American girls are weather and noise....
If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have peace. ~ Thomas Paine
Butterfly's Flutter Bys
DJ Groovy Slug Spins...
Espresso Ramblings
hamstermotor
Here today
HOPEFUL MUSINGS
I Was Just Thinking...
KandyKD
mo' gravity and grace
my place now
Passionate Chaos
Still I Rise
Sublime Vacuity
The Daily Blitz
Transition
Urthshu
Woodland Forays
visited *loading* times
Ryan got this thing in the mail, an advertisement for "Nutrition Action Health Letter". It boasts, on the envelope, "10 FOODS YOU SHOULD NEVER EAT!" So of course, you have to look. You wanna know, don't ya? It's an interesting list.
1) Pepperidge Farm Flakey Crust Chicken Pot Pie - The problem with this product is that the lable is misleading. It might not sound too bad, at 450 calories and 7 grams of saturated fat, but that's for ONE serving. Which is half. But they're small, so everyone eats the entire thing. Kind of like when you read the label of Ben and Jerry's, and it says it's seven servings. Yeah, right. Sure it is. They don't put that stuff in containers just the right size for you hand for nothing. As a matter of fact, in the superrmarket last week I saw what they called an "Ice Cream Cozy". It's a rubbery sleeve, in pretty colors, that you can slip right over your pint of ice cream, so your hand doesn't get too cold while you eat it. Seven servings, my Aunt Fanny. But I digress; Ben and Jerry aren't even on the list. Sorry guys.
2) Chex Milk'n Cereal Bars - They say that filling is made with real milk. But it's actually sugar, with a little bit of nonfat milk, lactose, and palm kernel oil. Yum. Real Chex has five grams of fiber, whilst the bar has zero. (But just try eating a real bowl of cereal while driving your car)
3) McGriddles - This three inch sandwich packs in 550 calories, and 1300 mg of sodiyum. Sorry, Sodium. 11 grams of saturated fat. Bad sandwich. Very, very bad.
4) The Big New Yorker Pizza from Pizza Hut - You know what, I agree with this one. Get your New York pizza from a New York Pizzaria. Pizza Hut just can't compare. Besides, I once found a piece of black plastic on my Pizza Hut pizza. It looked like a black olive. It wasn't. What's worse - the manager said they don't use anything to make the pizza that's made out of black plastic. Stay away. Pizza Hut is Satan's pizza.
5) Mrs. Field's Milk Chocolate and Walnuts Cookie - One little cookie has over 300 calories and as much saturated fat as a 12 ounce sirloin steak. (But it tastes much, much better)
6) Starbucks Venti Mocha Coconut Frappucino Blended Coffee - You know what? Starbucks is an evil corporation that must be stopped. Not just this drink (which has a whopping 26 grams of fat!!) but all of it. They're evil, horrible places that employ evil, horrible people. They charged rescue workers $130 for bottled water in downtown Manhattan on the morning of 9/11. 'Nuff said.
7) Burger King Fries - These are the most unhealthy of all the fast food fries. They're also the nastiest tasting fries. The onion rings are actually healthier. Go for the onion rings instead.
8) Campbell's Red and White Label Condensed Soups - Wait a minute, condensed? As in, you're supposed to add water? Hmmm. (Just kidding) Half a can averages half a person's recommended daily intake of sodiyum. Sodium. Like that's a bad thing.
9) Swoops - You know what these are, right? They're the Pringles of candy. They're shaped like Pringles, but they taste like a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. Or a Peppermint Patty. How do they do that? With a high saturation of palm and/or palm kernel oil, that's how. Somehow, Reese's Swoops have twice as much saturated fat as a real Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. Be healthy, eat a real Peanut Butter Cup.
10) Häagen-Dazs Mint Chip Dazzler - How impressed are you that I typed ä correctly? Anyway, this combo of ice cream, hot fudge, Oreos, chocolate sprinkles, and whipped cream has two days worth of fat. If you don't eat anything else for two days, you'll probably be ok.
So, there you have it. Ten foods you should never eat. But that's not the best part. They offer "alternatives". Don't eat those toxic foods, they say. Eat our recommened foods, and be happy and healthy. Want to hear their list?
1) Cantaloupe
2) Sweet Potatoes
3) Fat Free Milk
4) Kellog's All-Bran, or Post 100% Bran
5) Oranges
6) Broccoli
7) Whole Grain Bread
8) Watermelon
9) Beans
10) Spinach or Kale
Yeah, I feel like have a McGriddle for breakfast, but I think I'll have some Kale instead. 
That'll be satisfying. Are they kidding?
When a Woman Loves a Man
by David Lehman
When she says Margarita she means Daiquiri. When she says quixotic she means mercurial. And when she says, "I'll never speak to you again," she means, "Put your arms around me from behind as I stand disconsolate at the window."
He's supposed to know that.
When a man loves a woman he is in New York and she is in Virginia or he is in Boston, writing, and she is in New York, reading, or she is wearing a sweater and sunglasses in Balboa Park and he is raking leaves in Ithaca or he is driving to East Hampton and she is standing disconsolate at the window overlooking the bay where a regatta of many-colored sails is going on while he is stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway.
When a woman loves a man it is one-ten in the morning, she is asleep he is watching the ball scores and eating pretzels drinking lemonade and two hours later he wakes up and staggers into bed where she remains asleep and very warm.
When she says tomorrow she means in three or four weeks. When she says, "We're talking about me now," he stops talking. Her best friend comes over and says, "Did somebody die?"
When a woman loves a man, they have gone to swim naked in the stream on a glorious July day with the sound of the waterfall like a chuckle of water ruching over smooth rocks, and there is nothing alien in the universe.
Ripe apples fall about them. What else can they do but eat?
When he says, "Ours is a transitional era." "That's very original of you," she replies, dry as the Martini he is sipping.
They fight all the time It's fun What do I owe you? Let's start with an apology Ok, I'm sorry, you dickhead. A sign is held up saying "Laughter." It's a silent picture. "I've been fucked without a kiss," she says, "and you can quote me on that," which sounds great in an English accent.
One year they broke up seven times and threatened to do it another nine times.
When a woman loves a man, she wants him to meet her at the airport in a foreign country with a jeep. When a man loves a woman he's there. He doesn't complain that she's two hours late and there's nothing in the refrigerator.
When a woman loves a man, she wants to stay awake. She's like a child crying at nightfall because she didn't want the day to end.
When a man loves a woman, he watches her sleep, thinking: as midnight to the moon is sleep to the beloved. A thousand fireflies wink at him. The frogs sound like the string section of the orchestra warming up. The stars dangle down like earrings the shape of grapes.
I promise I'm not going to be one of those people who gets pregnant and talks about nothing else. After this. I just have to share my latest super power. I have developed a super bionic sense of smell. This is by far the most interesting pregnancy related thing that has happened so far.
It's actually more of a curse than a blessing. Sometimes I'm sitting here at my desk, and suddenly I smell flowers. Yum. The source is the Easter lilly that's on my dining room table, which is actually all the way on the other side of the kitchen, three rooms away and around a corner. Ryan swears these flowers don't smell at all, but he's a mere mortal when it comes to olfaction.
For the most part though, it's not very nice. The other day I smelled this horrible rubber smell. I spent a great part of the day sniffing in different directions, trying to locate the source. It seemed to follow me everywhere, but I couldn't pinpoint it. At some point in the late afternoon I remembered that I had grabbed a sweatshirt from the hall closet that morning and put it on. That hall closet holds Ryan's boots. Ugh, my sweatshirt smelled like rubber boots. It was horrible! The entire closet needs to be disinfected.
I can still smell the garlic that was sauteed in my kitchen four days ago. When I stand next to people in public, I smell their deoderant. That's if I'm lucky and they were kind enough to apply deoderant that morning. I can't stand my own perfume and had to stop wearing it. Even my lovely apple scented lipgloss is too much to bear.
I hope this isn't a permanent change. It's not nice to greet your husband with "Oh my God, please go take a shower" when he comes home from a 24 hour shift. But he smells like a campfire. Don't get me wrong, he's not completely disgusting, he does shower before he comes home. But not with nice Paul Mitchell Awapuhi shampoo and conditioner, which smells like Hawaii and Easter Lillies and eliminates the smell of smoke and ash. I'm going to buy stock in Paul Mitchell. Love him.
I just had an amazing thought. Pregant people don't play golf, do they? Someone please tell me that they don't.
So this morning I had to run an errand. So I was in my car, blasting the music and singing along. At a red light I suddenly got the feeling that I was being watched. So I looked to my left, and there were two men staring at me. I knew that they'd had some kind of conversation about me, because the driver was actually leaning forward to look at me past the passenger. So I felt stupid, but not stupid enough to stop singing. I wasn't rocking out or anything. You know, not playing air guitar or drumming on the dashboard or anything like that. And like they don't sing in the car when they're alone. Chuh. As a matter of fact, they both looked like the kind of guys who pick their noses in the car, and think that through the magical force of car windows, no one can see them. They might even use their pinkies to clean their ears after picking their noses. Pigs. (It's nice the way I can turn my embarrassment into theirs, isn't it?)
So the light turned green and I left them in my dust. (Ha!) Then I started thinking, I wonder if they could hear me? Ok, that would be embarrassing. The music was really loud. Hmmm.
So when I got home, I conducted an experiement. I left the radio on and got out of my car and closed the door. I could barely hear the music. So there's no way they could hear it from their car, with the windows rolled up. It was even raining a little bit. No way. Satisfied, I went to get my bag and my keys and head inside. Ooops. The door was locked. Yes, that's right, I locked myself out of my car, with the engine running. Talk about frustrating! (Or stupid. Whatever. Put in whatever adjective you like)
Like a smart girl, I have an extra key to my car. But like a nice wife, I gave it to Ryan to keep with his keys, and he wasn't home. Of course he wasn't home. That would be too easy. What's worse, I really really needed the stuff that I went to the store for. Otherwise, I wouldn't have dragged myself out to the store to get it. Ugh.
So I just went inside. About twenty minutes later Ryan got home. Then it went like this:
Ryan: Do you know that your car's running in the driveway?
Me: Yep.
Ryan: Alright. (Nods and goes upstairs)
Love his heart. He's already learned not to ask. 
Ok, see this?
Somebody, please ask me to post a picture of this egg in one week. It better not be empty. I need someone to shame me into some self control. If I know someone will be checking, I won't keep picking at it all day long. I just don't have the heart to throw it all away. (Like I should)
Remember last week when I spoke of emotional instability? Well, it's not any better. For example, the other night I heard a sad song that made me cry.
No wait, that's not right. The other night I heard a sad song that set off a three hour crying jag that couldn't be controlled. You know what? That's not it either. Let me try one more time.
The other night I heard a sad song that produced an extreme emotional reaction that was completely abnormal. Even for me. I just don't know how else to describe it, but you get the idea.
The good news? I'm not crazy. But it's not going to get better for, oh....say another nine months or so:
See? Sorry it's so blurry. My hands are still shaking.
Children's view of Love and Marriage
Perhaps difficult enough for adults to define, this question received some interesting responses from those of a younger generation...
What Exactly Is Marriage??
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Marriage is when you get to keep your girl and don't have to give her back to her parents" -Eric, AGE 6
"When somebody's been dating for a while, the boy might propose to the girl. He says to her, 'I'll take you for a whole life, or at least until we have kids and get divorced, but you got to do one particular thing for me.' Then she says yes, but she's wondering what the thing is and whether it's naughty or not. She can't wait to find out." -Anita, AGE 9
How Does a Person Decide Whom to marry??
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"You flip a nickel, and heads means you stay with him and tails means you try the next one." -Kelly, AGE 9
"My mother says to look for a man who is kind....That's what I'll do....I'll find somebody who's kinda tall and handsome." -Carolyn, AGE 8
Concerning the Proper Age to Get Married.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Eighty-four Because at that age, you don't have to work anymore, and you can spend all your time loving each other in your bedroom." -Carolyn, AGE 8
"Once I'm done with kindergarten, I'm going to find me a wife" -Bert, AGE 5
How Did Your Mum and Dad Meet??
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"They were at a dance party at a friend's house. Then they went for a drive, but their car broke down...It was a good thing, because it gave them a chance to find out about their values." -Lottie, AGE 9
"My father was doing some strange chores for my mother. They won't tell me what kind." -Jeremy, AGE 8
What Do Most People Do on a Date??
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"On the first date, they just tell each other lies, and that usually gets them interested enough to go for a second date." -Martin, AGE 10
"Many daters just eat pork chops and french fries and talk about love." -Craig, AGE 9
When Is It Okay to Kiss Someone??
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"You should never kiss a girl unless you have enough bucks to buy her a ring and her own VCR, 'cause she'll want to have videos of the wedding." -Allan, AGE 10
"Never kiss in front of other people. It's a big embarrassing thing if anybody sees you....If nobody sees you, I might be willing to try it with a handsome boy, but just for a few hours." -Kally, AGE 9
The Great Debate: Is It Better to Be Single or Married??
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"You should ask the people who read Cosmopolitan" -Kirsten, AGE 10
"It's better for girls to be single but not for boys. Boys need somebody to clean up after them" -Anita, AGE 9
"It gives me a headache to think about that stuff. I'm just a kid. I don't need that kind of trouble." -Will, AGE 7
By Rowena Bennett, 1930
On Easter morn at early dawn before the cocks were crowing I met a bob-tail bunnykin and asked where he was going "Tis in the house and out the house a-tispy, tipsy-toeing, Tis round the house and 'bout the house a-lightly I am going." "But what is that of every hue you carry in your basket?" "Tis eggs of gold and eggs of blue; I wonder that you ask it. "Tis chocolate eggs and bonbon eggs and eggs of red and gray, For every child in every house on bonny Easter day." He perked his ears and winked his eye and twitched his little nose; He shook his tail - what tail he had - and stood up on his toes. "I must be gone before the sun; the east is growing gray; Tis almost time for bells to chime." - So he hippety-hopped away.
Yesterday was my nephew's birthday. He's six now. I remember the day he was born, and it's making me especially weepy and nostalgic because the world was such a different place. Bah. Don't even want to get into it. On his birthday, in 1775, Patrick Henry declared "Give me liberty, or give me death". I was impressed by this little bit of trivia, so I told him, and he said "Who's Patrick Henry?" Ha. So I told him that on this day, Ronald Reagan proposed "Star Wars". That made his eyes light up. Star Wars = Cool. I printed out his day in history, because some day in the all too soon future, he'll be interested. I interviewed him, like every year, and showed him the things he said in his interview last year. He said that when he was six, he would be faster than Uncle Jay. That's pretty fast, so naturally he's very excited. The weather didn't allow for the big race, but it's been set for Sunday.
Birthday Boy's little brother has a new friend of the imaginary variety. Clyde is his name, and he is a firefighter. Clyde answers the call of "HELP! FIRE!" but he's quite slow, and usually needs to be called more than once. Just part of the fun, I guess. After putting out a fire, he likes to have a snack of apple juice and raisins. Clyde has been called many times to rescue dolls from such perilous places as the top of a dresser. He also pulls dolls out of ditches by tying a rope around their necks and dragging them to safety. The dolls appreciate it, their owner does not.
Last night my nephew lay very still under the "rubble" (couch cushions). After about ten minutes, an eternity to a three year old, especially when there's cake to be eaten, my brother asked him what he was doing. Waiting, he said, for Clyde to rescue him. When asked if anyone else could rescue him, he said no, because Clyde would come. Clyde always does. So we all turned our heads and pretended that he wasn't reinacting what he was obviously reinacting, not because it's easier that way, but because it feels like something private that we shouldn't be intruding on. Almost four year olds have a funny concept of privacy. They could be in the middle of the room, but if no one else has been invited to play, it's private. It's kind of like "hiding" by standing out in the open and covering your eyes. If you can't see it, it's not there.
Ok, here's a test to see how steady your hand is. Or, how good your mouse is.
You have to move the blue dot with your mouse (don't hold down any mouse buttons, just move your mouse) through the maze, and don't touch the black. I can't seem to get past level three.
Yesterday I got the mail (I just LOVE getting the mail, don't you?) and there was a letter amongst the bills and "refinance NOW" offers. A real letter! It was in a heavy black envelope, not shiny, but dull, and my name and address were written in gold sparkly ink. The return address was a stamp, stamped in equally sparkly ink, and it was from a friend, someone I used to work with. I haven't heard from her in over a year, which is not entirely true, because we do exchange Christmas cards, but I mean I haven't heard from her in over a year. You know, the kind of thing where you actually seek someone out because you're thinking of them - I'm speaking of that kind of contact.
So needless to say, I was all excited. I opened the very fancy envelope and inside was a beatiful handmade card, with a note about how lucky we are to have such wonderful friends to share life with. Wow, right? It was on thick gold (not really) card stock, and it had those pretty little "corner" things that my mom used to use to put her old pictures into photo albums, before they invented acid free Mono Adhesive (best stuff on earth) which held another square of vellum (is that how you spell that?) with a big gold (Really! Or some sort of gold plated metal) heart in the middle. Oh, and it had fringe! Very fancy gold silky cording, tied right around it. It was just lovely. I was completely honored to receive such a beautiful handmade card from a friend.
Then, I opened it.
And it said how excited she was to introduce me to her new company. There was a business card inside, and it said:
My friend's name
Owner
Company Name
Is it wrong that I was totally disappointed? I mean, it's nice for her, I'm glad she's owner of her new company and all, but I was sad that I thought I was hearing from her out of the clear blue sky, just for fun, and really it was just because I happened to be in her address book and she thought maybe I could use her services. It's just sad. Why can't anyone just want to say hi? Or "Hey, I was thinking about you and wanted to get in touch" or even "Hey, I was cleaning out my address book and found your name".
Admittedly, I'm not entirely emotionally stable this week, (There's at least one Motimer who can testify to that. Hopefully not too many more, LOL) and it's quite possible that I'm completely overreacting to this, and next week I'll be contacting this friend because I actually could use her services, but I don't think I'm asking too much. Someone, just say "Hi, I was thinking about you." without the ulterior motives, Damnit. 
Can you find the dogs in this picture?
Do you know what really, really makes me angry?
People, like this shmuck, who try to make of profit off of 9/11. GRRRRR.
*UPDATE - The starting price has dropped from $10,000 to $2,500. And, the very charming seller of this item has told the firefighters who question the authenticity of the helmet (and the "burn" marks) to "mind their own business".
Also, I might add that it's a federal offense to remove items from Ground Zero, which is probably why the auction reads that it was found "near" Ground Zero.
Oh, and one more update - It's been REMOVED! Victory!!
Ok, and one more update, here's an article about it, and a quote:
The seller wrote that he is a firefighter who volunteered at Ground Zero after the attacks and that he found the
helmet near the site. However, the seller's former rescue squad in Virginia suspects the helmet belongs to
them.
"We're 99 percent sure it's ours," said Purcellville Volunteer Rescue Squad vice president Tommy Harrison. "We
had no idea about this sale, and we'd actually like our helmet back."
I make a big stink about it, only because the loser claims that he is still planning on selling the helmet, just not
on Ebay. (Since his account has been banned)
Lessons learned from St. Patrick's Day:
1) No matter how cute it is, or how cold it is outside, or how traditional and appropriate it is, it will be TOO HOT in the bar for that Irish cable knit sweater.
2) When you figure out #1 and decide to remove the offending sweater, make sure someone helps you hold down the T-shirt you wore underneath it.
3) Green Beer is highly, HIGHLY overrated.
4) Don't fight with everyone who selects anything other than U2 on the jukebox. You need to save your energy for the real fights, like when your ex sister in law walks in the door with her new boyfriend.
5) A Black and Tan, when poured on someone's lap, makes them leave the bar rather quickly.
6) Crazy people come out in droves on St. Patrick's Day. If the full moon ever falls on March 17th, it will surely be the end of the world. Be prepared.
7) No matter how cool you think you are, do NOT practice your best kickboxing move on a police officer.
8) If you're going to ignore #7, you better make damn sure that said police officer is related to you
9) Nothing hurts until the next day. That doesn't mean you didn't seriously screw up your knee on #7
10) Passing around the can of Redi Whip is not a good way to wrap up the evening.
11) Trust me on the last one.
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
And now, for a nice Irish Poet:
(Go get your dirty limericks elsewhere!)
The Cabinet Table
by Paul Durcan
Alice Gunn is a cleaner woman
Down at Government Buildings,
And after seven o'clock Mass last night
(Isn't it a treat to be able to go to Sunday Mass
On a Saturday! To sit down to Saturday Night TV
Knowing you've fulfilled your Sunday obligations!)
She came back over to The Flats for a cup of tea
(I offered her sherry but she declined--
Oh I never touch sherry on a Saturday night--
Whatever she meant by that, I don't know).
She had us all in stitches, telling us
How one afternoon after a Cabinet Meeting
(One of those afternoons when it gets dark so early
That the streetlamps are all lit up by 3.30 pm)
She got one of the Security Men
To lie down on the Cabinet Table,
And what she didn't do to him--
And what she did do to him--
She didn't half tell us;
But she told us enough to be going on with.
Do you know what it is?--she says to me:
No--says I--what is it?
It's Mahogany--she says--Pure Mahogany.
P.S. - Is my weather pixie topless? I can see her belly button. It REALLY must be Spring!
Random Fridge Art:
Beautiful, yes? This piece, in construction paper and sticky paste, is titled "Like-a-Ducky Penguin". (Hey, I don't name 'em.) The artist is my nephew J, 3.5 years old. This is an important piece because - as you might be able to make out, he has a staple scar right in the middle of his chest. That's because he was on the bulletin board at pre-school. The WINTER bulletin board. His presence on my fridge can only mean one thing - that the winter board has been taken down and replaced by the Spring Bulletin Board. SPRING! It's here! Yahoooooooo!
In other news, did anyone hear me complain when my husband worked on Christmas? Valentine's Day? Any of the important holidays? Nope. Not me! I understand that that's the kind of job he has. But come on, this Thursday is St. Patrick's Day. The holiest of all days! He NEEDS to have the day off. Is that unreasonable? Is it not sad enough that I had dinner with my brother on Valentine's Day? Do I have to drink green beer with him too? (Disclaimer: Not that I'm opposed to drinking green beer with any of my brothers - it wouldn't be the first time, and it sure as heck wouldn't be the last, but that's not the point) I'm starting a petition, right here. All in favor of him finding someone with a non-Irish wife to work his shift for him, sign below.
And now it's time for a completely random survey:
What did you have for dinner last night? Peanut butter and Jelly on toast, and chocolate milk
And breakfast this morning? A cupcake and three strawberries
What time did you go to bed last night? 12:30
And what time did you actually fall asleep? Around 2:30
What time did you wake up this morning? 8:00
What was the first thing you said today? "Hi Debra..." followed by a boring voice mail message
Are you reading anything these days? Yes, "The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West"
Turn to page 99 and share the first complete sentence: "They set a date for three nights hence, and Boq thanked Elphaba fervently, shaking her hand so hard his spectacles jounced on his nose."
Share one quote you know by heart, from any movie in the world: "I'm down, I've got the 411, and you are not going out and getting jiggy with some boy, I don't care how dope his right is." - Mr. Stratford, Ten Things I Hate About You
Is there a song that gets stuck in your head every time you hear it? Yes, "Particle Man" - They Might Be Giants
If you had to come back and live as an animal, which would you chose? A very spoiled housecat
What did you watch on TV last night? "Nanny 911", "24", and the local news
Any comments about what you watched? If they survive childhood, those kids are going to grow up to be serial killers. The oldest girl literally almost killed her brother by holding a pillow over his face and lying on it, and the cameraman didn't even step in. Very disturbing, all around.
What are you wearing right now? Jeans and a green sweater
How long did you spend getting ready this morning? About 25 minutes
What will you be having for your next meal? I haven't thought about it yet
Is that song mentioned above stuck in your head now? Yes, damn you.
Ok, I want a new job. More specifically, I want to be the person who writes the headlines for the New York Post. I would be great at it!
If I could meet the person who named this article "Holy Smoke", it would be an honor. Creative genius! Sometimes I read only the headlines, just for fun. They should publish a book of only headlines. I'd buy it. Or, they could do a game show, like Jeopardy, where you get the headline, and you have to guess the subject of the article.
Contestant: "I'll take Regional News for $300"
Host: "And the headline is "Holy Smoke""
Contestant: "Woman sets fire to her apartment with a Jesus candle!"
Love it. Ok, back to my boring job now.
I'm cold, and I'm tired, and I'm grumpy, and I can't decide which one of these three things to go with on my Unkymoods. They should allow for more than one, for split personalities like me. I suppose I could create two more accounts and just plaster my blog with my various moods. But sounds like a bit too much upkeep.
Things that happened this weekend:
My nephew went to the ER after eating a bottle of Flintstone Vitamins. (He's fine)
Poker night: Bleah - the house still smells like smoke
A firefighter fundraiser which made me sad
I shopped for clothes for Spring, because I'm *DONE* with winter
I ate peanut butter and jelly on toast with chocolate milk for at least three meals
While eating out, I noticed a very large waterbug, shiny side down, legs up, on someone else's plate
I wondered how to tell the person eating from said plate, and finally made Ryan do it.
I decided that I need a more productive hobby. Golf? Is that productive?
I read, with great interest, a debate on The Daily Blitz.
I started a new book: "The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West" Love it! A must read for Wizard of Oz fans. The witch deserves her say.
I felt depressed. Still do.
I can also tell you what didn't happen this weekend:
Didn't come up with something to write about in my blog. LOL
It was a year ago, almost. I had gathered up all of my courage, and one brother, and made the trip to firehouse in order to check an item off of my mental checklist of healing. I had been standing in place, more or less, for about two years, and it was time.
I expected them to be friendly and accommodating. These men weren’t strangers to any of us. It was my own fear of ghosts and hollow aches and confronting the demons that kept me away, nothing else. When we stepped inside the open bay door there was an immediate call of “Little Sister!”, a nickname which sticks to this day, and comes from Brian’s insistence on including the word “little” whenever he referred to me as his sister. There were hugs and handshakes, and from upstairs, a voice, coming closer, and singing along loudly with the radio. I still remember the words as they got closer:
“Tell me, did Venus blow your mind? Was it everything you wanted to find, and did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there…”
I looked at the captain and he smiled and shook his head and rolled his eyes, as if to suggest, without words, that perhaps someone had chosen the wrong career path. And then he was there, still singing, something that I now know he does regularly and without shame. I noticed, maybe for the first time, that when he smiles a dimple appears in his right cheek, but not the left, and that when he hugs you he smells good, but not in a perfumey-cologne kind of way.
If, at that moment, someone had tapped me on the shoulder and whispered that this man, in less that a year, would be my husband, my laughter would have broken the tension.
The awkwardness was over quickly, and we sat and talked like old friends, which we were. They shared stories and I was so completely overwhelmed by how incredible they all were. I remember hoping that someday I could get to the point where they were, where they could speak of their lost brothers and laugh at the funny parts instead of feeling your heart turn to stone at the thought of this being “it”. No more stories, you know? I wasn’t there yet. I’m barely there now. But they were inspiring.
Before we left, I signed a guest book. A tribute to the fallen men. I wrote a quick note to my brother, telling him that I was glad that he had such great friends. I filled out the contact information, just because everyone before me had done so. And as we walked out, he told me not to be a stranger, and I said I wouldn’t, and that was that.
It took him two weeks to call me and ask me out on a date. I recently asked him why he waited so long, and he said that he wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate, and there had been much discussion, and a vote. “Stop it,” I said. “Tell me you didn’t actually vote.” He shrugged and said they had totally voted, and while I tried to decide whether or not to be totally horrified by this, he said “Don’t worry, they all voted “yes”.
There was a point very early on when I wasn’t sure it would work. The common denominator was weird, and I felt like we had too many people cheering us on. As if, if it didn’t work out, we would be disappointing all of these people who thought they were witnessing the perfect fairy tale. It’s the kind of stuff that you read on the “People” pages of the NY Post, and I didn’t want that either. I just wanted to take away all of the stuff that brought us together and just be a normal couple who met in a bar or something. I don’t want to be a fairytale, or even worse, a feel-good story about September 11th.
In fact, we had this discussion in a crowded bar in April of last year, and he listened to me go on and on, as he often does, and he had a little smile the whole time. When I stopped talking, he said “And you think people are cheering us on because you’re Brian’s sister?” and I said yes, I did, and he said “If people are cheering us on, it’s because they know I’ve had a crush on you for over three years, and I finally had the guts to ask you out.”
Well, what’s a girl supposed to say to something like that? 
Oh, it's going to snow. That's weird. 
FREE TO A GOOD HOME*
One girl. Completely housebroken. Non smoking. Friendly and lovable. Very neat.
*Warm Climates ONLY!
My mom and I went out to lunch today. She's not especially self conscious, but she is bald. It's pretty obvious that this is not her choice. I mean, she wears a pink ribbon pin, in the hopes that people will see that and put two very big and obvious things together. She also wears a turbon type thing, but more just to keep her head warm than anything else. We joked that she should maybe consider a few piercings - an eyebrow, a lip, maybe her tongue, and start wearing only black and jewelry made only of safety pins and just go with it. She said that if I think people are staring at her now, wait till she shows up at church dressed like "Punky Brewster". Ha! Moms, you gotta love 'em.
There's also the people who do put two and two together, and they react differently. Some can relate, some smile, and some ignore. The less intelligent ones overcompensate. Our waiter was this type. He spoke to her slowly, and so loudly that I nearly jumped out of my chair when he said "ARE....YOU..... READY..... TO...... ORDER?" It was really hard not to laugh. Even when she ordered, in a very normal speaking voice, he continued speaking to her as if she were The Who's Tommy. He said he would bring our order right out, as if she wouldn't make it much longer. And as he was walking away, my mom suddenly shouted "THANK....YOU!" just like him, and he appeared startled and walked away, and we laughed for about ten minutes. Then every time he came back to the table, we giggled again.
That's right. Don't mess with my mom.
The Wolf’s Postscript to ‘Little Red Riding Hood’
by Agha Shahid Ali
First, grant me my sense of history:
I did it for posterity,
for kindergarten teachers
and a clear moral:
Little girls shouldn't wander off
in search of strange flowers,
and they mustn't speak to strangers.
And then grant me my generous sense of plot:
Couldn't I have gobbled her up
right there in the jungle?
Why did I ask her where her grandma lived?
As if I, a forest-dweller,
didn't know of the cottage
under the three oak trees
and the old woman lived there
all alone?
As if I couldn't have swallowed her years before?
And you may call me the Big Bad Wolf,
now my only reputation.
But I was no child-molester
though you'll agree she was pretty.
And the huntsman:
Was I sleeping while he snipped
my thick black fur
and filled me with garbage and stones?
I ran with that weight and fell down,
simply so children could laugh
at the noise of the stones
cutting through my belly,
at the garbage spilling out
with a perfect sense of timing,
just when the tale
should have come to an end.
Have you noticed my Supergirl picture? She needs to be a little bit bigger, I think. Today I'm wearing a Supergirl bra, and my underwear matches too. It's so darn cute that I was actually tempted to post a picture. But then I chickened out. If only I had a cape. Then, maybe.
Yesterday Ryan's first call of the day was about a very drunk man who drove his car into a crowd of children and parents in front of the school that he intended to drop his son off at for the day. So sometimes, when you're feeling blue, it's good to put things into perspective.
It's also good to chatter on about other things that have nothing to do with the things that are making you blue. Like your underwear, for example. Or the fact that you can't decide between two poems for the Axis of Poetry tomorrow. One is about the Big Bad Wolf (As told from his perspective) and the other is about how the weather affects our lives, in the same way that familiar smells do. The stuffy hallway in my grandma's apartment building always smelled like split pea soup, and now I can't even look at split pea soup without thinking about her. I learned to roller skate in that stuffy hallway, in a blue velvet dress, holding onto my grandpa on one side, and the wall on the other - that's how narrow the stuffy hallway was. I think that i have a picture of that very scene somewhere, and actually, I think I am recalling the picture more than I'm recalling the actual event.
I wish that everyone would post a baby picture of themselves in their blogs. I've already seen Jheka's, it's cute. I think I've also seen Rustymadgal's. You should all work on that.
Have I mentioned that I'm *so* over the snow. I kind of like being cooped up, but enough is enough already. The snow is at that annoying point where we've had too much of it. So much so that now, when the roads are horrible and every stitch of common sense tells you not to drive, schools are still open, because they've had too many snow days and are already eating into their other holidays and such. So, decisions are not made based on safety, no - that would be silly.
I think that I'm going to go with the Big Bad Wolf.
I don't care if there's a blizzard outside. I have spring fever. Spring FEVER damnitt! I don't want tobe S.A.D. anymore. But I feel it creeping up. Push it back, push it back, waaaaay back.
Here, silly jokes:
Where does the king keep his armies?
In his sleevies.
What do you get if you cross a lake with a leaky boat?
About half way.
What did one eye say to the other?
Just between you and me, there's something that smells.
What did the shy pebble say?
I wish I were a little boulder.
Oh, it's not working. Ok, I want to know this....How many keys do you have on your keyring, and why? Feel free to provide a visual. I have 16 keys. That's quite a lot, isn't it? Here's the breakdown:
1) Key to the front door
2) Key to the garage door
3) My Car key
4) Key to Ryan's truck
5) Mom's house
6) Brother #1's house
7) Brother #2's house
8) Brother #3's house
9) Fireproof file cabinet
10) Office door
11) Gate that closes before the office door
12) Bicycle lock
13) Mystery key, I have no idea
14) Key to the padlock I used to use at the gym, but I never go there anymore
15) Another mystery key
16) Yet another mystery key
Is this not fascinating? Please, tell me about your keys. Show me a picture. My very nice keychain is about to rip and I need a new one. Something that spends so much time in your hand needs to be given much thought.
The truth is, I'm trying to distract myself, because I'm home alone and feeling blue. Last night I had a dream. A dream that I was traveling in an airplane that had a bomb on board. After much searching, I located the bomb, which was actually bright yellow liquid explosive, (I watch too much TV, specifically, too much "24") in a shampoo bottle. I carefully carried this bottle of liquid explosive to the open airplane door, (which I know is impossible, but give me a break, it was a dream) and carefully dropped it out, relieved that the airplane was now safe. But in that delayed state of mind that only a dream can bring, I realized that dropping it out of what happened to be a very low flying airplane might not have been such a good idea. So I looked, and there it went, right down onto the twin towers, which subequently blew up. So I thought "h my God, it's all my fault" and all of the people on the airplane were happy because it wasn't them who had blown up, and they were patting me on the back while I screamed "What is wrong with you people? I just blew up the twin towers!" but they didn't hear me because although I was screaming, the words didn't come out loud enough. Or, if they heard me, they didn't care.
I woke up thinking "Huh, that was pretty silly". I've certainly had worse dreams. And being that I'm all on the path to mental well being and healing and all of that other crap, I shrugged and thought this wasn't going to affect me. Not a silly dream that doesn't even make any sense anyway. I'm so passed that stage. Fretting over a nightmare about the twin towers blowing up is SO two years ago. Fretting about it being all my fault is even three years ago. In fact, it's pretty much a non-issue at this point. So I went through much of a normal day. I laughed, I joked, I thought about things that had nothing to do with anything. I was fine. Fine I tell you! I drove a vendor to the mall for a meeting, and I was kind of half listening to her sales pitch when she started saying "It's red. Look, it's RED!" and I started absently looking for a red billboard or a bus shelter or whatever ad she was probably talking about, when I realized that I was about to drive us right through a red light. Because I was thinking that that big tree in the distance, with all the snow in the air all around it, kind of looked like a big black cloud of smoke, if you looked at it with your eyes kind of crossed and blurry. And in an odd way, I sought comfort in knowing that it actually wasn't a big cloud of black smoke, and...I'm really not describing this very well, am I?
It was a bad day for driving, in any sense, and we should have canceled. I'd like to blame it on something else, oh...like anything, but the truth is that I'm blue and it's because of absolutely nothing that makes any sense. Not even to me.
I sat through group therapy once. I didn't like it. I don't like to compare grief, because everyone's is different and it just makes me sadder to hear other people's sad stories. Not for me. But anyway, what I learned was that when you're feeling like I'm feeling right now, it's good to get it out of your system. And the way to do that, as suggested, was to get into the tub and imagine the absolute worst things that you can imagine. Whether it's for the future, or about the past, just imagine picture it all and cry and cry and cry until you're finished. Then, get out, dry yourself off, take some Advil for your headache and get into bed and you'll feel better. They promised.
None of that really sounds appealing to me at all. But I've been thinking about writing something, fiction based on the facts that I know, that answers all of the unanswered questions. Because they'll never really be answered, but if I can fill them in in my mind, it might be...I don't know, good or something. So I started doing that, and it's hard. It's so hard. So hard, in fact, that it might be the answer. But, did I mention how hard it was to even think about it? But writing is soothing because writing makes blurry things real, even if only in your mind.
And that is, by far, the strangest post I have ever written. Not where I intended to go at all. Apologies.
I've been giving some thought to this article:
U.S. Soldier Fights To Keep Home While In Iraq
So, you have this guy, a firefighter, who joined the army to go and fight for his country in Iraq. This move resulted in a pay cut from his firefighter salary (which is shocking in itself, as those guys don't do it for the money) and now his bank is trying to forclose on his home. Nevermind that this is completely in violation of the Soldiers' and Sailors' Civil Relief Act, the real question is - what's wrong with the world? Why does his work pay so little?
I recently took part in a conversation with a stranger regarding professional athletes, and how they need to be so grossly overpaid because of the risks they take. They are constantly in danger of being injured, and their careers are so brief because of the toll that playing pro ball for a living takes on one's body. Well, yeah...but how does that differ from someone putting his life on the line to serve his country?
Who should be getting the million dollar contracts here? O.J. Simpson, or Sgt. Steve Welter? I think we're backwards. We pay billions of dollars to the beautiful people who entertain us, and the people who give us freedom and security get the scraps, and have banks threatening their families while they're off in Iraq fighting for democracy. Firefighters in New York are forced to jump out a window to their death, because safety ropes were eliminated due to budget cuts. It's very disturbing. And it's not a jab at the beautiful and talented people of the world either. It's just something that requires more thought, I think. It sort of makes me feel hypocritical for having a "Go Yankees" graphic across from my "Freedom is not free" graphic. Is that hypocritical?
And now, for something completely different, and because I'm procrastinating, here is some random art:
This is a boy I had a crush on in high school. I won't tell you the name of this piece, because it's his name, and God, what if he reads my blog and finds out that I had a crush on him! Anyway....:
This next one is supposed to be a translation of the following blurb:
"The room was silent, heavy with artifacts of the past...She sensed a presence of impending danger..."
But you probably can't fully appreciate the creature behind the sliding bookshelf...
And finally, a postage stamp:
And for the record, Urthshu, I cut my own mats!
I was quite the well rounded high school student. I'm also a bit of a pack rat, which explains the fact that I still have my old high school artwork, doesn't it?
I wonder what's next? Prom pictures? (Probably not)
We took a gaggle of kids with us to the arcade, mostly so we could play with no shame. My young nephew and I were playing skeeball next to a young, very young, couple who accentuated each point they scored with a kiss. And the kisses got longer until my nephew, bless his little heart, stopped what he was doing, turned to face them, and said loudly "The little tramp!" What??? I picked him up, folded him in half, and walked away as fast as I could. We sat at a table as I gave him the obligatory "That's not a nice word" lecture. I asked him where he even heard such a word, and he shrugged and said "The Little Mermaid. That's what Ursula calls her when she tries to get the prince to kiss her." I immediately discount this as a lie, but he was so insisted, I actually put the movie on this morning. Wouldn't you know it, the boy speaks the truth. Ursula totally refers to Ariel as "The little tramp!" It's a Disney movie, for crying out loud!
Amazingly enough, The Little Mermaid did inspire some controversy, as the Palace with the Phallus. (My Google hits are going to get really good) For the record, I'm old enough to have this original video, and it really does look like a...well, you know. They can claim it wasn't intentional all they want, but we all know that Disney is an evil, wicked company. And, for the record, if you buy the video today, the cover looks totally different:
No palace, no phallus.
Perhaps they planted the phallus story to distract people from the fact that the word "tramp" was written into the script. But then, as Ryan pointed out, there's that whole "Lady and the Tramp" business. How is that ok? I thought, maybe it's just me. So I just looked up the word, according to Webster:
Tramp: 1a: VAGRANT b: a foot traveler c: a woman of loose morals; specif : prostitute
Ok, so that means that Lady and the Tramp refers to definition "B", but Ursula was most definitely refering to "C". And that's the difference. No one ever got beat up at the arcade for definition "B". And believe me, her thirteen year old boyfriend was very mean looking.
Do you ever wonder what the #1 song on the charts was on the day you were born?
Well, wonder no more.
Mine was The Candy Man. Sammy Davis Jr. 
I've been awake for many, many hours and have nothing coherent to say. But I will say this - look out Tiger Woods! I'm a natural. And I've been assured that they don't just say that to all the girls. It took us a half hour to realize that I'm left handed. Well, I knew that, but I didn't know that there were left handed clubs, or left handed ways of playing golf. I bowl with my right hand - why not golf?
And to all of my Survivor watching friends, is that show not the best? I would PAY someone to say that all I had going for me was my "sec-SHE-ality". I love James, I hope they keep him around till the bitter end just so's I can hear him talk. And, I'm developing a bit of a crush on Tom. {sigh} And Angie. Totally. Rocks! I would pick her for my team any day.
Ok, I seriously need to go to bed. Have a great weekend everyone!
I wonder why the right column of my template is way down low in the left? Hmmm. I don't even think I did anything weird to it.
I also wonder why I have to hit the space bar twice in my editor to get a normal sized space between paragraphs. As a Motime employee, I should probably know both of these answer. Thank goodness for on the job training. (And smart people who can tell me all the answers)
Tomorrow I have my very first golf lesson. Possibly my one and only golf lesson. In a golf simulator. I've seen a picture of this simulator, and it has black leather couches all around it, where people can sit and drink and watch you simulate the game of golf. They also have two different kinds of lessons - "Beginners", and "Women". It doesn't state clearly which of these is more basic, but I have my suspicions. This is probably not the last you'll hear of my shirt lived golf career.
This morning in a conference call, my boss started off with the question "Are you any good at third base?" My first thought was not of baseball, or even softball. What does that say about me? Maybe I was distracted. As I paused to come up with a witty, yet mildly work-friendly response about how I am especially skilled at "third base", he realized what he'd done and blurted out "Softball!!" Well sure, I'm good at that too. The company has an annual softball game, and we play against another department within the company. They are our ..the plural of nemesis. Nemesises. (Is that right? Ha! Funny word) They work in a fancier building in mid-town, and therefore we hate them. Ok, "hate" is too strong a word. We dislike them because they have a fancier office and make more money than us for doing easier jobs and the truth is that we're jealous but we won't admit it because we think we're far superior and we're right. Whew. Run on city. Anyway, I am confident that I can excel at third base, because their team is so bad that they never even get to third base. No problem. This is quite a step up from my normal position, which I like to affectionately refer to as "Left Out".
There may be snow on the ground, but I'm playing golf and softball and I swear I saw an orange glowy ball in the sky today. Bring on the Spring Fever.
Awwww. My new blog has had it's very first Google hit. Someone from India did a search for "Topless American Girls", which, oddly enough, turns up this blog. I'm touched. Really. Sorry to disappoint.
Last night, while we were sleeping, someone stole the tail lights off of Ryan's truck. Isn't that bizarre? They even left the screws, nice and neat, sitting on the rear bumper. Seems like it would have been faster and easier to take the whole truck and disassemble it at your leisure.
I don't even want to begin to guess how much they'll cost to replace. They must be expensive, or people wouldn't steal them, right? I can't bring myself to go through our insurance company. That boy is on his third vehicle in as many years, so we're already paying a not-so-small fortune for car insurance. They're just waiting for a reason to drop us, I think. Either that, or they're waiting for yet another claim so they can raise our rates even more and put some more of their kids through college.
What does someone do with a pair of stolen tail lights? Maybe they'll turn up on Ebay, and we can buy them back. Or maybe they're coming back tonight for more parts, until one morning we walk out and there's just a pile of screws and bolts where his truck used to be. Ok, maybe that's taking it a little too far. But I wouldn't be shocked if tomorrow morning we find it up on cinderblocks with no wheels.
What's great about March?
1 - Shamrock Shakes. Yum.
2 - In like a lion, out like a lamb
3 - Green Beer
4 - Jelly Beans
5 - Spring Traning - Go Yankees!
6 - Spring, period.
Am I forgetting anything?
