Fianna, Fianna, Fianna

Working It Out

2011-03-29T22:19:00.000-05:00

Having a kid changes everything. I heard it over and over before I was pregnant. I knew it from watching my sister have 3 kids before me. Yet, nothing will prepare you for parenthood. Nothing can.

At times, I wonder if I have some postpartum depression going on. And then I dismiss it with that I am simply tired from the failure of my now 8 month old child to sleep for more than 3 hours straight. I chalk it up to the vast changes that we have gone through of moving to a new state, leaving our beloved friends/family/city/house for something neither of us really wanted but knew/prayed was best. I went from a high-strung career driven fool to a stay at home mom. He went from an easy job to a demanding job with super stress levels.

Some days – are great. I have a great time, I have it all balanced out. It all seems to work well. I am meeting people in the various groups I have joined, I am cooking and cleaning and loving my girl. I feel that I have it together, that I am enjoying this little life we have created. And other days – not so much. I am angry and spiteful and downright cruel to my husband and short-tempered with my girl. I am stressed and overwhelmed and angry. For no obvious reason.

Working isn't an option for me for some time. As long as we can afford for me to stay home, I cannot in good conscience place my child in daycare. My poor heart couldn't handle that after the PICU stay when she was 4 months old. Yet some days, I think I really need to go to work. For my sanity, for my child and for my husband.

I take it day by day. Hoping that it will be a good day. That I won't get angry and strike out at my husband. That I won't feel like crying when the baby cries. And many days work out. I feel good and accomplished at the end of the day. And others, not so much. And where I used to be able to shake it off and know that tomorrow will be better, now... I just worry that I won't be able to keep it together the next day either.

Can We Ever Be Happy?

2011-01-20T10:30:00.002-06:00

Warning: This post has negativity towards both SAHM and WOHM. I dog staying at home and I dog daycare. I am trying to find my way, not critiquing what anyone else does or has to do.

I have been here before. It was when I first started this little internet space. I was 4 years younger and for several months enjoyed not working for the man. I tried my hand at Ebay and being a good housewife, cleaning and cooking, and caring for my hard working man. He looks back on that time period as the best in our relationship. I look back and see that I was unhappy and failed at it.

Now, it is different, yet much the same.

He got a new job in a far off land and I have decided to stay home. Again. But this time, we have a baby. A baby who had an ER scare such a short time ago. A baby who I cry about when I consider dropping her off at a daycare facility. Even dropping her in the care facility at the gym while I get my sweat on, I freak out the entire hour.

I can't fail this time. I have to like being at home with her. I have to make this work. Because the alternative will break my heart. While I may be relieved to get back into the workforce and meet people and do something besides babble baby talk and clean my stove, I would be leaving my precious child in the hands of a germy daycare. And after watching her with a tube down her throat, sedated and riding in an ambulance, the thought gives me chills.

The last few weeks in Houston, I knew this was coming. This fear. When people asked me what I would be doing in our new town, I said I wasn't sure. I was sure. I knew I would not go back to work leaving my girl to the wolves. Yet, I am terrified that I will be unhappy, that in a few short months, once the boxes are unpacked and our lives are as organized as they can be, that I will be lonely, sick of cleaning and caring for her and want to get back to a paying job with people that don't shit their pants.

How do I do it? How do I become happy with my new station in life? I thought after 2 kids, I would stay home with them. With the educational system as it is, I have seriously considered homeschooling in the future. Yet, early in to this new role, I have doubts. Will I be able to keep it together? Can I do this happily? Can my obsessive brain handle slowing down and doing what I believe is the right thing.

I don't know how to reconcile these matters. I know what I must do for my family. I have the support of my husband. My baby girl doesn't like being with strangers, as she proved at the gym one night.

This is what is best for my family. Now I have to make it best for me. I am going to get involved with mommy groups. Go to story time at the library. I am going to the gym both for a release and to loose this stubborn baby weight.

I will make this work. But I am scared shitless for the journey.

The Worst Time in My Life to Date - Part Deux

2010-12-20T23:36:00.000-06:00

The first part of this story is here.

I was still not absorbing the seriousness of the situation.

Until the ambulance ride. Where they used the lights and the sirens. And swerved in and out of early rush hour traffic.

We arrived at the children's hospital a short time later. She was admitted to the ICU.

The ICU was pleasant. Which is such a strange thing to say. This hospital is designed for children who are deathly ill and it is a warm place, not a frightening hospital.

By now, it was approximately 7 A.M. Just before the ambulance ride, I spoke with my husband who was scared and wanted to fix the situation, but was states away, unable to do anything. I told him, after being told it was not a life and death situation, that he should stay put. He was at a new job and if things took a turn for the worse, I would let him know.

It is quite difficult to coherently discuss what all happened this day. She was admitted, tests were run, she was cared for and monitored. I received a breast pump and helplessly, pumped milk for my sweet baby girl. She had a breathing tube, a feeding tube, an IV and a femoral line put in her.

The nurse caring for my babe only had 2 children to care for, so she was constantly in the room. Checking, changing, monitoring. She changed all diapers, adjusted all machines. Once my girl was allowed to have some milk, the nurse administered the milk via the feeding tube. I was utterly useless, in the way, while someone else, while perfectly skilled and very kind, but not her mother, took care of my little girl's every need.

My girl was responding to everything well, they continued to lower the amount of oxygen she was given, weaning her off of it. She remained sedated so that she would not fight any of the treatments they were trying to administer.

Tests were run. Lots of tests. The initial test at the first hospital for RSV came back negative. The children's hospital didn't know what had affected my girl.

I hadn't slept but 2 hours, if that. The Ronald McDonald charities were connected with this hospital and, in fact, had sleeping rooms right on the hospital floor. These rooms are available to the families of the children in the ICU unit. I obtained the key for the room I was provided in order to take a nap. Little did I know that my father-in-law had also claimed the room we had been assigned. We ended up napping together on a queen sized mattress as we were absolutely exhausted. Awkward? Absolutely.

As this first day progressed, the doctors and nurses all stated how well she was doing. Looking back, I was still in shock. My girl had gone from normal to the ICU in less than 24 hours. How could this happen? What did I miss?

At the end of the day, I was told that if things continued well overnight that she might be released the next day. Again, how did my girl go from healthy to ICU to home in 48 hours????

I retired to the Ronald McDonald room for the night. My father-in-law went home – thank goodness!

The next morning, I was advised that my girl had done wonderfully overnight. A short time after getting to her room, the nurse and the respiratory therapist removed the breathing tube.

A short time later, with her feeding tube, IV and femoral line still in place, I was allowed to breastfeed her.

Again, just a short time later, I was advised that all of her lines would be removed and that we would be moved to the regular floor.

After a few hours, it happened. We were moved to the regular floor.

When they were preparing to move my daughter from the ICU to the regular floor, the ICU nurse called the regular floor nurse to advise of the status of the transferring patient. I overheard the ICU nurse advise the other nurse that the first hospital had probably jumped the gun on intubating my babe.

On the regular floor, it was cold and sterile. So different from the ICU unit. Such a weird contrast. I would have thought the exact opposite would be true.

I rarely saw the nurse on the regular floor. A nursing assistant came in every couple hours to check temperature and blood pressure, but otherwise, I was left alone to change and feed my child. The nurse came in only a few times during our stay! Such a stark contrast from the constant care of the ICU. I was frightened to even touch my child at first.

After an overnight stay on the regular floor, we were released to home.

No explanation. No diagnosis. Nothing.

My child's first illness resulted in an ICU stay. And I have no explanation whatsoever as to what caused it.

I am angry. And frightened. Yet I have no one to be angry at. What if the first hospital had not placed the breathing tube in and something tragic happened. How am I to know what to watch for when my child gets ill again? If she has the sniffles, how do I respond? What is a normal illness? In the midst of this crazy move, this was horrible timing (if there is ever a “good” time for your child to be admitted to the ICU!), however, I am so busy trying to move our lives to another state that perhaps it was good timing. I don't have time to dwell on the what happeneds, what ifs or what could have beens.

In the end, my sweet baby girl is fine. She doesn't care about the scariest time in her short life. She isn't affected. I wish I wasn't.

The Worst Time in My Life to Date - Part Uno

2010-12-19T22:40:00.004-06:00

This is gonna be a long post. I am splitting it into two posts, not to be a pain and make you come back, but because I am tired... Worn from trying to move to another state in the longest, most complicated move ever known to man. I want to get this out for hell, who knows, prosperity sake. IDK... It just seems right to hit post...

When we woke up on a Monday a few weeks ago, my 4 month old kid made a weird sound when crying, inhaling sharply at the end of each cry. She wasn't coughing, not congested any more than she normally is in the mornings, didn't feel hot, overall, the sound was it.

She is watched by her grandfather in our home while we work. We told him to watch it and to keep us posted. Throughout the day, he didn't notice anything odd except that the noise didn't go away. Overall, she acted normal during the day. When I got home from work, she seemed a bit more clingy but she had no other symptoms besides the lingering cough. As the night progressed, she started to sound more and more congested and when she breathed, it was more hoarse than normal.

I was getting more concerned and at midnight, called my insurance company's nurse line. They listened to the sounds over the phone and recommended placing her in a bathroom with the shower running for the steam. I did so for about 20 minutes and it seemed to do just a bit of good. I slept upstairs in a spare bedroom with her because the small bathroom with the shower is there and the bedroom is smaller than the master and less drafty. I ran a humidifier for her and fell asleep.

At 2:00 A.M., I woke up. She was awake in her bed next to me and sounded bad. I again took her into the bathroom and ran the shower, hoping the steam would help her. After a short time, I called the nurse line again. I spoke with a different person. I explained that I didn't want to be a paranoid first time mom, but I was thinking of going to the E.R. The nurse agreed, we needed to go to the E.R.

When you are driving your child to the E.R., at 2:30 in the morning, do you stop at red lights? I didn't call an ambulance so I didn't think it was an extreme emergency. However, each time I slowed for a red light, I panicked thinking these moments could be important, are they so important that should I pull over right now and just call 911? I never did, but each red light my mind went to the worst place possible, yet reeled back by my initial hesitation to even go the E.R.

Finally, we made it to the E.R. We were quickly brought to the back and received immediate attention. She was initially given breathing treatments. I laid down on the stretcher or gurney? Holding her on my lap while they administered the treatments. The E.R. was pretty empty, there were a lot of nurses in the room. Wires were quickly connected, monitoring her heart rate and her respirations. Time is a funny thing, so hard to gauge. I would guess 20 minutes later, the nurses indicated that the breathing treatments weren't helping. They needed to intubate my baby.

Panic, fear, loneliness.

My father-in-law came to the hospital with us. My husband, who had accepted a position with a new company out of state hadn't been contacted yet due to the ridiculously early hour. On the drive to the hospital, I sent him a text advising him that we were going to the E.R., but I hadn't called him. He had to work and from 8 hours away, there was nothing he could do.

My father-in-law and I get along. However, we are both completely awkward with each other. So in the E.R., in the middle of the night, panicking because my poor baby is about to have a breathing tube inserted, I felt alone. Miserably, horribly alone.

Once the decision was made to intubate my babe, it was required that we be transferred out of the hospital. They didn't have a pediatrics unit in this hospital and now they had a very young child with a breathing tube inserted.

An ambulance arrived.

At Least I Don't Mention Mucus Plugs or Meconium

2010-07-30T09:45:00.004-05:00

So look, I had a kid. And in having a kid, I had to go through the whole labor process. And I am told that it is all crazy life-changing, big deal hoopla. So I have written this down so I don't forget the cute little details of how my husband left me high and dry while I was screaming in labor. Or how Johnny Cash welcomed my sweet little one into this world. Or how I leaked amniotic fluid in a fancy rental car. So you may want to skip this one although I am pretty sure I could have been a LOT more graphic. Cuz childbirth is not for the faint of heart.

I had my last prenatal appointment on Wednesday, where I was 2-3 cms dilated. She was in position or “locked and loaded” as I called it. I felt really good still so I figured there was no way I was going to have her for some time. On Saturday morning, when Not Craig and I woke up, he poked my belly and said, “It is time, baby.” In response, I laughed and said, “No way!” I still had nearly 2 weeks until my due date! I played around the house for a bit, playing on my computer and doing a bit of light cleaning. My car had an issue so Not Craig took it to a repair place, where they told him that it was definitely a warranty issue and we needed it towed to a dealership. This, of course, is the vehicle we planned on bringing the little one home in, seeing that daddy's work truck was not the best choice and well, his fancy car definitely was a bad choice as we would have to strap her car seat to the roof.

I contacted the dealership and lined up a tow truck. We would need to drive about 45 minutes away to the dealership in order to pick up the rental car they would provide. We had to wait a bit for the tow truck so I started doing a bit more picking up around the house, when all of a sudden at approximately 1:30 PM, my water broke. I ran for the bathroom, laughing. Not Craig didn't believe me at first and I had to convince myself a bit that I hadn't just peed myself! I finally convinced both of us what had just happened and tried to figure out what to do next. I called my midwife, Janet, and we decided that I was fine to stay home for a while, and of course, figure out the car situation. I quickly got changed, and Not Craig and I set out to meet the tow truck driver and then drive across town to get the rental car. I felt fine the entire way to the dealership, where I insisted that Not Craig not say a word about my water breaking, what if they freaked and wouldn't let us have the car due to potential amniotic fluid damage!

When we got home a couple hours later, Not Craig and I just laid down to rest a bit. I don't know if I actually fell asleep, or just rested, but a few hours later, I got up and Not Craig remained asleep. I started cleaning the house while my contractions got a bit stronger. Walking helped me through the contractions, as did swaying my hips. I pulled out my ab ball, and sat on that for awhile as well, but as the contractions got stronger, I was more comfortable standing through them.

Around 6:30 PM, I started vocalizing through the contractions as they got stronger and more painful. I woke Not Craig up with one of my cries, and he anxiously asked if we needed to go to the birthing center. I had spoke with Janet a few times throughout the day and knew that I wanted to be pretty far along before I went to the birth center, but I was also fearful of the 30 minute drive. The last place I wanted to be when contracting every 3-5 minutes was in a car where I couldn't move. I went ahead and called Janet and said that I thought it was time to start heading to the birth center. She asked how I was doing, if I was drinking plenty of fluids, if I had ate. I told her I was a bit hungry, but didn't have much food in the house and we might stop on the way in and grab something small. I continued talking to her, answering her questions and coming to a decision about what do when Not Craig vanished. After I got off the phone with her, I pulled the remaining items I wanted for my bag, and was ready to leave. I locked up the dogs, and went looking for my husband. He was gone, along with the rental car and car seat!! He came back about 15 minutes and several contractions later, with McDonald's and Pop-tarts, my go-to meal of the last few weeks! I hurriedly asked if we could just go and eat on the way. I never ended up eating that meal that he so desperately went in search of...

On the way to the birth center, my contractions remained about 5 minutes apart. The pain wasn't unbearable, but I vocalized my way through them along with breathing. We got to the birth center around 7:40 PM. Janet was there and began filling the tub for me. She checked me and I was at 7 cms already. Polly, the other midwife, arrived a little bit later. I continued to labor while swaying my hips and bending over the side of the bed. The tub was filled, but I couldn't imagine standing up and crawling in to the tub at that point. One of the midwives placed some lavender oil and massaged my lower back through the contractions. Some time later, one of the midwives brought in the birthing stool, which helped take some of the pressure off of my horribly swollen feet, much to my relief. I then felt sick and said that I thought I was going to throw up. I was given a wastebasket, and Janet quietly said, “Welcome to transition.” I crawled up on the bed on all fours, not happy with the birthing stool. I leaned on Not Craig for several contractions. A short time later, I was asked to lay down and I did so. After several contractions, I started to feel the ring of fire and knew I was very close. The strangest thing for me during labor, was how in between contractions, I was completely conscious of what was going on around me, that I wasn't completely out of my head. When I was feeling the ring of fire, I kept thinking of the Johnny Cash song, and laughed to myself. I held on to Not Craig, breathing through what I knew were the final steps to getting my baby out. At 9:38 PM, my sweet baby entered this world.

All in all, my “labor” was 8 hours long from water breaking to birth. I would estimate only 4 hours of that consisted of any pain at all. I am actually amazed at how easy it all was.

I chose to have my baby at a birth center with midwives instead of a hospital because, well, hospitals scare the crap out of me. And I do not believe that doctors are all-knowing. When a pregnant woman goes to a hospital in labor, she is on a time clock to a c-section, with lots of interventions along the way. Despite the baby and mom being fine, hospitals are, thanks to my own sue-happy profession, overly cautious and would rather trust modern medicine and scalpels, over a woman's body doing something women have been doing unassisted since Eve. Instead, I had a wonderful experience with women who have really gotten to know me over the past 7 months, supported my decisions without question and did everything they could to ensure that I got the type of childbirth I felt was right for my little family.

And now, I will step off my high horse and get back to cuddling my sweet baby girl.

Entitled.

2010-07-05T14:44:00.000-05:00

I have 5 weeks left of this pregnancy business. I don't care for pregnancy, have I mentioned that before? But the weird thing, the further along I get, the bigger I get, the more swollen I get, the more comfortable I am. The early months of back ache, heartburn and emotions have disappeared a bit. I am much more comfortable all around. I am sleeping better, have more energy. Which is really odd since I am about the size of a double wide.

I am terrified of actually having my kid. Not of labor, the miserable pain, but of having a kid to care for. Surrendering myself for what the kid wants - demands. Getting up every 2 hours to feed this screaming shitting machine that can't explain why it isn't happy. Not being able to just take off at a moment's notice. Not being able to poop alone. Wait. I have pets, I haven't done that for years.

Beyond the extra expense that a child brings. Holy cow! Daycare! I am too lazy to get off my butt and actually hunt down someone to take care of my kid so far. But from the stories I have heard from folks in this area, daycare is gonna run us between $800-$1,200 per month. Yea.

Another big cost I am fearful about is the new things I have pursued since becoming a living breathing house.

Pedicures and maid service.

Dude.

I am so glad I haven't partaken of these magical things before. I have saved myself a fortune.

I am in love.

I need a live-in pedicuring, housecleaning ass wiper now.

Because I really don't know if I can give up these wonderful treatments after the babe is here.

Pedicures. So nice. A bit of time to just relax and let someone else do the dirty work of making my toes look sweet and tasty.

Housecleaning? Wow, what is there to even say. Someone else comes in and scrubs my toilet for me. Scrubs down my glass shower and garden tub? Dusts the baseboards? Holy crap. I love having a wife of my very own!!

But. For a maid to come once a month and for a monthly pedicure, I am looking at just over $100. Ouch. That ain't cheap. And I am not sure I can justify those expenditures once I am able to bend over and paint my own toes and scrub my own toilet again.

And that, that right there makes me cross my legs even tighter and want to keep this baby cooking for a few more years.

Great Expectations

2010-03-27T22:27:00.002-05:00

On Wednesday, we had 2 baby appointments. First, my regular appointment with my midwife and then our 20 week ultrasound – the big one!

My midwife put it so well, when pregnant, some women bloom. Others, they wilt. I am definitely a wilt-er. Back pain, difficulty sleeping, heartburn, exhaustion and hormones that would kill a 15 year old girl. I have not been pleasant to be around for the past few months nor have I enjoyed the past few months. At times, the thought of going through this again makes me want to cry. I do not want our child to be an only child, but man, this pregnancy stuff is not for the weak.

(Imagine there is a segue here.)

Since the beginning of time, I have seen myself as a tomboy. Growing up, there were dolls around, but I remember much more playing and getting dirty and just not girly-girl stuff. There were 4 of us girls, best friends for so so long. Kaytabug can correct me if I am glamorizing it, but we were not typical girls. We were much more rough and tumble than other adolescent girls. Strange since 2 of us had only sisters and 2 were only children.

To find out that I am going to be a mom to a girl was a complete and utter shock. I don't even know where to begin. I suck at applying makeup, I only get my haircut every 6 months, on the weekends, I am well known to not shower, I can't properly coordinate my clothing, I stumble in heels, I hate the Girls Next Door and have no idea if I should be on Team Edward or Team whoever the other vampire dude is. How do I do this? I am not a fine example of a woman yet I am supposed to raise this child to be one?

We both were 100% convinced that we would have a boy. Never so firmly has an idea been planted or desired. While each of us, I am sure, have different reasons for our desired sex, to have that replaced with the opposite has left both of us shaken, unsure of what to think and how we will handle what we are being blessed with.

It is funny how I have reacted in the days since we received the news. I have been shocked, saddened, disappointed. Tears of both sadness and extreme guilt have been shed. Yet the mama bear has come out in full force, I am so very angry if anyone says anything that implies that we should not be 100% thrilled with a girl. While my own disappointment is present, no one can speak ill of my baby girl.

I am saddened by what I consider to be a loss of a son for now. Yet I feel this sweet baby kicking me and my heart is so full of love for her. I have no idea how this will play out going forward. My baby doll is going to have to figure out for herself what shoes look best with that outfit, and how to curl her hair and apply makeup. I will be able to teach her about football and music and maybe even how to shoot a gun. The rest, we will have to wing.

Gotta Get Ready

2009-12-15T09:07:00.000-06:00

For the past century (or 4 days), I have been taking care of my nieces who are 2 and 5. My sister decided to go into labor as soon as her husband was on the drive to Houston with the girls for their regular weekend visit. He met us at the hospital about midnight on Friday night and since then, I have been the girls' primary caregiver.

This is a totally different experience than the other times I have cared for the girls. Beyond the length, just the whole mindset behind it. Because soon, I am gonna have one of them. And of course, while I wasn't present for my sister's actual delivery, she went into labor at 5 pm Friday. She delivered at noon on Sunday. She got kicked out of the hospital twice because delivery wasn't imminent. The only thing that will scare someone who is pregnant for the first time nearly as much as watching an actual delivery, is watching someone who is in labor for 42 hours. And ya know, I thought it got easier with each kid, this is her 3rd, shouldn't they fall out by now?

I haven't slept for days in between hanging out at the hospital, waking up with crying kids, frequent knocks to advise that they were leaving to go to the hospital, because this is IT! When it wasn't, of course. Pooping muddy dogs. And sleeping on my couch with a 5 year old for 3 days.

The kids are great. They really are quite well behaved. Don't throw too many tantrums. Are respectful. Listen well.

But man, they sure are needy. Aunt Fianna, I'm hungry. I have poopies. I thirsty. I bored. I want to watch Dora. I want grapes. I want I want I want.

The need monsters frighten me. They anger me yet that is so not fair.

I have to figure out this business and fast.

I am not sure with one if I will be ready or able to stay home. But with the second kid, I would like to transition to a stay at homer. But can I sanely do it?

My sister, who is quite driven, hardworking and insane like myself, says that she works because it is just better for everyone. Makes mommy happy and keeps the kids busy. She recognizes that she would not do well as a stay at home mom. Can I do it?

I don't know.

I just know that after 4 days, I am dying to get back to work.

And that at 33, my days of sleeping on couches need to end.

And In Other News I Am Not Supposed To Blurt Out.

2009-12-07T16:33:00.002-06:00

I know that only a few people regularly read this. And those few people also see me every day now on Facebook. Well, I am not gonna surrender this place, this one place where I talk about anything I want. So. Before you read on, you are sworn to secrecy. If you read on, I assume that you will not mention a word of this on Facebook. Or hint at it!

Are you still here?

Are you sure you can handle the truth!

Are you super positive that your lips can stay sealed?

Ok. This is it. One last warning.

Ya’ll. I know that I am about to commit a huge sin. I know that I am supposed to keep my frigging mouth shut.

And anyone that has been there can tell you, HA! Good luck!

I can’t not talk about it. It is all I can think about.

Yesterday, I was over at a friend’s house and had to shut my mouth for 3 ½ hours. I barely said a word the entire time for fear that it would escape my lips!!

And so look, I am going to spill my guts, because I must! Forget all the things that could go wrong, because you know what, it just isn’t going to go wrong. I am praying way too hard for anything to go wrong.

Ya’ll, I am pregnant.

Yes. Already.

It’s a shock that it happened so darned quickly. But! It happened during the marriage time so woohoo, it wasn’t a shotgun wedding!

I am guessing that I am about 3 weeks along. So according to the websites, I am not supposed to tell you until February. Well, I am not telling work and Facebook until then, but holy cow ya’ll!! I AM PREGNANT!!

We are both over the moon!

Crazy. So weird to imagine. So tired yet I am having a hard time sleeping knowing that I am gonna have a kid!

I have been soooo tired. The never-ending sinus infection. I am still a bit drippy, but nothing major, and hasn’t been major for awhile. But the tiredness. Would. Not. Stop. So yesterday was the day I had set a few days earlier. Day to take the test and rule it out. Well, it wasn’t ruled out!

Today I went to the doc who confirmed it.

I never knew how good it would feel to have your life turned upside down. I never knew how good I could feel when I feel like I will fall asleep at any second. I never knew how easy it was to sit on my couch for 2 days and do absolutely nothing nor have any desire to do anything!

Ya’ll. This is awesome.

Riddle Me This

2009-11-03T22:00:00.002-06:00

I post a lot. A whole whole bunch.

On Facebook.

If you aren't my friend Over There, comment, email, whatevs. Find me and you will hear so much more of my day to day.

Because blogging is so early 2009.

Goodbye, Sugar.

2009-10-07T22:44:00.001-05:00

I haven't experienced much loss in my time here on this blue planet. I have been extremely fortunate. I haven't had to deal with many heart breaks, sadness, or many deaths. So maybe this is why when they happen they hit me so hard. But then again, when I am reeling like I am from this death, maybe it is just this death. Maybe I would handle a different one, well differently.

One of my best friend's just lost her mom. She is one of a few moms in my life that I am fortunate enough to refer to as another mom to me.

I have been so heartbroken since it happened. I have cried regularly. For my friend, for her family, for me.

Of course, you never recognize how important someone is to you until they are gone. This person has been a near constant in my life for 17 years. She has answered the phone, the door, asked how I have been, provided meals, hugs, been a constant background effect to my friendship with her daughter. I have appreciated her, told her I loved her, hugged her, cared for her during sickness, her daughter's severe injury years ago, her husband's death just over a year ago.

Yet, she was always in the background. As my mother is to me. A constant in life. Yet in the background. I am getting married in mere days now. She stated that she would make my dress, yet I never took her up on it. Now, I long for that opportunity. She wanted me to wear a certain necklace of hers during my wedding, I pray we can find it before we leave for the wedding.

I miss her so acutely, yet she wasn't a part of my day to day, or even week to week.

The lack of her in life is shocking, yet before I went weeks without hearing her voice.

Once again, the importance of appreciating those you love while you can is brought to the forefront. Once again, too late.

I miss you, C.

Why Do Birds Sing When I Am Filling My Wine Glass?

2009-09-25T21:37:00.002-05:00

The last couple weeks have been a doozy. I was sick for a good little spell, and my work is absolutely insane.

You know, I really wish that I wasn't worried about being dooced, because there is definitely some good blog fodder in my 8-5 plus a couple hours. Just let me go on the record with 2 points about working with attorneys: 1. Don't work for a female attorney (sorry, sexist as it may be, it is just a bad idea. I have never met a female attorney that I would want to work for. But then again, my boss today said, “You know what?” and my response was, “Chickenbutt?” So maybe I am a bit lax in how I feel a boss should act.) And 2. Fridays in legal are teh Suck. They Suck Chickenbutt. Give me a month of Fridays. Three out of those Fridays are going to include one or more of the following 1. me eating breakfast (cold oatmeal made at 9 AM), at 2 PM; 2. a secretary in tears by 10 AM; or 3. discovering that we missed a super important malpractice worthy deadline.

Today? All three blessed my sweet office manager desk. On top of a no-showing temp working for a female attorney who I then covered for the remainder of the day. Holy crap, ya'll. You wonder why I am drunk blogging right now.

AND ANYHOO (you know, that whole Dooce-able thing)!!! I am dropping lbs. Word to your mom. Today I wore a pair of pants that I bought just comfortable in size several months back. They weren't tight, not loose, just about right. I now need suspenders y'all. I was sporting a whale tail throughout the day without realizing it because my pants were hanging so low. I wish I could find a cool pair of chick suspenders because I would wear them just to show off how these pants so totally Do Not Fit me.

So tonight once I finally get out of my office way late, due to my ridiculous day and my ridiculous week, I went out to dinner all by my lonesome to try and decompress and become a better person that didn't want to shrink my man's head or shoot my dumbass dogs Right In Their Face. I stuffed myself silly with Shrimp Scampi. Holy cow, it was incredible. Since all I had ate up until that point today was about 300 calories, I could afford the calories (oh yes, I am counting calories like a big dog these days!) and oh how I enjoyed them.

So. Then I came home. Stuffed ridiculously full. My PJ's are screaming for me. I pull a tee that I, for disgustingly bloody reasons following my wisdom teeth removal, remember quite vividly despite heavy amounts of pain meds, fit me 3 years ago, but Has Not Fit since, the shirt fits tonight. The shirt fits y'all. And I nearly cried.

To summarize: Work Sucks. Female Attorneys Suck. Fridays in Legal Suck. Shrimp Scampi Freaking Rocks. Working Your Ass Off for 4 Months and Finally Seeing Results – Totally tear worthy.

I am so rocking the Kasbah. I hope your weekend is starting off ever so righteously as well.

Excuse me, I need to refill my glass.

After the Cut

2009-09-03T08:23:00.003-05:00

Invasion of the Body Snatchers is Totally in Order.

2009-08-17T22:22:00.000-05:00

Crap! It has been 2 weeks since I last posted! I really mean to update more. Yet, I cannot imagine life moving faster, yet I am just a girl with a man and some dogs and cats. If I had kids, how would I even have time to brush my teeth?

Ya'll. I am on Week 5 of the Couch to 5k program. The last day. Which means 20 minutes of straight running.

Yep.

I have ran it twice so far. The first time was hard. Really really hard. The second time was easier, but still pretty darned tough.

And you know the hard part? Admitting it really isn't so much physical as it is mental. Which is so freaking weird. And AMAZING!!

The first week, the running program was intervals of 60 seconds of jogging. And it was hard. Really beat me down hard. Make me pant and swear and want to cry. Now I can run 5 minutes, 8 minutes and even 10 minutes without dying. I can run 20 minutes taking a few short 30 second breaks. If I could get my mind right, my ass would be full on moving for 20 full minutes.

That is C.R.A.Z.Y.

I cannot praise this program enough. I cannot believe I am about to type this next sentence. I said it last night and got really really confused.

I like running.

Blasphemy. Ya'll. I do not like running. I am not a runner. I hate running. And have since I was a wee child. Yet, I am leaving that sentence all alone, because.... I think it is a true statement.

I haven't lost but 2 pounds since we started this program, what 8 weeks ago? I can't say there is noticeable change in the way my pants fit, but I can tell my body is firming up, I feel much stronger, more durable. Um, what kind of descriptive word is durable for my body?

I know my body will begin shedding weight soon enough. I am working hard. I am running my tail off. I am running until my face is scary red. Until my clothes are soaked through. I wake up most mornings and hobble out of bed, sore, muscles aching.

Yet there is obvious improvement.

I have never in my life. All my 32 11/12 years have ran as far as I am now running.

I am reading books on running. I am reading blogs on running. I am reading websites on running.

Who the hell have I become?

And when will I fit into a size 8 again?

Running won't kill you, you'll pass out first!

2009-08-03T14:28:00.003-05:00

Running is hard, I've never enjoyed it. Back in middle school, we had to run around a park which was a square city block. Kaytabug may remember more, but I think we had to do 4 laps around it, or what equaled a mile. We had to complete the run within 12 minutes. I believe we did this once a week. Oh holy hell what torture that day was. I remember dreading it so badly. Even as a mere child, no more than 12 years of age, I could barely run that 12 minute mile.

I have been gaining weight for awhile. When I started this here blog in April 2007, I was over my desired weight by at least 15 pounds. I have added close to another 15 to that since. With a wedding some time in my future, with a closet full of clothes that don’t fit and the refusal to buy the next size up, I knew that I needed to do something. Motivation for that something? Meh.

Somehow, somewhere on my interneting, I came across Couch to 5k. An interval training program for running. Which takes you from the couch, being a fat lazy slug, to running a complete 5k. Without stopping to die. At all. Not even a small quick death.

Do not ask what I was thinking.

Truly, the program itself is pretty darned cool. The podcasts I am using play music and Robert Ullrey comes on to tell you when to run or walk. You run every other day, I have been doing Monday, Wednesday and Saturday. After the 3 runs, you move up to the next podcast. A bit tougher each week to get you ready to run a complete 5k without stopping once. Just to die. I just want to stop a few times to die. But it is not allowed.

It is getting tougher each week, although srsly! It has been tough the entire time. Now though, the runs are getting longer. And I am well into the program. Way too far in to quit because my mind does not allow me to quit. Anything. So in order to power through, I have taken up reading some running websites, some blogs, etc. Every website discusses running being an amazing mental endeavor. One quote being that running is 90% mental and the rest is all in your head. Har har har.

But come on, seriously, could I get some assistance? I need some help. How do you get yourself through an exhausting, painful run that you hate with the hatred of a 1,000 hate-filled haters?

Physically the run is painful, but mentally it is so much worse. If you think you will fail at something or that you are not capable of doing something, I can promise you that you are right. It is extremely difficult to keep motivated when you don’t think you can do something. Yet, telling yourself to ignore your stupid, fat, whiny body is super difficult as well. My body keeps telling my mind that I can’t do it. And my mind has a strong tendency to believe my body. Which I cannot allow it to do.

One helpful thing I have found through my quest for help with this running BS, is from one of my standard bloggy reads. Tess says it so well, “I've never finished a workout and said to myself, I wish I hadn't done that”.

Which is so true, I've never regretted running, once I'm done with it. Although I may feel like complete crap during the workout, I've always felt good that I finished the workout, proud of myself for showing up and doing it.

I have made myself a promise, what I am calling a Half Year Resolution. Well 2 actually, but only one that matters for this blog post. I will continue running for the remainder of the year. I will finish this running program and keep at it. Keep running throughout the year. Because I said so.

Any motivation techniques would be greatly appreciated. And check out the Couch to 5K. I really do like the program. When I am not hating it.

P.S. Tess also wrote the bestest post ever on Jon & Kate's breakup...not really about them, more importantly about flicking. Read it. I am consciously avoiding flicking my dear Not Craig. It is like a PSA for relationships.

Stolen Lines - Unrequested Advice

2009-06-06T14:35:00.003-05:00

Tell me... have you ever thought...of changing your life?

You confide that you are not happy. You don’t like how he treats you, how he talks to you. You don’t like who you are becoming.

You claim to be miserable and want to change. But you continue to drink until you pass out. You continue to never leave your house. You continue to ignore repeated invitations from family.

You say you hate your job. You wish you were doing something more challenging. You are mad about the pay cut.

You are sick of your daughter acting out. You wish she would listen when you tell her to do something. You wish she would quit throwing tantrums.

Tell me... have you ever thought...of changing your life?

I know you are scared. You don’t know how to start. You don’t know how to do it. You are scared you will fail. That things will be worse. That things might actually get better.

But do you really want to stay where you are at. Living like you have been. I know you want more. I know that you wish you could figure out how to change it all.

You don’t see what I see. What so many others see. You have the strength. You have proved that countless times since I met you.

I know that you can do it. I just wish I knew how to make each of you see that.

(The first line was stolen from the play, Betrayal, by Harold Pinter.)

This is another entry in Grace's Stolen Line's project.

My previous entries can be found Here and Here.

After All This, A List? How Pathetic.

2009-05-21T21:35:00.001-05:00

1. My job has been making me work very, very hard. It is not very nice of them and really screws up my blog reading and writing time, my Facebook quiz taking time, my Twittering, and my staring out my window time.
2. Dogs are really destructive. I am lucky I guess because my dogs don’t really destroy too many of my personal items, such as shoes, hairclips, purses, underwear, but they destroy my backyard. Dig holes, eat air conditioner lines, chew on hoses, and eat the wooden fence. They also escape into my neighbor’s yard and then escape into the street from there. Bad Puppy. Grow bigger please.
3. It would be much easier to lose weight if beer wasn’t so tasty.
4. I am not looking forward to summer because I have drank too much beer and ate too many chips over the past year. I am really looking forward to summer because I can drink beer and eat chips on my patio.
5. I have spent lots of time out in my yard recently. Scooping poop, fixing air conditioners, refilling holes and planting lots of plants. My hair is getting natural highlights as a result. I like this.
6. I wonder where my blog vibe went. And then I don’t really care because I don’t miss it. And then I think of how I really miss sharing my life here. And then I go check Facebook and forget.
7. I went to a Lasik consultation today. My vision. Ha. I am blind. If there is anyone out there that has worse vision than .525 or -5.25 ... whatever, you win a prize.
8. I am not sure what to do with my flex/cafeteria dollars now. I have lots of money to burn and no medical procedure to burn it on. Invisalign maybe? Boob surgery is not an acceptable expenditure, btw.
9. I don’t watch American Idol, but I heard something really big happened. But it happened to a guy who wears more makeup than I do. So I don’t really care. I stopped caring when Poison stopped playing together.
10. That is pretty pathetic to end my list with American Idol and Poison.

Shhh.... It's A Secret!

2009-04-16T13:45:00.000-05:00

Living an online life, whether it be on a blog, Facebook, twitter, Plurk, MySpace, etc, etc and so on and so forth, can be a challenge.

For me, I have separated my blog from my Facebook, my twitter from Myspace, and plurk, yea, whatevs, I failed at that one.

I have 2 different identities – my blog, twitter and plurk life and then my Facebook, Myspace and real life life.

Only 2 people know about all of these. One lives with me and one has known me since I weighed no more than 25 pounds.

But yesterday, my careful separation failed me. I obviously used an email address that I shouldn’t have used.

One of my real life friends found my Twitter. And on my Twitter, until this morning, was my blog address. And in my Twitter comments, I know I have posted links here and there to my blog.

Whoops. I am a dumbass.

I talk candidly here. I say things that I want to keep secret from some folks in my real life. Not because I am dishing dirt or saying things I shouldn’t or sharing life secrets, just that this is where I vent. This is where I say stupid crap without worry that someone is gonna try and commit me. This is where I show what a complete and total fool I can be.

I love this person that found my Twitter. I do. She is an awesome person that I am candid with on most everything. Howevs, I really really don’t want to have to worry about other folks finding me.

I don’t want to think that my mom is reading this page. Or my ex-boyfriend, or the bartender at my local Cheers. I don’t want to censor everything here. And boy howdy, I didn’t censor my archives and I really don’t want words I have laid out in the past with a sense of privacy, misconstrued in the present, under different circumstances.

Therefore, girlie, if you found me, please, please, let’s keep this between you and me. I would really really supercallafragilistically appreciate it.

(And to the peeps that read this and don't know me in real life, Hi! How ya doing? Been awhile, huh? How are the kids? How is your job? Oh this weather, sure is crazy, huh?

We Surround Them

2009-03-12T10:42:00.003-05:00

I grew up in a “traditional” home. God-fearing parents who sent us off to church on Sunday. Raised strictly by parents who may have had occasional marital problems, but worked through them out of love for each other, for my sister and I, and because they simply knew no other way than to stay married.

Though they had my sister when they were just out of high school, they strove to raise my sister and I with certain values. Honesty, humility, sincerity, courage.

Hard work and personal responsibility were driven into us. A requirement.

Thrift was a necessity as we did not have much money growing up. Gratitude for what we did have was taught over each meal, each gift we received.

Charity was never discussed. We didn’t volunteer or donate money. Charity was in our hearts. If someone needed a place to stay, they stayed over. If someone needed something, we shared what we had.

Now that I am older, about to marry and am thinking about children, I have come to believe in certain principles.

1. America is good.
2. I believe in God and He is the Center of my Life.
3. I must always try to be a more honest person than I was yesterday.
4. The family is sacred. My spouse and I are the ultimate authority, not the government.
5. If you break the law you pay the penalty. Justice is blind and no one is above it.
6. I have a right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, but there is no guarantee of equal results.
7. I work hard for what I have and I will share it with who I want to. Government cannot force me to be charitable.
8. It is not un-American for me to disagree with authority or to share my personal opinion.
9. The government works for me. I do not answer to them, they answer to me.

I don’t believe many people can disagree with the values and principles recited above. The government, over the last 50 years has encroached on these values and principles. It has pushed against our freedoms and have sanctioned actions that I simply find deplorable.

This is not a fight against Obama, or the Democrats, or the Republicans. This is a fight against the government as a whole encroaching on our lives.

It is time America started standing up for itself. We have cowered too long in silence as our renegade government has enslaved us more and more each day. We have to take action, and this may very well be the first step.

I encourage you to take action, and go to one of the many meet-ups that are being organized to view this program. Take that first step, and acquaint yourselves with your fellow citizens who still give a damn about this country and what’s right.

There is strength in numbers and in the unification of people with a common cause.

http://www.glennbeck.com/content/articles/article/198/21018/
http://wesurroundthemmap.com

Herein, I Say Minutiae and With Whom

2009-02-23T15:03:00.000-06:00

I have been so involved with the minutiae of life that I haven’t had a spare moment to type up anything to bring this sucker up to date.

I know this minutia of life is so tedious, and irritating, and boring, but it is the minutia that makes up life.

The day to day is where we frame our lives. It may just be grocery shopping, dog walking, working out, scrubbing floors, folding laundry, but I spend most of my time in this manner.

The minutia is my life.

Of course, there are big moments, important moments, moments I will remember much longer and larger than scrubbing the kitchen floor, but the day to day shouldn’t be taken for granted. Or hurried. It should be enjoyed just like the huge moments of life.

How I treat the day to day, and those with whom I spend my day to day is what makes up the person I am.

In the end, I may not remember the day to day minutiae, but I will remember if I was happy in my day to day. And others will remember if I was loving in my day to day.

Don’t take it for granted. Even if it is just scooping poop.

Ok, maybe that is ok to take for granted, but not the puppy that pooped it out. (…lol…)

Stolen Lines #2 – Moving Back to a Ghost-Filled Neighborhood

2009-02-10T10:16:00.001-06:00

"Ghosts definitely live here," I say.

I remember to the right is where my friend used to live. I would pick her up and we would go to the bar right there. Walking around looking to meet some guys.

That bar. Packed full of ghosts. Overflowing with them. Ghosts of a past where I was much more reckless, barely recognizable to this person I am now. Many, many, many nights spent drinking there, with friends who have since moved far away, and have stayed close, who have gotten married, had kids, stayed single, and those that still go to the bar, like no time has passed at all. Good memories, bad memories. Ghosts I welcome in my thoughts, ghosts I try very hard to forget.

Memories of the neighborhood party house remembered as I drive by, on my way to the grocery store, or Wal-Mart. Memories of a past life, with past friends collide with the mundane errands of this life.

Another house off another street. Where my ex used to live in this past life. His parents’ house? Just turn right there.

My parents lived down that road to your left. I never visited them, even though I lived just 20 minutes away. Regrets remembered as they now live 5 hours away.

The boarded-up grocery store where old ghosts/friends and I once attempted to buy beer at 10:00 A.M. Refused, we walked back to that ghost filled house down the street where I used to live.

I run into ghosts, while shopping, at fast food restaurants, at the library. Every where I turn, I fear running into someone from my past. Running into someone who remembers that all these ghosts exist, while I think of the ghost that they are.

In my present life, where the ghosts don’t exist, where they are shuffled back, away, in the deep recesses of a sometimes regret-filled, sometimes happy memory, I forgot all these ghosts existed. It was not until we bought the house, moved in, got comfortable, did the ghosts reappear. They hid out, never surfacing before the decision was made. Now, they are everywhere I go. Inescapable. Omnipresent.

I spent years away from this part of town, from this city even. Making new memories and meeting new people, who are now ghosts that exist in different spots and different states. Moving back to this area, has resurrected hundreds of ghosts, in every corner. I can’t hide from them.

Ghosts definitely live here, but now, so do I. I must make peace with the ghosts. Good and bad ghosts. They are in the past, but they are also a big part of me.

This is a part of Grace's experiment. I stole the first line of this post from You'll Never Eat Lunch in This town Again, by Julia Phillips.

Only Cute While Sleeping

2009-02-09T10:54:00.002-06:00

Yesterday, on one of my 20 trips up and down the stairs to keep the dog from eating out of the litterbox, the dog stepped in front of me and I not so gracefully sprained my ankle trying to catch myself.

I was in such pain, began crying, and the stupid, evil dog, came running up to me and crawled into my lap, despite the path to the litterbox now being clear and there being no way I was going to stop him seeing that I was bawling from the searing pain in my ankle.

He sure can be sweet sometimes. Usually it is while he is sleeping though.

AND TURN THAT MUSIC DOWN YOUNG MAN!

2009-02-01T10:09:00.001-06:00

A couple years back when I had my wisdom teeth removed, although I was totally out of my gourd, I was conscious throughout the entire process. When the surgery was over, I distinctly remember the look on the doctor’s face. He looked worn, he wiped his brow, took a deep breath and just sat back in awe of all he had accomplished. In my mouth. (That’s what he said). He looked tired and a bit surprised.

I went home and nearly died for 4 days before I had to go back to work. The right side of my face swelled up to the size of a grapefruit. I didn’t eat anything but mashed potatoes and mac and cheese from KFC for a month because I could barely fit a spoon in my mouth, much less chew. About 2 weeks after the surgery, I returned to the doctor who was extremely pleased to see me and the results. He was thrilled that I was ok.

BECAUSE! When I left his office the day of the surgery, he wasn’t overly confident of the whole affair.

It just so happened that I had a huge nerve wrapped all around the roots of my wisdom tooth.

He had to break up the tooth and gingerly pick out the pieces, praying that he didn’t sever the nerve. He was a bit freaked out after the surgery, hoping that he hadn’t damaged my face. To his credit, he didn’t.

I have been having problems off and on since my days in New Mexico. When Not Craig and I were working our butts off trying to run 5 miles non-stop (a goal which has never ever happened), I injured myself.

The pain would go away, but it would return if I started working out again, or if I crossed my legs, or if I fell asleep on my right side or if it was Tuesday.

It just kept reoccurring.

Not Craig has been telling me to go to the doctor since it started. I hate doctors. I hate waiting, I hate explaining my problem and I hate having to recall when my last period was even though I am there for a sore throat because, ahem, those 2 areas are NOT related.

Recently, I have been walking the dog twice a day, averaging about a mile and a half each walk. I would alternate running with walking in order to try to wear the dog out. Which is another post in itself because, hello, his breed herds sheep all day long, how is one human going to possibly provide a challenge to him.

When I woke up on Thursday, the old pain was back. It was mild, but it was there. I persisted and walked Colt that morning, but bowed out on the evening walk. Friday, I woke up and walked Colt with pain, lots o’ pain. Friday during the day, I went to the doctor. Finally, after a year and a half. I hurt.

The doctor took about 2 minutes of listening to me, rubbing my butt (which I am not so sure was as much a diagnostic tool as a girl-on-girl feel up) and diagnosed me.

Piriformis. My muscle is intertwined with my sciatic nerve. 10% of the population have this particular set up.

Seriously, it is otherwise known as Deep Buttock Syndrome. Ya’ll I wish I was just making this up. Fo Realz. Insert all the jokes you wish, Not Craig and I could use some new ones.

And plus? This condition is chronic. I can try to prevent it or minimize it, but I am officially diagnosed with a chronic condition of old lady-dom. I also can now be all crotchy and complain how my sciatica is killing me.

Point being, I have two nerve issues that are rare in the general populace.

Does anyone know of any other weird nerve issues where the nerves aren’t where they should be? I assume all my nerves are misplaced at this point and would like to have something specific to freak out about.

The Post Where I Show That I Am Absolutely Nucking Futs

2009-01-19T14:54:00.003-06:00

The most sure-fire way to ensure I will not accomplish something is to tell people that I will do it.

Logically, the exact opposite would occur. I would feel responsible to complete the project, go to the whatever, buy the widget, see the movie, write the blog post. However, in reality, if I tell you I will do something, I won’t do it.

Several weeks back, I said that I had a post to write about the thrills of homeownership. Of course, I never wrote it.

However, due to my new to-do listing, I keep being confronted by the fact that I owe the internets a blog post regarding the big hole in my backyard. I have pictures of it. I have thoughts and angry funny comments stewing in my brain, yet my stubborn side doesn’t want to put it down on paper.

Instead, let’s talk about this to-do list project.

First off, I am a major stress-aholic.

I take on way too many things and then freak out about them.

If my home, life, car, relationship, pets, clothes, backyard, aren’t in tip top shape, I worry about them.

If there is something I can worry about, I will.

I always have things on my mind. Things I MUST COMPLETE NOW OR DIE. Things I MUST CLEAN OR DIE. Things I MUST DO TO SLEEP AT NIGHT OR DIE.

I may be a bit psychotic. (If Not Craig is reading, I would appreciate your silence. K.Thx.Bai.)

I also read a lot of blogs. And some of those blogs frequently mention, Getting Things Done: The Art of Stress-Free Productivity. A book - slash - way of organizing - slash - living by David Allen.

Recently, the stress of buying a home, planning a wedding, having a puppy that likes to destroy furniture, clothing and various cleaning implements all while peeing on my brand new floors 10 times a day, became a bit much for me. I decided to check out the book.

Of course, like any internet addict would do, I also googled “GTD” as it is known by its followers (yea, fo realz, I swear it has a cult following.) and read many, many things about it.

I then began to use one of the most highly recommended applications.

Remember The Milk: this is an online to-do list. You can email to-do’s to the list, you can have daily reminders emailed to you, you can set the tasks to recur on whatever frequency you so desire, you can postpone, you can organize your to-do’s into all sorts of lists. It is an incredibly useful tool.

I began using RTM like mad. Adding all sorts of tasks. Things big like “Plan a wedding” and things small like “Watch Glenn Beck 1/19 on Fox” Important events like changing the air filters in my house and fertilizing the lawn and getting the dog his shots. The ever-critical items like dusting the tops of my kitchen cabinets. I have been adding huge tasks and ridiculous minutiae to my RTM page.

Then, as is my modus operandi, I worried that maybe I wasn’t listing all the things I needed to remember. I thought of a ton of things while driving home from work. What about those tasks?

The point of GTD [for die-hard GTD’ers, I am a newbie, so I will be oversimplifying I am sure (for non-GTD’ers, see it is a cult – I am fearful of being caught and exposed for my lack of GTDing-ness.)] is to get things out of your head and onto a list of action items, any little task, idea, desire, needs to be captured so it is not swimming in your brain, making you panic at the thought of forgetting the thought. So before I even finished the first chapter of GTD, I thought I was going to be a big failure because I wasn’t capturing the items that happened to occur to me when I was over 2.5 feet from a computer (which only occurs during my commute, because I have an illness.)

In order to stop the panic attacks, I searched for something to capture these driving induced to-do’s and I found Reqall. Which may very well be 100x greater than sliced bread AND New Kids on the Block combined.

You call ReQall. And speak, tell them what is worrying you, what amazing task you must accomplish, like “Look for Yoda’s vet records and ensure that she will not die due to being vaccinated 10 days late.” Then Reqall transcribes what you said and emails it to you, so you can add it to your to-do list.

I know I am sounding like such a freak already, but I swear, this is a true story. One night I got home and checked my email to find 10 Reqall messages from myself. Ya’ll, I live 20 miles from my office. I apparently called in tasks every 2 miles.

The super awesome added bonus to Reqall is that if you don’t speak clearly, or have an accent, or a static-y connection, Reqall provides built in entertainment. Apparently, I need to write a blog post on the poll on the arts and remember to take TV dinner store tomorrow.

All in all, this freakish behavior of mine is getting my life organized, my head is feeling less full of stress and garbage and overall worry about ensuring that I check the whirlpool tub's shutoff system three months from now.

I haven’t instituted most of the GTD actions, primarily, because I haven’t read more than half the book yet. However, perhaps, the action of reading about organizing my life, has created a calm in me. Simply getting all the craziness out of my head and into a nice little program that I can check at work and at home, at 3:00 AM and 3:00 PM, has helped me chill a bit.

I will keep you posted on how I do with GTD in the future. If I join the cult and if they have a cool handshake or maybe robes. And by saying I will keep you posted, I mean you will never hear me talk about this again.

Stolen Lines #1 - I Spoke, But It Wasn't The Right Answer.

2009-01-07T09:31:00.002-06:00

I tried to think of the right answer. Unable to think of that, I spoke anyway.

He had asked if there was a chance that we would get back together. After hemming and hawing, standing in the entryway to Kohl’s, waiting for this call to be over, I said, “Maybe. I just need some time. To figure out if this is what I even want anymore.” Little did he know that I had already bought furniture for my new apartment, an apartment that he didn’t know I had leased. I was moving on, trying to shop for new clothes for my new life without him, while he asked questions that I couldn’t bring myself to answer with honesty.

The next few weeks were difficult given we were in the same apartment, living completely different lives. Well, no, the new reality wasn’t that different. We had been living different existences for some time. After six years together, we were staying in separate bedrooms since I had a 9-5’er and he was working at a bar at night. Once every couple weeks, we may have shared a bed. Only to have one of us get up in the middle of the night and go to the couch or the other bedroom, unable to sleep with the intrusion of a near stranger into our personal space. We lived on different planes, shared friends who would tell me what this man, who was living under the same roof, hoping to live the same life as me, what he was up to. We rarely talked on the phone. We didn’t have anything to say to each other. The only remaining thing we had in common was a rent check, our dirty laundry, touching more frequently than we did.

I never gave him the right answer, the honest answer, the answer he deserved. My actions spoke for me. I moved out, I stopped answering his calls. He was not the future I wanted anymore. I didn’t know how to express this to him without hurting him so I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have the right answer, the one that he wanted.

This is a part of Grace's experiment. The first two sentences were stolen from Night of the Avenging Blowfish, by John Welter.

The Dog Made Me Not Do It

2009-01-04T22:03:00.002-06:00

I know I said I had a post today. This is Not it.

This is a complain-y post written right before I go to bed.

Raising a puppy is a pain in the rear.

He has been ever so trying this weekend.

We thought he was so very house-trained. Shocked in fact, the first couple days.

Lies. It was all lies. Deceit. Perpetrated by that evil tiny thing in order to make us believe he was good. When in fact, he is an evil pee-er.

May I take a break from this complaint to praise the homebuilder for putting tile on the bottom floor of our home.

Thank you. I heart the tile.

However, to return to the complaining, I cleaned up puppy pee 7 times yesterday. 7 spots.

Let me repeat.

Seven.

Seven times in one day.

After a perfect first week, he is warming up to us, getting comfortable and letting loose.

Don't get me wrong, he is still really cute. And can be very sweet.

The constant training. A drain.

Beyond being on constant Pee Watch, we are not allowing him upstairs due to the cats, litterboxes, and wall to wall carpeting.

We don't have a baby gate there, and it is extremely hard to put one there due to the stair railing being open, and the cats knocking it over, so I am trying to teach him it is off limits.

He runs halfway up the stairs, to the landing halfway up the stairs. I chase after him, saying "No" in my stern voice, and "Down" I stomp on the stairs to make noise that will startle him.

After running up the stairs 74 times, he understands that he is not to be there. It is off limits. But he still wants to sniff cat butt, so he persists, hoping not to be caught. However, due to my newly attuned dog watching abilities (see 7 puddles in one day), I have seen him and have ran after him.

We have done this, I swear, at least 70 times this weekend. He has the idea, "I am not allowed up there," he gets that. Yet he can't stop himself from pursuing cat ass.

I understand the allure. Well, no. Not really, but whatevs, he is a dog. Albeit the purported smartest breed Ever. (Don't trust me, Wiki says so.)

I know, I know. He is a baby that requires lots of training. I have been to the library, I have books. I am working on it.

But oh my, I fully and totally get my reluctance to get a dog. Cats are soooo easy. They require zilch zero training. Their mothers teach them how to use the litter box. Then you May have to train them to stay off the table/counters, but that is it.

Dogs - you have to train every little detail. Their ability to destroy shoes, shirts, furniture, knick knacks, cats....you have to work with them every waking moment to ensure they aren't hellions.

Please bear with me. There are sure to be many many more posts of this nature.

Oh, and his name is Colt. Colt McTrouble Last Name Omitted to Protect the Innocent.

2008 - Summed Up

2009-01-03T12:50:00.004-06:00

I wrote this days ago. And then the topic of my next post occurred and I was without internet. I will have the next post up tomorrow or 3 weeks from now if the internet fails me again. So yea, the post was timely, posting was not. It ain’t my fault.

1. What did you do in 2008 that you'd never done before?

Got engaged, bought a house. These will be recurring themes on this list. Sorry, 10 months of the year were kinda slow.

2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I have no idea. If I made any resolutions it has been 365 days since I made them. I don’t know what I did yesterday so, maybe we should be moving on.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

My sister being at the top of the list. No, wait. The kid is a year and a half, which would make it impossible for my sister to have spawned in 2008. So scratch that. Unless she had a child that she hid from us. So in that case, yea.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
My BFF’s father. In a horrible awful accident that brings tears to my eyes as I type this. That really, really sucked. Her family is doing remarkably well given the craptastic hand 2008 dealt.

5. What countries did you visit?

Jamaica. Loved it. Definitely would return.

6. What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008?

Size 8 jeans on my ass.

7. What dates from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory?

January 16 – the date that I got Not Craig a job in Houston. Just 3 months after I made the scary decision to go back to Houston without him, thinking it would be at least July before his coming to Houston was even a possibility.

Early September - The entire week of Jamaica. Which now upon doing a review of my blog, I find that I didn’t discuss the actual trip much, except the huge bruise I received. Given all the hurricane related posts around that time period, I completely forgot. I blame Ike. Which I guess means those damn hurricanes may be etched into my memory.

November 23 – I got engaged to my best friend.

December 8 – We closed on our first house.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Convincing this awesome guy that I was so cool that he should spend the rest of his life with me.

9. What was your biggest failure?

Not being nice to Not Craig every day.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

Back issues related to my driving like a dumbass.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

The house. I may say the puppy in a couple months. But he peed on my carpet last night, so he is not at the top of the list.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

Not Craig’s. He put up with me and still wanted to marry me. I am pretty sure he is taking drugs.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

My own a fair amount of the time.

14. Where did most of your money go?

Have you ever put a down payment on a house?

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Have you seen the days etched in my memory up there. I think all of those are extreme excitement worthy.

16. What song will always remind you of 2008?

In Your Eyes. Not Craig was super cool and played that when he asked if I would be his forever.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder? .Lots happier
b) thinner or fatter? Lots fatter
c) richer or poorer? Lots poorer, but working on building that nest egg back up.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?

Slept. This has been one helluva exhausting ride.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?

Ate. Complained. Paid attention to the Britney Spears saga.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?

Already done. I put together a million piece playset. It was an extremely bad idea.

21. Did you fall in love in 2008?

Every day.

22. How many one-night stands?

365.

23. What was your favorite TV program?

I would prefer to say Heroes. But somehow I always missed it. The only shows I really saw were The Dog Whisperer and House Hunters.

24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?

Election years are a bit tumultuous. And then this whole economic BS. Hate is a strong word….

25. What was the best book you read?

I did a very poor job on completing my reading list this year. Oops.

26. What was your greatest musical discovery?

IDK. My BFF Rose?

27. What did you want and get?

Love and happiness.

28. What did you want and not get?

Is it wrong of me to not have anything to say to this. I think I got darned near every single thing a girl could want.

29. What was your favorite film of this year?

I know I saw lots of movies…but I have no idea what they were. I couldn’t tell you what the movie was about on the drive home from the theater immediately after watching it. I do however now the phone numbers of all my friends growing up 20 years ago. My brain works in mysterious ways.

30. What did you do on your birthday?

Looking back, it appears that I freaked out about a hurricane hitting Jamaica. Amazingly, all that worrying didn’t move the damned hurricane. I believe there is a lesson there.

31. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

Space travel. Or a caramel apple.

32. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2008?

LMAO! ROFLMAO. Thrift store chic? 1996 coolness. I have never been stylish. Ever. Nope. Not me.

33. What kept you sane?

Not Craig.

34. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

Blech. None.

35. What political issue stirred you the most?

Election year. What a stupid question.

36. Who did you miss?

Family. My BFF’s Dad. Most recently, Cass.

37. Who was the best new person you met?

Yikes. I am such a hermit. This is bad. I am going to have to say that stupid dog that is whining in the background. Because I haven’t met anyone new. I must get out more.

38. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008:

Nothing in life is more important than spending time with those you love. Even if that time is at Wal-Mart.

39. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:

The Humpty Dance is your chance to do the hump.

Am Too Busy To Title This Post.

2008-12-30T10:45:00.003-06:00

Looking back at the last month is a bit overwhelming.

I haven't been around much because my job - they are making me work really hard for the money. Really hard.

Buying a new house? Um, time-consuming. Getting ready each morning is much more difficult when you have to wiggle along the floor past the windows, naked, because you haven't put up curtains yet. Also, losing the keys for 3 weeks is a bad idea.

New homes? Don't have innernet access. You have to have a huge tunnel for cabling dug in your backyard. And then they don't bury it.

And you live in fear that the new dog that you just got, is going to eat the cable. But you can't decide which is worse - the potential for electrocution of the dog or the loss of internets once the dog gets electrocuted.

Sorry the pic kinda sucks. I can't find my camera, so this is a phone pic. And he doesn't stop moving ever. He is an 8 week old border collie. Please name him. We suck at naming animals - our 1 1/2 year old cat is officially named Kitten. So please help this poor dog.

Don't even get me started on Christmas. My sister - employs slave labor and pays in tamales and Monster energy drinks.

I spent my Christmas vacation putting this together.

It took 4 people 2 days to put it together. 2 entire days. From 7 AM until dark.

My kids - never getting a play set. They have their aunt to blame.

So, in review:

2007 - This Year Can Totally Suck it.

2008 - The Best Year Ever.

2009 - On Track to Be The Best Year Ever.

Fred Thompson on the Economy

2008-12-03T19:24:00.000-06:00

Hello (Family) and Goodbye (Cass)

2008-11-27T22:19:00.004-06:00

For the past 2 weeks, beyond the thrill/fear/panic of buying our new house, I have been freaking out about today. A couple weeks back, it was decided that Not Craig’s family was going to come to our house for Thanksgiving due to a series of events. Then, due to a series of canceled plans of their own, my parents were asked to come to our house. Our apartment, which does not fit more than 4 people comfortably, was soon to have nearly 3 times that many people, 3 cats and a huge bird.

I have never cooked a turkey before. I have never been responsible for such a huge meal before. Well, I chickened out and bought a box of pre-cooked stuff from Kroger. They say it is pre-cooked. While it is easier than cooking everything from scratch, it was still a 2 ½ hour production.

Dinner turned out great. The first meeting of our parents, turned out great. In between dinner and dessert, we all drove out to our new house so that our families, which all live out of town, could see the home. Our parents all rode together. And they loved each other.

They all oohed and aahed over how wonderful their son, and their soon to be son-in-law did at picking out a conflict free gem for their daughter and soon to be daughter-in-law.

Nearing the end of our Thanksgiving celebration, I gave my parents a gift, which they never disclosed to me that they wanted. A secret wish for a sweet cat they kept for months during my transition back to Houston last year, which I spent living in a hotel for 2 months. A secret they never shared with me, yet readily disclosed when Not Craig drove 4 hours to ask for my hand. My sweet Cass will be overwhelmingly happy with my parents living as an only child.

What a perfect day.

What a wonderful way for our families to begin the sharing of our lives together.

How thankful I am.

Spewing Forth The Words

2008-11-20T06:56:00.002-06:00

I am an extremely polite person. My mother is a quiet, calm, introverted woman who rarely makes any manner missteps. She taught me by example to be a quiet, polite, respectful person.

One thing she was never able to pass on to me is to keep my mouth shut. If she has something to say, she won’t say it. It drives me crazy to this day that she would never express an opinion about some of the wayward things I did when I was younger. After I broke off my previous long-term relationships with jerky, lazy, good for nothing no-gooders, she expressed relief and said that she was concerned about the relationship, that she didn’t agree with it. I always wanted to scream at her, “WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SOMETHING!” Words from my mom may have made me come to my senses before I spent 5 years with each of those losers.

But never….she always kept it in. Waited until I realized, on my own, what a bad decision I had made, before she said a word.

The extreme politeness.

I have none of that. If I feel something, if I am mad, if I think the movie sucked, if I think your boyfriend is a jerk, I will try to keep my mouth shut, because as my momma taught me, it is polite to shut the fuck up, however, I promise you that my feelings are going to come out at some time. I can’t help myself. The words sit at the back of my throat gagging me until I have to either get them out or suffocate.

This is why I haven’t been around here. I had words that have been smothering me. Words that I wanted to say so badly yet I couldn’t do it yet.

Another way I am completely different from my mom is that I am not very good at keeping my business a secret. Not in the Britney Spears way of exposing her business, but in the, I am an open book and will tell some stranger at the grocery store my life story way.

And excitement. I have rarely seen my mom truly excited. She has such a calm nature whereas I am, well, spastic at times. I am not easily contained.

My feelings, my excitement, my words spew out of me, out of control.

So when, several weeks ago, Not Craig and I did something wild and crazy and utterly awesome, I didn’t tell many people.

Oh I told some, he told some. We couldn’t keep ourselves contained that well. However, pending actual definite approval, we kept it a bit under wraps. I haven’t told anyone except the absolute required people I work with and I didn’t write a word on here, because I knew I couldn’t write about anything else so I stayed away.

In fact, now that I am getting closer to leaking it to you guys, I am not sure if I want to spill it just yet.

Nothing is final yet, what if it all falls through.

And for some, others who have already walked in these shoes, it is not a big deal. To Not Craig and I, though, it is huge. We have been wanting to do this for some time and hadn’t thought it possible just yet. Thought that although we had been doing things responsibly for some time, that we just weren’t quite in the right position yet, apparently however, some fool disagreed and totally qualified us to buy our very first home.

A gorgeous home.

A home that I am so in love with.

In a place that I am so in love with.

With a man that I am so in love with.

So Yea us. And Yea me for keeping my flapping gums shut for a whole three weeks.

We were just approved for the mortgage, a daunting thing given the current climate. I guess I should thank Barney Frank and his stupid cronies for making it possible that banks are continuing to lend. Thanks Paulson. Thanks RINO’s. I appreciate you giving Not Craig and I the same opportunities millions of other people get. The opportunity to foreclose on our very first home. Thank you. Now I am going to go tell every single soul I run into.

Three's Company Had a Very Clean House

2008-10-29T13:09:00.003-05:00

I just saw a news snippet about polygamy. I only saw a minute of it, but it appeared to be a threesome in some third-world country stating that their way of life is the only way they knew, that it was normal for a husband to have two wives.

Maybe I am just tired and my fingers a bit dried out from cleaning the shower, but I think it is safe to go on the record in support of multiple wives. Personally, I need to find a wife that can be the bathroom cleaner, the laundry washer, the floor scrubber, the cat handler, the grocery buyer, the dinner preparer, etc., and so forth. I can handle the couch cuddling, companionship, lights going out wifely duties, I just would like to interview a few Stepford Wives to handle the other duties I have.

I understand that from the beginning of time, women handled the household duties while men hunted, came home and sat around the campfire farting. No matter how I consider that women all across the world are doing more than men are at home, it doesn’t make me feel any better or less tired or less resentful that I am scrubbing dishes at 10 at night instead of curled up on the couch.

Years ago, yet in an incident I remember so vividly, I was with my parents handling the cleaning of a relative’s home after the mother had died. My mom and I scrubbed and swept, and dusted and mopped while my dad sat on a bench outside and stared into the sky. I asked my mom how she handled that all these years. She just sighed, and said, “Well, I got used to it.” I remember being mad at my dad initially, and then getting angry with my mom as the words settled in. She allowed it to happen. She allowed him to be lazy and not give his share. I told myself that I wouldn’t allow that, it was going to be equal in my house.

Oh, youth. How naive I was.

Or maybe it’s true, men marry their mothers, women marry their fathers.

Give me a woman who doesn’t feel that she does more around the house, with the management of finances or chores or the children. I want to meet her man. And kidnap him.

I don’t want to come across as too much of a Complainy McComplainer Pants. Not Craig is amazing. He is such a great man and I love him to pieces. He is wonderful in a million different ways. I would rather have him be all that he is, than merely a great housekeeper.

Thing is, I just wish that I wasn’t in charge of everything at home. I wish when I got home one night, the house would be clean, the laundry started, dinner on the table, the cats fed. I wish my weekends were spent carefree, not wondering where I was going to squeeze in a stop at the grocery store or wondering just how many days I can wear those pants before they start reeking.

It is one of those great axioms of life. To make a man feel loved, give him sex. To make a woman feel loved, do the dishes.

How about you? How are the household chores divided up? Do you feel that you do more than a fair share? Does your hubby help out willingly or just because you have threatened castration? How do you handle the anger/frustration about this topic? How often does it come up as an argument point?

Just tell me I am not alone here.

My Finds

2008-10-19T19:37:00.006-05:00

I have posted before (and again and again and again ) how I love estate sales and thrift stores. This weekend was a good one... I took my chances at an estate sale advertised as having great stuff, despite being in a bad part of town. "You can find awesome knick-knacks while dodging bullets." Great marketing, folks.

If I was still Ebaying, oh how I would have spent so much money. As it was, I had to limit what I bought as I have a quasi-policy of buying only items I need or have an idea of exactly what I will do with my purchase.

So what will $15 buy you at an estate sale in Houston?

Books! An illustrated Bible story book published in 1939.

1960 printing - Why It's A Holiday

Oh look... a fitting holiday... Do I get that day off?

Do you remember when I said a few sentences ago where I buy only things that I have an actual purpose for? Forget that. This thing has no purpose other than to make me smile at its freaking adorableness. I love this! And I have no good reason to have it. It doesn't match anything at all in my house. So yea, this was something I just had to have.

And Kitten had to get in the picture. She is something that I did not have to have. She is completely Not Craig's fault.

I do have a problem with collecting coats, purses and small bowls that hold sauces. Granted, I use a lot of honey mustard, barbecue sauce and other dippables, but it doesn't really make any sense to have as many small bowls as I have. Nor does it make any sense why, when I live in a subtropical climate, that I own 14 coats.

Astroworld closed sometime ago. Any time that I spy any Astroworld stuff I get it. I will most likely sell them.

I love this shallow metal pan. I have no idea what to do with this either, but really, how could I not bring it home. I will probably either hang it somewhere or will use it is a catchall by the door.
My habit of collecting purses continues. Does anyone have a closet I can borrow? I am just not a shoe girl. Instead, I collect coats and purses.

(There is one other book I bought, but I am not showing you. If I ever get around to mailing things - ahem - Jamaica prizes - ahem - Kaytabug will have a present. So look for it sometime in 2011.)

Racist, Decapitating Elevators and Other Things I Make Up

2008-10-13T10:42:00.002-05:00

This morning when I was in the elevator, the doors were closing and out of nowhere, this guy pops up, throws his arms between the doors, setting off the sensor and allowing the doors to reopen.

While ascending to the lobby, we have the standard banter about elevators, banter like I typically have with others who threaten amputation by elevator door. (Look, it happens). In my building, some elevators don’t respond to an obstruction in the path of the doors. They just keep closing no matter whose arm, leg or bag may be trying to set off the sensor so the doors reopen. You can trust your various body parts to some elevators, but need to be wary of others. (And I am not even mentioning how rude it is to force someone to wait on you when you were clearly not in time for that elevator. It is extremely rude, but I am not mentioning it.)

Personally, I respect the sovereignty of the elevator doors. If they are closing, I don’t try to get them to reopen by throwing my arm in between the doors. I wait for the next elevator.

I have strange fears - I refuse to put any item in the back window of my car because if I am in a car crash, I will be decapitated by the flying box of Kleenex. I once heard that in driver’s ed. Or somewhere. Same thing with the elevator, I just can’t bring myself to test fate and hope that the elevator I am trying to catch has a sensor that isn’t dusty and will definitely not crush my arm and then once trapped, will decapitate me.

Ok…so…. Moving on from the decapitation. Because I am pretty sure now everyone knows elevator = decapitation.

So this guy and I are talking about how some elevators you can get to reopen and others won’t reopen no matter how anxiously you wave your arm between the doors as they close.

Some elevators close no matter what.

And this guy says, “Those must be Republican elevators.”

I laughed, “haha, yea.”

Yet I have NO IDEA what that means.

How is an elevator either Democrat or Republican, how do we know it isn’t Independent or perhaps a Libertarian? I bet that elevator actually is all “Ron Paul 2012!”

I am so tired of the election, talking about the candidates, seeing their mugs all over the news, hearing all the allegations of who is being meaner, who will ruin the economy, who is the racist-ist. I am so sick of it all.

I want to say that as soon as I finish voting, on October 20^th, the day early voting opens in Texas, that I will be done with it. That I won’t watch anything about it on TV, or read Drudge, or discuss it with my co-workers. Yet I can’t say that because I know it is a lie. I will. I will stress out for the remaining weeks wondering who will win. Although I am sure this election will have another Florida mishap and we won’t know who the President-Elect is for weeks after November 4^th.

I am thinking that maybe I should just tempt fate once I have voted and see if my fear of decapitation by elevator is warranted. I consider it my civic duty.

The Bailout

2008-10-03T12:37:00.001-05:00

I found this somewhere today. It speaks perfectly to where our nation has fallen.

From Bondage to Spiritual Faith

From Spiritual Faith to Great Courage

From Great Courage to Liberty

From Liberty to Abundance

From Abundance to Complacency

From Complacency to Apathy

From Apathy to Dependency

From Dependency back to Bondage

A Democracy will prevail until the populace learns that they can vote themselves entitlements. This leads to Governmental Fiscal Irresponsibility. And this leads back to bondage.

If Only All The Pundits Paid Their Two Cents

2008-10-01T17:07:00.006-05:00

I rarely talk about money on here. If you keep an eye on the various links I post off to the side (which I have not updated in forever – but, Whatever), you will see financial things pop up quite frequently.

This bailout/credit crisis/end of the world gloom and doom being splayed all over the news problem affects us all. It affects our jobs, our homes, our credit lines, hell, it affects what I will be giving for Christmas.

I was completely against the bailout as it was presented in the House. I believe I will be against the Senate’s version as well.

I am against it, knowing full well that several of my family members and friends will probably lose their jobs and homes as a result of it not passing. I am against it in spite of that because if it doesn’t pass, they will still lose their jobs and then their homes. If they are in a difficult position now, that position is not going away due to a quick bailout.

We are in a recession. It is not going away. One article I read stated it simply, we are only in the second, maybe third inning of this ballgame. So if it is all going to hell way before the seventh inning stretch, why spend $700 zillion dollars. It will only delay the inevitable breakdown for a very short time. Injecting cash the nation does not have into a broken economy built on people living beyond their means is not going to fix anything.

The only thing that is going to get us out of this mess is what we should have been doing all along. Save money. Don’t buy things you can’t afford. Spend less than you earn. Don’t use credit. Dave Ramsey, Suze Orman, David Bach and countless other financial hacks had it right all along. Hope you aren’t sick of them already, they will be everywhere for the next few years. Because they have it right! Although personally, let’s get rid of them, because I would rather hear from Trent at The Simple Dollar.

During Friday’s debate, McCain suggested a spending freeze. To which I shouted, "Amen!" The government needs to do exactly what I do when I run out of money. Quit spending. No dinners out, no dry cleaning, no movies, no quick runs to the grocery store. I make do with what I already have. Why? Because that is what you do when you are broke. I don’t go and charge things in order to make it to my next paycheck. I stop spending money until I have more money. What a novel concept.

The government has to freeze their spending. Cut it down to the very bare basics. There is no other way. Spending more and more money will not get you or me out of this mess. It won’t get the government out of it. It won’t get the country out of it.

By the time this is posted, it may be too late to contact your congressmen regarding this bailout. However, keep in mind that this problem is not going away even if the bill passes, so keep their contact info handy. You need to vocalize your opinion. Tell your elected officials what you think. Don’t hesitate to let them know that you will vote them out of office for ignoring your desires.

Click here to find out how to contact your Senators.

Click here to find out how to contact your Rep.

On a more personal scale, everyone should be working on their own spending freeze. Save your nickels and dimes. They will turn into many dollars over time. Be prepared for the recession.

I loved these links:

http://www.bripblap.com/2008/how-the-bailout-failure-affects-us/

http://www.thewisdomjournal.com/Blog/back-to-the-basics/

http://www.wisebread.com/whats-the-big-deal-about-banks-refusing-to-lend

However, there are so many more resources to figure out ways to cut your spending, save money, do the right thing with the money you have. You can find a ton of blog posts on all possible personal finance related issues at pfblogs.org.

And that is my two cents.

This is Definitely More Eisenhower than Turner.

2008-09-20T11:00:00.003-05:00

Out of all this hurricane mess and complaining and bitchy, smelly people and just sadness, anger, and all sorts of negativity, there is good. Which is so important to remember. It is so easy to dwell on the bad things about this hurricane. It is so easy to do. It is harder to appreciate the good. Which is so true about life in general.

The other night, sitting around the radio for the evening Fireside Chat, the radio station changed it up. As things have improved, they have stopped taking calls of problems and complaints, but were asking what people were doing to pass the time without electricity.

The answers were heartwarming. People explained how they were telling their children and grandchildren stories, our history, about the World Wars, about 9/11, about how they met, about growing up.

They were playing Uno together. As a family. They were teaching their children Mother May I, Red Light Green Light, Simon Says. Kids were playing outside.

Couples that used to sit, not talking, vegging out to the television in the evenings, are rekindling their romance. Remembering what brought them together. Talking at length for the first time in a very long time.

One gentleman discussed how his family is spending the hurricane. He was reconnecting with his wife and daughter. Playing games, talking, getting to know them again. He was brought to tears as he explained how he was afraid for the lights to come back on. In fact, his family had decided to have "Hurricane Thursdays" where they flip the breaker and spend a night without power, to recreate the closeness they have just discovered.

I too would like to have power out days (Not any time soon as I really want power on days first). I would like days to appreciate the slowness, the stillness, the thoughts within. To appreciate why I am with Not Craig, why I am so madly in love with the man.

I want to remember to slow down. Consider the basics - Family, Friendship, Work, Daily Living, Spirituality. I don't want to take these things for granted when the power returns and I return to being addicted to the internet, Not Craig to his computer or Fox News. Not talking.

I don't want to take for granted these days without power and what I have learned.

I typically keep myself very busy. There is always something for me to do, to clean, to take care of.

Constant motion.

With the power off, I have slowed. I don't have the ability to do certain things I would typically do and I don't really have the desire to do those things that I could do. Instead, I sit in thought, I do simple things, read, play Yahtzee, listen to the radio, pet the cats.

Today, I have absolutely nothing to do. Hours stretch before me while I wonder how to fill them. While it is relaxing, refreshing, it is also stressful to my Type A personality. How do I do Nothing?

Shouldn't I be doing something?

Of course, I should be doing something. I should be appreciating what I have, enjoying my time with my loved ones, spending time in my favorite activities.

One more lesson from Ike.

The Ike Effect

2008-09-19T16:34:00.002-05:00

I was planning on writing a positive, upbeat, uplifting post about the awesomeness shutting the power off for days on end can produce in a relationship. How close you can become with your loved ones. I even have a full page of notes about it, written over lantern light last night.

But the never ending question of “Do you have power yet?” has resulted in some type of jealousy syndrome. Let’s call it the Ike Effect. Part of it is that needling feeling of hopefulness when you return home after a wonderfully cool day at work where they have all the modern conveniences of life like coffee, internet and air conditioning. That hopeful glee with which you flip that light switch. That insulting lack of response which dashes all hopes of spending the evening watching mindless TV while eating ice cream kept in your perfectly frozen freezer. That life where you take electricity for granted.

Which is fine, I am ok with it. I am in the same boat as countless other Houstonians. The true Ike Effect takes over each morning, the question that has replaced how about them _insert random sports team here_?, when everyone you pass asks “Do you have power yet?” Then that asshole admits that yea, he got power last night. To which you picture strangling him, hiding his body in his swimming pool that is covered in leaves and miscellaneous storm debris so that his body won’t be found for a long, long time and you will be able to enjoy that comforting A/C while you surf the innernets on his couch.

The number of people I know that have power is increasing exponentially all while that damned tree remains firmly on top of my suspected power line. I hate that tree with every bit of my being.

There is only 1 person I know that has a similar problem. Her power box was pulled off her house by a tree limb. She will have to wait for the power company to reattach it to her house. It is probably really wrong on all levels that I am hopeful that at least one other person in my small circle of friends and acquaintances will get their power on sometime after me. I want everyone to get it back, I just don't want to be the last person!

I promise to write about the wonderfulness that being powerless can bring to your life. Probably the day after I get power. (I also promise to stop writing all hurricane all the time posts. Also probably right after I get power.)

Hurricane Fatigue?

2008-09-17T11:48:00.000-05:00

We are continuing on in the land of gas lines and the unbathed. More and more electricity is getting reconnected. Or so I have been told. 2 of my coworkers have power now, which, if I can still do math, means about 5% of the city of Houston has power. Some peeps, those with wells, or apartments with weird water constructions that I don’t understand, don’t have water because the power is out.

I can handle no electricity. I am perfectly fine at home without power….I have a job to go to that has power and electricity and TV dinners and supposedly open restaurants within walking distance (I am a bit excited about lunch, ya’ll. A hot lunch. Wee!) At home, I finish Sudoku puzzles, and swat mosquitos and go eat dinner elsewhere. Or pick my toes. There are lots of things to do without electricity.

We have candles and lanterns for light in the evening.

We constructed a fancy ass screen out of a mosquito net for our open windows.

Get this – The Academy store did not have power. When Not Craig went on a mission of mosquito control, he had to be escorted around the dark store by an employee wearing a headlamp and then walked to the registers, the only portion of the store with power, supplied by a generator.

We have tacked up mosquito nets over our open windows, we have plenty of poptarts left, we are doing well. Thriving.

We listen to the radio in the evenings a la Fireside Chats. (Which given the economic news recently, quite reminiscent of the actual Fireside Chats!) It is kinda irritating listening to the callers though. Many, many people are taking this all in stride, calling in to thank the workers who are trying to restore power, those serving ice, water and MRE’s at the “Points of Distribution” or POD’s, thanking the Mayor and his sidekicks in keeping the public well-informed. Others…..well…. the hurricane left some complainers behind.

Callers complaining that they don’t have power. Hmm? 1.5 million households don’t have power. Ya think calling a radio station or your power company or your mama will get your power turned back on ahead of those 1,499,999 other households. Callers complaining that a POD ran out of ice and how are we gonna survive another day without ice or complaining that they can’t wait in a gas line for an hour or complaining that the curfew is martial law or complaining that the city didn’t respond quickly enough. And on and on and on.

It is really sad.

It is really sad that when people have lost their homes, every single belonging they have, their place of employment, pets and photos, and children’s toys and so many things that they cherished, that people are complaining about having to drink room temp water.

It sucks. Yea, it does. I wish I had power to my coffee maker and could take a hot shower in a room that was well lit.

I wish that my friend didn’t lose her house, too.

She doesn’t have a house. So shut up that you are missing out on So You Think You Can Dance. Because I am about to shove a mosquito net down your throat.

Eisenhower or Turner? He Made A Mess!

2008-09-15T11:43:00.002-05:00

We returned from our evacuation getaway yesterday. It was a bit surreal as we got closer and closer to Houston. We passed up Centerville, which is the halfway point between Houston and Dallas. We zoomed right past it without stopping, not really thinking that the problems would be so far north. As we passed, we noticed that a bunch of cars were backed up on the exit ramp going north. We continued on to Madisonville where we stopped in order to top off our tank, knowing that Houston was a wreck of no power and no fuel. Madisonville, a full hour and a half north of Houston had no power and no fuel. As we continued into Huntsville, more and more trees were downed, more billboards had been knocked over.

As we approached Huntsville, stop and go traffic began. We started getting itchy. Worried that this stop and go business would continue all the way into Houston. While we were perfectly fine on gas if traffic moved at normal speeds, we were not going to be able to go 10 mph and make it. We pulled out Tom Tom and tried to find some out of the way gas stations within the center of Huntsville. Unfortunately, there was no power anywhere we drove. The 2 gas stations that we did see with fuel, had a major police presence as they attempted to maintain order for the 50+ cars attempting to fuel up. The police were only allowing a car into the gas station as another left. The backup from the gas station is what caused the stop and go traffic on the freeway. Once we passed Huntsville, without filling up, we really didn’t have any problems with traffic. We turned off the AC and started to trail a semi, in order to draft off of him in an attempt to save all the fuel we could.

We made it into Houston, not too far behind the standard time of 4 ½ hours. The damage that began in Huntsville continued all along the freeways into Houston. Trees, signs, light poles, everything just torn up. Once in Houston proper, we saw some feeder roads that were flooded out. Very few gas stations were open, very very very few places had power. Those gas stations that were open, had ridiculously long lines and a heavy police presence.

Our house is not damaged, none of the houses within the very short distance we have traveled are damaged, just lots and lots of dead trees and downed power lines. We don't have power, but um, yeah...who does...

1.5 million are without power currently, down from 2.1 million. Gas lines are insane and have police out in force. The stores that are able to open do not have much on the shelves as they cannot restock.

I am quite proud of my city. I continue my love affair with Bill White. I continue to despise Sheila Jackson Lee. Ed Emmett seems to be a cool cat although I cannot understand why judges are constantly helping out with disasters. Is that really their expertise?

Houston is recovering. People are helping their neighbors, we are doing ok here. Say a prayer for those that were stupid enough to stay in their homes in Galveston, Crystal Beach, Surfside, etc. They did not heed the warnings. Did not listen and I hope they survived.

I think though that overall we are doing pretty well. I love this town.

Too Sleepy To Title This Bad Boy.

2008-09-12T05:07:00.001-05:00

I was up at the ungodly hour of 4 a couple weeks back. It is much easier when you are headed to a sandy beach than when you are working on outrunning a hurricane the size of Texas.

We are heading to Dallas to wait out Ike. We live next to downtown Houston, in an old house, next to a freeway that collects water.

I have parents begging me to bring the grandcats for a visit, so I guess I say, Ike, I surrender. You Bastard.

Don't take out the trees next to my house. I like electricity. It powers my Roomba. K. Thx.

Perhaps the Paring

2008-09-08T07:39:00.005-05:00

This Morning.

Not Craig: Oh my God! Turn around. Let me see your butt.

Fianna: What? NO!!!

Not Craig: Serious. What the hell is that?

Fianna: thinking - if he is about to point out a zit or cellulite on my ass...I am going to grab a knife.

Not Craig: That is so gross!

Fianna: Inching towards knife drawer.

Not Craig: That is jacked up.

Fianna: Hmmm ... Butcher knife or steak knife?

The deck in Jamaica is slippery. Be careful.

Although with views like this, who really cares about that baseball size bruise on your ass cheek?

Last Discussion About the Hurricane (Which is Such a Lie.)

2008-08-28T22:07:00.005-05:00

I don't mean to drone on and on about the storm. On Twitter, Plurk, here, at work, on various chat boards, yawn!!!

How would ya'll deal with a fucking huge storm on top of your island oasis? You would be pissed. And hope for the best. Optimism! Wee!

Then....add on to that stupid asshole of a storm, a potential that while you are working on getting a tan in potential downpours, that same fucker of a storm hits your hometown. Where your friends, favorite bar, home, job and cats are. All unattended.

I would probably guess that you would develop an ulcer (and then you would name it Tom).

And then you would drink Vodka. And maybe tequila. And if you had red wine, you would drink it, but you don't, so you stick with vodka.

And then you would pack and hope that all those cute little skirts and bathing suits will come in handy.

At this point, due to the insurance industries' strict definition of "uninhabitable" and disregard for "ideal vacations" which is totally not defined within the policy, it appears that we are going to Jamaica, bitches.

Of course, just like the spot where the storm will hit the U.S., that will change in the next update, in the next hour.

Palpatations

2008-08-26T10:09:00.002-05:00

There is a fucking hurricane over Jamaica right now. I am going to kill Gustav. Ya'll...I am freaking out and am super pissed and want to destroy Gustav and his family.

I hope I don't run into any guys named Gustav today. Because I will spit in their general direction. And maybe hiss.

What the hell do you do when there is a fucking hurricane in the path of your vacation?

I twittered that it should hit Europe. I don't hate Europe or anything, well not most parts of it, but I am not flying to Europe in a matter of days. Flying over a fucking hurricane.

Ya'll, I am about to puke and then punch out random people. Which is probably better than the Bloggess who is tattooing random cats today. But whatever. Fucking hurricane.

Someone count the number of times I have used fuck in this post, because that, my friends, is the definition of restraint.

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck!!!

Point by Point

2008-08-26T07:59:00.003-05:00

1. Texas should not have any open air stadiums. Houston v. Dallas? Houston wins every time. Because we air-condition our stadiums and equip them with retractable roofs, should there be a single day out of the season where it is below 105 degrees and only 92% humidity. Dallas? Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. This is Texas, folks. The annual "Governor's Cup" or whatever it is called, with Houston Texans vs. the Cowboys was this past weekend. At 10 P.M., I was sweating. Football is a cold weather sport. Not a sweating activity. I hate you Texas Stadium. I vote to tear it down.

2. Could anyone out there explain what "wallygosses" are? They are a sort of scary monster to a 3 year old. I have spelled it phonetically, but of course, from a 3 year old, she could be referring to Barney or the Teletubbies.

3. Why did I play a game with a 3 year old where we were breaking out of jail and hiding from the cops. One of us is a bad influence on the other. I am pointing at the kid.

Winner Winner Chicken Dinner!

2008-08-18T12:41:00.003-05:00

Oh Hi. Um, how are you doing? Me, I’m fine. Just have been a bit overwhelmed with, well, living, I guess. I never meant to go so long without calling you. I just, I don’t know... it just slipped my mind. You mean so much to me, I am so sorry. I am embarrassed by my actions. Please forgive me.

When last we talked, I posed a contest. A How Long Does It Take Fianna To Be a Lobster Contest.

No one guessed it right! There wasn’t even a closest without going over winner.

Which truly, does not surprise me. At all. Because can anyone even count that low?

The answer to how many minutes did I, the redhead, stay in a tanning bed on her first visit to a tanning place ever. How many minutes did it take to turn me to a pretty pink pink, is . . .

4 Minutes.

Oh how pale I am of the Palest variety of the Pales.

I have gone a total of 3 times so far. I did 4 minutes, then 3 minutes, and 4 again. The last 2 trips, I wore SPF 4 tanning lotion and have not turned pink pink again.

And! Lines!

I has tan!

There is clear and convincing evidence of a tan. Now… look at a piece of white paper. That is before, now, go look at a sheet of ivory paper – like resume paper. That is now. Well, maybe a bit optimistic, but I really really think there is a slight change of color to this white soul.

And if my ~~mom~~ ~~Kaytabug~~ Sophie is reading this, don’t worry, I am taking SPF Forty Bazillion with me to Jamaica.

Winner!

We have 2 winners. Because I said so.

BEV AT SAUNTERING SOUL! She guessed the closest with 5 minutes. I have thought about going 5 minutes…but am skerred. Of the red.

KARMYN R! Karmyn gets first and a half place because she was the closest winner on the first guess.

Ladies! Email me at fiannafiannafianna AT gmail DOT com and provide an address where I can send super cool Jamaican stuff. The supercool stuff that doesn’t get confiscated or end up with me in jail. Sorry. I may love you, but I have been watching Locked Up Abroad. Red is not the only thing I am skerred of.

Operation Jamaica

2008-08-12T22:16:00.004-05:00

Our efforts to look like Adonis and well, Adonisa, I guess, at the beach continues.

Tonight I got off work late, ran to the gym, killed myself there, ran home for a quick shower, went tanning again and came home. Once home, I cooked a grilled cheese sandwich and now, minutes after eating it, I sit here typing at 10:30. Whew.

I apologize for not being more responsive on the tanning contest. It does continue as no one has guessed the right number. I will leave it open awhile longer, at least until I get a chance to properly draft a blog post about my tanning adventure.

In the meantime, here is some training for you:

I go bed now.

An Amazing Shade of Red

2008-08-11T08:08:00.005-05:00

Facts About My Weekend:

We spent a fortune on booking and buying crap and preparing ourselves for Our Big Vacation. We are going to Jamaica, bitches.

Snorkel! Cannot wait to snorkel. Wonders if I must have flippers. I do have water shoes, for the corals and stuff. Anyone? I am not a lover of the flipper, the shoes, not the dolphin. Dolphins are ok, I guess. Except kinda dumb for swimming with Charlie the Tuna.

I ran another 3 miles without feeling quite like I was going to die. Just kinda sorta. Would have been much easier if I wasn’t wearing shorts that insisted on crawling up inside my body during the run.

In addition to snorkels, and clothing and water shoes purchased for the vacation in Jamaica, we joined a NEWER, BRIGHTER, PRETTIER, THINNER gym. Because if we go to a gym that has skinny, pretty people, maybe we will become skinny and pretty, by osmosis. To me, if it means that I can run the treacherous 3 miles indoors as opposed to outside the doors, I am happy. Even if I have to watch anorexics wander the gym. Although, I could eat them I am so hungry, so they better stay clear.

On this super fast track to looking awesome for Our Big Vacation which is happening in like minutes, we also went to a Tanning Salon.

Hi, my name is Fianna, I am a freaking redhead.

However, I am ever so grateful to have accepted the ribbing from Not Craig about wearing my tightie whities to the tanning salon. I am ever so grateful for the tightie whities. ‘Nuff said.

Today, I am pink. With shades of coral red! This is my first ever visit to a tanning salon. Between Mr. Abercrombie and Mr. Fitch at the front desk talking like retarded valley girls and the Pink Skin, an interesting experience. We are doing this under a free 2 week trial membership so at least I am not paying to burn. And yea, no lectures. I am the one that nicknames her friends, Mela-Noma. I am trying to prepare for spending long hours on the beach. In Jamaica. Bitches.

Let’s have a contest! How many minutes was I in the tanning bed in order to turn a wonderful shade of coral?

The winner will get a prize from Jamaica. But you must be prepared to be patient. When I say I am going in minutes, I mean more like weeks.

I may be an exaggerator. But this exaggerator? Is going to Jamaica!

Preparations for the Tropical Storm.

2008-08-05T09:31:00.002-05:00

I wanted to post this last night. You know, in case I woke up dead. Or with the power off. Or hung over with no ambition for blogging.

Blogger hates Tropical Storms apparently. Including any freaking out! Respect The Storm!

So, anyhoo, I prepared thoroughly for the Tropical Storm.

I looked through my cupboards. Found granola bars, green beans and Vodka.

I was nervous. I was out of red wine. I seriously considered venturing out for red wine. However, the news was reporting that lines at Wal-Mart reached to the back of the store, I felt that I could do with vodka. I know. I am taking my chances. What if I am unable to get out of the house for days on end. The closest gas station that may sell a really cheap wine or Shiner, which could serve as a substitute, is a full 2 blocks away. TWO BLOCKS!

So, if you don't get another update, send a nice Shiraz. K? Thx.

With plenty of alcohol and canned goods, I then ensured that all outdoor items were secured. Well, items that were under my control and not icky like the trash cans. I pulled all my plants inside.

I would like to bring everyone's attention to 2 things in this picture. Look at how well my plants have recovered from my murder attempts. Second, see the cats. 14 hours later, the damn cats are in the exact same location, eating leaves.

I am off from work today, due to inclamate weather. It sure is clammy weather.

The Sweet In Between

2008-08-02T09:54:00.001-05:00

It isn’t that I am at an in-between stage anymore. I am in a completely different stage.

The problem is, I haven’t quite figured myself out in this new stage or even exactly what stage I am in, or how to meet and make friends with others in this new stage, whatever it may be.

A stage beyond the last one. A stage where I have left a good friend of mine.

It sucks to notice the different settings we are in. To look back and wish her the best. But know that I am not there anymore and I don’t want to be. She does. This creates a rift.

It might be easier if I had more friends in this new stage. If I could just say, sorry, too busy, can’t do what you want to do.

Instead, I say naaahh, not interested. And stay at home. Because I haven’t quite figured out where I am and how to meet other people that aren’t sure where they are at either. So at least we could be at a spot unknown, together. So I won’t be alone in this in-between.

My Boss Thinks I Am Crazy. Again.

2008-07-30T09:35:00.002-05:00

I was late to work today.

Not because I slept in or played too long on the computer this morning or because I couldn’t figure out what to wear or because I had a flat tire or because of traffic or because of any other plausible excuse.

I was late to work this morning because on my way into the office, just as I hit the downtown streets, the downtown streets of the fourth largest city in the U.S., at 8 A.M., which is rush hour, in a huge metropolitan city, there was a frigging horse in the road. A HORSE IN THE MIDDLE OF AN INTERSECTION IN DOWNTOWN HOUSTON.

What was a horse doing in the middle of a freaking intersection in the middle of rush hour in Houston?

The Horse was surrounded by large buses and a bazillion cars in the middle of an intersection, because the Ass that was riding it was pulling over someone.

A mounted cop, took his horse into the middle of an intersection, causing traffic to back up onto the freeway, causing people to slam on their brakes in order to avoid hitting a HORSE IN THE MIDDLE OF AN INTERSECTION in order to pull someone over.

I can’t come up with a good reason to pull over someone that involves taking your HORSE INTO THE MIDDLE OF AN INTERSECTION. Can you?

/Rant

Houston Music Fetish

2008-07-29T21:03:00.003-05:00

I have been trying for some time to sit down and tell ya’ll about my Sunday. It was a most awesomest Sunday. But then I had the most awesomest Monday, which will or will not be featured another day. Now that it is Tuesday, Kaytabug is bugging me to Plurk and I am being stubborn. I won’t do it until I get this wordy and Youtube intensive research project done. Amen. Word to my Mom.

For many a year now, I have gone to the thingy ma bobber that I went to on Sunday. While out and about, I saw a tee that said 1997, so the event has been going on forev-a. Almost as long as I have been out of high school, which is an eternity. There isn’t a wiki page dedicated to the deal, so I can’t say how long exactly. And, um, could we get a wiki page going, because that is the only place I get my facts. Help a girl out.

Every July, Houston’s “alternative” press paper throws this huge event in downtown. At 17,000 clubs, there are 70 billion different bands playing. You pay a pittance to get into all these venues and see all these bands.

They have every genre imaginable playing at these assorted venues. For the diligent sort, here is a long-azz review of the bands that played this year.

Without further adieu, let’s see who I saw:

At 5 P.M., we started off with Brian’s Johnson (We really did start at 4, but we totally did not like the band that was playing at the venue we selected as a gathering point, so let’s just pretend we were late and started at 5. K? Thx.)

Brian’s Johnson is an ACDC cover band that one person in our entourage had seen the night before and declared them “awesome”. I will say they were good. Not freaking amazing, but strongly good, bordering on great. . . . (youtube search break) . . . Apparently, I will not qualify as an ACDC fan, because it appears that someone in ACDC is named Brian Johnson, hence the name, how clever, Fianna had no clue. Moving on.

I couldn't find a video for your listening pleasure. So here is an ACDC video, imagine other guys up there playing, and fewer people, and you are nearly there.

6 PM – Once it was 6, I was rocking with Mighty Orq. The lead singer, Orq, is freaking awesome. He is a nice guy when a mic isn’t in his face, so he gets extra points. I have seen him many times over the past few years, but the first time I saw him was at the Press Awards years ago, and my ass was shown shaking it on the evening news. The next day, one of the partners came into my office first thing in the morning and asked me about it. Yea. . So yea.

I couldn’t find the song I wanted to link to, but if you work with me a bit, you can hear a small portion of it by going here, and then clicking on Carry Me Home. One of his chillax songs. Not booty shaking. The news didn’t show me while this song was on.

It coulda been this song that introduced my shaking azz to the Houston Lawyer's Association.

The Seven O’Clock special, Fondue Monks, is another repeat that I saw at the Press Awards a while back. We later met the lead singer, “Denver” who was very nice and appreciative and maybe a bit drunk.

8 PM – Skyblue 72 rocked. I saw them for the first time a few months back at my beloved Mucky Duck. When I saw the lineup for the Press Show, I only called this band. I let the others decide on who else we saw as long as I got my Skyblue 72. Girl power, Rwwaarrr.

At 9 P.M., nicely soused, we saw another redo, Lonestar Pornstar. I saw them a couple years ago, and then went to them again the next year and lookie here, they are back again. Awesome band. Awesome way to end the night. Bouncing around to some badass rock.

Their brand of music does not translate well to handheld video cameras or cell phone recordings. I found the following video, but it is totally Milli Vanilli'd.

I hope you guys enjoy a bit of this music. I had a wonderful time seeing some great live acts. If you think I have horrible taste, check out this review of the bands and find somebody better and then come back and tell me about it.

(And let me apologize if this post makes no sense. I know the grammar-ly issue is worse than most of my non-grammar-ious posts. Mama is tired. I have been having lots of fun and my old bones are screaming for sleep.)

Girl Schmirl or The Pugilist (Because I Really Wanted to Use That Word Somewhere)

2008-07-27T10:45:00.005-05:00

I am not a girlie girl. I am pretty close to the opposite of one. From what I remember, it has always been this way, which given my upbringing, is odd. I grew up with a sister, my best friends were 3 girls, one of which had a sibling – a girl. There were no boys around when I was growing up, until, of course, they were an object of lust.

For some reason, these girls, my 3 best friends, my sister, and my friend’s sister, I would hesitate to call any of us anything other than tomboys.

Sure, we played with dolls, had a list of boys that we thought were cute, with some convoluted system of rating said cuteness (K – do you have these anymore? Because that – total blog fodder), took home ec, sewed, cooked, etc. and so forth.

Even though now, I won’t go anywhere without painted toenails and lipsticked lips, these are probably the only things that make me a girly girl. If there was a club or an organization of girlness, I would be on probation all the time. Or more likely, banned for life.

For example:

I prefer steak and potatoes to … well anything.

I have had one pedicure in my life, and that was only because the wedding party I was in, all got pedicures. Which just as an aside, the bride, just to point out the type of girls I get involved with, announced loudly while we were getting ready that she needed to go to the bathroom. #2. And she went #2 in her wedding dress. I am pretty sure that she is quite proud of this to this very day. She probably farted really loud walking down the aisle and blamed someone else, too. I know there is a video with her belching into the camera extremely loudly. Again, in her wedding dress. I love that girl.

I have never had a professional massage. I despise chocolate. I hate diamonds.

Friday night, I could have watched either While You Were Sleeping or Pulp Fiction. No way in hell that this was even a contest. Pulp Fiction, even though I have seen it 72,821 times. While You Were Sleeping? I don’t believe I have ever seen it. Nor do I have any desire to do so.

I do have a couple girly friends. Ok, one. She lives in another state – (not Kaytabug). This friend was wishing that we lived in the same area the other day. She commented that if we were in the same city, she would like to go have some coffee and then go see Mamma Mia.

I am not a good friend.

Because I could not stop myself from immediately busting out laughing. Um, Mamma Mia? Do you even know who I am? I would rather go see Batman, X-Files, Step-Brothers, Hellboy or even Journey to the Center of the Earth. Honestly, if I had to choose between Death Race and Mamma Mia? The previews for Death Race make me want to vomit and then fling the vomit at the screen, it is so bad. But if I had to choose between that stupid flick and Mamma Mia, I think I would choose Death Race. At least people would die in Death Race.

Most of the time, my girliness or lack thereof, isn’t on my mind, or considered in any sort of fashion, but between the above movie discussion and my day yesterday, I was quite intrigued by my failure as a chick. Intrigued enough to actually sit and write a post which is something that I have really, really sucked at recently. Although if you knew how exciting my life has been recently, you would so totally forgive me.

Yesterday, we went to a Gun Show. And I totally enjoyed it. And then we went to a friend’s house where they have 2 TV’s. I had a choice between hanging out with the wife watching old X-File episodes(which is a hell of a lot better than any other potential chick watching item) and with the guys and the TV with the PPV boxing.

You know what I chose, of course you do, we are cool like that.

Music Friday - Journey

2008-07-25T17:56:00.002-05:00

As soon as you start the video, close your eyes. Halfway through open them. Just trust me on this.

Did he fool you? Here is a small portion of the story behind this.

How cool is that! Thanks to the Houstonist.

Name This Post.

2008-07-23T11:25:00.004-05:00

I feel that it is important to accomplish something every day. Big or small. Although the big accomplishments should, of course, outweigh the small on the grand scale. So I live my life that way, curing polio one day, taking a shower the next. Big and small.

Today - I did not punch out the dentist. It took great strength to hold back, yet I did it.

Big or small? Who knows, but now, I can go back to bed.

And if you were wondering where I have been, I blog all the time over at Twitter. Do you have any idea how hard it is to create posts that require over 141 characters? Nearly impossible, folks. I have found just enough strength and not utterly boring stuff to blog at Twitter. One day, I may do better. But today, I didn't punch out anyone. Work with me here.

Oh and think positive thoughts as my sis rides out a hurricane. A baby hurricane, but those things are powerful. 6 hours north of her and we are getting rain bands. Rain bands, much like rubber bands.

(Is this really a blog post or just the mad rantings of an idiot. It is hard to tell sometimes!)

Rhetorical Thought Patterns

2008-07-16T07:39:00.002-05:00

I need to start carrying a voice recorder with me. I have some amazingly funny thoughts. Yet I never get them written down and when I remember, hey, you had some unbelievable hilarious stuff to tell the internets, it never fails, my memory falls short.

Yesterday, I had numerous instances like that. There were some very funny things to tell ya’ll about my trip to the downtown grocery store. The one where you park beneath it and you ride an elevator to get to it.

And the bus barn? Or bus stop? Oh wait, terminal. Greyhound has a huge terminal (that is right, right?) in downtown Houston. This area is not for the suburbanite, non-city dweller, not used to seeing people peeing into the gutter. The area frightens me sometimes, me, the one with a crack house on the corner of her street (it is being remodeled now, but I reminisce to the days of yore), the one who recognizes all the panhandlers around her neighborhood, and says hello to them. Transient folks circle the place, I have no idea if they are planning on hijacking a bus or what, but there is a bus/homeless person problem off downtown.

On the way home, again, lots of funny crap swirling in my brain-o, yet I forgot to write it down. There was the caddy with spoke type rims and protrusions from said rims. It reminded me of cowboy spurs or that stupid movie they are showing previews for, Death Race, I think. It is so bad I don’t want to even bother looking it up to get you a proper title. But, this caddy, if it got too close, or if I wandered out of my lane at all, poof, my tires would explode due to his protruding rim thing. Now it is morning, the time when I typically write my ramblings, and I have no idea what my thoughts were. Because the recall I just gave you – not funny.

The actual thoughts last night – Funny with a capital F.

I do recall one not so funny thing. Not nearly as funny as the things I was going to tell you.

When I was doing this carousing downtown yesterday, mid-day, which I am not wont to due typically, I realized I have a lot of those tag things on my keychain. The ones you get from stores.

These things.

I either have my priorities straight or I have a serious drinking problem. (Don’t answer that.)

Two from Spec’s.

You don’t have to laugh, it’s okay. I know my other stuff was freaking hilarious.

Now if I could only figure out where I placed those thoughts.

My Greenery

2008-07-09T20:49:00.005-05:00

This is my makeshift patio.

I only know what the 2 right pots are - tomato plant and rosemary, and the front rectangular holder, catnip and basil. The others, mmmeerrr, not a clue.

I took the picture to capture the gross bug on one of the pots. See it?

And yea, I am too lazy to actually go out and look at that little tag on that pot to identify it.

The above photo was taken in early June.

I still have not been able to get those tomatoes to grow. This is my first year trying tomatoes.

The first year I even ate fresh tomatoes.

They really aren't doing well. Really really not doing well these days.

Apparently, even though it rains every single day, the plants didn't get all that water.

I feel such guilt.

I am a plant killer.

I loved my little garden. I used the basil quite frequently.

And my cats, they were developing a bit of a 'nip habit.

Maybe it's all for the best.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang!

2008-07-06T11:03:00.002-05:00

I hope everyone had a wonderful 4^th. I sure did. We live on the edge of downtown. Very close to city center, very close to where the fireworks are shot off. The nation’s largest firework display – in Houston. I figured if we could watch the fireworks from our place, it would be awesome.

You know what is so much more awesomer? Being invited to a new friend’s house that is blocks from the actual launch site of those fireworks where you are at a perfect eye level just above the tree line, you can feel each firework go off, they feel like they are exploding within just a couple feet from your face and you are drinking the best mojitos gay men can make. I heart living downtown.

We will be moving when the lease on this place is up. There have been weeks worth of discussions and internet searching for where we go next. Do we buy? Do we rent? Where? The ultimate consensus after all these talks is that we will continue living down here. No suburbia for our future.

With the move (in 5 months) in mind, my Type A personality has been freaking out about downsizing our crap stock. I closed shop on my Ebay store a month or so ago after dismal sales. I have pulled all my Ebay stuff together and plan on sorting and selling it in lots, most likely to other sellers.

I have gone through my closet pulling things to get rid. I have gone through the cabinets with the same intention. All in all, I have only 2 garbage bags full of stuff to get rid of outside of the Ebay piles.

This really surprises me. However, I have downsized considerably each time I have moved over the past 3 years. I am now at the point where there just isn’t much more to go. I have quit buying unnecessary knick-knacks and I get rid of clothes as I buy more. And if anyone dare chimes in that a Wii and a Roomba are unnecessary, you are off the Christmas card list. Well, you would be if I ever sent Christmas cards.

I am quite pleased with myself that my consumerism ways have been checked. My savings account reflects it and my closets reflect it. One more way, my Frugal McFrugalitis is working in my favor.

How did you spend your long weekend?

Go Go Gadget!

2008-07-01T09:52:00.004-05:00

When I went to my sister’s for a family get-together this past week, I really didn’t mean to spend a fortune on gadgets.

Ok, that is a lie.

I totally planned on buying a Wii as they are known to be quite populous in that area. And where my parents live. Yet Houston, nowhere. Houston, we have a problem. Well, not anymore because I have a Wii now, but we did. I guess…

I did not plan nor expect nor even ponder buying a robot floor cleaning wizard. It was a decision thrust upon me by my pushy big sister.

That’s my story.

And the store was going out of business so it was a steal.

And I have always really wanted one.

And with the recent death and resulting thoughts surrounding wasted time and pointless arguments that I would always regret, over all things, housework… I needed a Roomba.

That may be the real story, although my sister? Really good for the economy. Dubya may want to give her a call.

The Roomba? I lurve it. With all my heart.

It works wonderfully, sucking up all the stray cat fur, litter and various crumbs that 3 cats and 2 humans shed.

It has caused me way too much happiness for being just a simple cleaning tool.

My love for the Roomba Vs. the Wii?

A close race.

I Got My Hair Did!

2008-06-29T12:14:00.003-05:00

It started as simply as not feeling comfortable in Oil Field, New Mexico. I didn’t trust my locks to someone whose sister couldn’t serve me a cheeseburger without making me want to cry.

Before last week, the last time I got my hair cut was before moving to BFE, NM, 19 months ago.

Somewhere along the way, I got an idea in my head.

There are 2 organizations (that I am aware of) where I could donate my hair. Locks of Love, the well-known organization that creates wigs for needy children that have suffered hair loss due to a medical condition and Pantene’s Beautiful Lengths program which has partnered up with the American Cancer Society to provide wigs to women with cancer.

The big difference between the two organizations is the length requirements for donated hair. Locks of Love requires 10 inches while Pantene’s requirements are 8 inches.

I am donating my 11” ponytail to Locks of Love.

It may have started with a bit of anger and hatred towards the circumstances of my living situation, but has turned into a wonderful gift to a (presumably) cute little kid.

Now if I could just get used to that stranger in the mirror.

What I Have To Say Now

2008-06-25T19:51:00.002-05:00

Thank you to all for the kind words in response to my last post. They really put a smile on my face when it was hard to stop crying, much less smile. I have wondered exactly how much to tell as it is not my tragedy. It is a tragedy belonging to a family I love very dearly. To a friend I call a sister, to her mother, who I call Mom.

The best I can come up with are just some things I really want to say.

Don’t take life for granted. It can end in moments.

The little things count. Make an impression on someone by simply being friendly, considerate, just there. No matter what.

Get your finances in order. Don’t be caught unexpectedly in an emergency. Have some cash stashed. Have a way to pay for expenses that you never ever ever thought you would have to pay.

Work in a job where they care enough to let you leave at a moment’s notice and for as long as necessary for a friend.

Get a will. Also get a living will. Making your family make those decisions… …. Just don’t make them think about it…. Discuss the undiscussable.

Spend more time with people and not so much time online, cleaning, sleeping, and working.

No matter what you say, you can’t say the right thing to make someone who has lost their dad or their husband feel better. There are a lot of wrong things you can say. Don’t say those.

And never, ever forget to wear sunscreen.

Spent

2008-06-17T21:56:00.003-05:00

No matter how many emails you read about capitalizing on today, about living life to its fullest, to appreciating every last bit of life, no matter how many, you won’t do it. Laundry, headaches, bad days will get in the way.

And then, It will happen.

The day that those emails allude to. The Thing You Would Rather Not Think About.

So listen to those cheesy emails that your Great-Aunt from Poughkeepsie sends you. Read them, take them to heart.

Because when It happens, you shouldn’t regret the day that never came.

Fianna will be gone for a little while because It happened to a dear friend of hers. Hug your closest loved one, remember those dear to you, cherish today and tomorrow and 2 weeks from last Wednesday.

Because you won’t have it again. No matter how much laundry has piled up, no matter how many times he left the toilet seat up, no matter what. When it is over, you won’t have another chance.

When Slamming Your Car Into Someone's Bumper Is a Good Idea

2008-06-11T22:38:00.004-05:00

I have been driving a rental this week after my new (to me) car had to have some work done on it.

First of all, let me just advise the first time callers, as well as remind the long time listeners that my last car was a dearly beloved 10 year old Toyota Corolla with nearly 200K miles on it. I bought it from a rental car company. No hassle, no frills. No floor mats.

On Monday, when I called to let the dealership know that I needed service, they bent over backwards to make sure I was ok, not freaking out and overall, just mildly annoyed. (We had suspected a slight problem when we bought the car, so we figured this was coming.)

A tow truck was called (although one wasn’t really necessary). The tow truck driver, for reals, was there in 20 minutes.

I get to the dealership, where I am offered coffee, water, and chilled virgin ovaries. I was placed in a rental car in 5 minutes and sent on my merry way.

The rental car, the 2008 model of my car, is a space-age rocket ship.

It senses my mere presence, detects what moon it is and has 8.2 million horses. It has advised that I will name my first child, a girl, Sarah Marie. My cat Yoda, she is a hermaphrodite. The real shooter WAS on the grassy knoll while Oswald was merely a pawn, AND on top of all that, it has leather seats!

I received a call later that day from the service manager who advised that it was the caliper, (which I totally knew) and that the caliper, rotors and pads for the rear brakes would all be replaced. He apologized for the inconvenience and threw in an oil change which was nearly due. I, against my original best judgment (and loudly voiced opinions which usually end up being completely wrong), had bought the extended warranty, but rotors and pads aren’t a part of the warranty. I asked the manager if there would be any cost for these repairs and he quickly responded, “Oh, no, ma’am”. I said that I just needed to check, because I didn’t want to be surprised and have to argue with them later. He quickly said, “oh, ma’am, I will never give you a reason to complain”.

So…. The next day around 4:30, I hadn’t heard from the dealership. Knowing the time it would take, in rush hour, to drive to the dealership, I called to check on the repairs. I spoke with unknown positioned, Dana. After giving her just my name, she says “I am sorry” approximately 27 times for not calling sooner. Folks, I am in a rental spaceship that tells me how many miles it is to Mars and what freeway to take. I am doing just fine, Dana. I was just calling because I was curious if I have to return the rocket or if I could drive to Jupiter this fine evening! She explains that it will be another day, says “I’m sorry” 21 more times and asks if there is anything she can do for me. Um….tell the rental to stop telekinetically communicating with the neighborhood cats, I guess. Although them fanning me on my walk to the car – Sweet.

Today, I receive a voicemail from the sweetest kid in the world, advising me that my car is ready and to please call and advise when I will be picking it up so they can award me with Ms. Most Beautiful Car Owner of the World. Me, little ole Fianna!

I am a bit frightened to pick up the car tomorrow. I am wondering if there will be 17 studly men waiting to walk me to it, a pony sitting in the backseat and 10 Wii’s in the trunk.

Lesson to be learned: Buy the absolute cheapest, used car a luxury car dealer has on the lot. You will be treated better than Prince Charles in a gay bar. Wait, I am not sure what that means.

Frugality's Image Problem

2008-06-09T20:56:00.003-05:00

I don't know if anyone pays attention to my not-so-frequent additions to the right side section of this blog titled, "In Case of Boredom..." I not-so-frequently add links from around the bloggy world of various things that have caught my eye/attention. Many of these have to do with personal finance of some sort.

I don't write about money, but I work quite hard at saving, scrimping, and frugality of all sorts.

I do this for several reasons: I find it fun to figure out ways to save money, I like collecting cash, I want to buy a house soon, and I want to retire early so I can tan on my patio nekkid on a Tuesday morning when, if the pool boy just happens to walk up on me, he won't scream out of fear.

I catch a good amount of ribbing from a few friends of mine and from Not Craig for my habits, what they consider my cheapness. They don't get my thrift store habit, they don't know why I don't want to stop and get Starbucks daily, or go out to eat several times a week.

Trent over at The Simple Dollar, (hands down, my favorite PF blogger), has written an excellent article that I want to tape to Not Craig's and my silly friend's foreheads. Instead, I will post it here. I would rather not waste the paper.

Check it out!

Wordpress or Blogger??

2008-06-08T21:17:00.003-05:00

I have been playing with Wordpress today and have done what I can to create a page there.

Check it out: http://fiannas.wordpress.com/

My big question is, I do not like the standard templates provided by Wordpress. I would like to use the many random skins available online, but it appears that I must pay for the premium CSS components. In fact, just in order to change the colors on their standard templates, it appears that I must pay. It seems nuts. Tell me it is not true.

For those Wordpress fans, please let me know your favorite things on Wordpress v. Blogger.

Right now, my comfort level is with Blogger, but I am a fickle sort.

Things Learned This Weekend

2008-06-08T10:09:00.002-05:00

1. Do not ever ever ever let a dentist from West Texas work on you. Ever.

2. If you are stupid enough to let a dentist from West Texas work on you, ensure you are deft enough to catch your crown when it dislodges for the 4^th time since placement without swallowing it.

3. Don’t go to Wal-Mart. Ever. Ever. If you are stupid enough to go to Wal-Mart, you are going to see things that will forever be stuck in your mind. A smell that will forever be remembered, an experience you are probably going to cry over when your crown falls out Again and #4 happens.

4. If you know there is a problem with a certain car part before you buy a car, don’t cry when it happens for reals after you signed the paperwork.

5. I need big girl panties.

6. Best Buy and probably all sorts of other evil empirical giant stores create false shortages of the Wii’s. Talk to the stupid sales guy who will tell you all the secrets.

7. I have a big problem with false shortages. My Wii hunt is on hold because I am mad.

8. Reading a book, while drinking a Shiner at 3 in the afternoon is the only way to feel better after 2, 3, 4 occur in quick succession.

9. Smoothies help. Smoothies with vodka instead of milk help even more.

10. I hate bad teeth, doctors, dentists, Wal-Mart, traffic, not being sold something because Nintendo tells an evil empirical giant store to not sell it so its popularity will increase, bad brakes, etc., etc. and so on and so forth.

Tell me what you learned this weekend. Or what you hate. Or what I should hate.

Today's Ten

2008-06-06T11:42:00.002-05:00

1. Grandmother Shower : How To Avoid – Work through it. Have your boss work you to death and you will not have to attend, but you can certainly walk in, apologize how you are doing what you got out of bed to do that day, namely work, and that you cannot attend, although you can most certainly help yourself to the foodstuffs. A majority of the attendees felt the way I and the rest of the blogiverse feels. Showers suck. Convoluted excuses for showers suck even worse.

2. I cannot get the song, “Don’t Mess With My Toot Toot” out of my head.

3. Please write some stuff. It is Friday. I am suffering from acute Friday-itis and could really use some readings.

4. There really isn’t a #4.

5. I am thinking of buying some Starbucks later today. My cheap frugalitis needs some spenditis.

6. I have no plans for the weekend. This makes me glad and sad in the same minute.

7. Lucky No. 7.

8. Does anyone out there own Lucky Brand jeans? I hear they are phenomenal on the hind quarters, but due to aforementioned frugalities, Cannot. Try. On. Because. May. Like.

9. Today is payday. Weeeeee. I sure wish I could find a Wii.

10. I was going to ask for Kaytabug to mail me her Wii, but then the phrase kinda grossed me out and reminded me of my fave spam – Update Your Pe- nis. I mean really? Is there some software to upgrade to Pen/is 2.0? Is it an easy download? What if it crashes mid-load?

11. Eww. I said mid-load.

Does Anyone Have Any Estrogen Lying Around?

2008-06-04T18:54:00.003-05:00

There are many awesome things about being a chick. Being able to pee sitting down. Using hormones as an excuse for biting someone’s head off. Bath and Body Works. Thongs. Fruity Drinks drank without worry as to the “gayness”. Not having to kill spiders. Being able to feel boobs anytime, anywhere, and for any reason.

There is one thing though that makes all the above-listed items shrink away. Something that makes me wish I was a man. Something that if I can’t become a man, really requires me to work super hard in order to find that hidden reserve of estrogen somewhere deep in my soul.

Showers. What a horrible, horrible torture that only women are forced to endure. A horrible torture employed by women, upon other women.

The idiotic games, the shrieks of laughter from 20 chicks at the display of a chip and dip set/onesie/lamp/diaper rash cream/other stupid gift. The forced sitting with people you either don’t know or hoped not to have to see again. I hate the whole process. Especially baby showers where alcohol isn’t even available.

I have attended many showers, wedding and as the wedded started spawning, baby showers. Out of all the showers though, I have never had something seem so contrived as what I will endure tomorrow.

A Grandmother Shower.

I called a reliable source who confirmed this is out of the norm. My mother, a grandmother herself, called it “ridiculous” and “stupid”. Maybe she was just jealous, but when she called the thrower and/or the throwee greedy and self-absorbed, well, who am I to argue.

Lord help me. Think of me tomorrow as I will be forced to smile, shriek in unison and eat finger sandwiches, all while attempting to not stab myself with a plastic knife.

Next week, could you clear your calendar, it is Yoda’s birthday, we are having a party.

Yoda is registered at PetSmart, Macy’s and Wal-Mart.

Peasant or Pregnant?

2008-06-02T10:30:00.005-05:00

When I crashed my car, the gentleman I ever so rudely rear-ended was amazingly gracious. He declined to take my information, allowing my insurance to remain oblivious to the danger I am on the road. He was driving a truck, so the damage to his vehicle, was minimal, but check out the damage to my poor car, it is obvious I had to cause some damage to his. Again, he didn’t take my information, get my name, nothing. A kind, Have a Nice Day, and I left the scene of the accident scot-free.

It was only later after I had some time to absorb what had happened, slow my heart rate, quit panicking, that I thought of a reason.

He must have thought I was pregnant! Some wild-eyed pregnant chick just slammed into his bumper, causing him to freak out and think of all the horrific dangers of wimmins driving cars.

Today, I wore the same shirt I had on on the day of the wreck. When I went to the W.C., I did a double take in the mirror. I wonder if I am pregnant when I am wearing it, God only knows what other people think!

So, do I get rid of it or tuck it into my closet to wear as a maternity top when I actually am, with child? I only know that I shouldn't wear it any longer!

Anyone else swear off these tops? They sure are nice to hide the muffin top. However, I would rather not be asked when I am due. Especially by myself.

Gangsta Rap, Biatch.

2008-05-29T08:09:00.002-05:00

For Retrohipster:

If you aren't a fan, I implore you to watch until C-3PO. If you don't find that funny, well, there is no hope for you.

I would like 4 Spicy Chicken Sandwiches, a Southern Style Chicken Sandwich, 2 Medium Fries, 2 Medium Cokes, a Hamburger and a Cinnamon Melt

2008-05-28T13:12:00.003-05:00

Is everyone aware that your auteur is a redhead? I am a redhead of the palest variety. I am translucent. I buy the absolute lightest makeup ever and it still gives my face a nice tan.

Growing up, me, Kaytabug, and our group of blogless friends all had season passes to our town’s swimming pool. We would go every day. For hours. We would spend all afternoon at the pool. If we weren’t in the pool, we would be riding our bikes around town in the hot sun. Although I have no memory of it, I must have worn some type of sunscreen since I don’t remember a completely blistered existence. Although there were a couple of blister incidents….

Did you just feel that cold chill courtesy of skin cancer? In the past, I have gone to the dermatologist, who spent less time than I have spent at a pap smear, examining my entire freckle ridden body and declared me clear. Suspect, if you ask me.

On Monday, while I was playing Kermit, my love, Not Craig, went to hang out with a friend at the pool. Not Craig is the pigmented one in our relationship. However, if you look at him today, you would wonder...

Rock Lobster.

This is not a post to make fun of him, or to point out the dangers of that evil orb in the sky (although it is evil. Very very evil.). This post is about something else altogether.

I think.

When I was just barely out of high school, one of my best friends burned herself severely. Life Flight severe. Because this blog is all about me and my needs and my wants and my funnies, without going into all the details of it, I would just like to say that burning is one of the scariest, most frightening experiences one could undergo in the category of Things Requiring Hospitalization. For me, as a friend, it was terrifying. I saw what she went through immediately after, the days and weeks after, the months, years, etc. And I know how it frightened me, which is about a gazillion times less than how it affected her. That is some scary shit.

When she was burned, I learned that one of the big things about burns is that the healing process requires mucho calories. She was eating all the time. It was awesome. I was so jealous. Which is what this blog post is actually about.

So, when Not Craig shows up burned as can be, just like if he had a cold, you have to feed it.

I went to McD’s last night after picking up a movie for us to watch.

We watched the movie. And then I returned to McD's.

I don’t think the caregiver is also required to ingest extra calories for the healing process.

But I am not taking any chances. Feel the love. ~~(Handles)~~.

Kermit Does Not Wear Pants

2008-05-24T14:45:00.002-05:00

Long weekends are difficult for the hermit in me. I know I need to get my ass out the door and do things. Fun! Exciting! Things! Yet the Hermit says stay in, it is so hot out there. There are Fun! Exciting! Things! to do inside the doors.

A couple months ago, we had talked about going to float the river over Memorial Day weekend. I have not done this in several years. Beer, water, swimsuits. Beer helps make you forget how that swimsuit looks on you. But, as it got closer, we decided not to do that. Which may be good in light of how fat pansies are.

The in-laws were planning on coming into town today. I found out about a new display at the Natural Science Museum for the mens to hang out at. The girls, well, we could find something to do, I am sure.

Last night we indulged in beer. Copious amounts. And then some. We slept until noon. I knew that I had lots of cleaning to do in preparation for the arrival of the in-laws. I have been repeatedly told by Not Craig to chillax. His parents don’t care if the house is clean. They probably wouldn’t even notice. In my mind, that translates into, “Blah, blah, blah”. I needed to clean. So I would not panic when they knocked on the door. I had to buy groceries. I had things to do. So when I woke up at noon, feeling like warmed poo, I tried to step it up and do things. And I did. I made coffee and sat on the couch.

Then the call came.

They cancelled.

So now, my plans are shipwrecked. I do not have to clean, or shop, or entertain.

Now what?

I still feel icky. I have no clue as to what we should do this weekend now. Thoughts? Ideas? I am not opposed to being a hermit and not showering for 3 days and not leaving the house. Ever.

I am of the opinion that Not Craig will not permit this. He does not share the hermit-y factor like I do.

And if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could ya’ll post some things. I need something to read when I stubbornly glue myself to this chair for the next 72 hours.

P.S. This posting was interrupted by the urging of Not Craig to shower and go see the new Indiana Jones movie. That requires pants. That is not the weekend I have embraced in the past hour. A weekend without pants, that is.

But Pansies Are Such A Beautiful Flower

2008-05-20T08:00:00.004-05:00

When I was in high school, I wish I would have realized how good I had it. Besides the typical, I don’t have to work, there is always food in the cupboards, I am safe because my dad will kick some major ass right before he shoots that burglar in the face, I wish I would have realized 1) how freaking skinny I was; 2) how easy it was to stay skinny; and, 3) how it was so awesome to be able to eat Taco Bell every single day and never ever, ever consider working out.

I started to realize that Taco Bell was gonna have to go when I was about 22. I started a day job. I started sitting on my ass all day and then came home, ate crap food and watched some crap TV. And then went to bed.

Weight started creeping on. I remember hitting 130. OH MY GOD!! I weigh 130 pounds. What a fat ass!! Oh no!!

Oh please. Sister, that was just the beginning. Now, I consider 130 my skinniest. Because for me to get below 130, is just about impossible. I would have to surrender way too much. Ain’t gonna happen. Momma wants a bit of junk in her trunk. And a bit of Whataburger in her hand.

I eventually gained another 20 and decided I needed to do something about it. I started hitting the double digits in clothes and started to wonder if I was gonna have to change sections in the store. (I am all ass. What a strange sentence... I gain weight first and foremost there, I am a pear.)

I hit the gym half-heartedly. Cut down a bit on fast food. I thought I was making such a sacrifice. I was changing my entire life for about 24 minutes, maybe twice a week. Of course, it didn’t work.

Gradually, I figured it out. I knew I was going to have to work harder at kicking the weight, actually sweat, eat salads, la de da …. You know the drill.

And I did it. 130 pounds again. Woot. I rock. (At 130, I was wearing 9’s just to prove yea, I am all ass.)

So to make a long story not as long, I stopped taking care of the weight, it came back. I lost it again. And now, it is back. All of it.

I have made it back up to my heaviest. Damn relationship. I am happy as can be and so we eat. And lay around and watch HGTV and snuggle. And eat Cheez-Its.

Here we go again…

Last night, after buying the most expensive wearable item I have ever purchased – new running shoes, we went running. The park we went to has a 3 mile running track. For the similarly situated in the audience, I heard you groan right along with me. 3 miles. Running.

I did not die. Amazingly.

Of course, we did not run 3 miles. We ran 2 light poles and walked 1.

Ok, that is a lie.

We walked more light poles than we ran.

But that was because of the track dust that was suffocating me, possibly causing an asthmatic coma. (Do those happen? ... It sounds good. ... Moving on.) I inhaled silicate which will scar my lungs ForEver. All for skinny thighs.

Not Craig was a wonderful coach, trying to keep me going. Or at least keep me from falling down on the track from exhaustion.

Oh...that track is long. So long...

I am such a pansy.

No. I am just not as fit as I used to be. It will take time to become She-Ra again.

No. I am a whiny pansy. A fat whiny pansy.

Ch Ch Changes

2008-05-18T18:52:00.004-05:00

For those Bloglines fans, like myself, I have made some changes at homebase. Take a looksie and let me know what makes you want to scratch your eyes out and I will see what I can do about it. I can't change the color or location of the title. I have tried. Multiple times. I have resisted scratching my own eyes out due to that bug. Please don't comment on it. I will throw Kitten out the window if I have to think about it any longer.

UPDATE: I have changed the color and kinda the location..I am still am not thrilled with the title, but it is better.

P.S. What color is the title to you? I get it in white in Firefox, grey/black in IE. WTH.

Hi, My Name Is Luka. I Live On The Third Floor.

2008-05-17T11:45:00.006-05:00

After the whole diamond posting thing, I was tired. That process took a lot of time and effort. Which means that I am super lazy at blogging as well. My new line at work and at home is that I am a month and a half behind in my life.

I always wonder what I will do when I have kids. My time seems so stretched now. I know what will happen...the innernets will miss me, my laundry will pile up high, my cats will move out and get their own place, my job will no longer own me, and my legs will remain unshaven for longer periods of time than they do now. If that is possible.

Over the past week, I kept thinking when life was happening, "Ooooh, I gotta blog about this." On a couple occasions, I even emailed myself the ideas. Now, it is Saturday morning, I am drinking coffee and being chillax, just when I should write a post. But instead, let's just explore my brain.

These are the items I was thinking of blogging about:

Special shoes - do your feet get fatter when you get fatter? Have I really lived to be 31 and not know what my shoe size is? (Our goal this weekend is to spend a bazillion dollars on running shoes for my fat feet. Because the more we spend on fitness...the fatter we get. Good plan.)

Sleeping upside down - no matter how we sleep, right side up, upside down, sideways, in a car, outside, in a rent house, in a shack, in our own home, I will sleep well knowing he is by my side. (We slept the wrong way on the bed one night. And we weren't drunk. I think.)

Gardening attempts - pics required. (I am a bad ass catnip and basil grower. Rosemary, eh...not so much.)

Ice skating - the bruise and subsequent chiro visits, 12 year olds bounce. (Dude. Ice skating is fun, ice skating is also painful. 12 year olds don't care about the pain. And they laugh at the old people who don't like the pain.)

New car - heated seats, sunroof, leather. I love a warm bum. (Um, okay.)

Those are the ideas I have had over the past week. Pretty lame, huh? Here's hoping next week is less lame. 92% less lame.

After This, I Will Step Away From the Soapbox.

2008-05-07T14:11:00.003-05:00

I have spent the last week writing about a girl’s best friend – diamonds. You can find the posts here:Preview, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 and Part 5.

Maybe I just don’t read the right things or watch the right news shows. It just doesn’t seem that this issue is really discussed in mainstream news. It seems to me that mass genocide to provide a market for sparkly finger decorations might be a bit larger on people’s minds. But perhaps not. I do what I can to be a responsible Earth dweller. I recycle, I conserve, I turn off my lights when I leave a room, turn off the water when I brush my teeth. Is this not another responsible Earth dweller concept?

My poor man. One weekend morning, I was up, ready to leave the house and run some errands. He was sleeping in. I mentioned that I was reading this book. He asked how it was going. I went on a diatribe. I don’t want diamonds, but what other stones are acceptable for an engagement ring. And why do I have to have an engagement ring anyway, although I would like one. Sapphire? Ruby? Onyx? Or if instead, a cubic zirconium, isn’t that just further perpetuating the view that women need diamonds. I wear cubic zirconium in my ears and they are pretty. I want them. But that isn’t good. How do I find the proper balance? How do I find an acceptable alternative? What is an acceptable alternative? What stone is completely conflict free? Why do I need a stone? Could I have just a silver band? Where does silver come from? Is silver ok?

Whew…poor man… point is…where does it stop? What becomes acceptable? When do you just give up being absolutely positively correct, and just live in your not so perfect world. I wear clothing made in Bangladesh, Tibet, and Mexico. These can’t be constructed in positive working environments. But I can’t go naked. Cows, pigs and chickens are on my dinner table at night. If I go vegetarian, I am killing plants. Where do you stop worrying about the negative impact you are having on the world and just do your best day to day.

For me, I will do what I feel is right. I may kill animals, force Bolivian children to make my t-shirts and exploit grape vines for my nightly glass of wine, but I will not buy a diamond, or have one bought for me, or otherwise encourage the furtherance of a horrific legacy created by our (Americans) lust for shiny accoutrements. It is a start. Maybe tomorrow, I will compost. Or get my t-shirts strictly from China.

Finally, in a time where the economy is falling down around us, a particular quote on p. 247 of this awesome book struck me. Financial analysts believe a certain internet based diamond store will enjoy strong growth for at least the next 5 years despite how the economy may proceed as a whole. The spokesman for the internet based diamond store explained the reason, “If you think about it, it’s the only luxury product that everybody has to buy.”

If I thought about it, which I did, at length, and wrote a bazillion words about it, it is the one luxury product that I never want. And I hope someone out there who reads this agrees. If I haven’t changed your mind yet, try reading this. And this. And this. And this.

Or watching this:

Kimberley is Better Than Making My 6 Year Old Paint the House: Continuing Series

2008-05-06T13:45:00.003-05:00

This is Part 5 of an ongoing series. Other posts in this series - Preview, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4.

I haven’t touched on the blood diamond issue much. So far, I have let a video speak on that issue. It is important though to know a bit about a system that the diamond industry has put into place in order to address the matter.

In 2001, through international pressure, the Kimberley Process was created. Kimberley harkening back to the company that DeBeers ran out of business in 1880, which took its name from kimberlite, the material which points to the existence of a diamond deposit. The Kimberley Process is a feel good program, even better for the soul than recycling to save a couple baby seals from being exploited in a Girls Gone Wild video.

Any nation that exports diamonds is required to seal the stones inside a tamperproof container along with a document certifying that they were not mined in the midst of a war. A method to end the sale of blood diamonds, a campaign to make buyers feel all warm inside and able to sleep at night.

“Today’s diamonds from Angola are even more suspect, in some ways, because they carry a veneer of purity while they continue to be mined in a virtual war zone.” (p. 170).

In a conversation with Mark H.G. Van Bockstael, the director if international affairs and trade for the High Diamond Council, the typical face for the Kimberley Process, Mr. Van Bockstael admitted, “In terms of the social atmosphere where diamonds are produced – the Kimberley Process is not at all concerned with that. It is only concerned with a formal definition of war”. (p. 190)

Despite the fact that the diamonds may have been mined at gunpoint, resulting in the deaths of some suspected “smugglers” or “thief’s”, the only way a diamond would be excluded as a blood diamond would be if it came from an actual war zone, a fact that creates much criticism for the Kimberley Process.

Please check out this link for further details on the failures surrounding the Kimberley Process.

How about child labor? Poor Kathie Lee Gifford was strung up for her clothing line. Practically overnight, she became the face of child labor.

Have you ever heard how your diamond goes from being a boring pebble to a gorgeous diamond?

Once a diamond is removed from the ground, it is most likely sent to a Surat, India for polishing and cutting. Surat, near Bombay (Mumbai) is one of the central cities for diamond polishing, holding 92% of the market. As Surat grew more popular among the diamond industry, its population swelled. In 1994, Surat was hit with the bubonic plague.

Child labor was frequent in these mills, but in recent years, this has receded in larger operations. Although it is estimated that 20% of the workforce in Surat is underage, that number amounts to 100,000 children polishing our little trinkets. Further, the dust created from the polishing process has been shown to be related to asthma and lung fibrosis, sometimes fatal.

Don’t worry, I have another link to prove I am not making this stuff up.

Tomorrow, I will be wrapping all this up. Maybe. If you ask nicely.

DeBeers? Cuddly as a Teddy Bear? Or Not.

2008-05-05T14:15:00.002-05:00

This is Part 4 of an ongoing series. Other posts in this series - Preview, Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.

Ten times each year, approximately 80 men in the world meet in London. Each one is led to a room. An attendant gives them a box containing diamonds of varying types and sizes. They are expected to pay the price offered. There are no negotiations. The diamonds released at these sessions, represent just under half of the total carats released every month. Only 80 men are invited to these sessions, the companies they represent have been deemed worthy by DeBeers to distribute the stones. “To be a “sightholder” also means you have convinced De Beers you will not make waves by selling too much of the box at wholesale, or by protesting the quality of your allotment. In exchange for docility, you are virtually guaranteed to make a healthy profit from your box.” A former high-ranking De Beers official told Tom Zoellner, the author of an incredible book I am highlighting, that every box was calculated to release exactly the right amount of stones into the market. Enough to meet consumer demand, but not enough to cause the price to fall. (p. 118). Three floors below this exchange, is the world’s largest stockpile of unpolished diamonds, which are doled out at a controlled rate, but to De Beers, they remain much more valuable right where they are. “The continued stability of the diamond industry depends on an artificial scarcity created by De Beers. . . . De Beers has managed the remarkable feat of operating a 17^th century economic model in a 21^st century world, thus ensuring that a mineral not so rare in nature fetches a price far beyond what its value would be in a truly free market.” (p. 119).

DeBeers started out as a crooked company. In 1880, Cecil Rhodes created the DeBeers Mining Company. Barney Barnato was the chairman of the Kimberley Central. These 2 companies fought each other in their attempts to buy up more claims to the South African diamond mines that had been found to date. Rhodes, cunningly, offered Barnato a deal where Rhodes would buy the company owned by Barnato, in order to avoid a bidding war, selling it back to Barnato for 300,000 pounds. Rhodes asked only for a fifth of the outstanding stock in Kimberley Central. Barnato, unable to see any detriment, agreed. Rhodes then instructed his brokers to buy up all outstanding shares in Kimberley Central at any cost. As a result, Barnato conceded defeat. DeBeers became the sole cartel. In 1888, Rhodes told his shareholders, that DeBeers aimed for nothing less than to become, “The richest, the greatest, and the most powerful company the world has ever seen.” (p. 127). De Beers then created 2 defining policies, 1- mining production was cut by half, creating an artificial scarcity, and 2 - a single channel for distribution of the stones was created, the forerunner of the sightholder system outlined above that continues today in London.

DeBeers claims it is not a monopoly, of course. “If this is a monopoly, it is a monopoly based on the popular support of its consumers” said an internal memo. “De Beers has no actual power to coerce these producers to sell their diamonds through De Beers.” In 1981, this “freedom” was extremely evident in Zaire. Zaire, one of the most poverty stricken countries in the world, it became unhappy with its relationship with De Beers. It sought an agreement with independent European countries to distance itself from De Beers. De Beers, kindly struck back, releasing a flood of diamonds, driving down prices and forcing Zaire’s industry into near collapse. When in business with the cartel, Zaire received about $3 per carat. PER CARAT! When it struck away from De Beers, it received less than half that. Two years after its attempt at striking away from the cartel, Zaire went back under its wing. One executive was reported to say, “Anyone want to follow Zaire?” (p. 155) Sure doesn’t sound like a monopoly to me. But then again, maybe I am deaf, dumb and incredibly stupid.

One of my great skills, despite my deafness, dumbness and stupidity, is Google-ing. This site shows that in order to get a 1 carat diamond, I would have to pay $7,500-$10,000. The same 1 carat that the finder was paid $3.00 for.

Let’s go back to World War II. Diamond tipped tools became crucial for cutting parts for tank engines and airplanes. As the war progressed, the German invasion of North Africa caused fears that the U.S. was in danger of losing its source of industrial diamonds in the Congo. De Beers, of course, had control over these diamonds. Through the Depression, DeBeers hoarded surplus diamonds in order to keep prices high. It entered the war era with direct control of 95% of the world’s diamond supply. Those gems were now critical to the Allied forces in fighting the Nazis, but the cartel refused to sell them to American arms factories. Its “logic”? If the U.S. was allowed to build up a reserve of these industrial diamonds and the war suddenly ended, all the diamonds could be sold off and would crash the market. Let that settle in a bit. I can wait. This is the company that right now, is holding the diamond you want on your finger.

The ads DeBeers used at this time? “To the chagrin of our enemy, our side controls almost the entire supply of another kind of diamond to do the countless jobs of speed and skill in pouring out armaments… Your lovely gemstone has helped put them to work!” Let me put this together for you. DeBeers refused to release diamonds for the U.S. to use in creation of weapons to fight the Nazis, yet they advertised that by putting a diamond on your pretty little finger, you are helping to bring down Hitler himself. (p. 137-140)

I personally call that talking out of both sides of your mouth. Or being a dickwad. Whatever.

Video Friday - Blood Diamonds Edition

2008-05-02T14:55:00.001-05:00

This video can also be found here.

Other posts in this series - Preview, Part 1, and Part 2.

Do You Feel Duped? The Heartless Stone, Fianna's Report - Part 2

2008-05-01T19:10:00.007-05:00

This is Part 2 of an ongoing series.

The preview can be found here.

Part 1 is here.

Diamond engagement rings are a relatively new trend. The giving of a ring to mark a union leads back to the Roman Empire. It was first documented among soldiers of the Roman Empire who marked their chosen woman with straps of leather tied around their fingers. The practice lived on symbolically through metal bands and has long been a part of Christian wedding ceremonies. However, in the 1930’s, it was not common to link a diamond with the arrangement. (p. 68) Diamonds were more likely associated with Bugsy Siegel or Al Capone than a young bride.

It was not until the 1930’s that the metal band was replaced in our minds (American minds, this is not a worldwide practice as I will mention with respect to Japan later on) with a diamond utilizing a clever marketing scheme that supplanted all previous traditions. Diamonds were “interesting to look at, but hardly practical, and certainly nothing that a young working family would want to buy.” (p.68). Beginning in the ‘30’s, a strong marketing campaign of DeBeers created a mind shift.

The phrase “A Diamond Is Forever” was created at 4 A.M. by a tired female copywriter, tasked with creating a tagline. As stated by an executive of DeBeers, “In these four words are concentrated all the emotional and physical properties of a diamond.” Oh really? Hmmm... The emotional properties of a diamond? My grandparents, married as teenagers, whose marriage lasted until my grandfather passed away, didn’t need a diamond to signify their marriage was forever. My great-grandparents, nope. Now, with a burgeoning divorce rate, we must have diamonds to symbolize that we will be together forever?

Consider this, I know I am guilty of it. When I hear a friend has become engaged, I grab their left hand. What would you think if a couple did not have an engagement ring? My first thought, even now, would be, why are they engaged if they can’t afford an engagement ring? I hope my thoughts will soon shift to the point that when a friend does not have a sparkly left hand, my first inclination will be, “Excellent, now they can afford a down payment on a house.”

Ladies, get this figure. A 1990 marketing survey suggested that a stunning 59% of men would choose to put key investments, like a mortgage, in jeopardy, to buy you a ring. The years of marketing have changed our culture so greatly, to place it in men’s mind that in order to prove himself worthy, he must provide a dowry, a sacred ring, that wasn’t so sacred just a half-century earlier.

In 1960, DeBeers attention focused on Japan, a country, at the time, with less than 100,000 carats in imports annually. Just 30 years later, following a marketing campaign that, like the one used in the U.S., changed a cultural tradition, imports had increased to 4.1 million carats. “What happened there was still held up – wisely or not – as a signature example of how a well-marketed product could ingratiate itself into the culture, even more completely than it had in America” (p.81).

So, what is the proper amount to spend on an engagement ring? Two months, right?

Ever consider where that came from? Did you know that in Great Britain, the standard amount is one month salary.

How about in Japan?

Three months salary.

When asked about the difference by Tom Zoellner, the author of the book I quote so extensively from, a DeBeers representative said, “We were, quite frankly, trying to bid them up”. (p. 81)

Does this nauseate you as much as it does me? Does this statement resonate greatly with you? A standard, what has become a cultural standard that us women, as the recipients of these items, as the ooohhhers and awwwerrrrs of such items, we are being played with by these DeBeers execs.

Aren’t we lucky to be in the middle price range of their marketing scheme? Americans, while not as fortunate as the 1 month Brits, we are better off than those poor Japanese, who were strung into the DeBeers marketing net at a later time, when DeBeers realized they could milk the poor gents for 3 months income.

Japan, at the peak of the diamond engagement ring craze, 9 out of 10 marrying couples had a diamond ring. Interestingly, in 2006, it had declined to 5 out of ten. Japan is wising up to the DeBeers marketing scheme. When will we?

The idea that if a man is willing to spend 1-3 months salary, (depending on where he is fortunate enough to live), he must be committed, he must be worthy, to marry. If he is willing to lay down months of income to buy a trinket, is that proof of love?

I would rather my spouse save that money for a house, a car, retirement accounts, hell, a honeymoon, than for a trinket that I am bound to drop into the bathroom sink, snag on my pantyhose, or otherwise quit wearing because I will lose it or cut myself with it somehow.

The Heartless Stone - Fianna's Report, Part 1

2008-04-30T13:07:00.004-05:00

A few weeks back at church, Dikembe Mutombo was mentioned. He is from the Congo, a country on a continent that continues to experience war, a militia ruled way of life. Mutombo originally came to the U.S. to become a doctor. Being 7+ feet tall, he was recruited into basketball, where he has spent the last 17 years. He now plays with the Houston Rockets.

A person I work with on a regular basis, adopted a girl from the Congo a couple years back. At the time of the adoption, there were discussions about the treatment of women in the Congo at the time and the need for intervention, and absent that intervention, a need for the adoption of the orphans of the war that has drug on through the country. It has been wonderful to follow this lucky girl’s story since she came to the States, where she is quickly becoming a typical U.S. teenager.

When I sat down to write this initially, I pulled up a few things on the Congo. I include the following quote, not to frighten or shock or disgust anyone (although it will). I include it because I don’t think I can do justice with words of my own on how this is going to haunt me. By including it, I hope it haunts you and makes you understand why I have turned a book into a multi-part blog series.

On July 30, 2007, a report by Yakin Erturk, special rapporteur for the United Nations Human Rights Council on violence against women, found extreme sexual violence against women is pervasive in the DRC and local authorities do little to stop it or prosecute those responsible. Her report also found 'women are gang raped, often in front of their families and communities. In numerous cases, male relatives are forced at gun point to rape their own daughters, mothers or sisters.' Survivors told Ertuck that after rape, many women are held as slaves by the gangs and forced to eat excrement or the flesh of their murdered relatives. (Link)

My interest in the region of the world where this is occurring started because of the adoption of that girl. Some time after that, I saw Blood Diamond. Currently, I am reading a book right at the heart of this, which is why this is so large on my radar. The Heartless Stone by Tom Zoellner. I have done some web research in order to supplement what is going to end up being quite a long book report. Otherwise, all facts, all quotes, come from this book. I have referenced page numbers on many portions I have quoted or otherwise plagiarized. This book is phenomenal. I devoured it, I cried, I was moved enough that it has 30+ dog-eared pages and the library has refused to allow me to renew it for a 3^rd time. Therefore, I am going to be paying a hefty fine for the privilege of holding onto this book for much longer than I should have. I recommend that you read it on your own. I have highlighted things about the diamond trade that struck me. I have left out many, many things.

Over the next few days, I will be posting about diamonds. I hesitate to call them blood diamonds, because people will say, there is a certification process to ensure that blood diamonds cease to exist. The issue is much larger than blood diamonds. It is a culture. A culture created by some clever marketing over the past 60-70 years.

Sit down, buckle up.

I Rhyme With Kermit

2008-04-26T12:17:00.003-05:00

Over the last couple of years, my age seems to have shot straight into elderly. I would rather stay at home watching HGTV than go out to the bars. I spend more time than ever before alone. I have become a crazy penny-pinching hermit.

My dear Not Craig has insisted that I become more sociable. That I get off my butt and go out. That I work at maintaining the limited friendships I have.

Which leads to today.

I am a bit nervous about my stupid back. It is Houston, hot and humid with a threatening sky.

I am about to go sit outside, with my ~~pasty~~ porcelain skin, for 8+ hours, on a wet hill, listening to bands that I remotely know. And if I get wild, pay $10 for a beer. And $15 for an Aramark hot dog.

Oh Lord, what am I getting myself into?

How old is too old for this scene? And who the hell are these bands?

When can I apply for the AARP?

I really want the discount at IHOP.

(My) Back Is Whack.

2008-04-23T19:16:00.002-05:00

I went to the chiro today. I had been sore since the wreck, but upon return to work Monday, I felt ok. Sore, sure, but I wasn’t too bad off. It had been 4 days since I was an assclown and rearended a big ass truck. After working for 2 days, I was hurting. It was getting worse, not better. Not Craig politely asked me to see someone, and to not fight him on it. That last little phrase being very important. Not Craig has apparently been paying attention to my little quirks for the past 3 years. If you want me to do something, even something beneficial to my wellbeing, don’t ask me to do it. I won’t. I am an assclown like that. This time, however, I acquiesced immediately. I knew something was wrong. I was getting worse, not better.

Interesting how polarizing a visit to the chiropractor can be. I work in a law office. An office that deals with chiropractors regularly as part of our practice. There are strong opinions on those guys. One side thinks chiros are the bee’s knees. The other likens them to Satan who likes to rip off insurance companies in between days spent eating small children. I was told I needed to see a chiro right away, but to be ready to spend 6-8 weeks under his care. I was then told that they are a bunch of quacks and to go see a doctor that could actually pass med school. I was then told that chiropractic care is one of the most important methods of maintaining proper health. I was then told how my insurance company would probably sue me for visiting a chiro and not cover any of the treatments. Back and forth…. WWIII in my office, even after we stuffed everyone full of croissants and strawberries for Secretary’s Day.

No matter what the naysayers or the lovers might have said, the primary reason I went to a chiro as opposed to an M.D., was because I hurt. I didn’t want drugs and ice. I wanted relief. A chiro will give that. Even though he might be greasing up the insurance company at the same time. That being said, my ass better not be asked to hang around for 6-8 weeks.

The chiropractor took x-rays. From the x-ray looking straight on, when your spine should be a straight line, mine swayed left and then swayed right.

Even worse was the neck x-ray. It didn’t look completely out of alignment, thank goodness. It showed something even more odd.

Apparently, a couple of my neck vertebrae, which should be occupying separate space with a disc serving as a fence between them, are fused. Nothing bad, nothing dangerous, just defective.

I am over 30 years old. And I am just learning today that I have a congenital birth defect.

My head spun around. How could I have not known this earlier? Is he wrong? Do x-rays lie? Is this a way for him to get more $$?

Am I really congenitally defective? I thought my only defect was my pinkie thumb and my stunning good looks. Who knew I qualified as a factory return?

Fun Monday - What Is It Worth?

2008-04-21T07:46:00.004-05:00

Southern Doll has created a Fun Monday to make us all appreciate the beauty of life. Those moments that stick out, that make us smile, that we will never forget.

The times in my life that were worth doing, or that I will remember as I age, aren’t necessarily specific moments just yet. To me, it is a way of living, without regret, not holding back.

I give everything to those I love. It has caused me pain, caused me to have been taken advantage of, caused tears. However, those things don’t matter. There will always be something bad that comes out of good. The point is to just ignore that, and focus on the good side.

How about a few specifics...

1. I want to be remembered as the girl that shared her allowance, spending all of it on playing video games with her best friends. And later, as the friend that shared her paycheck to help out with a friend's rent.

2. I want my nieces to remember receiving gifts out of the blue from their Tia Fianna, just because.

3. I want Kaytabug’s boys to know that although they haven’t met me, that I love them.

4. I want my parents to be proud of the things I have accomplished and to know how much their never-ending support helped in those accomplishments.

5. I want to be remembered as the girl that may have broken hearts, but did so compassionately and never with malice.

6. I want to be remembered as the hardest working woman in legal. And the goofiest.

7. And the hardest working woman in everything else. And the goofiest.

8. I want the friends that have slipped through, that aren’t as close anymore, to always remember me fondly.

9. I want to find those old friends and make them close again.

How about you?

Moving On

2008-04-19T00:48:00.000-05:00

As can be seen in yesterday’s post, my beloved Corolla is no more. It has met a tragic end of a beautiful life. As I write this, my neck aches because it is the night of the wreck.

I have had just a short time to reflect on the events of today and of the loss of my beloved Corolla. It is so silly how much that car meant to me. It was a transitional car. A car bought when I was just 22. A very young and stupid 22. The number of events that have happened in those years is crazy. The amount of my life that was spent in that car. The trips made in it. The tears shed. The laughs laughed. That car has a ton of memories for me. It embodied who I was for so long.

My feelings, yes I know. Silly. Just Silly.

To me, I buy cars to last me their entire lifetime. I wait until their wheels fall off….or in this instance, their hoods. I plan to spend years as the owner of my new car. Years that are sure to hold so many splendid memories. Years that have been contemplated in detail throughout the decision to buy this certain car.

I cannot wait to see how far the new car goes. To the future 8 years. What those will incorporate. The things I will experience in that vehicle. My smile right now is so big it hurts.

How excited I am. Excited for the years ahead. The future I am building with Not Craig.

Closing the door (but not the hood…which is impossible to close) on my past. Opening the door (and the sunroof) to my future.

Oh, what a bright future this is turning out to be.

This Is The End

2008-04-18T10:53:00.001-05:00

Beautiful Friend.

How You Doing?

2008-04-07T14:59:00.000-05:00

The hard drive replacement mentioned last week hasn’t happened yet. But don’t worry, it will happen. Just on Fianna time. It took 73 days to get my lock fixed after some asshat screwed it up. 73 days, people! 73 days of unlocking my car from the passenger side. 73 days of walking up to my driver’s side door, trying to stick a key in the mangled lock, kicking the door, walking around to the passenger side door, and wiggling the key trying to get the faulty power locks to work.

My car …. A valet nightmare. First off, it is a Corolla. An old Corolla that is parked under a tree. A very shedding (shed-filled, shed-y??) tree, I might add. Now, if possible, I avoid the valet-ing. Because come on, who am I impressing or acting all important like with a 10 year old leaf-covered Corolla? It ain’t impressive.

My power window broke some time back. It needs a new motor that, when added in with the labor cost, is more expensive than my car. So… it ain’t happening. I can’t roll down my driver’s side window. Every drive-up ATM, every fast food window, every homeless person donation, has to occur through an opening of the door. This, of course, is a hassle, but no biggie. You get accustomed and adapt. However, this causes mass confusion and embarrassment when a stranger is driving said vehicle. So I must explain to any valet, oil change dude or dear friends and family – Do NOT roll down the window! Do Not! It will go down about 2 inches and stop. It won’t go down any further and it won’t go back up. Of course, with my penchant for expedient car repairs, when my inside door handle broke, I got it fixed, oh, probably 73 days after it broke. When I had to go to a valet during that time period, it was an adventure, don’t roll down the window, when you open the door – clasp this wire, pull out and then down and click your tongue four times, say “blueberry” and the door will open. The valet didn’t understand a word I said, got into my car, rolled the window down and although he was able to get in the car, due to the functioning outside handle, he couldn’t get out.

Wait. What was I discussing? Oh, computer hard drives. It will happen one day. Maybe.

As for what I did that prevented the hard drive work, I spent all day Saturday in my pj’s. I cleaned and organized and watched Lord of the Rings while asking Not Craig every 6 minutes, “What did he say?” While I understand the genius behind the LOTR stories and movie, mmm, not my cup o’ tea.

I slept until noon thirty on Sunday. It was wonderful. I then drove around town, locking and unlocking my door just for the thrill of it. I then went home, and cooked this for the second time. Try it. Even strident haters of the loaf will adore it.

How was your weekend?

Dell-y Smelly

2008-04-03T08:07:00.002-05:00

Over the next few days, major surgery is occurring on my little laptop. I have a Dell laptop, purchased just over 2 years ago. If you were blind and sitting where I am currently sitting, you would assume it was a steam engine locomotive in front of you, not a computer. The thing is noisy. And slow.

A couple weeks ago, Not Craig wiped the whole thing out. Blanked out my computer, reloaded everything, cleaned and polished up my computer.

It has not helped at all.

In order to be Frugal McFrugalitis, instead of buying a new computer, I searched out a new hard drive.

Could someone explain to me, how, just over 2 years ago, I bought this laptop for $1,400, enough to feed a South American village for 18 months, and now, I want to replace the very mostest importantest piece of equipment in it and it costs $75. How the hell does that compute? Guess what, Michael Dell! It doesn’t.

(The above paragraph contains 7 commas. That is excessive comma use, but I am too impatient to try and delete pieces of text. That is extremely burdensome for my poor piece of crap computer. Now this paragraph has 8 commas. And a run-on parenthetical. And sentence fragments. My 8^th grade English teacher who attempted to teach me how to diagram sentences is rolling in her grave, if she is dead. Kaytabug?) The parenthetical is now longer than the paragraph itself. I may be extremely bad at the English.

So if I disappear from the face of the innernets, it is because I became impatient and tried to replace the hard drive myself instead of waiting on the much more capable, technical guru in my household. One day, I should tell you how I bought a new Ipod battery and tried to replace it myself. In the middle of it, I decided that was a bad idea and hired Not Craig to be the supervisor. Unfortunately, this project failed miserably in the end. My Ipod is instead just defective. It works for approximately 15 minutes and dies a horrible death. I will tell you that story one day. Or not.

Wish me, Not Craig and the Dell luck. If this doesn’t work, a $1,400 piece of crap will be flung from a 3^rd story window. Although perhaps it is powerful enough in its chuggin, chuggin, chuggin to fly on its own accord.

Walk This Way

2008-04-02T07:43:00.001-05:00

After reading a post from Trent at The Simple Dollar, I took my Ebay earnings and bought myself a pedometer.

This resulted in the following statement from my beloved:

You are well on your way to fitness. You bought some useless crap to make you want to work out.

The thing is, it is not useless! I love it, am obsessed with it, feel guilty about it, and work very hard to get my allotted steps in. This pedometer entertains myself and those around me.

It is 134 steps from my office to the nearest eatery. A fact that has called my boss to rally for a restaurant in our building lobby. Because 134 steps. Too many.

My coworkers check my status throughout the day. Pushing me to either walk more or for me to just lie to them…

You download the data into your computer which then shows you a nifty chart. You set your goals, mine are 10,000 steps daily, which translates into 5.68 miles. This is not easy. On slow days, I have been as low as 1,500 steps. My busiest day so far – 13,475. Without any aerobic steps, which translates into - I have been worked too damn hard recently. (Aerobic steps start counting after 10 minutes of continuous walking with more than 60 steps a minute.)

Of course, like all good things, too much of a good thing can be a problem…my beloved may have also commented…

You realize you have that damn pedometer strapped to your panties?

A Preview

2008-03-23T15:07:00.003-05:00

I drafted a post today and have decided to hold onto it for now. This is rare for me. Typically, I throw up words in a rush and post them immediately. I am posting this just to get something out so I don't literally throw up.

I am delaying the post for two reasons. Firstly, it isn’t a complete thought on a topic. It rambles a bit and is really just a preview of something I expect to discuss in greater detail later. Secondly, I am a bit nervous about discussing this subject here.

I am quite irreverent on this blog.

The topic at hand is a big one. I can’t imagine it being a controversial topic. There isn’t a sole alive that could be in support of it.

My fear is in being too serious here and offending some with the topic that will startle and since it is primarily women that read my blibbity blabberings, it may be offensive to raise such a topic and provide my thoughts on it.

The ugly side of a tradition we have all grown up with. A token that surely we all have spent time thinking about. Something some of us are probably quite in love with.

Let’s just broach it oh so carefully.

I am reading this book from Fianna’s Reading List.

With the Warming Temperatures...

2008-03-16T20:21:00.002-05:00

Bamboo Season Begins...

There was more....

Buy yours here or at most pet stores. I swear by it.

Low Talky

2008-03-15T10:28:00.000-05:00

This week has kicked my ass. The last 3 weeks have kicked my ass. And before that? We were moving, which kicked my ass.

I am an introvert. Too much activity freaks me out. Too much talky-talky. Too many people. Not enough Ahhhh-oooommmm. Alone time. Chill and stare at the wall time.

I am at That Point. Where I am just beat down. I just want to wrap myself in my little cocoon and not talk to anyone for awhile. I want to spend the weekend in my PJ’s, drinking coffee. Doing nada. Spend time with the only human I really want to spend time with right now. And not talk. And not listen. And just be quiet.

To get Me back. To become level again.

However, let’s see…my boss wants me to go to work today. I am not going because I stayed there until 9:30 last night in order to avoid working today. I expect his call any minute asking where I am. I will probably not answer.

I then need to go to a friend’s kid’s first birthday party. I was so wishing this was tomorrow. Just so I could regain some balance and become a nicer person. However, I will go and smile and enjoy meeting the kid for the first time. It is waaaayyy over due.

And then. I plan on planting some herbs. Perhaps something flowery, and maybe a small tomato plant. Are there any small tomato plants?

I used to hate tomatoes. I was very much into tomato by-products. Tomato sauce, diced tomatoes, ketchup. Any processed tomato was acceptable. But I HATED fresh tomatoes. This has been going on since childhood. I did not eat tomatoes. One day, however, I decided to break out of the ordinary, quit doing the same thing, and ate a slice of fresh tomato that I was about to put on a pizza and bake it into oblivion in order to make it acceptable. And guess what. It was acceptable. In fact, it was downright tasty.

I did this a year ago with dairy. I decided maybe this self-imposed lactose ban wasn’t me. Maybe I really wasn’t lactose intolerant. Maybe my genes became strong and kicked that stupid deficient gene’s ass. I started eating dairy. Oh sweet baby Jesus. Cheese. Milk. Ice Cream. The Heavens opened up, it was amazing. However, I was wrong. That stupid lactose deficient gene is still partying it up with that vision impaired gene. They are winning. I am still blind and still lactose intolerant.

Point is though, I tried. I tried something that I had previously written off. I changed my thoughts and my actions to attempt something new. I went against what I felt I should do, what I had been doing for years, what was the most comfortable route.

So today, when all I really want to do is watch E! all day and the Celebrity Rehab reunion. I am instead going to get off my lazy butt, go buy some noisy brightly colored toy and spend time with humans. Humans I don’t see very often. A really small human that I can’t wait to meet. And just maybe, that is what I need more than anything I think I need.

I am still not going to work though.

My Testimonial

2008-03-13T08:07:00.004-05:00

Have I mentioned how difficult New Mexico was? Did I mention how you could try and buy something? You would have money and wish to be parted with it. However, people wouldn’t take it. Be it an hour line at Wal-Mart to unavailability at a doctor’s office until 2011 to a lack of original chicken at KFC. When you left the comfort of your mold-ridden, 1970’s throwback apartment, you (and, of course, I mean me) knew that life was about to be difficult. You were going to have to get angry. And be aggressive. (BE AGGRESSIVE!! BE BE AGGRESSIVE!! Look at my imaginary Herkie!)

You knew you wouldn’t get what you want, when you want it, for the price you wanted it, how you wanted it.

The starkest contrast you can imagine is Mattress Mac.

Jim McIngvale is my hero.

Anyone in the Houston area is now saying ME TOO, ME TOO!

You go to his store. You cannot miss it. There are big signs and lots of lights and it is a huge building.

You walk in, say hi to the 17 people waiting to help you. They offer you a bottle of water. You can shake hands with Mattress Mac himself who is in the store every day despite being a gazillionaire. He answers phones, hands out water bottles, makes store announcements. Despite being 131 years old. (OMG! I just looked it up. He is actually just a year older than my dad. Ok, fine, he isn’t old, but all that crazy jumping in the 80’s TV commercials took their toll. Just saying.)

So..back to the story. You walk in. You are helped immediately. Offered a cold refreshing beverage. And are shown to what you want. Immediately.

There is a chick whose entire job is to walk around the store offering ice cream in a variety of choices. Ice Cream Sandwich? Push Pop? What is your poison? Can you imagine what an amazing job this is? I want her job.

When I was shown this apartment, I, for reals, stood in the stairway that leads into it, and held my hands at my hips and measured how much weight I could gain before I wouldn’t fit up the stairs. It isn’t much.

The stairway…is a problem.

We informed our furniture sales guru about our stairway and the lack of inch-age. He laughed. And we told him we were serious. And he may have frowned. But then…he showed us a couch. And another and another and another and 27 others.

And they would fit. Yes they would!

So we bought some furniture. A lot actually.

We tried to buy a couch in Dallas last year. We really wanted to buy one. We offered cash. We offered extended credit terms. We offered first borns. We wanted to give them a couple grand, but there was no way they would give us a couch without making us wait 3 weeks. We couldn’t buy a floor model. We were told to wait 3 weeks. No other choice. No couches to be had on the same day. They refused to take our money and give us what we wanted.

Gallery Furniture? They have billboards everywhere in Houston simply with the word Today.

Today? Today, you say?

If you buy before 10 P.M., you get your couch that day.

We left Gallery at 6 P.M. We went home. Cleaned up the place. Moved the camping chairs out of the way. And a few hours later, a knock on the door.

Professional, well-spoken, furniture delivery men dropped off all the furniture that we had bought just a couple hours earlier. They set everything up super quick. And disappeared like bandits.

This is what happened.

Begin Story:

We bought furniture. It was delivered a couple hours later.

End Story.

Mattress Mac is freaking genius. He offers quality products at a good price. He makes you comfortable in his store. His salespeople are professional, well-spoken, not pushy. He delivers the stuff you bought when you want it. He doesn’t make you wait if you need it right away. He will hold it if you aren’t ready.

He makes the entire buying process simple.

I wish more businesses followed such a simple business model. It really is amazing that I am blown away by his business.

Why is it so unique?

Give the customers what they want. They will come back for more. They will tell their friends and family. They will write blog posts about it.

It truly blows my mind that I am so blown away by this type of service.

Is it really that extraordinary? Why?

You give people what they want, in a friendly manner. The end.

So, tell me about your life? What customer service blew you away? What crappy service made you want to go psycho?

And Jag, if you are still alive, could you find some of the old school footage of Save You Money videos. I think Mac may have put a hit out on whoever had those. They are nowhere to be found on Youtube. This is the best compilation I could find with footage of the jumping.

Stop Stealing the Influenza Ridden Covers!

2008-03-06T07:50:00.003-06:00

Has anyone else witnessed this whole flu sickyness going around this year? I feel like the remaining Indians (Native Americans) are all laughing at us whiteys, chortling their milk, thinking how awesome the revenge is. Smallpox? Fuck your smallpox. Here is some flu, bitches.

I have somehow remained immune to date; however, Not Craig nearly died and several peeps at work are suffering the Fluenza. Peeps that never get sick. It is like we are in the end times. Obama is gonna be prez and we are all dying off.

Thank goodness the writing strike is over. At least we can die with some good TV to watch.

Did you know there is a separate shot for pneumonia? I did not know this and feel that it may be a conspiracy to kill whitey. Or not. It is just a theory.

See what happens when Fianna works too much, plays too little and is surrounded by sick people and work drama? Stupid rambling posts.

If people would stop talking to me, I would have a lot more time to blog at work. Sorry folks. I am trying here.

In the meantime, don't get sick on me. We have to have an uprising against this Bird Flu crap.

Who's with me?

Bueller?

Bueller?

Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda

2008-03-04T07:08:00.002-06:00

I was gonna post some pics. But the batteries in my camera are dead. Does the life of rechargeable batteries decline? I was surprised that they were dead already. Therefore, no pics for you.

I kinda wanted to add to my previous rant on the evilness of the snooze button. However, I thought better of it. I have enough teabags in my pantry, I didn’t need anymore in my life.

I woulda liked to discuss making breakfast on weekdays and see how others handle it.

Unfortunately, besides some bad grammar, I just don’t have any more time this morning to post.

Since I have committed to not be a bad employee and steal my company’s time by blogging at work or reading blogs at work or doing non-work related things at work because I am reading this book that I won from this awesome blogger, I just don’t have time in the morning to take pics, rant or discuss important matters of life.

Sorry. I am about halfway done with the book, after that, perhaps I will return to being the slovenly employee I was before. All this worky is exhausting!

Why Are The Scots So Bitchy?

2008-02-26T07:30:00.002-06:00

Whew. Moving sucks big goat balls. I am tired, tired, and more tired. I am pissy and grouchy and altogether unpleasant to be around. My Our house is a mess.

How quickly gratitude can disappear. How quickly your gleeful attitude turns to irritation. Rudeness. Grumpy McGrumpyness.

Mere days is all it takes to move from being just blown over by how well life is to being a snippy little bitch. Hey, babe….umm…sorry.

I have discussed before the irritation of dealing with small town New Mexico.

My decision to start an import/export business during my “brief” trip to Houston.

Every birthday should end in fast food, tears and vodka shooters.

Monkeys, lower evolutionary development, fucking retarded idiots – semantics – New Mexico has them all baby.

1,001 Reasons to Sue Your Apartment Complex.

There are things that I haven’t written about…my fights with 2 different doctors’ office. The resultant collection attempt that is marring my perfect credit score. My love’s dealings with things that I probably shouldn’t refer to because this is my blog and not his, and my career and not his. Have you seen the movie, The Hills Have Eyes? I wholly believe it was taped in Oil Field, New Mexico. And is a true story. ‘Nuff Said. Word to your mother.

(HAHAHAHA!!! After intense fact-checking because this is a quality blog, well written, researched, and factually accurate – the movie DOES take place in NM. There, Bitches.

So…this is what we were faced with. I flew in Sunday, needed to be moved back across Texas asap so I could return to the Great Law Office in the Sky and draft more TPS reports. We needed to get a U-haul, a trailer, a rebuilt transmission, boxes, return the cable box, pack, clean and get a seal of approval on the clean apartment.

The sheer terror that rose over me thinking of the difficulties we would face when working on this move….

I couldn’t get a piece of fried chicken in this town without a fight. It is simply impossible, (under normal city standards), to do anything in this small town.

I would like a hamburger, no onions or tomatoes, add bacon. HUH! WTH. We don’t have no bacon burger. Well, could you add bacon to a hamburger? NO. We ain’t got no bacon on a burger. Do you have bacon? Yea. Can you place it on top of a burger? NO. I done told you no. We don’t do those high-falutin burger deals here, lady. See. Impossible. You want something. You can’t have it. Welcome to New Mexico.

So…we set out with great trepidation on Monday. We obtained a U-haul, the exact trailer we needed and sufficient boxes in less than an hour. Perfect. Ecstatic exclamations may have been heard.

We then had to obtain a vehicle that was in a shop. A rebuilt transmission. Work that was originally quoted to take a week. We wanted it done over a weekend, ready Monday afternoon. They agreed. We did not truly believe them. We had lived in the area long enough to know the difficulties that arise from needing things from other people. Be it toothpaste from Wal-Mart, a burger from Burger King, a tire rotation at a tire rotation place. Not Easy. Staples has an easy button. These are not advertised at the local Staples. It would be false advertising and I would sue.

The truck was ready when quoted. For the low end of the quote. We passed out. Woke up. Drove the truck home. And it worked. The tranny didn’t fall out. We made it back to Oil Field in one piece. Life was looking up.

I do believe that when things are right, when things are meant to happen, it is clockwork. Greased wheels, however you want to describe it. In a Land of You Cannot Have It How You Want It Because We Said So, we were given everything exactly the way that we wanted, in normal world time, without hassle. In a year of living in this area, this has never before happened. It was unnatural. Supernatural, Yes, Joel Osteen, we were living in the Supernatural.

Life was wonderful. Life is wonderful.

We got all the moving accoutrements in place. We boxed and moved and got rid of a bunch of crap to the bestest home in the entire world.

We drove and drove and drove.

We then hired people to carry all our crap up the 89 stairs that lead to our place. It took them 63 minutes. It would have taken us 6.3 days.

The worst thing we could think of that happened during this blessed week was that my sandwich at McDonald’s was kinda gross. The very worst thing. Hmmm….aren’t we amazingly fortunate.

However, then I have to go and get all involved. I have to “feel” a certain way. I have to get tired and bitchy and cranky. I have a dirty house, boxes everywhere. I am exhausted. And people at work talk to me. I hate when people talk to me. Quit talking to me!!!

And so I get all bitchy with my love. And Cranky McCranksterston hit town and was mean.

My dear, I apologize for being a Fussy McFussy Pants. And for talking all Meany McMeanster.

Forgive me please.

I will make Popcorn shrimp for dinner.

Taxi!

2008-02-22T07:33:00.002-06:00

The call came.

I gathered my things, peeked out the window and saw nothing.

I turned off all the lights, double-checked to make sure the coffee pot was turned off. Turned off the A/C.

I tucked my coat under my arm, despite the 75 degree temps.

I stepped outside, looked left, looked right and there it was.

I do not remember a time when I felt so happy.

Taking a cab to the airport was a first for me. I have always had friends or family drop me off. Or I left my car in the parking garage.

This time however, I was being driven. However, the excitement wasn't for the cab ride, it was the purpose of the ride.

I was being driven to the airport where I would board a plane to a place where the coat was necessary.

To a place where I would box up all the remnants of our life in the Desert.

Where we would drive away from the Desert, for the last time, Together.

To our new home, in my our little apartment in Houston.

I Give You VD, Because I Love You

2008-02-14T13:59:00.002-06:00

I work in an office. With a lot of chicks. Today being VD, there are flowers galore. When they are first delivered, we all oooohhhh-annnnddd—ahhhhhh. The girls figure out what lucky gal is receiving them and then pout because they still haven’t received their special bouquet.

And I gag.

My love has been banned from buying me anything today. Which, of course, is aided by the fact that he is a state away.

I hate VD. The forced love and affection. The forced gifting. The forced emotion.

If you love me, tell me, because OMG! IT! IS! THURSDAY! And I LOVE YOU!

If you are gonna give me a gift, give me a gift because OMG! IT IS SOMETHING YOU WILL LIKE! And I LOVE YOU!

Don’t do it because Hallmark makes you.

If you are a chick that wants VD celebrated. Fine. That is great. Make sure your man knows that you are a celebrator of VD.

Of course, you must celebrate 3/14 as well. (Here is another linky because the other one seems to be wonky.)

Tit for tat.

Free Book Download

2008-02-13T11:55:00.003-06:00

Oprah.com is providing a free download of Suze Orman's book Women & Money through tomorrow night at 8 PM.

Suze is not my fave personal finance guru, as I am just not so touchy-feely in love emotionally with my finances, but she does offer great advice on some topics. I just don't want to make out with my cash. Or ask what it is thinking about. It won't respond. Money is more out of touch with its feeeeelings than a man.

Anyway, check it out. I am always looking to learn more about managing money, as one day, I want to take over the world, Pinky.

Thanks to My Open Wallet for the info.

House Guests

2008-02-11T21:17:00.000-06:00

(Men - proceed at your own risk.)

In my Saturday post, I wrote, “Where is my crown?”

I meant where is the crown I deserve for being a super cheap-ass furniture finding mo-fo.

The crown that goes on your head because you are the shiz-nit.

Somewhere, in some really evil parallel universe, a gnome read that blog post.

That gnome, apparently had dental issues. I wanted to know where my princess-y crown was. The location of my dental crown was not in question.

There was no reason for that parallel universe gnome to up-seat my crown. Yet he did.

Hours after writing that fateful sentence, enjoying a piece of chewing gum, my crown dethroned itself. That evil gnome ruined the crown’s self-esteem causing it to fling itself out of its secure post.

Today I spent 4 hours at the dentist with my mouth stretched wider than a cheerleader on prom night.

With a wedge of cotton in my mouth to stop some bleeding, I begged for a potty break halfway through the torture.

And really…. It’s Monday. My head is being drilled. Was that anytime for my Aunt to stop by for a visit?