* Disclaimer *

No children were harmed in the making of this story. Poison control said the biggest thing you will have to worry about is burns or skin irritation. So, the kids are fine. The adults in this story, however, have several more grey hairs, and are wondering when we are going to develop those eyes in the backs of our heads that our mothers had.

And it wasn't Comet, it was "Bon Ami". Bon Ami, my foot! (<-- insert sarcasm here) Au Contraire, mon cherie - a "good friend" would keep children OUT of mischief, not entice them into it. *sigh*

Maybe my kitchen is just a hot spot. Yesterday, when I was cooking dinner, I wondered why it was so hot. I was sweating like a pig, and was beginning to understand how the turkey felt. I opened the door (even though it was literally freezing outside), and it was still hot. Finally, someone discovered that the thermostat had been bumped and was set at 80F. Hello! No wonder I was hot! That's a major heat wave in Wisconsin. I mean, 60F is practically tropical, here. But the meal turned out, and most of the family was together; so it was all good, even if our house had become a huge oven-like inferno of suffocating heat.

Speaking of heat, I'm gonna be in a hot spot tomrrow; I've a test to study for (I've just remembered), that I haven't studied for (enough), and so I should really get on that.

how do kids DO that?

So my friend Staci is over today, with her kids, and we're watching the Santa Clause. Well, trying to watch it. The kids don't wanna watch it, but they don't wanna do anything else. Finally, they get bored and go into the dining room to play with blocks and gallop up and down the hall and pretend they are horses. *sigh* The movie's good, so Staci and I keep watching it; the kids play in the other room. However, soon it becomes quiet... too quiet, and STaci gets up to investigate. I hear a "Get out of there!!!!!", and "Aaaaaaaarrrrghhhhhhhhhhh!!!!" (both from Staci), and get up to investigate. Comet (a household cleaner) is everywhere. It is in the cat's water dish, on the cat, on the towels, all over the floor, on top of all the canisters on the shelf, and the kids have totally innocent expressions on their faces.

"Did you eat that?" Staci asks.

"No," Cindy points to Mackenzi. Mackenzi shakes her head. *sigh* We look at the bottle, frantically looking for poison control info. It helpfully states, "KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN."

Ah, yes, thank you for that helpful tidbit of information. What a gem. I told her to make her drink lots of water, just in case.

I THOUGHT the Comet WAS out of reach. Which makes me wonder how they got it off the high shelf. Wait. I don't want to know. I swear, I don't even have kids of my own, and my hair is going to be grey before I'm 30. It amazes me how you think your whole house is child-proof, and no matter how much thought and consideration you put into making it safe, the child finds something unsafe in a matter of minutes.

Hmmmm, there's a little holiday irony for you. We're watching the movie "Santa Clause", in which Santa has a reindeer named, of all things, Comet. And the kids get into a household cleaner, called, of all things... Comet. Hmmmm... Perhaps they thought if they sprinkled it on themselves, they could fly, too.

And then again, perhaps, I don't even want to go there.

martha stewart, eat your heart out

I didn't manage to catch anything hunting this week, but I did manage to serve my family Thanksgiving dinner without burning the house down or turning the turkey black. However, unlike Martha, I didn't raise my own pedigreed turkey in my backyard, nor did I grow any of the corn, potatoes, squash, beans and pumkins in my blue ribon garden...

But I did cook. In our family, we cook all the time. It's like, "why don't you come over for dinner, are you hungry?" "No?" "Well, come over anyway, you might get hungry later; I feel like cooking a big meal."

So, Thanksgiving in our family is a once a year love affair with food. The table, piled high with food, tantalizes and entices you its the rich aromas; the temptation of eating too much is impossible to resist. But I'm not complaining.

This year, we had green bean casserole, broccoli bake, scalloped corn, potatoes, squash, and of course, turkey and dressing. And pumkin and pecan pies for dessert (which we couldn't even eat right away - we were too full).

The turkey itself was heavenly. I cooked it in the roaster I got from Becky, and it came out sooo juicy and tender that the legs and wings fell off when I lifted it out. And it was sooo yummy; I've definately converted to cooking the turky in the roaster from now on. :)

So I was proud of myself, it was the first turkey I made (well, cooked I'm not God, I didn't MAKE the turkey...) Anyway, everything worked out, and it didn't explode or turn black, or get dried out. The boiler didn't belch out any putrid smoke, and I'm glad, although it makes the blog entry a tad more boring.

My friend Suz described Thanksgiving dinner as an "epicurean delight"; which, since I had never heard the word before, I had to look up. Upon discovering in my thesaurus, that the word fell in with the likes of words like voluptuous, liscentiousness, indulged and pampered. I realized that Thanksgiving Dinner is indeed an epicurean delight. Why? Because the food is soo dang good you feel like eating even when you aren't hungry anymore (as long as its not a green jello mold).

Not to say my cooking is anything fantastic; our family just has awesome recipies. And my sister made the scalloped corn, broccoli bake, and green bean casserole, and cooked the squash and potatoes. I made the desserts, dinner rolls, dressing/stuffing (whatever you call it); then crammed the dressing into an 18 lb turkey, threw some browning sauce on it, and then plopped it in the roaster. Is that all I did? Wow, I felt busier. Well, there are a TON of dishes to do when you make a big meal like that; that's the only down side to having a feast (we don't own a dishwasher - I am the dishwasher, lol).

And so, I had a great Thanksgiving, although we celebrated 2 days later than most people. :P And that being said, if I didn't say "Happy Thanksgiving" to y'all, then I shall say it now, so you won't think you've been neglegted. :)

Happy Thanksgiving!!!!!!! :)

woes of a mighty hunter

... or not so mighty, as it turns out. I was supposed to get up at 6 today, abut I didnt' get up til 6:15, and got out of the house at 6:30, which was good, except that halfway there, I realized I had forgotten my wallet. So, I had to turn around and get that. I didn't get to Becky's til 7:45 or so, and her dogs had run off. She waited for them to return, and they didn't , so we finally decided to just leave anyway.

Ah, what a bond with nature, the wind, the trees... the cold. And, I didn't catch a thing today. At one point, I saw a white leaf fluttering through the trees and stared, at it, certain it was the tail of a deer and that it would jump out of the trees at any moment, and tensed as... the wind blew a single leaf gently into the field. *sigh*

Becky and I decided to go back to her house, whereupon she found that her dogs were still gone. So we went looking for them, tearing around on the four-wheeler, which is an aventure in itself in the winter. We still don't find them, so we go and get some lunch.

When I check my phone, I get a text message from Nick: "Run, Bambi, run!!!" it turns out to be strangely prophetic.

When we come back, the big dog is there, but the puppy is nowhere to be seen. So I go tromping through the woods, calling the puppy's name, and Becky goes off through the fields.

About an hour and several frozen fingers later, she finds the puppy, on the other side of the road, about a mile away, lost in some tall grasses. The puppy is filthy, wet and trembling with cold, but at least she is alive. So, however, is every deer in the county; they've been completely alerted to the fact of our presence, with the way we kept shouting for the dog and crashing through the underbrush in the woods.

So the option of hunting is out. We do what chicks do best; we go shopping. But first, I decide to get an oil change, as I'm 2000 miles over my LAST change. I pull in; miss the ramp, and have to back up and try again. The mechanic is a girl, and she is trying not to smirk at me. So what if I can change my own dang oil? I can't drive on the ramps at the Lube shop to save my life. I look the world's biggest girly-girl alive.

So, after the oil has been changed, Chick Mechanic approaches me, with the dipstick and a filthy air filter. "Um, your oil has been changed but you might notice that your air filter is waaay dirty. We can change if for you for $16."

Sixteen dollars??? Wow!!! What kind of air filter is that, man? I can buy alot of tv dinners for $16 (which is exactly what I did later).

So I say anything to discourage a sale, which makes me look incredibly dumb. "No, my dad usually takes care of these things, he'll put one in for me,"

She's smirking again. "Oh, your dad will do it for you? Okaaay, no problem."

What??? My dad will do it for me? An air filter? For crying out loud, they cost $4 bucks at the local Wal-Mart, and they take 3 seconds to install. Considering that I've burnt myself removing too hot oil, scraped the skin off my knuckes because the wrench slipped and I slammed my hand into the car's underbody, this shouldn't be too difficult. Becky, who has gone with me, is laughing. "My daddy does all the work on my car for me, he always does, " she mimics, in a sugar sweet voice. Aw, shaddup...

Later on, I told Nick my pathetic tale, and he laughed, too. Then he said, "oh let your dad do it, ya might break a nail."

Oh well, at least I got the oil changed. I'll get my deer tomorrow:P

the joys of being an adult... and eating what you want

I was reading Suz's blog, in which she was recounting how, when she was not fond of a particular meal (like liver), she would excuse herself to get something from the kitchen; then take a HUGE bite, and then spit it in the garbage disposal when she got to the kitchen. Since she ran the garbage disposal, she never got caught. I wish I was so lucky!!! We never had one, and life in our house on nights liver was for dinner was pure torture. I used to eat it because I didn't want to hurt my mom's feelings, and she still maintains to this day that I "loved" it as a kid. Well, I was a good actress, at any rate. But that obviously didn't help, so I found I had to be vocal and voice, along with my siblings, my great loathing for the stuff. Eventually she got the hint, but there were other culinary disasters, that we had to eat; because it was a rule in our house to eat everything on our plate.

I still vividly remember the time my sister and I thought we would be clever and throw away something we didn't like, while staying at my grandparent's house. What was unfortunate was the fact that we were eating outside, and what was also unfortunate was that my sister was older, and therefore bossier. I thought we should throw the offending sandwhiches in the rain barrel; but she, in her superior way, informed me that mom would see them, so we couldn't throw them there! So, we decided to throw them somewhere else, behind the woodshed, I think. But like most houses, Grandma's and Grandpa's had a nice big picture window, and my mom saw everything. Not good. What was also not good was that she marched out there and went right over to where the sandwhiches were.

"Girls, come here right now, " she called in an I-mean-business sort of voice, the kind of voice that you don't even think of messing with.

My sister was a bit less alarmed, she was trying to look innocent with her "what's going on?" face. Me, I was thinking up my confession already. My face gave me away, even before I said anything.

She pointed to the sandwhiches, which hadn't been hidden very well and demanded to know how they had gotten there. My sister, you've got to give her credit, had a look of total wonderment on her face; like she had no idea how they had gotten there.

I just stood there, with the deer-in-headlights look on my face, a pictue of complete guilt.

"Well," my mom said, in a very no-nonsense manner. "You know the rules!! You are to eat everything on your plate, and you are NOT to waste anything."

It was about this time that I noticed that the ants seemed to like the sandwhiches. "But MOM, there are ants on it," I said, horrified.

"Oh, for pete's sake," she said, briskly, 'I watched you throw them out, just minutes ago. There wouldn't be time for the ants to get to them. Now stop whining and eat the sandwhich. And maybe next time you'll learn not to waste your food!"

And after brushing the ants off, (she told us not to be sooo dramatic, she still thought we were making the ants up) and pulling the sandwhich apart to inspect every millimeter of it for any other ants, bugs or germs that we might find, we had to eat the horrid things. She made SURE we ate them. Yes, Mom, I learned my lesson. Yeah, it was this: We shoulda done the rain barrel. Actually, I learned two things that day. The first being not to waste my food, and the second was not to take my sister's advice. :P Sorry Sis. lol. I still love you, by the way.

lol, I guess I did learn something, after all that. I still rarely throw food away, and I always try to clear my plate, to be polite. lol I don't care what it is -- Just keep the ants away!!!!

And to think, in some countries, chocolate covered ants are a delicacy! They can have 'em! blechhhh.

So, it was with great joy that I came into adulthood, which meant I could eat what I wanted, when I wanted (which means the occasional peice of chocolate cake for breakfast); and I'm happy to say that liver is NOT included in my diet.

Ciao, folks. I'm off to bed, now. I've got to get up at 6 to go hunting with Becky. Like fools, we'll wait for daylight to break so we can get the deer that never shows up; freezing our fingers, toes and butts off, not necessarily in that order. However, I'm sure, I'll have a rich little story to tell when this experience is over. Oh well, if anything, I'm sure it will give me material for my book, in which the people live in a time when meat must sustain them, and they have to hunt to survive. So, toodles. :)

I really have a big mouth...

But you already knew that. But why did I come to this conclusion, now? Well... Today, in Psych class, our teacher was talking about relationships and how we make assessments. To illustrate, she told us about how when her daughter had brought her boyfriend home to meet them for the first time, her daughter thought it would be a good idea for him to cook breakfast for the whole family - w/o help. Her reason? She wanted to see how well he handled pressure.

Personally, I don't think she showed much respect for him, or consideration for his feelings. What kind of a relationship is it where you are testing your mate to see if they meet your standards? Not one where both are on equal footing, and have mutual respect.

So with all these thoughts running through my little head, I blurted out, "Wow, she sounds really domineering!"

Of course, my teacher did not share my sentiments, nor did she appreciate them. Well, duh. Me and my big mouth. Sure, it was probably true, but its also safe to assume that its not the smartest thing to say to her. lol, there goes my A... Along with my induction into the hall of shame. If I'm not taking nose dives into firepits, I'm getting myself in trouble with my mouth (or my typing). :P So... I'll blame it on the fact that I have a big mouth and can't help it. Its a social disease... lol

However... On the other hand, having a big mouth means being able to handle Thanksgiving dinner quite well. And, unlike some of my friends, my mother doesn't make horrid green jello molds or stuffing with nuts in it (bless her soul). So I count myself fortunate. Very. Although, for some reason, my mom used to make mincemeat pies, a horrid concoction of... I don't know what it is, but it tastes awful. Trust me, its the mincemeat, it doesn't matter who bakes it or what recipe is used. :P Anyway, she doesn't make 'em anymore, for that I'm truly grateful. She does make awesome Thanksgiving dinners, and good desserts, too. I just hope she passed on that knowledge to me good enough, as I'm making Thanksgiving Dinner with my sister this year. To make your mouth water sufficiently, I'll tell you the menu: Scalloped corn, stuffing, broccoli bake, green bean casserole, cranberries, turkey (of course), sweet potatoes, and potatoes with herbs. And of course, for dessert, we'll have tapioca pudding, pumpkin and pecan pie and fattening chocolaty bars that disappear quickly. And I'm getting tired so I think I'm going to bed. I can no longer think. And be nice about that last comment... :P

Blaze orange IS a fashion statement ... if you live in Wisconsin

Everyone is wearing bright orange. Why? It's hunting season, and so, one has to sit and ask themselves why they sit for hours, numb with cold, waiting to catch the big one. Nick said hunting would only be fair when the deer had guns and could shoot back. I can see it now - "When Good Deer go Bad"... Anyway, I told him it was not just a sport; that people could survive a winter on Venison alone. My friends Rebecca, Terry and Jen know this all too well, and think the word "venison" is a four letter word. They had it, in different variations, for almost every night one year; consequently, the can't even stand the smell of venison.

And then there's my friend Diana, thinks that "meat" is a four letter word and gets huffy every year during hunting season. She is a vegetarian, and while this is admirable, it isn't gonna stop me from eating meat. I actually tried being a vegetarian for awhile when I was younger; but in order to make up for the protein you no longer get from meat, I ate soy. And soy, well... soy does interesting things to your stomach. I was sure, if someone pricked me with a needle, I would have fizzled around the room like a balloon does when you let the air out. So, here I was, a bloated victim of soy products; and I felt like like the goodyear blimp. Naturally, I started skipping on the soy, and eating tons of pasta and salads.

My friends mom thought I would die of starvation and shoved heaps of food on my plate whenever I walked in the house. She would make awesome stuff, like lasagne, and barbeque, and chicken; she was determined to put some meat on my bones. No pun intended. Alas, it was too much, the food was too good, and soy and tofu and cous-cous just don't compare.

Then there were her brothers, who could be incredibly gross about the whole topic. Such as what the contents of a vegitarian's stomach looked like, and if puke would be green, etc. I think you can get my drift. I suppose I could have been just as gross and vomited just to show them if their hypothesis was true or not.

So I eat meat once in awhile, and I've managed not to feel guilty, since I know animals are also meat eaters. Its alot easier to not have a strict diet, and I have more options. And in the animal kingdom its perfectly natural. But then I had another crazy thought. Plants and vegetables are living things too. Do they scream in terror when we pick them? Does Mama and Pappa Pea try to protect Jr. Pea? Now theres a cheerful picture...

Anyway, just some random thoughts on the subject of hunting and meating eat in general. OR was that eating meat? :P

Another crazy thought... :P

Perhaps my boys, da Packers, and my favorite man Brett will make it to Superbowl yet. Yes, folks, they won today, 20-10, and the San Fran boys were cryin. While I feel for them, I can't help but be happy. *sigh* Although Nick is very unhappy tonight; not only did the Browns not win, the STEELERS beat them, and um, well, big rivalry there. Kinda like the Vikings/Packers, I guess.

Well, its 2:20 a.m. I just finished my homework, got my email, and found out I'd gotten all het up about something that was never said. Yeah, I was told gullible was on the ceiling once, and I looked up to see... :P

Okay, then, so I'm going to bed. Ciao, and love to you all.

i'm a big windbag

Apparently, I'm prime example of how easily gossip is spread. I just was given this great website by a good friend, who pointed out that the whole Janet Reno comment was a myth. And so, I must retract my article and just when I was getting used to the idea of people perhaps thinking, since I "go to church regularly", that I was a nutcase... heheheh. oh well... I guess I can't run around in white sheets now and scare all the nice doctors... :P

the Proverbs 31 woman must have drank ALOT of espressos...

For my non-Bible reading friends, the Prov 31 woman was the soccer mom of ancient times. She managed to keep the whole house running smoothly, and run a business besides, and her whole family was happy and relaxed and so was she, even though she got up before dawn and went to bed before everyone else. *sigh* I do this too (skipping the up before dawn part), and I am dead tired by the end of the week. What does this remind me of? That commercial where the children are perfect and neat and their breakfast of pancakes, eggs and sausage is cooking merrily on the stove, by a merry cook, who sweetly says good morning to her adoring family. Then the happy music squabbles and it shows a 90's household, with pandemonium. The kids are tearing though the house, one of the younger ones thinks he's Superman and tries to run about with a cape, the mom is trying to talk on the phone and can't hear herself think... I can't remember what its advertising, I just remember relating to the rush feeling. LOL. And I don't have kids!!!!

So I think about what I do... I'm usually gone for about 14 hours a day on class/work days, plus I'm working on my book, trying to keep up on piano (lol, its not working), and then of course there's the house that seems to get dirty even though no ones home. I haven't been able to figure out this strange phenomenon yet. Then there's my adoring and loving pets, who are behaving at the moment. My fish is screaming for his tank to be cleaned, and I feel guilty when I feed him, because I know I should clean it. :P I did a speed cleaning on Friday, because it was the only day I had to clean; but I only had 3 hours, because some friends were coming over. However, I managed to get almost the whole downstairs presentable before they came. Then, I'm back to work this weekend, 12 hour shifts, and I got a huge test in psychology to study for. Which I couldn't do today because I had to do some monthly checks at work. Which involved checking emergency lights to make sure they would actually work in an emergency. So I had to press the button on the lights, except I'm not tall enough to reach them, and so I carried a long pole around. Do not run with a long pole; you might accidentally trip your self, or worse, vault your body several feet, when you stumble and the pole is jammed into the ground and you are thrown into the air. *sigh* So, I did get every thing done, without getting a black eye or a concussion. I think I am accident prone. But anyway, after all that, no wonder I'm tired at the end of the week.

I think all I want for Christmas this year is more time. :P then I can work on being virtuous.

Cardboard t.v. dinners, evil coworkers, and other fun reasons to get excited about work...

I had a t.v. dinner for supper. It was okay if you like child sized portions, and don't go for flavor. However, it was cheap. But my friend Beth was laughing at my t.v. dinners the other day, yet, apparently she doesn't always have the wisest choice in food either. She had a bit of an allergic reaction to some shrimp she had at a Chinese restaraunt (I don't think I spelled that right. What's new?). So ah, Beth, let me first say this: I hope you are feeling alot better. Secondly, if you are, I will say, my food may taste like cardboard, but I don't think it's dangerous. There's not enough substance in it to get allergic to. :P

Other than eating tasteless entrees' my night has been made much more enjoyable by the fact that I'm working with someone who is a walking definition of the term, "anti-social". Not only does she not like me, she does not like anyone else. So here I sit, reminding myself that kindness is a virtue, although I am having troulbe feeling virtuous at all right now. :P I was, actually, wishing I could call in sick and not work with her at all, lol. And I also just remembered that, if you can't say somthing nice, not to say anything at all. Which means, I shall have to stop talking. :P

Well, stop talking about that anyway. I think the loud machine rooms at work are finally getting to me. I'm saying "what???" alot more than usual, and I feel like I'm walking about with ear plugs in my ear. Not good, but I can get along w/o hearing, I suppose. I don't think it would stop me from talking, lol, I'd just have to learn to lip read when I really can't hear y'all. Cut down on my cell phone bill too... :P

the curse of creativity

People assume that if you are creative, you are thus intelligent. Which is usually good, but is sometimes bad. Why? You can't ever get a break. I've heard all of these: "You're reasonably intelligent, you should know better..." or, "you're so smart, why don't you go to medical school instead of wasting your brain on art?", or, "why write a book; you're smart, you could go to college and get a real job." Sigh. And of course, "you're a smart girl, why didn't you study harder; you could have done better than a 'B'." What, am I supposed to be Einstien? :P

Now, had I had been truly intelligent, I would have hid any signs of my creativity, and pretended that rocks were fascinating. Thus, I would have avoided the great pain of being expected to be perfect.

So anyway, once in awhile, I'll make a statment that floors people; they'll think I'm not stupid enough to get away with it. Which for me, is rather unfortunate.

For instance, I said I had inherited the "blonde gene" (and was therefore ditzy) which inherited the indignation of my (obviously smart) blonde readers.

Let's see: My mother occasionally has been known to do ditzy things - I do ditzy things. She couldn't have inherited it from me; however, I may have gotten it from her. This is a reasonable assumption, based on the fact that people can inherit intelligence from their parents. What, apparently, is NOT a reasonable assumption is that it was from a "blonde" gene, which was taken to be a discriminatory and politically incorrect statement. :P Hmmmmmm, my father has exhibited the gene for pattern baldness, which he says makes him more intelligent. Something about brainwaves being to powerful to make hair growth conductive. Which brings me to conclude that I DIDN'T inhereit my so called intelligence from my father. If I had, I'd be bald. :P

Furthermore, genetically speaking, it would have been impossible to inherit a "blonde" gene from either parent. My father had a dominant gene for Brown hair (which he exhibits), and a co-dominant gene for red hair (we can assume this, since he was a redhead as a baby). My mother is a redhead; therefore, she carried the co-dominant gene for red hair, and both must have given me the gene, because, voila, I have red hair.

A good friend pointed out that there are many intelligent blondes, which would disprove the long standing joke of blondes being less intelligent. But of course. My best friend is one of them. So, her husband makes red head jokes, since he can't make blonde jokes. But I know he's joking. Well, he better be. If he was serious, I'd have to get really, really mean. I'd have to tell a brunette joke.

Blonde genes ARE inherited ...

Ah yes, people always wonder where I get my ditziness; it was quite apparent today. My mom keeps life interesting, and she's constantly making me laugh about something. Mom, I love you tons. :P

But today, we were both running about getting ready, and was talking to her before I had to run out the door. I must have interrupted her train of thought, for she started searching everywhere for something. I asked her what she was looking for, and she said, "my sock! I just had it!!" Then she looked down, and her face turned bright red. "Never mind," she said quickly and gave a little laugh.

"What," I asked, laughing, now; wondering what was up.

Then I looked at her feet, and I knew exactly why she was feeling foolish. Both socks were already on her feet, thus, the mystery of the missing sock was solved. I guess. lol, they say the first thing to go with age is your mind... :P

Friends are awesome

My friend Becky went in with her hubby and her mom and got me an 18qt Roaster. Yay!!! This may not seem like a big deal to some of you, but I love to cook and I love to have people over, but I never have big enuf dishes for all the food. Now I can cook for lots of People, and I'll have it for Thanksgiving!!! Just in time. Hmmm, maybe Becky is telling me to have her and some of our other friends over for dinner again. :P No problem. :) So anyway, I had to let you all know that Becky totally rocks!!! And her Mom does too. And so does her hubby. :)

a pointed observation

I was listening to a radio drama about a German pastor who helped smuggle Jews out of Germany during the Holocaust. His name sounded like "bonhoffer", but I have no clue how it was spelled. Unfortunately, I was at work while I was listening to it, and had to stop listening at the part where the Gestapo came to the door. Hearing the pounding at the door, his mother urged him to flee, but both he and his father agreed that all would be well; after all, he had all the paperwork, etc. And so, instead of this man sneaking out the back way, before the Gestapo realized he had escaped; he decided to stay.

Of course, a stupid commercial came on and I had to get back to work, but another commercial advertising next week's drama (its a series), made it pretty obvious to the listeners that he was in a concentration camp. I wonder what ever happened to him? It was based on a true story. Not to make light of this man's story, but what if he had listened to his mother? What if his father had listened to his wife, and agreed that his son should go, instead of telling her it would be all right, and to stop worrying? Would it have mattered, or only delayed his arrest for a few weeks?

Anyway guys, next time a woman is concerned about something, listen to her. She might know what she's talking about, especially if she's your mum (or significant other).

I'm not even going to begin to post my rant on the insanity of how there got to be a Gestapo or how a society could become so evil that people had to rescue the Jews from it in the first place! Except to say this. Hate speech is very dangerous, and blaming one group of people for the world's problems only brings more problems; never does it bring solutions. It is ridiculous to blame the Jews for Christ's death; it was the hatred and anger in people's hearts that put him on the Cross. Dying that we might live; an innocent man took the punishment that a world full of hatred and anger and cruelty deserved. By hating, we let him die in vain; hate does nothing except cause more pain. Perhaps, although we live in another time, we can still see that, no matter what we believe; love, after all, is a universal principal. Let us look past the religion or the race or the country another is from, and see the person behind it. Perhaps when we all look at each other as people, we will stop our fighting and hating and having to go to war. Perhaps our friends and sons and daughters will not have to die protecting us anymore. Yet nor can we stand and let ourselves be trampled by those who would destroy us; but we should strive to understand, for we live in a world that is full of confusion.

Okay, I guess I did have a rant.

.

a tale of two kitties

I thought my dad had bad luck with cats until I talked to a friend at work today. I won't say his name because while his story is rather funny (well, not for him), he probably doesn't everyone to know what happened to him.

The trouble started when he got his second cat; the older cat became jealous, and decided to show his unhappiness with his owner. Now, what do jealous cats often do? Crap where they aren't supposed to. Why? I don't know. But this cat was no different, only he decided to crap where he REALLY wasn't supposed to - on the BED!!!! My belief that cats have a sense of humor was confirmed by the fact that the cat even managed to cover his little present with blankets. Of course, my friend was totally caught unawares, and didn't discover it until AFTER he got into bed. I'm sure the cat got a good laugh out of it, but his master was NOT happy. And it didn't win the cat any brownie points, either. I think my friend told me the cat slept outside after that, but I was still so amused by his tale of woe that I really didn't catch what actually happened to the cat.

My pal went on to compare his cats to teenagers; they know the rules, they just refuse to follow them. That may be true, but at least when a teenager is mad at you, he doesn't show it by going to the bathroom in unusual places. Well, I hope not.

I'll never get angry at my cats again. Compared to two cats whose owner I shan't name, my cats are angels.

and another exciting day passes

Apparently, my email isn't working, as people tell me they sent something and it never hits my inbox. So, if you're trying to write to me, and I'm not answering; I'm not a snot, yahoo is.

Right now, I'm listening to an owl hooting in my kitchen. No, my last name is not Weasly, and my family is perfectly normal. My parents are just total nature lovers that buy bird clocks from the National Audobon society. If I slaughtered the name, my apologies. But... I guess if we have a bird clock that gives off realistic bird calls every hour, we are not really under the category of "normal". My cat goes ballistic every time he hears the stupid thing. You'ld think he'd learn.

But then, with me for an owner, he's bound to be a little wacky. The other day, I was running downstairs and I don't know how, but I smacked my head on the wall. Tall people have this problem; you have to duck your head while going downstaris or you hit your head on the 2nd floor ceiling part. But I didn't duck my head, and I went bounding down the stairs and *smack*! I just happened to hit my head in exactly the same spot as where I hit it when I took the nose-dive into the firepit, so it didn't feel to good. But then, I suppose if that wall hadnt' been there, I would have just... kept going and tumbled head over heels.... like Diana. LOL Except she's short, so its not as far to the ground, and therefore less painful.

Other than that, life is good. Today, especially, I was reminded just how much I love and appreciate my job. I was very thankful today, especially, that I don't work for the cleaning service anymore, as some hapless bloke had brought in a little piece of home to share with his colleauges; only he wasn't aware of it right away. Apparently, he'd tracked *something* from his shoe, which had been thoughtfully left for him to step in by his (or perhaps the neighbor's) dog; and just so none of us at work had to miss out on the joys of dog ownership, a tidbit of his misteps was left on the main staircase at work. I was soooo glad I didn't have to clean it up.

Furthermore (while I was at work), I got some free time to work on my book, and was able to improve on chapter, one, although I kept getting distracted, and so did not get much farther. However, in putting this in perspective, I'm getting paid to write a book, soooo, I can hardly complain about distractions. However, I probably looked kind of crazy while I was making my lunch (at work), as I was thinking (aloud) about which expression sounded best. I was saying all these phrases and then writing down what sounded good. And when I got really excited, I'd start gesturing. But... as strange as it may sound, it helped!!! When I say it out loud, it makes more sense. lol. Okay, y'all are gonna think I'm a basket case. Don't worry, when I start arguing or shouting (when I talk to myself) THEN you can worry. :P

a retraction

ahhhhh, Nick has been reading my blog, and was rather dismayed to read that he thought I was boring. Apparently he does not (think I am boring), and he says I should not write what I think he thinks. He just doesn't like to read; it has nothing to do with me. And so, since I do not want to spread utter fallacies, I shall retract my statements and offer my most sincere and humble apologies to the subject of my latest (and apparently innacurate) object of blogworthy accounts.

I could blame it on that crap I took to get rid of my migraine. Suz told me that I said I was going to join the "Peach Corps", which sounds interesting, with possible sunny connotations. A beach job, perhaps? Anyhow, I won't be taking it again, I got all woozy, and then when I laid down, my pulse skyrocketed, and then my skin started itching. Its not easy to sleep when your heart is beating away like Thumper's foot and stupid places itch, like the bottoms of your feet, your eyelids, and the inside of your nose.

Alas, I have yet another exciting class to go to; Psychology (which actually, to my chagrin, has been pretty interesting). Probably because we are studying teenagers, and it is interesting to hear her thoughts on raising them. I still remember being one. So vivid are the frusterations of adolesence and feelings of angst to me that I can totally relate; yet my teacher thinks that teens are mysterious creatures that have complex problems facing adulthood. I had always thought that adults had complex problems facing teens. lol. And now I'm an adult, and I still think that teens are misunderstood by most adults. Who cares about purple hair? As long as they have a healthy life view...

But if I don't get to class, my healthy life view won't matter; my teacher still won't appreciate my tardiness.

Sunday Drivers

Sunday Drivers have the reputation of driving rather slowly, enjoying the scenery, but... not me. I'm ALWAYS late for church, and so I find myself racing to church on Sunday morning because I stayed in bed much longer than I should have.

However, I usually find myself behind a Sunday Driver, and instead of tailgating them, I bite my knuckles and force myself to think cheerful thoughts. After all, I am on my way to church, so it wouldn't do to lay on the horn, and scream "Get out of my waaaaay, you imbecile!!!".

And so I try to think holy thoughts on Sunday. At church. But this becomes a bit hard when someone text messages your cell phone to tell you the packer score. Yes, I couldn't help it; I texted back to find out if we won (we did). I would say, "shame on you, Nick" but he stopped reading my blog long ago; he said I wrote too much to keep track. Hmmmmm... I think I've heard that before... :P Me, talk/write too much?

And Rebecca is the one that has lost her voice; I think that was supposed to happen to me.

Other than that, I came home to the Twilight Zone; my dad had done the dishes (the kitchen was spotless), and was in the process of drying laundry when I walked in the door. Of course, it was not totally on a whim; my mother is off her feet for awhile because a foot injury has flared up. And, if she doesn't stay off her feet now, it will get worse and she'll end up off her feet for weeks.

But it proves something: married men CAN do laundry. Some men argue that by saying, "I do" they are forever rendered incapable of domestic duties, like laundry, and washing dishes. My dad is great about doing dishes; but I've NEVER seen him do laundry before. Hmmmm.... this probably means that I'll have some extra tiny shirts and some tight fitting jeans that I didn't have before. :P maybe we shouldn't split chores, and each do our own... But... its easier to do it all at once, since we have to take clothes to be washed at the Laundromat til the washer is hooked up; which won't happen until the laundry room is finished being built.

Oh, Mom's being off her feet means that I am totally IN CHARGE of Thanksgiving this year. Martha Stewart, eat your heart out. Hehehehe... I am taking over the kitchen and I get to do it all MY way!!! Grooovy. :)

What I usually do around the house is far less glamorous, and totally NOT groovy... I am the great toilet bowl fairy. That is, I clean the bathroom and scrub/sweep the floors and do that hated chore of dusting. Why? Because I don't' have arthritis, so I can get on my hands and knees (and get back up again), and I can climb a ladder a little more easily. However, I usually get sidetracked when I dust the bookshelf and discover a great book and...

Oh well... Speaking of being sidetracked, I had originally decided to write about proofreaders, and their uncanny ability to find errors. And how great that is, but how the author often just doenn't see it. And then, because I think too much, I wonder about how that relates to people. How I see myself, and how other people see me.

Mostly because I always think of my writing as an extension of myself; so for example, if people find my writing boring, then I must bore them as well. In that case, according to Nick, I am boring, I talk to much, and am not worth getting to know, because it would take to much time (his thoughts on reading my blog). Its kind of like thinking you have this really cool outfit on and then looking in a mirror and realizing you spilled coffee on your shirt.... hours ago (and everyone noticed but you).

Of course, everyone has their own opinion, and I guess some of you like reading this thing (or you wouldn't be reading it now). LOL. :P But it is a seriously bumming reality check when a guy that is supposed to dig you thinks you aren't as cool and fun as you would like to think he thinks you are. Hmmm... does that even make sense? Ack. :P

Pleh. All this introspection (I think that's the right word) is giving me a headache. Oh, wait, I already had one. See, I made the mistake of arguing with a friend about something yesterday. Something that is so stupid that it shouldn't even be argued about, but people dedicate endless hours to "expose" the "badness" of the issue in question (PCC, my old and fondly remembered college, spent a whole week on it). Don't ask. I didn't win. But neither did the other girl. But then me and Rebecca discussed it for two hours and came up with some really great points, but, in the end, we both came up with the conclusion that it was hopeless to argue with the other girl, as she didn't care what our opinion was. *sigh*

I think, if people gave that much time, energy, and dedication towards the issue of World Hunger, not one person in this whole earth would go hungry ever again. And so, I learned a valuable point. Don't argue. It gives you a profound headache, stresses you out, and makes you grumpy.

One of my best friends, Dee, called me last night, in a none too cheerful mood to inform me that since Greg had stolen her rent money, and she had no way of coming up with the cash to pay the rent, her crummy landlord was telling her she had to get out of apt. By the end of the weekend. So she has a place to go; her parents... But, then she informed me that she might move to Mexico (with some friends) to get away from things here for awhile. Isn't that a rather drastic move, girl? :( Hmmm... perhaps I could take a road trip and visit her, but I really don't her to move. And I told her that. And she doesn't want to leave her friends; her solution is that we should go with her. I don't know Spanish. This could pose a problem in a Spanish speaking country. I can say, "no comprendo" and "buenos dias" and "muchus gracias" and... okay - I know some basic terms. But I don't know how to ask where a rest room is, and I don't think Mexico has Ben and Jerry's ice cream either. But they do have tamales. And I love tamales. I think a road trip is a possibility. I'll take Diana with me. And a little Spanish-English dictionary, so I can ask where the restrooms are. :P

Really, Dee, if you move, I'm gonna miss you. So think about it. But then again, if that's what you really want to do, then go for it. Opportunities don't always come around like that. It could be alot of fun.

You never know, Rebecca hasn't been able to talk all week; being a voice teacher, this poses a bit of a problem. Maybe we all need change; perhaps we should all go to Mexico. And start an orphanage. Becca, you can teach hearing impaired children (if you can't talk, you can use sign language), I'll teach art (and tell lots of bedtime stories), and Dee can take care of the babies. Diana can ... Okay, this involves waaaay tooo much thinking.

If I had my credit cars paid off, I might actually consider it. And Dee said she wasn't going 'til March. We should both just join the Peach Corps. I think I'll talk to her about it. And I also think, that the pain-killer I took to get rid of the migraine is working... too well. I'm going to bed.

the merits of proofing are...

Someone kindly pointed out to me that on my exposition on typos, there was an actual typo in that small paragraph. I just can't seem to get away from them. Typos, I mean, not the people pointing out the typos.

And so it was that I had another exciting day at school, and then went on a grand adventure shopping for groceries at Wal-Mart. Being tired, and in a hurry, I made a daring attempt to go through the express checkout lane with 26 items, as opposed to the max. of 20, and although I received a few glares, I otherwise escaped unscathed.

I felt like the Bargain Basement Queen; I found some t.v. dinners for 89 cents each, and stocked up on those and ramen noodles. I was pretty excited to see cheap meals for under a buck, so I loaded my cart like the sale was ending in ten minutes. And so, I have two weeks of meals for under $20. I feel good about that. So what if I looked like a mad pre-Y2K shopper (You know the ones I'm talking about; the ones that stocked up on so much food and toilet paper that they could supply the Army for a whole year).

But then again, maybe not; I bought frozen dinners, and you can't stock up on those if you dont' have electricity. While winters in wisconsin would no doubt keep the food well frozen, there would be no way to cook it (without the danger of setting the paper tray that held the food, and perhaps the house, on fire). Thus the merits of canned foods, which most people can appreciate, unless you happen to be meCANically challenged.

But I ran into this guy the other day, who hasn't worked since June, but manages to drive a car around that is worth more than I am. How's he's making the payments on it, I don't know. And, I dont' want to know, since he's been freeloading off of friends since June as well. But I suppose that's what you do when you have to leave the county as opposed to paying child support for the three kids you already have, and one that's on the way. Well, he thought he would "earn his keep" at the latest house he's staying at, and went down to the food pantry.

He came back with 3 (big) boxes of food, with not a good word to say about any of it. First he complained that most of it was canned food and he didn't like canned food. Then he whined because he had alot of apples, and what was he supposed to do with fresh apples? And they gave him too much bread; he didn't even LIKE bread. Ahhhh, perhaps you should have gone to the gourmet food pantry, or maybe the five-star soup kitchen. Get a life, loser!

Ahhhhh... that feels better. I've been wanting to say that all week. :P

And now, with that off my chest, I shall go to bed.

I am the Walrus...

Yes, I'm odd. But I kid you not; it was actually the title of someone's blog and it amused me so much that I had to use it. And I think, walruses have good qualities. I mean, they've got such a positive attitude. It can't be easy trying to talk around those huge tusks, but they all have 'em so they must. Probably sounds like talking when you have buck teeth. I can make fun of buck teeth, cuz I had 'em as a kid, before I got braces. hehehe. And if you have buck teeth, you hate to smile. That photographer is all in your face, telling you to smile, and you try to smile and still look cool, remember that? And what gets in the picture? He gets you with this crazy expression on your face that doesn't even LOOK like you and your mom loves it. She sends it to all the relatives and family friends and you are totally mortified. :P

But walruses don't care. They just sit there, showin off their tusks, and they're all proud of 'em like. "Dude, check me out, my tuthks are longer than yourth are! huh, huh!" And you don't see a Walrus on the Adkins diet. They don't care. The bigger the better. So they go out to their favorite seafood restaraunt and get that all you can eat special and they are lovin it! And I bet walrus wives don't turn to their husband and say, "does this seawater make me look fat?" Heck, they probably make fun of the skinny walruses. "Hey, Stick boy..." (This is coming from a chick who was called "Stick girl" and "twiggy" in college). Alas, ben and jerry's is catching up with me; although, apparently I'm not the only one, since they actually have an ice cream called "Chubby Hubby".

So walruses are like, totally cool with everything, and that's cool. I like that. There you go - "Lessons we can Learn in Nature," by yours truly...

*other random thoughts, that came from nowhere... but yet, are blogworthy*

As a favor to your coworkers, never, ever, never bring salmon bake to work. Or anything salmon, for that matter. Pew!!! It makes the whole office smell like a fish factory. If you do bring it to work, don't over cook it in the microwave. It will take weeks for the smell to go away. Today, at work, I was assaulted by the most nauseating aroma of fish that I ever thought possible. Guess who won't be eating seafood for awhile. *Gag*

If you want to watch a Packer game, discuss psychology, religion, bad books you have read, and read music theory (and practice how to hold a violin, or the bow, rather), perhaps you should watch the next game at Jen, Terry, and Rebecca's house. It was, perhaps, the most educational game I have ever seen. And their mom makes excellent chili. :P

No matter now many times you proofread, someone will see a blatant error that you somehow missed. Thanks guys for your patience, good ideas, and good eyes. I'm working on chapter one now. Think I can finish this in a year? :P

YAY!!

I wrote the prologue for my book today (although Pam called it a chapter). :P I got it done at work too. Hmmmm, does that mean that IF it gets published, and people actually buy it, that my place of employment gets some of the royalties? Um, no.

I gave up on chapter 1, though, because as I was trying to write, my co-workers were discussing politics. And they were saying that social security is gonna run out in 5 years, and then the whole country will suffer an economic depression and it will be "just like the fall of Rome". Ahh, and of course, they named Bush as the culprit. I was afraid if I tried to write while listening to them talk, I'd end up with a villian named George, and a Kingdom that fell because it was in debt.

I emphasize listening, because I felt it wise not to enter into the conversation since I voted for Bush. And since I don't think Bush has, a.) secret nuclear weapons in the White House basement or, b.) that he is planning his own Armageddon, that particular co-worker thinks anyone that doesn't think that (and voted for him) is in cahoots with him. Ha! A secret Rebel Army, like... the Bushwhackers? Muhahahhaha.... By the way, she thinks Brett Farvre is a fink (and hates him with a passion) so I KNOW she's got some serious issues (if the nuclear-bomb-in-the-basement-bush-theory doesn't give it away). Ha!

For my dear friends that happen to hate Bush, I love you anyway. :P

By the way, a clarification on a particular post, I believe it was titled "pressing toward the mark": I think what it said was that if you trust God enough, he will change something bad in your life... or something like that. I re-read it today (looking for typos, which I'm very good at leaving), and discovered that I sounded rather like a pious snot. "If you trust God enough..." I didn't want anyone to think I was implying life is crappy because your faith is weak. What I meant to say is something more on the lines of this:

"Instead of worrying, let God worry about it. Trust him; He'll work it out."

Yay, did that make sense? I think it made more sense than my big wordy entry the other day. And now I'm going to shut up, because... well, its after 1 am, and I'm afraid I won't make sense after awhile. If I don't already, I apologize. :P

Nutcracker? Nuts!!!

I've just checked the website; tickets are $25 - $45.00!!!! :( Plus the $2 building charge, then the $6.50 convenience fee. What's convenient about that? Ticketmaster is the only one who sells them, so how is it convenient to buy them - online? Okay: the $25 doesn't sound so bad, til you add the "convenience fee. And really, $45 isn't so bad either, I think I paid that much for a concert ticket before (well, more). But I'm not an indiscriminate spender anymore. :P

Hmmmm... I think I should get into ballet. Charge people $45 bucks a pop to see me flitter and twitter about in slippers on a stage (I really do like ballet, lol), and considering all the people that come, there's quite a bit of money. But then you factor travel expenses, production expenses (set decoration, artist's work, constumes, paying the orchestra, renting the auditorium...) okay, now that explains why ballerinas are so skinny. They cant' afford to eat by the time they pay for all that. :P Anyway... my comments on all that.

A correction, if you will... the link to Nutcracker Ballet was wrong; I've corrected it.

speaking of silence... *ahem*

Okay, I haven't heard from a few of you in a while, so will be lazy and take this blog opportunity to say hello to everyone and tell you to start you own blogs so that I can read about your gossip. lol

Hello to Molly, who told me my blog makes her laugh, and then a week later I start writing about totally serious stuff; I really didn't do that on purpose! lol. Apparently, I never "caught the spirit" of PCC, whatever that spirit was. :P (private joke)

Andy, Andy, wherefore art thou, Andy??? No longer dost thou haunt the hallowed Library of CVTC, or traverse the great halls... okay, well, I havent' seen you for like a week, but Rebecca says you are, in fact, still alive. By the way, that ballet is on Nov. 13th, I think, and you can find more info at nutcracker.com . It's at 4:30.

Suzan, I've missed you; don't get a whole lot of chances to talk these days! Glad the fires missed you (if I haven't already expressed that), and hope your asthma is getting better.

Jill, haven't seen you around in ages, and your inbox is full!!! A little birdie told me that you haven't checked your yahoo inbox for while, lol, so I'll say hi here. :) Say hi to Holly and Jesse for me. We have to get together and shop before Christmas and have a girl's day out.

Beth, I see you once a week when the girls get together, and you always have something new going on, and I'm tired thinking about it. So I know you are busy. So I won't lecture. But hang in there.

Diana!!!! Be nice to your brother and quit changing his voice mail message. People are going to wonder if he has multiple personalities. :P And don't say he does. lol.

Deanna!!! You are never home - or should I say, by a phone. I find it quite amusing that you are housesitting for 3 cats and a dog when you are allergic to pet dander. :P

And speaking of not being by a phone, I'm online and people are calling my cell phone because they can't get thru to the phone line... :P So I should probably go. lol.

a moment of silence...

... for our dear brothers, the Packers, who suffered a dissapointing defeat to the Eagles. It was a glorious game, all in all, although the end was a bit tense. Unfortunately, the Eagles made a touchdown with 23 seconds left in the game and though the mighty Packers tried valiently, Favre's broken thumb said, "no more!!!", and he fumbled.

Not to mention that it was POURING in Green Bay, and the fans that were there were soaked and freezing (as were the players). However, I was at Rebecca, Jen and Terry's house, having the time of my life watching the game inside the warm house and very much out of the merciless elements outside. It was quite lovely.

Not to knock Lambeau Feild; but I wasn't complaining. Tonight was a bit... chilly. Okay... technically, it is Tuesday morning, so I should say last night. Anyway, I had fun, and a 2004 Packer Game road trip is being talked about.

And Denise, I owe you and your Eagles a congratulations (albeit rather grudgingly, lol).

But da Packers will make a comback!!!!!

pressing toward the mark..

I managed to get my Psychology homework done today at the eleventh hour - literally. One hour before my noon Psychology class, I finished up my source of frusteration; a study guide of questions that required essay-type answers. Or perhaps, I just write too much.

Perhaps this weekend was one of bad news; however, my missing out on the Packer game seems like a rather shallow thing to gripe about. And besides, I've just been reminded to keep a cheerful outlook on the situation.

I've just finished reading another blog - from a guy named Georges, who's from Brazil, studying in the States right now. His fiancee' of nine months broke off their engagement, yet he has an incredibly positive attitude about the whole thing. Of course he's not happy, but he's not angry and bitter and wallowing in self-pity. Me... I've been working on the whole positive attitude thing; for me, feeling sorry for myself is tempting and facing the prospect of the uncertainity ahead sometimes scares me, especially when I forget to focus.

Focus on what? Well, my faith, and God; my Faith teaches that all things work together for good (though we may not see it right now). God doesn't make bad things happen to us. We aren't puppets; in order to prevent people from getting hurt (all the time), God would have to move everyone around on invisible puppet strings, to keep us from going there, or keep someone from coming after us, or stop that dog from biting someone, etc.

Okay, so being Pinocchio is no picnic, but why do we get hurt? Why do bad things happen? Unfortunately, people choose to hurt us sometimes, because we are free to choose our own destiny. No one is forcing us to be good, or to love, or to be kind. Thus, the people that hurt us are not forced into kindness either. But what about other things that happen - like fires, natural disasters, plaugues, floods, etc.? I don't know why those things happen. But I do know this: God cares about all of us, and he is there. If we trust him enough, he will take even a horrible situation (that we think is hopless) and make something good happen out of it.

I know this; it's remembering when things get tough that is the real challenge. Every time in the past, things have worked out; things have been okay. So, its not a blind faith, and I'm not believing in a fairy tale, or something that's never gonna happen; something good will happen, out of all of this - I just have yet to see it.

My brother is living proof. My brother had been in trouble with the law for more than half of his life. He ran away from home (we thought for good) at 16 and we never heard from him again until he was arrested. He'd been in and out of prison for the next 15 or so years for varous things; mostly thefts and assualts and even armed robbery. He was a very angry and violent person. Sometimes he really scared me; but I was more scared about what he would do to himself. I was afraid one day he would get himself killed. The last time he was arrested, he almost did die; he'd stolen a truck and, while fleeing the cops, plowed into a utility pole. How he survived, no one knows.

But then, he got sick of all the running, all the time he tried to get it right and failed and he finally turned to the one thing he thought would never work for him - God. And his life has changed. He's on track, he's stopped the drugs, he's out of prison now and he has a job. He's involved in the lives of his kids, and he's got a positive life-view - something he didn't have before. You know, I never gave up hope for my brother. Ever since I was a little girl, I prayed that God would keep him safe and that he would change. So yes, I believe that faith does make a difference and God can make things work, even if it looks completely hopeless.

I don't even know Georges (yet), except by what he's written; He's a friend of Rebecca's. Yet reading his blog encouraged me and helped to remind me to stay focused on what's important, and to always, always keep the faith... even when it seems darkest. Thank you, Goerges (and thank you Rebecca for telling me to read his blog).

um, yeah...

Well, guys, I'm not going to the Packer Game, but given the circumstances, I'm not that upset...

My sister's friend Dean, a fellow packer fan, had season tickets and had asked her to go to the game cuz he had extra. Which is how I got asked. Well, he was going to bring his "girlfriend's" daughter to the game, but she didnt' really wanna go unless her mom went, and her mom hated football (so WHY was he dating her)?

So my sister asks a pretty natural question; since he has an extra ticket, if he hasn't thought of anyone to bring instead, can her husband come?

"What about childcare?", he asks.

"Well, I told my friend I had to ask you first, but she might be able to watch the kids if Dennis can go," my sister says (Dennis didn't know yet).

Dean blows up, and starts telling her how hurt an offended he is and how he doesn't want to go anymore, and then whines, "They weren't my tickets anyway; they were my parents'...." (Psycho rule #1: When REAL boyfriend/husband comes into the conversation, as they are apt to do... go nuts).

Um, okaaaay, that just creeps me out... him all wanting to take us to the game until she asks if her husband can go. And then she tells me more. He had thought we should all ride to the stadium together because he knew where it was, and it would save on parking fees. Parking fees I can understand, but even I can find the Stadium. Well, okay, that doesn't make him psycho.

But, he's always getting her these presents just because she's a "cool friend", he says, and she thought, okay, he's just a really, really nice guy. And then he thought it would be cool if they went out together on Halloween as a fifities couple. Um, what couple? (Psycho rule #2: See yourself and your current object of obsession as soulmates).

She reminded him that she was, like, MARRIED... and he gave the oh, but it would be just as friends, line. So, she thougth it was odd, but brushed it off. But there were other things... he wanted her to go with him (overnight) to the Packer/Vikings game in Minnesota. In the same hotel room ("but just as friends".... yeah, right). And then, when she didn't go, he didn't go at all. And then when he didn't seem to be getting anywhere with her, he asked if she had any sisters.

Ughhhh... when she told him yes, but I was already in a relationship, he said (without ever having met me), "Well, when she gets tired of the other guy, tell her I'm available." okaaaaay.... (Psycho rule #3, if the subject resists exhaustive attempts at romance, try to make her jealous by hitting on her sister... a sister that you've never met).

So, yeah he sounds a bit... obsessed with my sister. He probably didnt' even have tickets, and yes... I'm going to let my over active imagination assume that he was going to take a large and ominous looking knife with him and slit our throats on dirt road somewhere. Alot of psychopath serial killers seem to like hanging out in Wisconsin...

So while I'm dissapointed about the game, I can envision Dean the Stalker with survellience pictures of my sister covering his walls... and I feel lucky I'm NOT going. And even if we had gone, and his psycho self erupted, and we managed to empower ourselves and kick his psycho butt; it's cold, a looooong way to walk, and I ain't in the mood for the drama, honey.

So I'll go on E-Bay and buy my own ticket. It seems to be a wise investment. And I won't say I'm going until I have it in my hand! The moral of story is this. Your mommy was right: Don't accept candy (or Packer's tickets) from strange men, no matter now nice they are. :P

More tales of the farm... funny farm, that is...

My mother informed me last night that her car had broken down (yet again), and that she had to get up at 3:30 to leave for work by 4:30; and so I should be quiet when I got home. Since she had no car, Dad was the lucky prize winner who got to take her to work... at 4:30 AM. Apparently she had to be to work at 5:30. What kind of irrational idiot schedules people to work at such an ungodly hour? My mom works at a catalogue company; they take orders for kid's toys. I don't think I want to meet the person who has the energy to call and order TOYS at 6 o'clock in the morning! People who are cheery and energetic that early in the morning need to be slapped. Okay; Perhaps its not the most Christian or charitable thought to have in one's head, but I'll use the age-old excuse that none of us are perfect. :P

But back to the story... Dad had to get up at yea-dark-thirty, and I was happily oblivious to all of it, and quite forgot about all of it until my mother called me at work to inform me that Dad had picked HER up from work, and now she was taking HIM to work; however, he would need to be picked up from work.

He works only a few blocks from where I work; that wasn't the problem. The problem was for Dad who got off work at 10 pm, and I didn't finish my shift until 11 pm. Which meant he had to wait an hour.

Mom explained all this carefully to me. But, she went on to explain, she didn't' want to waste an hour to pick him up and come back again, so, since I was going that way anyway...

Then, as an afterthought, she quickly added that it would save on gas as well. Well, you can't argue with that, can you? So my poor dad had to wait an hour for me. I put a huge memo on the white board, so that I wouldn't forget to pick him up. He called my cell phone anyway, just to make sure. :P What me? Forget something? Never...

Anyway, when I arrived at his workplace (he's a CNA at a Nursing Home), I was horrified to see a poor old man sitting all alone in a wheelchair, with no one around to attend to him. Too weak to keep his head up, he leaned forward, his head sagging, as he tried feebly to hold it up with his hand. I was outraged! What kind of place was this?

Wait a minute, there was something oddly familiar about that balding head drooping forward. *sigh* It was my FATHER, who's head was drooping because he was, in fact, sleeping. I couldn't get his attention, so I called HIS cell phone, and when he answered, I told him to watch out, or they'd take him away; he looked pretty convincing. He looked up to see me standing outside the doors, shivering, and grinned sheepishly.

So when he got into the car, I asked him: "So Dad, why were you sitting in the wheelchair when you could have rested on the couch in the Lobby?"

"Oh, if I had sat on the couches, I couldn't have seen you pull up," he said.

I stared at him; but it was dark, so he couldn't tell. "Dad, you were fast asleep. You're lucky an orderly didn't' think you were a patient and wheel you away. You certainly didn't notice when I pulled up or banged on the doors..."

Dad cleared his throat and said, "Oh well, I must have been more tired than I thought."

On the way home, he dozed on and off, and I silently thanked God that I was, in fact, driving; perhaps it was good, that on this day, my parents had only one car between them.

But this is my dad; he thinks he's Superman, and thinks he has to do everything. When we got home, I was getting things together in my car to take inside, and I looked over and he was bent under the hood of Mom's car, peering intently at the beast within with a flashlight.

With a look of incredulity, I told him to go to bed. I thought he was tired... it must have been the power nap he got in the wheelchair. Oh well, I convinced him to go to bed; it wasn't too hard.

And speaking of going to bed... I should be there myself. Ciao!

Why Popcorn bags have literary value...

"and the very air simmered with the heat of their passion"... (No, the room was not on fire.) There, I've written it down. No doubt the phrase got your attention; I liked how it sounded. Anyway, I need to remember it for the book I'm going to write someday. One of those adventerous romance stories, where the hero and heroine fight dragons (and each other) and eventually stop being irritated with each other and fall in love. Madly. Which would be where the air becomes hot with their passion... What kind of passion, you say? Passionate anger, perhaps? a passionate quest for heroism? Or, a passionate romance? All old ideas, and quite possibly stale, but passion is never, ever boring. Where do I get this wild, artistic and passionate streak? Blame it on my father, he's got French blood, the French are passionate about 3 things; love, art and cooking. Fighting, on the other hand... *cough* :P

But back to what I was saying; it may be an old idea, but it can work. With writing, there are only so many themes on this earth you could write about. I suppose I could write a fantastic novel about, say, a space traveler who discovers a colony that lives in gas bubbles on Jupiter... But I don't think they have dragons on Jupiter, and besides, there's no air to simmer with the heat of any passion. So I can't write a novel about life on Jupiter. However, there is some kind of love story about Jupiter... a Greek myth? I can't remember. Oh well... Anyway, back to writing.

Usually what happens is that I get a case of writer's inspiration (if that's what you call it) in the middle of the night, and, while half-asleep, I grab a pen and scribble my idea on a piece of paper, then fall back asleep, content that I have captured my great idea on paper. Only to discover, when I awake the next morning, that the great idea is just a confusing jumble of illegible scrawls.

And so I write it on popcorn bags at work and in my blog so I don't forget. And one of these days, mabye I'll get my book done (on something other than pop-corn bags) and you can read it. :P

waxing poetic...

"... a desolate wasteland of barren trees" Hmmm, that almost sounds like a poem. Of does this sound better: "A desolate wasteland of wintry death"? or how about, "A wasteland of depression, the wet, gray sky mourning the Summer that is no longer there"...

Hmmmm, I think we have something here... "The Earth now languishes for her one True Love, Summer, who has been taken away from her. No longer are the hot nights that Summer brought to Earth. Those nights, passion rippled in the air, and the full moon beamed indulgently upon the two Lovers. Even the Stars twinkled merrily at Earth and shone more brightly. In Summer's presence, the icy fingers of Cold and Sadness could not reach Earth, and she was happy. Those days, the Earth's radiance shone in every flower, and every Tree stood with arms outstretched, embracing Summer. The Earth's joy bubbled out with laughter from every river and stream. For when Summer visited the Earth, he brought magic to the air; but he was gone now, imprisoned by Winter, the cruel cousin of Cold and Sadness. And so the Earth weeps; the trees droop with sadness, their beautiful coats ripped away by Cold's bands of theiving Winds. And the flowers have long since gone, forced to hide under the cover of Earth. Even the Rivers laugh no longer; but remain silent, waiting for Summer to return and bring his joy and warmth to Earth. Waiting and hoping for the happy day when Spring defeats Winter and releases Summer from Winter's icy dungeon. When that day comes, the flowers will once again emerge from Earth's protecting wing, and the Trees, cloaked again in their splendor, will give a welcoming home to the birds that will bring Singing back to Earth's heart. For with the return of Summer, the magic will be back, and Earth's heart will be alive once more."

Perhaps that will chase away the winter blahs.

blah-g

The brilliance of fall has been replaced by a desolate wasteland of barren, naked trees, dead grass, and a cold grey sky. Everything is the same color right now; even the pigeons blend in with their background. I almost hit a pigeon on the way to school today; at least, I think it was a pigeon. It could have been an albatross, for how big it seemed - suddenly the dang thing was right in front of me, flapping frantically to get out of the way. Thankfully, I managed not to spill my coffee OR go into a ditch. Alas, perhaps my car, too, blended in too well with the gray background, and he didn't see me, either.

But, thankfully, I have tomorrow off. I shall bake cookies and have a completely lazy day. In blah weather like this, that's what you're supposed to do; stay inside the warm and toasty house and bake, read, or some other self indulgence. Anyway, according to my friend Jen, baking cookies is helpful when one is in a bad mood, and so, according to that principal, I no doubt should have cooked them yesterday (as I've been struck with a bad case of self-pity and moodiness for most of the week). Gee, could you tell? :P

However, one of my friends gave me a healthy (and liberal) does of common sense, and I'm much better for it. And bad mood or not, cookies are always good. Especially chocolate chip cookies still warm from the oven. :)

reality check...

I've been so selfish through all this; only thinking about how this whole ordeal has affected me, and how sad I am and how awful it is. Well... I've never thought that perhaps my thoughts on the whole matter aren't necessarily THE reality; that perhaps there's another perspective I'm not thinking about. I've been pretty unfair, nagging him and feeling like he doesn't care. To say he doesn't care just because he doesn't see how my ideas would ever work, isn't fair to him. Obviously, its been a hard thing for both of us to take. Truthfully, it may just not work out. But it may. I think not only have I let Nick down, I really haven't trusted God through any of this; I've just gotten scared and upset and felt sorry for myself. I'm sure a lot of you wondered when I would come to this rather obvious conclusion; it's taken long enough. Too bad there aren't little people that walk around, who's main jobs are to slap people upside the head when they need to get a swift reality check. Aside from the fact that I need so many reality checks that I'd no doubt have a serious concussion or possible brain damage after about one week, it might prove rather helpful in the long run. Anyway, enough said. I've got to get to bed.

Cats, Mice, Parfume De' Garlique, and Fed Ex Drivers

That's what my day has been full of. My cat (whom my sister does not have a very high opionion of), couldn't make up his mind about whether he wanted to be in -- or out -- all day long. He would cry by the door... and cry... and cry. Then when I let him out, five minutes later, he'd be crying piteously outside the door, begging to be let back in. So I'd let him in. Then about five minutes after THAT, he'd want to go out again. *sigh* And so it went on all day.

However, aside from the workout the cat put me through from going to and from the door, I also managed to mke a lovely spaghetti sauce, complete with fresh garlic, and the kitchen smelled heavenly; except now my hands smell like garlic, and no matter how many times I wash them, it won't go away. I guess I have the consolation that vampires, should they really exist, will leave me alone.

Another thing when making spaghetti sauce: When simmering it on the stove, do NOT leave a spoon in the pot while the lid is on. Spaghetti sauce... splatters, and it doesn't matter if MOST of the lid is on the pan, if a small crack exists for the sauce to escape, it will jump through and happily decorate your walls, floor and stove. While red is a vibrant and cheery color, I'd rather tomato sauce NOT decorate my kitchen.

I did manage to escape the small chaos in the kitchen; the cat decided it was too cold to stay outside and slunk off to the bedroom to bask lazily in the luxury of my warm bed. Thankfully, I remembered to get gas (petrol) in the car before I went to work; I pulled in the gas station and the car shut off. I guess that's a good place to run out of gas; I've run out of gas on pretty deserted stretches of highway and that is just not fun, no matter now Polly-Anna like you are in your thinking.

And so I have (fortunately) made it back to work, and back to the office that I seem to share with a little mouse, as there is not trap in place that I can see. And back to the incessantly ringing phone and beeping intercom (that I should answer) and the friendly banter with all drivers.

One of the drivers, the Fed Ex guy, was bemoaning the fact that he had eaten too much Pizza and was now feeling quite drowsy. Now, I'm not only drowsy, but I'm also craving Pizza. While all these spontaneous food cravings should worry me, apparently I have a few pounds to go before it becomes a major concern. The other day, my friend's room mate told me I was so skinny I could hula hoop with a Cheerio (For my non-American Blog readers, a Cheerio is not a farewell, but a donut shaped grain cereal, which is hollow in the center and about 1 cm in diameter; unless, since it is a circle, I should give the radius which is... never mind). Even Barbie is not that skinny, although she might be able to wear a Cheerio as an ankle bracelet. However, on second thought, that would only happen if the Cheerios were pink... Fruit loops, perhaps? I'm feeling pretty loopy myself. :P

Mind Bloggleing...

Alas, I've been told by a good friend (and avid reader of my blog) that writing must be therapeudic for me, as I seem to pour it all out. While I usually think of therapy as a cross between sessions on "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" and "Anger Management", I can see writing could have that purpose, as I seem to vent. However, the topic of therapy reminds me of a poem I read, so in honor of therapy, I give you this *touching* free verse:

group therapy

before my psychiatrist went insane
he only healed six
of my multiple personalities
the rest of us
want our money back

g.k.
****

Now that you are laughing, I can apologize for your having to wade through my verbal muck of unhappy self-pity... and you might accept it. And, while verbally vomiting up all one's emotions might make that person feel better, I would suppose its rather unpleasant for those unfortunate enough to be around. However, on the other hand, people with... er... emotional constipation drive me crazy, so I tend not to be that way. Colorful descriptions, perhaps, but an accurate portrayal, I think.

Now, I'll end this entry, as I just saw a mouse run through the office and that is somewhat disturbing. And... since one of the readers of this blog also happens to work here, and also happens to work in the maint. department, perhaps he can bring a mouse trap by, later on. A humane one, of course. Cervical Displacement, by the way, does not fall under the category of "humane". :P

Hellloooo, Monday!!!

Ahhhh, I love Mondays. They are so full of... opportunity. I know I was in a very bad mood all weekend, and so *ahem*: my apologies to those innocent friends of mine who had the misfortune of running into me. And thank you Rebecca (and Borders) for a nice long chat over a good strong Mochas.

Aside from the crappiness of my weekend, though, there is some good news... THE PACKERS BEAT THE VIKINGS!!!!

This weekend was a bit of a ... distraction... and I totally forgot that we were having a test in Psych class today. But I can be comforted in the small fact that even though everyone else studied, we all undoubtedly failed. At least, that was the general consensus.

Then in math class, I told my teacher (the one that half the class has fallen in love with) that I would be gone next Monday (Packer's Game!!!!), and so could we do the test on another day, since he asked what worked better. lol, so he asked me if I was going to the game, and I said, "Well, its all educational - for nursing; See, I have to go, watch a game and report how sports injuries affect adult males."

This impressed my teacher. "Really?" he said in awe. I know he was rethinking his career choice. "That is so cool!"

"No," I laughed, " I was just joking around."

Hmmmm... he was also impressed with the fact that over half of the class (all female) went hunting. And, although he'd been hunting (he said), he had no idea how big a .30 caliber was. Or whether it was a rifle or a shotgun.

Guys that don't know the first thing about hunting, ESPECIALLY in the state of Wisconsin, make me wonder... Let's put it this way. There may be a reason why all the girls flirt with him and he doesn't notice. :P

why does love hurt so much?

Nick and I agreed to be just friends. He says he doesn't want me to have to wait around for two years if it doesn't work out; he doesn't know if it will or not. He just doesn't think I'm being realistic about the future; in a way, I'm not. I keep waiting for him to figure something out. But I know better. I guess I realized from the moment he started using the word "if" that there was no future.

If something means enough to you, ya hang on to it, you don't let it slip though your grasp and watch it slip away. I can't make him care anymore than he does, but it hurts to see just how much I matter. And maybe love just wasn't the problem. Maybe love didn't matter, I don't know? It mattered to me.

Or, maybe I was just a girl, a very ordinary girl, and there are lots of those. Why give up anything to be with a girl when there are other girls out there? I can't blame him. I'm sure he has his own reasons.

But such is life. You live, you learn; you love, you lose. You live, you die. I guess it's all part of a cycle. Life isn't always fair, it isn't always perfect, but there's something to be learned in every experience.

I haven't learned what that is yet, but at least I haven't lost my faith in all this. Strange how your heart can be shattered by something, yet your faith can remain intact. But, I guess I have to keep that; I have to believe in something, because my life was just starting to be built around something that just totally crumbled.

Maybe it was never really there in the first place. But I think... I thought we had something. I just don't know anymore.

my life is strange...

Diana lives in the posh neighborhood, nicknamed "Snob Hill". Everyone there dresses perfect, and drives $30,000 cars. Not only does my car look out of place in this neighborhood, her landlord's wife shudders when my car parks by the property.

So when I see a kid with an Afro dressed as Superman walking down the road with a group of his buddies, a bunch of kids that looked too normal to live in that neighborhood. So of course I do a double take. And the kid in the superman suit sees me staring at him and decides it must be because I have the hots for him.

So as I drove down the street after leaving Diana's house; the kid jumps into the road and I have to stop. Being the posh neighborhood that it is, this doesn't bother me, and I roll down my window to see what he wants.

"I'm Black Man," he says.

"You gonna be Dead Man, if you keep running in the street," I tell him.

"No," he says, "I'm Black Man, I can't die."

I tell him I don't think he should test that theory and to get off the street. He doesn't want to get off the road, he wants to talk to me. His friends are laughing, and so is Diana. He asks me where I'm going and I tell him I'm going to a friend's house to see a movie, and he wants to know what movie.

So I tell him I'm going to see Minority Report, and he says, "oh, yeah, with Mel Gibson," at which point, his friends' laughter increases. At this point, "Black Man's" superpowers are overcome with human embarrassment and he rejoins his friends.

Diana can't stop laughing. No, I'm NOT wonder woman in disguise. But I have the last laugh...

Later on that night, a bunch of us decide to go to the movies. But Diana has groceries, and has to drop them off at home first. So we are late; I tell her to hurry.

She doesn't get back to the car for about ten minutes. She is also limping and a scowl is in her face. Apparently she had fallen down the stairs in her haste to get to her apt, and her groceries went flying down the stairs ahead of her. They all landed in a heap at the bottom, although I think Diana was a bit more dented than her ice cream and pizza pockets.

So, when she got back to the car, it was my fault, as I had told her to hurry. She did not appreciate the fact that I found the whole situation quite humorous.

However, the movie soon distracted her and she forgot about her bruised knee until I gleefully told the story to the girls at church. Back came the scowl. However, I did have to stop, because Rebecka took sympathy on her.

I'm going to get her some yellow "CAUTION" tape for Christmas though. That way she can mark the steps, patio doors...

Patio doors, now that's another good story.... hmmmm...