Putting it out there to the Universe
My little family of 3 is looking for a specialty kitten. Somewhere in or near St. Louis, there is a pregnant cat in a happy home. She is not feral, and has both people and other cats to keep her company. Her family is willing to have prospective kitten owners visit a few times while the kittens are growing. Her family will also understand that we want to wait a few months before having the kitten spayed or neutered.
Does that sound like a big request?
Here's the background. Yellow Kitty (deceased) became lonely when we moved from my mom's house into our own house. He had gotten used to having Lady to groom and play with. So we rescued Friday from the APA. How could we not, really? She was beautiful and playful and needed a home, or they would put her to sleep. It being just after Halloween, nobody wanted a black cat. Friday and Yellow Kitty got along great, but there were some problems. Friday was a feral kitten, and has trouble bonding with people. She just didn't get enough contact as a kitten. Also, she was spayed at 8 weeks. I think that was too early. I believe a cat can be spayed at 3 months, but no sooner. My Gods, let them grow a bit!
Anyway, it's been a few months since Friday became an only cat, and she needs a friend. We don't want another feral cat. We want one that likes people. When we had other cats in the house, Friday would snuggle with us more often. It was almost as if she saw how the other cats behaved, and thought maybe she should cuddle too.
Sunday, November 30, 2003
Friday, November 28, 2003
Look, I'm sorry, alright?
I'm sorry for the nuisance, but I just have to blog about this. Bush has Thanksgiving dinner in Iraq. Is he perhaps thankful for their sacrifices? Or was he just looking for some good PR?
Note the info on the side bar. Bush went to Iraq, Senator Clinton went to Afghanistan, and the troops in Bosnia ate alone.
Most of the 1,500 "US Peacekeepers" are from the Minnesota National Guard.
And here I was thinking that the National Guard was designed to guard our nation.
I'm sorry for the nuisance, but I just have to blog about this. Bush has Thanksgiving dinner in Iraq. Is he perhaps thankful for their sacrifices? Or was he just looking for some good PR?
Note the info on the side bar. Bush went to Iraq, Senator Clinton went to Afghanistan, and the troops in Bosnia ate alone.
Most of the 1,500 "US Peacekeepers" are from the Minnesota National Guard.
And here I was thinking that the National Guard was designed to guard our nation.
The Post-Thanksgiving Trip To WalMart
I'd love to tell a story about fighting off hordes of middle class housewives to get to the last Nintendo Gamecube. I'd like to share how I beat them off of my cart with a display Christmas tree. I want to explain how I put the truck in 4 wheel drive and drove over the grassy knoll, because the lot was so full, people were parking in the lanes too.
Sadly, none of that happened.
I slept 'til 9 o'clock. I took time out for coffee. I stared out the window at the cold grey sky, and meditated. Then I was ready to face the mob.
I put on some (gasp) make-up. For some reason, you get noticed more easily with make-up on. Since I'm only 5'4", I need all the help I can get. Red hair not withstanding, I just don't stand out in a shopping crowd. As I was applying mascara, I called to L; asking if he wanted to come with. I was expecting an eyeball rolling "no", but he jumped at the chance. So off we went to WalMart.
On the way, I guided him in a shielding meditation. I get bad in shopping crowds, too much bitterness and desperation around me. L gets worse. He hasn't had the years of practice I've had. So I taught him the mirror shield. It's a good, basic shielding technique. You surround yourself with mirrors facing outward. When dealing with crowds, you put an extra layer of mirrors around your head.
So, shields in place, we turned into the parking lot... and saw plenty of parking. "Bonus!" I thought. We drove down by the garden entrance, pulled into a parking space, and went inside. It was a copper top kinda day, At the door, we crossed paths with a pair of redheaded twines (purposeful misspelling -pervs B gone!) and their mom, also displaying the melacortin 1 gene. I spied at least 5 other naturals. Ahhh, it's good to have company. Enough about the redhead cluster phenomenon, though. On to the shopping!
The store was crowded, but not as crowded as the day after Christmas. We rushed to the electronics department. We couldn't get down the games aisle, it was packed. But that was ok. We had Matt, the WalMart guy to do our work for us. Because we had arrived so late, they were sold out of the Game Cubes. But that was ok. Matt had noticed one, and only one, sitting in the returns cart. He fetched it for us with a smile.
That's right. My son got the last Game Cube in the store! Muahahahaha. I didn't even need to hit anyone.
From there we hit the center aisle, snagged the Lion King Platinum Edition for $11, and breezed on down to the sports department. I tossed a bow and arrow set into the cart, saying, "My cousin will love this," so that L wouldn't know it was really for him. Then we were back in the garden department. We grabbed the 6 foot fiber optic Christmas tree that L had been lusting over, and threw in some wrapping paper and tape for good measure. Every checkout lane was open, and there was no waiting.
Total shopping time: 25 minutes.
Total amount spent: $180 (the game cube wasn't the kind that was on sale, oh well.)
Buying everything on your list without killing anyone: priceless!
I'd love to tell a story about fighting off hordes of middle class housewives to get to the last Nintendo Gamecube. I'd like to share how I beat them off of my cart with a display Christmas tree. I want to explain how I put the truck in 4 wheel drive and drove over the grassy knoll, because the lot was so full, people were parking in the lanes too.
Sadly, none of that happened.
I slept 'til 9 o'clock. I took time out for coffee. I stared out the window at the cold grey sky, and meditated. Then I was ready to face the mob.
I put on some (gasp) make-up. For some reason, you get noticed more easily with make-up on. Since I'm only 5'4", I need all the help I can get. Red hair not withstanding, I just don't stand out in a shopping crowd. As I was applying mascara, I called to L; asking if he wanted to come with. I was expecting an eyeball rolling "no", but he jumped at the chance. So off we went to WalMart.
On the way, I guided him in a shielding meditation. I get bad in shopping crowds, too much bitterness and desperation around me. L gets worse. He hasn't had the years of practice I've had. So I taught him the mirror shield. It's a good, basic shielding technique. You surround yourself with mirrors facing outward. When dealing with crowds, you put an extra layer of mirrors around your head.
So, shields in place, we turned into the parking lot... and saw plenty of parking. "Bonus!" I thought. We drove down by the garden entrance, pulled into a parking space, and went inside. It was a copper top kinda day, At the door, we crossed paths with a pair of redheaded twines (purposeful misspelling -pervs B gone!) and their mom, also displaying the melacortin 1 gene. I spied at least 5 other naturals. Ahhh, it's good to have company. Enough about the redhead cluster phenomenon, though. On to the shopping!
The store was crowded, but not as crowded as the day after Christmas. We rushed to the electronics department. We couldn't get down the games aisle, it was packed. But that was ok. We had Matt, the WalMart guy to do our work for us. Because we had arrived so late, they were sold out of the Game Cubes. But that was ok. Matt had noticed one, and only one, sitting in the returns cart. He fetched it for us with a smile.
That's right. My son got the last Game Cube in the store! Muahahahaha. I didn't even need to hit anyone.
From there we hit the center aisle, snagged the Lion King Platinum Edition for $11, and breezed on down to the sports department. I tossed a bow and arrow set into the cart, saying, "My cousin will love this," so that L wouldn't know it was really for him. Then we were back in the garden department. We grabbed the 6 foot fiber optic Christmas tree that L had been lusting over, and threw in some wrapping paper and tape for good measure. Every checkout lane was open, and there was no waiting.
Total shopping time: 25 minutes.
Total amount spent: $180 (the game cube wasn't the kind that was on sale, oh well.)
Buying everything on your list without killing anyone: priceless!
Thursday, November 27, 2003
Happy Thanksgiving
My son should be a stealth bomber when he grows up. I've actually begun to think of him as "The Stealth Bomber" on mornings like this. See, what he does is "stealthily" open his bedroom door and "stealthily" creep into the hallway and "stealthily" hover by my bedroom door, waiting for me to wake. Of course, it doesn't work that way in reality.
What really happens is I wake up because I feel my son pressing on my mind. I was sleeping, my shields are not in place, and he's my son; so I'm aware of every little nuance of L-ness outside of his room.
The second he heads for his door, I can feel him testing if I'm awake. It starts as a light pressure in my head. By the time he's made it to the hallway, it's grown to a full-blown invasion of my senses. I can feel him breathing. I pick up little snatches of thought. "...quiet...I want... it's important... important enough?... shhh... I really do need..."
If I ignore all that and feign sleep, he begins making real noise. He will say what he wants aloud, but so quietly I can't catch it. What I hear is mumble mumble mumble, followed by an expectant pause. He will shift his feet, sit down in the hall with a sigh, knock quietly on the bedroom door, and poke his head in my room.
I always love that one, because by then, I'm waiting for it. His peek into the room is met by my staring eyes. This particular morning he needed to play Sim City, and it didn't auto-install so he was stuck. Gods, I love my son.
My son should be a stealth bomber when he grows up. I've actually begun to think of him as "The Stealth Bomber" on mornings like this. See, what he does is "stealthily" open his bedroom door and "stealthily" creep into the hallway and "stealthily" hover by my bedroom door, waiting for me to wake. Of course, it doesn't work that way in reality.
What really happens is I wake up because I feel my son pressing on my mind. I was sleeping, my shields are not in place, and he's my son; so I'm aware of every little nuance of L-ness outside of his room.
The second he heads for his door, I can feel him testing if I'm awake. It starts as a light pressure in my head. By the time he's made it to the hallway, it's grown to a full-blown invasion of my senses. I can feel him breathing. I pick up little snatches of thought. "...quiet...I want... it's important... important enough?... shhh... I really do need..."
If I ignore all that and feign sleep, he begins making real noise. He will say what he wants aloud, but so quietly I can't catch it. What I hear is mumble mumble mumble, followed by an expectant pause. He will shift his feet, sit down in the hall with a sigh, knock quietly on the bedroom door, and poke his head in my room.
I always love that one, because by then, I'm waiting for it. His peek into the room is met by my staring eyes. This particular morning he needed to play Sim City, and it didn't auto-install so he was stuck. Gods, I love my son.
It is proving to be an interesting morning
Last night I set the alarm for too-early-on-a-vacation-day, and put myself to sleep with visions of stuffing dancing in my head.
This morning, I woke before the alarm. I woke because my son used the bathroom. No biggie, I think. It's only 15 minutes 'til the alarm goes off. He was just my pre alarm. I lounged in bed until the alarm went off, and even hit the snooze button. I was living on the hopeful side.
I switched the alarm off a few minutes later, got out of bed, and realized my hubby was trying to wake himself too. I petted his back and told him he didn't have to get up. After all, it only takes one person to prep a turkey, and the rest of the cooking would be done later in the day. to tell you the truth, I was really looking forward to doing the whole Thanksgiving dinner myself.
So, I installed Sim City on my son's computer and fetched the turkey from the downstairs refrigerator. 5 days ago, I had set the bird on an empty pizza box in the fridge. There was a method to this madness. If the turkey bag had a hole in it, the pizza box would absorb any juice that might leak out. This would save me endless cleaning troubles. I was being prepared, you see.
The bag was hole-less, and the pizza box was nice and stiff instead of soggy and pink. Woo Hoo, I thought. For once, I'm going to have a mess free thanksgiving morning! But when I pulled the turkey out, the bag caught on the pizza box somehow, and tore a tiny little hole. I found that I had cold pink juice pouring on the floor.
I plugged the leak with my finger, rushed the bird upstairs (while trying not to trip over my skirt) and dumped it in the sink. Then I cleaned up the mess. You would think the Honeysuckle company would use sturdier bags.
Actually, they do use sturdy bags. I had a tough time cutting the rest of the bag, although that may have had something to do with trying to cut the bag, but not the bird. Meanwhile, the cat is prowling under my feet, meowing and looking hopeful. She does this whenever I have meat around. I always throw her a scrap or two, and she always sniffs it and tries to bury it. But if I toss it far enough away from my prep space, I don't have to worry about stepping on her.
I decided I'd offer Friday the liver. She might really like it. I gave her some chicken liver once, and not only did she eat it; she licked the floor afterwards. I opened the giblets bag, and there was no turkey liver. (sigh) I offered Friday the kidneys on a plate instead. She sniffed the plate and reached out her paw to bury the kidneys, so I snatched the plate away from her.
Meanwhile, some buttwipe is squealing his tires through the neighborhood. At 9 o'clock in the morning.
So the turkey is in the oven, the giblets are simmering their way to broth land, and I have a good half hour to blog before decorating the dining room table. I'm blogging away when Hubby's cell phone rings. One of the servers is down. He'll have to go in to work and fix it. I can imagine him harvesting bits from less important computers as I type. My poor hubby.
Yes, I believe this will be an interesting day.
Last night I set the alarm for too-early-on-a-vacation-day, and put myself to sleep with visions of stuffing dancing in my head.
This morning, I woke before the alarm. I woke because my son used the bathroom. No biggie, I think. It's only 15 minutes 'til the alarm goes off. He was just my pre alarm. I lounged in bed until the alarm went off, and even hit the snooze button. I was living on the hopeful side.
I switched the alarm off a few minutes later, got out of bed, and realized my hubby was trying to wake himself too. I petted his back and told him he didn't have to get up. After all, it only takes one person to prep a turkey, and the rest of the cooking would be done later in the day. to tell you the truth, I was really looking forward to doing the whole Thanksgiving dinner myself.
So, I installed Sim City on my son's computer and fetched the turkey from the downstairs refrigerator. 5 days ago, I had set the bird on an empty pizza box in the fridge. There was a method to this madness. If the turkey bag had a hole in it, the pizza box would absorb any juice that might leak out. This would save me endless cleaning troubles. I was being prepared, you see.
The bag was hole-less, and the pizza box was nice and stiff instead of soggy and pink. Woo Hoo, I thought. For once, I'm going to have a mess free thanksgiving morning! But when I pulled the turkey out, the bag caught on the pizza box somehow, and tore a tiny little hole. I found that I had cold pink juice pouring on the floor.
I plugged the leak with my finger, rushed the bird upstairs (while trying not to trip over my skirt) and dumped it in the sink. Then I cleaned up the mess. You would think the Honeysuckle company would use sturdier bags.
Actually, they do use sturdy bags. I had a tough time cutting the rest of the bag, although that may have had something to do with trying to cut the bag, but not the bird. Meanwhile, the cat is prowling under my feet, meowing and looking hopeful. She does this whenever I have meat around. I always throw her a scrap or two, and she always sniffs it and tries to bury it. But if I toss it far enough away from my prep space, I don't have to worry about stepping on her.
I decided I'd offer Friday the liver. She might really like it. I gave her some chicken liver once, and not only did she eat it; she licked the floor afterwards. I opened the giblets bag, and there was no turkey liver. (sigh) I offered Friday the kidneys on a plate instead. She sniffed the plate and reached out her paw to bury the kidneys, so I snatched the plate away from her.
Meanwhile, some buttwipe is squealing his tires through the neighborhood. At 9 o'clock in the morning.
So the turkey is in the oven, the giblets are simmering their way to broth land, and I have a good half hour to blog before decorating the dining room table. I'm blogging away when Hubby's cell phone rings. One of the servers is down. He'll have to go in to work and fix it. I can imagine him harvesting bits from less important computers as I type. My poor hubby.
Yes, I believe this will be an interesting day.
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
I'm a patriot, take II
I don't like George Bush. I don't like our predominantly Republican Congress. More accurately, I'm nearing a point of 'fight or flight' mentality. Other countries are looking good to me. I have awakened in the middle of the night from dreams of Bush getting re-elected. I've studied enough history to see how quickly a country can go from free to hell. All it takes is fear. Right now, Americans are afraid they will lose their jobs and be unable to find new ones. They're afraid their teenagers will be gunned down by a crazy student, teacher, sniper, or pack of ravenous wolves. They pray for the rapture to take them away. They would rather have the world end, than look at their fear.
At least, some of them would.
Some, but not all.
Some Americans face their fears, tackle them like the intruders they are. Some Americans write their congress people, sign petitions, protest, or just plain blog. There's a stealthy flow of information circulating the net, undermining the media; Thanks to an educated and inspired few.
I don't like George Bush. I don't like our predominantly Republican Congress. More accurately, I'm nearing a point of 'fight or flight' mentality. Other countries are looking good to me. I have awakened in the middle of the night from dreams of Bush getting re-elected. I've studied enough history to see how quickly a country can go from free to hell. All it takes is fear. Right now, Americans are afraid they will lose their jobs and be unable to find new ones. They're afraid their teenagers will be gunned down by a crazy student, teacher, sniper, or pack of ravenous wolves. They pray for the rapture to take them away. They would rather have the world end, than look at their fear.
At least, some of them would.
Some, but not all.
Some Americans face their fears, tackle them like the intruders they are. Some Americans write their congress people, sign petitions, protest, or just plain blog. There's a stealthy flow of information circulating the net, undermining the media; Thanks to an educated and inspired few.
An Interesting Sight
Every morning, I drive past the fire house. Every morning (unless it's raining) they have the flag up. If you can see the sun, you can see the flag. Except this morning. Today, they didn't put the flag up until I was driving home from dropping L off at school.
I turned off of Holly Hills, onto Michigan, and spotted one of our firefighters just beginning to raise the flag.
A motorist had been driving toward me. When he saw the flag being raised, he stopped dead. He sat in the middle of the street, with a slight smile on his face, watching the flag go up the pole. I noticed this as I drove past the fire house. At about the point where I was level with the other driver, it clicked. He was showing respect. And I, like a damn fool, was not. A line of cars came down Michigan, and every single one of them drove around the man watching the flag.
The flag-respecting driver didn't make anyone wrong for passing without stopping. He was doing what he wanted to do, and nobody else mattered. I thought his simple gesture was really cool.
I told the Hubby-Man about it when I got home, and he took all the magic out of it.
He said, "He must be former military." He explained that in the military, whenever the flag is raised or lowered, everyone stops.
Mystery solved, but I still think it was neat.
Every morning, I drive past the fire house. Every morning (unless it's raining) they have the flag up. If you can see the sun, you can see the flag. Except this morning. Today, they didn't put the flag up until I was driving home from dropping L off at school.
I turned off of Holly Hills, onto Michigan, and spotted one of our firefighters just beginning to raise the flag.
A motorist had been driving toward me. When he saw the flag being raised, he stopped dead. He sat in the middle of the street, with a slight smile on his face, watching the flag go up the pole. I noticed this as I drove past the fire house. At about the point where I was level with the other driver, it clicked. He was showing respect. And I, like a damn fool, was not. A line of cars came down Michigan, and every single one of them drove around the man watching the flag.
The flag-respecting driver didn't make anyone wrong for passing without stopping. He was doing what he wanted to do, and nobody else mattered. I thought his simple gesture was really cool.
I told the Hubby-Man about it when I got home, and he took all the magic out of it.
He said, "He must be former military." He explained that in the military, whenever the flag is raised or lowered, everyone stops.
Mystery solved, but I still think it was neat.
Sunday, November 23, 2003
This always happens
I stop reading the news for a few days, and newsworthy stuff happens.
The 4th amendment guarantees us the right to be secure in our persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures. Warrants shall only be issued upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and the warrant must particularly describe the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.
As if that weren't enough, the 5th amendment covers that again with, "No person shall be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law."
So WHY did a joint House-Senate conference committee approve a provision in the 2004 Intelligence Authorization bill that will permit the Federal Bureau of Investigation to demand records from a number of businesses--without the approval of a judge or grand jury--if it deems them relevant to a counter-terrorism investigation?
Do they think our Supreme Court is underworked? Do our congressmen not understand the constitution? It's not like it's a large document. You can breeze through it in less than an hour. It's not like a proper warrant is difficult to obtain, either.
The provision is absolute rubbish. Our congresspeople should not waste their time on it.
I stop reading the news for a few days, and newsworthy stuff happens.
The 4th amendment guarantees us the right to be secure in our persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures. Warrants shall only be issued upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and the warrant must particularly describe the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.
As if that weren't enough, the 5th amendment covers that again with, "No person shall be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law."
So WHY did a joint House-Senate conference committee approve a provision in the 2004 Intelligence Authorization bill that will permit the Federal Bureau of Investigation to demand records from a number of businesses--without the approval of a judge or grand jury--if it deems them relevant to a counter-terrorism investigation?
Do they think our Supreme Court is underworked? Do our congressmen not understand the constitution? It's not like it's a large document. You can breeze through it in less than an hour. It's not like a proper warrant is difficult to obtain, either.
The provision is absolute rubbish. Our congresspeople should not waste their time on it.
Saturday, November 22, 2003
a Bit of Writers Block
I'm in the middle of writing the tale of how my sister's hand got caught in an escalator, and I keep getting distracted. I wrote out the first block last night, and it flowed beautifully out of my fingertips. It was getting late, so I stopped after writing about the nurse pouring iodine on my sister's hand. It seemed like a good place to take a break. I had a nice little cliff hanger in my drafts page. "They took my sister to the nurses office and poured iodine on her hand. I sat on a chair in the dimly lit hallway, listening to her scream."
Isn't that picturesque? Now, this morning, I was committed to finishing the tale. I played with L, had breakfast, watched some cartoons, then (finally) opened up Blogger and got to work on the happier part of the story. The part where I get a gimpse of the legal system, as we sued the store; and the part where my sister goes on to be a Physicians Assistant -with full use of her hand.
The problem is, my memory is a bit blurry about the hours after the incident. I remember the dry details, but not any of how I was feeling. I can't remember little things, like what the nurse said to my mom about the accident. Things don't start getting really clear until the moment we saw the cab pull up to take us to the hospital. The rest is just bits and snatches.
It's frustrating.
I feel like I'm cheating my readers because I can't remember every emotinal detail. I know I could make stuff up that would go well with the story. I know they would never know... but it seems so dishonest.
So here's my quandry. Do I write a good story, or do I tell it like I remember?
I'm going to have to go with the tell-it-like-I-remember side. Perhaps my readers will be interested just because it's the only place where my memory is that spotty.
I'm in the middle of writing the tale of how my sister's hand got caught in an escalator, and I keep getting distracted. I wrote out the first block last night, and it flowed beautifully out of my fingertips. It was getting late, so I stopped after writing about the nurse pouring iodine on my sister's hand. It seemed like a good place to take a break. I had a nice little cliff hanger in my drafts page. "They took my sister to the nurses office and poured iodine on her hand. I sat on a chair in the dimly lit hallway, listening to her scream."
Isn't that picturesque? Now, this morning, I was committed to finishing the tale. I played with L, had breakfast, watched some cartoons, then (finally) opened up Blogger and got to work on the happier part of the story. The part where I get a gimpse of the legal system, as we sued the store; and the part where my sister goes on to be a Physicians Assistant -with full use of her hand.
The problem is, my memory is a bit blurry about the hours after the incident. I remember the dry details, but not any of how I was feeling. I can't remember little things, like what the nurse said to my mom about the accident. Things don't start getting really clear until the moment we saw the cab pull up to take us to the hospital. The rest is just bits and snatches.
It's frustrating.
I feel like I'm cheating my readers because I can't remember every emotinal detail. I know I could make stuff up that would go well with the story. I know they would never know... but it seems so dishonest.
So here's my quandry. Do I write a good story, or do I tell it like I remember?
I'm going to have to go with the tell-it-like-I-remember side. Perhaps my readers will be interested just because it's the only place where my memory is that spotty.
Friday, November 21, 2003
This week's Friday Five
Is a toughie. I mean, listing 5 things in a category??? I'm lucky if I have 2 things I want at a time. (sigh) but I'm going to tackle it anyway. :)
1. List five things you'd like to accomplish by the end of the year.
*massage enough people to pay for L's school. That's 10 measly full body massages, done in your home, for the reasonable fee of $30 per massage. With Christmas stress leering at you, it's a bargain!
*Find a great gift for the person I'm secret santa-ing.
*Decrease my wrinkles a little bit. (can I do that without smearing stuff on my face?)
*Take my coat to the cleaners.
*Find a good Christmas tree.
2. List five people you've lost contact with that you'd like to hear from again.
Tough one, this. If I'm not talking to you, there's a reason ;)
*Nikki
*Jon
*Barry
*Blaine & Gina
*Cara in St. Charles
3. List five things you'd like to learn how to do.
Only 5? I can't do it. I want to learn almost everything.
4. List five things you'd do if you won the lottery (no limit).
*Donate to every charity that has helped me and my family.
*Build a castle
*Open a coffeehouse
*Pay off our debts
*Pay my friends' mortgages
5. List five things you do that help you relax.
*Blog
*Play games
*Read
*Meditate
*Smoke (cigarettes)
Is a toughie. I mean, listing 5 things in a category??? I'm lucky if I have 2 things I want at a time. (sigh) but I'm going to tackle it anyway. :)
1. List five things you'd like to accomplish by the end of the year.
*massage enough people to pay for L's school. That's 10 measly full body massages, done in your home, for the reasonable fee of $30 per massage. With Christmas stress leering at you, it's a bargain!
*Find a great gift for the person I'm secret santa-ing.
*Decrease my wrinkles a little bit. (can I do that without smearing stuff on my face?)
*Take my coat to the cleaners.
*Find a good Christmas tree.
2. List five people you've lost contact with that you'd like to hear from again.
Tough one, this. If I'm not talking to you, there's a reason ;)
*Nikki
*Jon
*Barry
*Blaine & Gina
*Cara in St. Charles
3. List five things you'd like to learn how to do.
Only 5? I can't do it. I want to learn almost everything.
4. List five things you'd do if you won the lottery (no limit).
*Donate to every charity that has helped me and my family.
*Build a castle
*Open a coffeehouse
*Pay off our debts
*Pay my friends' mortgages
5. List five things you do that help you relax.
*Blog
*Play games
*Read
*Meditate
*Smoke (cigarettes)
Thursday, November 20, 2003
How L acquired a snake, and the amusing results
When L was 5 or 6 years old, he wanted a pet snake. I told him he would have to buy it with his own money, but that if he did, I would buy the tank, heater and food. I had owned a snake before, but gave him away after L was born. I didn't have the free time to handle the snake and care for a newborn. So Sinbad the Western Garter Snake found a new home.
L saved his allowance, report card and b-day money, and we went to the pet store. He bought a Bananna King Snake, and promptly named him Sinbad. We had him for almost 6 months, then he escaped while we were on a camping trip. L was pretty upset about this. I'd catch him looking at the empty tank, asking God to bring his snake back... or at least keep it warm in the winter.
We replaced Sinbad II with a hamster. That lasted for nearly a year. We found it one morning (dead) with it's nose pressed against the glass, looking like it was trying just one more time to escape. We buried the hamster in the back yard, between the lavender bushes. As soon as it was warm enough, we went to the Reptile store to buy a new snake. Snakes live much longer than hamsters do. I'll probably still be caring for this snake when L goes off to college. (good thing I love reptiles)
At the Exotic Amphibian and Reptile Center, they had a cage full of eggs with a sign reading, "Hatching Now!" L went into spasms of delight. "Can we buy one, can we? Pleeeeease? Can we buy an egg and hatch it at home? Pleeeeease?"
We did not buy an egg, but L picked the egg he wanted, and every day we went back to see if it had hatched yet. (He couldn't actually remember which egg it was, but I pretended like I remembered. I'd pick an egg at random and say, "There it is!") The third day we visited, we spied an egg with a black snake nose poking out of it. L cried out, "That's him! That's my snake! he's being born right now!"
We got lucky that day, because the owner was the one behind the counter. He told my son, "As soon as he gets done hatching, I'll put him in a box for you. You can't take him home until he sheds his first skin, though. So you come back in a week and pick him up. OK?"
When we showed up a week later, there was a round plastic case with my son's name on it, waiting for us. L gave me his $24 to pay for the snake, and took the box from the guy behind the counter. L said, "You're very beautiful, and your name is Sinbad."
I asked, "What if he's a girl snake?" While trying not to laugh. The salesman said, "It's young yet, let's find out." He explained that when snakes are babies, their sex organs are easy to reach. It's much harder to identify the sex when they're adults. He took the snake out of it's enclosure and squeezed around the area they poop out of... and it's stuff popped out!
That was probably the grossest thing I'd ever seen. L and I were both fascinated. I wanted to ask the guy to do it again, but I knew snakes aren't squeeze toys, so I kept my mouth shut.
Sinbad the Third, no bigger than a nightcrawler, came home with us that day; and I promptly put 10 pounds of rocks on top of the cage. This snake wasn't getting away. 'Locking lid' my ass.
Every September I take Sinbad to the pet blessing that L's school holds out in the playground. Every year, we get swarmed with children wanting to see, but not touch, the snake. Every year, I turn a few more kids into snake lovers.
I love being a stay-home mom.
Oh, yeah. Sinbad III now weighs over 2 pounds, is about 4 1/2 feet long, and would eat every 3 days if I let him.
When L was 5 or 6 years old, he wanted a pet snake. I told him he would have to buy it with his own money, but that if he did, I would buy the tank, heater and food. I had owned a snake before, but gave him away after L was born. I didn't have the free time to handle the snake and care for a newborn. So Sinbad the Western Garter Snake found a new home.
L saved his allowance, report card and b-day money, and we went to the pet store. He bought a Bananna King Snake, and promptly named him Sinbad. We had him for almost 6 months, then he escaped while we were on a camping trip. L was pretty upset about this. I'd catch him looking at the empty tank, asking God to bring his snake back... or at least keep it warm in the winter.
We replaced Sinbad II with a hamster. That lasted for nearly a year. We found it one morning (dead) with it's nose pressed against the glass, looking like it was trying just one more time to escape. We buried the hamster in the back yard, between the lavender bushes. As soon as it was warm enough, we went to the Reptile store to buy a new snake. Snakes live much longer than hamsters do. I'll probably still be caring for this snake when L goes off to college. (good thing I love reptiles)
At the Exotic Amphibian and Reptile Center, they had a cage full of eggs with a sign reading, "Hatching Now!" L went into spasms of delight. "Can we buy one, can we? Pleeeeease? Can we buy an egg and hatch it at home? Pleeeeease?"
We did not buy an egg, but L picked the egg he wanted, and every day we went back to see if it had hatched yet. (He couldn't actually remember which egg it was, but I pretended like I remembered. I'd pick an egg at random and say, "There it is!") The third day we visited, we spied an egg with a black snake nose poking out of it. L cried out, "That's him! That's my snake! he's being born right now!"
We got lucky that day, because the owner was the one behind the counter. He told my son, "As soon as he gets done hatching, I'll put him in a box for you. You can't take him home until he sheds his first skin, though. So you come back in a week and pick him up. OK?"
When we showed up a week later, there was a round plastic case with my son's name on it, waiting for us. L gave me his $24 to pay for the snake, and took the box from the guy behind the counter. L said, "You're very beautiful, and your name is Sinbad."
I asked, "What if he's a girl snake?" While trying not to laugh. The salesman said, "It's young yet, let's find out." He explained that when snakes are babies, their sex organs are easy to reach. It's much harder to identify the sex when they're adults. He took the snake out of it's enclosure and squeezed around the area they poop out of... and it's stuff popped out!
That was probably the grossest thing I'd ever seen. L and I were both fascinated. I wanted to ask the guy to do it again, but I knew snakes aren't squeeze toys, so I kept my mouth shut.
Sinbad the Third, no bigger than a nightcrawler, came home with us that day; and I promptly put 10 pounds of rocks on top of the cage. This snake wasn't getting away. 'Locking lid' my ass.
Every September I take Sinbad to the pet blessing that L's school holds out in the playground. Every year, we get swarmed with children wanting to see, but not touch, the snake. Every year, I turn a few more kids into snake lovers.
I love being a stay-home mom.
Oh, yeah. Sinbad III now weighs over 2 pounds, is about 4 1/2 feet long, and would eat every 3 days if I let him.
Poor Friday...
I think our cat is preparing to hibernate. She's chunked on 4 pounds in the last month. Yep, she'll be sleeping any day now.
The other pet in the house is also slowing down for the winter. Even though the temperature in Sinbad's tank is 80+ degrees, he's gotten lazy about eating. That's saying a lot for a snake that usually eats 1 large mouse or 2 smaller mice, then searches the cage for more. I bought him a mouse last Saturday, and he finally ate it on Tuesday. Last winter, he went on a 6 week hunger strike. We tried everything we could think of, and he just wouldn't eat. We finally had a warm spell, so I took the snake to the Exotic Amphibian and Reptile Center and asked them to look at him.
The EARC is a fabulous store on Lemay Ferry. It's where I buy most of Sinbad's food and bedding from, and it's where we bought the snake himself, too.
Anyway, they said Sinbad was fine. Sometimes in the winter snakes won't eat -something about preparing for the mating season.
I think our cat is preparing to hibernate. She's chunked on 4 pounds in the last month. Yep, she'll be sleeping any day now.
The other pet in the house is also slowing down for the winter. Even though the temperature in Sinbad's tank is 80+ degrees, he's gotten lazy about eating. That's saying a lot for a snake that usually eats 1 large mouse or 2 smaller mice, then searches the cage for more. I bought him a mouse last Saturday, and he finally ate it on Tuesday. Last winter, he went on a 6 week hunger strike. We tried everything we could think of, and he just wouldn't eat. We finally had a warm spell, so I took the snake to the Exotic Amphibian and Reptile Center and asked them to look at him.
The EARC is a fabulous store on Lemay Ferry. It's where I buy most of Sinbad's food and bedding from, and it's where we bought the snake himself, too.
Anyway, they said Sinbad was fine. Sometimes in the winter snakes won't eat -something about preparing for the mating season.
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
the stealthily added title:
And 3 paragraphs in, you'll find out what the hell I'm talking about
I'm at a site named "Surviving to Thriving" and clicked in the link to survivor stories. I think maybe the story I wrote in RandomRedhead would be a useful addition to the site, but I wanted to check the other stories first, to make sure mine wasn't too vivid. The survivor stories page has links to 51 pages of stories. It horrifies me just how many women there are out there... and those are the ones who are able to write about it.
.
Some of the stories there just seem unreal. Some of them seem way too real. Interestingly enough, the too real ones don't make me uncomfortable. The horrible vividness is comforting. It's almost pleasant to know that I'm not the only one who remembers it like it was happening right now. (but with that wonderful distance of time, knowing that I'm 34 and sitting in my nice safe home, with 18 years of history between me and my rape)
It's also comforting to know that when I froze during my rape, I wasn't being a doofus. Apparently it's a normal response.
and Wow! The site has a copy of confessions of a date rapist! I didn't read the article when it came out, but now that I have read it, I'm going to make sure my son reads it when he starts dating.
And 3 paragraphs in, you'll find out what the hell I'm talking about
I'm at a site named "Surviving to Thriving" and clicked in the link to survivor stories. I think maybe the story I wrote in RandomRedhead would be a useful addition to the site, but I wanted to check the other stories first, to make sure mine wasn't too vivid. The survivor stories page has links to 51 pages of stories. It horrifies me just how many women there are out there... and those are the ones who are able to write about it.
.
Some of the stories there just seem unreal. Some of them seem way too real. Interestingly enough, the too real ones don't make me uncomfortable. The horrible vividness is comforting. It's almost pleasant to know that I'm not the only one who remembers it like it was happening right now. (but with that wonderful distance of time, knowing that I'm 34 and sitting in my nice safe home, with 18 years of history between me and my rape)
It's also comforting to know that when I froze during my rape, I wasn't being a doofus. Apparently it's a normal response.
and Wow! The site has a copy of confessions of a date rapist! I didn't read the article when it came out, but now that I have read it, I'm going to make sure my son reads it when he starts dating.
I'm reading a blog
and it makes me very sad. Chasmyn told me about this blog, how the author was dealing with having had an affair, how real the blog was. Eventually, I took her advice and wandered over to read it. I came in at the end of her story, and had to read the archives to catch it all. The next time I visited the blog, she had a new post about remembering sexual abuse. I don't talk about abuse very much on this blog, and (other than the rape) I don't mention it at all on my other blog. Most of my family lives in denial, and the few of us who bring it up are told to not discuss private matters. So I keep quiet around my family, and I wonder about my sister and my cousins. I wonder what they're keeping silent in their heads. What monsters do they have to smother daily, in order to keep that happy smile fixed in place?
Anyway... I read her post about remembering, and after a lot of thought, sent her a comment. Here it is:
"Somewhere down the road, you're going to get angry with yourself for forgetting what happened. You might see yourself as weak for not tackling the recovery process sooner. When you feel like that, know this: forgetting is not wrong. Forgetting gave you a childhood of joy. It was simple defense. Isn't it amazing, the things we do to protect ourselves? Forgetting WAS your recovery. You're remembering now because you finally have the tools you need to heal.
Thank you for sharing your story. You make a world of difference."
I felt kind of guilty, because everyone else was posting about how sad they were for her, or how much they loved her, or how they just know she will get through this -because they had. I felt guilty for not saying those things, yet I felt that I really needed to say what I did. Someday she will get mad at herself, and when that someday comes; everyone else will have forgotten.
So I sent off my comment, visited other blogs, and thought no more about it. I visited her blog maybe one or two more times, but generally went on with my life. Today I saw that her site had some referals to my site. I couldn't remember who it was, although the name rang a bell, so I clicked it to see who liked me enough to link to my blog.
The second her blog came up on screen, it all came back to me. Her whole story, the phone calls with Chasmyn, the comment I had left... everything. On her blog is this: " Thursday, 13 November 2003
I always wondered what my last entry would look like.
this is my last entry" and a good last entry it was, too. She explains why she's ending the blog and discusses her past. It's beautiful and heartbreaking. I read more. She is so depressed right now. Not in the hollywood-movie sense, hers is a true depression.
I want to drive to Ohio and find her. I want to knock on her door and say, "I'm here, and you're not alone." I want to hold her and rock her until she cries. I want to take her to her life and get them re-acquainted, because they're both lost right now. She's living in a void, separate from her life; and her life is nothing without her in it. And I know that I can
Then I think, maybe I'm crazy. I mean, I know I'm not going to drive to Ohio, but I know that I can make a difference if I did.
Which reminds me of when I was a teenager. I was dealing with a lot of stuff. The sexual abuse as a child, the rape at 15, the abortion and subsequent dumping by my boyfriend at 17, getting kicked out of high school for being pagan, all served to usher in the Great Depression for me. I had gotten to a point where I'd filled the bathtup with warm water, and I was sharpening my athame to cut my wrists with. (I figured the tub would be easier to clean. When you cut an artery, blood spurts everywhere, y'know?) I had turned off the water, and was finishing the sharpening when the phone rang. It was a girl from my first high school. I hadn't seen her in almost 2 years. We worked at the same mall for a brief bit of time, and I had given her my phone number. So out of the blue, she calls me. She asked how I was doing. She said she had been thinking about me, and really, really felt the urge to call.
She saved my life.
When she asked how I was doing, it snapped me out of my depression. Suddenly the world had color again. Suddenly, I felt alive! Just knowing that there was someone out there who didn't have to care about me, gave enough of a damn to pick up the phone, somehow gave me the ability to cope again.
Thanks to the blog I've been reading, I've remembered my saviour's name. It's Diane. So If you ever run into a blonde woman named Diane, who used to go to Visual and Performing Arts high, (Central High) Tell her thank you for me.
and it makes me very sad. Chasmyn told me about this blog, how the author was dealing with having had an affair, how real the blog was. Eventually, I took her advice and wandered over to read it. I came in at the end of her story, and had to read the archives to catch it all. The next time I visited the blog, she had a new post about remembering sexual abuse. I don't talk about abuse very much on this blog, and (other than the rape) I don't mention it at all on my other blog. Most of my family lives in denial, and the few of us who bring it up are told to not discuss private matters. So I keep quiet around my family, and I wonder about my sister and my cousins. I wonder what they're keeping silent in their heads. What monsters do they have to smother daily, in order to keep that happy smile fixed in place?
Anyway... I read her post about remembering, and after a lot of thought, sent her a comment. Here it is:
"Somewhere down the road, you're going to get angry with yourself for forgetting what happened. You might see yourself as weak for not tackling the recovery process sooner. When you feel like that, know this: forgetting is not wrong. Forgetting gave you a childhood of joy. It was simple defense. Isn't it amazing, the things we do to protect ourselves? Forgetting WAS your recovery. You're remembering now because you finally have the tools you need to heal.
Thank you for sharing your story. You make a world of difference."
I felt kind of guilty, because everyone else was posting about how sad they were for her, or how much they loved her, or how they just know she will get through this -because they had. I felt guilty for not saying those things, yet I felt that I really needed to say what I did. Someday she will get mad at herself, and when that someday comes; everyone else will have forgotten.
So I sent off my comment, visited other blogs, and thought no more about it. I visited her blog maybe one or two more times, but generally went on with my life. Today I saw that her site had some referals to my site. I couldn't remember who it was, although the name rang a bell, so I clicked it to see who liked me enough to link to my blog.
The second her blog came up on screen, it all came back to me. Her whole story, the phone calls with Chasmyn, the comment I had left... everything. On her blog is this: " Thursday, 13 November 2003
I always wondered what my last entry would look like.
this is my last entry" and a good last entry it was, too. She explains why she's ending the blog and discusses her past. It's beautiful and heartbreaking. I read more. She is so depressed right now. Not in the hollywood-movie sense, hers is a true depression.
I want to drive to Ohio and find her. I want to knock on her door and say, "I'm here, and you're not alone." I want to hold her and rock her until she cries. I want to take her to her life and get them re-acquainted, because they're both lost right now. She's living in a void, separate from her life; and her life is nothing without her in it. And I know that I can
Then I think, maybe I'm crazy. I mean, I know I'm not going to drive to Ohio, but I know that I can make a difference if I did.
Which reminds me of when I was a teenager. I was dealing with a lot of stuff. The sexual abuse as a child, the rape at 15, the abortion and subsequent dumping by my boyfriend at 17, getting kicked out of high school for being pagan, all served to usher in the Great Depression for me. I had gotten to a point where I'd filled the bathtup with warm water, and I was sharpening my athame to cut my wrists with. (I figured the tub would be easier to clean. When you cut an artery, blood spurts everywhere, y'know?) I had turned off the water, and was finishing the sharpening when the phone rang. It was a girl from my first high school. I hadn't seen her in almost 2 years. We worked at the same mall for a brief bit of time, and I had given her my phone number. So out of the blue, she calls me. She asked how I was doing. She said she had been thinking about me, and really, really felt the urge to call.
She saved my life.
When she asked how I was doing, it snapped me out of my depression. Suddenly the world had color again. Suddenly, I felt alive! Just knowing that there was someone out there who didn't have to care about me, gave enough of a damn to pick up the phone, somehow gave me the ability to cope again.
Thanks to the blog I've been reading, I've remembered my saviour's name. It's Diane. So If you ever run into a blonde woman named Diane, who used to go to Visual and Performing Arts high, (Central High) Tell her thank you for me.
A funny thing happened on the way out of bed...
This morning I was rudely yanked from a dream involving men and I can't remember what else. I think I was teaching them something, because I remember that all the men around me were really paying attention to what I had to say... anyway...
The alarm buzzed at me, so I smacked it into submission, in order to gain a few more minutes of snooze time. As I was closing my eyes, I realized it was dark in the house. Damn! This meant it was still raining.
After a few hits of the snooze button, I hop out of bed, grab L's gym clothes, knock on his door, and enter his room. Tuesday mornings are always the same. I've washed his gym clothes the night before, so I get to wake him by tossing the clothes atop his sleeping form. He almost always jumps, hee hee. I left him to get dressed and remembered that I'm out of coffee. This just isn't my day, but for some reason I'm in a good mood anyway.
We get out of the house on time for once, and the second I step out the door; I realize it's a beautiful day. It's grey and wet and the birds are quiet, but it's beautiful anyway!
As I'm driving us to school, I comment, "Today is a good day." L responds, "You're right. Today is a good day." Then we both say together, "I can feel it in the air."
It was great.
.
.
.
On a side note, after Hubby-man left for work, I went into the basement to clean up the rain water that had flooded the downstairs bathroom and got some bad news. The rain had bled under the drywall and soaked the horrible shag rug in the family room. The entire 10x12 carpet is wet. grumble
And it's still a good day.
This morning I was rudely yanked from a dream involving men and I can't remember what else. I think I was teaching them something, because I remember that all the men around me were really paying attention to what I had to say... anyway...
The alarm buzzed at me, so I smacked it into submission, in order to gain a few more minutes of snooze time. As I was closing my eyes, I realized it was dark in the house. Damn! This meant it was still raining.
After a few hits of the snooze button, I hop out of bed, grab L's gym clothes, knock on his door, and enter his room. Tuesday mornings are always the same. I've washed his gym clothes the night before, so I get to wake him by tossing the clothes atop his sleeping form. He almost always jumps, hee hee. I left him to get dressed and remembered that I'm out of coffee. This just isn't my day, but for some reason I'm in a good mood anyway.
We get out of the house on time for once, and the second I step out the door; I realize it's a beautiful day. It's grey and wet and the birds are quiet, but it's beautiful anyway!
As I'm driving us to school, I comment, "Today is a good day." L responds, "You're right. Today is a good day." Then we both say together, "I can feel it in the air."
It was great.
.
.
.
On a side note, after Hubby-man left for work, I went into the basement to clean up the rain water that had flooded the downstairs bathroom and got some bad news. The rain had bled under the drywall and soaked the horrible shag rug in the family room. The entire 10x12 carpet is wet. grumble
And it's still a good day.
Monday, November 17, 2003
Stuff I didn't know about Scientology
I've been reading more on FACTnet, and I'm pretty impressed. They're not full of hype, they aren't trying to sell any books, they seem straightforward with their info. Yep, impressive. Right now, all I know about scientology is that they advertise, they sell books, and lots of Hollywood stars are scientologists. Lets see what I know after I read for a few hours.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I found a breakdown of the personality test they offer. It's rigged. Several teams of psychologists went to different locations, took the test with a pre-defined set of answers, then analyzed the 'results' of their tests. They found the test to be highly inaccurate. There were also lots of choice comments about the recruiting tactics used.
Another test scientologist use is the "E meter". FACTnet has a techincal breakdown of the machine, which sums up to the machine doing exactly what it's supposed to do, which has nothing whatsoever to do with what they say it's doing. (note the vagueness there... I still haven't figured out what Scientologists use the machine for. I think it's meant as a sort of biofeedback or something)
I also found this very amusing website about the Fishman Affidavit, explaining why it's famous, and the song and dance certain people have gone through to keep it from being read. (tee hee)
It also shows the affidavit itself.
...except I'm having a damned hard time getting the pages I want to load. I get 404 errors, or other "page unavailable" errors. Hmmm.
I've been reading more on FACTnet, and I'm pretty impressed. They're not full of hype, they aren't trying to sell any books, they seem straightforward with their info. Yep, impressive. Right now, all I know about scientology is that they advertise, they sell books, and lots of Hollywood stars are scientologists. Lets see what I know after I read for a few hours.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I found a breakdown of the personality test they offer. It's rigged. Several teams of psychologists went to different locations, took the test with a pre-defined set of answers, then analyzed the 'results' of their tests. They found the test to be highly inaccurate. There were also lots of choice comments about the recruiting tactics used.
Another test scientologist use is the "E meter". FACTnet has a techincal breakdown of the machine, which sums up to the machine doing exactly what it's supposed to do, which has nothing whatsoever to do with what they say it's doing. (note the vagueness there... I still haven't figured out what Scientologists use the machine for. I think it's meant as a sort of biofeedback or something)
I also found this very amusing website about the Fishman Affidavit, explaining why it's famous, and the song and dance certain people have gone through to keep it from being read. (tee hee)
It also shows the affidavit itself.
...except I'm having a damned hard time getting the pages I want to load. I get 404 errors, or other "page unavailable" errors. Hmmm.
More on the Forum
That post was running long. The only drawbacks I found in doing Landmark stuff were these:
1. When I stopped going to seminars, I got a lot of phone calls letting me know which seminars were coming up next. My answer is always the same. "You know what? That isn't what I'm looking for right now, but please do call me back in 3 months and let me know what's next, ok? I may want to take a different seminar." I mean it too. Most of the seminars they offer don't appeal to me. I don't want to look at my weight and connect it to fitness or health. I don't think it's a good idea for someone with a touch of body dismorphic disorder to delve too deeply into the "fat" issue. I don't want to look at most of the courses they're offering right now. They say that if you think about doing a seminar, and get really uncomfortable with the idea, then that's the one you should take. I looked at how I am about commitment, and it made my skin crawl, while filling me with dispair, so I took the Commitment Seminar. I'm glad I did. I still have commitment issues, but I don't get in dispair about it anymore. I tackle it instead.
2. Here's the reason I don't do Landmark stuff anymore... I lost my magic for a while. Landmark gives you words for all the different ways you "be", and it rocks. But it's hard to look at magic and find yourself wondering if it's just an act. I found myself wondering if 'magic' was just a thing I pretended I was, in order to think I was better than other people. I ruthlessly shut down all the bits of myself that I had come to identify as magical, and I became very, very unhappy. There was no joy in Mudville, so to speak. Landmark did not ask me to do this. I did it to myself. But for me, Landmark was not a support for my magic, and magic is what I am. When I take that away, I can use their "technology" all I want, and I'm not fulfilled. Fullfullment comes with greeting the morning sun, feeling the breeze, listening as the world speaks with myriad voices, -whispering- I am!
That post was running long. The only drawbacks I found in doing Landmark stuff were these:
1. When I stopped going to seminars, I got a lot of phone calls letting me know which seminars were coming up next. My answer is always the same. "You know what? That isn't what I'm looking for right now, but please do call me back in 3 months and let me know what's next, ok? I may want to take a different seminar." I mean it too. Most of the seminars they offer don't appeal to me. I don't want to look at my weight and connect it to fitness or health. I don't think it's a good idea for someone with a touch of body dismorphic disorder to delve too deeply into the "fat" issue. I don't want to look at most of the courses they're offering right now. They say that if you think about doing a seminar, and get really uncomfortable with the idea, then that's the one you should take. I looked at how I am about commitment, and it made my skin crawl, while filling me with dispair, so I took the Commitment Seminar. I'm glad I did. I still have commitment issues, but I don't get in dispair about it anymore. I tackle it instead.
2. Here's the reason I don't do Landmark stuff anymore... I lost my magic for a while. Landmark gives you words for all the different ways you "be", and it rocks. But it's hard to look at magic and find yourself wondering if it's just an act. I found myself wondering if 'magic' was just a thing I pretended I was, in order to think I was better than other people. I ruthlessly shut down all the bits of myself that I had come to identify as magical, and I became very, very unhappy. There was no joy in Mudville, so to speak. Landmark did not ask me to do this. I did it to myself. But for me, Landmark was not a support for my magic, and magic is what I am. When I take that away, I can use their "technology" all I want, and I'm not fulfilled. Fullfullment comes with greeting the morning sun, feeling the breeze, listening as the world speaks with myriad voices, -whispering- I am!
Mind control, cults and sect, oh my!
Today I wanted to explore more conspiracy theories, so I typed HAARP into google. I figured that would be a good place to start, since I don't know squat about the HAARP array. Anyhow, I got my questions answered and wandered off through the forest of conspiracy sites, looking for just one healthy tree. At present, I'm looking at FACTnet and browsing their list of cults that use "coercive persuasion mind control techniques".
I've never heard of most of the groups on the list, but a few jump out at me. Like Amway. Mom sold Amway for about a year before deciding there was no profit in it for her. When she walked away from it, several people higher up in her pyramid pestered her to come back. When she flatly refused, some of them became rude; but that was it, and after a few months they stopped calling her. Amway makes some really good products... it's the promise of riches they give their salespeople that's problematic. I well remember going to their meetings with my mom, and watching people get all excited about the $500 worth of stuff they sold. Amway meetings are kind of like church revivals, only without the singing.
Another name on the list is Landmark. I forked over my $300 and did the Landmark Forum, complete with a ten week seminar afterwards. A year or so later I invested another $90 in the Commitment seminar. It was some of the best money I've ever spent. Prior to doing Landmark, I was lazy, screwed-up and unhappy. After Landmark, I was lazy, screwed-up and unhappy, but I now have a way to recognize it and deal with it. They speak positively and never tell you you're wrong. Most of their work involves putting your control over your life back into your own hands. Here is my favorite example:
You're driving down the highway and someone cuts in front of you. You get mad and cuss out the driver. (we've all done it) Immediately, you have given your power to the motorist ahead of you. You are no longer driving your car... The other guy is! And, of course, the other guy is oblivious to the fact that you've given your control over to him. (p.s. These are my words, not Landmark's) You could spend the rest of your day being pissy over a 2 second incident, or you can take your power back.
The act of realizing you've given up your power enables you to get it back. "There goes my power, driving down the highway... Hey wait a minute... It's my power." poof. Just like that, you're back in control of your life.
Landmark's concept is that we all make choices, all the time. You pay them money to take classes on recognizing your choices before you make them. They also teach you how to dig yourself out of a hole you keep falling into. My biggest pit is what I now call "the underwear argument"
-don't drink any milk before you read this... you'll snort it outta your nose-
Way back in the first few months of my marriage, my hubby and I were poorly dealing with us both being slobs. I'm the kind of person who will polish the windowsills while ignoring the over-full trash can. Hubby is the kind of person who will take out the trash, but ignore the 12 Pepsi bottles on the computer desk. It's quite frustrating. We both have a problem with laundry. So. In our first apartment, my hubby would leave dirty clothes on the floor, and I would pick up some of them, but leave the ones I thought of as 'his problem'. That means underwear. I wouldn't pick up his undies. I'd step over them, pretend they didn't exist, spray them with Lysol, and keep on walking. (not really Lysol) Eventually, one of the cats would drag the undies out of the bedroom. I don't know why cats do that, they just do. Now the underwear is an attractive nuisance. We can't have company over if there's a pair of briefs lying in the hall. I still ignore the underwear, and stop inviting friends over. It's not my problem, you see. My darling husband also ignores the underwear. They've migrated to the hallway, so it's my job to pick them up. I won't pick them up, so he stops doing the dishes. Now I have 2 things to be upset about. We have a sink full of dishes and a pair of mens panties in the hall. So I stop cleaning the cat litter and start doing artwork on every available surface. My hubby can't have that, of course. I'm staking too much turf, so he starts leaving Pepsi bottles everywhere. Pretty soon, we have an overly cluttered house that reeks of cat litter, and pizza boxes on the floor because the dishes aren't done and the tables are covered in artwork and used soda bottles. All because of a little pair of underwear.
I've done the Forum, and I see where I could choose to just wash the damn things instead of letting it escalate into a full blown disaster. The solution is to say out loud, "I'm doing some laundry, could you dump everything down the laundry chute for me please?" I have to say it without making him wrong, of course, otherwise it doesn't work. We do still have the underwear argument. It doesn't have to start with a pair of undies, either. Any bit of mess will do, but now I see the argument, and get to decide whether I'll argue or not. I have a bit of control over the issue. Thank you, Landmark!
I don't think Landmark is a cult, but I can see how it would be perceived as one. Seminars start every 3 months or so, and they encourage you to take their seminars, for which you pay $75-$100 or so. They encourage you to "share" and bring guests who might want to do the Forum. -They encourage that one a lot.
However, they heavily discourage "fixing" people, and they won't let someone with a mental illness do the Forum. They are not looking for broken, co-dependant people who will get sucked into their program and spend every dime they have for more.
Today I wanted to explore more conspiracy theories, so I typed HAARP into google. I figured that would be a good place to start, since I don't know squat about the HAARP array. Anyhow, I got my questions answered and wandered off through the forest of conspiracy sites, looking for just one healthy tree. At present, I'm looking at FACTnet and browsing their list of cults that use "coercive persuasion mind control techniques".
I've never heard of most of the groups on the list, but a few jump out at me. Like Amway. Mom sold Amway for about a year before deciding there was no profit in it for her. When she walked away from it, several people higher up in her pyramid pestered her to come back. When she flatly refused, some of them became rude; but that was it, and after a few months they stopped calling her. Amway makes some really good products... it's the promise of riches they give their salespeople that's problematic. I well remember going to their meetings with my mom, and watching people get all excited about the $500 worth of stuff they sold. Amway meetings are kind of like church revivals, only without the singing.
Another name on the list is Landmark. I forked over my $300 and did the Landmark Forum, complete with a ten week seminar afterwards. A year or so later I invested another $90 in the Commitment seminar. It was some of the best money I've ever spent. Prior to doing Landmark, I was lazy, screwed-up and unhappy. After Landmark, I was lazy, screwed-up and unhappy, but I now have a way to recognize it and deal with it. They speak positively and never tell you you're wrong. Most of their work involves putting your control over your life back into your own hands. Here is my favorite example:
You're driving down the highway and someone cuts in front of you. You get mad and cuss out the driver. (we've all done it) Immediately, you have given your power to the motorist ahead of you. You are no longer driving your car... The other guy is! And, of course, the other guy is oblivious to the fact that you've given your control over to him. (p.s. These are my words, not Landmark's) You could spend the rest of your day being pissy over a 2 second incident, or you can take your power back.
The act of realizing you've given up your power enables you to get it back. "There goes my power, driving down the highway... Hey wait a minute... It's my power." poof. Just like that, you're back in control of your life.
Landmark's concept is that we all make choices, all the time. You pay them money to take classes on recognizing your choices before you make them. They also teach you how to dig yourself out of a hole you keep falling into. My biggest pit is what I now call "the underwear argument"
-don't drink any milk before you read this... you'll snort it outta your nose-
Way back in the first few months of my marriage, my hubby and I were poorly dealing with us both being slobs. I'm the kind of person who will polish the windowsills while ignoring the over-full trash can. Hubby is the kind of person who will take out the trash, but ignore the 12 Pepsi bottles on the computer desk. It's quite frustrating. We both have a problem with laundry. So. In our first apartment, my hubby would leave dirty clothes on the floor, and I would pick up some of them, but leave the ones I thought of as 'his problem'. That means underwear. I wouldn't pick up his undies. I'd step over them, pretend they didn't exist, spray them with Lysol, and keep on walking. (not really Lysol) Eventually, one of the cats would drag the undies out of the bedroom. I don't know why cats do that, they just do. Now the underwear is an attractive nuisance. We can't have company over if there's a pair of briefs lying in the hall. I still ignore the underwear, and stop inviting friends over. It's not my problem, you see. My darling husband also ignores the underwear. They've migrated to the hallway, so it's my job to pick them up. I won't pick them up, so he stops doing the dishes. Now I have 2 things to be upset about. We have a sink full of dishes and a pair of mens panties in the hall. So I stop cleaning the cat litter and start doing artwork on every available surface. My hubby can't have that, of course. I'm staking too much turf, so he starts leaving Pepsi bottles everywhere. Pretty soon, we have an overly cluttered house that reeks of cat litter, and pizza boxes on the floor because the dishes aren't done and the tables are covered in artwork and used soda bottles. All because of a little pair of underwear.
I've done the Forum, and I see where I could choose to just wash the damn things instead of letting it escalate into a full blown disaster. The solution is to say out loud, "I'm doing some laundry, could you dump everything down the laundry chute for me please?" I have to say it without making him wrong, of course, otherwise it doesn't work. We do still have the underwear argument. It doesn't have to start with a pair of undies, either. Any bit of mess will do, but now I see the argument, and get to decide whether I'll argue or not. I have a bit of control over the issue. Thank you, Landmark!
I don't think Landmark is a cult, but I can see how it would be perceived as one. Seminars start every 3 months or so, and they encourage you to take their seminars, for which you pay $75-$100 or so. They encourage you to "share" and bring guests who might want to do the Forum. -They encourage that one a lot.
However, they heavily discourage "fixing" people, and they won't let someone with a mental illness do the Forum. They are not looking for broken, co-dependant people who will get sucked into their program and spend every dime they have for more.
Sunday, November 16, 2003
Yep, I'm gonna go there
I'm debating buying this for my mom, from Christian Toiletries... the "bar of faith prayer soap". Hey, it's a bargain, only $15 for cleanliness that's next to Godliness.
Geez, it gets worse! The Soap Opera Soap Company offers the mother soaperior and the immaculate consoaption. This is just wrong.
The Greek Soap Co. offers Christian Cross soap, cross soap holders and picture-and-prayer soap holders. Just what I always wanted!
Novelty Soap lets you buy bars in the shape of the Christian fish symbol. Well, ok... this company really does offer some cool soap. Like soap in the shape of fossils, or soap that looks like a cluster of gemstones. Unfortunately they're a wholesale company, but you can order smaller amounts retail.
I'm debating buying this for my mom, from Christian Toiletries... the "bar of faith prayer soap". Hey, it's a bargain, only $15 for cleanliness that's next to Godliness.
Geez, it gets worse! The Soap Opera Soap Company offers the mother soaperior and the immaculate consoaption. This is just wrong.
The Greek Soap Co. offers Christian Cross soap, cross soap holders and picture-and-prayer soap holders. Just what I always wanted!
Novelty Soap lets you buy bars in the shape of the Christian fish symbol. Well, ok... this company really does offer some cool soap. Like soap in the shape of fossils, or soap that looks like a cluster of gemstones. Unfortunately they're a wholesale company, but you can order smaller amounts retail.
at Under Reported:
According to a Nov. 13, 2003 Washington Post article:
The scene was a public library branch in Silver Spring. As Cathy B. Johnson entered, she was "astounded" to see a television set in the main lobby. It was muted, but it was very definitely on, and it was spewing pictures as only a TV set can.
Cathy saw red. She marched over to a librarian and asked why library patrons -- and young patrons in particular -- "couldn't have one place in the world where they were not bombarded by TV."
According to Cathy, the librarian pointed out that the set was aimed at a waiting area, where people sit until they get a crack at a public computer terminal.
The TV was on, Cathy says the librarian told her, so that those lying in wait "would have something to do."
Open mouth.
Gape in astonishment.
As Cathy promptly said to the librarian: "They couldn't read a book?"
Sorry, your gaping isn't done.
Cathy quotes the librarian as replying: "Internet users don't like to read."
also
According to a Nov. 14, 2003 UPI story:
The number of U.S. casualties from Operation Iraqi Freedom -- troops killed, wounded or evacuated due to injury or illness -- has passed 9,000, according to new Pentagon data.
In addition to the 397 service members who have died and the 1,967 wounded, 6,861 troops were medically evacuated for non-combat conditions between March 19 and Oct. 30, the Army Surgeon General's office said.
Medically evacuated for 'non-combat conditions' they said??? Are they seriously trying to say that nearly 7000 service members were so badly wounded that they had to be removed from the country, but it's not combat related? What, they all got heat-stroke? Starvation, maybe? Perhaps complications from unhealthy living conditions??? Ooooh, I'd better stop. I could rant all night over this one. If you want to make yourself sick, read the article, then scroll down to the two pictures of young men with that physically fit, fresh scrubbed, just-out-of-boot-camp look... and note the missing parts. That bit particularly upset me, because both men look a lot like my hubby did when he got out of the military, except he still has all his bits.
According to a Nov. 13, 2003 Washington Post article:
The scene was a public library branch in Silver Spring. As Cathy B. Johnson entered, she was "astounded" to see a television set in the main lobby. It was muted, but it was very definitely on, and it was spewing pictures as only a TV set can.
Cathy saw red. She marched over to a librarian and asked why library patrons -- and young patrons in particular -- "couldn't have one place in the world where they were not bombarded by TV."
According to Cathy, the librarian pointed out that the set was aimed at a waiting area, where people sit until they get a crack at a public computer terminal.
The TV was on, Cathy says the librarian told her, so that those lying in wait "would have something to do."
Open mouth.
Gape in astonishment.
As Cathy promptly said to the librarian: "They couldn't read a book?"
Sorry, your gaping isn't done.
Cathy quotes the librarian as replying: "Internet users don't like to read."
also
According to a Nov. 14, 2003 UPI story:
The number of U.S. casualties from Operation Iraqi Freedom -- troops killed, wounded or evacuated due to injury or illness -- has passed 9,000, according to new Pentagon data.
In addition to the 397 service members who have died and the 1,967 wounded, 6,861 troops were medically evacuated for non-combat conditions between March 19 and Oct. 30, the Army Surgeon General's office said.
Medically evacuated for 'non-combat conditions' they said??? Are they seriously trying to say that nearly 7000 service members were so badly wounded that they had to be removed from the country, but it's not combat related? What, they all got heat-stroke? Starvation, maybe? Perhaps complications from unhealthy living conditions??? Ooooh, I'd better stop. I could rant all night over this one. If you want to make yourself sick, read the article, then scroll down to the two pictures of young men with that physically fit, fresh scrubbed, just-out-of-boot-camp look... and note the missing parts. That bit particularly upset me, because both men look a lot like my hubby did when he got out of the military, except he still has all his bits.
Friday, November 14, 2003
Chess
Yes, I still like chess. We have 4 real chess sets and at least 3 more crappy plastic ones.
The breakdown is thus:
1 hand carved jade chess set from Japan, bought while Hubby-Man's dad was stationed there, gifted to my hubby.
1 hand carved onyx chess set, bought at Gringo Jones Imports for $30, gifted to my son.
1 plastic Camelot style chess set dated 1963, bought at a yard sale for $5, gifted to me.
plus 1 hand made coffee table with a chess board inlay, $10 at an estate sale. (they were astounded that I wanted the thing)
1 plain wooden chess set, belonging to Hubby-man for gods know how long.
1 travel chess set, magnetized, bought at the dollar store.
1 plastic chess set with a cardboard 'board'.
1 larger magnetized travel chess set, $2, Wal-Mart.
various and sundry chess bits living out their lonely lives in the bottom of the toybox, and only dug out when a pawn is lost.
sundry chess bits in my jeweler's lab, of various materials, waiting for me to complete a set.
It seems I can't walk past a chess board without wanting to buy it. Do you think I'm weird?
Yes, I still like chess. We have 4 real chess sets and at least 3 more crappy plastic ones.
The breakdown is thus:
1 hand carved jade chess set from Japan, bought while Hubby-Man's dad was stationed there, gifted to my hubby.
1 hand carved onyx chess set, bought at Gringo Jones Imports for $30, gifted to my son.
1 plastic Camelot style chess set dated 1963, bought at a yard sale for $5, gifted to me.
plus 1 hand made coffee table with a chess board inlay, $10 at an estate sale. (they were astounded that I wanted the thing)
1 plain wooden chess set, belonging to Hubby-man for gods know how long.
1 travel chess set, magnetized, bought at the dollar store.
1 plastic chess set with a cardboard 'board'.
1 larger magnetized travel chess set, $2, Wal-Mart.
various and sundry chess bits living out their lonely lives in the bottom of the toybox, and only dug out when a pawn is lost.
sundry chess bits in my jeweler's lab, of various materials, waiting for me to complete a set.
It seems I can't walk past a chess board without wanting to buy it. Do you think I'm weird?
My Gods, what a beautiful post!
This morning I'm blog hopping "pagan mommy blog". I'm currently browsing the blog, Practical Wicca. In this post, she gives an exercise that just rocks. She talks about the "K" that people add to "magic", to distinguish it from sleight of hand, et al. I loved it!
Now, I've never been one to deliberately misspell words. As a matter of fact, it drives me up a wall when I've found that I've accidentally misspelled a word. And, I never looked beyond my insistence for spelling magic, "magic". Somewhere deep down, I know that I spell it that way because I see no significant difference between pulling a rabbit out of a hat, and pulling a need out of thin air. Both magics need set up, clarity of mind and practiced skill.
Go read the whole post. Here's a teaser:
"Yet, we're still complicating matters by adding a 'K' onto the end of the word 'Magic'. Even though we've taken on a great deal of perception-changing ideals, we can't manage to bring ourselves to change our own perception of the word 'Magic', much less anyone else's.
The simple fact that we have a special word means that we have special jargon, and the only reason that jargon has ever existed is to make other people feel left out, or in the dark. It is the reason that people in marketing use words like 'Dashboard' and 'Bird Seed' when they could simply say 'Agenda' and 'Legal Text' and still get across exactly what it is they are trying to say. The jargon makes them feel bigger and other people feel as if someone just tried to give them directions to Timbukto with a ball of cotton in their mouth. Confused. "
This morning I'm blog hopping "pagan mommy blog". I'm currently browsing the blog, Practical Wicca. In this post, she gives an exercise that just rocks. She talks about the "K" that people add to "magic", to distinguish it from sleight of hand, et al. I loved it!
Now, I've never been one to deliberately misspell words. As a matter of fact, it drives me up a wall when I've found that I've accidentally misspelled a word. And, I never looked beyond my insistence for spelling magic, "magic". Somewhere deep down, I know that I spell it that way because I see no significant difference between pulling a rabbit out of a hat, and pulling a need out of thin air. Both magics need set up, clarity of mind and practiced skill.
Go read the whole post. Here's a teaser:
"Yet, we're still complicating matters by adding a 'K' onto the end of the word 'Magic'. Even though we've taken on a great deal of perception-changing ideals, we can't manage to bring ourselves to change our own perception of the word 'Magic', much less anyone else's.
The simple fact that we have a special word means that we have special jargon, and the only reason that jargon has ever existed is to make other people feel left out, or in the dark. It is the reason that people in marketing use words like 'Dashboard' and 'Bird Seed' when they could simply say 'Agenda' and 'Legal Text' and still get across exactly what it is they are trying to say. The jargon makes them feel bigger and other people feel as if someone just tried to give them directions to Timbukto with a ball of cotton in their mouth. Confused. "
I'm actually going to do a Friday Five here
Shame on me :) ... I mean... Get to know me better! Yeah! That's it!
1. Using one adjective, describe your current living space.
cluttered
2. Using two adjectives, describe your current employer.
sleepy redhead (see, it's funny 'cause I'm a stay-home mom)
3. Using three adjectives, describe your favorite hobby/pasttime.
tiny artistic creations
4. Using four adjectives, describe your typical day.
sunny, caffeinated, talkative (thank-you-Alexander-Graham-Bell)
5. Using five adjectives, describe your ideal life.
free, joyous, learning, living brightly
thanks to b. for this week's questions
Shame on me :) ... I mean... Get to know me better! Yeah! That's it!
1. Using one adjective, describe your current living space.
cluttered
2. Using two adjectives, describe your current employer.
sleepy redhead (see, it's funny 'cause I'm a stay-home mom)
3. Using three adjectives, describe your favorite hobby/pasttime.
tiny artistic creations
4. Using four adjectives, describe your typical day.
sunny, caffeinated, talkative (thank-you-Alexander-Graham-Bell)
5. Using five adjectives, describe your ideal life.
free, joyous, learning, living brightly
thanks to b. for this week's questions
Thursday, November 13, 2003
Psychic Chess
I used to play chess with my friends. We had 3 chess boards and 6 or 7 players. All of us were newbies to the world of magic, so chess wasn't just about moving pieces; it was about psyching your opponent too. "Pay no attention to the queen" was a common mantra. If you could read your opponents' mind, more power to you! If you could cause a chess piece to stand out and draw attention to itself, so that you could conduct a 3 move sneak-attack; no problem! It was, absolutely, no-holds-barred chess, and I miss it.
I used to play chess with my friends. We had 3 chess boards and 6 or 7 players. All of us were newbies to the world of magic, so chess wasn't just about moving pieces; it was about psyching your opponent too. "Pay no attention to the queen" was a common mantra. If you could read your opponents' mind, more power to you! If you could cause a chess piece to stand out and draw attention to itself, so that you could conduct a 3 move sneak-attack; no problem! It was, absolutely, no-holds-barred chess, and I miss it.
Wednesday, November 12, 2003
Hmm.
I lit a stick of incense in the basement and turned off the lights so it would be dark like on Halloween night. I stood about 18 inches away from the incense smoke and snapped a handful of pictures. Whatever I got a photo of, it ain't smoke. The incense smoke was grey, not blue-white like in the photo below, and the smoke lines were thin and clear, not blurry like the ghostie pic. They also appeared as clearly nothing but incense smoke. I'll keep trying to reproduce the effect, though. I'd like to believe I accidentally photographed something unique and special, but it really does look like smoke. :(
I lit a stick of incense in the basement and turned off the lights so it would be dark like on Halloween night. I stood about 18 inches away from the incense smoke and snapped a handful of pictures. Whatever I got a photo of, it ain't smoke. The incense smoke was grey, not blue-white like in the photo below, and the smoke lines were thin and clear, not blurry like the ghostie pic. They also appeared as clearly nothing but incense smoke. I'll keep trying to reproduce the effect, though. I'd like to believe I accidentally photographed something unique and special, but it really does look like smoke. :(
What is this?
This photo was taken on Halloween night with my digital camera, and other than shrinking it to half-size, it is untouched. I promise I didn't go into photoshop and draw a blurry wolf thing. I also promise I didn't add the weird smear thingies on the left hand side.
I think it looks like a running wolf. I can clearly see (imagine) his head, just above the girl with the red hair, and his tail hanging down over the baby. I was trying to get a shot of the cool yard display. It was a skeleton sticking out of the ground. Instead, I caught this. No one was smoking near me, so it isn't smoke. It was not foggy or even relatively humid, so it's not fog or mist. All the other night time pics are darker than this one, so the camera's flash bounced off of something. Does anyone know if ghosties are reflective? This is the first time I've caught more than orbs with a camera, and I think orbs are dust motes.
This photo was taken on Halloween night with my digital camera, and other than shrinking it to half-size, it is untouched. I promise I didn't go into photoshop and draw a blurry wolf thing. I also promise I didn't add the weird smear thingies on the left hand side.
I think it looks like a running wolf. I can clearly see (imagine) his head, just above the girl with the red hair, and his tail hanging down over the baby. I was trying to get a shot of the cool yard display. It was a skeleton sticking out of the ground. Instead, I caught this. No one was smoking near me, so it isn't smoke. It was not foggy or even relatively humid, so it's not fog or mist. All the other night time pics are darker than this one, so the camera's flash bounced off of something. Does anyone know if ghosties are reflective? This is the first time I've caught more than orbs with a camera, and I think orbs are dust motes.
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
Have I been living under a rock?
WTF is narcoterrorism?
The American Heritage® Dictionary defines it as "Terrorism carried out to prevent interference with or divert attention from illegal narcotics trafficking. "
By that definition, drive by shootings are narcoterrorism. (Not that I disagree. Drive by shootings ARE an act of terrorism, in my opinion. But why bother with the narco specification)
The same dictionary defines terrorism as "The unlawful use or threatened use of force or violence by a person or an organized group against people or property with the intention of intimidating or coercing."
I think that's pretty straightforward. Playground bullies engage in terrorism, as do drug dealers, militant groups, activist groups and entire governments. Why do we turn a blind eye to some of it, and bomb the snot out of people for other acts of terrorism? Why is it acceptable for a child to be abused at school (or home) by another child, yet unacceptable for a small group of people to blow up a bus? Why do we smile at Greenpeace, laugh at PETA, ignore the inner-city, and squash Afghanistan? Why do we need to add cute little prefixes to terrorism? If it's ecoterrorism, is it somehow more special than just regular terrorism?
WTF is narcoterrorism?
The American Heritage® Dictionary defines it as "Terrorism carried out to prevent interference with or divert attention from illegal narcotics trafficking. "
By that definition, drive by shootings are narcoterrorism. (Not that I disagree. Drive by shootings ARE an act of terrorism, in my opinion. But why bother with the narco specification)
The same dictionary defines terrorism as "The unlawful use or threatened use of force or violence by a person or an organized group against people or property with the intention of intimidating or coercing."
I think that's pretty straightforward. Playground bullies engage in terrorism, as do drug dealers, militant groups, activist groups and entire governments. Why do we turn a blind eye to some of it, and bomb the snot out of people for other acts of terrorism? Why is it acceptable for a child to be abused at school (or home) by another child, yet unacceptable for a small group of people to blow up a bus? Why do we smile at Greenpeace, laugh at PETA, ignore the inner-city, and squash Afghanistan? Why do we need to add cute little prefixes to terrorism? If it's ecoterrorism, is it somehow more special than just regular terrorism?
Monday, November 10, 2003
That's it! No more ice cream in the living room!
This ban is effective immediately!
I tried to take the cordless phone out of it's cradle this morning, and found it glued in place. SOMEONE (who isn't me) dribbled chocolate chip ice cream down the front of the phone, and it welled up in the cradle. My $85 phone does still work, but I'm going to have to clean the corrosion off of the terminals. Disgusting.
I know how it happened, too. I found an empty ice cream box sitting on the end table that holds the phone. I was balanced atop the phone and an empty pepsi bottle. grrrrr. I remember because at the time I'd said, "Are we out of ice cream?" Looking pointedly at my husband...
From his spot on the couch he replies, "Sorry."
I say, "that's ok," and take the leaking, messy box into the kitchen before saying, "No, I didn't want any. I wanted you to throw the box away instead of letting it sit out."
You see, we had just had a mis-communication. I thought he was apologizing for eating all the ice cream, he thought he was apologizing for eating all the ice cream, but when I said "it's ok" what I meant was, "I know you're sorry you ate it all, not sorry that you left a mess, and it is ok, and I love you."
The end result was that he felt guilty, I felt like walking away, and we both forgot that ice cream drips.
This ban is effective immediately!
I tried to take the cordless phone out of it's cradle this morning, and found it glued in place. SOMEONE (who isn't me) dribbled chocolate chip ice cream down the front of the phone, and it welled up in the cradle. My $85 phone does still work, but I'm going to have to clean the corrosion off of the terminals. Disgusting.
I know how it happened, too. I found an empty ice cream box sitting on the end table that holds the phone. I was balanced atop the phone and an empty pepsi bottle. grrrrr. I remember because at the time I'd said, "Are we out of ice cream?" Looking pointedly at my husband...
From his spot on the couch he replies, "Sorry."
I say, "that's ok," and take the leaking, messy box into the kitchen before saying, "No, I didn't want any. I wanted you to throw the box away instead of letting it sit out."
You see, we had just had a mis-communication. I thought he was apologizing for eating all the ice cream, he thought he was apologizing for eating all the ice cream, but when I said "it's ok" what I meant was, "I know you're sorry you ate it all, not sorry that you left a mess, and it is ok, and I love you."
The end result was that he felt guilty, I felt like walking away, and we both forgot that ice cream drips.
Sunday, November 09, 2003
My personal road
You may have noticed, I don't write here often about shamanism. Although my intent when starting this blog was to create a personal journal about things I've learned, things I've remembered and things I know. It hasn't worked out that way. It has instead become a mind-dump for whatever I'm feeling at the moment. This has become my rant-site. I occasionally put shamanism related notes here, because it is the major part of my life. I'm not ready to be a teacher, so I haven't created a third blog for teaching shamanism. There are so many paths, so many traditions, and none of them are my own. As much as I would like to have a teacher to guide me, sitting in a hut, receiving one on one teaching until I've "graduated", it's not going to happen. It is not my path.
I learn from everyone. Every living thing has a story and a lesson. I drift from story to story, finding magic everywhere.
What started this particular post, is that I've been playing around with the Google Directory. Today (among other things) I looked at some of the shamanism sites listed there.
When I read a shaman site, I'm not looking for teaching so much as I'm looking for hints. There's a lovely site called "the Star Lodge", it's about the Metis path. I am not Metis. I have the standard confused American bloodline. Yet there are things on the intro page that ring bells for me. Probably because (1) there are huge similarities between paths, and (2) neat stories spread and traditions get swiped all the time.
The author repeatedly mentions "the passing of the bundle", a graduation ritual. Years ago, a woman was given a bundle containing a piece of granite and sage. It was given to her by a true medicine man. He told her that it was hers, and one day she would know it was time to pass it on. He told her she would know without a doubt. My hubby and I met this woman the day before our handfasting. She told us she had met us before in dreams. The next night, she brought the bundle to our handfasting and gave it to us. We have since passed it on to another, and I expect she will pass it along in about 3 years. So, although I have been passed a bundle, I don't think that made me *poof* suddenly shaman.
It would be nice to have some stranger select me in a crowd and say, "You're a real shaman now, go out into the world and do stuff" or some such. And it's not going to happen. I'd like the validation, and I don't need it. I do what I do. I've never wanted notoriety. I've never wanted "power". I have more than I use, most days. I don't want more.
I don't want to be the President. I just want to live, love and learn joyfully throughout this life. Well, ok, I also want to -somehow- through my actions, bring others to a place where they live joyfully, too.
You may have noticed, I don't write here often about shamanism. Although my intent when starting this blog was to create a personal journal about things I've learned, things I've remembered and things I know. It hasn't worked out that way. It has instead become a mind-dump for whatever I'm feeling at the moment. This has become my rant-site. I occasionally put shamanism related notes here, because it is the major part of my life. I'm not ready to be a teacher, so I haven't created a third blog for teaching shamanism. There are so many paths, so many traditions, and none of them are my own. As much as I would like to have a teacher to guide me, sitting in a hut, receiving one on one teaching until I've "graduated", it's not going to happen. It is not my path.
I learn from everyone. Every living thing has a story and a lesson. I drift from story to story, finding magic everywhere.
What started this particular post, is that I've been playing around with the Google Directory. Today (among other things) I looked at some of the shamanism sites listed there.
When I read a shaman site, I'm not looking for teaching so much as I'm looking for hints. There's a lovely site called "the Star Lodge", it's about the Metis path. I am not Metis. I have the standard confused American bloodline. Yet there are things on the intro page that ring bells for me. Probably because (1) there are huge similarities between paths, and (2) neat stories spread and traditions get swiped all the time.
The author repeatedly mentions "the passing of the bundle", a graduation ritual. Years ago, a woman was given a bundle containing a piece of granite and sage. It was given to her by a true medicine man. He told her that it was hers, and one day she would know it was time to pass it on. He told her she would know without a doubt. My hubby and I met this woman the day before our handfasting. She told us she had met us before in dreams. The next night, she brought the bundle to our handfasting and gave it to us. We have since passed it on to another, and I expect she will pass it along in about 3 years. So, although I have been passed a bundle, I don't think that made me *poof* suddenly shaman.
It would be nice to have some stranger select me in a crowd and say, "You're a real shaman now, go out into the world and do stuff" or some such. And it's not going to happen. I'd like the validation, and I don't need it. I do what I do. I've never wanted notoriety. I've never wanted "power". I have more than I use, most days. I don't want more.
I don't want to be the President. I just want to live, love and learn joyfully throughout this life. Well, ok, I also want to -somehow- through my actions, bring others to a place where they live joyfully, too.
Sun spots, solar storms and planetary mass
A site on historical anomalies has a section on the cycles of the sun.
"It is quite a coincidence that Chinese astronomers/astrologers saw influences coming from the cyclical partial alignments (over 12 years maybe originally, 11 to 12 now) of the solar system's planetary bodies - which are the Chinese horoscope segments
These also just happen to be the simplest/basic part of the sunspot cycle, the sun "weather" cycle and the sun's magnetic field cycle, all of which we now suspect are caused by those same alignments of mass in the solar system, driven probably by the approximately 12 year orbital period of Jupiter, the most massive planetary body. [The Chinese traditionally paid great attention to the 'stations' of Jupiter]
We also believe - from uef/footnotes - this grand cycle to be the main driver of tectonic and earthquake events on Earth"
So perhaps all the solar activity is because of a gravity well? No, that's not right... the harmonic concordance is a bunch of planets spread around evenly. Hm. Maybe the lunar eclipse has something to do with it? Nope, not remotely massy enough. Well golly gee, I'm stumped!
-just being silly today-
A site on historical anomalies has a section on the cycles of the sun.
"It is quite a coincidence that Chinese astronomers/astrologers saw influences coming from the cyclical partial alignments (over 12 years maybe originally, 11 to 12 now) of the solar system's planetary bodies - which are the Chinese horoscope segments
These also just happen to be the simplest/basic part of the sunspot cycle, the sun "weather" cycle and the sun's magnetic field cycle, all of which we now suspect are caused by those same alignments of mass in the solar system, driven probably by the approximately 12 year orbital period of Jupiter, the most massive planetary body. [The Chinese traditionally paid great attention to the 'stations' of Jupiter]
We also believe - from uef/footnotes - this grand cycle to be the main driver of tectonic and earthquake events on Earth"
So perhaps all the solar activity is because of a gravity well? No, that's not right... the harmonic concordance is a bunch of planets spread around evenly. Hm. Maybe the lunar eclipse has something to do with it? Nope, not remotely massy enough. Well golly gee, I'm stumped!
-just being silly today-
Thursday, November 06, 2003
I've corrupted my son with my Pagan ways
Tee Hee.
L's religion homework tonight was a word find, then he had to write 3 sentences using as many of the words as possible. The words were:
inn . Zechariah . glory to God . Emmanuel . Mary . Joseph . Simeon . Herod . Gabriel . magi . Anna . star . Bethlehem . Jesus . three days . gold . Elizabeth . David . Holy Spirit . Egypt . John . manger
After finding the words, he wanted some help with his sentences. Evil me says, "ok, Mary and Joseph walk into an inn..." as if setting up for a joke. L starts laughing, and I say," No, wait! Emmanuel did so well on his test, the Holy Spirit gave him a gold star!" More giggling ensues.
I got a phone call, and L wrote his sentences without my help. Here's what he wrote:
1. After three days searching in Bethlehem, Mary told Jesus to give David a gold star in "Egypt Inn".
(david's star- star of david. Egypt inn- egyptian. He's so punny)
2. Herod wanted David's gold star, so he tricked David to give it to his servant at the "glory to God and the Holy Spirit Inn".
3. Herod's servant instead brought the gold star to the "Manger Inn", where he gave it to Gabriel, Elizabeth, John, Zechariah, Joseph, the magi, Simeon, Anna, and Emmanuel.
.
.
Yes, he used all the words. I wonder if he'll get bonus points?
Tee Hee.
L's religion homework tonight was a word find, then he had to write 3 sentences using as many of the words as possible. The words were:
inn . Zechariah . glory to God . Emmanuel . Mary . Joseph . Simeon . Herod . Gabriel . magi . Anna . star . Bethlehem . Jesus . three days . gold . Elizabeth . David . Holy Spirit . Egypt . John . manger
After finding the words, he wanted some help with his sentences. Evil me says, "ok, Mary and Joseph walk into an inn..." as if setting up for a joke. L starts laughing, and I say," No, wait! Emmanuel did so well on his test, the Holy Spirit gave him a gold star!" More giggling ensues.
I got a phone call, and L wrote his sentences without my help. Here's what he wrote:
1. After three days searching in Bethlehem, Mary told Jesus to give David a gold star in "Egypt Inn".
(david's star- star of david. Egypt inn- egyptian. He's so punny)
2. Herod wanted David's gold star, so he tricked David to give it to his servant at the "glory to God and the Holy Spirit Inn".
3. Herod's servant instead brought the gold star to the "Manger Inn", where he gave it to Gabriel, Elizabeth, John, Zechariah, Joseph, the magi, Simeon, Anna, and Emmanuel.
.
.
Yes, he used all the words. I wonder if he'll get bonus points?
Just My Opinion
I have assiduously avoided blogging about Jessica Lynch, for the same reason I refuse to blog about Elizabeth Smart. I believe the best thing for either of them is to cope in their own ways, without me avidly reading all the gossipy bits of their lives. I'm not going to gossip now, either. Instead, I'm going to get on my soapbox for my favorite pet-peeve... Stupid People!
According to popular news, back in April, Jessica Lynch joined the army for the GI Bill. She wanted to go to college, her family couldn't afford it, and (my guess is) like most underpriveleged familes -they didn't think they were worthy of student loans. It was kind of a family tradition. Join the army, then go to college.
Reporters are pissing and moaning because she got a one million dollar book deal. "Oh, boo hoo! The girl who didn't do anything but survive gets money! It's so unfair! She doesn't deserve it!" They say.
I say, think of Dr. Evil, asking for ONE MILLION dollars. That will buy a very nice house. Or maybe it will be just enough to cover her medical deductibles. She's not going to be remembered a few years from now, she's permanently disabled, why not grab some money while she can? She was 19 years old. She has an average of 50 more years to live with her body. That breaks down to a measly 20 grand a year. I have arthritis in both my knees, and I broke my toe a few years ago. It hurts like hell some days. Jessica Lynch had her legs crushed! I can't even imagine the pain. Honey, take every penny the media throws at you!
Editorials across America bitch about her being "rich". Whatever.
I have assiduously avoided blogging about Jessica Lynch, for the same reason I refuse to blog about Elizabeth Smart. I believe the best thing for either of them is to cope in their own ways, without me avidly reading all the gossipy bits of their lives. I'm not going to gossip now, either. Instead, I'm going to get on my soapbox for my favorite pet-peeve... Stupid People!
According to popular news, back in April, Jessica Lynch joined the army for the GI Bill. She wanted to go to college, her family couldn't afford it, and (my guess is) like most underpriveleged familes -they didn't think they were worthy of student loans. It was kind of a family tradition. Join the army, then go to college.
Reporters are pissing and moaning because she got a one million dollar book deal. "Oh, boo hoo! The girl who didn't do anything but survive gets money! It's so unfair! She doesn't deserve it!" They say.
I say, think of Dr. Evil, asking for ONE MILLION dollars. That will buy a very nice house. Or maybe it will be just enough to cover her medical deductibles. She's not going to be remembered a few years from now, she's permanently disabled, why not grab some money while she can? She was 19 years old. She has an average of 50 more years to live with her body. That breaks down to a measly 20 grand a year. I have arthritis in both my knees, and I broke my toe a few years ago. It hurts like hell some days. Jessica Lynch had her legs crushed! I can't even imagine the pain. Honey, take every penny the media throws at you!
Editorials across America bitch about her being "rich". Whatever.
Wednesday, November 05, 2003
So Much News, So Little Attention
Alaska approves shooting of wolves because the moose population is down, and subsistence hunters can't kill enough moose to feed themselves. Nevermind that human hunters are unlikely to target the weak or old wolves, like nature would. Several protesters dressed up their dogs in fake bullet-proof vests.
St. Louis doctors protest skyrocketing insurance costs They want insurance reform. I don't know their side of it, but I think insurance reform is a good idea. Rates should be reasonable, and malpractice awards should also be reasonable. Some juries are far too generous. I could fill the page with insurance ranting, so I'm stopping here.
In a lovely case of Not In My Backyard, toxic US ships may have to turn back from their destination. 4 WW2 era ships were bound for an English scrapyard, but Great Britain doesn't want them. President Clinton had outlawed the sale of mothballed ships for scrap overseas both because of the environmental hazards they posed to ocean waters and because of growing public concern that toxic wastes were being shipped to developing countries where workers were inadequately protected from exposure to poisonous chemicals.
But the Bush administration won a waiver from its Environmental Protection Agency to send the ships overseas.
Also, India has become a toxic dumping ground, thanks to big corporations shipping their jobs overseas. With production, comes toxicity, and India's laws are more lax than our own... even with Bush in office. That's just sad.
Alaska approves shooting of wolves because the moose population is down, and subsistence hunters can't kill enough moose to feed themselves. Nevermind that human hunters are unlikely to target the weak or old wolves, like nature would. Several protesters dressed up their dogs in fake bullet-proof vests.
St. Louis doctors protest skyrocketing insurance costs They want insurance reform. I don't know their side of it, but I think insurance reform is a good idea. Rates should be reasonable, and malpractice awards should also be reasonable. Some juries are far too generous. I could fill the page with insurance ranting, so I'm stopping here.
In a lovely case of Not In My Backyard, toxic US ships may have to turn back from their destination. 4 WW2 era ships were bound for an English scrapyard, but Great Britain doesn't want them. President Clinton had outlawed the sale of mothballed ships for scrap overseas both because of the environmental hazards they posed to ocean waters and because of growing public concern that toxic wastes were being shipped to developing countries where workers were inadequately protected from exposure to poisonous chemicals.
But the Bush administration won a waiver from its Environmental Protection Agency to send the ships overseas.
Also, India has become a toxic dumping ground, thanks to big corporations shipping their jobs overseas. With production, comes toxicity, and India's laws are more lax than our own... even with Bush in office. That's just sad.
Yay!
I took the Political Compass Test, and scored nearer to Ghandi, the Dalai Lama and Nelson Mandela!
Your political compass
Economic Left/Right: -4.38
Libertarian/Authoritarian: -2.87
You can take the test here, and add your results to the graph here, which includes a nifty view of bloggers of like mind.
Guhuhuh (shudder) Apparantly, the democratic candidates closest to my ideals are Dennis Kuchinich and the Reverend Al Sharpton. (gak!)
If Al Sharpton wants my vote, he can start by funding more minority businesses in the specialty construction sector, instead of blocking Highway 40 during rush hour because "minority businesses aren't getting enough city contracts" Ya know what, dude? They would get the contract if they were available! But they're busy completing the city contracts they already have! Geez, that man is an embarrassment.
I took the Political Compass Test, and scored nearer to Ghandi, the Dalai Lama and Nelson Mandela!
Your political compass
Economic Left/Right: -4.38
Libertarian/Authoritarian: -2.87
You can take the test here, and add your results to the graph here, which includes a nifty view of bloggers of like mind.
Guhuhuh (shudder) Apparantly, the democratic candidates closest to my ideals are Dennis Kuchinich and the Reverend Al Sharpton. (gak!)
If Al Sharpton wants my vote, he can start by funding more minority businesses in the specialty construction sector, instead of blocking Highway 40 during rush hour because "minority businesses aren't getting enough city contracts" Ya know what, dude? They would get the contract if they were available! But they're busy completing the city contracts they already have! Geez, that man is an embarrassment.
Fighter jets are loud
T'other day, a friend told me she was awakened at 4 in the morning by fighter jets flying over her house. Being in St. Louis, this is a fairly common occurrence since 9-11. There's an air force base just across the river. We can always tell when something is going to happen, because I'll hear jets leaving Scott AFB, and Chasmyn will hear a different group overfly her house.
Today's Alienation News has this: "Since Saturday, people in the Highlands of Scotland have been witnessing large movements of US warplanes overhead. Experienced observers say the large numbers are reminiscent of those that preceded the bombing of Iraq in 1998 and military strikes on Libya in the 1980's as well as the first Gulf War." and more.
I remember going the the VP Fair and watching the airshows. I remember oohing and ahhing along with the rest of the crowd as the deafening Harrier hovered just feet above the Mississippi River. I remember the thrill of seeing F-15's blaze overhead. I remember actually touching an Apache helicopter.
Then I remember sitting in history class, watching old footage of military parades in countries were were told not to like. I realized there was no difference between our airshows and their parades. Both were displaying military power to thrill and subdue the masses.
I'm a machine junkie. I love the beauty of a well designed craft. I can pinpoint the moment I became interested in warplanes. I was at camp, and something black, with funny backward wings brushed the treetops over my head and crashed. We could all see the smoke. The adults insisted there was no airplane. They said the smoke was from a little forest fire, that was quickly controlled... nothing to worry about. When I left camp a few days later, the adults pretended not to see the caravan of military vehicles on the side of the highway. I went to the library and looked up war planes. None of the silhouettes looked like the thing that crashed. It piqued my interest. Some small part of me is still looking for the name of that plane. It was probably an experimental craft, so I'll never know. But it was enough to open another avenue of learning for me. I really got into the engineering behind experimental aircraft. I just had to research how rockets, jets and the sound barrier work. I love the whole cone of resistance thing.
So, knowing what I know, I used to get a thrill seeing afterburners glowing in the sky. Now I just see it as an intrusion of sound, and a reminder that soon there will be more deaths. I've seen enough stealth fighters to last me a lifetime.
T'other day, a friend told me she was awakened at 4 in the morning by fighter jets flying over her house. Being in St. Louis, this is a fairly common occurrence since 9-11. There's an air force base just across the river. We can always tell when something is going to happen, because I'll hear jets leaving Scott AFB, and Chasmyn will hear a different group overfly her house.
Today's Alienation News has this: "Since Saturday, people in the Highlands of Scotland have been witnessing large movements of US warplanes overhead. Experienced observers say the large numbers are reminiscent of those that preceded the bombing of Iraq in 1998 and military strikes on Libya in the 1980's as well as the first Gulf War." and more.
I remember going the the VP Fair and watching the airshows. I remember oohing and ahhing along with the rest of the crowd as the deafening Harrier hovered just feet above the Mississippi River. I remember the thrill of seeing F-15's blaze overhead. I remember actually touching an Apache helicopter.
Then I remember sitting in history class, watching old footage of military parades in countries were were told not to like. I realized there was no difference between our airshows and their parades. Both were displaying military power to thrill and subdue the masses.
I'm a machine junkie. I love the beauty of a well designed craft. I can pinpoint the moment I became interested in warplanes. I was at camp, and something black, with funny backward wings brushed the treetops over my head and crashed. We could all see the smoke. The adults insisted there was no airplane. They said the smoke was from a little forest fire, that was quickly controlled... nothing to worry about. When I left camp a few days later, the adults pretended not to see the caravan of military vehicles on the side of the highway. I went to the library and looked up war planes. None of the silhouettes looked like the thing that crashed. It piqued my interest. Some small part of me is still looking for the name of that plane. It was probably an experimental craft, so I'll never know. But it was enough to open another avenue of learning for me. I really got into the engineering behind experimental aircraft. I just had to research how rockets, jets and the sound barrier work. I love the whole cone of resistance thing.
So, knowing what I know, I used to get a thrill seeing afterburners glowing in the sky. Now I just see it as an intrusion of sound, and a reminder that soon there will be more deaths. I've seen enough stealth fighters to last me a lifetime.
Tuesday, November 04, 2003
Instant Karma
Today I was driving behind Amy; we were both picking up our children from their respective schools. Preparing to merge onto highway 55 at Lindberg, some wet-wipe in a shiny new pick-up truck comes speeding down the highway. Does this person move into any of the 4 other available lanes? No, (s)he does not. They insist on staying in the right hand lane, even though there are maybe 4 other cars total in sight. This jerk of the highest magnitude drives right up on Amy's bumper, doing at least 85 miles an hour. (s)He proceeds to cruise with maybe 18 inches between the truck and her little green car for an 8th of a mile! I swear you couldn't fit my hips between the two vehicles. Finally the driver of the truck (which, incidentally had a huge American flag plastered across the back window) decides to swerve around my friend. They cut to the left (no signal) and promptly cut in front of her (again, no signal). I had enough time to admire the handling and turn radius of the flashy black truck. (heh) Then they turned on their hazard lights and pulled over. LOL! They broke down! In a brand new truck! Stuck on the side of the highway waiting for MoDot to come by!
Ahhh, Karma!
Today I was driving behind Amy; we were both picking up our children from their respective schools. Preparing to merge onto highway 55 at Lindberg, some wet-wipe in a shiny new pick-up truck comes speeding down the highway. Does this person move into any of the 4 other available lanes? No, (s)he does not. They insist on staying in the right hand lane, even though there are maybe 4 other cars total in sight. This jerk of the highest magnitude drives right up on Amy's bumper, doing at least 85 miles an hour. (s)He proceeds to cruise with maybe 18 inches between the truck and her little green car for an 8th of a mile! I swear you couldn't fit my hips between the two vehicles. Finally the driver of the truck (which, incidentally had a huge American flag plastered across the back window) decides to swerve around my friend. They cut to the left (no signal) and promptly cut in front of her (again, no signal). I had enough time to admire the handling and turn radius of the flashy black truck. (heh) Then they turned on their hazard lights and pulled over. LOL! They broke down! In a brand new truck! Stuck on the side of the highway waiting for MoDot to come by!
Ahhh, Karma!
EWW!
Ok. Really. Some people! Today's peek at RR's recent visitors, finds a search for "adult footie pajamas". I know why my site showed up, but the next site down from mine was (I am so not kidding here) "Gay size footie pajamas"
Momma always said you learn something new every day. She should have thrown in the caveat that most of what you learn is garbage. I didn't realize there was such a thing as "gay size". I thought "gays" came in all sizes. I can just imagine it... The Gay PJ's Store, Everything is Size 9. Gay size? Good grief!
Ok. Really. Some people! Today's peek at RR's recent visitors, finds a search for "adult footie pajamas". I know why my site showed up, but the next site down from mine was (I am so not kidding here) "Gay size footie pajamas"
Momma always said you learn something new every day. She should have thrown in the caveat that most of what you learn is garbage. I didn't realize there was such a thing as "gay size". I thought "gays" came in all sizes. I can just imagine it... The Gay PJ's Store, Everything is Size 9. Gay size? Good grief!
Saturday, November 01, 2003
In other news...
Car rams Bush event, and misses the Prez, damnit! You gotta wonder though... if it wasn't a simple lost-control-of-the-car thing... How bad does it have to get in America for a mother with 2 kids in her car to ram the building our suck-ass president is in?
The Hines Emerald Dragonfly is an endangered species. Hmmmm, dragonfly nymphs eat mosquito larvae. No mosquito larvae, no baby dragonflies. I remember summers filled with brassy green dragonflies, the last time I saw one was in 1995. All I've seen recently are blue, purple-black, or brownish-green. Sad.
Car rams Bush event, and misses the Prez, damnit! You gotta wonder though... if it wasn't a simple lost-control-of-the-car thing... How bad does it have to get in America for a mother with 2 kids in her car to ram the building our suck-ass president is in?
The Hines Emerald Dragonfly is an endangered species. Hmmmm, dragonfly nymphs eat mosquito larvae. No mosquito larvae, no baby dragonflies. I remember summers filled with brassy green dragonflies, the last time I saw one was in 1995. All I've seen recently are blue, purple-black, or brownish-green. Sad.
Halloween was great!
L's costume turned out fabulously. If Gambit were 12, he'd look like my son did last night. I'll be posting pictures soonish.
Also last night, for the first time ever, outside of teenaged silliness, I kissed a female. There was some breast action going on too. Interestingly enough, kissing a woman is just like kissing a man. There's no real difference. A mouth is a mouth on any body part, I guess. I had expected it to be different somehow. Well, there was one difference. When I kiss my hubby, I enjoy it... it thrills me and gives me tingles, or it gives me that heady, pupil widening passion-fog. Not so with the person I kissed last night. I think it had something to do with that, although she was attractive, I wasn't attracted to her. I have yet to meet a woman that I want to share sexual intimacy with, which is why I've never tried before. Last night gave me a safe opportunity to try something new. Safe meaning we weren't playing truth or dare, nobody was giggling, etc.
I've always thought perhaps there was something a little bit wrong with me, because I don't want to have sex with women. Practically everyone I know insists that all women are a little bi-sexual. I've always wondered if I was maybe too uptight for my own mental health. Seriously, what woman (besides me) hasn't kissed their best friend, or experimented with the same-sex thing?
So finally, at 34 years old, I got kissed by a woman. Turns out, it was no big deal.
L's costume turned out fabulously. If Gambit were 12, he'd look like my son did last night. I'll be posting pictures soonish.
Also last night, for the first time ever, outside of teenaged silliness, I kissed a female. There was some breast action going on too. Interestingly enough, kissing a woman is just like kissing a man. There's no real difference. A mouth is a mouth on any body part, I guess. I had expected it to be different somehow. Well, there was one difference. When I kiss my hubby, I enjoy it... it thrills me and gives me tingles, or it gives me that heady, pupil widening passion-fog. Not so with the person I kissed last night. I think it had something to do with that, although she was attractive, I wasn't attracted to her. I have yet to meet a woman that I want to share sexual intimacy with, which is why I've never tried before. Last night gave me a safe opportunity to try something new. Safe meaning we weren't playing truth or dare, nobody was giggling, etc.
I've always thought perhaps there was something a little bit wrong with me, because I don't want to have sex with women. Practically everyone I know insists that all women are a little bi-sexual. I've always wondered if I was maybe too uptight for my own mental health. Seriously, what woman (besides me) hasn't kissed their best friend, or experimented with the same-sex thing?
So finally, at 34 years old, I got kissed by a woman. Turns out, it was no big deal.
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