because linear thought is for chumps!!!

Some days, a Bulleted List With No Real Point even feels too orderly and restrictive. So I'm just gonna throw it all up here and that's that. If you can follow along, well done - it's better than I can do.

On the way home from work today I had all sorts of stuff on my mind (including Georgia, but not the girl or the state, but I would never actually say "Georgia on my mind" even if I am talking about a devastated post-Cold War European country. Except for that one time right there.). Anyway, stuff on my mind, right, and then I popped out with, "Some days you want to spray your neighborhood with machine gun fire and some days you just want to go home and smoke a bowl with Bono." And on days like today, I want to do both. Smoke a bowl with Bono, wheee!

This just in: Creepy Albanian dude with the peach fuzz mustache who always reeks of curry and has worked at my gas station forever seems to have been permanently replaced by a really cute American dude who smells like Drakkar Noir (shaddup) and has both ears pierced. Wheee! I like that "both ears pierced" thing on cute guys because of the long-time imaginary love affair I had with Jordan from New Kids On The Block. (shaddup) I loved Jordan but rocked out to Axl, so I was still pretty bad ass.

I knew that Cute Guy was working there because I saw him before, but not during this shift. Our relationship got off to a fantastic start...I bought a carton of cigs and he says, "What's your favorite color?" I thought to myself, "Don't say orange - you'll have to explain yourself!" so I said "purple". He gave a cute-boy scowl and said, "That's everyone's favorite color." I said, "It's not, really. It's orange. Followed by grey. Third is brown." He gave me that, "Ooookkkaaay" look and handed me a free-with-purchase-of-carton orange lighter. Wheee!

Today I got a carton of cigs and he gave me a funny look and said, "You can pick whatever lighter you want." I started to make a joke about the lighter with the Lee Greenwood quote on it but didn't. I just grabbed another orange lighter and left. He remains cute and unstinky, but I think I'm going to go to a different gas station from now on.

In kindergarten, we had these really huge pencils that had no erasers on the top. Because it was a poor school district, that's why. Every morning, the teacher would put a Pringles can filled with six pencils at someone's chair (we were six kids to a table) and that day it would be that kids' responsibility to pass them out. I loved when it was me, because the smell of graphite mixed with remnants of Cheez Ums was really quite special. I only mention that because I know the name of the metal band that holds the eraser to the pencil - it's called a ferrule. The plastic band at the end of a shoelace is called an aglet. I know all sorts of important stuff that you don't - like what it smells like to mix Cheez Ums with graphite. Hell, I've known that since I was five years old! At this rate, it'll take you years to catch up. Use this weekend to study.

I'm not mentioning this to name-drop - okay, maybe I am a little - but in my cell phone I have the direct numbers to two Senators, an Ambassador, a UN dude, a USDA dude, a tribal King and a couple of other seriously important people. Why do I mention this? Because sooner or later, I'm going to drunk dial the wrong damn person. I know just know it. It's like Cellular Russian Roulette. I know I was born with the words "international incident" written all over me, but man, this is almost too good to be true. Stay tuned as I unravel years of bridge building!

Who gave me this job, anyway? What did they think was going to happen to my sociopathic tendencies over time - that they'd just go away? I've been fertiziling and watering and playing Chopin to my sociopathic tendencies for years so that they'll grow into a full fledged monstrosity of Just Generally Destroying Things. I've invested too much into it to just abandon them onto the compost pile, I can tell you that much for free.

Speaking of USDA - if you're talking to a guy whose job it is to inspect plants to see if they're safe for exportation, a good nickname for him is Aphid David. Especially if his real name is Carl. He'll get a right good kick out of that.

On the other hand, "Carl the Bastard" is not a good name for anyone who holds public office, no matter what their name is.

My son could say "Weezer" before "mama". His first full sentence was, "Daddy says shush!" My reply to his first sentence was, "Yeah, and mommy says it, too!" My reply to the first time he busted out with "mama mama mama mama" was, "Can we shush a little, please?" Chez Yates - now with 40% more shush!

I thought that everyone simultaneously decided to not like me or read me anymore (let's hear it for good taste, whee!), but then I realized I'd accidentally deleted my sitemeter and my referrer script. I think it happened during Project Blog when I took down my picture and archives and all that stuff. In case anyone who knew me from work checked in. It was funny because we received a note in a Project Blog donation the other day (hi Jennifer! Thanks for the donation - your penmanship is amazing!) and the gal who processes the donations says, "What's Project Blog?" except she pronounces it like blahhhzjuh. Either that, or with a J for a G. That would have been easier to say than to spell it out phonetically. But I love phoenics and all the Phoenicians have done for civilization! (Have I impressed you yet, Jennifer? I've probably misspelled a million things already but am too lazy to look it up, but screw it cuz I got nuthin but love for the Phoenicians. It sounds like what it looks like, wheee!) So anyway, I was worried about her looking it up and reading my archives, but she won't. She did, however, call me a geek. Oh yeah? Well why don't you just go be rich and hang out on the beach in Mexico or something, you rich, tanned, blonde rich girl who doesn't even know what a blog is!

Oh yeah, swish.

I've had a long, long week. And now I'm upset that I will probably never get a chance to smoke a bowl with Bono. That's what I get for letting my dreams get away from me.

Can we all just shush it for a minute? I have an Ambassador to text. ()

this is a test - this is only a test

El bloggo temporarily closed for maintenance.

Be back shortly.

you heard it here first

Barack Obama will be our first black president.

update: He has a blog.

That is all ye know, and all ye ever need know. ()

my, this is awkward

It should surprise no one that I am a complete asshole. Sometimes I feel physical pain due to my extreme assholitry. Like how Chris Farley did that, "Stupid, I'm so stupid!" thing? I do something similar, except I hug myself around the waist and rock back and forth whimpering, "I'm such an asshole."

It's kinda my thing.

But you know what always helps to take the sting off of my own idiocy? When I can bust someone else out for being an asshole. Which I did today, and in spades.

Lies are a funny thing, aren't they? It's one thing if you have your own little secret lie, but it's another thing if you have to involve another party. I was privy to the truth and the lie in this case. It was a, "Hey, I have to lie to Oblivious Dude, so if he asks would you back me up?" I'm like, whatever, he's not going to ask me. I put it out of my mind.

But girl in question, Liar Girl, started to believe her own lie and forgot who actually knew the truth. She was sitting in my office today telling this huge, elaborate lie story - the lie story constructed for the sake of deceiving exactly one person - until the look on my face must have reminded her that I knew the truth. She kind of stopped mid-sentence and flustered around, giving it, "So, yeah, that's the story I'm going with now. Does it sound believable?"

I'm all in her face giving it, "Dude, you are SO busted! You were just sitting here lying to my face! Wow, you're such an asshole - I really can't believe how much of an asshole you are. Sitting here, lying to me, me being the guy, remember, that's supposed to cover for you should Oblivious Dude ask me. That's just rotten."

I should have been stern and caring and said, "Now, Liar Girl, this is the kind of thing that will make me distrust you. I need to be able to trust you, but how can I when you lie to me so readily? Now tell me what this is really all about."

But I didn't, because I'm a crappy manager and I love to bust people out for being assholes.

Hey, at least it wasn't me - this time.

Made my day, that did. ()

you call him a moron and he just sits there moronily

Aw, man! What a sucktastic day it's turned out to be, and it's not even lunch time yet. Not that I usually take a lunch, mind, but I use that as a measure of the day.

I'm swamped with things to do but I just went, "Okay, you know what? I'm going to close my door now and sit in the dark and listen to some jazz for a while."

I've lost three months worth of marketing research already this morning. Well, not "lost" it, per se, as I didn't have it to begin with. I thought I had it - I made it clear to everyone how important it was - but I guess when I speak I sound like the teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons. "When a donation comes in and there's a swipe of color on the remittance envelope, make sure you enter the color in the 'color' column so I can measure our marketing effectiveness and cost per dollar raised." Simple, right?

So this morning, "Would you run me the numbers on the blue campaign?" Blank look. "Oh, so instead of writing in the actual color in the 'color' column, you simply put an X if there was any color. I see. I kind of liked my idea, but you're right - your way is much easier. Well done."

Then there was, "Yes, I agree that hazelnut is rather tasty, but next time let's not put the flavored creamer directly into the coffee pot, okay?" And, "I understand that you want to help, but don't you think it'd be faster for me to just forklift the twenty tons of rice rather than us unload it by hand onto carts, then re-pallet the bags in the other room?" Oh, and my favorite..."Can you please explain to me why you moved that forklift over there and let the battery die? I now have no way to move it back over here to the charger. No, we cannot forklift the forklift." So now I have a dead forklift in the middle of the warehouse, and will have to have the battery charger guy come out and put an extension on the thing so it will reach.

In every case, I got a mumbled, "Sorry". Like children! It got so bad that I actually said, "Listen, mommy's got a headache right now, can we keep it down a bit?"

I wanna go home. Today is too much torture for me.

Muh wah wuh wawa wu. ()

but i don't want any damn vegetables

This is why you shouldn't drink pickle juice...at least, my mother always blamed my severe anemia on my drinking of pickle juice. "It thins your blood! There's so much sodium!"

Well, whatever. At least I don't get bitten by mosquitoes.

I've had severe anemia my entire life. I used to have to take these vicious little green iron pills and eat more than my fair share of beef liver to keep me balanced. These days, a few pints of Vitamin G (Guinness) does the trick.

But lately I haven't been drinking any, nor do I take any pills. I certainly am not lining up any beef liver dinners in the immediate future. Which means that any small bump means an enormous bruise. I once showed Andy how easily I bruised by telling him to grab me by the wrist. His squeeze on my wrist had about the same pounds of pressure per square inch as your typical handshake, but within moments I had a lovely purple ring around my wrist. Which I then blackmailed him with.

"Oooh, you'd better be nice to me, or else I'm going to show the cops how you grabbed me on my wrist! They'll measure your hand, and the marks on my wrist, and then you'll go to jail!"

Ah, true love. Innit it just swell?

This is the face (arm?) of severe anemia. This is my fax machine bruise.



Lovely, huh? And that thing is about, what, nearly five days old? My bruises last so long that I give them names. This one is Garry. That's Garry with two Rs. He's kind of fussy about that whole thing.

So let this be a lesson for you. Don't drink pickle juice.

Today at the store I felt ever so very Courtney Love. That's not such a nice feeling, really. If you think this one is bad, you should see the one on my butt. Again, fax machine bruise. Thank you, fax machine that I tripped over - thank you straight to hell. ()

well that was fun

I think it's obvious that I should never, ever try to stay up all night. I get too cranky. The ironic thing is that I ended up staying awake until nearly seven anyway, but I couldn't go on.

The attempt wasn't in vain - made some dosh, spread the word and all of that. I suppose I can't complain. (Oooh, how very Minnesotan of me!) There were a lot of really good people on the front lines trying to keep me awake and entertained, and I thank them. I'll thank them properly when my brain has engaged.

I am really suffering today. I cried so much last night that my face is swollen to the point where, were I to go out in public, people would think I had Botox injections.

I cried for a lot of reasons, one of which is that I'm too emotionally invested in the whole thing. People have warned me about that, about the risks. You have to be clinical about it. And I'm not. But I should be.

So anyway, I'm going to consume copious amounts of coffee and do everything today that I should have been doing yesterday.

To be honest, I kind of like this Botox eyes look. I didn't realize how badly my crows feet were coming in until this morning. Funny, that.

that's all folks!

I've decided I'm going to bed. I don't need to stay up to prove my commitment. I do it all the time.

Best of luck to anyone else who is up and doing their project blog thing. Anyone who committed to me can retract - fine, whatever.

But I'm no good to anyone if I'm exhausted, so.

I know where my heart is. I know what I do. That's all that matters at the end of the day, right?

Sitting on my ass for 24 hours does not quailfy as "activism".

I don't know. I just don't know. And neither do you, so. ()

i gotta tell ya the truth

I'm really a whole lot disappointed by my showing here. I give mad props to the folks who have pimped me and have pledged and donated and have helped keep me awake - I so freaking love you beyond belief, it's not even true - but I really thought this would bring us in more bank than it has. I can only blame myself for my poor showing - I mean, how can you not want to help dying kids? - and I honestly don't know what I've done wrong. Wrong venue, wrong whatever. It just really makes me sad.

Don't get me wrong here - the people who have pledged to me have made a huge fucking impact. But still. I just thought, ya know? I guess I don't understand how people can not get fired up about it. My lip is sticking out and I'm crying right now - which is my wont when I'm dealing with things from work - and I just...I dunno.

I work seven days a week. I work all day. Because I totally have to. I don't get paid for any of that extra - hell, I don't want to be paid - and I get a piss poor wage for my working hours. I've turned down raises even though my pay is donated. I've asked that company to donate my raise to the non-profit.

This is a real fucking solution. This could help so many, many people.

The World Food Program feeds people beans and rice for nineteen cents per meal. We feed a nutritionally complete meal for twenty-three cents per meal.

We're beating the UN at their own freaking game!

You know, you can blog for whatever charity you choose, but when your cause is Asthmatic Gimpy-Legged Hairless Cats for Bush or whatever - I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to tear you down.

All charities are not built the same. We are not equal. And I know what the money that comes into my charity does, and can do.

Do you?

Or is this a "once a year" thing for the cause du jour? Where do you stand in your tax returns for charitable contributions? Do you exceed the allowable? Do you lie? What do you do?

Now, I'm no saint. I'll own that. But I cry and hit walls and and as am elevated and as pummelled as a soul can be every fucking day. Every day! That's not an exaggeration. I'm on the front lines for you just as much as Random Black People Overseas. Because guess what? It's all a part of our world. It's the future of our children.

If you don't understand the impact of having countries survive - then I'm sorry, just go now and never darken the doorstep of this here blog ever again. Not that that's a huge issue for someone who thinks that way - the internet is infinite! - but I don't, really, really don't, want callous people to even know me, or know of me, let alone hang out here in my space.

This is what I do. Nay, this is who I am. I feed starving people. I save lives. I solve problems. You can hmmm and haaww all you want, but at the end of the day, what I do makes a fucking difference. I see it every day.

I wish you had a fraction of what I have, I honestly do. I honestly do.

I'm not a super hero; I just give a shit. ()

post haste post...haste.

Oh shut up and cut me some slack, whydontcha - I'm blogging for charity, yo.

So let me show you, once again, two of my most favoritest things in the world.

A finger monkey, and a monkey flipping the finger.

Enjoy!





If you were looking for quality, then you have certainly come to the wrong place. But I bet you knew that already. ()

tra la la la

I forgot about it again! I'm trying to put my dogs out and they're absolute bitches - literally - cuz, see, cuz they're girls, so it's okay to say that.

Just a quickie now as I fight with a 140 pounder, a 120 pounder, and my wussy little 40 pounder.

Respectively, they're Stella (named for the beer and for Marlon Brando - I love standing at the back porch screaming, "STEEEELLLLAAA!"), Sasha (cuz she looks all exotic and Bond Girl and Russian an' shit) and Bowie (because she has one blue eye and one black eye).

Did you know that David Bowie's blue eye was the result of going blind during a school yard fight over a girl?

Sigh. Wish it was over me.

No one's ever been beaten blind over me, and that just plain old sucks. ()

now i'm just happy without all that slappin' - can you be happy sans slapping? well, i'm trying

Groovy, babe, just groovy. I am so in love with the world right now. I so love all of you groovy, beautiful people that I have no problem posting one of my fugly pictures.

The issue I have with this one is my nose. My glorious, Jewish nose! Behold, my olfactory capabilities can kick your olfactory capabilities collective asses!

Oh my nose. Bane of my existance. Schnoz extraordinnaire.

My nose.



Yeah, we can get into the whole arena of my hair in another post. One thing at a time, okay? Sheesh, you're so judgmental.

What you can't tell from that photo was that I'd just finished singing the Cowardly Lion's "If I Were King of the Forest" in a Billie Holliday voice. Think about it. ()

i am one slap-happy young lady right here

So I get...hang on. Do you notice how I'm always starting sentences with "so"? "Okay" is another big one. Damn you, Joe Pesci, and your youth appeal!

Where was I? Oh, yeah, so...okay, so I'm slap-happy right now. I'm letting the alcohol fight it out with the caffeine in my system and I really can't tell who's winning, but I'm certainly enjoying the ride for the first time all night.

(Ah, alcohol - the cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems!)

Anyway, so Joan says to me, about my post down there about being a hideous freak, "By the way, I think I can see the Tatum O'Neal thing...from that movie she did with Kristy McNichol. "Little Foxes?" Was that what it was?"

To which I replied, "Oh, you mean the one where she was a whore? Hey, how's about a big THANKS JOAN!"

To which she replied to my reply to her original comment, "Hey, I didn't say you were a whore! You just look like one!"

Oh, how I laughed merrily along my way.

I have the bestest friends of anyone ever in the ever ever.

It's not like I'm drunk - it's, like, fifty times better than drunk. I'm going to do this EVERY night! ()

ooh, ooh, i have a real post!

Okay, so I'm talking to The Mightiest of All The Chops O' Lamb and we're talking about this Guinness ice cream recipe that's floating around. I loves me a bit of Vitamin G but don't care for ice cream.

That's just a personal nugget of info you can store away in your Me Files. It won't be referenced on the quiz or anything, so just relax.

So MLC is talking about these Japanese ice cream flavors - I've seen prawn flavored at the Asian market and thought, "How much worse can it be?" Then MLC says, "The most interesting one was horseflesh." That totally reminded me of something I hadn't thought about in years.

When I was visiting Andy in England back in, what, 1998 or so?, he had this beautiful house right near where the Bronte family lived, yadda yadda, but he let his neighbor keep a horse in the back yard because it was a rather steep hill. Without a horse, there would be no good way to keep the grass cut. I think there were two horses. But anyway.

We were totally, totally broke, but I managed to buy this tin of corned beef and I made this hash out of it. Andy's giving it, "Oh, this is really good, what is it?" I told him, "You don't want to know." And still he kept eating it (that would make me put my fork down, like, "What? You tell me now.") I finally told him that one of the horses from out back had to be put down, and the neighbor sold me some meat for cheap. He goes, "Horse flesh, eh? Tastier than I thought it'd be."

Like it was no big deal if he was eating horse!

Wow, I tell this story a lot better in my head. I was just totally shocked that my husband, who wanted to be a vet, had no problem with eating horse meat.

That's why I don't believe him when he says he didn't eat dog when he was in Thailand. Don't Thai people eat dogs, or is that just Korea?

Still. Dog, horse. That's pretty sick.

I, uh, have had some wine, guys. Just sayin' is all. ()

oops

Here is my mandatory blog entry. It's short because I forgot what I was doing. AGAIN!

Because I am an IDIOT, that's why! And I'm punch drunk, which is kind of like drunk drunk except it's not fun in the slightest!

I'll get over it soon, I hope. For I have chosen to succumb to the call of a nicely chilled white.

You've been warned.

this is too much me, even for me

I've decided that I am officially the least photogenic person on the planet. I don't mean like, "Oh, I'm so ugly" or anything, because all y'all know I think I'm stunning. But it never translates into photos. I either look really, really butch or really, really twelve. Or I look like I have squidgy (it's a real word - shaddup) eyes, or crooked lips. This isn't just the normal, "Ew, that's a bad picture of me" thing that chicks do so well. I mean I look at some of these pictures and go, "Whoa, I'm a load of random features thrown at a face." One eye looks bigger than the other - but they're not different sizes, I swear. My nose looks bulby. My chin is sliding into my neck. I'm caught mid-sneeze. It's just really gross, but I can't stop looking. I keep finding new things to be horrified about.

In real life, I'm actually a little bit on the right side of cute. In photos, I seem to be pleading with my eyes, "I am not an animal!"

Jim Treacher once said that I look like a young Tatum O'Neal, and that was just swell because she was cute, but...again, twelve!

Unless he meant "Paper Moon" Tatum, in which case Jim's just sick and I need to brush my hair.

I'll post some of the more horrifying ones as the night goes on, I'm sure.

Yeah, I'm worried about no one visiting and here I'm threatening to post disgusting photos. What a way to market, eh? ()

am i even doing this thing right?

I keep forgetting why I'm posting every half-hour. I'll start to type something, then go, "Duh, stupid, no one's commenting or interested in the crap you have to say. Just shut up and give it a rest for a while, would ya?" Then I wonder why I'm drinking Diet Coke instead of wine. Then I remember, and look at the clock and think, "Aw man, I'm going to die before I get through this."

This makes no sense! Most weekends I'm looking at the clock going, "Hey, it's going on five a.m. If I don't make myself go to sleep soon, I'm going to end up sleeping the whole day away." But tonight? I'm sitting here counting the minutes until I can crash. My bed has never looked so good.

Thankfully, though, it seems I'm not the only one in this boat. I was hopping around on the Project Blog webring and a lot of people have resorted to a one or two line post with no feedback. So I guess I'm okay, maybe?

I have two things that I think will get me through this, neither of which I want to resort to just yet. One of them is going to the archives of the lovely people who did this last year for inspiration. I think that'd be a good motivator. The other is to hop into the Project Blog chatroom they have going on, but I'm worried that would do more harm than good for me - I have a tendency to try and top people, so if someone says they're tired I'll be all like, "Oh yeah? Well, I'm so tired I'm crying! And hallucinating!" And then I will.

Maybe I'll have to pull a Ulysses and prop my eyelids open with toothpicks.

(Ah, and here come the obscure literary references!)

Snore.

I actually used my first literary reference a while ago - while in an IM I said, "I really like Stevie Ray Vaughn, but he's like the Samuel Taylor Coleridge of blues." Yeah, I'm cool. ()

i've had enough!

Bedtime for bonzos has to happen, and it has to happen now.

I have had it up to here with the twittering of these kids. A really nice smell wafted to my nostrils and the kids were quiet, which (of course) meant that they were painting my walls with cotton balls soaked in cologne. Zoe has told me all about her friend who peed the top bunk and it dripped to the bottom bunk, and how she has a book about rabbits going poop. Nico is just...a monster. I'm totally exhausted just by listening to them, and that just ain't no kind of good.

Dare I risk a nap? Nah. I'll carry on. Because I'm a brave little soldier, that's why.

Toys these days and kids don't come with an "off" button - I'm tempted to make my own. ()

i'm full of all sorts of good ideas

How about this? How about someone sets up a fund to give all of us project blog people free neck and shoulder rubs? Then people can donate to that. I'd be all over a charity like that right now.

I'm sitting here, trying to be productive, but I've realized that it's practically pointless to get up from the computer during the thirty minutes between posts. Because, really, you don't have thirty minutes, do you? You probably only have between fifteen and twenty minutes, tops. That's just not enough time to do anything, really, so here I sit. And it's making me sore.

I'm getting that neck hunch thing going on where it feels like my head is so heavy it's compressing my spine. It's making me wish I knew some yoga or something. Maybe a heating pad would be the ticket? I don't know. What do you do for sore necks besides apply creams that make you smell all old? Or is cold compress the way to go?

I just rolled my head back to stretch my neck, and ewww...cobwebs. That's less than a fifteen-minute job so I guess I get to be productive after all. Go, me!

I'm really running out of things to put in the comments thing here. ()

this is the hardest part

This time of night is the absolute worst. The kids know that bedtime, she cometh, and are acting out in resistance. I'm wanting to crank into that chardonnay but I know better, so it's more pints of Diet Coke. (Hey, if it's good enough for John Edwards, then by gum, it's good enough for me!)

I'm sitting here going, "It can't all be pictures. I need content." I tell Andy, "I think I've run out of things to say." To which he snorts derisively and says, "Not bloody likely."

I guess that since I posted that, I'm technically not out of things to say. But I'm definitely scraping the bottom of the barrel here.

Help me make it through the night. Night, when you guys will be sleeping. I hate you so much. ()

okay, this one isn't so bad

I'm not trying to cheat - I've just found a bunch of pictures from work and I'd like to share a few. I'll post regular stuff, too, but some of these are just fantastic.



This was when we sent a million meals to Afghanistan under "Operation Kabul's Kids". I just think these guys are pretty damn cute, don't you?

See, it's not all gloom and depressing images. Some of it is really heart-warming. ()

i'm tugging the old heart strings here, i know

This is the picture I have on the wall of my office.



Two years old and tipping the scales at ten pounds.

I'm not even going to sully that one up with any of my dumb commentary. ()

i'm all alone out here

So my Project Blog Buddy Sollie is leaving me twisting in the wind. Oh, sure, he called and woke me up this morning, but shortly after that he foolishly broke his toe. So now he has to sit around with his foot up, and his wife won't let him hobble to the computer.

Oh, and even if he makes it to the computer, it's never for long because he has company. Company. When he knew I needed him. So, so wrong.

I asked Mike if he'd stay up all night and keep me company and he gives it, "That's a lot to ask."

I'm going to be all alone in this cold, cruel world! Okay, so I'll be alone in a comfy chair, but still. I need someone to insult via IM.

The search is on.

It's not even dark yet and I'm already worried about spending the night up by myself. ()

and now for something completely different

I eat Cool Ranch Doritos with nacho cheese.

I eat Nacho Doritos with ranch dip.

Cuz I'm a rebel like that. I juxtapose like a mo-fo.

I wish someone would work that line into a rap. That's be sweet.

Also? This one gross thing? When I am eating Cool Ranch chips I like to lick my lips and then blot them on the chips really slowly across the whole thing. I do this with handfuls and handfuls of chips until I have this huge cake of powdered spices on my lips, then I chew it all off.

Ewww!

It looks pretty cool, but it makes my lips burn. Man, that's some tasty stuff right there.

You're revolted, aren't you. Thought so.

It's only seven and already the dirty little secrets come a'spillin'. ()

okay, so this is pretty cool...but now what?

I have received a pledge for a matching grant from a lovely young lady (that I won't mention yet because I don't know if the pledge is on her behalf or her companys') in the amount of $1,000.

But I don't know how to do that. I'm currently peeking around at Project Blog to see how to enter a matching grant and the only way it looks like she can even put it out there is as though it's a straight-up pledge. But then it loses the whole challenge aspect of the thing.

What's a girl to do? Any of you Project Bloggers hopping around on the ring for this post, give me an idea, because I really don't want to waste this.

I don't think I'll hit a grand, but it's nice that someone has faith that I will.

(By the way, those of you who have donated via Paypal directly on the site? You're included in this, too.)

So it's another grand, people. It's kind of like a double-down, or a two-for-one sale. Or something.

If I can just figure out how to do a matching challenge grant.

update: Nevermind - we found a way around it. She's listed as "Matching Challenge Grant" under my sponsors. Note - that is NOT a $1,000 pledge - she'll match everyone else's donations up to $1,000. If it stays at $300, she'll pay $300. Easy concept to get, but I thought I'd clarify.

I've come to my senses and have gone back on Diet Coke. But it'll be beers for breakfast tomorrow, I'm sure. ()

sigh

As much as I love this new Yahoo messenger thing that lets you listen to music, I should probably remove the blues and jazz selections from my station, or else I'll end up crawling up my own butt and getting very emotional.

John Lee Hooker, man:

"Cuz the young kids is the world today."

It's estimated that between 23 and 40 thousand children die from starvation and malnutrition/hunger-related diseases each day. (Even diarrhea is deadly in much of the world.) How long can we sustain this, especially in light of HIV/AIDS spreading like wildfire through Africa? I just don't know, but the thought of entire countries beind decimated - first by HIV/AIDS killing the adults (along with conflict and natural causes, of course) and this many kids dying...

I really, really do need to get the blues off of my selections. Give me some White Stripes or something shallow.

Ah, Stone Temple Pilots! Palatable, radio-friendly rock that's plain old family fun for everyone. Yeah, that's the ticket. ()

focus, me. it's about sudan, remember

My focus, in case you missed it, is feeding the starving. But it goes far, far beyond that.

My current project is to help rebuild Sudan. I know, I know - their political system is their biggest stumbling block. It's kind of hard to do anything when the system is witholding food and raping people by means of keeping the people in line through terrorism. But if you only think of that aspect of it, it will cause an impotence and apathy when a more fitting response would be to try twice as hard to help fix things. (Note: for a run-down of what all the fuss is about please go here and, at the very least, read the list of headlines.)

My boss has been to 32 countries all across the world. He stood on the side of a river in Haiti that was so thick with human waste that you could stand a stick in it upright and it would stay. People were living on the banks of this river and using it as a toilet. He's been to hospitals in Liberia where (as is common in many African hospitals) there was no feeding taking place. If you couldn't feed your child, you would abandon it at a hospital to die because then, at least, they would have treatment for their pain. He's seen some horrible, blood-curdling things.

But the worst, by far, was his time in Sudan.

He arrived in Juba and traveled up the White Nile to Khartoum. Along the way he saw people being killed, he saw military personnel raping women, he saw a child, skeletal, collapse and die right before his eyes. He'd shipped tons and tons of food into Sudan via Uganda and as he was on his way to the feeding center they'd established, he, his driver and security detail were all attacked. The food was seized and people were literally ripping open the bags and eating handfuls of uncooked rice and soy. (Soy is pretty tough on the old system if it's not cooked.) My boss tried to stop them, to explain that he'd cook it for them if they'd just wait a second, and he lost a finger for his troubles. He was lucky to only lose that.

We shipped food in after that through Voice of the Martyrs just once. It took too much out of my boss, emotionally, to face his experiences in Sudan. This is a very strong man, one of the strongest I've ever met, and he couldn't deal with it. So it was ignored for less desperate places. Desperate in their own right, but not such that women and children are being beaten, raped and killed in the streets during daylight by military men.

Until me. I got all fired up about Sudan and met with an Ambassador last week who spent the last six months walking up and down Sudan, documenting the needs. We're working together now to get emergency food, medicine and clothing to the people via a complex underground railroad of sorts (to escape detection of the government - we do that stuff all the time) and we've cultivated a long-term plan for water filtration (via solar power - it's a very cool system), wind generator systems, fish farms, well drilling, oil drilling (they do have quite a few oil reserves in western Sudan in particular - just no way to get the oil out) and mining. It will all come in time, provided we can secure the funds.

I'm rushing this to get it out by 5.30, but you get the idea. There's more about water pipelines, solar ovens, corn as a heating fuel, etc. but I'll probably touch on all of that later.

That's the gist of where my heart is right now. That's the reason I'm doing this.

The posts won't all be like this, I promise. I'll get back to reviewing various potato chips soon, I'm sure. ()

i can't believe i ate the whole thing

At this rate, my junk food isn't going to last all night. I've already had to change from my cute pants into my "Dexy's Midnight Runners" overalls. I call them "Dexy's" because the clasp on one side is broken, but they're really just "Winnie the Pooh and Tigger, too!" bibs. They're cute - shaddup.

Did I fail to mention the bag of fun-sized peanut butter cups I bought? Well, they're hardly worth mentioning now that I've reduced them to so many orange wrappers.

By the way - Old Dutch is the most badass potato chip makers on the planet. First, the rockingest dill pickle potato chip ever, and now their roasted chicken. I'm predicting they'll be the company that starts producing cheese and onion, roast beef, and smokey bacon flavors - varieties previously unknown in the US, but abundant in the UK. Oh, and prawn flavored! Okay, so I can get prawn flavored at our local Thai market but still.

Old Dutch rocks, man. No argument. I'm probably going to write them a letter telling them so.

The beer won, by the way. Now I really have to pace myself. ()

whatever gets you through the night

I went to the gas station down the road and purchased myself a nice bulk lot of junk food. Roasted chicken potato chips, Cool Ranch Doritos, nacho cheese, four Hershey's S'Mores bars, a bag of Pull and Peel Twizzlers, a jumbo bag of regular Twizzlers and a carton of smokes. Oh, and a gallon of milk. The clerk looked at my haul and said, "What, is there a prison guard you need to bribe or something?"

I then made the mistake of saying, "No, I'm staying up all night to blog for charity." Blank stares. "Blog. Web log. On the internet." So this guy who could easily be mistaken for a clone of Comic Book Guy looks down his nose at me and says, "What, you're hanging around in chat rooms all night? That's pretty geeky."

I wanted to say something clever, but then I noticed they had dried meat sticks on sale. Two for a dollar, man! They're good for what ails ya...and for giving you wicked indigestion that's sure to keep you up all night.

I desperately want to crack a beer but I know that will mean certain death for my efforts. But hey, I've already soiled my efforts, right? What harm could it do? (Famous last words, I'm sure.) ()

this is what gets to me

So my group today - now, we get groups in to package for a variety of reasons. A lot of schools here require community service. Some of them are there by order of the court. Some of them are church groups.

My favorites are the court-ordered groups. These are kids that are totally on the skids - low self-esteem, abusive homes, whatever. At the end of a court-ordered packaging event when I tell the kids (usually girls - the guys opt to pick up trash by the roadside) how many meals they've just produced the effect is amazing. There's a tangible, positive thing they've done and it moves them such that I see many of these girls over and over again, voluntarily. I have a whole group of them who come in every Wednesday to help with the office work. They're amazing.

My least favorite? Church groups. They tend to be the absolute snottiest little jerks going. I should rephrase that - from the age of about twelve to seventeen is the worst. The smaller kids are amazing, but the older they get the worse they are.

This church does a "thirty hour famine" each year where the teens fast for thirty hours. They break the fast by cooking up some of the food that we produce. It should be a pretty powerful message, right? Wrong. When I cooked up a bag of the stuff today (we do that so the groups can sample what they're producing) one kid said, "Oh, is that the crap we had after our fast? No way, that stuff is gross."

It's chicken flavored rice with soy. What's so gross about it?

"Oh, all that nasty soy. I hate that stuff."

Oh, you mean the stuff that they make Bac-Os out of? Yeah, nasty. No one eats "gross" stuff like that. The soy in our packet is the same stuff as Bac-Os, except ours is fortified. Same stuff - read the label.

So that ticked me off. But what really got me was when I was giving the kids all brochures to take home, one little smart mouth snorted and said, "Well, at least I got something out of it."

Come here and let me slap you around the head for a minute, okay? Man, that made me mad.

Spoiled little rich kids who are going to grow up to be apathetic adults are what's wrong with this world. It's not enough that you guys just packaged four thousand meals - you have to "get something out of it". Thanks for messing up my Saturday for nothing, kids. It really warms my heart.

Honestly, I'd have rather stood there and packaged the food myself than to deal with that sour attitude. It makes the whole thing feel like a waste of time. ()

i'm a miserable failure. yep, definitely a miserable failure

The task was so simple. Blog every half hour for 24 hours. And what did I do? I totally went and messed it up.

I have to come clean here - I didn't manage to blog during my packaging event. That was all him. I usually have time during events to sit and rest for a while, but not today. Between the group not being able to figure out how to refill their own rice tub (I had a six foot tall teenager just stand there as I hoisted a fifty pound bag of rice over my head to fill the bin and he didn't help at all, nor say 'thank you', thinking on it) to Zoe and Nico freaking out on each other, to my boss telling me, "You have to supervise the group every single second!" (his speech isn't so great since the stroke, so he keeps a low profile) I had no time at all. It was all I could do to bark at Andy, "Update me!"

So there's the truth of the matter. If you hate me and want to retract your support, I totally understand.

Not like you couldn't tell it wasn't me. Even I don't use the word "yo" that often, and I never do that, "I'm going to ask a question in my post just to make you comment" things. Nor do I capitalize anything in my titles. Sigh - it's like my own husband doesn't know me at all. ()

right on track

Okay, home now after hitting a detour. This is my three o'clock post, so I'll hurry up and publish this and start working on my three-thirty post. Then I'm all caught up in my posting payments and we can get down to business.

Honestly, though, no one really cares about the daytime stuff, do they? It's all about the two a.m. business when you being to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Or maybe start taking dares, I dunno.

Anyway, here's three o'clock at three-twenty. Sorry 'bout that.

Done

Leaving now - see you in another thirty.

Hope y'all haven't fallen asleep yet. I nearly did.

And how is your day going?

Mine is beyond stressful. The kids are starting to get a little stir-crazy now. Which involves screaming and moaning.

It can't really have been thirty minutes since the last update. When I get home, I will attempt to return to my usually wordy self.

Better than Willie Nelson, yo. ()

This train is arriving approximately four minutes late

My stupid husband doesn't know very much about computers at all. He still hasn't figured out what the problem is. Duh.

Well it would have been four minutes late were it not for the children.

On our way in today, the lights changed to red and the guy at the side of me started to slow down, then at the last minute, just when you thought he was about to stop, he floors it and goes through at an incredible 20 mph. Great move.

This is harder than I thought.

Better than Elvis, yo. ()

Same as it ever was

Consider yourselves blogged for this half hour.

Trying to manage a packaging event while blogging ever thirty minutes (cough, cough) should only be attempted by Gods and super heros. Fortunately, I am both.

I smell of rice, yo. What do you smell of? ()

Oops

So my group are packaging away merrily. The kids are playing and Andy is pretending to be a geek by installing his wizzy software. Only he's not succeeding. Much cursing of Bill Gates is occuring and we don't do cursing here for fear of being struck down.

See you in 30(ish.)

Much suckmongoussness, yo. ()

pant, pant, pant

I'm here! Don't count me tardy!

Now get off my neck and let me work - I have a group in, dontcha know?

I'll take photos so you can see what it is I do. But later.

Later!

much slack-cuttage required

Okay, this is tougher than I thought. My next post is going to be a little bit late, but it's pretty difficult to get the kids and myself ready to go out at the best of times, let alone when there's a time limit.

He only just got into the shower, so it's doubtful that I'm going to make it to work in a half hour. Hope you understand.

I'll be late for my own funeral, I swear. ()

there's no way i'm going to make it

How can I be so sure? Because I just accidentally almost grabbed a Becks without even thinking.

Now I have to get myself and the kids ready by 11 so I can make it in to work by 11.30 to update this thing and prep for my noon packaging group. Life gets really stressful when you break it up into thirty-minute chunks, doesn't it?

Busy busy busy.

My son is on my lap and dancing to the sound of me typing. 24 hours of this stuff, people. Twenty four hours.

People should sponsor me to shut up, is what they should do. ()

that just makes no kind of sense

Why do co-workers feel it's appropriate to call me at nine-thirty in the morning on a Saturday to talk about work? And the phrase, "Do we have any more of those little plastic 'Jesus Loves You' crosses? I need some for my trip to Gaza." should probably never be uttered.

Just sayin' is all.

Have I really been doing this for three hours already? Time flies when you're talking rubbish, eh? ()

oh, and another thing...liberians? they're all insane

So we get our shipping done for free through the Department of Defense, right, and they have certain restrictions about what they'll ship. Like nothing religious, anti-government (anti any government) and, like, no fridges and crap. So this Liberian chick (I shouldn't call her that - she's a wonderful woman, really) calls me up and says she wants us to help her ship some stuff independent of what we're sending. She's paying for it but doesn't have the mad-azz connections in transportation like I do.

Okay, I'll help. What do you want to send? "I want to send clothes, and shoes, and a fridge." Uh, okay, gotcha. Fridge. Anything else? "Yeah. A car and a truck. And the extra computer you have in your office. And the desk that you're not using. And the extra fax machine you tripped over in the warehouse."

She didn't actually know I tripped - I just threw that in as a reference. She does want the fax machine in the warehouse. And my "extra" office equipment. So what that I have two computers in my office? I need two computers in my office. Because I'm too lazy to put the old one on the network and sponge the files.

But who does that? Who just calls up and not only asks you to arrange their private shipping to west Africa, but also wants you to fill the container with your own stuff?

I really hope the truck she mentioned isn't mine. I should ask about that.

Side-note: To whomever just called me (it must have been a blogging friend because I have no real friends) you should note that not only do I not pick up if caller ID is blocked but I also do not check my voice mail. It's just not in a superhero's nature. ()

this is what i'm talking about

So my four-year-old, Zoe, woke up and stumbled around for a bit, then noticed I was in the computer room. She comes tearing it down the hall in total panic stations and says, "Mommy, you're late!" I told her I wasn't late, that I don't have to go into work until later. She was still kind of freaking out and said, "But, mommy, the truck is still in the driveway and you're still drinking your coffee!" Yes, dear, I'm not going into work until noonish.

With wide eyes and the most incredulous look on her face, she gasped, "So you're not late for anything right now?"

No, smart aleck. I'm not late for anything. In fact, this post is three minutes early - go, me!

There's no point in being punctual when there's no one there to appreciate it. ()

random nothing post because i'm pacing myself

Last night Andy got very, very upset with me because I made him bring in the dog when he had no pants on.

Andy, I mean. Not the dog. The dog was fully clothed.

What do you think we are, heathens?

Four down...44 to go! ()

crazy wordy

I feel like I'm totally chained here, like I should start typing a new post as soon as the last one is published. Time really is relative. A half hour until quitting time just creeps by, but a half hour in bed just flies. My husband is remarkably comfy for one so angular, and I'm sorely disappointed to be up and away from that.

Yesterday I tripped over a fax machine in a warehouse. It's not every day that you can say that, so I thought I'd share. I have the most remarkable bruise on my arm and my butt. Forty shades of purple, my tush.

Wow, I just blinked my eyes for a little bit too long and fell asleep just then. Watch, I'll do it again.









See that? That was me, sleeping. Sleeping. Like the rest of you are. Except for Solonor, but he's a freak. (I only say that because you and I are the only ones here, guy. So you're my punching bag. Or my whoopee cushion. Either way.)










Wow, that one was a long sleep. Better get some coffee.

Or maybe I'll just chew some beans. ()

man, that was quick!

Fastest thirty minutes in the history of all the thirty minutes!

I need to pace myself.

I am totally not a morning person. Everyone knows this. Andy said, "There's no way you're getting up at seven."

Then when Sollie gave me my wake-up call (mad props to my homey in the F-L-A! Yes, I did just say that - I'm going to be up for 24 hours so I can do a lot of things that you're not gonna like) I said, "This is me in the morning. Charming, right?" and he said, "I'm surprised by your general lack of swearing." And that was just swell.

He also informs me that it's against the rules to just cut a check to cover my pledges and go back to bed. Cuz he's all ethical an' stuff.

Isn't it funny that bloggers idea of social activism involves sitting on your ass? "But I'm doing it for the whole day, man! 24 hours, cuz I'm EXTREME!"

There's a huge hole in the entire idea. But hey, I don't judge. Because I'm better than you, and that would be wrong of me.

Is it tomorrow yet? ()

you mean to tell me there's a seven AM?!?

I'm up.

This sucks.

It's Saturday.

My eyes aren't even open yet.

Thanks to the one who is listed as Smeghead in my phone, I am awake. He made coffee but isn't sharing, and I'm pretty sure they were eating pancakes, too.

What kind of family does that? Gets up on a Saturday morning and eats pancakes?

Crazy people, that's who.

So this is installment one for my Project Blog thingummy. My fingers feel like big fat sausages.

Thank you, and good night!

It'll get better, I swear. At least, I hope. ()

faster than a tall building, able to leap over speeding bullets in a single bound

As per usual, I've over-committed myself. Because I'm a superhero, that's why - it's just what we do.

Not only am I doing Project Blog tomorrow but I am also going to be hosting a packaging event at work. It'll be okay, because I can get to work in a half-hour and it's only a two-hour event. I'll just have to take some time out of the event to update a couple of times. Should be okay.

Trouble is, after a packaging event I am always exhausted and in dire need of a nap.

Because I'm lazy person, that's why - it's just what we do.

So if anyone in the area wants to come on down and see what we do here, feel free to stop in from noon to two. Package some food, make a difference, feel good about yourself, yadda yadda yadda.

The next time you shall hear from me it will be tomorrow morning (morning!!! what did I agree to?!?) and I'll be a'bloggin' for charity.

Who's Charity?

My charity!

Ah, man, if I'm this stupid during the middle of the afternoon just imagine how I'll be when four a.m. rolls around.

You've been warned.

I'm really only doing Project Blog to have an excuse to sleep all Sunday. Because it's the day of REST, you know. ()

it makes sense to me, at least

I will christen this entry "YAP" for "yet another phobia". Okay, so that's the first time I've ever used that acronym, and it's not a very good one, but run with it already, would ya? I had a long day.

Anyway, another phobia. Right.

When I'm driving, I cannot stand to be the last guy through the light. Wait, that's not entirely true - I'm fine being the last guy through the light before it turns red as long as I'm a part of a cluster of vehicles. If I'm lagging behind the herd, I get a funny tingle in the back of my head like I'm expecting a pack of hyenas to jump me from behind and take me down by the neck as though I were a lame zebra. I hate, hate, hate being far behind the herd - it's an indication of weakness, you see, and the other animals can smell it.

I can't simply slow down to become the leader in the next herd through the lights, because that takes too long. I'd be out there in limbo land, looking like I was a scout doing recon for the upcoming herd. See, just as vulnerable as being a lagger.

So I have to speed to catch up. Makes sense to you and me, right?

Then why are the Brooklyn Center P.D. so incredulous?

(Sometimes in my daily life I am met with so many blank stares that I want to say, "Just read my blog, fer cryin' out loud!" Am I right, people?

Okay, so maybe that's just me.)

Man, do I hate driving. It's too complicated. There's the merging, the lane shifts, the application of make-up, the consumption of coffee, the changing of the radio station, the steering with my knees, the cell phone calls to make, and also making sure I don't get taken down by mad hyenas.

Sometimes, a commute is the toughest job you'll ever love.

I think I made a wise decision to not share my theory of why it's justifiable homicide to kill someone simply for wearing a puka shell necklace with the cop. He just has no kind of vision, yo. ()

even if a mixed metaphor sings, it should be derailed

Now, I've always been a bit of a lad. You're shocked, I know. But it's true.

It's the fault of my dad and my brother - two of the coolest guys on the planet. I wanted to be just like them. I have this vague recollection of my dad and brother standing in the kitchen rubbing their Adam's apples. I jumped up and said, "I have an Adam's apple, too!" They laughed at me and said I had an Eve's apple. I was crushed.

So I guess, instead of having penis envy, I have apple envy. But my brother turned out to be gay so I don't know what that says about all of that.

Most of the time I pull off being a lad quite well. I out-butch Andy in the shoot-em-up movies category, I out-sci-fi many guys I know, I eat like a man, drink like a man, and pee with the seat up like a man.

Okay, so that last one is a personal thing that I'm working on. Still.

For a woman in business this is often times a good thing - being able to hold your own and all that. Now, if you work with primarily geriatric Christian men? Less so.

I have sat in meetings with white-haired little old men who assume I'm there for their coffee order. I have been called both "toots" and "purty young gal" on two non-consecutive occassions. I have had my tush pinched. But in a friendly, "Aren't you a purty young gal, toots? Now fetch me a cup of coffee" kind of way.

But they're growing on me. I'm learning to communicate in a whole new way. You should listen to a group of old men speak to one another - it's like a whole other language.

Okay, a little back info - if you work in the non-profit sector you have a tendency to attract...shall we say "unsavory" types who think they can get rich off of the cause-related marketing. They're pretty easy to spot and even easier to put down. Easy for me, that is, because I don't give a crap. If you're out to hurt my program I will slay you - end of story. But elderly Christian men tend to believe in the best in us all, praise the Lord, despite evidence to the contrary.

There's this guy who's kind of a hanger-on to the program. I don't trust him and I don't think anyone else should, either. Call it women's intuition, I don't know. I'm trying to voice my concerns to someone and I blurt out this absolutely fabulous example of How To Talk Like An Old Man. Observe:

You probably want to think twice about hitching your wagon there too close to his horse, or else you're likely to get tarred with the same brush that's aimed for him.

Oh man, am I giddy over that statement. That came from me. I said that! Made it up right out of my own mind, I did. The best part? My meaning was totally understood. There was much chin-rubbing in that meeting after I threw that little gem onto the table, let me tell you.

So it looks like I've brought my lad-ness to a whole new level. I'm just like one of the guys, only I look better in a skirt than most of them.

Except that brother of mine. Man, his legs are fantastic.

Hitch your wagon...oh man, that was a little bit o' classic right there. I simply must remember to store that away in my arsenal, because I can get some more use out of it. Feel free to use it when speaking with the old men in your life. Consider it a present. ()

enough with the bloody single-mindedness, woman!

I've decided I don't like sticky posts so I've hosed the jam off the other one and am letting it slide.

Here's a post that has nothing to do with you-know-what...something I was just thinking about (when I should have been sleeping) - if you are at a Van Morrison concert and you yell out requests for songs, he will pout and leave the stage. Seriously. You'll be standing there going, "Whooo! DOMINO! DOMINO!" and waving your plastic cup of Bud Light in the air and suddenly it's all like, "Where did he go?" He left. Because you shouted. So don't shout - Van Morrison is sensitive.

Now, Leonard Cohen, on the other hand, has a brain so fried that he can't even remember what songs he's written. He needs the reminder. So when you see Leonard Cohen, be sure to shout plenty of song titles. He'll thank you for it, even if you do trick him into covering Van Morrison songs.

Leonard does a mean "Brown Eyed Girl", let me tell you.

So I'm lying there in bed and I get this guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I waited to see if it was the beginning of a panic attack but nope - plain old guilt. I ran through my memory to see if there's anything I should be feeling guilty about, but nothing springs to mind. Then suddenly I remembered that I flirted with my ex-boyfriend's sister's boyfriend shamelessly one night when we were over at their house for dinner. I did that "squeeze up against you as I pretend there's not enough room in the hallway to pass by" thing. I didn't feel guilty about it then that I recall but I suddenly do now.

People, this was over eight years ago.

I have this sudden urge to call her up and say, "Hey, remember that jerk you used to go out with when I was dating your brother? Dude, he would have so cheated on you!"

Funniest thing is that I don't remember being even vaguely attracted to the guy at all. Must have been all that Van Morrison I'd been drinking.

Weird what your brain pulls up when you're trying to sleep with a baby on your head. Why was he on my head? Why, indeed.

So tired. Me need sleepy. No sleep and no sleep make me...something something. Talk nonsense? Don't mind if I do!

Boy I sure can spew a lot of garbage. Sometimes I even amaze myself. ()

note: new stuff is under this post is there anything in this world better than getting a yahtzee on ones?

Nothing really springs to mind, except maybe...oh yeah! Feeding starving people around the world!

But you knew I was going to say that, didn't you.

Briefly, this is why I think my organization is so awesome - it feeds starving people abroad as well as malnourished people in the US. Proper nutrition is one of the greatest weapons these countries have for fighting HIV/AIDS. Prolong their lives, they're then around to care for their children, reducing the number of orphans. Nutrition helps your brain power and strengthens your immune system. Also, my current project - to help Sudan - has us partnered with a number of great organizations (including Food for Peace and Oasis Foundation) that are helping to build homes, hospitals and even a pipeline from the Congo River Basin through Sudan.

Pretty heavy-duty stuff.

So sponsor if you can, link if you wanna, straight donate via PayPal on the website - whatever you can do. Through this and other fund raising efforts, my goal is to raise $100,000 by September 1st - which amounts to more than 434,000 meals. After the first blitz of emergency food, we want to construct some permanent feeding shelters and provide orphanages with enough food to be able to feed all the kids, so their cash flow can be geared toward improvements in education, health, and general opportunities.

Didn't I say this would be "brief"? Okay, so I lied.

I'm going to try to make this post sticky by covering it with jam and dating it for next week. Fresh stuff should show up under this. I hope. ()

you're pretty enlightened - can you breathe with your eyes open, too?

Oh, the wonders of humanity! How the milk of kindness flows! (warning - I'm really pissed off right now.)

These are but a few of the stupid, shameful things that people have said to me about my feeding program...

"Why don't you put some birth control in the food to stop Africans from having so many babies?"

Wonderful! Wonderful idea right there. Let's also send some money to help fund China's mandatory abortion fund while we're at it. Oh, and let's make sure that the items you purchase with WIC vouchers have birth control in them, too - hey, if you can't afford your kids, we're going to take away your right to have any more. Beautiful! Why don't you just own the fact that you can't stand poor black people?

"They should get jobs to support their own families, like we do in the US."

I've often said that the major problem with Sub-Saharan Africa is their unwillingness to take menial jobs. It's all of the illegal aliens that ruined their whole economic system - damn spoiled Africans! Holding out for a seat at a Fortune 500 company while their children starve. For shame!

"If so many of them have AIDS [note: eight of every ten people with HIV/AIDS is on the African continent] what's the point in helping them? They're just going to die anyway."

Why, indeed! They have brown skin and live far away - so who gives a toss about their quality of life? Who cares if their kids end up in orphanages before it's absolutely necessary? Those people should have thought about the risks of unprotected sex before it got that far. Ya know, how we do in America.

"Orphanages get subsidies so it's not necessary to provide them with food."

Okay, do you know what passes for a meal in some orphanages? The orphanages in Romania we just shipped food to in January feed the kids flour and water for breakfast so they feel full. Yeah, you'll feel pretty damn full after eating something that American kids consider glue - but so what? Oh, and this is directed at you, Mr. and Mrs. Looking To Adopt A Foreign Child: would you rather adopt a kid who ate crickets and had an atrophied brain from malnutrition, or would you rather adopt a kid who ate healthy food and had a strong immune system? An emaciated child with "special needs" or a kid ready for school? We shipped enough food into Romania to provide eighty orphanages with at least one fully nutritional meal each day for each child for, oh, roughly two years. I'll let you know when the results are in with regards to how those children are faring compared to their glue and cricket eating counterparts.

"It doesn't make a difference. It doesn't matter."

The problem of starvation is huge, I'll grant you that. Some days I'm utterly overwhelmed by the pain and suffering out there. But to say it doesn't matter? To honestly believe that it's better to turn your collective backs on entire continents of suffering people? I'm sorry, but that's absolutely shameful.

In an average year, Americans spend roughly ten billion dollars on pet food and toys. That's nearly 43.5 billion meals we could have produced for the sake of Fido's chew toys. It does make a difference.

We shut the tap off while brushing our teeth and we're told it makes a difference in our water supplies. We cast our single vote and are told it makes a difference to our democracy. We turn lights off when we leave a room and it makes a difference.

If you're one of the "it doesn't make a difference" people, you need to listen up - it's not that it doesn't make a difference. It's that it doesn't make a difference to you. Don't dress it up in some construct of hopelessness.

I spoke at great length on the phone today to an Ambassador to Sudan, and I'm going to meet with him tomorrow. He spent the last six months travelling up and down the country, taking video of whole villages that hadn't a single adult living male in their ranks. Miles and miles of women, elderly and children without a stitch of clothing on their bodies. The West did a really good job into shaming the Natives into covering their bodies and now we let them live in the indignity of nudity. Even in the shadows of the UN building there, people are naked and starving to death.

I don't like to preach. I don't like getting so wrapped up in this. I really, really wish the problem would just go away. It will go away as soon as we all realize that the problem is not too big for one person to make an impact.

Just building schools isn't enough. Just teaching hygiene isn't enough. Just feeding isn't enough. We combine all of our efforts - feed the body and mind, teach them industry, educate their young, heal their sick and infirm. It's all part and parcel of a much larger package to heal these countries.

And if you want to be all kinds of self-serving about it, look at it this way - to strenthen the economy and prosperity of other countries it directly benefits our own. To reduce the amount of foreign aid we dole out every year helps us. And then you can buy more chew toys.

It all comes full-circle, doesn't it?

/soapbox

Sorry - I'm just really frustrated right now. I'll get over it soon, I promise. ()

blogging for charity

Okay, guys - even though the new web page for my work isn't up, I went ahead and signed up at Project Blog, this year's incarnation of the Blogathon from years past.

I work for Kids Against Hunger, or "Feeding Children International". The "Kids Agaisnt Hunger" is our trademark - either way, it's the same place.

The old web page is just crap, frankly, and you can see what Andy and I have been working on for the new page by clicking here. It's not complete, as the "legal" and "partnership" bits aren't finished, and I'd like to put up a photo gallery, but there it is.

That's it. That's what I do for a living.

I'm kinda like Batman except without all of the repressed homosexuality.

Wow, I can't believe I said that in a post about my work.

So there ya go - if you want to sponsor me for Project Blog, just click this link and sign up. It's for a really, really good cause, and it's especially needed because it's all fallen on my shoulders to raise funds to help Sudan. And Sudan needs some helping, yo.

And there I go with the "yo". Sorry - I'm really uncomfortable even outing myself like this.

If you could hook a brutha up with a few bucks ("hook a brutha up"?!? argh!) I'd really appreciate it. So would the kids. The starving kids. That I help to feed every day. While you're off at McDonalds. You fat American swine.

Whoa - just kidding! Back pedal, back pedal...I love you! The kids love you! We all love you, love, love, love!

I need a director of marketing here, or maybe some handlers.

I just never thought that I'd bring work into this here blog. Kinda weird for me. Hope you understand.

update: Just to give you some idea - we produce nutritionally-complete meals for 23 cents a piece. So, in general...

• $1 is enough for 4 meals


• $5 is enough for 21 meals


• $10 is enough for 43 meals


• $20 is enough for 86 meals


• $50 is enough for 217 meals


• $100 is enough for 434 meals


• $500 is enough for 2,173 meals

On and on and on.

I need to raise $100,000 by September 1st. I know I can do it. How can you not want to help out when your dollar really goes so far?

I once asked a packaging group, "What else in this world can you buy for 23 cents?" One little girl raised her hand and said, "A gumball". I said, "No, sweetie - you're two cents short."

I do this every single day. I am still amazed by what I do, and how effective the program is. For less than the price of a gum ball, or a chintzy little vending machine ring, I can provide a fully nutritional meal to a starving child.

That's some awesome power, right there.

Here's a little secret - you know those, "Sponsor a child for $23 a month and get a letter" or whatever ads? Do you know what that guy sends overseas?

Dented canned goods and corporate write-offs. There's a story floating around that he shipped four containers (a container holds 45,000 pounds) into Eritrea. There was much hooplah for these four containers, and he often uses video of the hopeful kids standing there waiting to receive their food. The food that people paid $23 a month to ship over.

What the infomercial won't show you is this: the containers held nothing more than crushed and popped bags of chips, and dented bottles of ketchup.

Chips and ketchup - huzzah! The starving children of Eritrea thank you, kind sir!

Ass.

Sorry - but I get a little bit a whole lot passionate about this.

So anyway. Anyway, that's about it for now.

For the love of God, won't someone think of the children?!? ()

titles is too hard today, yo.

Some days when I come home from work, I'm absolutely over the moon with an enormous sense of well-being and general satisfaction.

This is not one of those days.

Some days when I come home from work, I'm absolutely wrecked right down to my bones, and it's all I can do to grunt random noises into my beer bottle.

Ah, I see you've caught on already. Well done.

Most days at work I nuke a burrito around eleven a.m., then eat it in sporadic bites while standing at my desk over the period of three hours or so. On more than one occassion I didn't manage to finish the thing by quitting time.

Then other days, like today, I get so hungry at work that I consider sucking the conditioner from my hair for sustenance. I mean, it's herbal, right?

Random surreal moment of the day...I was speaking to a guy whom I'd always considered to be of sound mind, but am beginning to believe he's a tad retarded. This is a successful, middle-aged business man.

me: How much do you think this tub weighs?
him: Probably half the weight of a bag of Sun Soft water pellets.
me: (falters) Um...okay, so how much does a bag of Sun Soft water pellets weigh?
him: I don't know.
me: Pretty useless metric then, isn't it?
him: I guess so. But that's always the first thing that comes to mind - is this lighter or heavier than a bag of Sun Soft water pellets?
me: (totally staggered now) Oooo...kay.
(we work in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, then...)
him: I'm really glad that you don't get mad at me for no reason like other people do.

I don't know if he should be in the helmet to save him from hurting himself, or if I should just wear one to buffer my brain during all of the times throughout the day that I bash my head into the wall.

Mumble. Mumble gulp. Gulp, gulp, gulp. Ah, mumble beer is so refreshing, dontcha think?

comments lines is too hard today, yo. ()

no one ever updates on a sunday - because it's the holy day of REST, stupid!

And yet, here I am. Guess I'm not as holy as I thought.

I don't really have anything to say (except the retail game from the previous post is kicking my ASS!). But I'm bored.

I'm also diligently working on the new web page for my work - I've decided to take the plunge and do the Blogathon thing this year. Okay, so technically the blogathon is on hiatus this year, but local lovely Wendy and someone whom I've forgotten has resurrected it as Project Blog. Same as the Blogathons in years past - you blog every half-hour for 24 hours straight for the charity of your choice. The charity of my choice, obviously, is going to be the one where I work. It's not my "personal" cause, per se, so I can still do it. Trouble is, the current web site is shameful so I'm loathe to actually sign up yet and have everyone see how bad it is. I'll probably have the new page up by Tuesday - in the meantime, think about sponsoring me. I wussed out for the past two years on the Blogathon, and it just figures that the year I have a real reason to do it is the year that no one seems interested.

One of the biggest reasons why I want - nay, need to do this Project Blog thing is because my boss had a stroke last week. He's been funding a lot of the program out of his own pocket - at detriment to his family - and his wife has made it very clear that the gravy train has officially been derailed. If I can't get some funds coming in, I'm out of a job. As I've said before, my salary is donated, but operationally I'm screwed if I can't get cash coming in. Someone has to pay for this food.

The biggest commitments we've made recently involve helping the Rainbow Network - they have a really great feeding program in places all across Nicaragua that's facing some cuts, so I want to be able to give them some supplemental foods. Also, Sudan is in a terrible state at the moment, as you well know if you watch, oh, ANY freaking news channel. Third, I have a rather large network in place to ship humanitarian goods into Cuba. The whole nine yards - food, medical equipment, clothing, shoes, bedding, household items, etc. My biggest stumbling block with Cuba (before the boss had a stroke) was finding an ethical church or civic group to send the stuff to. I am cautious about using established "humanitarian organizations" because other organizations like mine have had bad experiences with them. These established organizations are often products of the Cuban government who receive the free goods, then keep them from the people. I want a grass-roots kind of thing going on whereas I ship a little bit to this church, a little bit to that food shelf, etc. So if anyone has any ties in Cuba to trust-worthy people please do let me know and I'll contact them. They need help so badly.

So there are a couple of ways you can help me out. Donate, hook me up with some contacts, or - if you can't do those - at least please consider a link to my effort here on the 24th. Additionally, gifts-in-kind are always appreciated. If you have something you'd like to send overseas to a particular region or in general, please contact me to work out shipping. The only real restrictions are that it can't be actual medicines and it can't have a religious theme, as our shipping is done via the Department of Defense. Separation of church and state and all that.

This is something I really believe in, and it's a program that's larger than one man, and I hate to see it fail because he was too short-sighted to realize that other people are willing to help carry the burden. Any and every little bit will help - and I'm an executive director, so I know what I'm talking about.

/PSA.


It's good for your soul - honestly, it is. ()

finally i get to post a game!

I'm usually the last damn person on board with the games, despite reading both Gerard and MJ religiously - they always have the best links. But today I get to pass one on that I have yet to see elsewhere (then again, I probably just overlooked it on everyone else's blog). Link via Jody...okay, so I didn't discover the damn game, but I have yet to see it anywhere besides Jody's blog - The Retail Alphabet Game. It's pretty tough - I guess corporate branding isn't as effective as I thought. I'm really struggling on some of these.

There you go. A nice time-waster for Saturday.

Whoo-hoo! I've just passed on a moderately fresh link! Now you all applaud. Thank you.

By the way, is everybody totally over the Gmail thing? Because I'm sitting here on some invites. You want 'em? You got 'em.

Now I'm off to ransack my cupboards to find some more fonts.

A la Alfie, "Fonts in the Cupboards" is the band name of the day. No it's not, really. I just made that up.

I think I'm successfully incognito now. I've stopped signing my posts because I am paranoid about people Googling me. I have a script in place that blocks search engines from delivering searchers to my blog (of course, if they just type the url they'll still get here, but the search engine 404s their ass). You have to go well into the results to find anything that associates this blog with my name, and that gives me a warm oatmeal feeling inside.

A life short on coffee is a life that's simply not worth living.

I think I'm going to start incorporating the word "cotton" into my vocabulary. I don't much cotton to a life short on coffee. Wow, it really works, doesn't it?

Hey, man, don't blame me - you're the one who said I shouldn't quit the blog. It's all your fault. Boo me? No, sir - boo you. ()