The Heartless Stone - Fianna's Report, Part 1

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

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.

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?

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

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

Beautiful Friend.

How You Doing?

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

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

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

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...

Bamboo Season Begins...



There was more....

Buy yours here or at most pet stores. I swear by it.

Low Talky

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

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!

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

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?

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!

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

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

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

(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?