I'm going to search my soul, bond with nature and ponder life. I'll be back in a few.
CAN'T BE TWO PLACES AT ONCE
Well, I suppose I could, if I were this guy, who writes in three places at once, but I'm not there yet.
So you guys are going to have to click on over to WE THE PEOPLE to get Key's Issue (bullshit opinion) of the day. If you haven't checked out this brand new site, it's time to do so anyway, and I'm not just saying that because I'm one of the authors...seriously...
I think that Brain and Bro had a great idea in creating this forum.
AS SEEN ON THE MORNING NEWS
So the guy dresses as the mascot, and his girlfriend is selected out of the crowd for a "contest." She's blindfolded, and if she manages to find the mascot, she wins a couple of free tickets.
When she finds him, the humungo, goofy-looking head is removed to reveal her boyfriend. He then lowers himself onto one knee and proposes in front of the crowd and the cameras.
Her reaction? Sheer terror. She not only refuses, but she shrieks and RUNS from the scene....the whole memory of her departure captured by professional cameras, to be broadcast at will.
Okay, so it was funny. Kinda. (...her reaction, not his gesture.)
It was more disturbing. Come on, guys. How can this happen? If she doesn't heavily hint that she wants a proposal, she doesn't want one. You're just buying her dinner until the next guy comes along.
And the girl! Could she not lie, for maybe five minutes? Ladies, you don't have to marry him, but unless you hate every fiber of his being, why humiliate the hell out of him? If he has the courage/stupidity/ego/romantic streak to ask in a public place, why not smile, tear up, nod your head, and hug him? Is that so much to ask?
Later that night, or the next day, when the moment has passed, give him back the ring, and explain that, although you had been caught up in the moment, you'd been doing a lot of thinking and....blah, blah...it's over...or tell him he was a moron to ask...whatever--at least he's not suffering rejection in front of friends, family, a crowded restaurant, ballpark, or everyone in TV land.
This is a simple concept. I may be genuine, blunt even; if you wonder what I'm thinking, you won't wonder long. But there's something to be said for exercising a little tact. I'm all for good-natured abuse, but I wouldn't dream of picking a fight with my spouse in front of friends or punishing my child in public.
Respect the ego. Spare those you love from unnecessary embarrassment.
I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS...
Finally. Can I relax now? I've invested too many hours and too much stress in that stubborn man. IMHO, it takes a special friend to call up a pal (who's presumably losing their grasp on reality) and mercilessly kick their butt. I only hope that he sees it that way...(even if he is leaving me "bite me" comments.)
Nice to have you back, Rob. Very much a relief. Now, let's see if you can improve blogworld morale, which has been very much in the toilet. (Again, my humble opinion...)
I'm not a HUGE Sex in the City fan, but I caught a few minutes of it last night. This will not be word for word, as I'm going from memory, but this is what I remember of Carrie's goodbye speech to her French lover:
"...let me tell you who I am and what I want. I want love. Inconvenient, ridiculous, all-consuming, can't-live-without-each-other love. And I'm not getting that here, in this room, with you..."
Okay die-hard fans, was I close? I think that we can divide all of civilization into three groups: those who are searching for it, those who are hiding from it, and those who have found it and struggle daily against the forces of it.
I like the choice of words. Ridiculous? That goes without saying. Inconvenient? Yeah, a little. All-consuming? All too often.
Pain in the ass. She forgot PAIN IN MY FRIGGIN ASS!
It's amazing, the power that this single emotion exudes, and the lengths we'll go through to harness it. ...or maintain it, ignore it, kill it, create it, it can't be done. The laws of matter apply. It can be altered, but not created or destroyed.
(I think this should have been my Valentine's Day post...)
I GOT A PRESENT!
NA, NA, NA-NA-NA!
I stopped by the house about an hour ago and discovered it. Opening the medium sized box from UPS revealed another medium sized box wrapped in red paper with tons of ribbons. (Very nice--I'm thinking definitely female-wrapped...)
It's a lovely T-shirt from the islands, courtesy my buddy Sam! I'm assuming that it's a thank you gift for babysitting his blog while he was out of town, in which case, I'm NOT worthy. I didn't do the multiple postings per day as he does, nor do I do the daily reading that he does in order to stay so informed.
...so maybe I've had a bad case of the blah-sies.
But what better to cheer me up than a beautifully wrapped gift from a friend whom I've never even officially "met"?
For those of you who don't know, Sam was one of the first inhabitants of blogworld to reach out to me, so he's been an incredibly loyal blog-darling since day one... Thanks Sam!
"SURPRISE! YOU'RE DEAD!
Ha ha-ha-ha! open your eyes!
See the world as it used to be, when you used to be in it!"
Thanks, Faith No More, I couldn't have said it better myself!
ON SECOND THOUGHT
For about a millisecond, I considered posting this immature revelation on We The People, since it is political in nature. But I figure that given the intellect and research skills of dese paticalla blogfaddas, I'd better put a little more thought into it than that, lest I become the class clown, a Pinky to offset the Brain, so to speak. (Naturally, I'm assuming that I'll be allowed to goof off from time to time...)
I do have a few ideas, and areas that attract debate are becoming ever clearer. Many of you didn't want to touch my "clarification" post, but a few did, and the debate lingers.
I'M SICK AND I'M STUBBORN
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT?
I always go to the doctor. I decided this time I wouldn't. I want to see if I can get well WITHOUT taking bacteria teasing, yeast breeding medication.
So far, so good. I've produced a colorful array of mucous, and all I've lost is some sleep, the ability to think clearly (through the haze of self-medication), and my voice. Oh yeah, it's gone COMPLETELY. I'm reduced to a whisper.
I asked for that one. I knew it was going; I was beyond raspy. So what did I do? I attended (co-coached) my daughter's basketball game with Hubby (coach), and YELLED as far as my hoarse voice would carry.
Those girls needed encouragement. It was a tournament game, and they played their asses off. We only have 2 subs, and we had two who didn't make it, meaning the five girls who showed played nonstop. We used all of our time-outs just so that they would have an opportunity to catch their breath.
The other team? Ten players. Five subs. Great. We were up 10 to 4 at the half, but they were just worn out after that, and the other team wasn't. We ended up just missing placing on Saturday when the other team scored twice in the last minute, bringing the score to 12 - 10, them.
That sucked. Our girls had progressed to the point that I was hoping that they could beat this cocky, undefeated team.
We showered our girls with praise. They played their hearts out. They were just dog tired by the fourth quarter.
...And my voice was gone by the fourth quarter, so I whispered to each and every one of them that as far as I was concerned, they had won that game.
MY REIGN IS NEARING AN END
Sam is due to return today (after an eight day escape on a tropical island), meaning the frequent and insightful posts will shortly be reappearing on his site.
So you guys head over to The Brier Patch and give Sam some WELCOME HOME hits!
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!
"Whoever said 'nothing hurts like love,' obviously never dropped a hotdog."
A STRAY THOUGHT
I met Dave one day when I followed a link about Rand. The topic that day was discussing potential cast members for Atlas Shrugged.
I just have to add this... Eric Stolz is a perfect Rand character. I've thought so for years. I see him here, and that's all well and good. But I wouldn't mind seeing him with shaggy orange hair, playing Roark.
(But he's no Galt. I'm still pondering that one.)
I CAN'T SPELL ANYMORE!
The more that I write, the worse it gets. Details, such as spelling, are left entirely up to spellcheck, the squigly line in Word and dictionary.com. I've become dependent upon my computer.
Why the drama? Well, naturally, I've always taken pride in such abilities. And, recently, I find myself pausing mid-sentence because I seem to have forgotten how to throw the appropriate prefix on a word.
I don't think that I'm the only one who has noticed this phenomenon. Check this out. I have every intention of watching this, and laughing my ass off at these celebrities as they struggle to get through it without the aid of a laptop, and with minimal embarrassment.
Yes, I'll be laughing, and I'll be grateful that it's not my ass.
Hell no! No nanny healthcare for me, thank you. I'll just paying through the nose, if you don't mind.
We're shopping policies. (Am I going to get spammed for spilling that information?) We need it for our family, plus we offer it as a benefit to our one and only employee and her family. Our rates just went up 20%. $1600 per month for two families. That's why we're shopping.
So the guy walks in to the office around ten this morning, fully expecting to deliver his song and dance, collect signatures and exit the premises with plenty of time to spare before his lunch engagement.
What really happened? His song was interrupted, his dance thwarted, relevant details extracted, weaknesses exposed, signatures uncollected, and he didn't get out of here until 12:30, although he stood with his coat on for a good twenty minutes beforehand, as he inched his way toward the door.
Hey, what's up with that? Who begged whom for the interview here?
I must be going soft. About an hour into it, I eased up on the interrogation as he began fidgeting, fumbling through the manual, and otherwise showing signs of defeat.
Besides, slowly, but surely, terms like "per incident deductibles" began making some sense. Although, I must say, he needs to work on the delivery of this one.
What does it matter anyway? The truth of the matter is, I'll pay a huge premium, I'll pay a huge deductible, and they'll pay for crap.
(Those of you who have sweet coverage through your humungo corporation, feel spoiled. Feel very, very spoiled.)
The truth is that I like this guy. Otherwise, I would have been totally disinterested, and he would have gotten away much earlier.
Insurance. Necessary evil. Where do I sign?
You know those folks who protest AGAINST people choosing life or death for GUILTY scumbags in prison?
You know those folks who protest FOR people choosing life or death for INNOCENT children in utero?
These are the same people, are they not?
Uh-huh. I'm sure that this comparison has been made before, yet, still they wonder why we call them freaks.
If you're willing to let an innocent child die, you should be willing to let a convicted felon die. It really is that simple.
...ONE MORE THING
If you get bored with my light posting this week, visit me over at my cyber-darling's fine abode. I'm hanging out some over there while he's basking in the Carribean sun.
WHAT A WEEKEND!
No, I did not watch the grammies. I caught the highlights this morning on Fox. Did I miss anything of significance?
No, I have not returned your e-mails, but I appreciate them greatly, and I will catch up in the morning.
No, I did NOT clean my house. It looks like a yard sale puked in my guest bedroom.
DFCS called on Friday. A foster home in Hall county was overloaded. Could I take two kids?
Sure. Why not? I don't have a place to put them, but that's never stopped me before. My child is seven. These are three and five. ...And, OH, have I forgotten what it's like to have three year old!
This child is a mess. Imagine a three year old Rosie O' Donnell. In appearance (bless her heart), and personality. The latter isn't an insult. Whatever negative opinion you may have of the woman, you must admit that she was likely an entertaining kid.
This kid is funny. She scrunches up her face, rolls her eyes, and giggles in delight while engaging in practically any conversation. She thoroughly enjoys all eyes on her. This morning she belched twice at the table. When my husband asked her if she burped at the table, without even covering her mouth, she nodded proudly. "Twice!" she informed him.
Ah, yes, it's all coming back to me. The most difficult part of this set-up is the transitioning. Well, in foster care, it never ends. It's difficult on us, difficult on them.
People, listen to Key. When you have kids, your party and thug life is over. You need to be a grown-up now. You don't want to be a grown-up? Don't have kids! You already have kids, but you still don't want to be a grown-up? Do us all a favor, walk into your local DFCS office and sign over your rights. That will save taxpayers two years worth panel reviews, case plans and court dates. And it will save the children the pain of being shifted from home to home, while you're being indecisive about whether or not you'd like to resume parenting your child.
I know, I'm preaching to the choir. I doubt I'm getting beaucoup readers from inside prison walls. Still, I must vent.
I already knew that I shared the planet with human filth. That wasn't a surprise. Geoff discusses the filth quite well; I'll be taking another angle.
The video was my shocker. The girl didn't fight. Yes, I know she was scared. Yes, I know she was threatened. She should have been prepared for that day.
He didn't want to kill her THERE, at that car wash. That wasn't the plan. The plan was to haul her off. She aided him in the facilitation of this plan. She didn't know any better.
He should have been faced with the decision of killing her there, dragging her off kicking and screaming, or backing off, his plan foiled.
My daughter is seven. From the first time she "hid" from me in a department store at the age of three, I have put the fear of God into that girl. "Bad people will take you if you're not with me," I said firmly.
I scared the shit out of her, and I'm going to do it again tonight when I talk to her about this little girl. I can not tell you how many times I've grabbed her arm and told her to fight me off. She knows to scream, "STRANGER" rather than generic piercing screams that could be perceived as a temper tantrum.
I don't care if he has a gun, a knife, or really strong arms. If I see footage like that again, of my child or anyone else's, I hope to see a fight. I don't know if the guy had a gun, and, admittedly, I know very little about guns, but I'm going to assume that the creep knows better than to use it in public for one. And my second assumption is that it's a lot more difficult to hit a moving target than one that you have tied up in your basement, or car, or whatever the sick fuck did with her before he killed her.
I'll cut this short, because I feel that between the fury and the caffeine this morning, I'm lacking a little cohesion. Simply, I am outraged. That girl should be alive today.
WASN'T THERE SOME SORT OF MOVIE ABOUT A GUY WHO WAS DEAD, BUT DIDN'T KNOW IT UNTIL THE VERY END?
OH, FOR THE LOVE OF...
Can't we find some eye candy for a Bond film who actually has a clue about acting? Denise may be beautiful, but she sucked. Britney may be hot, but I doubt seriously that her acting skills will be any more impressive. Bring back Halle!
Don't. Please don't subject me to the torture of watching Bond hook up with Britney Spears. Do I need to explain why that's yucky?
Yeah, I do think it's yucky that many of you men of the "over the hill" variety fantasize about the girl. But you do. It's in your head, but I DON'T HAVE TO SEE IT! Don't want to. I'd rather believe that if you had your choice of Hollywood babes, you go with someone who has a little more maturity and intrigue to offer. Okay, that's MY fantasy. But, it allows me to think better of you.
Well, Bond IS that fantasy. He is a refined character who likes beauty, brains, and intrigue. I like him with Halle or Kim or any of the previous Bond babes. Denise and Britney? No. Doesn't fit.
OH! PARDON ME, DID I DO THAT?
SCIENTIST SAYS SORRY
"Pakistan's top nuclear weapons scientist yesterday appeared on television to beg the nation's forgiveness for handing atomic secrets to the world's most radical anti-Western states." Source: telegraph
Oh, is that all? Don't sweat it...We like psychos with atom bombs. It's an adrenalin rush like no other.
The fog is lifting. Posts still suck, but I'm trying to get back into the swing of things. I think I visited a dozen or so of you today.
I posted another original today by Young Dave---who, by the way, sorta resembles a younger, blonder, better-looking Clark, although he's likely gagging at the comparison---then I buried it with my various ramblings. So, you'll have to scroll for it.
Speaking of gagging, my previous Clark post has big bro doing just that. I think he'd rather see me "switch teams" literally.
In other news, for those of you who have considered an at-home sex-change operation, you may want to RE-consider.
IF YOU HAD TO DO A DEMOCRAT...
(SWITCHING TEAMS, SO TO SPEAK)
So, who would it be? Come on. If you HAD to.
I'm going with Clark. Yeah, he'd have to shut up, but he's the most "do-able" candidate. It wasn't enough to pull me over to the other side politically, but it made his speeches more bearable. (Hey, I gotta "mute" button.)
He's called the "pretty boy." I guess I sort of see that. But it's really more a matter of being seduceable. The man seems seduceable.
One could argue that any man is "seduceable," but their definition would differ slightly from mine. When I use the term, I mean that I think I could have a grand 'ol time seducing that person. I'm assuming that that person has the right combination of physical attractiveness, charm and responsiveness to make the endeavor enjoyable. Okay, sex appeal.
So, if I had to do a democrat, he's my pick. I think we could make beautiful moderates together.
(No, not really. It just sounded good. Naturally, my opinions would win out in the end.)
CALL ME MRS. PRESIDENT
OKAY, MAYBE NOT NOW, BUT SOMEDAY...
Of course, my blog would be exposed, my quotes twisted, and the video of me toking on a six foot bong in college would surface.
So, it's a fantasy anyway. Bear with me.
We'd have an a la carte system. You'd pay for the services that you wanted to use:
Everyone would have I.D.s, but you wouldn't get a driver's license unless you'd opted to pay the transportation tax.
You'd pay for education if you had kids, or opt out and send them to private school. You'd pay social security if you didn't trust yourself to squirrel away on your own. And if you had a lazy assed family member who wouldn't work, you'd pay for their bum ass or throw them into the street, because although charity can be a beautiful thing, it should not be mandated.
Everyone would pay toward defense and law enforcement. Protecting the country should be important to you, or you should get out.
As long as I'm in my dreamworld, I'd like to say that abortion is not a political issue. However, if you kill a viable child in my world, you will be tried for murder.
We'd have freedom of religion. Don't we already have that, you ask... Yeah, I guess so. But I mean the kind of freedom where my religion isn't discriminated against, even if it is the old and boring, tried and true, traditional version.
Oh, and one of my first orders of business would be to revoke the law that requires all politicians to be castrated. Any attempt to rise above this requirement in the past has resulted in name-calling. Apparently, "cowboys" are more intact than the average politician.
So, it's an over-simplified and boring rant, beautiful though, is it not? I have more interesting dreams, but I'm not sharing them, not today anyway. Oh, and this one was a ten minute's RUSH worth of an opinion. I have more where that came from, but your future president has a family SCREAMING for dinner...
THE ACT THAT SHOULD HAVE IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWED JANET'S ON SUNDAY
(For maximum effect, you'll want to go ahead and get the chorus of Paradise City stuck in your head.)
Playback City (with a nod to Slash and Axl)
Another parody by Young Dave
"Got my Tivo on, dude it's playback city!
'Cause I think I just saw Janet Jackson's titty!
Hey, that's aureola, yeah yeah.
"Hold it! Stop right there, man I'm not Frank Nitty.
But I know that that's Janet Jackson's titty.
Hey, that's aureola, yeah yeah.
"Hit the zoom again. Wait, man, that's too gritty.
'You don't wanna mess up Janet Jackson's titty.
Hey, that's aureola, yeah yeah.
"Justin Timberlake as a singer's shitty.
Till he went and grabbed Janet Jackson's titty!
Hey, that's aureola, yeah yeah.
"See that medallion thing? Dude, it's kinda pretty.
But I'll bet it hurt Janet Jackson's titty!
Hey, that's aureola, yeah yeah.
"Oh, she covered it up, man, now that's a pity.
'Cause I sure do like Janet Jackson's titty!
Hey, that's aureola, yeah yeah."
SHE CRACKS ME UP:
"Ten Things Rosie O'Donnell Would Have Bribed Martha Stewart's Prosecutors With Had She Not Eaten Them First..."
Here's the list.
I LOVE SEX AND....FOOTBALL
I cannot believe that a poor match in talent, revealing a boob with a cowboy spur on it, stole the show. Jeez, that was a GOOD game.
I would just like to say that I, personally, was well-behaved during the Super Bowl. I only cussed the refs once, and that's only because, after the call was challenged, they should have plainly seen that THAT WAS NOT A FIRST DOWN! But I behaved otherwise. I did not become intoxicated. I did not take off all of my clothes. In fact, I patiently waited until the game was over before hitting the old man up for a little action. It went something like this:
ME: (In the bathroom brushing my teeth, trying to decide if that was a good time to pluck the brows.)
HIM: What are you doing in there? Come back in here.
ME: Why? Am I gonna get a piece of ass?
HIM: No, I want you to scratch my back.
Me: (Pick up the tweezers; begin plucking the brows.)
I'm getting too old for cat and mouse. I want, I ask. Maybe I should put a little more effort into the seduction seen. But is that not what was going on when we were watching football together?
I'm new to this. Not since the first day that I set up this blog have I stared at such length at an empty page. I was enjoying myself here.
My husband and I have restructured the business that we own. I am now the office manager. In corporate world, everyone works within a department, specializing in one or two areas.
No such luck. Not anymore. I am all of the departments. My available time is going to be sucked into a small business vacuum for a while. (These changes are actually a good thing.)
I do not think that this will adversely affect the blog, however, because as long as I enjoy it, I will make time for it.
I just haven't felt particularly sociable lately. I haven't abandoned my blogroll; I've just been lurking.
I have many worlds. This is one. Friendship is one. Career is one. Love is one. Parenting is one. Community is one. One world is always falling apart. It must be. This is the chaos to which I've become accustomed.
I would become impossibly arrogant if I managed to sail through life seamlessly. I'm not kidding. I know this about myself. My attitude is more than healthy at times.
Having said that, I am currently humbled. I have varying levels of instability in all of my worlds, and it's more drama than I care to "swallow," so I'm currently "spitting."
I am now reminded of the need that we all have from time to time to step back and gain a little perspective.
Having said that, I'm off. My daughter has basketball practice. My husband is her coach. I should be there.