Calumny Queens Unite

Time Passages

2010-06-07T15:13:00.003-04:00

When I started to compose this post in my mind, I began to wonder if, after more than a year's time elapsing between the last post and this, would there be any reader(s?) left out there who noticed that I'd posted? Would anyone in the blogosphere even register that I'd thrown a post out to any and all passersby?

I'd actually composed several "return" posts in my head, and for reasons unknown I either started them & got interrupted (and failed to save the draft), or the nugget for a juicy post flitted through my brain at a time when I wasn't near a computer to capture its essence.

Whatever the motivation, if for no other reason than to satisfy my endlessly perverse, obstinate self, I was determined to stick a flag into this day & claim it for ME-- I made up my mind to post SOMETHING. Me, the person who has actually had more items of interest to post about in the past 12 months than at any other time since I started blogging, but who has conversely had that much less time free to sit myself down and write.

In some respects, I've missed the time that I used to spend blogging. It was a level of self-indulgence & blissful escape that I'd forgotten in recent years. As a child, I was always the little girl with her head stuck in a book, so completely lost in a story that people calling my name would swear I was ignoring them... I was accused of "escaping" into books vs living. However, what they often failed to realize was that the one time my ADD mind ever settled down to business was in the arms of a good book. I didn't have the self-understanding to explain to others was that it was only through books that I felt I WAS living-- that the rest of the time, the world whirled by so quickly that all I perceived was a terrifying blur.

Much of this last year has been just such a blur, in some ways terrifying, but in many others, one of my best. I've learned things about myself, about the strength / depth / breadth of human emotion, and about the heart's capacity to grow & evolve, despite love and loss. This was the first year I spent without my grandmother's sage advice and dry, randy humor on tap to rally me through life's storms. A year ago today she left this mortal coil, and its been a bittersweet time of feeling like a boat propeller with part of a blade missing. The other blades kept turning as usual, trying to propel my lifeboat foreward. But without the proper balance that Grandma lent to things it was hard to do more than watch my craft spin in lazy circles.

But live I have, and moved forward in my journey. Such is the nature of time in its passage. One of my favorite quotes regarding the unrelenting march of time comes from the classic story "Anne of Avonlea". Young Anne is writing to Marilla about the approach of final exams, how she fears not being successful. Her whimisical concluding observation is to state, "I assume the sun will continue rising and setting whether I pass geometry tomorrow or not."

In much the same way, I've been accepting the backlash (if you will) of letting my blog go stale while I was off gadding about, ignoring my love of writing. I was at first a bit sad, then annoyed, when I realized a few months ago that my blog had been removed from several other writers' blogrolls. "Who do they think they are??" I demanded, "removing MY blog from their lists!" Did they assume that, because I let a fe-e-e-ew little months go by without posting, that I had in effect stopped THINKING? Stopped having thoughts, ideas, whimsies worthy of sharing? And in almost the same moment that I was tempted to grow indignant over the perceived slight, I also said, "Do I really believe that none of THEM have lives, outside of blogging?" How arrogant of me to assume that, because other people 'have time' to blog that, by default, my own madly busy existence should get a pass card for NOT posting?"

Silly girl.

The reality of it all is that it IS sensible that some of my readers have decided that my silence equals an "end" in their eyes. "Gee, if she had something to say to me / us, she'd be on here saying it!" The oppposite couldn't be more accurate. But if, through my silence, my few interested readers have wandered away, then so be it-- I would no more expect people to stare at an empty piece of paper or a blank screen than I would encourage them to keep "visiting my blog, only to see nothing new. I have sought to amuse or entertain through my postings. Heck, if I went to a friend's house regularly & they stopped "being there" (i.e. not posting), I'd think they'd closed up shop & not be bothered as well!

But the main point of having this blog has been to have a PLACE. A place that is mine. A place where friends are welcome, were they visit, share thoughts, then continue on their way.

My point? I am here... I haven't left, I'm still chock full of thoughts & musings. If you're interested enough, and willing to tolerate the occasional silent spell, then know that I AM still here, and all is well.

A Bone, for my Dawgs

2009-04-02T10:48:00.003-04:00

Yes, you read that right-- I'm throwing the proverbial blog-bone that a number (ok TWO) of my readers have requested.

What a long, strange internet-less trip its been, amigos mine.

Here's a thumbnail to bring all of you (ok-- the two remaining readers) up to speed on my present state of being. As the last post mentioned, my work hours were slashed in half back in November & for now have not been restored to full time. With that in mind, our agency HAS received notice of incoming funds (to the tune of roughly $25,000 total) that are coming-- exactly when the hell they are coming, no one can answer. That being the case, until those pesos are actually IN HAND, its not feasible to restore my 40-hour status. **Sigh**

In light of that "challenge" to my income, I have since taken on two additional part time jobs (one with the Wheeling Artisan Center in their gift shop [working random Saturdays], and the second with a local pre-school doing aftercare). The retail work is easy, but it reminds me why I got out of working retail (barely over minimum wage & zero mental stimulation). The child care is a little more fun, but it likewise reminds me why I got out of child care / early childhood education (on your feet constantly, lame pay, minimal mental stimulation). At least this go around with child care doesn't coincide with the Barney craze from 15+ years back--- say... no... more. My fond hope is that within the next 60 days 1) the money will arrive to restore my work situation, and 2) I can give final notice to both part time gigs and close the chapters. I've enjoyed the work, and appreciate folks hiring me on to get me through this rough patch, but working 6 (and sometimes 7) days a week tends to wear a woman down, capice?

As to the personal life, Steve and I are still going strong after almost 9 months, and we are in the middle of making the transition to full time cohabitation. I have a tenant moving into my ghetto abode around the 15th of this month (I refer to her as Laura's Little Dividend), and have roughly 75% of my things moved out already. This Saturday is scheduled to be Ground Zero for the last leg of the move (last of the larger furniture, etc)-- of course, Steve was just informed that he now has to WORK Saturday, so methinks I'm going to be playing moving day mostly solo. **double sigh**

And in reference to Steve working a 6-day, that's also been a screwed up spectre during our relationship-- he's just come off of the third work layoff since November, and his oh-so-wise bosses are working the crew like a chain gang (10-12 hour days, 5-6 days) to fill an order, and the scuttlebutt 'round the mill is that they will all be laid off again after this order is filled (short of another large order being placed). **triple sigh**

That said, our relationship has only grown more solid, despite adversity. During this same 5 month period, Steve's mom has been recovering from major foot surgery, his dad his been diagnosed with (and successfully treated for) bladder cancer, and my grandmother has been in the hospital & is now ensconced at a nursing home due to failing physical strength (hell, she's gonna be 97 May 22-- she's allowed to lose power). Between work / financial stress, family angst, and the usual ups and downs of getting to know one another, I'd say we're surviving the turmoil nicely, despite it all.

I've also had random house / pet-sitting gigs that have help pay Da Man, and the occasional freelance writing job has also fallen on my plate, so looking at the big picture I'm far better off than many fellow Ohio Valley-ites whose lives have been utterly devastated by the present economy.

I have work.
I have family & friends.
I have a home (ok, TWO).
I have love.

I'm in a much better place than a large cross section of the population, so I try to keep perspective when the bills come due (and they always do) & it feels like this everlasting winter won't end...

Hopefully your girl blogger will soon have regular access to off-the-clock Internet, and I can once again unleash the fascinating workings of my mind on my adoring reader(s). You know you want me to!

Kitty Knows Best

2008-11-21T10:48:00.005-05:00

In case anyone was wondering why I haven't been posting, let's just say I've had limited access to Internet, thanks to the recent changes at work. Not that I would ever blog on da clock, but my time THERE has been cut just short of half (25 hours vs 40), and in an effort to economize, I shut off my home Internet to save on the monthly bill (at least while the reduced income persists). So for now, you'll just have to take what you get & be content with it!

Now, for the REAL purpose of this post-- a paean post to honor (belatedly) my very own bestie best gal pal, Barb. She celebrated her birthday on 11/17, and I had the great pleasure of chatting with her a bit (never long enough) that night. In addition to the good news she was calling to share (svelte creature that she is), we had a few minutes to take verbal pot shots at multiple targets-- some of the travails of the past year (for both of us), and allusions to both our shared and separate past hurtles. We nattered on for at least 15 minutes, during which time I repeatedly caught Steve looking at me and making amused, bemused / confused faces over my remarks.

The confusion was understandable, considering he was only hearing my side of the conversation & lacks much of the inside info needed to follow our convoluted convos. What's noteworthy is that I doubt there are many other people on the planet who would follow our conversations smoothly. Barb is one of the few people who has wandered across my path to whom I can say damn near anything & from whom I can expect nearly flawless comprehension (NOTE: so don't feel bad, you folks who have told me I speak in riddles-- Barb holds the only special secret decoder ring!)

Anyone who has visited Barb's blog o' joy during the past year (FYI: she recently celebrated her first blog-a-versary) will have some insight into the strange trip (in the good, Grateful Dead sense) that she's been on... As someone who has been a close (albeit, from afar) observer of her journey, it has been a beautiful and sometimes painful ride, sharing the soul-searching and chrysalis shedding.

Barb is blessed with both the artistic and verbal dexterity to express herself in ways that take my breath away. From practically the first day we met, she has been my litmus for what I want to be "when I grow up"-- little did I know early on, that Barb has patently refused to do so (grow up) herself, and that I'm left to find my way sans role model.

Not being a woman who wants the kleig lights aimed in her direction, I'll keep this tribute concise out of respect to her (hell, she's already had to wait two freakin' weeks as it is). Barb is a woman of honor, who tells it like it is and is not afraid to launch a flying bitchslap where needed. Even if I don't end up just like her someday, I'm proud to call her friend & I look forward to the day when we are both ensconced on the porch of the Renaissance Ranch, sipping Patron and comparing sagging tattoos and looking back happily on our salad days.

If I recall correctly, we both like croutons AND bacon bits on our salads, right?

That to Which I Have Been Up ~

2008-10-31T12:04:00.003-04:00

For those who have wondered what all I've been up to since my last post, in addition to the usual work grind and the added dimension of grant seeking, I've also been helping to prepare for a women's conference (read about it here)

Overall it was a success. For women who might have attended conferences in larger markets (i.e. "the big city") where you're not coping with FREE meeting space (and the associated suck-it-up-this-is-as-good-as-it-gets-ness), you had professional meeting planners (which we're not), and a budget (PERIOD), it might have seemed provincial. But the end result was a fun (if hectic) day, and so far we've received predominantly positive feedback from attendees. Yay us!

For now, I'm still nursing sore feet from running around 12 straight hours, but I wanted to update my reader(ship) about my whereabouts. Fear not-- Laura's always near, just not always able to blog at will ~

Hey good lookin'...

2008-10-10T11:42:00.002-04:00

... watchya got cookin'?

It would seem that Laura needs to start doing some creative thinking, when it comes to approaching her work life. It turns out we didn't get the $60,000 grant we requested after all, so now I get to spend the next few months working with my board to find "alternative" (read here: involving tassels and begging) methods of extracting money from funders.

Check back in Monday-- I've got 1) some ideas for making money, and 2) an idea for another fun/thought provoking post that is worthy of the time it will take to write it out...

Until then, have a simply fabulous weekend, my reader(ship).

I'm Officially...

2008-10-08T10:05:00.004-04:00

... a CRANKY PANTS today (OK-- more often than that).

It's supposed to get up to 70F today, but its about 56 and raining right now. Not to mention our office landlord has expressed his desire to put off firing up the furnace for the building as long as possible, so the thermostat sits at a balmy 62 & I'M sitting here in a long sleeved sweater / slacks, with an additional long cardigan on and a fleece lap blanket over my legs to thaw me out... My fingers are like icicles, and I'm simply not feeling the love for much of anything today. We still haven't heard about the huge HUD grant-- you know, the one we submitted July 9th & were supposed to hear about on SEPTEMBER 6th??? The one that determines if we are open for business next calendar year? Yeah, that one.

I'm cold, cranky, crabby, and wish I could go home, climb back into some woolly jammies, crawl under a comfy quilt & hibernate with some old movie & snacks.

Maybe tomorrow I'll be back to being shiny happy girl-- for now, just back away slowly & no one will get hurt...

Gourd-itos, AKA The Pumpkin Posse

2008-10-02T09:45:00.002-04:00

For anyone who wondered how a couple of wild youngsters spends a spicy Saturday evening, the truth is revealed: you go to the Barnesville Pumpkin Festival, wander around in the drizzle for two hours, then get your picture taken in front of the King Pumpkin.

So there you have it--you never knew the Greater Ohio Valley region had such exciting night life, didja?

One Heck of a Day

2008-09-25T14:35:00.006-04:00

All right, team-- so it would appear that your girl's blogging mojo lost a bit of speed in recent weeks. Well, fear not-- its HERE & its CLEAR-- I've still got the goods, just not always the time to execute... So I'm stealing a few minutes out of the hectic schedule to write a review-- of what you ask? Of my birthday!

Yes, possums-- to those of you lovely people who knew it was the infamous day (9/23) & celebrated appropriately (i.e. by sending various & sundry tokens of fealty), THANK YOU. I received some decadent bath items, as well as some lovely blog lovin' posts. I'm blessed with my friends, and I send reciprocal blessings your way as well (FYI: Gopher's got a birthday coming too-- go wish him the best, too!)

The picture above is another lovely gift I received (thanks, Steve-O!)

This cake was also a day sweetener-- green writing & candles (my favorite color) and a big fat red rose (also, my fav fleur) because EVERYONE KNOWS, the birthday girl gets "the flowers" on the cake-- so one giant one was even better, dontchya think? On the whole, it wasn't the most diet friendly day in my recent history. But then again, it isn't everyday that you celebrate turning another year older (37, if you're counting). So I boldly enjoyed some cake, had a 6-inch Subway sub for lunch, and did Olive Garden for dinner. And YES, I DID cash in my FREE Cold Stone Creamery coupon afterwards (I ordered their Coffee Lover's Orgasm... er, whatever its called)-- but it was too much for me, so I was compelled to give 1/2 of it away, so it wasn't nearly the travesty that it would have been in years gone by (when you would have had to wrestle the plastic spoon from my cold, dead hand before I'd give up).

So a summary: balloons, cake, flowers, bath goodies, boastful blog tributes, and in general a day filled with love, life & laughter. Can't ask for much more than that, can we? Here's to doing this again in another 363 days!

Seattle Breast Cancer 3-Day - Sept 12-14, 2008

2008-09-02T15:36:00.005-04:00

Here's the plug, gentle readers:

Barb (and others) Get Walkin'

I won't rattle on at length-- follow the link above, or better yet, wander over to Barb's blog (if you haven't before, or if you need a reminder of her eloquence). Her dedication to battling this cause is awe-inspiring, and it is with all my heart that I ask you to consider donating to support her Walk goal-- and if you have already donated on her behalf (or in someone else's name), then consider an additional / alternative way to support this critical cause.

Breast cancer touches EVERYONE'S life eventually-- the sooner we find a cure and eradicate it, the better our world will be...

A Restless Wind & Itchy Fingers

2008-08-19T14:55:00.004-04:00

Call it the first blush of autumn color, or the first ragged (still learning) vee of geese I saw fly overhead last evening, but something is afoot in your favorite girl blogger's field of vision-- have no doubt.

It might be the waft of school supplies drifting through the air, or the sentimental song of seasons changing with time & tide.

Who knows? What I do know is that its been ages since I felt this kind of stir in my veins. Something's coming (cues West Side Story soundtrack, for good measure), and it defies identification. Whatever the name of this particular muse, its elusive. Light footed, clever-- s/he's calling me to toss aside the everyday & begging me to throw one last big Oooh La La festivus before the summer draws to a close.

How can I do otherwise?

Just Sayin'...

2008-08-12T10:42:00.002-04:00

If you need an A-one fun place to visit, were you can spend SEVEN HOURS touring, reading, listening, eating, groovin' & having a damn fine time, go HERE ~~~>

I had toured the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Museum several years ago, and was pleasantly surprised (while visiting it again yesterday) that I enjoyed the second tour every bit as much as the first-- that the permanent exhibits were just as engaging & the temporary ones were gritty and interesting.

Better and better, I was able to get a nifty package with the Holiday Inn (which overlooks the Lake) for admission to the museum, free breakfast buffet (still drooling from their selection), free parking and a fabulous king-room. Even if I only managed a 36-hour getaway from Wheeling and its charms, it was enough to renew me and get me through the busy days ahead (yes-- it looks like August is going to blow chunks much the way May/June/July did).

If you ever make it out this way, be sure to hit the RRHoF ~

There's a Smile on My Face...

2008-08-05T19:46:00.002-04:00

...for the whole human race.

Another thing the people who know me best will tell you is that I'm never at a loss for a song lyric / title to match my mood, or a particular moment. So it was with wry humor that I felt the lyrics to this oldie goldie bubbling through my head early this evening.

After spending much of the last month feeling like shit on a shingle-- drug related woes, a tendon tear & a nasty upper respitory bug-- I finally feel like I've gotten back in the swing of things.

Right now I'm on the road again for work (all week) and decided to take advantage of some free time to use the treadmill in the hotel workout room. I was a little hesitant-- the last two times I'd attempted to walk / jog, I'd had to abort on both occasions, as my leg wasn't totally healed. But today, everything was perfect-- despite my headphones crapping out 2 minutes into the workout, I logged 45 minutes on that metal contraption, and it was GOOOOOOOOOD. Heart was pounding, but not too hard. Broke a sweat, but nothing extreme. Achey leg didn't twinge AT ALL, and it was with reluctance that I made myself get off of the machine after 45 minutes (I'd been logging an hour before the recent pestillence). I didn't want to turn a peak experience into a failure by overdoing...

So it was with cheesy grin on puss that I hauled my carcass out of the hotel and down the street to Wendy's for a taco salad (food porn-- the perfect compliment to my workout afterglow). I was proud of myself for working out, despite having sat in classes for 8 hours (normally a great excuse to NOT exercise), thrilled that I had no pain/breathing issues flaring up, and enjoying a ferocious surge of exercise endorphins. I was glowing (ok-- sweating, but with a purpose) & felt better than I have in far more months than I care to count, let alone admit.

I wanted to trap that feeling in a bottle. I wanted to sell it (the feeling, not the sweaty carcass, you pervs) on the streets. It was all I could do to not drunk dial all my friends and shout, "Do you have ANY FREAKIN' CLUE how good I feel right now???" Later, after I'd bagged my erotica and come back to my room, I received a call from a dear friend who just happens to be a fitness junkie. He could tell immediately that I was in a great mood, which surprised him since he knew these training weeks tend to drain me dry. And after recounting my adventure, I begged him to help me remember how I was feeling-- to remind me, the next time I gripe about getting up at 5:30 to throw on my workout gear, just how fan-damn-tabulous I am feeling.

Right now, I'm rediscovering parts of me that have been lost in recent months / years, and finding other bits that I wasn't even aware I posessed. I had hoped that they were, but until you stumble across them, there's always room for doubt, right? All I know is that life is pretty damn good right now-- even if its just for a short stretch.

The "Hello, Ball!" Top Five of Golfing

2008-07-24T15:34:00.010-04:00

5 concepts from golf that, when applied to LIFE,

make sense (to me):

1) Always greet / acknowledge those in front of you.

2) It doesn't matter how great your follow through is, if your preparation is inadequate.

3) A good connection is critical.

4) Never underestimate the need to stretch before AND after.

5) Just because you wear the shoes & glove, buy the equipment & drive the cart, you are NOT automatically a "player"

This Movie Makes Me Smile, Just So You know

2008-07-22T14:35:00.006-04:00

For many people, watching "It's a Wonderful Life" (IAWL) each year is one of the high points of their Christmas experience. Missing it feels criminal, and if you're a movie buff (NERD) like me, you delight in parroting lines along with the movie in your best Jimmy Stewart / Donna Reed imitation.

There's just something about this little gem... Some critics say that it smacks of Frank Capra's typical sappy storyline devices ("Capra-corn"), while others say its too somber and dark-- bordering on Hitchcockian / noir in certain scenes, with the combination of stark set decoration, lighting & cinematography. Me? I agree with both perspectives, but I confess that my favorite reason for loving this movie was the countless times I ended up watching it with my Father, during the holiday season of 1992, which was his last. The copyrights for the movie had expired, which caused an airing orgy the likes of which we had never seen before. Nearly every channel on the dial (to use an old skool term) seemed like they were taking advantage of the unrestricted air-ability of the movie & opted to show it AT LEAST once-- many airing it more than once-- often more than once in the same 24 hour period! And to my Dad and I-- both movie buffs (NERDS), the opportunity to endlesslyy view a beloved classic as many times as possible delighted our nerdy hearts & gave us no end of pleasure. At nearly any moment, we could spin through the channels & find George Bailey-- saving his little brother, confronting Mr. Gower, dancing with Mary Hatch at the prom, or muddling through the joys of suburban fatherhood. During a time when Dad's health allowed for little more than the energy to watch tv, it was a blessing to have an old favorite handy nearly 24/7. The closer we got to Christmas that year, the better we both also began to memorize the dialogue. Soon, we were able to spin whole scenes back & forth between us, and to the disgust of the rest of the family, would interject lines into almost any conversation-- whether it related to the topic or not. IAWL was like the Magic 8-Ball for comic relief-- need a line? Then give IAWL a shake & an appropriate line would pop up and be your "answer".

Its been fifteen years since Dad passed away, but I remember our IAWL mania fondly. I own two different copies of the movie on tape, and have thought about buying it on DVD for better clarity. The casting, costuming & sets are classic-- the dialogue CAN wax cheesy, but that's part of the charm as far as I'm concerned. The final analysis is, I love this film. I love the many messages it promotes, and the way they play out...

The roots for this post were planted in a really nice conversation last night which got me thinking back on the subject. The fruit of the discussion was the knowledge that more happy blogging is ahead of me. The idea shouldn't have surprised me, but after all of the months of mental fugue state that have plagued me during the last year, it felt good to know that my mind, my life & thought processes are rounding a bend of sorts. "Hot DOG!!!"

Wait for it...

2008-07-11T22:27:00.004-04:00

YES!!!! Yes, yes, YES-- Laura is posting her NINTH bit of wisdom. Brace yourself, Effie-- its really happening!

For those of you who were wondering (or who didn't know, but care regardless), I had yet another appointment with my opthamologist (Dr. Larzo) in Morgantown today. On the heels of my neuro appointment there Monday, this follow up dealt with the findings of the last few neuro tests (all essentially non-noteworthy in and of themselves) & discussing a plan of action. Got there for my 9:45 appt, sat in the lobby until almost 10:45, then sat in an exam room alone until 11:30 (NOT the usual experience there, to give them credit). After the nurse's check and administration of the goofy drops, I then sat in the wait-for-your-eyes-to-bug-out-lounge (as I call it) until noon. Then I got to meet faux doctor-in-training Something McConnell (personality of a bed pan), who lugubriously examined my eyes: in passing, he had FASCINATING ears-- Walt Disney could have named a cartoon character after him...

THEN, the doctor came swooping in (at 12:30) with blond uber-student doctor in tow-- he apologized for the delay, reviewed my latest labs / results, and took pleasure (I felt) when he turned, looked at me in my gooned out eyes, and said, "It sure isn't any fun being an enigma, IS IT??"

To which I said, "No-- unless JAMA wants to pay me for me case history, then NO."

The outcome was the decision to drop from 20MG of prednisone (which I've been on since March-- the longest stint to-date) to 10MG. The thought processes being that he wants to see how I respond to LESS pred (since I've lost ground lately on exactly the same dose that worked before... The logic is that we can see 1) how quickly things go south with my vision (anyone wanna place bets?), and 2) when I DO tank out, I'll be almost weaned off of the pred and can move quickly to the NEXT ugly steroid they want me to try-- supposedly, it has "different" side effects than the prednisone. Like WHAT-- sprouting horns & a penchant for dancing the hora at a moment's notice??

No matter the outcome, I made lemons outta lemonade, as is my wont-- I ate a hella good Steakhouse burger from BK (hush, my WW friends, HUSH), reveled in the beautiful weather driving home, enjoyed several nice phone calls from pals checking in on the appointment, then did some just-because-I-wanna shopping along the way. I deserved it after this freakin' week, dammit!

I'll keep you all current on how the weaning process (my doc kept referring to it as such-- way too many lactation & boob images floated through my head, making it hard to maintain eye contact with the guy) goes.

Until then, grab the hookah, smash some dishes & give a resounding "Hoppahhhhhhhhh!" as you cavort in spritely circles-- Laura's home, child-- Laura's HOME ~

Eight is Enough

2008-07-10T13:47:00.004-04:00

It is with, dare I say it, pride that I present you with an EIGHTH post in less than 60 days-- my FOURTH this month alone. Who knew I still that kind of bloggin' juice in me?

Today's post should be light-ish, but could veer towards the profound-- here's ample warning for those of you who are looking for only one extreme or the other, 'kay?

**waiting while the fickle sort themselves out & depart**

Referencing my "Natives are Restless" post (scroll down-- it ain't that far back), it would seem that the prednisone beast has once again reared its ugly head and has me sleeping 3-4 raggedy hours per night. With that noted, I'll share that I haven't been to sleep before 1AM for several nights, and for then past two mornings (+ today) I had little problem hauling my fanny out for my morning constitutional because I was already coming to life before the alarm went off at 5:30. But this morning I had a little extra help-- help (at 5:12) from a gentleman who mistakenly (read here: drunkenly) called my cell phone by mistake, looking for someone named Karen.

ME: "Hello?"

GUY:"Hey... Karen there?"

ME: "Ahh... I'm sorry-- I think you've dialed the wrong number."

GUY: "Thisss ain't Karen's phone?"

ME: "No... its not."

GUY: "Wull, wass YER name, then?"

ME: "NOT KAREN." **click**

I no more than threw myself down to try and catch another hopeful 15 z's when at 5:20-something, a text message came through... Normally, I wouldn't have even heard it, but Karen's prince charming had already awakened me. The text was from my workout buddy, prompting me to get my slacker can outta bed already so that I wouldn't have to later confess to failure to launch. So I sent a reply, grabbed my sneakers and geared up, feeling victorious.

Because I got an slightly earlier start than usual AND I got a really good walk/jog in, it was also earlier than usual when I RETURNED-- which led me to make the one fatal mistake my sleep-deprived brain knows not to make: I laid back down & didn't reset the alarm (this was at 6:48). NOTE: I'm usually in the shower by 7-7:10 at the latest.

Woke up again at 7:53. S-H-I-T.

I hit the ground running, managed to throw down a cup of coffee & shower in record time, and glided into the office at 8:58-- only 30 minutes later than I usually arrive (by preference, not mandate). And after being off last Monday, having to devote all of Tues/Wed to helping finish our HUD grant application, and knowing I'll be off again tomorrow to go to Morgantown, I had more than enough drivel sprawled on my plate & awaiting my tardy self. As I hammered away at the sundry bits and pieces, per usual I found time to wax philosophic about some of the effluvia that's been shunting around my brain in recent weeks / months. In addition to the "Pride" and "Examination of Self" posts, another concept that has been much on my mind has been the word "Enough."

Who exactly determines what enough even IS? Legal standards aside, isn't the very idea of something (or someone) being found to be "enough" utterly arbitrary and subject to whim & personal bias? How do we decide how much food is enough (asks the girl who's still learning that lesson)? How much exercise? How much money? How much intimacy? How much work? How much play? How much sleep? How much intelligence? How much independence? How beautiful do I need to be in order to be "beautiful ENOUGH"-- enough for WHAT? I though back to last night when I was inspired to snap some candid self-portraits with my new camera phone-- I must have tried 50 different angles, different lighting, different backgrounds & locations-- only to reject 99% of the results. The saddest thing is, I have absolutely no clue by who's standards I was rejecting & deleting my results. And for all the anger and criticism I was heaping on myself, I am no closer to knowing why those shots weren't "good enough"...

The upshot of this lively internal monologue was a mystic crystal revelation. One of those self-evident truths that you would think a gal of almost 37 might have long since stumbled across by this point in her journey. It is feeling of confidence in the value of ME as a whole, that I really AM a worthy kind of girl, and that sitting back and fine-tooth-combing myself for flaws was pointless. I LOVE ME-- warts and all-- and dammit, so should anyone else. This epiphany was a complete turn around from the usual 1am / two beers on board / single gal melancholy that typically preys upon one... No one will EVER be "enough" according to most human standards. But are most humans ready for my special version of ENOUGH? Only time & tequila will tell ~

Pride & Prejudice

2008-07-07T21:03:00.007-04:00

Brace yourselves, possums... Laura's been THINKING again.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k04KzgYRKrE

The latest subject that's been buzzing around the windmills of my mind is the subject of PRIDE. Of course my first instinct was to zip over to my go-to urban gristmill, Wikipedia, to get a feel for what the fevered masses have to say on the subject. And as I suspected, the camps are pretty evenly divided on the merits of pride: if it is good (or destructive), has a use (or is pointless), and what the pros and cons might be of being found to be "proud"-- but "only in the best sense" (thank you, Jane Austen).

Per Wiki:

Pride is a lofty view of one's self or one's own. Pride often manifests itself as a high opinion of one's nation (national pride), ethnicity (ethnic pride), or appearance and abilities (vanity). Pride is considered a negative attribute by most major world religions, but some philosophies consider it positive. The opposite of pride is humility.

The long and the short of this is, where does Laura fall on the pride sliding scale? Overall, I was raised to believe that pride, in moderation, was a good thing indeed-- you should be proud of your accomplishments & good works, but should not strive to attain them (success / accomplishments) from self-serving motivations. One of my favorite quotes of all-time is from Miss Manners: "It is far more impressive when others discover your good qualities without your help." Its one thing to be proud of what you do / have done-- but it is tantamount to a crime to toot your own horn in self aggrandizement (the search for "greatness or power"). Have I followed that advice to a T? Hell to the N-O. But it wasn't until I attended a public meeting this evening where a community organizer asked our neighborhood association membership, "Who here wants to be powerful?" that I brought my recent ruminations to a head. Every person who answered the question gave disclaimers-- We want to be powerful, but with limits / purpose. Me? I responded, "I AM powerful already." I didn't say that from an over weaning need to brag-- but if you had been there, you would have understood how condescending the woman's tone was, and why I felt the need to reply thusly. But it did trigger thoughts about the inner conflict I've been having of late-- trying to determine if I use pride as a shield instead of a crown.

The genesis of my recent mental pride parade was the realization that the quest for / the rejection OF, and the feverish need to preserve personal pride is the poison (say that 10 times fast) that keeps us from becoming more self-actualized humans. "What will they say if I _________?" "What will happen if I DON'T _________?" Humans spend far too much energy holding onto it, quashing it (or fostering it) and worrying about it-- quality of life becomes secondary in the effort.

And of course, I also had to hold the idea of pride (and its prioritization) against my favorite litmus tests-- are we talking nature vs nurture, male vs female, what?

Don't worry-- I'm not going to give you a blow-by-blow fallout of what got things rolling... This IS one of my personal battles, and the verdict is still out s to whether I've won the war, or simply the latest battle. But if this post does nothing more than get ya thinking right along with me, than I can call myself a success. And I'm more than OK with that ~

Some Funny Du Jour

2008-07-03T20:19:00.003-04:00

For those who know (or don't), my cats Harpo & Stella are both black kitties-- this fun pic was sent by my brother... You don't think he harbors some not-so-secret disdain for his furry niece & nephew, eh?

Too odd that Barb also posted a black kitty cartoon today as well-- its a siiiiiiiiiiign!

Then I learned about THIS fun site: http://failblog.org/ Spent almost an hour laughing, wincing & enjoying the pics-- some I'd seen, but most were new to me. Enjoy!

Top Ten List

2008-07-01T10:36:00.004-04:00

It has come to my attention that I have not posted a Top Ten list in many a moon... In order to honor that observation, I present you with my latest top ten list of "Phrases I Never Imagined Hearing / Uttering" (all within roughly a 10-day span)-- I leave it to you to decide which I proclaimed, and which I heard:

"Sorry for the interruption... problems with Asia."
"I had to wait 96 years to have my very first car accident."
"Please assure him that I would NEVER offer a friend grey sludge-- brown, maybe-- but N-E-V-E-R grey."
"Is it an innie or an outie?"
"I'd like a #1-- but with orange juice, not coffee-- OJ goes better with hash browns."
"Does Bacardi mix well with Diet Mt Dew?"
"For some reason I'm getting one in the morning AND in the evening, and I don't know why..."
"Its official, I AM a farmer-- call the FFA!!"
"If a crack ho' falls down in the alley, does she make a sound?"
"Does she have a favorite kind? EPT? Clear Blue Easy... what?"

All the Clowns in Clown Town

2008-06-21T21:29:00.003-04:00

In view of the density of my last two posts, I've been prompted to wield a lighter brush and talk about one of my favorite memories...

Back in my early days as a nanny (circa 1990-92), I was living in Westchester County (in NY) and living the carefree life of a not-quite drinking age lass-- far from her small town & eager to sample some of the joys of the big city-- OK, so Mamaroneck held roughly the same 30,000 people living there as did in Wheeling, but to me it represented everything a repressed Catholic innocent could want: no parents, bars that didn't card, and a sub-culture that catered to the booming niche market of young ladies who lived & worked in the area as nannies / au pairs (the cute European way of saying "live-in babysitter"). Many of my partners in crime haled from the UK, so I found myself burning many an evening in quasi "pubs" that welcomed ex-pats (both male & female) and their erstwhile associates (read here: ME).

One of my firsts outings, in the company of Cathy & Kat (from England), and Lana (from Wales), found me in a quaint little bar that served only imported drafts & lagers, offered a selection of real dart boards (instead of the funky electric type), with countless pennants & placards that touted obscure sporting team logos (soccer teams, rugby clubs-- you get the idea) on the walls. With the girls' prodding, I soon found myself comfortably ensconced at the bar, clutching a Guinness (not my first, but the first of many THERE), and chatting happily with a burly gent named William. He assured me that I was the "loveliest" girl he'd met in the States so far (God bless beer goggles) and that he was going to die a cruel and unnatural early death if he didn't get my phone number. My clever reply? "You and all the Clowns in Clowntown..."

I'll spare you the details of how that response worked--content yourself with the knowledge that William seemed to think my retort "brilliant" and I proceeded to have the #2 best evening I had during my two-year Nuevo York adventure. NOTE: #1 happened on the occasion of my first visit to the annual Fireman's Festival (stop snickering, Carlos).

The Joy of Being an Onion

2008-06-19T15:58:00.004-04:00

Fear not, gentle reader(s)... Heather was not the only person to read my last post & inquire (in one form or another), "WTF was that post about & where did it come from???"

What you need to keep in mind when reading my blog o' joy-- whether you are a new reader or a 3+ year veteran-- is that the subject matter, tone and content of my posts can vary wildly (and widely) from day to day. Or should I say, post to post, since during the last year there have typically been month+ gaps in between the majority of my rantings. As a result, time and tide impact WHAT I am thinking about & finding blog-worthy on a given occasion. And much in the manner of onions (?), your girl has layers. Some thicker, some nearly transparent, but each one varying and exacting in what kind of post it commands that I write. Some days its nothing but humor, while on others days I'm cleaning my spleen & purging excess bitterness. Still other times I latch onto my inner Will Rogers / Dave Barry / Erma Bombeck (had to throw a woman in there for good measure) and roll with a little social commentary.

Suffice to say, yesterday I was embracing a more philosophical bent than I have been known to espouse in many a moon. And ya know what? I LIKED IT. It signaled to me that some of the very synapses that I was looking to re-stimulate when I started this blog are once again whimpering & showing signs of life. Much like the first fingers of green poke their way up from the loam each spring, it would seem that my own cerebral processes are once again crackling to life.

Why, you ask? Part of it is thanks to the company I keep.

In recent years I haven't had much of a chance to rub elbows face-to-face (talk about your mixed metaphors-- sounds like a game of Twister) with many folks who actually CHALLENGE me-- challenge my choices, my thought processes, my beliefs-- heck, who ask me why I thought a certain pair of goofy sandals were worth purchasing. But in recent times, it seems I can't step out of bed of a morning without bumping into someone who wants me to stir my brain cells and account for SOMETHING. Again I say, I LIKE IT. The self-examination post actually sprang from three different conversations I had with individuals who, as it turns out, have only entered my life in the past year.

The first was with a gentleman who is currently in the midst of his second divorce. He shared that, while he believes the largest part of THIS marriage's failure can be laid directly at the soon-to-be ex wife's feet, some reading he has been doing has helped him to appreciate the ways in which he basically contributed to (i.e. didn't take action towards addressing) the major issues that brought about the separation & ultimately launched the divorce. Very enlightened thinking & most appreciated-- in my simple experience, many men seem to have trouble 1) owning their culpability & 2) verbalizing that awareness to others. NOTE: I have known this man for a month.

The second conversation was with a married friend who has recently shared that he is learning to look in his literal AND virtual mirrors, acknowledging what he sees (for better or for worse) & working to take steps towards "getting it right" the next time. Again, showing personal growth that was impressive for the same reasons as noted above. NOTE: This man I have known for roughly 3 months.

The third conversation was with a male co-worker (who I've known for almost a year), but with whom, until recently, I hadn't discussed anything much deeper than our mutual love of pop culture, black bean burritos & Chinese buffet. On the heels of the first two discussions, I turned to T. (also twice divorced, but in a promising relationship at the moment) to get yet another male perspective on self-examination & his thoughts. NOTE: T. was a Philosophy major & loves to "go deep" on all things erudite. Neither of us could agree on whether a tendency / ability to self-examine was gender biased, faith driven, intellectually motivated, or if it was simply the nature of the beast to randomly sit oneself down with the personal microscope and perform an inventory. But it was a comment that T. made at the end of our chat that inspired the subject line of THIS post. After lengthy debate, he leaned back in his chair, chin on fist, and said, "Laura, you're much more of an onion than I realized. I knew you had brains to spare & have lots of interests, but I hadn't pictured sitting here for almost an hour discussing Examination of Conscience & moral conflict."

The brainchild of all three conversations was yesterday's post. And while I am still elbow deep in other projects & don't have the time I would love to have to either expand yesterday's post OR to keep writing here indefinitely, I wanted to at a minimum let my reader(s) know that I have not, in fact, hit a moral dilemma (that was years ago!)-- nor am I descending into Beautiful Mind mode and taping copious Post Its to my walls, watching for secret agents 'round every corner (though in this neighborhood, it was Easter the last time the S.W.A.T. team visited across the street). What it DOES signify is that some of the mental torpor & callouses seem to be sloughing off... Not all of them, sadly-- until I get the prednisone out of my system once and for all, I doubt I'll make it all the way back to sparkling wit and effortless repartee anytime soon.

For now, simply call me La Cebolla (pronounced say-bo-ya)-- the Onion. I've got layers, I might make you cry (I can't help it-- its my nature), and no recipe is complete without me (OK, maybe not tiramisu). Enough rambling-- I have to dig in and finish my InWheeling Magazine article. Note to Self: Do NOT keep listening to Vivaldi while you write the article. It was nice to get me in the symphonic state of mind, but its about to put me to SLEEP.

The Unexamined Life

2008-06-18T13:18:00.002-04:00

Human nature once again rears its ugly head.

NOTE: I REFUSE to personify "human nature" as being either male or female

Having only ever dwelled inside my own feeble mind, I can't speak to whether or not it is instinctive among men and women to do regular personal inventories-- reviewing their strengths & weaknesses, or doing what Catholics refer to as an Examination of Conscience (EoC). I was raised in a Catholic household, had the pleasure of surviving 12 years of parochial education, and still (nominally) consider myself to be a Catholic-- despite regular attendance at St. Mary of the Mattress most Sunday mornings, as opposed to attending services at the Diocesan Cathedral located ONE BLOCK from my house.

But several invigorating discussions in the past 24 hours on the subject of soul-searching & its fallout have got me thinking about my roots (the Holy ones, kids-- not the ersatz dye job). My questions are both gender driven & root-based: Are women raised to be more self-examining (or is my view biased)? Is the idea of EoC a concept speared by faith training, or more instinctive? And what do people typically DO with the findings of their EoC-- depending on the gravity of their findings, do they act to correct things? Stifle them for later review?

These churning thought processes drove me to Google the term EoC and see what the Mother Church prescribes. According to this list, it would seem that I haven't made a valid, intact confession since approximately Second Grade...

Examination of Conscience

Prayer Before Confession
O Lord, grant me light to see myself as Thou dost see me and the grace to be truly and efficaciously contrite for my sins. O Mary, help me to make a good confession.

Preliminary
Besides telling the NATURE of our sins, we must also recollect, as far as possible, the NUMBER of times we have committed them, telling also (and only) those CIRCUMSTANCES which at times may either make a venial sin mortal or a mortal sin notably worse.
*Have I ever failed to confess a serious sin or disguised it?
*Have I been guilty of irreverence for this sacrament by failing to examine my conscience carefully?
*Have I failed to perform the penance given me by the confessor or disobeyed any of his directions?
*Have I neglected the Easter duty of receiving Holy Communion or failed to confess my sins within a year?
*Have I any HABITS of serious sin to confess first (impurity, drunkenness, etc.)?

First Commandment
*Am I ignorant of my catechism (Act of Contrition, Apostle's Creed, Ten Commandments, Seven Sacraments, the Our Father)?
*Have I willfully doubted or denied any of the teachings of the Church (heresy)?
*Have I taken active part in any non-Catholic worship?
*Am I a member of any anti-Catholic or any secret society?
*Have I knowingly read any anti-Catholic literature?
*Have I practiced any superstitions (horoscopes, fortune tellers, etc.)?

Second Commandment
*Have I used God's name in vain by way of profanity?
*Have I murmured or complained against God (blasphemy)?
*Have I maligned priests or others consecrated to God?
*Have I sworn by God's name (oath) either falsely or rashly?
*Have I broken any private vow?

Third Commandment
*Have I missed Mass on Sundays or holy days through my own fault?
*Have I been late for Mass through my own negligence?
*Have I been inattentive at Mass or otherwise failed in reverence for the Most Blessed Sacrament?
*Have I done unnecessary servile work (physical labor) or shopping on Sunday?

Fourth Commandment
*Have I been disrespectful to my parents or neglected them?
*Have I failed in obedience or reverence to others in authority?
*Have I mistreated my wife or children?
*Have I been disobedient or disrespectful to my husband?
Regarding my children:
*Have I neglected their material needs?
*Have I failed to care for their early Baptism or their proper religious instruction?
*Have I allowed them to neglect their religious duties?
*Have I otherwise failed to discipline them?
*Have I given them a bad example?
*Have I interfered with their freedom to marry or follow a religious vocation?

Fifth & Eighth Commandments
*Have I quarreled with any one?
*Have I cursed anyone or otherwise wished evil on him?
*Have I taken pleasure in anyone's misfortune?
*Is there anyone to whom I refuse to speak or be reconciled?
*Have I lied about anyone (calumny)?
*Have I rash judged anyone of a serious sin?
*Have I engaged in gossip (detraction) or spread scandal?
*Have I lent an ear to scandal about my neighbor?
*Have I been jealous or envious of anyone?

Sixth & Ninth
*Have I denied my spouse his or her marriage rights?
*Have I practiced birth control?
*Have I abused my marriage rights in any other way?
*Have I committed adultery or fornication?
*Have I touched or embraced another impurely?
*Have I sinned with others of the same sex?
*Have I committed masturbation or otherwise sinned impurely with myself?
*Have I harbored lustful desires for anyone?
*Have I indulged in other impure thoughts?
*Have I failed to dress modestly?
*Have I done anything to provoke or occasion impure thoughts in others?
*Have I read indecent literature or looked at indecent pictures?
*Have I watched suggestive films or programs?
*Have I permitted my children or others under my charge to do these things?
*Have I used indecent language or told indecent stories?
*Have I willingly listened to such stories?
*Have I boasted of my sins?
*Have I sinned against chastity in any other way?

Seventh & Tenth Commandments
*Have I stolen anything?
*Have I damaged anyone's property through my own fault?
*Have I cheated or defrauded other?
*Have I refused or neglected to pay any debts?
*Have I neglected my duties or been slothful in my work?
*Have I refused or neglected to help anyone in urgent necessity?
*Have I failed to make restitution?

OTHER SINS
*Have I knowingly caused others to sin?
*Have I cooperated in the sins of others?
*Have I sinned by gluttony?
*Have I become intoxicated?
*Have I used narcotics?
*Have I been motivated by avarice?
*Have I indulged in boasting or vainglory?
*Have I received Holy Communion or another sacrament in the state of mortal sin?
*Is there any other sin I need to confess?

Prayer for a Good Confession
O my God, by my grievous sins I have re-crucified Thy divine Son to myself and have deserved Thy everlasting wrath in the fires of hell. Even more, I have been most ungrateful by my sins to Thee, my Heavenly Father, Who have created me out of nothing, redeemed me by Thy Son, and sanctified me in the sacraments by Thy Holy Spirit. But Thou hast spared me to make this confession. Receive me back as Thy prodigal son and grant me to confess myself well, that I may begin anew to love Thee with my whole heart and soul, henceforth keeping Thy Commandments and suffering patiently whatever temporal punishment for my sins may remain. I hope by Thy goodness and power to obtain everlasting life in paradise. Through Christ Our Lord. Amen.

I... AM... TIRED...

More on this subject another day-- for now, I think I need to dust off my Roasary Beads and set them to rattlin'...

Jiminy Cricket

2008-06-01T19:03:00.005-04:00

Sometimes, the sound of crickets can be a peaceful, rest inducing song that ushers you into dreamland...

At other times, the incessant chirping can drive you to the brink of madness.

Are they being paid to annoy me?

Is there some giant conspiracy to rob Laura of her sleep & keep me tossing and turning like an inmate of Bedlam?

Whatever your answer, they're THERE... crickets, ad infinitum.

Greener Pastures

2008-05-13T18:24:00.007-04:00

Happy Blog-A-Versary to ME!

(thank Carlos for goading me into posting, thereby reminding me that my BV had in fact rolled round again!)

And so it goes, and so it goes... Three whole trips round the sun since this once verdant blog burst "Fresh Outta the Shell" and clamored its way into being. Who knew that now, every bit as much as then, that I would still NEED this blog, as both a mental & creative vent?

In addition to offering my remaining reader(s?) a literary bone, I'll offer my apology (soak it up-- I don't hand 'em out often)-- even though I don't post nearly as frequently as I did in the early days, not a day goes by that I don't bobble at least one brief idea for a post through my mental processes. I do-- I swear! I WON'T offer excuses-- in general I don't give excuses much credence, and even for those who DO, I won't do it on principle. Too many reasons, almost none of them valid...

So let's keep this light. Deal?

One fun thing I had the opportunity to do this week was to conduct a telephone interview with Andre Raphel Smith-- conductor of the Wheeling Symphony Orchestra. The interview was a precursor to an article I've been commissioned to write for the next edition of InWheeling Magazine. This article marks an entire year of being a "feature writer" (insert supercilious smirk here) for the publication & is yet another outlet that I have been using to satisfy my writing muse. Sadly (for me), all of the articles / pieces to this point have been fact heavy & flavor lite-- none of them has been a forum for writing in my own "voice" as it were.

But that will be the next step-- finding a source for writing about life & all its idiosyncrasies.

It was conducting that interview that reminded me that I do, in fact, NEED to write. Just knowing that I'll get to flex my mental muscles and craft an article gets me happy-- happy in ways that not much in my life has succeeded in doing for a good long while... My hope is that more like opportunities are approaching on my horizon.

The Crossroads

2008-04-09T20:43:00.004-04:00

Something has been nagging at me lately-- for once, not my mother (yes, feel free to roll your eyes here). And that something is the fact that, with the exception of the people who know me in "real" life (i.e. have met me in person), I have never actually mentioned my OTHER blog here...

Why?

One would think that, since I am relatively comfortable baring my soul (to a degree!) here on Calumny for any ol' person to come along and read that, I might ALSO feel like doing some shameless self-promoting by sending my reader(s) over to http://www.180turnaround.blogspot.com/ as well.

I know, I know-- they're BOTH listed on my profile, and for all intents and purposes, you probably HAVE wandered over there as well, if you've been a regular visitor of mine during the past year or so that it has been in existence.

But the truth is-- when I "gave birth" to the 180 blog, it wasn't specifically intended for the viewing of my "real" associates. After being a regular poster on the 200+ Pounds to Lose board on the Weight Watchers web site for some time, I was prompted by several boardmates to post some of my progress pictures. And so, I went through what was a surprisingly painful process-- I went searching back through a collection of photo CD's taken in the past decade, looking for images that captured me in various high & low (literal & figurative) points of my appearance.

If you've known me longer than the past two years, then you know that I have been dealing with excess weight & more recently, the task of making that weight a thing of the past. But as anyone who has dealt with weight / body-image issues, a large (pun intended) part of that which you that you wanted to exorcise from yourself never really goes away. In your head, whether you were overweight for a week or a lifetime, it has impacted WHO you are & how you got to where you are today.

That said, do I still consider myself to be "fat"?

No, not in the traditional, textbook, Hollywood stereotypical sense.

I know I still have a few pounds to lose before I "fit" what the medical experts consider to be an ideal weight or BMI (Body Mass Index). But, again that little voice inside of me that asks those wonderful, rhetorical questions (often at 3am), has been prodding me-- why are you holding back, Laura? Do you think if you don't "tell" anyone who reads this blog about the weight loss journey you've been on these last few years that maybe-- just maybe-- no one will notice, and you can "pass" as NORMAL? And NORMAL-- feh, what a craptastic word. What IS normal anyway? Definitely something I doubt I ever will (or will WANT to) be...

I do want to give a nod here to another gifted blogger & WW 200+ poster named Sara who has been remarkably candid about her own WL journey. She has found a wonderful sense of liberation & ownership in sharing her thoughts about obesity and weight loss on her blog, and on the WW boards. And as odd as the concept might sound, it really IS possible to weigh in excess of 300 pounds and not ever really "owning" that fact. The number of ways that you can lie to yourself is staggering... even though anyone with functioning eyes can plainly SEE that you have a weight problem, I'm here to testify (can I get an amen?) that it is absolutely possible to be in denial about the subject. To deny the fact that you can (and I did) break a folding chair simply by sitting on it... That you get to the point that you can no longer shop in even the plus sized women's clothing stores (and I did) because you've gotten larger than their largest size. That there are places and spaces in your daily life that you, quite simply, DO NOT FIT-- because of your size.

My rock bottom came almost 10 years ago-- the day I stepped on the scale at my doctor's office & was unable to find out my exact weight because her scale "only" went up to 350 pounds.

Only 350...

I stepped on that scale, heard the horrendous CRASHing sound of the metal gauge at the end of the grid, and knew without a doubt that, not only had I reached a weight that horrified me (350), but that I was so firmly above it that it took over two solid months of workouts 4 times a week (at the gym that I joined the very next day) before I was able to get a reading of 349 on the gym's scale. When asked, I say my highest weight was 360-- in reality, it was probably even a higher.

The point that I am making here is that my response to said naggin voice is this: I AM proud. Proud of what I have accomplished, excited about the higher level of fitness and appearance that I hope to reach. And very firmly enmeshed with that pride & hope is an (un)healthy dose of shame. Shame for letting my weight get so out of hand... Shame for lacking the will-power and self-discipline to step the hell away from the trough, adopt better eating / exercise habits, and to stop committing what I once heard called "suicide by knife & fork" by a fellow WW'er. Because in all honesty, whether that was my true intention or not (death from morbid obesity), that's where I was steadily headed.

Not for one moment, though, am I sitting here trying to proclaim that I have become a model of clean living & discipline-- I still like to get my drink on (though I've switched to lighter beer, lol), and when getting my drink on, am known to still pick up a cigarette (or 5) to balance those beers. I still have hopes of getting my walking regimen back in order in time to be prepared for the upcoming Ogden 20K race again this year-- but in my defense, between my dead treadmill, the ridiculous weather (until this week), and my obliterated sleep schedule (see last post) thanks to prednisone, fitting in consistent workouts in recent weeks has been laughable, to put it plainly. I also hope to continue that training to a point that I can participate in the Susan G. Komen 3-day Walk for the Cure in September (in Seattle)-- 20 miles a day, for 3 days (yes, I'm putting that out there in hopes of some accountability, people-- work with me).

What I do want to say is this-- if you love me (and I know you do, admit it), you will hopefully love the whole messy package. The woman who carries her weight-altered "scars" with something resembling pride. I'm not proud of what got me to my rock bottom, but I can't help admitting that I feel like a part of me-- a 180 pound part of me-- has been pushed aside and lost.

Here's hoping she STAYS lost & forgot to leave a trail of bread crumbs behind to find their "weigh" back ~

I'm ALIVE!!!

2008-02-04T21:41:00.000-05:00

Honestly, I actually DID have a great post idea come bobbing through my head earlier today.

Then I forgot what it was...

But I promise you all that, lame though this might be, I PROMISE, as the higher power is my witness, I WILL put a post worth commenting on here before-- well, before... um... before TOO much more time elapses.

Is it noteworthy that I couldn't keep a post idea in my head long enough to actually POST it?? What does that say about the state of the Union in Laura's world? What does it mean that I can't stay focused long enough to ramble at length about any single issue that holds meaning to me?

Oh-- if you do nothing else, surf over to my pal Barb's blog-- in addition to being a brilliant writer, she just one hell of a great gal... We've been chums for the better part of 20 years & she never ceases to amaze me with the breadth and depth of her talents. Enjoy!

Sooooooo... You wanna know where I've been

2007-11-04T19:16:00.000-05:00

No where... As usual, I have let life get in the way of the oh-so-important work of blog posting (note the pensive, thoughtful look on my puss).

But fear not-- while my blog may be silent (for multi-month intervals), yours truly is still puttering along-- enjoying the (finally) brisk fall weather & keeping my head above water. Sound familiar? I wish I had something gripping to share-- that I've been busy tending to lepers on Molokai, feeding orphans in New Delhi slums, doing good deeds. Not so much...

I HAVE been busy with work-- starting October 1 I shifted from working full-time for the first time homebuyer education program to the originally proposed job-share. It's been more than interesting, working out balancing time evenly between the two jobs (and believe me, BOTH boards of directors believe in getting their fair share!). I've also been traveling 1-2 days a week, either for work or doctors appointments (I've had to go to Morgantown to the WVU Eye Clinic-- but things seem to be resolving, so no worries). My mother also had surgery for her torn rotator cuff 6 weeks ago, so I've been playing step-and-fetch it for her during her recovery-- laundry, chauffeur services, etc. On top of that, I've been doing some freelance writing for a local publication, InWheeling Magazine. I had two articles in the debut issue, an article in the up-coming holiday edition, and two more proposed for the spring issue.

That busy enough for you?

Lots of other trivial fun (and not so fun) tidbits have popped up in the interim, but since 99.9% of you neither know the persons involved, nor would you be remotely interested in hearing their life stories, suffice to say that there have been inordinate levels of other people's drama that has inserted itself in my day to day doings. No biggie-- nothing insurmountable, just the usual stuff that throws a spanner in the works of daily operations. Cest la vie!

In typical fashion, this is all the bone I'm going to throw for right now-- I have to get BACK to the pleasurable pastime of typing up minutes for last month's neighborhood watch meeting (next one is tomorrow). Until my next blog-o'-joy topic springs to mind, dear readers, know that I'M STILL HERE :~D

On the heels of that LAST post...

2007-09-04T20:58:00.000-04:00

Since I went to the trouble of showing you the apparently hedonistic lifestyle I'm leading right now (see below), I felt compelled to share a slightly more banal, adult topic that might have a more universal point of reference than my Sharpie-laden limbs...

WARNING: Yes-- another sign of a lame social gathering-- are you discussing your latest bloodwork results & actually BRAGGING about "good numbers" that are in no way related to gambling??

Got my lab results from my annual physical, and this is how the numbers stack up against the previous year's numbers:

April '06:
Cholesterol - 148
HDL - 48
LDL - 74
Triglyceride - 134

THIS year:
Cholesterol - 109
HDL - 60
LDL - 41
Triglyceride - 42

Any of you medicos who read my blog: are you really going to make me go to the dreaded WebMD to find out if these numbers are better? I remember Heather commenting last year that I should shoot to get my HDL to 60 or better, so I know that advice took, lol. As for the seemingly huge drop in my triglycerides, is that normal and / or good?

Inquiring dorks (who dropped out of her nursing studies MUCH too early to have learned this stuff) would love to know ~

Does this NEED a caption, really??

2007-08-31T15:32:00.000-04:00

This MIGHT Be a Lame Social Gathering...

2007-08-25T15:01:00.000-04:00

(the above is a catchphrase from one of my current favorite radio ads for beer).

Sadly, it also describes THIS BLOG (at least for the past few months). When Gopher (AKA My Young) Scottish Plaything inquired what I had been up to (in addition to the obvious answer, "Not blogging!!") I replied that, now that I have something resembling a REAL job (read here: one that keeps me too busy to blog & blog surf on the clock) my writing AND surfing habits have declined in a shocking fashion.

I just ain't been doin' either.

So now that you know what I have been up to, some narcissistic part of my subconscious wants to hold off sharing more until I get pictures from the pub crawl I participated in last night. In brief, picture 30 inebriated adults (not counting the bus driver or one passenger who opted not to imbibe) wearing Department of Transportation orange t-shirts, careening madly about town for 5 hours & visiting 6 bars. We came, we drank, we went home. Most of us ended up coming home with various illegible phrases written in permanent black marker on the t-shirts. SOME of us also came home with illegible phrases written on their LEGS in black permanent marker. Not sayin' who... not sayin' what... Just sayin"...

Other than working like a mad-woman & apparently drinking like one, I've also been busy with family related fun. Grandma spent a few weeks in the hospital's skilled care unit building up her strength so that she can continue to live at home with my mom. Mom decided that she needed to vie for my attention as well, the result being her taking a flying splat off of the new wheel chair ramp in front of her house (turns out her rotator cuff is "damaged," but the doc is having her do therapy vs. surgery to see if that works). Trust me, when I came by two days later to cut her grass, there was still a Mom-shaped crop circle next to the ramp, shaped like a perfect cutout of da Mama herself-- all that was missing was a chalk outline and police tape. We also recently had a quickie visit from my brother-- his wife spent the summer in Uruguay visiting her mother, so he took some time to fly home from Missouri to visit us before her return. The golden boy even came and worked some much-needed magic on my home computer-- alleluia!

Are we happy now? Keep telling yourself "My life is better, now that Laura has posted." Just thought I would throw my massive readership a bone-- wouldn't want you to think I'd shuffled off the mortal coil & forgot to give notice. I'm here, ever-so-slightly hungo'er, but here nonetheless.

Brace yourselves...

2007-05-26T19:29:00.000-04:00

...for POST NUMBER THREE!!!!

Here's a pic of me from my Grandmother's 95th birthday party last Sunday. After weeks of prep for te event, then the long day itself, I was downright giddy (it didn't help that Mom treated the picture taking like a Star Search photo session ;-)

Enjoy ~

Is anyone shocked...?

2007-05-23T22:52:00.000-04:00

No, not only that I'm posting for the SECOND TIME in less than a month, but that I snoozed through my second Blogg-a-versary?

Shocking, I know...

For those of you who've asked, I'll post some pics from my Grandmother's big 95th birthday bash last Sunday (her b-day was yesterday-- same as another lovely blogger I could name (Heather). My first response when I saw the pictures was, "Holy crap, I looked BEAT..."

If all of the stars align, I'll post an earth-shattering THIRD post here in the next few days. Keep checking back, will you?

Where do I begin?

2007-05-08T17:15:00.000-04:00

And I thought a 2 1/2 month break was noteworthy? Let's just say... nothing, shall we? Just as a refresher, for those who don't know me in real life (and for some of you as well), time has been rampaging past me like a whore in a hurry.

I'm currently transitioning into a new job-- three days there (M/W/F), two days at the old one (T/TH), through the end of the month. So even if I weren't flying at breakneck speed, trying to get work done, I hardly know WHERE I am most days, let alone have time to formulate witty posts.

I'm also attempting to train for the upcoming Ogden 20K Walk / Race which is rapidly approaching-- in 18 days to be precise. The rarely seen competitive side of me (yes Mel, I DO have one) is excited about the event, and looks forward to giving it my best-- crossing the finish line draped with roses & crowned in laurel wreaths. The pragmatic, SANE side of me keeps muttering "WHAT THE...!" every time I lace up my sneakers and log some more miles. Pray for me (and Melonie) as we attempt to tame the 12.6 mile course on 5/26.

This has also been a time of some sadness. One of my neighbors passed away unexpectedly two weeks ago, and as he was single and had only a limited, dysfunctional family to handle the arrangements, several other neighbors and I have had the unenviable task "settling the estate" and disassembling the packed contents of his 3rd-floor, walk-up apartment. His son (good guy) and daughter (witch) finally came and picked up personal effects-- he took family pictures, SHE took what she thought she could resell at a nearby flea market (and the twit stupidly left TONS of saleable stuff because she was too lazy to go through all of the apartment's contents!). I cannot say that my neighbor, Bromley, and I were close, but he was unfailingly kind & generous to me, and I'm thankful to have had him in my life, however briefly.

Another passing happened only yesterday. During recent months I have been trying (and failing) to be supportive (long-distance) to my darling friend Barb, during her sweetheart John's final battle with cancer. I don't care if its your oldest friend or practically a stranger, it is nearly impossible to know just what to say in the situation. I love you? I'll miss you? This sucks? All of the above? In addition to the inherent difficulty of the process, Barb & I are separated by slightly over 2.500 miles (she's near Seattle, I'm here in West Virginia). Maybe I didn't call as often as I should-- no maybe about it, let's be honest. I sent a few cards in hopes of bringing a little cheer into their day, but it never felt like enough. I wanted nothing so much as the ability to stuff myself in a Fed-Ex mailer and ship myself to their door. I want... That phrase thrummed in my brain, and I had to force myself to remember: despite evidence, life it is NOT all about YOU, Laura. But I'm selfish-- the baby of the family generally is... I wanted to be there, to sit in their back yard, drinking tequila & grilling chicken and stacking firewood and staying up till all hours watching movies and watching Barb cook gorgeous meals (somehow, I can't make myself WANT to cook in my self-absorption). John and I only had three all-too-brief visits during the course of his and Barbie's relationship, so I can't claim the loss of a long-time, intimate pal. What I do know is that he had a beautiful soul, was able to make me laugh (not everyone can), asked me all the right questions (that's what set us drinking the Patron, Barb), and giving me one of my all-time favorite nicknames, Oooh-La-La. He also brought a lot of happiness to my pal Barb, and for that alone I gotta love the man. Thank you, John, for everything.

In addition, I've been helping mom as she plans a small gathering to celebrate Grandma's upcoming 95th birthday, working in Mom's yard, and enjoying the usual round of Ghetto Fabulous drama that keeps my day-to-day life ever entertaining... Humorous note: I know I mentioned getting a comment from two different dealers in recent months, regarding my weight loss. This past weekend I ran into the couple I mentioned two posts ago, and after they both made further comments on my continued weight loss, the guy leaned in and said, "I just gotta ask... do you 'smoke'?" After a fleeting blond moment on my part, I realized he was asking if I was losing weight because I've been smoking crack. Gee I didn't think I looked THAT skinny... Score three entrepreneur points to Frank for trying to drum up new business.

So that's where I've been & part of where I'm going.

Happy... um, New Year?

2007-02-12T17:00:00.000-05:00

It would appear that I've been stumbling around the mental moors again, a la Wuthering Heights, and neglected to designate a guest blogger to take my place (as if that were remotely possible) until I was ready to resume writing.

*
Hence the 2 1/2 month... detour...

Since I was in a Bronte inspired fugue state, I can only ask my readership to pardon my absence, put it down to artistic license, and cut a girl some slack, a'ight? This post is meant as a band-aid, to temporarily patch up what one of my readers called "an agonizing lapse between posts" (NOTE: I've already invoked artistic license here-- I can pretend "one of my READERS" said any damn thing I want, capice? We are agreed.)

I've actually HAD a few post ideas bumbling about in my brain during my moor-a-torium (blatant pun abuse is also pro forma, so deal with it). So as long as I don't get stuck head first in a snow drift this week (NOTE: The snow has not actually FALLEN yet, but I like to plan my melodrama in advance whenever possible), I'll use some mental floss to shake loose some of my better ideas and try to shake the moss off of this once verdant site.

In other words, I'll get to it when I damn well feel like it-- which in reality was several weeks ago, but since I'm not a fan of retroactive creativity you'll just have to keep your undies out of a knot long enough for me to fluff those ideas & turn them into something readable.

Thank you, dear reader(s?) Your patience (and silence) speaks volumes ~

Random Rants & Ramblings

2006-11-30T17:15:00.000-05:00

Its been a while since I did a list of random rantings, so here it goes:

- Is it a bad thing when the man driving a hearse waves hello to you? I was walking to work Monday morning, and as I was passing the nearest funeral home their hearse was coming around a corner & the driver (who I DO know) waved a cheerful "Howdy!" out the window. I mean, its always nice to be acknowledged, but...

- I've decided that the litter problem in my neighborhood could be solved in a heartbeat if the local convenience stores would offer a $.5 cent refund for each chip bag (potato, tortilla, Cheeto, etc) that is turned back in to the stores. Just between my house and my office I could have made over 30 cents-- and that's without spending a penny of my own! If the slobs who leave their crap all over the sidewalks thought they could be making money from their trash, there would be riots in the streets, with crack ho's & hustlers scrapping over the Frito bags in the gutters...

- Once again last night, I was awakened by angry shouts echoing against the front of my house. I couldn't make out the exact words, but it was clearly a woman & she was PISSED!!!! I walked to my bedroom window (which faces the alley) and saw a man (unknown to me) standing at the top of the alley, looking towards the street where the donnybrook was unfolding. He was shaking his head and the words, "Stoopid BITCH..." were carried to my ears. By the time I made it to the front hall window, I could hear the approaching police cruisers' engines as they accelerated up the street. In short order, 4 city cruisers & two sheriffs vehicles had blocked the area, and the combatants (a "business" couple who fight as often as the wind blows) were being questioned separately. The cops must not have kept the man, because I just passed him on my return to work-- he nodded hello, like we were old friends. This same man, who was arrested a year ago while a passenger in a stolen vehicle, who attempted to hide his "stash" in a dirty diaper-- NOTE: This doesn't work-- the drugs dogs will still find your shit... literally. No, he is not my friend, just in case there was any lingering doubt.

See, I WASN'T Lying!!

2006-11-17T17:55:00.000-05:00

It only took a month to get the picture of myself, posing with a co-worker (my right) and John Ratzenberger (see earlier post). Long story short, my co-workers and I were feeling NO pain by the time this picture was taken-- why else would I be caught dead wearing the bizarre coat of many colors? A new friend loaned it to me, as the temps had dropped into the unseasonable 20'sF and the wind was whipping-- hence my wild hair-- at arctic blast levels). Enjoy ~

Have you ever been...

2006-11-15T17:36:00.000-05:00

...thrown under a (metaphoric) bus?
Well I have-- it ain't pretty.

But I don't want sympathy.
Flat people have no need of sympathy...
They need revenge.

R-E-V-E-N-G-E spelled in capitol letters.

What I want from my readership are suggestions. What are some of the best "revenge moments" you've experienced? I don't know what prize I'll offer to the best story-- maybe a chance to guest-blog for me (NOTE: that is something NO ONE has gotten to do since this blog was born).

In theory, the revenge story winner would be like my baby's very first baby-sitter. I'm sure there are some utterly competent care-givers amongst you... Of course, it might be the most twisted revenge story to which I am drawn, so there's a good chance I will be handing my baby into the arms of a sadist. That has its own appeal as well.

You have your orders: send me your best revenge story (l_e_stewart@hotmail.com). I can guarantee anonymity (if so desired), but I can't prevent prosecution if the story hits law enforcement circles and gets traced back to moi. Contest deadline 11/17/06

So, let me hear it, people... As for me, I'm heading out in search of the only OTHER known antidote to a metaphoric flattening: booze.

Looks Like A Harriet Carter Christmas

2006-11-08T17:26:00.000-05:00

For those of you who are familiar with the Harriet Carter catalog, you will be amused to hear that my mother has entered what I affectionately call the Harriet Carter Years-- the time when all of the marvelously tacky (yet useful) items peddled in the catalog not only serve a purpose, BUT also become viable Christmas presents for family members (i.e. me).

The realization came when she kidnapped me after work on Monday, begging me to come to her house to unload her groceries (begging not neccessary, of course, but she felt I needed to FEEL needed...). Afterwards, I sat down to visit for a while-- at which point, Mom grabbed a stack of catalogs (Harriet's being topmost) and said, "I've marked a 'few pages'-- tell me what you think!"

**sigh**... That's like when your dad tries on a toupee (I won't even bother adding the superlative "bad" to toupee-- its a given) and asks you, "So, whadda ya think?"

I also realized that there is no graceful way to receive the Harriet Carter book, I've determined. Its contents appeal to the young (12 & under) and the older-- kids love the quirky / naughty / cheap nature of the items, and the oldsters love those same qualities PLUS the added value of all of the "devices" geared towards people who are losing their faculties one by one. There are cheater bi-focal glasses, nose / ear hair trimmers, props to put under the legs of your couch / chair / bed to make it higher & therefore making sitting / rising easier. There is no limit to the useful items sold therein, and so I was prepared to grit my teeth and mutter "How wonderful!" at random intervals.

Thankfully, most of the pages that Mom had dog-eared were gifts targeting non-immediate family members. But hearing Mom enthuse over all of the "great" things in the catalog only served as yet another reminder that roles are being reversed-- the self same woman who, twenty years back told me, "All of the stuff in that book is GARBAGE!" is now waxing rhapsodic over the merits of Santa's face toilet-lid covers & a fiber-optic snowman who sings "Holly Jolly Christmas" when you squeeze his mittened hand.

I've resolved to be grateful for whatever remarkable miracle of plastics I DO receive-- after all, would my life truly be complete without a Days-of-the-Week sock collection? I think not.

What Kind of Tree are you?

2006-11-06T12:00:00.000-05:00

You Are An Olive Tree

You're a warm, kind person, and you always seem to be the mediator.Balanced and reasonable, people can count on you to be tolerant.You have a well developed sense of justice - and avoid aggression and violence.Your idea of a perfect day? Reading in the afternoon sun.You are cheerful, sensitive, empathetic, and free of jealousy.

What's" Your Celtic Horoscope?

Courtesy of Gopher / Melonie: I agree with MOST of this report (totally wrong on the jealousy-- why do you think my favorite color is green??) But these quizes are fun, so there you go...

More later-- work has me whipped like nobody's bid-ness...

In Vino Veritas

2006-10-16T17:00:00.000-04:00

It would seem that a portion of my broad readership wanted to hear how my most recent bacchanal went last Thursday...
Ahead are my conclusions / findings.

1) Union members prefer (at least publicly) to drink beer that is Union made / supported. In LARGE QUANTITIES. Hence, the Miller Light and Budweiser products were flowing like water.

2) Hennessy (see above) is from THE DEVIL. Consumed straight, it burns like Satan's own fires. Consumed with cola ("pouring ONLY in a clockwise direction" I was told) it goes down with alarming speed and smoothness. The smoothness is short-lived.

3) It is easy to fool intoxicated party-goers that you know how to pick a "good" cigar vs. one of its less-worthy bretheren-- I was universally congratulated for the cigar I selected. If only they knew I picked it for the purdy wrapper band and the nifty glass vial... which I left behind.

4) You never know WHERE you are going to find someone famous. One of the UAW folks mentioned that John Ratzenberger was staying at the hotel & had invited him to drop in on the Hospitality Suite. I doubted that it was likely to happen, but who but myself should be standing by the door a while later when there was a knocking-- I cracked the door open and cleverly (I thought) said "What's the password?" in a raspy stage whisper. "Is this the UAW party?" "Yes it is," says I, "right this way!" It wasn't until someone drunkenly bellowed "Hey-- It's Cliff Clavin!" Did I realize who I had let in the room. Ahhh, yet one of many proud moments that night. But I got to have my picture taken with him, so whenever I get that e-mailed to me I'll post it here to share.

Solidarity Forever

2006-10-12T17:00:00.000-04:00

I am numb.

Not simply because I spent the last 4 hours standing along our riverfront, helping to oversee the dedication of the Walter Reuther statue (W. was born here, and was pivotal in the UAW & other Union movements). The dedication was very moving, went off with a single noteworthy hitch, and I am looking forward to joining several hundred grateful United Auto Worker members for drinks (and dinner) then more drinks. Did I mention there will be drinking going on?

The main problem was that the local temperature dropped into the high 30's (F) this morning, and the wind whipping off the river was colder than a witches badoogas (and that's pretty damn COLD). Every third word I've typed here had typos-- my fingers are frozen into chapped, bluish claws & my nose will NOT stop running (even though I've been inside for almost an hour).

I have to run off to attend to other "important" event-related ca-ca, otherwise I would sit & regale you with the rest of the wonderful things going on in life that contribute to my numbness-- nothing desperate, just the usual crap that illustrates the pages of my life book.

Now go read the article: http://www.news-register.net/articles.asp?articleID=11348

Consider this a Warning Shot...

2006-10-05T17:00:00.000-04:00

... fired lovingly across the starboard bow.

If I had had access to this blog anytime early this morning, I would have rattled off a searing post the likes of which has not been seen on Clumny Queens Unite to-date... I may yet adjust my scope and aim more carefully at the object(s) of ire.

For now, I only ask that you, the reader, visit this site & give a few opinions:

National Civil War Memorial

One of my projects in the coming 90 days is to re-vamp the site's appearance & content. I understand that in all liklihood few if ANY of you give a rat's furry fart-hole about the creation of such a memorial. But it IS underway, and if the commission developing it wants it to progress, we have to do some aggressive marketing in the afore mentioned 90+ days. In my defense, this site was developed PRIOR to my becoming involved in the project, so any defficiencies you detect are NOT my doing. Simply look at if from the perspective of someone who IS passionately interested in the project. I am working on a FAQ's section, which will address that need.

Thanks in advance for your input!!

You Know You're Successful When...

2006-09-25T17:00:00.000-04:00

...even the local drug dealers notice you're losing weight.

Two weeks ago, one of the "locals" saw me sitting on my porch reading the paper & called out, "Hey, Skinny-- lookin' good!" And a few days ago, the Hacking Hooker (see earlier posts) saw me coming home from my walk and said, "Boy, were you out walking a-GAIN?? You're gonna waste away!" This being an ironic statement for 2 reasons: 1) I'm about 100lbs from stick-figure status, and 2) she's the one who should be worried about wasting away-- she weighs about 50-60 lbs less than she did 1 year+ ago when I first started seeing her "work" the neighborhood. Still haven't decided whether it's the lifestyle or her cough that's rendered her slim. Don't really want to know either...

It's official

2006-09-20T17:00:00.000-04:00

I never thought the day would come when I had gone an entire month without a new post. How did this happen?

If you knew how often I think of "good" (IMHO) subjects to prate about on my personal blog-o'-joy, you would shake your head and say: Laura, have we taken our meds lately? Do you do anything BUT think up blog ideas?

Just the other day I had most of a particularly fine post developed (in my head) regarding the nature of "worth / value"-- how arbitrary the value of something is, and how time and trend shape the actual value of an object or particular conceit. This was spawned by a great conversation I had with a friend about the nature of capitalism. Brilliant stuff!

Last night, as I was walking laps on the rubberized track at a local college, I fleshed out a perfectly fascinating post about the nature of parasitic relationships (partly inspired by Melonie's latest post). Recently I've had three different parasitic "friends" poke their heads (or try to, at least) back into my life. I've decided my drama threshold is even lower than previously imagined. Everyone likes a vicarious thrill now and again-- but one "friend" in particular only tries to re-insinuate herself into my life when she 1) has something to brag about, 2) needs something (money, attention, lithium), 3) has visited (in her head) George W. and wants to tell me about the encounter. I just ... CAN'T... TAKE... IT... ANYMORE...

I've also re-visited the ever popular subject of FAMILY. Learning to relate to / with my mother, the miracle of my 94-year old grandmother, my brother living so far away (thereby leaving those ladies in my care). And last night, as I spent the 3rd evening in a row painting in Mom's kitchen, I let the stench of heavy-duty primer transport me to an astral plain where I was free to blog & muse to my heart's content, not troubled for a heartbeat by prosaic things like oh, say, paying bills or earning the money to do so.

I swear I haven't forgotten all of you, my readership (**and a feeble hurrah comes bleating across the Web like a forgotten lamb on a windblown hillside). My mind is as fecund as ever, full of ideas, humor, and random ideas for how to titillate and amuse my blog fans.

So for now, take a deep breath, kick back, raise a glass, pass a pipe, do what it takes to tranquilize yourself sufficiently, and know that there really IS more to come-- only now is not the moment.

What's New, Pussycat?

2006-08-21T15:40:00.000-04:00

Well, she's done it again... Melonie, aka The Human Steamroller, has brought my hum-drum existance to a new level of fun and fantasy. She called me Friday night and said tersely into the phone, "Can you be here in two minutes?" And I, naturally assuming that 1) one of her kids is sick/injured, 2) her husband / father-in-law was sick/injured, or 3) some combination of the former, jumped in my car and FLEW to her house in something like 2.5 minutes.

As I rounded the corner to her street, I didn't see smoke, an ambulance or police cruiser lights swirling. There was only a red wanna-be SUV parked diagonally in front of her house, with a boy squatting by the curb looking into a laundry basket. Filled with kittens.

Most unexpectedly, I found myself driving home with a we-e-e-e-e-e tiny fuzzy, rusty black girl kitten with blue eyes-- now named Stella. The poor little thing is smaller than my foot, weighs less than minute, and is quickly winning her brother Harpo over, in spite of LOUD protestations on his part when I introduced them... She's awful cute-- I think he'll get over it, forgive & forget, learn to accept the inevitable. Just as I have with Melonie-- the less I fight, the easier it goes ;-)

Oh the Shame of it All

2006-08-15T17:00:00.000-04:00

It was a horrified Wahwer who pulled up her blog today and saw that nearly an entire shameful month has gone by since my last post. What does this mean? Have I lost the belly fire that kept me "regular" (in blogging terms) for over a year? The answer would be a large NEGATIVO...

I been busy (as they say, whomever THEY are).

I've actually been WORKING (which is miracle enough). While one of my three bosses still cannot seem to find a single project which demands my skilled attention, the other two have been keeping me hopping. And finally, in what I see as a positive step in the longevity of my newly hatched position, people are actually calling ME (or rather, my office) because "so-and-so told me you might have the knowledge / information / access, etc" regarding new projects & old problems. Yay me! At least now if my bosses decide to not renew my contract at the first of the year, or even hint that they're leaning that way, I'm gradually gathering ammunition to support my case.

The downside of this up is that I've had to spend mu-u-u-u-uch less time at the soul-eating pastime known as blogging / blog-surfing. Whereas this time a year ago I literally had HOURS of time each day when the only thing I could to fake-it-till-you-make-it (READ HERE: look like I was actually working on "something" while at the office) was spend a large portion of each day surfing aimlessly through other people's blogs. I have a select mental blogroll (forgive me, technocrats-- I've been too busy to have Melonie show me how to insert the code) of personal favorites-- and NO, I won't start naming them, lest I forget a few and cause forgotten's knickers to get in a twist...

So now that I have stuck my Oprah-sized head back out of my badger hole for a moment, what exciting news do I have to share? Let me share two stories if I may.

The first pertains to my making the final decision to take my cat, Milo, to the local no-kill animal shelter. I tried my damnedest for a whole year to make the adoption work-- a year in which he urinated and / or defecated on nearly every square inch of carpeting on the first floor of my house (and possibly a few spots upstairs which look / smell questionable). I had even ripped out said offensive carpeting in hopes of removing the carpet and removing temptation. No dice. Within weeks he'd started urinating on the kitchen linoleum next to the litter box. And while cat urine on linoleum is more manageable than in shag carpeting, I was regularly greeting the day by stumbling into the kitchen each morning, checking to see if the phantom pisser had struck yet (50/50 likelihood)-- if he hadn't, he typically did shortly after I'd start trying to eat breakfast. Lovely...

So with the help of an able & most sympathetic partner in crime (not to mention the 10mg of Valium, also supplied by another helpful co-conspirator), I did the deed. Sparing the details, I got through the betrayal (Milo cried with EVERY... SINGLE... BREATH as we drove off towards the shelter). Since then I've been spending large amounts of time trying to console my remaining cat, Harpo, who is quite the sensitive child and who appears most confused by Milo's absence. Mel insists I need a NEW kitty to comfort us, but for now I'm still a bit tender. Even though I am closer to Harpo than I was to Milo, I just don't know if I'm ready to start all over again with a new "family member" just the now...

Funny (sad) tidbit: This morning, as I was making my way into the kitchen, I heard a couple arguing in my alley (frequent readers of my blog KNOW about "my alley"). It was 7-0-freakin'8 in the morning, and all this couple had to argue about was 1) why she didn't have the shit (i.e. drugs of some kind), 2) why that mutha fucka hadn't given her what they'd agreed on (amount not disclosed), and 3) "why you keep fuckin' that brutha when you KNOW he gone play you???" This conversation is neither unusual or unheard of on my block. I just thought I'd share the first things I heard this morning ~

Apropos of NUTHIN'

2006-07-20T12:36:00.000-04:00

An Ode to Manservants

What began as a meal in a tiny bistro
Turned into 3-courses of gut-wrenching laughter.
Our hot latin server, mi nombre Santiago
Tried to offer some queso for "after."

He was offering something to keep us well fed
His motives were honest, most likely sincere
But the shy senorita with tresses of red
Thought indecent proposals were reaching her ear.

He was offering Parmesan sprinkles, its true
But the senorita thought a message was hidden
Was he suggesting something that he'd like to do
Was he promising love most forbidden?

No, the poor lad was doing his job to his best
Which was questionable, I'll give you that...
While we thought he spoke of amore prohibido,
He had said, "You wan chizz wit dat?"

In This Life I've Learned That...

2006-07-18T12:30:00.000-04:00

There is no such thing as too many cats, or too many friends. I am blessed with a wealth of each in my life, both old and new. I lift my glass to the four winds & toast my wealth, for the woman who has friends will never know want. Ho-pahhhh!!!!

What Winds your Clock?

2006-07-06T12:00:00.000-04:00

Ever have one of those times when you absolutely CANnot come up with a single subject that is clever, poignant, or in any way fascinating (to anyone besides yourself ) enough to discuss?

I started this blog out of desperation-- at the time I was stuck in a job that gave me no mental challenges, had co-workers & a boss who made me want to visit the roof of our office building to perfect my swan-dive technique, and found myself pulled into the center of an enormous wave of drama (none of which was mine). I was circling the mental drain and the constant sucking noise that accompanied my swirlings was lulling me into a coma.

A little over a year later, I'm finding myself at a much more healthy (mentally, physically, intellectually) place than I was when this blog was born. Instead of this being a faceless place to come and "lay mah weary burdens down" it has (for now) evolved into a rather lightweight bulletein board.

But fear not darling reader(s?)... My lack of posting does not represent a lack of interest, but more a lack of time to coagullate my thoughts into quasi coherent posts. At least 85% of the drama that had me swamped has abated, and so I'm finding myself occupied by more pressing matters (read here: WORK) these days. A few tidbits have bobbed through my bean in recent days, and as soon as I can give them more attention I'll post my oddball musings for your entertainment. Until then, content yourself by reading my archives (Lordy, does that sound pretentious). I may not have been as prolific as Pepys, documenting every thought / respiration / meal / misadventure that happens in my life, but there have been a few moments that might be worth revisiting (especially if this is the first time you've staggered by and are saying, "Does she ever do anything more than post old, tired e-mail jokes?) As the saying goes: Keep coming back!

NOTE: It would seem that most of the posters on BWTP (Blog World Trailer Park) have also hit comparable plateaus in their posting habits. Either life has kept them too busy to post, or they simply ran out of inspiration and the world will just have to keep holding it's collective breath until their muses come back from vacation and they start posting again. Nyah, nyah nyah... I'm not the onliest non-poster out there!

Holy Busy-ness, Batman!

2006-06-16T08:38:00.000-04:00

Well, I posted a lame joke post exactly two weeks ago with the promise

that I wouldn't post until I had something witty to say...

Um... I got this (lame) joke from a friend today.

I'm breaking my own rule about regurgitating e-mail jokes

in lieu of original stuff, but for now this is all you're gonna get, 'k?"

Ole and Sven were on a high school spring break vacation at the beach inFlorida, but they weren't having any luck with any of the girls. So they asked the local lifeguard for some advice.

"Man, it's obvious," says the lifeguard. "You're wearing them old, baggy Minnesota-style swimming trunks that make ya look like an old geezer. They're years outta style. Your best bet is to grab yourself a pair of Speedos - about two sizes too small - and drop a fist-sized potato down inside 'em. I'm tellin' ya. . . you'll have all the babes ya want!"

The following day, they hit the beach with their spanking new tight Speedos and their fist-sized potatoes. Everybody on the beach was disgusted as they walked by, covering their faces, turning away, laughing... looking sick! So they went back to the lifeguard again and Sven asked him "Vat's wrong now? Ve still don't haff no luck picking up da babes."
"JAHEESUS!" said the lifeguard. "The potato goes in front!"

TGIF Moldy Oldies

2006-06-02T08:58:00.000-04:00

In lieu of intelligent ramblings from yours truly, just enjoy the following thought provokers below-- and don't blame me if you've heard them before... they STILL make me chuckle ~

Can you cry under water?

How important does a person have to be before they are considered assassinated instead of just murdered?

Why do you have to "put your two cents in"...but it's only a "penny for your thoughts"? Where's that extra penny going?

Once you're in heaven, do you get stuck wearing the clothes you were buried in for eternity?

Why does a round pizza come in a square box?

What disease did cured ham actually have?

How is it that we put man on the moon before we figured out it would be a good idea to put wheels on luggage?

Why is it that people say they "slept like a baby" when babies wake up like every two hours?

Why are you IN a movie, but you're ON TV?

Why do people pay to go up tall buildings and then put money in binoculars to look at things on the ground?

Why do doctors leave the room while you change? They're going to see you naked anyway.

Why do toasters always have a setting that burns the toast to a horrible crisp, which no decent human being would eat?

If Jimmy cracks corn and no one cares, why is there a stupid song about him?

Can a hearse carrying a corpse drive in the carpool lane?

If the professor on Gilligan's Island can make a radio out of a coconut, why can't he fix a hole in a boat?

Why do people point to their wrist when asking for the time, but don't point to their crotch when they ask where the bathroom is?

Why does Goofy stand erect while Pluto remains on all fours? They're both dogs! ... aren't they???

If Wiley E. Coyote had enough money to buy all that ACME crap, why didn't he just buy dinner?

If corn oil is made from corn, and vegetable oil is made from vegetables, what is baby oil made from?

If electricity comes from electrons, does morality come from morons?

Do the Alphabet song and Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star have the same tune?

Why did you just try singing the two songs above?

Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog's face, he gets mad at you, but when you take him for a car ride; he sticks his head out the window?

Let a Girl Gloat, OK?

2006-05-25T17:10:00.000-04:00

Got the lovely form letter from my doctor today telling me I am the picture of health (if only she knew ;-)

Cholesterol: 148
HDL - 48
LDL - 74
Triglyceride: 134

I guess the next time I want to bitch and moan about anything else in my life that resembles "bad" I need to remember that my numbers are GOOOOOOOOD!

NOTE: I don't know why I should be surprised... I spent Monday evening helping my grandmother (Mom's mom) celebrate her 94th birthday for goodness sakes... Her older brother made it to 92, and her "baby" brother is 90.(It's my dad's side that all went skidding into the grave, 95 miles an hour with a cigarette in one hand, a beer in the other, a lampshade on their head and nothing much else on the rest of their burnt out bodies).

Up My Alley

2006-05-18T12:12:00.000-04:00

In a number of posts I've mentioned the alley that runs between my house and the apartment building "next door" to mine. This alley is known to City officials by the glamorous name of Lane F-- a name I was unaware of until the second or third time I was obliged to call the police to request that drug dealers be removed from the parking spaces behind the house.

This alley has little to distinguish itself from countless others. For reasons unknown, the City has opted to leave the original bricks showing, making for treacherous footing in all weather. But to the sentimental sort (including yours truly), those bricks remind me of days long passed when asphalt was unheard of and this type of "paving" was standard. The bricks in Lane F are a sandy, buff color, and have gradually begun to round at their edges under 100 years of vehicle and foot traffic. Over time they've sunk and spread far enough apart that any stray bit of litter clings in the crevices. Its not uncommon to see a dizzying mix of broken glas, cigarette butts, broken Bic lighters, straw papers, leaves and bits of twigs from nearby trees. Two weeks ago I was startled to see what looked like an exploded bouquet scattered around my car and porch. Only after some poking around did I realized that the massive dogwood tree in my neighbor's back yard (which had bloomed like never before in this mild spring weather) had shed it's petals during the night, thanks to a brisk May nightwind.

When I first considered buying my house almost 4 years ago, I stood at the top of the alley and surveyed the surrounding neighborhood. As I looked west down the front street I could see Jacob Street-- the street where my parents had lived during the first years of their marriage. The actual site where the house stood is now a parking lot for a massive Baptist church. If only I had the nerve to tell the pastor, Rev. Willie, that he parks his enormous red Cadillac in the space where my parents former bedroom had been.

After reviewing the shabby face of the front street , I turned again an looked down Lane F to its junction by the Salvation Army store. Laughter started bubbling up in me as I realized that this same alley was the one that ran past my grandfather's former home (also now a parking lot) just two blocks away. I laughed to think of myself running around his backyard as a child, looking at the stockade fence with both fear and awe, considering the hidden dangers that lurked in "the Alley". I had been given dire warnings about even THINKING about leaving the yard and entering the Alley (it was always capitalized in my mind) without adult supervision. My child's mind would race imagining the demons and specters that might be passing along the fence while I played. The battered gate was as alluring as a magic carpet. I knew that the local convenience store was only a few hundred yards away, and that if I could escape long enough to get there and back undetected, I might become part of neighborhood legend! I never did escape, but the tang of forbidden fruit never really leaves your tongue. And now I was considering "owning" a section of that same wicked Alley.

Even casual observers will see that the alley is a major artery for pedestrians in my neighborhood. At any hour of the day you can see people of every description moving past my porch. Both genders, many races, ages, often alone-- just as often in small packs and herds moving between unknown but predictable destinations. The troop of basketball-bouncing 12-year olds who went by earlier returns later, sweaty and disheveled, nursing cartons of chocolate milk and gnawing jerky after their ball game. Two hyper-thin women of indeterminate ages strolled by, one twitching an agitated hand through her dirty-blonde hair and letting her purse dangle from her elbow. Her associate walked backwards, surveying the intersection they'd just left, watching for "action" and wondering aloud if "that asshole's gonna come back."

The passers-by that catch my attention the most are the ones who do something I've come to call "walking the alley twice." Some are drunk. In their altered state they don't realize that they're walking slowly side to side and covering twice the ground necessary in their travels. Others are on the hustle, and are trying to make their walk last. They know they have no legitimate reason for loitering, so they keep themselves visible for as long as possible, hoping that customers will see them and aid local commerce. Whatever their reason for double-walking, I keep my eyes open. The person who goes by slowly often comes back a short time later, walking much faster and looking fiercely focused. I try to remember what they look like, without being obvious.

I'm getting ready to have a new picket fence put up around my card-table sized side yard. The space is roughly 6x12, and has a large birch tree sprouting in it's middle. The present short wooden fence serves as fashion more than function, and I wonder at the wisdom of replacing it with a different style. If I get the same style, cats can still get in and use the rocky dirt at the base of the tree for a public litterbox. If I get a stockade fence to keep the cats and the blunt wrappers out, I'll be blocking the view of cars coming up the alley from that of pedestrians approaching on the front street-- no good. Besides, if I can't see who's passing on the outside of the fence, then I can't see if someone else has gotten INside the fence while I was away. In the end I've opted to replace the current design with a vinyl facsimile. It will be more difficult for people to remove pickets to aid them in self-defense, and I won't have to paint it every year a la Tom Sawyer. In the end its easier to let my Alley in than it is to keep it at bay.

It's a Gas, Gas, Gas...

2006-05-12T08:30:00.000-04:00

(Do I have your attention now?)

It's hard to believe that 12 short months ago this blog was born. It started as a tool for stimulating my sluggish mind, which was showing obvious signs of root-rot. And it has been more than I hoped it would / could be... A place to post my thoughts, corny jokes, pose questions, and spin tales from my past (and present) with which I think people might connect. I've used this site (rather inconsistently recently) as a form of cyber mental floss. I've been entertained by countless gifted writers, moved to tears at times, frightened by more than a few (you sick puppies know who you are). But in review I feel that this has been, in short, a HOOT!!!

I feel like I'm speaking at a high school graduation.

Let's stop this frightening trend.

A big thank you to any and all who've stopped by during the past 365 days. It's been a treat to hear your input, and even more fun to visit your sites & get to know something about you.

Sapphire Sweet Thighs

2006-05-08T17:02:00.000-04:00

See what your stripper name will be, and share it with yourfriends: We all need a little stress-reliever at times. This only takes a minute. Sometimes when you have a stressful day or week, you need some silliness to break up the day. And, if we are honest, we have a lot more stressful days than not.

Here is your dose of humor...

A. Follow the instructions to find your new name.

B. Once you have your new name, put it in the comment box, then forward it to friends and family and co-workers.

1. Use the third letter of your first name to determine your new first name:

a = Fantasia

b = Chesty

c = Starr

d = Diamond

e = Montana

f = Angel

g = Sugar

h = Mimi

i = Lola

j =Kitty

k = Roxie

l = Dallas

m = Princess

n = Heidi

o = Bambi

p = Bunny

q = Brandy

r = Sugar

s = Candy

t = Raquelle

u = Sapphire

v = Cinnamon

w = Blaze

x = Trixie

y = Isis

z = Jade

2. Use the second letter of your last name to determine the firsthalf of your new last name:

a = Leather

b = Dream

c = Sunny

d = Deep

e = Heaven

f = Tight

g = Shimmer

h = Velvet

i = Lusty

j = Harley

k = Passion

l = Dazzle

m = Dixon

n = Spank

o = Glitter

p = Razor

q = Meadow

r = Glitz

s = Sparkle

t = Sweet

u = Silver

v = Tickle

w = Cherry

x = Hard

y = Night

z = Amber

3. Use the third letter of your last name to determine the secondhalf of your new last name:

a = hooter

b = horn

c = tower

d = fire

e = thighs

f = hips

g = side

h = jugs

i = shock

j = cocker

k = brook

l = tush

m = sizzle

n = ridge

o = kiss

p = bomb

q = cream

r = thong

s = heat

t = whip

u = cheeks

v = rock

w = hiney

x = button

y = lick

z = juice

Easy, right? And to think all this time there was a science to this process-- I've been calling myself Xstacy Acres for years, and never knew I was supposed to be Sapphire Sweetthighs!

Radio Paradise - Gotta Love It

2006-04-26T12:03:00.000-04:00

...and I do. Wahwer loves her some Radio Paradise.

Over the past four months I have had the unique pleasure of having an office all to myself. And while some of those who know me best might say-- but you're such a social butterfly-- how can you stand the isolation? In many ways this is true. I enjoy other people's company, and at times find myself seeking out their company. But as I've mentioned in an earlier post, I also have a strong-willed introvert living in my psyche, and she ADORES being able to shut my office door and thereby blocking out pesky people who would otherwise destract her...

But whether I'm working en masse or solo, I like to have tunes playing in the background. I find local radio too distracting-- between annoying commercials and heavy song rotation, I get more frustration than pleasure. But with web radio I've got a perfect blend. When I began this post Bob Marley's Redemption Song was playing; now the Beatles are singing Here Comes the Sun. If you haven't already found it, go check out Radio Paradise-- you'll thank me.

As for me, back to the grindstone. More later when the planets align and I have more to say.

Top 10 Reasons I Love My Neighborhood

2006-04-17T12:32:00.000-04:00

1. In the words of a "gentleman" who had walked from behind my garage (where he'd been transacting a drug deal): "You sure could write a book about all the things you see and hear around here-- you sure could!"

2. The fact that no one batted an eye when I dragged my rolled-up living-room carpeting out my front doors at 10PM the other night. One neighbor lady (who sits in front of her house 18-out-of every-24 hours) waved hello, and asked if I'd, "wrapped 'the body' in the carpet" or was I merely removing DNA evidence?

3. The prostitute who has been working in front of the building across the alley from my place (after she and her dealer boyfriend got evicted across the street) seems to have sought treatment for her chronic cough. Why do I know this? Because Sunday night 2 weeks ago she stood outside coughing and soliciting from 10:30PM-1AM, and coughed like a harp seal the whole time. I didn't know whether she actually sought medical treatment or if the TB has abated, but I'm glad to know she's on the mend. Unbridled coughing & heightened gag reflex would be a negative thing when trying to make a living giving BJ's...

4. The dealer (long-time boyfriend of the hacking hooker) kindly ran over and offered to help when he saw me attempting to move a large recliner into another neighbor's apartment building (my helper was an unmotivated 14-year-old boy who is NOT used to moving heavy things). While Eddy (dealer) helped the teen carry the chair up the flight of stairs, the hooker (Chrissy) asked me if I knew the building's landlord/owner (I do, but said NO). The reason she asked was because the 1st floor apartment became vacant this past week & I know she and her old man would KILL to get another primo location where they could stand in front of their building 24/7 yet not be accused of loitering).

5. The reason the apartment became vacant is because the former tenant had the sad habit of partying until reaching obliteration-- at which point people (read here: drug using / dealing associates & fellow drunks including Eddy & Chrissy) would wander in because they knew Carl was passed out and "wouldn't give a shit" if they flopped there...

6. Have I ever mentioned how much the name "Carl!" sounds like "Wahwer!" when slurred drunkenly and at full volume at 4:30AM? The hollering was usually accompanied by beating on Carl's doors & windows, followed by swearing and more hollering when they couldn't get Carl's drunk ass up to let them in... I'm going to miss the heart-pounding adrenalin surges that would then keep me awake for an hour after I had jumped up from a sound sleep to run to my window thinking someone was in trouble and calling my name.

7. On Saturday I made the mistake of mentioning (out loud) to a neighbor that I hadn't heard gunfire in the area for some time. Yesterday morning, as I drank coffee and read the Sunday paper, I heard 4 distinct gun shots echoing through the surrounding valley. When I noted the observation to the same neighbor later that afternoon, he said, "Guess someone didn't like the outcome of their Easter egg hunt."

8. Cats. Lots & lots of cats. Stray cats who like to take big steamy craps in my garden.

9. Good neighbors who generously share when they make "too much Sunday dinner" and need to unload barbecued spare ribs and mashed potatoes on you so it "don't go to waste."

10. No need for cable t.v.

Mission Quite Possible

2006-04-10T12:10:00.000-04:00

Don't ask me why, but this picture had me giggling and snorting for an inordinately long time this morning.

Possibly because my inner Mother Superior can relate to the longsuffering look of patience on her face. Maybe it's the simple fact that her cross could easily double for a stiletto-- in a heartbeat she could go from ministering agent to mercenery killer-for hire. Her whimple hides a wicked Blue Tooth setup that sends her detailed instructions on how to locate and eliminate her prey.

"Alright, Mother... turn right as you exit St. Peregrine's and head south on McWhorter. There you will see a young woman seated at an outdoor cafe. She'll be wearing a straw hat."

I also enjoyed this picture by the same artist.

It gave me several different ideas as well... one, that this is symbolic of the way many women feel-- as long as I focus on the face in the mirror I can ignore the bits that aren't visible. Or maybe it means that the rest isn't really important-- and is still beautiful in the eye of the artist. Regardless, the little kitten-heel sandals are a hoot.

Wander over and check out some more of Botero's work for some wonderful perspectives.

FYI: New computer's SUPPOSED to arrive tomorrow-- Where have I hear THAT before??

Urine My Thoughts & Prayers

2006-04-03T12:02:00.000-04:00

Got this as an e-mail...

Men's Restroom Mural

Edge Designs is an all women run company that designs interior office space. They had a recent opportunity to do an office project in NYC. The client allowed the women of this company a free hand in all design aspects. The client was a company that was also run by all women execs.

The result ... well ... we all know that men never talk ... never look at each other ... and never laugh much in the restroom. The men's room is a serious and quiet place.

But now with the addition of one mural on the wall ... lets just say the men's restroom is a place of laughter and smiles ...

Shanghei Sick Day

2006-03-21T08:40:00.000-05:00

Hung Chow calls into work and says,

"Hey, boss I no come work today, I really sick.
Got headache, stomachache and legs hurt, I no come work."

The boss says,
"You know something, Hung Chow, I really need you today.
When I feel like this, I go to my wife and tell her to give me sex.
That makes everything better and I go to work. You try that."

Two hours later Hung Chow calls again.
"Boss, I do what you say and I feel great.
I be at work soon......... And Boss?...You got nice house."

Lock up Your Children

2006-03-20T22:24:00.000-05:00

Yes, it's true: DUBYA'S COMIN' TO TOWN

Several people have asked me if I can get them tickets i.e. front row seats. You would have been proud of the skill I used when witholding the derisive snorts of comtempt. "Ah, no... don't think I can help you with that one..." Another friend asked me if that was me he saw on the 6PM news, standing in line at the Chamber of Commerce to get tickets for Dubya's visit. I simply replied, "No, that was some other incredibly hot chick--- I was too busy to stand in line."

I try to keep this blog non-partisan, but I personally can't wait until the Prez exits town Wednesday afternoon, so that things can get back to normal. When the front page of the local paper touts his visit as the headline FIVE DAYS IN A ROW, it's time to get the visit over with already. 'Nuff said.

UPDATE: Make that SIX days of front-page headlines. He didn't get this much coverage when he came to town on the campaign trail 2 years ago ~

Stay Away from Me Lucky Charms!

2006-03-16T08:45:00.000-05:00

I had one hell of a great day yesterday, and I thought I would share.

On my way to work I stopped through the old office to chat with boss-man briefly. He gave me a big smirk and told me he had "news" to share. The first bit was that I am FINALLY GOING TO GET A NEW COMPUTER!!!!!! It is supposed (barring the computer guy forgetting where we work again and delivering the machines to the Ice plant down the street) to arrive some time next week. This news is great because 1) I can start working from my new office again instead of taking up space in another generous office, and 2) I can get back to regular blogging-- yay!!!

The second bit of good news was that one of the widgets I used to work with has FINALLY resigned after almost 7 years there (6 years, eleven months and 29 days too late, if ya follow). Her brand of mental midgetry is pretty damn special if I do say so...

Third great thing when I received the gift certificate for two four-day passes to Jamboree in the HIlls-- marketed as "The Super Bowl of Country Music". Now, even if you're NOT country music fans, let me mention that it's held in an outdoor venue in July-- meaning 80,000 men and women of all description wearing as little as possible & drinking as MUCH as possible for the 3 days leading up to the event, the 4 days of, and as long as it takes to pack up and leave the festival site afterwards. I've always wanted to go, but never had a group of associates to attend with-- it ain't the sort of thing a good girl attends without backup, a-ight? You might be seeing pictures posted from the event of Mother Melonie and Wahwer wearing our skimpiest Daisy Dukes & tube tops, carrying beer in coozies and wearing really sassy cowgirl hats (see image above). Um, yeah...

Anyhow, it was a doozie of a day-- and all of this good news came before 9:30 in the morning. Woo-HOOOO!

Rainy Days and Sundays

2006-03-12T22:30:00.000-05:00

Melancholy, n., pl. -ies. 1. a gloomy state of mind; dejection. -adj. 2. affected with melancholy; depressed. 3. causing melancholy

Don't be concerned by the opening to this post-- I am not sliding into a decline, wallowing in my sorrows or basking in an abyss of depression. But rainy March weekends do tend to make me go a bit broody.

Let's wade into the soup, shall we?

For several days I've been bracing myself for a hellish week of work and commitments that I shudder to contemplate. I looked at the calendar Friday, shook my head in disbelief and asked myself how in the name of all that's holy did all of this shit land on my plate during THE SAME DAMN WEEK?

I won't bore you with details (there ain't a thing happening that will spark much interest). The issue is that all of this comes flying at me during the third week of every month and should not still suprise me. It's been like this for several years now, and yet each month I'm dumbstruck when I see the meetings and obligations start stacking up like flights into Pittsburgh International. I tremble to think how I'll get everything accomplished. I wallow and whinge for days, and then the week comes and I survive as usual and soon I'm glaring back, wondering "what was I so worried about?"

Part of the angst I could blame on the new job. After several false starts (i.e. no internet in my office for the first six weeks; computer melt down for the past two weeks), I'm finally settling into my new role. Knowing that I'm still very much in probation mode is what's got my knickers in a twist. At least I've decided that it really was a wise decision to take the leap that I did-- to leave a job that I had slaved over for six years, but which was steadily being eliminated by under-appreciative new management. Mind you, opting to leave the mental midgets who were my co-workers was no great sacrifice. In the 2 1/2 months since I left, not ONE of them has made the effort to cross the bloody street to visit me at the new office. I worked with some of those widgets for the entire six years, yet not one can bring themselves to walk the 250 yards between spaces to stumble in and say hello (I don't give a rat's ass if they congratulate me-- I haven't done anything yet worth genuine praise-- and I'm way too busy to miss their annoying company). So I think you can understand why I shed no tears at my departure & had to resist doing the Kiss-My-Ass Tango (it's all the rage) as I boogied my office equipment out the door in January. The issue here is that I don't know what I did / not do to / for these people that they cannot take five minutes of their time for me. ME!!! I am, after all, the alpha and omega.

The main reason the word melancholy jumped into my brain today was spending time with my mother. We've become leagues closer in the years since my father passed away, and yet there are still countless times when we spend an afternoon together and I feel like I'm logging time with a stranger. How is that possible? That before she and I turned towards each other in our common grief I felt that I had a legitimate grasp on who my mother is at the end of the day. Maybe it was youthful naivete, believing that there was any way to fully encapsulate the essence of another. But it had my head (and heart) in a muddle, thinking about how out of touch we have become. We've joked for years that if there are two different ways to approach any given subject, that Mom and I will always be on opposing teams. Since my childhood she would accuse me of being obstinate, of willfully choosing another path to conflict with her perspective. Thankfully, time has taught us that we simply have divergent thought processes. And as I mentioned in my recent post about my father, she and I have also learned that "different is not necessarily wrong-- it's just DIFFERENT."

The melancholy sprang from knowing that in all liklihood we never WILL see things the same way. I remembered back to the months following my father's death when I would cry and ask myself: Why did I have to lose the one who understood me? I never wished my mother gone. But it was terribly frustrating to my 21-year-old mind to believe that the person who understood me unfailingly was permanently unavailable for consult & that the remaining parent tended to wear a martyred expression whenever we spoke, possibly hoping some celestial Dummies Guide to Wise Ass Daughters would fall from the sky and land on her doorstep.

So I spent some time brooding. Not long, but long enough to be reminded that there is no easy way to make people understand you. My former coworkers have their merits (some moreso than others), but they are also DIFFERENT from me. And while I could choose to feel hurt by their perceived rejection, I've decided to let go of them. I know I can't sever ties completely (I have to walk by / through their office daily, and the old boss is one of my new triumverate of bosses). I can't make them understand Me any better than I can hope to understand them and their motivations. What I can do is remind myself: Their shit is their shit, and my shit is mine. I have to keep focusing on making myself a better person, and not get mired in their frailties as I walk my journey.

Their shit is their shit, and my shit is mine.

Reincarnation

2006-03-08T12:30:00.000-05:00

I've decided that this temporary lack of computer / internet access is in fact someone's way of saying, "Wahwer-- take these forty days of Lent as a time to reflect." In church we were taught that the season of Lent is much like a spiritual desert-- a time to prepare yourself for Christ's death and resurrection, a time to reflect (and repent) for the sins of the past year and get yourself ready to begin anew. We believe that this renewal can be found through introspection, personal inventory, self-sacrifice and a willingness to live a better, more gratitude-driven life.

Um... did I just wax Catholic on ya? Lo siento mucho...

In an effort to follow the preceding path of redemption, I decided to visit the following link in an effort to find out who I really am...

REINCARNATION

Yes, this basically means I am promoting a theory that the Pope does not endorse. But in my scientific mind (long at war with my religious training and the dogma therein) really likes the idea that we were all "someone else, somewhere else" before our present manifestation. How else can we explain those bits of knowledge and understanding that cannot be validated by experience or training in this life? And who wants to believe that, once we die, we spend our eternity loafing around Heaven re-stringing harps and fluffing clouds? Mind you, I can think of lots of other ways less preferable to wait out the Endtime... But being the co-dependent person I am, I find it hard to imagine that once I die I will never again get to help another human being- EVER.

My results were the following:

Your past life diagnosis:
I don't know how you feel about it, but you were male in your last earthly incarnation.

You were born somewhere in the territory of modern Scotland around the year 1475.

Your profession was that of an artist, a magician or fortune teller.

Your brief psychological profile in your past life:
As a natural talent in psychology, you knew how to use your opportunities. Cold-blooded and calm in any situation.

The lesson that your last past life brought to your present incarnation:
The timid, lonely and self-confident people are everywhere, and your task is to overcome these tendencies in yourself and then to help other people.

Some who know me would say this was spot-on accurate-- I've always had as many male friends (if not more) than female, I'm an artist (of sorts), and I am driven to help. Anyone who also knows me knows that I've been itching to get to Scotland FOR YEARS... Pining for the homeland, eh? All this time I thought it was just because my last name is Stewart. Who knew?

Thanks to Moogie for posting this :-)

Temporary Hiatus

2006-03-03T12:30:00.000-05:00

or..... why I might not be posting for a while :-(

Tried to load some new software on my work PC and caused it to go into a complete tailspin. I have a techie person looking at it tomorrow, but it may need a transfusion-- or even downright replacement (if bosses can be convinced). Stay tuned, my faithful readership!

UPDATE: According to Mircha, my Rumanian tech-guy, he's been able to re-install (please, no comments) Windows 98. But for now my six years of documents and images are still floating in space. He's working vigilantly to recover them, so hopefully by sometime next week I'll be back in business again... Mircha was so sweet-- when I told him one of the bosses offered to buy me a new tower if the old one was kaput, he gave me an ornery grin and said, "You want I lie??"
I'll keep you posted.

The Old Man

2006-02-23T12:15:00.000-05:00

This is one of the few times I wish I had easy access to a scanner, because if I did I'd post a few shots of my dear old Dad-- the first love of my life, very best pal, partner in crime and the source of most of the recessive genes that I possess so proudly. Before I start into the panegyric that I would like to write (assuming my readership wants to read details about a man they've never met), I'll try to keep this tribute reasonably concise (no promises though).

Dad was one hell of a guy. I can't think of much better praise than that when you reach the end of your days. He was a consummate family man, a hard worker, had a sense of humor that confounded some but never failed to leave me holding my sides from laughing. Was he handsome? Not in a conventional way. He was tall, and bore the marks of working 25 years in a steel mill, but as far as conventional good looks go, the old man was not what anyone would call a "looker." He started going bald in his twenties, and grew a beard in his 30's-- both in response to the corresponding loss uptop and to cover a chin that wasn't much to mention. My mother tells me that when my great-grandmother was first introduced to Dad, her comment was, "Well... he sure is a TALL drink of water!"

Other than having baby-blue eyes and ridiculously long eyelashes (which my brother and I both inherited), dad's best physical attribute was his smile. And even that wasn't pretty (in the literal sense), because he'd needed extensive dental work over the course of his life and the result was a less-than-lovely set of capped teeth. Dad's smile was remarkable because it seemed to radiate from every pore-- eyes crinkled, dimples flared, and you never got the sense that he was being phony. Upon meeting strangers, he gave them a strong handshake and let them know he was pleased to meet them. But when he ran into good friends or family members, the wattage beaming off of his face was strong enough to light Paris. People couldn't help but to smile back when Dad was around, because they could feel the genuine warmth and sincerity he exuded.

Because Dad worked shifts at the mill, more often than not he was available to watch and care for me while my mom worked all day as a teacher. The result was that I became Dad's sidekick-- a Robin to his Batman, the Morocco Mole to his Secret Squirrel. He liked to bring the element of fun AND education to all our fieldtrips together. If he had to run around paying bills, he would explain the merits of staying on top of debt (guess I wasn't listening so well) while letting me be the one to hand over the payment to the water department clerk or the waitress in a restaurant.

Many people were surprised to learn that he had never completed college, because he was so well-versed on such a wide variety of subjects. The family called him Socrates behind his back, as he was a man who was never at a loss when he felt his children needed "a talking to" about a subject he felt was important. At times we would have to stifle yawns when Dad would get long-winded, but we listened anyhow.

Every day that he went to work, he always had some kind of reading material in his galvinized lunch bucket. A book of crossword puzzles, the Reader's Digest, something. When he finally had to retire from the mill because his cancer made the work too dangerous, he confessed that he'd often taken grief from co-workers for being such a bookworm. "Whazza matter, Tom," they'd say, "you too good to sit 'n' shoot the shit with us, man?" He'd only laugh and tell them he was trying not to let the mill rot his brains.

Dad's been gone for over thirteen years, and with each year the loss of him changes in size and power. Easier in some ways, gentler... But as I reach personal milestones I can't help but reflect upon where Dad was at my age. When he was 34, he had 2 small children, a wife & home, and a live-in mother-in-law. He worked 40 hours a week at a job he didn't particularly like, but he had a family to provide for and so exploring or "finding himself" wasn't part of his lexicon. But I'm grateful that I had him as long as I did, and I appreciate all the sacrifices that he made so that I would know all the comfort and happiness that was in his power to bestow.

On the night before he died, he and I were sitting on our front porch enjoying a beer and talking about everything and nothing. All at once he said to me, "You know what, honey? I'm finally not worried about you kids anymore." This statement seemed, at that moment, to come from left-field. Yes, Dad was getting in-home hospice care and we knew that his life was being counted in weeks and months instead of years by then. But he'd been feeling great that day, and so such a final comment caught me unprepared. He saw my confusion, and said, "Now, you-- you I always knew I could toss off the back end of a train and you'd hit the ground running. But your brother..." Here he paused, then continued, "He was always so quiet-- I never knew what was in his head, on his heart. I worried that he wasn't happy, wasn't ready to face life. But I don't anymore." He went on to say that, through the course of his illness, he'd had time to reflect upon this enigma who was his son. Dad had realized that the roots he'd given me were the same as those that he'd given my brother, but that we'd each blossomed and branched out in different ways. I was so much like Dad that he had no trouble figuring ME out-- quick-fire temper, rapid-fire mouth, always ready to laugh or fight with equal passion. My brother's temperament is more like my mother's. They are simmerers. They will let troubles simmer in them for days and weeks, until you're far removed from the incident that upset them to begin with, and then they will erupt in what seems like a spontaneous and unexpectedly erupting volcano. Dad was finally at peace with the idea that "Different is not WRONG-- it's JUST DIFFERENT."

In summary, Dad knew that parenting was about roots and wings: if you give your child a solid foundation and prepare them for the world, then the winds and tides that buffet them later become easier to withstand. I can still hear him saying, "Honey, smiles are free. They cost you nothing. But they might mean everything to the person you give one to!" So on the eve of my dear-old-dad's birthday, I charge you, dear readers, to go out tomorrow and give out some smiles. He was right, ya know. Smiles ARE free, we do burn calories creating them, and you never now if the person you're giving one to has received kindness fr another soul all day. Happy birthday, Daddy!om

..and SPEAKING of Coffee...

2006-02-20T12:15:00.000-05:00

...were we? Seeing how it's Monday morning, a natural topic for rumination is, "What do I need to purchase so badly that I'm getting up on a freezing cold bank holiday to stumble off to work??"

The answer is simple: coffee

If one does not work, one does not buy coffee. And as coffee is as necessary to my existence as oxygen (possibly moreso), I work-- therefore I can purchase BEAN. One of my dearest friends in the world now lives in Seattle (the Land of Coffee Snobs), and has long been one of my greatest fellow appreciatuers of a good cuppa joe. The first time I visited her home, she asked me "what kind of coffee do you want?" I braced myself to hear a litany of "flavors" like Jamocha Bliss, Butternut Surprise and Taffey-Toffee Tremor... Instead, my heart thundered to hear the love-song of a fellow coffee-addict echoing from the kitchen. She rattled off an impressive list of imported coffees-- all purchased in whole-bean form-- and then went on to ask if I "want anything in it?" We've been boon companions ever since-- united in our love of this caffeine-laden creation.

Personally, I would not consider myself to be a coffee snob* (see note in comment section). On more than one occasion I have "made do" with less than deliteful brew so that lives would be spared because I was suffering from a case of S.J.D. (Serious Java Depletion)-- a regrettable condition that has wreaked more havoc than an Astroglide shortage on Valentine's Day-- lives would be lost, fires set, relationships ended and general mayhem galore would ensue thanks to not having what you need WHEN... YOU... NEEED... IT.

I'll never forget one of my earliest house-sitting jobs for an elderly woman named Emma-Lou. The job is noteworthy 1) because she was actually IN the house while I stayed there (she needed help prior to / following cataract surgery), and 2) she made, quite possibly, the worst coffee I've ever been compelled to consume in my life. The dear soul insisted on cooking breakfast for me each morning, and as I'd made the mistake of admitting that I liked coffee, she obligingly included a full pot to the menu (all for me-- she didn't touch the stuff). NOTE: One of the few snobbery issues I have with coffee is that I want it to be strong enough so that I cannot see through the brew-pot to the other side / to the bottom of the mug (usually not a problem as I add milk). Imagine if you will then, on that first fateful morning, Wahwer looking on with horror as not only could I see the white, Mr Coffee stylized flower logo wrapping around the back of the carafe, I couldn't really even smell coffee. Most people-- both coffee drinkers and "the others"-- will tell you that the ambrosiac smell of brewing coffee ranks fairly high on their list of near-religious experiences. So to neither smell NOR see what I was being told was coffee stimulated a horror akin to realizing at 11:30 on a Sunday night that you've forgotten to write a book-report for school. You know deep in your heart that this can be survived (i.e. by pulling an all-nighter to both read & report on a book) , and that you can somehow salvage this disaster. But you're bewildered as to how such a blatant balls-up could have happened on your watch...

I survived that travesty in good form, and as those who know me will attest, coffee has in no way stunted my growth or in other ways negatively impacted the treasure that is Wahwer. I feel I am a better (and imminently more pleasant morning-person) thanks to the benevolent ministries of Juan Valdez than I ever could be without him. Juan is my friend. I have even built a shed out back for him to park his burro, Pancho, when he stops to deliver my bean supply. However, thanks to the murder / arson that happened 200 yards from my place last week, Juan has started making noises about the increasing risks of making at-home deliveries anymore. He pleads with me, his Columbian brown eyes glittering with unshed tears, saying, "Perdon a me, querida mia... I don' know how moosh longer I ken risk Panchito's life by coming to this dangerous barrio. He ees my amigo, mi companero de mas anos... I cannot leev without heem!" Faced with the chance that I might soon have to resort to honing my Hood skills to secure an uninterrupted supply of coffee to my house, I beg my readers to think of me as they greedily brew up pot after steaming pot of coffee each day. Remember that there is a poor (and I do mean poor) girl, living (just like Elvis sang) "In the Ghetto"... shuffling off to work selling pencils and apples on the corner so that she can afford to keep Juan's loving attentions intact and the flow of coffee in her veins on full bore.

I'll end my sad story now, as I'm also running low on #2 Ticonderoga's and simply must restock.

Humble Pie Goes Well with Coffee

2006-02-16T00:15:00.000-05:00

Allright, allright...

So yes, I was the one posting potty humor jokes and belittling the Valentine's Day celebrations in general. Well, I humbly revoke some of my bitter words in light of the lovely prezzies I received from afar.
(you can also see part of my new office in the background)

Big ups to their sender-- you brightened my day in every way.
~ Muchas gracias ~

Fire in the Hole - My VD Wish for you

2006-02-14T12:14:00.000-05:00

I know I promised (vaguely) a more esoteric, pathos-laden post for today, but in light of the fact that:

It's Valentine's Day AGAIN (keeps coming back no matter how hard I protest)
I'm one of those goofy adult females who is inordinately entertained by potty humor, and
This oldie but goodie came through my e-mail today and I'm too busy to be original

I present the following Valentine to my readership. I hope each of you has a day filled with your favorite things (o.k.... maybe not filled, but at least some sprinkles of favorites).

HOW TO POOP AT WORK

We've all been there but don't like to admit it. As much as we try
to convince ourselves otherwise, the WORKPOOP is inevitable. For those
who hate pooping at work, following is the Survival Guide for taking a
dump at work.

CROP DUSTING: When farting, you walk briskly around the office so
the smell is not in your area and everyone else gets a whiff but
doesn't know where it came from. Be careful when you do this. Do not
stop until the full fart has been expelled. Walk an extra 30 feet to
make sure the smell has left your pants.

FLY BY: This is the act of scouting out a bathroom before pooping.
Walk in and check for other poopers. If there are others in the
bathroom, leave and come back again.
Be careful not to become a FREQUENT FLYER. People may become
suspicious if they catch you constantly going into the bathroom.

ESCAPEE: This is a fart that slips out while taking a leak at the
urinal or forcing a poop in a stall. This is usually accompanied by a
sudden wave of embarrassment. If you release an escapee, do not
acknowledge it. Pretend it did not happen. If you are standing next to
the farter in the urinal, pretend you did not hear it. No one likes an
escapee. It is uncomfortable for all involved. Making a joke or
laughing makes both parties feel uneasy.

JAILBREAK: When forcing a poop, several farts slip out at a machine
gun pace. This is usually a side effect of diarrhea or a hangover. If
this should happen, do not panic. Remain in the stall until everyone
has left the bathroom to spare everyone the awkwardness of what just
occurred. COURTESY FLUSH: The act of flushing the toilet the instant
the poop hits the water. This reduces the amount of airtime the poop
has to stink up the bathroom This can help you avoid being caught
doing the WALK OF SHAME.

WALK OF SHAME: Walking from the stall, to the sink, to the door
after you have just stunk the bathroom. This can be a very
uncomfortable moment if someone walks in and busts you. As with farts,
it is best to pretend that the smell does not exist. This very
uncomfortable walk can be avoided with the use of the COURTESY FLUSH.

OUT OF THE CLOSET POOPER: This is a colleague who poops at work and
is damn proud of it. You will often see an Out Of The Closet Pooper
enter the bathroom with a newspaper or magazine under his or her arm.
Always look around the office for the out Of The Closet Pooper before
entering the bathroom.

POOPING FRIENDS NETWORK (P.F.N.): A group of coworkers who band
together to ensure emergency pooping goes off without incident. This
group can help you to monitor the whereabouts of Out Of The Closet
Poopers and identify SAFE HAVENS.

SAFE HAVENS: A Safe Haven is a seldom-used bathroom somewhere in the
building where you can least expect visitors. Try floors that are
predominantly of the opposite sex. This will reduce the odds of a
pooper of your sex entering the bathroom.

TURD BURGLAR: This is someone who does not realize that you are in
the stall and tries to force the door open. This is one of the most
shocking and vulnerable moments that can occur when taking a poop
at work If this occurs, remain in the stall until the Turd Burglar
leaves. This way you will avoid all uncomfortable eye contact.

CAMO-COUGH: A phony cough that alerts all new entrants into the
bathroom that you are in a stall is called a Camo-Cough. This can be
used to cover-up a WATERMELON, or to alert potential Turd Burglars.
The Camo-Cough is very effective when used in conjunction with an
ASTAIRE.

ASTAIRE: An Astaire is a subtle toe-tap that is used to alert
potential Turd Burglars that you are occupying a stall. This will
remove all doubt that the stall is occupied. If you hear an Astaire,
leave the bathroom immediately so the pooper can poop in peace.

WATERMELON: A watermelon is a big poop that creates a loud splash
when hitting the toilet water. This is also an embarrassing incident.
If you feel a Watermelon coming on, create a diversion. See CAMO-
COUGH.

HAVANA OMELET: A case of diarrhea that creates a series of loud
splashes in the toilet water. Often accompanied by an Escapee. Try
using a Camo-Cough with an Astaire.

UNCLE TODD: An Uncle Todd is a bathroom user who seems to linger
around forever. This person could spend extended lengths of time in
front of the mirror or sitting on the pot. An Uncle Todd makes it
difficult to relax while on the crapper, as you should always wait to
poop when the bathroom is empty. This benefits you as well as other
bathroom attendees.

Hope the Survival Guide helps, as the WORK-POOP is an inevitable part of life.

FREEDOM!!!

2006-02-13T17:00:00.000-05:00

After nearly six weeks of delays, excuses and general BS, I FINALLY HAVE INTERNET AGAIN!!!!!

I'm planning to write something with a leetle more pathos and of interest in the next day or so, but for those of you who've been waiting so patiently for my return I'm throwing you a blog bone, ok?

SHeeeeeeeeeeee's BA-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A!!!!!

Melonie Made Me Do it

2006-02-07T12:00:00.000-05:00

4 jobs I've had in my life:
Professional nanny
Pre-need sales for Funeral Home
Tour Guide
Marketing assistant

4 movies I could watch over and over:
(NOTE: the following are all shameful admissions)
Gone With the Wind
When Harry Met Sally
Roadhouse (God forgive my obsession with Patrick Swayze & Sam Elliot)
Anything w/Robin Williams

4 TV shows I love(d) to watch:
ER
First 48
Speed Racer
Sesame Street

4 places where I have lived:
Westchester Co, NY
Houston, TX
W Palm Beach, FL
Cleveland, OH

4 places I've been to on vacation:
Nova Scotia
Cape Cod
Texas
Cross-country drive (GREAT fun)

4 places I would rather be:
Napping
Seattle
Scotland
Somewhere warmer

4 of my favourite foods:
pasta
Steak
seafood
beer (TRY to prove it ain't a food group!!)

4 websites I visit daily:
all from here: Blog World Trailer Park

4 people worth tagging:
If you staggered in here then Ya'll are!!!!

One for the thumb

2006-02-06T08:45:00.000-05:00

O.k. I wouldn't be a lifelong Pittsburgh "Stillers" football fan if I didn't give props to my boys-- the men in black-and-gold-- who finally brought home "one for the thumb"... the long awaited fifth Super Bowl ring for the Steelers' organization.

In honor of their victory, I've decided to give out my top nominations for idiots eligible to receive my very own One for the Thumb awards (aka Thumby's). This esteemed award will be presented to people who have qualified in one of the following categories:

Their thumb is firmly plugging their rectum & needs to be removed (thumb, not rectum)
Their thumb is firmly ensconced in their mouth, teet-like, because they are titty-babies who cannot stop sucking and slurping their digit long enough to be productive citizens.
They need to have a thumb poked into either orifice in order to stop the flow of useless crap (verbal OR literal) that is coursing out of them, crapping up the lives of those around them.

In the category of "Most Needing Thumb Removed from Posterior":

The crazy ex-neighbor, who called me at nearly midnight Friday night to see if I would pick her up at the Emergency Room-- then proceded to keep me awake till 2AM running her to an all-night pharmacy, taking her home, then calling me to tell me she "accidently" left a bag of groceries in the trunk of my car and couldn't I bring them to her? BTW: She didn't get them until the next day.

Up for a "Slap a Nipple on that Thing" prize, I offer:

The friend who demands I spend inordinant amounts of time with him, but who is NOT interested in a relationship, does NOT want to be tied down by a wife / significant other, yet acts like a titty-baby when I am tied up all weekend with family & friend commitments and cannot dance attendance on him-- then announces "we have things to discuss" when you do grace his presence.

And finally, my favorite category, the mythical "Stop the Insanity" trophy:

Ever have a week that kicks your ass and comes back for more? As you all know, I have been and continue to be without in internet connection in my new office-- despite the fact that I have been in my new office for a month. I have called, visited in person (to no avail) and in every way subjected the internet provider to a barrage of calls and contact attempts that would bury a weaker opponent. Alas, I am still stealing internet like a felon when no one is aware, and cursing the company that turns me criminal. I won't bore you with all of the other minutiae that is making my life crazy at the moment (including the above listed). Just note that my crazy existance compelled me to go out for the past four evenings to spend time with friends, I woke this morning to a nasty not-(for once)-party-related headache, and am taking the afternoon off to go to the funeral of my childhood best-friend's father this afternoon.

And now that I have rambled longer than planned, I will get back to the work I just don't feel like doing.

NEWSFLASH: The internet provider just called to say the phone company will be coming TODAY to wave their wand over my connection, and that the provider's tech will arrive sometime later this week to do HIS thing... ALLE-FRICKIN-LUIA!!!!!!!!!

Still Trapped...

2006-01-31T09:21:00.000-05:00

... in telephony time warp.

Until I get regular connectivity (NOTE: I hate being "irregular"), I won't be posting much.
I promise to do better ASAP :-)

10 Facts About Me

2006-01-24T23:30:00.000-05:00

I found this on Sharon's site... Her "facts" got me giggling-- MINE had me in hysterics!

Follow the link at the end to get your own list of Ten Top Trivia Tips :-)

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Laura!

Ancient Greeks believed earthquakes were caused by Laura fighting underground!
Early thermometers were filled with Laura instead of mercury.
If you put a drop of liquor on Laura, she will go mad and sting herself to death!
Laura is the only one of the original Seven Wonders of the World that still survives!
Ostriches stick their heads in Laura not to hide but to look for water!
Laura can pollinate up to six times more efficiently than the honeybee!
Only one child in twenty will be born on the day predicted by Laura!
About one tenth of Laura is permanently covered in ice.
Only fifty-five percent of men wash their hands after using Laura.
Peanuts and Laura are beans!

Three of these things Belong Together

2006-01-24T20:37:00.000-05:00

NOTE: Whether you have already read this post or not, make sure you go read this post on Melonie's site to find out how this day ended...

Allright... I might be dating myself as a child of the seventies... but I'm asking my readership to raise their hand (cause I really CAN see you doing it) if you recall the segment on the childrens' show Sesame Street where they would sing:

Three of these things belong together..
Three of these things are kind of the same.
But ONE of these things is is going his/her own way--
Now it's time to play our game-- it's time to play our game!!!!

For background purposes, I'll share the fact that I regularly take on "house-sitting" jobs to supplement my paltry income, and that for the past four days I have been taking care of two houses simultaneously. One of the two jobs was coming to a close this morning, as the homeowner was flying home today, so I was looking forward to only having to take care of the remaining house tonight. My first mistake was letting my guard down...

The alarm went off at 6:15 (allowing for the prerequisite 2 rounds of alarm-tag before rising at 6:30), and I was delighted to find that I actually felt well-rested and I wasn't hunched into a question-mark stance by back pain (which I am most mornings, especially at this home because this particular mattress was produced by Satan Posturepedic). I toddled into the bathroom to begin my morning ablutions, smiling smugly at my ferocious case of bed-head, and looking forward to a first cup of coffee. Things progressed normally-- that is, until I attempted to flush the commode. My second mistake was assuming that the plumbing would respond in a predictable manner. But no... Within seconds my bare feet were being doused with cold toity water, punctuated by blobs of soggy paper. F**K!!!!! Once I'd turned off the waterline to stop the flood, I grabbed four fluffy towels (which were laying conveniently nearby), and quickly mopped up the flotsam and jetsam. I wrapped the sodden cloths in a fifth towel, finished throwing yesterday's clothes back on, and went to wake the homeowner's teenage son on schedule at 6:45. Then I threw the towels (white, of course) in the washer as I headed out the door, now knowing that I would have to stop back at lunch time to throw them in the dryer so the homeowner wouldn't be to-o-o-o-o annoyed.

THEN, I jumped in my car to run off to the other house-sitting job. Mistake number three was forgetting that, with the exception of dusk, the ONE OTHER TIME that North American white-tailed deer are most likely to be dogding across rural roadways is approximately 7AM. No, I didn't actually hit any of the four-legged critters, but I narrowly missed hitting 6-7 of them as they sprinted across the road as I came around a blind turn. Double F**K!!!! The visit to house #2 was then uneventful, so I jumped back in my buggy and headed toward home.

Now needing a diaper change and frantic for the longed for coffee, I decided to pull into Hardees to treat myself to a sausage-egg biscuit & coffee. Mistake number four. This also seemed to be a simple act, except that I got so excited after the pimply 17-year-old working the drive thru handed me my coffee that I threw the car in gear and pulled away, only to hear him yelling, "Hey! WAIT!!!" I then had to pull over and do the walk of shame back to the restaurant for my food order. Did I mention it was also pouring down rain at the time?

So now I have rain-sodden bed-head & yesterdays remaining eye-makeup flowing from my eyes, soiled knickers from the deer attack, and not a drop of java in me yet. I got back in my car and pulled slo-w-w-w-wly out of the lot onto the roadway. The rest of the 2+ mile drive home was uneventful, so I thought I'd had my quota of "bad things come in threes" and was safe.
Mistake #five.

I slogged in the back door and slung my soggy jacket over a chair. Then, after looking at the clock and deciding to postpone eating, I hustled upstairs to get ready to shower. I had just turned on the bathroom faucet for my cat to get his ritual bathtime drink when I heard an ominous "Plop!" land nearby. I closed my eyes, took several cautious sips of my ass-flavored fast food coffee, then opened my eyes to see if I could find the source of the plopping noise. A quick glance at my bathroom ceiling informed me that I had a leak.

Flooded toilet... deer gone wild... fast-food brain fart... leaking ceiling. Which of these things does not belong? It's hard to make up my mind.

(REMINDER: Go read this post at Melonie's sight for "the REST of the story")

What Kind of Bunny Are You?

2006-01-22T19:00:00.000-05:00

Saw this one on Jade's site: http://azjade.com/

you are the cute but psycho happy bunny. You
adorable, but a little out there. It's alright,
you might not have it all, but there are worse

which happy bunny are you?
brought to you by

You can't se-e-e-e-e me-e-e-e-e...

2006-01-19T11:45:00.000-05:00

Honestly... I'm really NOT ignoring my readers (all 3 of you).

I am still being held captive by the rampant sloth of the telephony provider who cannot be motivated to bring their pathetic selves to my office to actually CONNECT my internet service. Mind you, this is the same damn company who came last... week... to connect my telephone service in the new office (only two weeks late). But because the phone service connection is one job, and the internet connecting is technically another, it has to be handled by seperate tech people. Harrumph...

So in the spirit of little children who cover their eyes in egocentric fashion and call out in sing-song, "You can't see me! You can't see me!" Because they can't see YOU, they assume that you can't see them. But I can. I can see all of you who are still out there blogging merrily along. And I can see Fibernet-- the wretched company who can't be bothered to take care of it's newest customers. A pox upon ye! Fie, I say-- begone, lazy-ass technitions! No wait.. I guess I shouldn't wish them to the ninth level of hell until after they've handled my account.

For now I'll keep stealing these hidden moments of internet access and try posting again when I'm not feeling quite so hostile.

Almost Heaven... You bet

2006-01-12T11:45:00.000-05:00

This one appeared in the Chicago Tribune.

The majority of folks who grew up in WV can say they:

Are related to a miner
Are / were a miner
Know someone who is / was a miner

Coal mining might not be the #1 industry in West Virginia anymore, but no one with an ounce of State pride could have been unmoved over the recent Sago mine tragedy. Just as the fire fighters and policemen who lost their lives on September 11th were called "brothers" by their fellow public servants, so miners are viewed by others who've walked in their coal-dust covered boots. I won't throw my opinions on mine safety and code violations into the mix here-- I'll leave this post as a tribute to a dozen family men who were doing their best to provide for their families. And continued prayers for the McCloy family as their brave father / husband struggles to recover.

The Oracle of Starbucks

2006-01-09T11:45:00.000-05:00

For those of you who love the smell of a tall mocha-choca latte in the morning
(noon and night),
I offer the following quiz

http://www.buttafly.com/starbucks/index.php

Find out what kind of coffee drinker YOU are...

(I'm a caramel macchiato gal, personally)

Some New Year's ponderings

2006-01-03T20:00:00.000-05:00

Just thought I'd share a few thoughts of
guilt and shame as we start a new year.

Is it possible do die as a result of smelling the stench of cat whiz for extended periods? One of my two male cats went AWOL New Year's eve (suffice to say I was lurching in the door near midnight, bathroom bound, and the little monster escaped thanks to my lack of mental / visual acuity). Been gone ever since. Guilty Me left a can of cat food on side porch last night in case he wandered home. Was greeted this morning by half-eaten can of 9-Lives and a mighty gust of cat urine. Whether mine was the guilty party or not, I'm still livid because now my only new pair of shoes and my good rain coat BOTH now reek of the smell because it must have been on the porch and I walked / brushed through it and got it on me. Puke.

Today is supposed to be the day I move into my new office (in a different building. But...

Some fartknocker STILL has his boxes stored in the space (small to begin with) despite warnings to have them cleared out before today.
Phone line / internet STILL not connected in space (thanks to holiday delays) despite a month's advance notice that it needed to be done.
Painting needs to be done BEFORE I move my stuff in (but AFTER Fartknocker removes his crap). Grrrrr...
Am feeling very guilty at the moment (shut up Mel... I can HEAR what you're thinking right now & it's neither pretty NOR accurate ;-). The above three facts all smacked me in the face during the first 45 minutes of my workday today, at the same time that I learned that the co-worker who had inspired my recent "Parole" themed entries lost her father to a sudden heart attack yesterday. NOTE: I lost my own father over a decade ago, and am more than cognizant of her current pain and sadness (she's from a large, close, bizarre family). But am I such a bitch for thinking, "I'm very sorry for her loss (truly), but at least she will be out of my rectum while I get things straightened out." I know, I know... It's all about me...

I finally crystallized what my 2006 personal motto should be: INITIATIVE I received criticism in recent months that I did not exhibit as much "initiative" in the workplace as my boss might have wanted to see, so my goal in both personal AND professional circles will be to exhibit initiative in 2006.

It's Official...

2005-12-27T11:45:00.000-05:00

My parole day is HERE!!!!

See, good behavior does pay off... When I learned my co-worker was not in fact taking this week off (I wondered how she could, since I knew payroll was not done), I decided to ask the bossman if I could burn my last three vacation days this week. So, instead of having three more days of punishment, I am FREE!!!

I sat at my desk Friday, bored out of my skull. The boss has not given me any new assignments for days-- nay, WEEKS-- and it was a ridiculously slow workday. My new job description will have me doing even less for him than we originally discussed, and as he has been working the "since you're leaving so soon" attitude, he hasn't been giving me new projects to start. So, other than taping more commercial segments this afternoon, I have ab - so - freakin - lutely nothing to do until 5pm.

The fact that I am getting paroled today also means I will not have access to internet until after the new year. So I just wanted to wish everyone a safe, happy and peaceful 2006. So many folks have had a horrendous 2005, and are counting down the minutes until they can tear the old calendar to shreds. The drama that has saturated my office reached epic proportions this year, and knowing that I will now be freed from the day-to-day trivialities of he said /she said is almost more than I can comprehend. I won't belabor the point. I'll be content to wish blessings upon all my friends (both cyber and in-person) and family, and to thank those of you who have given me so much... money, food, a kind word, offers of revenge, ideas for where to bury the evidence ... To all of you, my thanks. Your tender (mostly) mercies have helped me to survive another rotation around the solar system, for which I am eternally grateful.

P.S. Each year I try to pick a theme or motto to guide my hand, heart and actions. Three years ago, I chose "Small minds are bothered by small things." (attributed to Benjamin Disraeli) The following year, I chose, "Let it go... let it flow." (are you sensing a theme here?) For 2005 I went to one-word simplicity: DIGNITY. When you only get 24 hours in a day, and a third of those are spent near people with whom I would never willingly choose to associate, I've needed constant reminders to keep myself from lowering my behavior to their pathetic level.

My 2006 motto? "I Have a Dream" (partly inspired by the phrase "free at last, free at last, thank GOD ALMIGHTY, FREE... AT... LAST!") Also inspired by the fact that my new work is going to involve a large proportion of visioning. Visioning of projects, goals, objectives, funding...

Wish me luck & God bless you all ~

Let the Good Times Unroll OR Knockin' Da Boots

2005-12-23T10:12:00.000-05:00

This post is for all of you who habitually go to holiday parties, enjoy too much "cheer" & find yourselves getting frisky on the drive home, or who traditionally plan on gettin' bizzy on New Year's Eve, this just may be the dress for YOU...

The fun, festive...

Condom cocktail dress!!!

Several great reasons to own one:

It's colorful
It's Creative
Leaves NO way for you /partner to make excuses.
Makes a wonderful flotational device in the event of a water landing.

Here's hoping everyone gets their stocking filled with exactly what they want. Happy holidays!!!

When Loonies Attack

2005-12-19T11:45:00.000-05:00

DISCLAIMER: Three things ~

- This rant is NOT as up-beat as my usual post. If you're in already in a mood, read the reindeer post below and smile :-)

- This rant is NOT about any of the dear people I have mentioned on this blog before! Do not take offense, do not relate to this description (unless it's relevant), and just be glad these nutters are not in YOUR life.

-This rant was originally drafted on 12/8, butI forgot to change the edit date. So even though I posted it now that's why it posted low and got buried & it wasn't seen.

I've had the misfortune of getting sucked into the maelstrom of madness. Certain former neighbors of mine are both life-long customers of the mental health industry. The most regrettable aspect of this story is that I had no idea when I met her just how looney the woman (of the couple) could be... From the moment we met she seemed somewhat normal (other than the fact that she seemed to have lousy taste in boyfriends). After several months of neighbor-ship, however, the scope of her madness came to light. She and I were having a chat on my side porch one sunny day, discussing this and that, when she started talking about the time she lived in Texas. And about the fact that George W. Bush had sent her flowers during her stay in a Dallas hospital.

Now, I'm as open-minded as possible in most circumstances. Just ask my mother-- I've got a bizarre array of saint and sinners in my circle of friends and associates. And I have heard some truly bizarre stories out of these souls. But my b.s.-meter began to ring madly when the "W" story got rolling, and it signaled the death knell of any active pursuit of "friendship" between Ms. Madness and I-- on my part, at least. The saddest part of this story is that Crazy (him) & Crazier (her) managed to pop out 2 baby boys in 11 months while they lived near me, as well as regaining custody of her 12-year-old (from a previous marriage). She had her man picked up on domestic charges 3 different times during the 2+ years they lived near me, several times the police were called for domestic "issues" regarding neighbors and associates bothering them (either in reality or over "preceived" insults).

The crowning offense came 3 weeks after the youngest son was born. I went home for lunch (as I do most days), and as I was leaving Crazy approached me with the newborn swaddled to near invisibility in a baby snug-sack, saying he needed to take the child to the doctor's office because "his leg is red and puffy." I didn't think much of this at the time, as the baby was calm and didn't seem to be in undue pain or distress. That is, until I received a call later that afternoon from Crazier (who was sobbing):"We're on our way to Morgantown-- the baby's leg is broken, and the doctor thinks he might have that brittle bone disease!" After all of the couple's dramas and traumas during the previous year, I couldn't predict what this latest twist of fate could signify. At least not until 48 hours later, when the report came back from the hospital that the baby did not in fact have osteomyelitis, but that his leg had been fractured in two places-- in addition to having several damaged ribs. Crazier blamed the 12-year old son, citing jealousy. Yet other sources blamed Crazy, saying he'd had the infant in bed with him while Crazier grabbed a shower, and had inadvertently rolled on the child.

To this day I don't know the actual reality of the situation. I've never really believed Crazier's version of the story-- skinny, average 12-year olds don't often have the strength to fracture the pliable legs of infants. Crazy is enough of over-medicated oaf that I could see him tucking the baby in bed with him, trying to coerce another 20 minutes of sleep for himself AND Baby, then dozing off and squishing him against the wooden bedframe (they had two twin beds smooshed together). But the sad reality of this tale is that no matter WHAT the truth is, the 12-year-old will never have a normal life after this tragedy. Whether he injured the baby or not, his parents accused him of it to establish their innocence. Even if for some god-forsaken reason the court would decide to send him back to her (Crazy his since moved downstate to "get away" from her), he (the eldest) can never truly trust her again. At first I was devastated that the little family had been torn apart this way. But evidence of recent months lets me know that that is one reunion that probably shouldn't occur... Mom and Dad will-- in all likelihood-- NEVER be "cured"... Never be mentally stable enough the give these boys the nurturing and support that they need and deserve. The two youngest boys have been in foster care since the incident, and Crazier says the foster parents want to adopt (again, she might be saying this for sympathy). And I can't even guess what will happen to the older son... whether he'll eventually return to his father's family or not-- I'm still shocked he was sent BACK to her, knowing her as I now do.

People who hear this story ask me, "How did you get involved with this tribe of loonies?" The answer is simple. Mental illness is not something that all of its victims project visibly. They may look "normal" (whatever the hell that is)-- no limp, no scars, no mad scientist hair and ominous body odor. The first time I saw Crazy I thought, "The dude needs to wear a shirt in public-- wicked case of 'man-boobs'." And until I spoke with him a number of times, my only other thought was, "Not the sharpest knife in the drawer-- brags too much, but pretty harmless." When I met Crazier, I thought, "Seems nice, close to my age... goofy boyfriend, but pleasant to talk with." But as time went by, and more and more "incidents" started occurring, I did all I could to distance myself from them both. They were finally evicted 6 months ago when new owners purchased their building, and I had hoped that the intrusions would abate. I was wrong.

I could let this post ramble on indefinately, detailing the notes that have been left for me, whacked out e-mails I've received (that were simultaneously sent to radio-show hosts, local police, the Bishop, several members of the British royal family & the Prime Minister, my BOSS), and bizarre calls / visits at all hours of the day and night. I would only ask that any of you who read this will take a moment to pray for people with mental illness. As lay people we can't change their behavior-- we can only try to help them seek appropriate medication & counseling (when applicable), and to try and be tolerant of the behaviors over which they have no control.

Which of Santa's Reindeer are YOU?

2005-12-16T11:45:00.000-05:00

Thank Moogie for this post ;-)

You Are Blitzen

Always in good spirits, you're the reindeer who loves to party down with Santa.

Why You're Naughty: You're always blitzed on Christmas Eve, while flying!

Why You're Nice: You mix up a mean eggnog martini.

Which of Santa's Reindeer Are You?

Only 20 more days till parole

2005-12-12T20:00:00.000-05:00

I laugh at what some poor first-time reader might think at reading that post title...

I've been spinning in circles (the visual is more frightening than you could imagine) in recent days, and the madness promises to persist through the big transition. So please forgive me if I only take time for little quickie entries in the interim.

Hope everyone's holiday preparations are going smoothly. I think I'm going to forego the tree dealie this year in favor of finishing the kitchen redecorating project I've been hammering away at since Thanksgiving. That's my present to myself :-)

If Robert Burns Had Only Known

2005-12-06T20:00:00.000-05:00

Ol' Robbie's love may have been like a red, red rose. But if he REALLY wants to make a girl's associates PEA GREEN with envy, he should have sent actually SENT her roses. My thanks to the thoughtful gent who sent me a dozen eye-popping stunners to my office today. The following is the result:

The entire staff is agog
The entire staff is JEALOUS
I'm leavin' these babies here until they disintegrate!

In My Next Life...

2005-12-06T11:45:00.000-05:00

Some Snow"person" humor

2005-12-05T15:53:00.000-05:00

Just Right

2005-12-01T13:37:00.000-05:00

Last night I was reminded of a talk my father and I had back in my teenage years, regarding the comforting nature of a parent's embrace.

I don't recall exactly what had sent me "crying to Daddy" but it must have been something big because I wasn't one to show tears readily. The comforting ended with Dad wrapping his arms around me and cradling me close. "See?" he said. "You still fit perfectly!" He saw my confused expression and proceeded to tell me how, when I was a child and he had held me close he'd been amazed by the perfect fit of my head against his neck and collarbone. As an infant, my (then) small head would notch perfectly in this spot and I would instantly quiet down and drift off to sleep when held that way. With the passage of time I snuggled less, but would still seek out Daddy's arms when hurt-- either inside or out. So he was delighted to see that even though I was now a young woman, my head still remembered that comfort and safety could still be found with him.

I appreciated the sentiment at the time, but it didn't really sink in until a few years later when I embarked on my first job as a professional nanny. I had flown to New York to interview for the position, and on the first afternoon I was given the opportunity to spend some one-on-one time with the two-year old, Alex (the one who dubbed me "Wahwer"). We played happily in the den for a while, and when he started showing signs of tiredness I put in a Sesame Street video (per his mom's advice) and sat down on the sofa with him for a little wind-down time. Two minutes into the video, Alex sloth-crawled across the couch and plunked himself comfortably on my lap. His silky head rested warmly against my sternum, and within minutes he was sucking his thumb and nodding off to sleep in my arms. His mom came in not long after, and the expression on her face was a mix of surprise and happiness. At first I wondered if she thought maybe I'd coerced Alex there to make a good impression. But I learned several months down the road (after getting hired for the job) that at that moment she'd known I was the right person for the job because Alex did NOT make up to strangers at all, and if HE thought I was o.k. for cuddling then she thought I was o.k. too!

Two years hurtled by, and the little boy who'd chosen me those many months before had grown into a lap-full who's head now rested against my windpipe when we settled in for a movie or to read storybooks together. He and I had never discussed this preferred posture for quiet time. It was simply an unspoken action that symbolized the security and rightness of our bond. When my contract ended and I went off to college, I soon realized that I mourned feeling the trusting warmth of a pre-schooler nestled on my lap & wondered if he missed me as well when it was time for "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" or "Good Night Moon." It wasn't until the following June that I got my answer.

Twelve months later I traveled back to New York to visit old friends, and made a point of scheduling time to see Alex and his sister (who had been born during my time with his family). I was prepared for little Madeline to not remember me-- she was only 16 months old when I left, and in toddler years that translates into decades. But I felt in my heart that Alex would remember me. When I arrived at their home Madeline was napping and Alex was out with his grandparents, so I nonchalantly asked the new nanny if Alex ever talked about me. "Oh no," she said smugly, "I don't think he's EVER even mentioned you to me." The look on her face held not a trace of sympathy-- I knew she didn't understand how devastating it was for me to think I'd been forgotten--Me, someone who had been such a large part of his life. Minutes later Madeline made her sleepy appearance at the kitchen doorway, and I was happy to see that while she snuggled in her nanny's arms and cuddled her blankie close, she condescended to bestow a sheepish smile at a stranger (me!) when I called her name. I sipped a Diet Coke and steeled myself for rejection from my little man.

Nanny and I were deep in conversation when I heard the grandparents' car pull into the driveway. I eased my way toward the door, then jogged down the back stairs to meet them. I had barely hit the bottom step when 40-odd lbs of wiggling 5-year-old hit me at full speed. He let out a sound that was a combination of a scream and a laugh, and then proceeded to apply a respectable death grip around my neck. I managed to keep my dignity intact, returned his embrace, then turned say hello to Grandma Caryl and Poppa Skippy (who had also been a wonderful part of my time in NY). Soon they left and I was alone with Alex, Maddy, and Nanny to await the parents' return. We drifted into the den and turned on afternoon cartoons, and Nanny and I were soon busy catching up on neighborhood gossip,when suddenly I felt a small pair of arms wrap themselves around my neck from over the back of the couch. Then Alex scaled the arm of the chair and flopped onto my lap, gangly legs stretching down, shoeless heels gently thrumming my shins, sun-warmed head wedged under my chin (which was pointing toward the ceiling to accommodate his new heights). Permission was neither requested nor given-- it simply wasn't needed. Alex, blissfully unaware of my struggle for composure, bounced his legs to the cartoon music while I fixed my blurry eyes skyward. Hot tears shot down my cheeks, and I didn't care what the new nanny thought. He wasn't a baby anymore, but the bond was just as strong as ever. He remembered me, and I couldn't have named a better feeling in the world than that open-armed gift of love and attachment.

Last night I held my friend's three-month-old baby girl in my arms. Little Taylor Rose has no idea what's in store for her at the hands of her demented Auntie Wahwer (in addition to her other honorary aunties, the Ya Ya's). Together we have nearly 150-combined years of womanly experience to impart to her, and the first tidbit came when her rosebud lips began to pucker and her tiny face threatened rain while I held her. Ya Ya Chris told her, "Now Taylor-- no crying right now. Ya Ya's only cry when they drink, and as a Ya Ya-in-training, you need to learn that this is NOT the appropriate time. Collect yourself!" Miss Taylor straightened up, composed her features, then promptly wedged her head against my neck and collar bone to settle for a snooze. I sniffed her perfume of Dreft detergent and baby powder and marveled at the genius of the creator who knew to make a child's head fit exactly... that... spot.

The countdown begins - 33 DAYS

2005-11-28T15:00:00.000-05:00

After today, I have thirty-three days left in my "sentence" and will be paroled to my new office space, deo gracia. I spent the last week on vacation, trying to spend unused vacation time before I'm forced to surrender it on the altar of the "new job"...

Funniest (i.e. saddest) thing? Co-worker that sits next to me EIGHT HOURS A DAY has not said one single word to me about the move. Nothing. Not a "good for you", "kiss my tuckus", "don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out"... zippo, zero, zilch. I actually brought it up in conversation 2 weeks ago to try and open her up a little bit. Nada. No input whatsoever.

This attitude is largely what has me counting the hours, days and minutes till freedom. I feel like finding a convenient bell-tower, grabbing the ropes and swinging wildly, shouting, "SANCTUARY!! SANCTUARY!!!" Until the new year (both literal & metaphoric), I've committedto maintaining dignity, taking care of business, dotting I's and crossing all T's, continuing to cross-train the other staff to take over the piddley stuff (read here: which they were trained to do ages ago and passive-aggressively refused to master, causing me to take on said tasks), and go out with style.

Not quite certain...

2005-11-10T20:00:00.000-05:00

... which of these girls I feel most like today.

Regardless, the image made me smile for a while. I'm trying to keep my eyes on my priorities, not get too distracted by the banal trivialities the keep flying in my face.

Count with me, children:
Only 51 days till I move to my new office!

Is anyone else out there feeling like a limber 12-year-old Asian acrobat today? Um...

O.k. Maybe what I meant to ask is, how are we all doing? Anyone else getting pulled in 32 directions?

Some of you I know about both IN the Real World (ha ha), some only via their Blogs. But if you're like me, and you need life to cease spinning for a few minutes (at least long enough for station identification), just follow me :-)

Give yourself 2 minutes.
Close your eyes (wait till you've finished reading, numbnuts)
Kick off your shoes, wiggle your toes, rotate your ankles slowly
Wiggle your fingers, rotate your wrists, then lay your hands in your lap.
Drop your chin slowly to your chest, then slowly raise back up
Repeat 10 times, breathing slowly throughout.

Then crack open the first Budweiser
(repeat above relaxation technique)
Open Bud #2
(repeat)

~ I think you follow my drift here ~

A Wedding Story

2005-11-08T20:00:00.000-05:00

The scent of curry was the last thing I expected to smell when I woke up on September 16th. But as I stumbled toward the parking lot in my quest for breakfast, I was smacked in the olfactory by Eastern aromas wafting out of the property manager's office. I had spent the night (with Mom and 93-year-old Grandma) at a Motel 6, conveniently located near the Unitarian church in Columbus where my brother's wedding was taking place.

The bride and groom had actually tied the knot back in July at the courthouse in Missouri (where my brother currently lives). But they had also organized a church wedding in Columbus (where the bride is living and the couple met) so that friends and family could be present.

If you haven't attended a Unitarian wedding service, then you don't know what you're missing. It was brief, sincere, and lovely. No "bells & smells," no lengthy homiliy prating on from Ist Corinthians. Just a man, a woman, a minister and immediate family and friends. One added feature of the service was that the bride had prepared a complete Spanish translation of the readings and blessings for her mother (shown at right in the picture). Dear Mama speaks no English whatsoever, and delighted in testing my rudimental / rusty Spanish. And this picture doesn't do the bride justice. She's even prettier in person (heck, look at her Mom-- the woman's 72 but looks 60). And while her suit looks more silver here, it was actually a gorgeous sea-foam green.

I'm just glad to see my brother married again. After his first failed attempt I was afraid he might not opt to get back in the saddle. This was the bride's (who just turned 40) first dance with matrimony. They make an adorable couple-- three cheers to them in their new endeavor!

I Surrender

2005-11-03T20:00:00.000-05:00

Ever feel like flinging your robotic arms up in the air and giving up?

Like you cannot put up with one... more... IDIOT making you crazy?

Does it feel like you're living on the corner of Compromise & Give In?

"If you love me, you'll do ______ for me..."

Like EVERYONE around you expects you to roll over & do their will?

Is this the message that pounds in your brain
(even though you've learned otherwise)?

Then fear not.
You're in the same darn boat as everyone else on this mortal coil.

You just have to remember these important words
(cue the Mutual of Omaha-style background music):

Nuts to the squirrels
& squirrels to the nuts!

You can't control what gets thrown at you, it all happens for a reason
(I've given up trying to reason out killer tsunami's and hurricanes).
Crazy folk are gonna keep on bein' crazy
whether we play their games or not.

That which does not kill us makes us stronger, right?

What Fruit are YOU??

2005-10-28T15:15:00.000-04:00

Did I mention I have a habit of stealing inspiration from Sharon?

You are a Pear...juicy, sweet, and a tasty
treat...you're a giver more than a taker, and
other people's happiness is your ultimate
reward...

What Kind of Fruit Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

A Friend Indeed

2005-10-19T20:00:00.000-04:00

**Once again, you can blame Sharon for inspiring this entry...

Surfing Blogs has become as much a part of my morning routine as savoring that first cup of coffee. I look forward to it just as much, and find that I just don't get off to as amusing a start when I don't get my AM "fix." I have Melonie to blame for this latest addiction ;-) I had heard of Blogs already, but mother Mel invited me to check out hers-- Insanity Reigns-- and life haven't been the same since. Melonie is one of the most unique women I know, and reading her musings is like a window into her life. Lame metaphor, I know, yet true.

But I digress (you'll notice that this is common concern in my ramblings). This morning I treated myself to today's post from Sharon about her baby boy's birthday, and she happened to mention a Holly Hobbie birthday cake she'd had as a girl. I remembered my own affection for Holly and her friends, and what jarred my memory the most was the name of Holly's friend, Heather. It occurred to me that I'd had a large Heather doll, and only a small Holly. Which then got me thinking about the fact that I'd had several of Barbie's friend's & family (Ken, Skipper, PJ & Christie, Barbie's African-American girlfriend), but Barbie was largely ignored (after her leg fell off and her hair got cut, some of her allure faded). So I asked myself, what message was my mom trying to send to me-- that your friends are important? That Barbie and Holly wouldn't have been nearly as successful without their entourage, their posse, if you will? That friends are just as important as the famous folk? Even if this wasn't her plan, I think I learned that the also-rans in this world are just is significant as the stars. Why else would they have a Best Supporting Actor/Actress category at the Academy Awards? Why do Oscar winner chronically thank "my amazing supporting cast" in their acceptance speeches? Because at some point in our lives, each of us gets to stand in the shadow of our friends. And while it may not be where we want to be, sometimes it's the RIGHT place to be.

Of course, the jaded part of me says, "Yeah, it's also the way Mattel milks a successful product for every penny by adding additional characters!!" But I'd rather take the reminder that even though we sometimes get to be a Holly, more often we're a Heather. So to all the Heathers and PJ's in this world, here's to you.

Allelujah! I Want to Thank the Academy...

2005-10-14T20:00:00.000-04:00

A while back I mentioned that I'm one of those annoying people who, when she hears a word or phrase which echoes the title or lyrics of a song, ends up hearing that song in her head ad nauseum (and usually singing / whistling bits as well).
Today is no exception.

Yesterday I got word that the new job I've been alluding to for the past month is going to be mine. This bit of information might barely raise the blood-pressure of the average Blogger, but to me it's news worthy of a Blue Angel fly over. I've waited nearly 6 years (3 years longer than I anticipated) for an opportunity like this, and my heart is thumping like a hummingbird on speed. It's much like the first time you fall in love... all of the feared unknowns, the shuddering thrills and the un-speakable possibilities that seem to be dangling in front of me, tantalizing.. I've started and left enough jobs through the last 20 years to know that NO job is a perfect fit-- that rarely can the prosaic truth come anywhere near the pipe-dream. That just as in love, the starry-eyed glow often fades into reality the first time Prince Charming has a headcold and wants to be babied, or when her Highness sends you to the store for feminine hygiene products. But for every dashed dream there are usually comparable compensations. And I've already done more than my share of scut work and drudgery to feel that I'm worthy to try my hand at something more fulfilling. Am I still going to be in love with even the idea (let alone the reality) of this new job in six months? I can't say... This job is being created FOR me, in large part BY me, so if the general scheme of things gets fouled up I'll probably be able to lay the burden of guilt at my own door.

But for now, I'm flying into the wind with gritted teeth and girded loins. I'm ready for the new adventure-- as ready as anyone could be when the potential for falling is as great as the potential for success. And so, I present the lyrics to one of my all-time favorite songs by the disbanded UK group, Fairground Attraction. I recommend their album, The First of a Million Kisses, and in particular the song "Allelujah" (from whence the album title comes). I wore out two cassette copies of the album back in the early 90's, and methinks I need to pick it up on CD as well. It's a bit flat on the screen, I'll admit-- but once you've heard it sung you'll know it for the exultant hymn that it is. Even though my mind is on the career move at hand, my heart is singing these words.

Allelujah - by Fairground Attraction

The lights on the westway go on
A million cars hurry home
An ice-cream van shuts off its tinsel bells
Winter won't be long

I see you everyday
I watch you as you walk down this way
We pass on the stairs on this council block
Too shy to find words to say

But your smile is a prayer that prays for love
and your heart is a kite that longs to fly
Allelujah, here I am
Let's cut the strings tonight

So meet me on the corner at eight
Let's get out of this place
We'll kiss the first of a million kisses
and let the past fall away

'Cause your smile is a prayer...

For your smile is a prayer...

We'll kiss the first of a million kisses, ah...

Why I Drink After Five

2005-10-12T20:00:00.000-04:00

To understand why I throw a few back of an evening, I'll share an illustrative tale. In general terms, I work in marketing. If you go by my job description, my main focus is supposed to be around marketing and product development. As I work with a staff that is small and ineffective, I (regrettably) find myself answering calls and helping visitors to the office when the support staff is "otherwise occupied."

NOTE: Boss, Administrative Assistant & Receptionist were all at lunch simultaneously, leaving me to hold down the fort.

First visitor - Gentleman arrived who proceeds to tell me his life story (while asking for a city bus schedule). He's originally from Alaska (half Inuit / half Native American), raised by foster parents, been living in Florida (3 different cities), got fed up after hurricanes, came here with 4 friends, this isn't working out, living in Salvation Army shelter in Ohio. Good luck, Quinn. Here's your map.
Second visitors - Couple seeking to use the Heritage Area stamp in their travel journals. Normally not noteworthy, but as I have learned all too well, you don't EVER attempt to stamp their book for them. Tree-huggin, National Geographic / Smithsonian Magazine reading academic types who love history and the passion and romance of adventure, but who's panties get in a knot if you smear the ink in their travel journal. Here's your stamp. GTF out of my face.
Third visitor - Man comes limping in, asking for a new detailed city map. Proceeds to tell me 1) why he's limping (stubbed toe), 2) why he needs the map (his old one is shot-- he asked me to throw it away), 3) tell me that he's FROM HERE, but just likes maps. Here's your map. Now GO HOME.
First caller - Margaret - Woman told me HER life story: how she got our number (old brochure), why she hasn't visited before (broke up with boyfriend she used to travel with), about the deer she saw in her yard this morning ("the buck was E-NORMOUS!") Spent over 10 minutes talking non-stop before giving me her name and address. Here's your brochure. Call back when your meds kick-in.
Second caller - Woman with the Catholic diocese called and asked for 50 State Guides and 10 State maps-- but ONLY if they had the new Gov's signature on the back. When she arrived later to pick them up, and saw the maps were different from the ones she wanted, she rejected them with a sigh and asked for 50 visitors guides as well. Then she let me haul the 3 cartons out to her car (she was kind enough to hold the door). Here's your information. Big ups to the Bishop, ok?
Third caller - Psychotic motorcoach operator who routinely calls our office (3-5 times a year)-- BIG booming voice with a New York accent. NEVER remembers who he spoke with here, swears no one ever returns his calls to help him, and couldn't I fax some information out regarding his questions? (apparently they don't have Internet in the Old Spice- laden Dark Age in which he's living). I answered his question promptly & and asked if he was with XYZ Tours (he was STUNNED that I knew), to which he immediately offered to take me out to dinner when he comes to town (verbatim words he used last week when he spoke with our receptionist). I told him sweetly that my (non-existent) husband wouldn't appreciate his offer, but thanks for the offer. Here's the phone number. Call me when the Viagra poisoning wears off...
Fourth visitor - One of our volunteers, bringing in left-over bus schedules. She has nothing better to do, and wants to chat. She's also dull as paste and makes me long for root canal.
Fifth Visitor - Stinky grunge chick whose opening comment is, "What's fun to do in this town-- and don't say gambling 'cause I already shot $200 doin' 'at already!" I wanted to offer her some Bacitracin for the nasty, scabby spot where her eyebrow piercing had evidently been forcibly removed, but got distracted by her she-male pal who likewise gallumphed up to the desk and breathed recycled Sonoma (cigarette) breathe on me awaiting the answer to the all-important question. Girls? I don't think you can handle all the fun we have to offer. Keep movin'...
Fourth caller - Friend, this time-- but one who needed 3 invoices printed out TODAY for ad placements that went out last year. Each one for a different amount / publication / with different posting dates. Needs them before 5pm. I'll get right on it...

All of this went down in less than an hour. Straight up or over ice?

Another Meme

2005-10-05T20:00:00.000-04:00

Google search for “(your name) is” - using the double quotes and substituting your own name

Pull the first ten hits that make sense and compile them into a list – it can be fun…

Laura is usually right.
Laura is it love?
Laura is not a psychologist nor a psychiatrist.
Laura is not, however, is a careful thinker or knowledgeable analyst...
Laura is among the most memorable examples of Film Noir
Laura is featured on National Public Radio's 'Weekend Edition
Laura is, at least outwardly, the quintessence of a musician’s...
Laura is the president of The Productivity Pro®, Inc. an international consulting firm in Denver, Colorado that specializes in productivity improvement
Laura is masseuse to the Emmanuelle
Laura is Mae Jordan, photographer sent to Africa for a photo-shoot

SERENITY NOW

2005-10-04T15:03:00.000-04:00

This tranquil picture is for all of you who are having a less-than-serene week (I know... it's only Tuesday!) Go to your happy place. Things have to get better... they HAVE TO.

The job change I'm looking towards will (God willing) start January 1. The catch? My pay would stay the same for the first 6-month probationary period, then jump some after satisfactory review. Things should be settled by the end of October: (1) whether I get to change job descriptions, (2) the money, (3) WHERE I would be housed. I feel like poor Keiko after "Free Willy"... It was obvious he wasn't happy in Mexico, but they knew it would be nearly impossible to do a thorough integration into a pod from the homelands. The whale without a country. That's me. If I had a dorsal fin it would be listing oddly to one side and I would have fish breath. I just keep telling myself that things could be a hell of a lot worse, and that for every ebb tide there's a corresponding high tide not far behind.

Ever have one of those days?

2005-09-30T20:00:00.000-04:00

WTF (White Trash Friday)
This is me 'n my youngin' -- Bobo. Note the family resemblance :-)

TITLE: "This bud's for you!"
(ain't he a cute lil' thang?? takes after his daddy)

Sometimes you're the infant
Sometimes you're nothing but an udder fool.
The land of milk and honey is fine
if you like the company of cows and bees.
Laugh, and the world laughs with you
Tweak my neeps, and I'll knock you into next week.