're supposed to be watching the baby!" I couldn't believe that she was actually standing there wasting time screaming at my cousin, rather than trying to locate her child. This chick takes the cake, I thought to myself as I (thankfully) scanned an empty pool.
"I've got him!" I heard Audrey shout from inside the house, watching as both "Mom and Dad", stopped hurling accusations at each other long enough to go inside and get the boy. Breathlessly, Audrey explained that she had found him wandering down towards the end of the driveway.
"He could have been run over!" the wicked witch of the south snarled at Daniel, starting up once more the arguement of who indeed was really responsible for this near disaster. Daniel just stood there like a lump, holding the baby in his arms watching the finger wagging in front of his face.
Everyone in the room remained silent, but it was clear from the looks on everyones faces that we all had some comment of our own to make. Though for reasons unknown to me, not a one of us said anything, despite the inner temptation to do so. Even my father, who normally is a happy go lucky, jovial sort of a guy was upset. "I don't want to" he said, "but I may have to say something to them."
"I don't see how you couldn't ..." was all I had to say, as KC and I headed out to our car, "I don't think you really want to spend the rest of the week having to deal with this.", glad for once to be going home to a quiet, empty house.
Considering my well known camping survival skills, setting up an overhead tarp, should have been a breeze, mere childs play in the hands of a capable female approaching 30. According to the diagram, all we had to do was post out 4 corners at 45 degree angles, attach rope slides from the stakes to the poles and wahla, instant rain protection guaranteed. Of course, attempting such a setup in gale force winds took the level of difficulty up a notch.
Try as we may, things just continued to go wrong from there. Breaking from the strain of trying to remain upright in winds clocking speeds somewhere beyond that of sound, each and every attempt was met with frustration and disappointment, as line after line of rope snapped in half. Curses filled the air from our small patch of lawn, only to be returned quite vehemently from porch side, when the pig on the roast burst into full flames and had to be doused with the water hose.
Finally conceeding to failure, it was with heavy hearts that we packed up the remains of the kit. Rob even delighted us, with an improptu demonstration of the proper technique, required for condom applications. The tent equipment and it's carrying bag, providing the perfect models for his lesson. Quite familiar with the process already, I could only assume that his indecent ramblings were for the benefit of the recent graduate, who stood blushing before him. Information hardly beneficial, for a girl on her way to an all girl Catholic college, or at least much to the hope of her older sisters.
As I eluded to in a previous post prior to the celebration, there was a hint of hositility to be had in the air. Some people are just born miserable, and it surely was the case in truth when considering the permanent bad attitude of my cousin's future wife. Intent on being a Grade A, Class 1 Bitch, her voice could be heard over the celebration, complaining about both this and that. Between my 3 sisters and I, we had heard more than we ever wanted to hear, and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to avoid her at all costs.
Not an easy thing to do, considering that neither her or my cousin, were too concerned with watching over their 18 month old terror of a son. After about 5 minutes alone with him, it was apparrent to almost everyone, that cuteness does indeed wear off. Still, I'm not the kind of person who can willingly let any child walk into harms way, when his parents seem too oblivious to realize that he's too close to an open inground pool or taking off into the back 40 unsupervised.
It seemed every one of my sisters got unofficailly appointed at some point during the day (sometimes more than once) to be babysitter to the future teenage deliquent. His parents too busy drinking back beers, playing volleyball, eating, and/or swimming to keep an eye on their bustling baby boy. Even KC was not safe from babysitting detail, being told by the Baby's Momma to keep an eye out for little Bailey and then suffering the barbs of the bitches tongue for manhandling the toddler, when all she was trying to do was keep the boy from escaping into the neighbors yard.
This Momma had had it! Taking the baby from my daughter's arms, I marched in the direction of his mother, unceremoniously dropping him into her arms. "Special delivery." I said, my voice sounding as sweet as sugar, "I think this little guy misses his mother." Little Miss Priss looked none too happy with the drool king being back in her arms, and quickly deposited him down onto the grass as if the boy had been fire in her arms. Reigning in my temper, I took KC's hand in mine as we walked away. Explaining that she was to have fun and not worry about watching the baby anymore. "That's his Momma's job." I told her, "Not yours."
It couldn't have been even 5 minutes before that baby was off wandering again, with someone other than his parents in hot pursuit. My sisters by my side, the 4 of us stood huddled in a circle, each hissing angrily against the ostracities of both our cousin and his wife when it came to their idea of parental supervision. No matter the amount of hints we dropped or in some cases flat out requests for them to take charge over their son, neither parent was moved enough to do anything about it, preferring the kindness of strangers and cousins to keep watch over their son.
The day progressed and soon a brilliant moon shone bright overhead. Everyone was ready to just relax and enjoy the remainder of the night when suddenly the banshee was screaming once more.
"Have you seen Bailey?", she cried, appearing frantic.
"Isn't he with you?" I asked, since the last time I had seen him, he had been dogging his mother's steps out in the kitchen as she fixed herself a plate of goodies.
She didn't bother to respond, giving me a snotty look as her big mouth screamed for Daniel. On the alert, my sisters and I quickly divided to find the boy, I to the pool, Jodi to the bedrooms, Audrey to the front of the house and Amy to the back. I could hear my cousin's fiancee tearing into him, "Daniel! You know I'm trying to eat! You're supposed to be watching the baby!" I couldn't believe that she was actually standing there wasting time screaming at my cousin, rather than trying to locate her child. This chick takes the cake, I thought to myself as I (thankfully) scanned an empty pool.
"I've got him!" I heard Audrey shout from inside the house, watching as both "Mom and Dad", stopped hurling accusations at each other long enough to go inside and get the boy. Breathlessly, Audrey explained that she had found him wandering down towards the end of the driveway.
"He could have been run over!" the wicked witch of the south snarled at Daniel, starting up once more the arguement of who indeed was really responsible for this near disaster. Daniel just stood there like a lump, holding the baby in his arms watching the finger wagging in front of his face.
Everyone in the room remained silent, but it was clear from the looks on everyones faces that we all had some comment of our own to make. Though for reasons unknown to me, not a one of us said anything, despite the inner temptation to do so. Even my father, who normally is a happy go lucky, jovial sort of a guy was upset. "I don't want to" he said, "but I may have to say something to them."
"I don't see how you couldn't ..." was all I had to say, as KC and I headed out to our car, "I don't think you really want to spend the rest of the week having to deal with this.", glad for once to be going home to a quiet, empty house.
Throwing down the gauntlet on blogging itself, my Mother has decided not to play fair, in this already much too jaded world. It seems she is most interested in getting a peak at NWTLO, and has decided to hold her own site hostage, from yours truly, until she does so.
She is under the impression, that what's good for the goose, is good for the gosling. In other words, if I can read her blog, she ought to be able to read mine. But, of course, that's not exactly the easy solution. After all, I've been writing for the past 6 months or so, and have just barely managed to keep the self-editing to a minimum.
Trying to say what I mean, and mean what I say, has brought to light many of my so called dark, hidden secrets. While it doesn't bother me to know, that 100's of complete strangers have feasted their eyes on my words, the thought of my Mom perusing the pages worries me. How would she interrupt everything it is I've had to say?
So that is a thought, I have to mull over for a while, whether or not to allow her access to all the information contained herein. With a key comes knowledge, and an open door that invites you in.
She is under the impression, that what's good for the goose, is good for the gosling. In other words, if I can read her blog, she ought to be able to read mine. But, of course, that's not exactly the easy solution. After all, I've been writing for the past 6 months or so, and have just barely managed to keep the self-editing to a minimum.
Trying to say what I mean, and mean what I say, has brought to light many of my so called dark, hidden secrets. While it doesn't bother me to know, that 100's of complete strangers have feasted their eyes on my words, the thought of my Mom perusing the pages worries me. How would she interrupt everything it is I've had to say?
So that is a thought, I have to mull over for a while, whether or not to allow her access to all the information contained herein. With a key comes knowledge, and an open door that invites you in.
KC married Emma tonight with a simple kiss on the nose. I'm not quite sure where she picked up the idea, but she seems to think that kissing is the equivalent of an I do. Emma wasn't as sold on the idea as KC, and decided to evacuate her comfy spot on the couch, launching herself up the stairs like a bottle rocket. The poor cat looked postively petrified, and I for one can't blame her. After all, I've witnessed many a kitty makeover on a rainy afternoon.
Jodi's graduation party is set for this weekend and if the weather reports are accurate, it should be blue skies all the way. Although smooth sailing cannot be guaranteed when too many people from the same gene pool, gather in the same location. There's a certain set of sparks, I'm already expecting to fly ... It should make for an interesting day.
I am to bed early tonight, to try and catch up on some serious zzzz's that have been eluding me lately. Here's to sweet dreams and alarm clocks that don't go off before their time.
Jodi's graduation party is set for this weekend and if the weather reports are accurate, it should be blue skies all the way. Although smooth sailing cannot be guaranteed when too many people from the same gene pool, gather in the same location. There's a certain set of sparks, I'm already expecting to fly ... It should make for an interesting day.
I am to bed early tonight, to try and catch up on some serious zzzz's that have been eluding me lately. Here's to sweet dreams and alarm clocks that don't go off before their time.
A keychain and a cause ... Do you have your RAINN Gear?
Fund FREE Mammograms ... Save a Mom.
Sitting at the computer, unable to blog another word, she rested her head and slept.
Fund FREE Mammograms ... Save a Mom.
Sitting at the computer, unable to blog another word, she rested her head and slept.
Here I said
don't even let this go
and it's hey to that old man
I'm coming in the graveyard
with my little tune
it's June
I said she's gone
but I'm alive
I'm alive
I'm coming in the graveyard
to sing you to sleep
now. ~ Tori Amos
KC and I made a detour on our way home tonight, stopping by the cemetary to plant roses at Gramma's grave. It was so like me to just go with the moment, forgetting all the necessary garden equipment to make my task easier. A quick stop at a greenhouse, armed me with a bag of nutrient rich potting soil, a gallon of drinking water, and 3 baby rose bushes, ready to be planted.
I couldn't help but think how strange it is, planting flowers for the dead, when they're really meant for the living. But it makes me feel better, digging my hands down into the dirt and nurturing life to grow in her memory.
Still I miss her more than any words could hope to describe. If only I had had more time, maybe I could have found some peace with her passing. But I hold on to this bitterness, tasting my loss every day, reminded of what is missing, because I haven't found a way to let her go, without losing her forever.
2 a.m.
the sounds of an unfamiliar city.
I am remembering now,
having already forgotten the color of your eyes.
Yesterday I had the urge,
to lift the sheet back farther from your face,
to hold your hand in mine and
remember its shape,
so I will always know that ours are the same.
I wanted to count your toes,
I guess a reverse reaction from when you were born ...
But I didn't.
Instead goodbye came with a kiss
gently placed upon your brow,
as I stroked back your hair
still soft beneath my hand,
your skin grown cold beneath my lips.
~ Stacey
don't even let this go
and it's hey to that old man
I'm coming in the graveyard
with my little tune
it's June
I said she's gone
but I'm alive
I'm alive
I'm coming in the graveyard
to sing you to sleep
now. ~ Tori Amos
KC and I made a detour on our way home tonight, stopping by the cemetary to plant roses at Gramma's grave. It was so like me to just go with the moment, forgetting all the necessary garden equipment to make my task easier. A quick stop at a greenhouse, armed me with a bag of nutrient rich potting soil, a gallon of drinking water, and 3 baby rose bushes, ready to be planted.
I couldn't help but think how strange it is, planting flowers for the dead, when they're really meant for the living. But it makes me feel better, digging my hands down into the dirt and nurturing life to grow in her memory.
Still I miss her more than any words could hope to describe. If only I had had more time, maybe I could have found some peace with her passing. But I hold on to this bitterness, tasting my loss every day, reminded of what is missing, because I haven't found a way to let her go, without losing her forever.
2 a.m.
the sounds of an unfamiliar city.
I am remembering now,
having already forgotten the color of your eyes.
Yesterday I had the urge,
to lift the sheet back farther from your face,
to hold your hand in mine and
remember its shape,
so I will always know that ours are the same.
I wanted to count your toes,
I guess a reverse reaction from when you were born ...
But I didn't.
Instead goodbye came with a kiss
gently placed upon your brow,
as I stroked back your hair
still soft beneath my hand,
your skin grown cold beneath my lips.
~ Stacey
Network problems today had everyone in a tizzy at work. Lucky for me, my computer was running amok, only on the non-neccessity programs, leaving me in the clear to go about my daily grind. One would think that I had planned it all to work out that way, with the amount of whining my fellow staffers aimed in my direction. I don't think they were buying my "Some days you win, some days you lose." theory, although it was the perfect example of such a situation.
In fact, they got so cheeky, that every time I turned my back, someone else had made themselves at home at my desk. Frustrated, I started pacing the hall outside my office, waiting for my own computer to become available. It didn't help my mood much either, when instead of using my computer in a timely fashion, one of the jerks decided to start yakking away on a personal call! Turning red at this point, I pointed myself in the direction of Shirley's office, in full vent.
"I'm going to kill him and there's nothing that anyone can do to stop me!" I yelled, flouncing myself down, into one of the barrel chairs, in high dramatic fashion.
She hesistated a moment, tilting her head to make sure no one was listening at the door. "Kill who?", she whispered.
"Him!"
"Aahhh ..." she said, a little light bulb of recognition going off in here eyes. "What has the Prodigal Son done now?"
"I'll tell you what he's done ... He's taken over MY office, shoved all my things aside and made himself King of the Castle!". I took a quick breath, before continuing, "I've got 15 minutes before I go to lunch, 3 orders I need to Book so they can get TR'd, a guy with a problem only I can solve and no desk with a working computer to do any of it!"
"So tell him to move ..."
I gave her the yeah right, if only it were that easy look. "Already tried that," I said, "He suggested I borrow his desk ... With the non-working computer as if that would be really freaking helpful!"
"I don't know what to tell you kid. Guess you'll just have to wait him out."
"Oh hell with this!" I sighed in exasperation, "I'll just take my lunch now, and if I'm lucky, he'll be gone by the time I get back."
Leaving her to snicker in peace, I headed back to my own office. Boisterous boy, of course, was still there, leaning back in my chair, talking a mile a minute. He barely noticed my entrance, other than to give me the "I'm on the phone, you need to go away" look.
"Whatever," I said to myself, rolling my eyes. "Some people get to be important, others just like to pretend."
In fact, they got so cheeky, that every time I turned my back, someone else had made themselves at home at my desk. Frustrated, I started pacing the hall outside my office, waiting for my own computer to become available. It didn't help my mood much either, when instead of using my computer in a timely fashion, one of the jerks decided to start yakking away on a personal call! Turning red at this point, I pointed myself in the direction of Shirley's office, in full vent.
"I'm going to kill him and there's nothing that anyone can do to stop me!" I yelled, flouncing myself down, into one of the barrel chairs, in high dramatic fashion.
She hesistated a moment, tilting her head to make sure no one was listening at the door. "Kill who?", she whispered.
"Him!"
"Aahhh ..." she said, a little light bulb of recognition going off in here eyes. "What has the Prodigal Son done now?"
"I'll tell you what he's done ... He's taken over MY office, shoved all my things aside and made himself King of the Castle!". I took a quick breath, before continuing, "I've got 15 minutes before I go to lunch, 3 orders I need to Book so they can get TR'd, a guy with a problem only I can solve and no desk with a working computer to do any of it!"
"So tell him to move ..."
I gave her the yeah right, if only it were that easy look. "Already tried that," I said, "He suggested I borrow his desk ... With the non-working computer as if that would be really freaking helpful!"
"I don't know what to tell you kid. Guess you'll just have to wait him out."
"Oh hell with this!" I sighed in exasperation, "I'll just take my lunch now, and if I'm lucky, he'll be gone by the time I get back."
Leaving her to snicker in peace, I headed back to my own office. Boisterous boy, of course, was still there, leaning back in my chair, talking a mile a minute. He barely noticed my entrance, other than to give me the "I'm on the phone, you need to go away" look.
"Whatever," I said to myself, rolling my eyes. "Some people get to be important, others just like to pretend."
Ow, ow, ow ... Is it any big surprise that after a three day weekend, I find myself uttering those very words? Occasionally, I let my stupidity get the better of me and in this case, I have a very nasty sunburn to show for it. Silly me said no, when they were passing around the sunblock, because it's a known fact that "I don't burn, I tan ..." Evidently, I made that up as I quite resemble an overcooked lobster at the moment. Silly me ...
I'm calling an early night tonight, so I can lather myself up in the healing balm of Noxema. It'll be messy, but it's relief all the same.
Sunblock, have it ... wear it. 'Nough said.
I'm calling an early night tonight, so I can lather myself up in the healing balm of Noxema. It'll be messy, but it's relief all the same.
Sunblock, have it ... wear it. 'Nough said.
I just got done teaching KC the basics of Showering 101. It seems she wasn't paying attention the first time around, when we had this little conversation. That or the puddle, which happens to be the size of Lake Ontario, on my bathroom floor, was a figment of my imagination. The rules are like butter.
Step one, close curtain before turning the water on at full blast! Step two, remove any object which hinders taking a fully effective shower. (Including hair ties, hair twisties and random pretties.) Step three, use of soap is required contrary to the popular belief, that 7 year old children are excluded from the cleanliness clause, established a really long time ago.
The heat index level is already climbing into the unbearable. I can't believe I was really complaining about the rain just a short week or two ago. Heck with this, I'm female, I have the right to change my mind, and right now my mind is saying, I want the monsoons back!
But I am off for better things today. A stop at Barnes and Noble to pick up an eagerly anticipated summer frolic of a read and a detour to Brenda's, where I just might be tempted to wade in her three inch deep summer pool. (Kiddie pools, they aren't just for children anymore ...)
I think I'll take my Nikon N60 camera with me, and see if I can't snap a few shots of interest along my way there. You never know when you'll come across a kodak moment.
Step one, close curtain before turning the water on at full blast! Step two, remove any object which hinders taking a fully effective shower. (Including hair ties, hair twisties and random pretties.) Step three, use of soap is required contrary to the popular belief, that 7 year old children are excluded from the cleanliness clause, established a really long time ago.
The heat index level is already climbing into the unbearable. I can't believe I was really complaining about the rain just a short week or two ago. Heck with this, I'm female, I have the right to change my mind, and right now my mind is saying, I want the monsoons back!
But I am off for better things today. A stop at Barnes and Noble to pick up an eagerly anticipated summer frolic of a read and a detour to Brenda's, where I just might be tempted to wade in her three inch deep summer pool. (Kiddie pools, they aren't just for children anymore ...)
I think I'll take my Nikon N60 camera with me, and see if I can't snap a few shots of interest along my way there. You never know when you'll come across a kodak moment.
Happy 4th of July, despite the fact that I didn't see a single firework blazing across the night sky. Oh well, it's too damn hot anyway. I feel like the witch in the Wizard of Oz, as she sinks down into the floorboards, "I'm melting ... I'm melting."
Apartment 3 came home today with a brand new air conditioner. I wonder if they would notice, if I were to try to wiggle it out of their window and pop it into mine. Maybe I'll go over there later and explain the whole better to give than to keep for yourself philosophy. Of course, with the way my luck has been going lately, they probably won't even answer the door.
I think I'll go stick my head in the freezer for a few moments. Can we say "Hello frozen treats!"?
G'night to all and to all a G'night.
Apartment 3 came home today with a brand new air conditioner. I wonder if they would notice, if I were to try to wiggle it out of their window and pop it into mine. Maybe I'll go over there later and explain the whole better to give than to keep for yourself philosophy. Of course, with the way my luck has been going lately, they probably won't even answer the door.
I think I'll go stick my head in the freezer for a few moments. Can we say "Hello frozen treats!"?
G'night to all and to all a G'night.
Scattered like a thousand thoughts, set free to sail the wind. Standing still, as if to listen, in the middle of a room bustling with activity. Someone calls my name, "Where'd you go just now?" How to explain, being lost in just a moment. Being there but somewhere far away. Struck mute by a memory, cat's got my tongue, as if there are no words to say.
Old wounds, old haunts, old ghosts come back to call. Unwelcome, univited and still the visitor sits to make himself at home. How does one stare down a demon that can't be seen, the part of himself that he left with you. The presence that never goes away, lingering, waiting for your guard to slip, the opportunity to open.
Tired, the eyes begin to close, sooner or later giving in to the temptation to go to sleep and into dreams. Doors in dreams that can't be opened. Should I recognize this space, plastic on the windows, red clock beside the bed. Should I be here, somewhere on St. Vincent, somewhere with streetlights just outside? How is it the city can be so soundless, when I am anything but silent tonight.
You will remember, left behind in that little room, hands pressed against cold glass, looking out, looking in ...
Old wounds, old haunts, old ghosts come back to call. Unwelcome, univited and still the visitor sits to make himself at home. How does one stare down a demon that can't be seen, the part of himself that he left with you. The presence that never goes away, lingering, waiting for your guard to slip, the opportunity to open.
Tired, the eyes begin to close, sooner or later giving in to the temptation to go to sleep and into dreams. Doors in dreams that can't be opened. Should I recognize this space, plastic on the windows, red clock beside the bed. Should I be here, somewhere on St. Vincent, somewhere with streetlights just outside? How is it the city can be so soundless, when I am anything but silent tonight.
You will remember, left behind in that little room, hands pressed against cold glass, looking out, looking in ...
Contrary to popular belief, I don't actually have an agent. Although after my last performance, (rewinding back to about 5 minutes ago) I might want to think about hiring one ... I did after all, put on quite the show for my next door neighbors.
How was I to know that they were OUTSIDE, chilling on their porch, as I was locking down the house for the night ... Yeah, I know it was my fault, since normally, one would be wearing a shirt when standing in front of a glass door ... BUT in my defense, it is unnaturally hot for a summer night in New York state.
On the bright side, at least I've got the kind of blog, that actually lives up to its name ...
Now that I'm done flashing the neighbors, I think an early night is just what the doctor ordered, to calm my nerves from this very tedious day.
How was I to know that they were OUTSIDE, chilling on their porch, as I was locking down the house for the night ... Yeah, I know it was my fault, since normally, one would be wearing a shirt when standing in front of a glass door ... BUT in my defense, it is unnaturally hot for a summer night in New York state.
On the bright side, at least I've got the kind of blog, that actually lives up to its name ...
Now that I'm done flashing the neighbors, I think an early night is just what the doctor ordered, to calm my nerves from this very tedious day.
The next person who irritates me today, is going to wish they never got out of bed this morning! My list of demands are as follows ... I want an office, with no windows, no doors, no phones and not a single body, other than mine in it! I've had it! I've had it! I've had it! Grrrrrrrowl!
When did it become socially acceptable to trade simple pleasantires for stinging barbs? Instead of a friendly hello, and a good morning to you, you get your face ripped off before you even manage to hit the front door. Instead of "How was your day?", on arriving home, you get some nasty comment about taking your shoes off before entering the house because, praise the Lord, someone actually managed to figure out what a vacuum was! What the hell?? Did I have the look of a person who just walked through a pasture of cow shit?
Crap like this, gets my dander up! Rudeness by strangers is one thing, rudeness by family members, especially younger sisters, is quite another. And I have reached my maximum capacity level for the day!
I'm going to go find a cold beverage, relax in my favorite comfy chair and I'm not going to cook dinner, until I am damn good and ready! Anyone who has a problem with that, can just contact my agent!
When did it become socially acceptable to trade simple pleasantires for stinging barbs? Instead of a friendly hello, and a good morning to you, you get your face ripped off before you even manage to hit the front door. Instead of "How was your day?", on arriving home, you get some nasty comment about taking your shoes off before entering the house because, praise the Lord, someone actually managed to figure out what a vacuum was! What the hell?? Did I have the look of a person who just walked through a pasture of cow shit?
Crap like this, gets my dander up! Rudeness by strangers is one thing, rudeness by family members, especially younger sisters, is quite another. And I have reached my maximum capacity level for the day!
I'm going to go find a cold beverage, relax in my favorite comfy chair and I'm not going to cook dinner, until I am damn good and ready! Anyone who has a problem with that, can just contact my agent!
If I Wrote You
Dar Williams
I never thought you were the letter writing type
So now I see the words you chose the way you write
So I started to write back about the trees in the snow
And I saw a bird, couldn't see what it was but I thought you'd know
You always surprised me
And when the spring came and flooded all the streams
It's like how you got the night you told me all your dreams
And when the barn roof sagged after an icy bout
It's like how you got when you knew the truth was the only way out
But not the only way
And if I wrote you
If I wrote you
You would know me
And you would not write me again.
We drew our arms around the bastard sons
We never would drink to the chosen ones
Well you know the way I left was not the way I planned
But I thought the world needed love and a steady hand
So I'm steady now
And I'm so happy
I had to tell you
And I love you
And you will not write me again
You will not write me again
You will not write me again
I never seem to stray too far from the topic of love ... I guess the fear of impending spinsterhood can do that to a girl. The whole waiting for Mr. Right thing is ridiculous, especially when I'm more than willing to take Mr. GonnaHaveToDo. The only problem is, that neither guy, seems to be swimming in my particular circle of friends. So while there may be plenty of fish in the sea, it seems that none of them are biting.
Then there are those, who are firm believers, that love can be found with the simple click of the mouse. Try a dating site they say, what harm can it do? Well, let me count the tears ...
No good can come, from meeting a man over the computer. Right away you put yourself at a disadvantage ... Falling in love with words on a page, a mental image in your mind, and a dream of a love that will save you from your lonely nights. Except they don't tell you what to do, when the dream shatters, when your heart breaks and nobody, not even yourself, can begin to tell you how to fix it. I don't believe in it being better to have loved and lost, then never to have known love at all ... I'd much rather protect my heart, from an attachment doomed to fail.
These are lessons learned the hard way. I actually thought, that a computer flirtation, could be harmless. But then, what started out as simple fun, turned to friendship, and then to love. Of course, the love was almost all one sided. How easy it is, to hide behind a computer, where only your words, measure the sort of person that you are. In cyberspace, you can be anything or anyone, no one has to know, that you're really a weed, trying to impersonate a rose.
"O, what a tangled web we weave,/ When first we practice to deceive!"
Hell, even back then, Shakespheare knew the score. Knew of our internal attraction to the Masquerade Ball? Knew that a face behind a mask, was cause for intrique, a barrier between what was real and what was fantasy.
Don't we all pretend, at some point in our lives, that we are someone other than who we are? Someone more exciting, someone prettier, someone smarter? But what is love, if the very foundation it is built on, is a fortress of half truths and lies? The answer is absolutely nothing. You can neither breathe behind a mask or love from a distance. Sooner or later, you'll expose yourself, just to have a chance at true love. But, a truth told too late, is still a lie ...
So now I'm living my life, an unedited version of myself, putting things out there, speaking my mind, forcing honesty rather than censure. Telling the world, or anyone who happens to read my words, spread across these pages here, the truth as I know it and as it sees me. Because if I'm never good enough for myself, how can I ever be good enough for someone else?
When I first heard the song, "If I Wrote You", I thought I had written the words in my sleep.
If I wrote you
You would know me
And you would not write me again.
It reminded me of an email I had written, entitled "Hesitation's Answer" ... A love letter I wrote, between tears and truths, in hopes that there could still be a future. Unfortunately, happily ever after disappeared, just as the coach rounded the bend, leaving only a sad little pumpkin behind.
(I should warn you, I was big on elipses back then ...)
March 2000
I believe the question you asked was WHY? For the past few days I have tried to avoid that question like the plague ... You see it was never supposed to go this far ... or get so involved ... this "play" with you was supposed to remain uncomplicated ... harmless flirtation between two strangers ... no strings ... you would eventually go your way ... I would eventually go mine ... no chance for anyone to be disappointed or hurt ... but ... suddenly the world got complicated ... the more we talked ... the more involved we got ... the more dangerous the flirtation became ...
You once told me the thing you admired about me most ... what made me "different" from other girls ... was my high self-esteem ... It's not as high as you think ... I just put up an incredibly good front ... When you told me you were coming home ... I knew the moment would come for the final confession ...
the harder you pushed ... the more I pulled away ... wanting to run from a moment when truth would have to win over what I never had the courage to say ... and here tonight I have chosen to let that moment take its place in time ... because I can't live with "WHAT IF?" ... Because no one can tell me what can hurt worse ... taking the chance or living with never knowing what could have been ...
Do you remember a conversation we had back a little while ago ... you listed off some things that you would find unacceptable in a prospective girlfriend ... I could list off all the things that make me so right ... but ... I guess, it's what is "wrong" that needs to be said ...
Forgive me for delaying the inevitable ... You've been honest with me from the start and I never could "quid pro quo" that ... I just never thought anything would come from all this ... guess I was wrong ... but I've decided that I can't cry about this anymore ... and I need to be fair to you too ...
The decision to shy away from a one on one meeting with you, never had anything to do with you but everything to do with me ... You see I don't think the person you assume me to be, is the person I actually am ... at least not in the physical sense of the word ... I guess there is one requirement that I can't meet ... I'm a big girl ... (There is it, the truth I've tried so carefully to hide.) I don't apologize for that ... I just apologize for not having the courage to tell you that from the moment when it stopped being harmless ...
So now you know the answer for all my hesitations ... I can't control your reaction ... I can't know how this is going to end, unless I hit the "send now" button ... Just to let you know, I am calling upon all the courage I have at this moment to press that button ...
You see nothing scares me more than an ending ... I much prefer beginnings ... I will, at least, get some comfort, out of the fact that I won't have to live with ... what if anymore.
To recognize the truth, you must first bare witness to yourself, even if it means being Naked With the Lights On ... ~ Stacey 2003
Dar Williams
I never thought you were the letter writing type
So now I see the words you chose the way you write
So I started to write back about the trees in the snow
And I saw a bird, couldn't see what it was but I thought you'd know
You always surprised me
And when the spring came and flooded all the streams
It's like how you got the night you told me all your dreams
And when the barn roof sagged after an icy bout
It's like how you got when you knew the truth was the only way out
But not the only way
And if I wrote you
If I wrote you
You would know me
And you would not write me again.
We drew our arms around the bastard sons
We never would drink to the chosen ones
Well you know the way I left was not the way I planned
But I thought the world needed love and a steady hand
So I'm steady now
And I'm so happy
I had to tell you
And I love you
And you will not write me again
You will not write me again
You will not write me again
I never seem to stray too far from the topic of love ... I guess the fear of impending spinsterhood can do that to a girl. The whole waiting for Mr. Right thing is ridiculous, especially when I'm more than willing to take Mr. GonnaHaveToDo. The only problem is, that neither guy, seems to be swimming in my particular circle of friends. So while there may be plenty of fish in the sea, it seems that none of them are biting.
Then there are those, who are firm believers, that love can be found with the simple click of the mouse. Try a dating site they say, what harm can it do? Well, let me count the tears ...
No good can come, from meeting a man over the computer. Right away you put yourself at a disadvantage ... Falling in love with words on a page, a mental image in your mind, and a dream of a love that will save you from your lonely nights. Except they don't tell you what to do, when the dream shatters, when your heart breaks and nobody, not even yourself, can begin to tell you how to fix it. I don't believe in it being better to have loved and lost, then never to have known love at all ... I'd much rather protect my heart, from an attachment doomed to fail.
These are lessons learned the hard way. I actually thought, that a computer flirtation, could be harmless. But then, what started out as simple fun, turned to friendship, and then to love. Of course, the love was almost all one sided. How easy it is, to hide behind a computer, where only your words, measure the sort of person that you are. In cyberspace, you can be anything or anyone, no one has to know, that you're really a weed, trying to impersonate a rose.
"O, what a tangled web we weave,/ When first we practice to deceive!"
Hell, even back then, Shakespheare knew the score. Knew of our internal attraction to the Masquerade Ball? Knew that a face behind a mask, was cause for intrique, a barrier between what was real and what was fantasy.
Don't we all pretend, at some point in our lives, that we are someone other than who we are? Someone more exciting, someone prettier, someone smarter? But what is love, if the very foundation it is built on, is a fortress of half truths and lies? The answer is absolutely nothing. You can neither breathe behind a mask or love from a distance. Sooner or later, you'll expose yourself, just to have a chance at true love. But, a truth told too late, is still a lie ...
So now I'm living my life, an unedited version of myself, putting things out there, speaking my mind, forcing honesty rather than censure. Telling the world, or anyone who happens to read my words, spread across these pages here, the truth as I know it and as it sees me. Because if I'm never good enough for myself, how can I ever be good enough for someone else?
When I first heard the song, "If I Wrote You", I thought I had written the words in my sleep.
If I wrote you
You would know me
And you would not write me again.
It reminded me of an email I had written, entitled "Hesitation's Answer" ... A love letter I wrote, between tears and truths, in hopes that there could still be a future. Unfortunately, happily ever after disappeared, just as the coach rounded the bend, leaving only a sad little pumpkin behind.
(I should warn you, I was big on elipses back then ...)
March 2000
I believe the question you asked was WHY? For the past few days I have tried to avoid that question like the plague ... You see it was never supposed to go this far ... or get so involved ... this "play" with you was supposed to remain uncomplicated ... harmless flirtation between two strangers ... no strings ... you would eventually go your way ... I would eventually go mine ... no chance for anyone to be disappointed or hurt ... but ... suddenly the world got complicated ... the more we talked ... the more involved we got ... the more dangerous the flirtation became ...
You once told me the thing you admired about me most ... what made me "different" from other girls ... was my high self-esteem ... It's not as high as you think ... I just put up an incredibly good front ... When you told me you were coming home ... I knew the moment would come for the final confession ...
the harder you pushed ... the more I pulled away ... wanting to run from a moment when truth would have to win over what I never had the courage to say ... and here tonight I have chosen to let that moment take its place in time ... because I can't live with "WHAT IF?" ... Because no one can tell me what can hurt worse ... taking the chance or living with never knowing what could have been ...
Do you remember a conversation we had back a little while ago ... you listed off some things that you would find unacceptable in a prospective girlfriend ... I could list off all the things that make me so right ... but ... I guess, it's what is "wrong" that needs to be said ...
Forgive me for delaying the inevitable ... You've been honest with me from the start and I never could "quid pro quo" that ... I just never thought anything would come from all this ... guess I was wrong ... but I've decided that I can't cry about this anymore ... and I need to be fair to you too ...
The decision to shy away from a one on one meeting with you, never had anything to do with you but everything to do with me ... You see I don't think the person you assume me to be, is the person I actually am ... at least not in the physical sense of the word ... I guess there is one requirement that I can't meet ... I'm a big girl ... (There is it, the truth I've tried so carefully to hide.) I don't apologize for that ... I just apologize for not having the courage to tell you that from the moment when it stopped being harmless ...
So now you know the answer for all my hesitations ... I can't control your reaction ... I can't know how this is going to end, unless I hit the "send now" button ... Just to let you know, I am calling upon all the courage I have at this moment to press that button ...
You see nothing scares me more than an ending ... I much prefer beginnings ... I will, at least, get some comfort, out of the fact that I won't have to live with ... what if anymore.
To recognize the truth, you must first bare witness to yourself, even if it means being Naked With the Lights On ... ~ Stacey 2003
