Thursday, July 31, 2003

Warning! Highly offensive terms in this hyeah post. I'm serious - this is the worst of the worst of me, I think. If you are even vaguely sensitive I STRONGLY suggest that you leave now - cuz there ain't no lady in me tonight. Alright then - don't say I didn't warn you.

(link via The Supermercado Project)

This is just too good to pass you know the Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez movie, Gigli that's set to open this week? She plays some kind of hit-man/spy thing (from what I gathered from the trailers) but I guess I never paid much attention to the premise of the film beyond that. Oh, this is funny.

Jennifer Lopez plays a lesbian and Ben Affleck is trying to get her to "switch teams" if I can pull a Seinfeld-ism. She obviously (obviously!) falls for Ben and submits to his amorous advances by spreading her legs and using a come-on line that's sure to become a classic:

It's turkey time. Gobble, gobble.

Gobb...gobble gobble? What the hell...that just - geesy chreesy, I'm literally speechless.

Turkey time? I should have been a writer for that film. How about these?

  • The bald man in the canoe wants to go swimming so get those waves a-lappin'. [That's pretty suave!]

  • My clam needs some linguine - and make it al dente. [Smooove.]

  • This beaver is ready - I hope you brought your dam. [Get it? Dental dam/beaver dam...nevermind.]

  • My honey pot is ready for Pooh. [Okay, this means Winnie the Pooh you sicko. Hey, I just thought of something funny...remember how Winnie the Pooh always got his face stuck in the honey pot? Ah, I crack myself up.]

  • My oyster could use a good shucking. [Still - it's better than "gobble, gobble".]

  • Yo quiero taco Lopez [Non-US people probably don't know the Taco Bell dog. Still - better than "turkey time".]

  • I could use some butter on my bikini biscuit. [Okay, this is just getting fun now.]

  • I've got the furburger and the buns. [I find this one particularly clever.]

  • Put on your snorkel, cuz you're going diving! [I hate the word muff so I refuse to use it. Wait, I just did. Ah well - what's the point in adopting any standards now?]

  • Let's see if your yodel will echo in my canyon. [This is more of a personal commentary on what a skank I think Lopez is - still preferrable to "gobble, gobble".]

  • I hope you're hungry, cuz the Y is open for dinner. [Non-US people - the "Y" is a slang term for the YMCA where they used to serve dinner to homeless people - see, it's funny because when your legs are open...nevermind, I'll just shut up.]

See? I just thought of those off the top of my head and every one of them is waaaay better than "Turkey Time".

I'm really proud of myself for resisting making a joke like, "I hope you like seafood, cuz it's crabs for dinner tonight!" Damn, I just did...I need to stop doing that.

Feel free to make up your own...I feel oddly at peace with the world now, as though I've done my good deed for the day. I feel like I've earned the sleep of the just tonight.

STOP!!! Turkey time.

(Oh come on, like you hadn't thought it yourself.)



Wednesday, July 30, 2003

So remember how I said I was doing the whole fake and bake tan thing? Well, since only a couple parts of my body became what I referred to as, ha ha!, bronze I decided to do another coating of the stuff.

Okay, now the label says that the foam goes a long way, so use sparingly. One squirt for each arm, two squirts each leg...since that didn't work the first time I decided to up the dosage. Times four. And, well...I'm orange. My skin is orange like the Hulk's is green, only mine isn't changing back.

No problem, though, as I don't really have anywhere to be until Friday, right? It'll fade. It's ugly now but who has to see me but me? In fact, since I'm not going to be seen in public anyway...yep, I did what I always do whenever left to amuse myself for any length of time - I dredlocked my hair.

This lasted all of, say, ten minutes until the dreds fell out because my hair is still rather short to support the look. Out came the hair gel and I spiked myself a la Sid Vicious instead.

Sid with orange skin. Oh yeah - and my Yoko Ono shades. A well-worn T-shirt and underwear rounded out the costume nicely - that's the visual we're talking here.

I was being very careful to not be seen by my new neighbors, who were in their backyard, so I waited until they walked away before stepping out onto my porch to let my dogs out. I got tangled on a leash and fell on my ass (figures) and started up with some of my patented swear word combinations (fuck a donkey poop nugget ass spaz!) when I noticed that my neighbors hadn't gone inside at all, but rather were standing right next to my fence looking at their garden. Well, they had been looking at their garden until they heard me crash to my ass. Then it was all eyes on me, baby.

It was the first time I'd seen them very clearly and noticed that they had a son roughly Sam's age, a daughter roughly Zoe's age and a baby roughly Nico's age. I thought, "I need to fix this - I need to have their kids be friends with my kids." I stood up and made to say, "Hiya!" in a friendly manner when I again got twisted in the dog chain and nearly fell on my face.

So from their vangate point they saw some spike haired, orange-skinned Yoko-Ono-looking woman in her underwear doing a rough imitation of a bow and screaming, "HIYA!"

Did I mention my neighbors are Asian? Yep, they're Asian.

Welcome to the neighborhood-ingly,


If you like "Queer Eye For The Straight Guy" or have just been wondering what it's all about you should definitely check out Steve's impression of the show. Cuz it's hilarious.

That's why he's under "them funnies"-ingly,


I've just spent the last three hours rearranging my blogrolls.

You'll note the new categories there - the Minnesota friendlies are people who live/lived here; the funnies are, well duh; Her Majesty's Blogs are those in the UK, Canada or Australia (wasn't sure about India...would that count? Can't think at this hour); friends of Israel are Jews or Jew-friendly people (not really a political thing but I wanted my Israeli warrior to get some more face-time); and then there's, well, the rest. A lot of "rest".

Why did I do all of this? Because I was getting frustrated with the number of people on my "non-pinger" blogroll. Seems like no one pings so I forget to check them and it was ticking me off. Thus, a new classification system. Which took three hours. That I hate.

I've thought of throwing in other things, like "East Coast", "West Coast", "No Coast" and "Unknown Entities" but the whole geographical thing didn't wow me beyond what I'd done. Then I thought I'd throw the GLBT blogs in another category but there are some of them in other categories, so it would make sense that they'd want to leave where they are listed now...sigh. What a pain in the bronze-striped butt.

Then there are my "the house is on fire and you can only read one blog" people who are now scattered and hard to find. I'd just throw up a "house on fire" list but I don't want to offend anyone by leaving them off - yeah, like anyone really cares, but I have an over-inflated sense of how people view my opinion.

I think I've thought way too long about this whole thing. I need another Diet Coke.

Hopped up and linking-ly,


Overheard on an infomercial tonight:

Guy With The Great Idea: Let me ask you this...would you rather have $20K right now, or $30K in eight years? [Okay, I don't understand the premise he's trying to build, but let's run with it for a moment.]
First Woman: I'd take the $20K now. [Well done, genius - can you breathe with your eyes open?]
Second Woman: Me, too! [Lemming.]
Other Guy: I'm skeptical, but I'll bite - I'd take the $20K now. [Way to set the old Bullshit Detector on "high".]
Guy With The Great Idea: Ha ha ha...there's nothing to be skeptical about!
First Woman: Wait a minute...are you trying to tell me that there is a fortune to be made simply by helping people exchange notes for the cash they're owed? [Huh? Am I suddenly watching the Psychic Friends Network?]
GWGI: That's exactly what I'm saying. [Are these people on drugs?]
Other Guy: And these are notes that people didn't even want in the first place? [What the fuck?]
GWGI: Ha ha ha - I see you're still skeptical. But listen to this!
Announcer: The money is out there for the taking. So why don't you take it? Because it's out there!
Other Guy: I'm sold!

I really should have opted for the case of caffeine-free Diet Coke.



Okay - Neutrogena self-tanner? SUCKS. It says it's streak-free but that's only because the stuff's color-free. Come on and make me brown, Neutrogena - I gots me some bruises I need to cover.



UPDATE: Perhaps I've spoken too soon...after two hours of waiting for this stuff to change the color of my fish-belly pale skin I am finally seeing results. I am now bronzed in exactly three places: around my nostrils, under my breasts and up the crack of my ass.

Just lovely.

Tuesday, July 29, 2003

Found a great site, Magnetbox tonight - just a wealth of great linkage including the RIAA Radar which is a guide to artists who are and are not affilitated with the RIAA. Kind of a hot topic these days so I thought I'd pass on the link.

Also, for people in the Minneapolis area who enjoy such things...

You are invited to take part in a MOB, the project that creates an inexplicable mob of people in Twin Cities Area for 10 minutes or less. Please forward this to other people you know who might like to join. If you don’t participate, please forward it to a friend anyways!

MOB #2 - “Going uptown, going downtown”

Locations: TBA (To be announced)
Start time: Wednesday, July 30th, 7:18 pm
Duration: 10 minutes

(1) At some point during the day on July 30th, synchronize your watch at

(2) The day of the event, you can get a detailed script for the event by meeting at the following locations at 7:00 PM based on the month of your birthday.

NOTE: if you are attending the MOB with friends, you may all meet in the same bar, so long as at least one of you has the correct birth month for that location.

Jan. Feb. Mar. Apr.: Uptown Bar & Cafe, 3018 Hennepin Ave (Bar)

May Jun. Jul. Aug.: William’s Pub, 2911 Hennepin Ave (Lower level)

Sep. Oct. Nov. Dec.: Famous Dave’s – Calhoun Square (Bar)

(3) Then or soon thereafter, a MOB representative will appear and provide event details. Look for an individual in a “PRADA” shirt or a “MOB” button. He or she will provide you a slip of paper, on which two important pieces of information will be printed: (a) the MOB site, and (b) secret event details.

Commit these details to memory and put the slip in your pocket. ONCE YOU ARE AT THE MOB SITE, NONE OF THESE SLIPS OF PAPER SHOULD BE VISIBLE.

(4) Leave the bar and walk to the MOB site. If you arrive near the final MOB destination before 7:18, stall nearby. NO ONE SHOULD ARRIVE AT THE FINAL MOB DESTINATION UNTIL 7:16

(5) Find the site and begin the objective. Be animated and follow the intended script.

(6) At 7:28 you should disperse. NO ONE SHOULD REMAIN AT THE MOB SITE AFTER 7:30.

(7) Return to what you would otherwise have been doing.

To the press: Please do not report on the event to the public prior to the actual event time of 7:18pm CST on the day of the event. If you wish to report on the event please save your interviews until after the event activities are completed and the mob has begins to leave. If you would like to verify this script, email the auto-responder at This is an unmanaged account and only responses after validating an account. No email will be read at this account.

Guess that's about it, really.



I've just thought of the perfect weapon to use against our enemies...

Send them a big ol' plate of pizza rolls that have been microwaved for a minute and a half straight rather than in two lots of forty-five seconds each. When they bite into the things they'll receive a squirt of filling roughly the temperature of fresh molten lava.

Cuz damn - that hurts.



It has come to my attention that Andy, unbeknownst to me and certainly without my input nor consent, surreptiously purchased a pair of chinos before departing for Asia. I haven't seen the offending slacks as of yet but my spidey sense is telling me that they're most likely taupe...I can't let myself believe they might be beige, that's just too awful to comprehend. (And yes, there is a difference between the two, as taupe tends to have a greyish undertone while beige has a yellowish undertone.)

With the discovery of this purchase I feel that it's my moral obligation to even the scales by dying my hair a bright shade of electric blue. It's the only way to keep the cosmos aligned.

I'm glad I discovered that receipt in time, before anything bad happened. You should appreciate the things I do for the sake of universal harmony, you should.

Dyeing for the cause-ingly,


Alone again, naturally.

The husband is in...Taiwan? Thailand? Bangladesh? Who can keep track - it's somewhere Over There, or The Other Direction - I can't remember. At any rate, he's gone.

Sam's back down with her dad. Zoe decided to stay with my mom.

I came home with the dogs and Nic so, for all intents and purposes, I'm alone. It's strange.

I saw a sketch on Saturday Night Live years ago about the movie "Ghost" where the husband comes back and can see what his wife's doing without her knowing. In the movie it's really beautiful but in the spoof he spies on her chewing her toenails, drinking milk from the carton, and picking her nose.

That's what I feel like doing. I want to be all vile and disgusting because there's no one here to catch me.

But I can't manage it, no matter how hard I try. You know those shells & cheese things, where the cheese is in this gelatinous form in a metallic pouch? I wanted to eat that plain. Just cuz. But I couldn't.

I managed a fine belch, owing mostly to my drinking skills. Heineken in a bottle will catch you every time. That's as far as I've gotten.

My toenails are painted a rather flattering purple so I don't want to chew on them - I have nasal issues (don't ask) so I don't want to pick my nose - my ears are clean - I'm not gassy - I already go to the bathroom with the door open...there's nothing that I can do to be as gross as I want to be. Sigh. What to do?



Monday, July 28, 2003

(link via Greybird)

Oh for the love of know, I think I may just be looking for something to be pissed off about, I don't know, but this hit that last raw nerve:
1st public gay high school set for NY Mayor:
H.S. to offer education without fear of harassment

HOW is this a good thing? Okay, maybe I'm going to make some lazy arguments here but I'm tired (I know, I always say that) but when did "separate but equal" suddenly become a Pretty Good Idea? I am 100% behind gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered rights - 100% no argument - but why would you want to set up a separate school for them? To stop them from being harassed? Because they're picked on for their sexuality? Screw that! (No pun intended.)

You know who should get their own private schools first? African-Americans. You want to talk about a disenfranchised group, look no further than our ebony counterparts. You know why they would be deserving of a separate school (if, indeed, they wanted one - which history proves they didn't)? Because if you're black it's almost always obvious. If you're gay you almost always have to proclaim yourself as such. If you want to scream "I'm here, I'm queer" from the rooftops be my guest - but you know what the consequences of that action might be.

I don't think it's right, I don't think it should be condoned, but it's a fact.

Here's a little something to ponder - there are gay rights activists that are calling this a major victory because now GLBT kids can learn in an environment free from sexual persecution. Is that really so? Have these people looked at what high school is like for a straight kid? Because our sexuality wasn't an easy thing to carry around for those four years.

Straight teenagers are every bit as likely to be ashamed of who they are, what they desire, being stigmitized for what they do/don't do as any other kid. Probably more so than gay teens because what the straight kids do is seen as "the norm" so it's more out in the open. Indeed, gay kids probably enjoy a greater sense of anonymity simply because they keep their own actions so private.

Let me throw a couple of stories out at you...once in high school we were taking a bus trip to see a play in downtown Chicago. The charter bus was sweet - vcrs through the thing - and kids brought their own movies to watch on the way. This one kid, Randy Volgeberg (I'm sure my good friend Ed will correct the spelling of his last name if I have it wrong) was a total geek...I mean, in a bad way. But he claimed to have a bootleg copy of whatever was hot that year and said he'd bring it for the drive. With much gusto and fanfair he popped the movie into the vcr - this being probably the only time he ever felt cool in his four years at school - and pushed play. We were greeted with the image of Randy, naked and wacking off with (here's where stories differ...some say vibrator, some say cucumber) planted firmly up his ass.

Another story...a girl, Michelle Allen, was supposedly caught giving a guy a hummer in the girl's locker room. I came in at the end of this scenario, but I saw enough of it. Anyway, she was caught with this guy, Matt, and was crying to the teacher some stupid story or another about what was really going on when the gym teacher looked at her cooly and said, "I'd believe your story if you didn't have pubic hair stuck in your braces."

That was also the year that I had my first real girlfriend. We kissed and held hands in public and even lived together for a short amount of time after my parents kicked me out of the house.

Not a single bad thing (apart from the ever so imaginative shouts of "look at the dykes!" and "hey, are you gonna kiss your girlfriend?" being shouted every now and again) sticks out in my mind from high school. But Randy and Michelle? I remember their freaking names, ten years later, and what pariahs they'd become after those incidents. They were straight.

But the bigger issue here is this - do gays and lesbians really have to be so coddled that they need a separate school? I remember watching footage of when the first black kids entered an all white school. Proud, defiant, beautiful. Standing up for their race - at great risk of injury - indeed, even being taunted by some of the police that were sent to help protect them. This was back when teachers, even, would use the word "nigger".

Gay kids these days don't have to sit through lectures about faggots or dykes.

When I became pregnant at age fifteen I was given an option to stay at my regular high-school or to enter into a high-school more "catered" to the "needs" of a young mother. I considered it for, oh, a millisecond before saying, "What benefit would I have by being stuck in a school full of people who only share one small facet of who I am, overall?" Would I like to be siphoned off into a "straight" high school? A "Jew" high school? An anything high school? No way. Because it's limiting and it's wrong and it gives the attendants an inappropriate buffer against the rest of the world.

Are their gay law firms? Black banks? Jewish delis? Okay, so that last one doesn't work...but you take the point. There cannot be a separate but equal anything. Period.

If gay kids are feeling that threatened about their sexuality then maybe we shouldn't put them in a different school - perhaps we should look into the schools [society] that they're already attending.



Overheard at my mother's house last night...after I had gotten lost in frickin' Iowa because the main routes (THREE of 'em) to her house were blocked. I was winging it and ended up adding two hours to my drive so I was a bit ticked...anyway...

me: Mother, I swear on all things holy that I do not want a grilled cheese sandwich. Even if I did I could make it myself.
mom: Nonsense - I'll make it for you. You need to eat. I'm only sorry I have nothing more to offer you...end of the month and all. I just don't know how we get through that pension money so quickly! Tell me, did you enjoy your vacation?
me: Aw, yeah, it was...
mom: Would you call it a "vacation"? With you not working? Is that a vacation or...something else?
me: Um...well, I was still basically doing everything I do at home, only in a smaller space, so no, I guess you wouldn't call it a vacation.
mom: That's not what I meant.
me: Please! Seriously, I don't want that sandwich. Don't go to any trouble.
mom: What trouble? Ooh, oops. I burned it.
me: Burning my sandwich that I didn't want? Passive aggressive much?
mom: Forgetting my Black Hills gold earrings at home, when you know what a ball of misery my life has become and you know how much I look forward to anything nice that anyone ever does for me, ever? Passive aggressive much?
me: I spent, literally, the last of our cash on those earrings!
mom: Well, maybe if you'd have thought of me prior to your last day in town then you wouldn't be able to make an issue of the 'last of the cash' thing, now could you?
me: Damn, you're g-o-o-o-o-d.
mom: What? What did I say?

That was around seven seconds worth of the thirty hours I was there.

Now I get to turn around and do it all again on Friday, only for a much longer time.

Envy me, I just dare you.

A Freudian slip is when you say one thing when you're really thinking of your mother-ingly,


Sunday, July 27, 2003

I'm Minnesotan - I should have known better than to have enjoyed myself. I was just asking for trouble.

Back to reality...once again, I have to hit the road for Illinois to take Samantha back to her dad's for the summer. But not before taking Andy to the airport for his brutal tour of Asia. I want no part of any of this - it all sucks on so many levels I don't even know where to begin.

This is what we get for having a good vacation. I'm all pissed off now.



Saturday, July 26, 2003

One of the (many) reasons why I love Jack:

On to the next big thing

Who is to Take Kournikova's Place? Anna Kournikova no longer a sex symbol?

So, whoever will take Anna's place? How about Michele, Natalie, or Vicky??

Oh lawdy, how I cheesed.

And this coming from a guy who's never even seen me.

I so love Jack. And Susan. And Boo. All of 'em. But Jack especially.



Okay, let me own something...I was afraid of doing the Blogathon. Seriously. I was afraid that I'd get, like, a buck seventy-five in pledges and end up stuck blogging for twenty-four hours for some paltry little embarassing sum. I'm a wuss, I admit it. So there.

However, that will not stop me from staying up as long as humanly possible and living vicariously through those brave souls who bit the bullet and went for it. (I'd wanted to blog for autism, duh - just an fyi.)

A thought I just had here...why isn't PETA all over the Harry Potter books? Honestly, you hear about all of these religious groups lambasting the series but never PETA. At Hogwarts they transfigure a porcupine into a pin cushion. They make snails disappear! You'd think this would raise some red flags with the PETA folk. Just an observation.

Another thing - there is some hard-core Nazism in those books, have you noticed? The whole "mudblood" thing alone...a mudblood being a non-"pure" witch/wizard. If you've had a Muggle in your line, you're a mudblood. YET, the leader of the purists, of the bad guys (Nazis) had dubious lineage himself. Wasn't it that Voldemort's father was a non-magical person? I can't recall off the top of my head - but it parallels Hitler in a lot of respects.

I'm just sayin' is all. Kinda interesting if you look at it that way. Sign for our times, perhaps?

Maybe I'm talking out of my ass, I dunno.

Anyway, you Blogathon people are cool.



Another interesting Blogathon effort is Jodi, who is posting entries from her old journals. It makes me wish I'd kept my own journals from my youth...though the only things I recall from those dark days of adolescence are really crap poems and writing out my Last Will & Testament, in which I bequeathed all of my Guns N' Roses posters and comic books to my best friend Leighann. I have a vague recollection of expressing the desire to be buried in a hot pink and black coffin when I died and having "Dyers Eve" by Metallica played at my wake.

It's probably a good thing I didn't save any of them. Though it's interesting to read Jodi's take on things from that time in her life...she's currently talking about her time in college thinking that no one would like her because she's the "big fat girl". All of us at one time were a big fat girl - you can definitely empathize. She's grown to be a very well-adjusted critical thinker despite her youthful's a great read, you should definitely check it out if you have a second.

I really wish I'd have gone ahead and signed up for Blogathon "just in case" I ended up being able to blog today...I actually considered it - and maybe I did sign up but never verified? I can't remember. Instead, I'll be their biggest cheerleaders here. For whatever that's worth.

Sis boom bah-ingly,


My new neighbors have finally moved in. I knew that the other neighbor had gone because for the first time all summer his sprinkler wasn't running - I swear he watered his lawn so often that he must have created his own sink-hole that will have eventually swallowed his house whole, forever preserving him like a wooly mammoth in a tar pit. *blinks* Okay, so yeah, I just made another South Dakota reference - sorry about that.

At any rate, he's gone - probably to, literally, greener pastures as the guy was obsessed with his lawn. This wasn't simply pride in the greenery...this wasn't even borderline obsessive-compulsive disorder...this was an extreme fixation to the point where he routinely stayed home from work to take care of the grass. Once we joked about him but in the days leading up to his departure we were downright scared. Of him and for him.

The new family (and it really is a family rather than a creepy single guy) has a son around six years old and much to my delight their back yard is already sprinkled with brightly colored plastic things. I'm sick of our lawn looking bad in comparison to next door and by the look of things those days are well behind us. I have yet to see a hose being hooked up to the house and the lawn is already beginning to look a little yellowed around the edges. Part of me wants to tell the new neighbors of how much labor and water it takes to keep the lawns out here looking so lush, and how much of a freak the previous owner was, but I don't think I will. In all likelihood we'll barely speak to one another apart from the occasional "hello" over the back fence.

There just isn't a sense of community anymore, have you noticed that? Growing up, I knew every neighbor within a three block radius of our house, if not further. I would be blocks away from home, getting up to some mischief, when I would hear the phrase that would make my blood run cold: Knock it off - I know your parents. They did, too. They knew who I was on sight and were not above tattling to my folks if they saw me getting up to no good. This is why I would crawl through a forty foot length of cement drainage pipe to get far enough into the corn field so that I could smoke without being seen. Once I thought that climbing down the banks of the canal would be enough to shield me from prying eyes until I came home and heard a message on the answering machine that scared the hell out of me: Hey Rich - the missus says she saw Natalie holding hands with the Kane boy down by the canal. Not the son of the Kane that went to jail, but the Kane that runs the auto shop. Thought you should know. Through my youth I also heard my parents ratting out other kids to their was weird because some of these kids were strangers even to me. How did my parents not only know who the kids were on sight but also their parents? Was there some kind of community year book that people were sent every year with their property tax records? "Pay special attention to Laurel, as she's taken a liking to an older boy from the wrong side of the tracks...if you see Jason riding a yellow bike let us know because that's his brother's bike and he most likely took it without permission..."

In our neighborhood I describe kids like, "The little shit that always throws mud" and "That girl who's growing up to be a grade-A skank". I'd be hard-pressed to even narrow down which kid belongs to which house.

In some respects I'm happy about that but then I remember how it was growing up. If our car wouldn't start I could count on a neighbor or two to hear the engine struggling and come over to assist. If I got sick at school and my mother couldn't pick me up I knew that a neighbor would. Fundraisers were a dream, trick or treating was safe...okay, this is veering off into Pointless Nostalgia Land. But you take the point - things just aren't like they used to be.

I really should say hello to our neighbors at the very least. Though I bet they'd hate me anyway so maybe I won't bother.



You know, I had wanted to do the Blogathon but thought that I was still going to be on the road coming home from Seattle today. I was going to theme it, "My Silly Husband" and post funny stories of things he's done and said but I couldn't have shaved it down to just forty-eight...I'd be the only person blogging for the full 24 hours straight rather than every half-hour.

But since I'm not doing it that leave me free to point out cool projects that are going on elsewhere that you may not have heard about. First up is good old Joe the Peacock, a fantastic writer, funny as hell and mad as a hatter. He's taking this opportunity to write a novel in twenty-four hours. If anyone could do it, I think he could. If you're doing the Blogathon I'd suggest you bookmark his page for some inspiration to share your own humiliating stories.

Second is my favorite blogging family The Liloias. Tara was mentioned in an article over at MSNBC for her project. It's a choose your own adventure story (remember those?) in that the readers vote on which direction the story is going to take. I wonder if she's planning on sharing the writing responsibilities with her husband, Dave? Either way, that's definitely a blog to watch.

Third up is someone I stumbled upon by accident last night, which is another writing exercise featuring four projects...well, it's tough to explain so just go and look.

There ya go - three places to keep you entertained. Don't forget to keep up the feedback on the Blogathon blogs so they can keep up the steam. It's one thing to stay awake all night, you know, drinking or smooching or whatever but when you have to do it in order to raise money it's entirely different. So help 'em out, okay?



Just rolled out of bed after a leisurely morning and decided to hit the blogs right away to see what everyone's up to for the Blogathon. First stop was my very favorite stupid evil bastard of all time, Les. I think the poor guy's starting to crack under the pressure...the nudie pics are coming out pretty early in the day...

A note to the Blogathoners...pace yourselves, or you could end up naked by dinner time with nowhere to go from there.

I'm almost scared to click on any other links now.



Oh - something I forgot to sister Boob Job/Stripper Chick is mad at me because of a postcard I sent to her from South Dakota. As you may know, they're gearing up for the big motorcycle rally in Sturgis so I sent her the message, "I saw a biker bitch that looked just like you. You may want to work on that." Now she's mad! I mean, come on. Honestly!

Said out of love-ingly,


Snip of a conversation at four thirty a.m....

me: Hey, that's my wine!
andy: Your wine sucks.
me: Well it's not like I made it. That's what you get for thieving.
andy: I was just reading Ananova...for a second I couldn't tell if I was reading that it was Liza Minnelli or Milli Vanilli that had gotten split from their husband.
me: Snort. Her husband is such a queer-bate. (pause) Oh my lawd, did I just use that phrase?
andy: He's a load of random features all thrown at a face. Then again, she's no beauty either.
me: You be nice. She had encephalitis. Her mom was Judy Garland.

Sigh - I wish that the Blogathon would hurry up and start...I could use a distraction.



Friday, July 25, 2003

Maybe it's just the paranoia talking here, but...has anyone else noticed that a large amount of spam these days is coming in as being from people who blog? I noticed not too long ago (and maybe even blogged about it?) that some of the "from" lines in these spam emails resembled the names of bloggers but now I'm getting emails that use the whole, full name.

I mean, it's pretty cool to see that Chris Pirillo wants to help me look like I'm thirty again (he obviously doesn't realize I'm only 26) but, ya know, it's kind of none of his business.

I'm waiting for the day when Scott Ott offers to improve the size of my penis. It'll happen - mark my words.

Not the good spam-ingly,


Is there anything worse than getting a head cold in the summer?

Nope. Not a damn thing worse.

Someone get this elephant off of my head, please - it hurts to blink.



Thursday, July 24, 2003

You know who I've been loving in secret for a while now? Christine. I'm too much of a big fat P-word to email her and tell her I love her so I'll do it here because it's easy to pretend that she'll never see it.

I love her and you should, too. Cuz she's frickin adorable. Sure, she has other great qualities, but the adorable factor plays high on the list.

I mean, I'm just sayin' is all.

Shouldn't I find some boys to love? I might want to work on that...

Not in a gay way-ingly,


I know I made a derisive comment about being broke and having to eat Spam but I'll out myself here - I like the stuff. A lot. So much so that I've actually considered visiting the Spam Museum in Austin, Minnesota. (The billboards are great - they say, "Oh come on - you know you're curious!" - and I am.)

So I was cooking up a can of the stuff last night and noticed they're now featuring "Crazy Tasty" recipes. On the "Flav-O-Meter" the classifications are: so-so, ho-hum, de-lish, yummers! and CRAZY TASTY!!

This is classified as a "Crazy Tasty!!" recipe, copied verbatim from the can:

Spam Macaroni & Cheese:

Macaroni & Cheese: Box, Cook as Directed
Spam: Diced
Love: All Around Us

Yes, this recipe is easy. You might think "Why didn't I think of that?" I would agree with you. Why didn't you think of this? Anyway, it doesn't matter. Let's agree to disagree and enjoy the pleasures of this most finest of treats. Bon appetit!

I want that guy's job.



As you may have gathered from Andy's post we never made it to Seattle after all. Rather, we decided to hang out in South Dakota for an extra while - and despite the extra time there are still dozens of places I want to see. Which means we'll be going back at some point soon. But don't let Minnesota know that we're planning another trip, as she gets mighty sore with us when we attempt to leave her to visit a more enjoyable state.

The starter went out in the van, as I mentioned before, and crap happened that brought us *thisclose* to scrapping the whole trip. We got a late start for a number of reasons and a block away from the house the camper (little pop-up thing) came disconnected from the truck. No problem - let's just hook her back up and get going. Around twenty miles from home the camper came off again (on highway 100 for the local folk - great place to have to pull over) and rammed our ass a few times. Nothing like bashing the hell out of a bumper but, as Andy said, that's what it's there for. This time, however, we blew a fuse (due to a dodgy, but wholly necessary wiring job...that's another long story that involves me lying on my back at three a.m. rewiring my truck connection and veers into man-hating territory so I'll not bore you with the details) and ended up stuck on the roadside with a smelly construction worker who said that whomever wired the truck must have been colorblind. Yeah, well screw you, guy - if you were so smart you wouldn't be sleeping in a tractor on the side of the road, now would you? We finally got the stupid thing secure and hit the road.

I cannot describe the beauty of the Badlands and the Black Hills. I've never seen anything so stunning - prior to this trip the most beautiful place I've ever been was North Wales - which is stunning in its own right - but it cannot hold a candle to South Dakota. I swear, it is this country's best-kept secret. Seeing the Badlands at dawn, even with the fog, is a spiritual experience. Honestly, all the bad crap, stress, anger, whatever melted away in an instant. Arriving at the Black Hills found tears in my eyes - and I think Andy was a touch overwhelmed as well. Even the kids managed to shut the hell up for two seconds, which was a nice change.

After a hearty breakfast of Spam and eggs (hey, we were broke, okay?) we hit Custer State Park where we heard tell of roaming buffalo. (Yeah, right, I thought - we'll not be lucky enough to see any buffalo but I bet the scenery is nice.) We went tooling through the park with the dogs in the truck, oohing and aahing at the scenery when we spy a lone buffalo on a ridge. I practically used all of my film on that one buffalo and told the kids, "There - you've seen a buffalo so you can't be disappointed." The dogs gave a little "let me at 'em!" growl and that was that...until we rounded the bend.

Dozens of buffalo, some within arm's length from the truck. I peed my pants and hoped against hope that I had a buffalo clause in my car insurance.

Of course the dogs went nuts - like, "Oh yeah! We're gonna be eating good tonight!" Until a buffalo turned and looked directly at us, that is - the dogs whimpered and laid down quickly like, "Hey man, it wasn't me - the other dog said that. I'm cool with ya, 'falo." We saw another three or four herds of the beasts, one of which was partially lying in the road. I thought for sure I was going to get some video of an old guy being gored by the things - he decided it would be a really good idea to hang out with the herd and drink some water - but alas, it was not to be. I've always wanted to see natural selection in progress - maybe next time.

We were then accosted by a herd of donkeys who were being fed marshmallows and licorice by other motorists. I have a well-documented fear of horses and their equine cousins so I was alarmed by these beasts. I was taking a picture over Andy of a donkey who was sniffing his hand out the window when I caught a blur of something out of the corner of my eye. I turned and came face to face with the Donkey from Hell. He was snorting up my window (I can only assume he smelled our fresh blood) and wouldn't leave. I screamed like a little bitch and peed my pants for a second time but the donkey was unfazed. It seemed to be communicating telepathically with me, asking me to roll down the window and no harm would come to my family. No, donkey, I implored, please don't hurt my family! Then sacrifice yourself, it said to me. Open the window and let me gnaw of your flesh. I had my fingers on the window button, prepared to lose my left arm to the beast when it spied someone further up the road waving a bag of marshmallows and happily trotted away.

Never underestimate marshmallows, for they may someday save your life.

On the way out of the park we got turned around backwards and couldn't figure out how to get out of the park, as all roads seemed to want to force us back in. I was getting frustrated until I noticed we were rather high on a mountain - for a brief moment I thought to myself, "This view is spectacular!" until I realized, "We are waaaay the hell gone up on a winding mountain road...damn it, we're gonna die." When I noticed I was attempting to drive with my eyes closed I decided to pull over and let Andy drive for a while. We went further up the mountain, then down, then up another one and I peed again. I don't like being that high, especially when the oncoming traffic includes 45-foot long RVs with Granny Blue Hair behind the wheel.

Damn it - I've just peed again at the memory.

Well, I thought I'd be able to post all of my South Dakota stuff in one post but it looks like I'll not be able to. Just giving you fair warning - there is more to come. If this isn't your thing you may want to avoid me for the next few posts, cuz I ain't shutting up about it.



Tuesday, July 22, 2003

Everything's beautiful, man, just beautiful. Stuff to come later but for the moment I'm gonna savor the flavor of complete and utter mental balance.

I shouldn't have left things the way I did, but really...did you want me to feel like I'm obligated? I didn't think so.

So let me just say this - some of you totally rock. I mean that completely - reading these comments and emails have been the icing on a rather delectable cake.

Can I just give a quick shout-out to my homies? Homeys? How do you spell that? I'm not gangsta enough to know, I guess. But sometimes you come across a blogger who you know will go the long haul in real life; people that wouldn't ditch you for anything. Those who "get it" if you will. A couple such gems include Jilly, Simon, Fiona (who no longer blogs - damn her), my dear heart Sollie, my rock Mike and his sweet missus Angela and a boatload of others I'm forgetting because I'm tired.

Though it's a good tired. Nothing to fear here.

And lots o' bloggy goodness to come, I promise.



Thursday, July 17, 2003

You know how things can be really, really bad and you say to yourself, "Well, at least there's nowhere to go but up!" You're full of shit, you are. Because your imagination is no match for reality - things can get a lot worse.

The starter motor was just the beginning. Lots and lots o' stuff, all bad, has fallen upon my head. The latest bit has me flushed cold and cannot be mentioned, but it's bad. I can't say just what kind of bad, but baaaaad. Is it enough to send me totally over the edge, especially in light of all the bullshit I've had to deal with in the past two days? Maybe. Am I ready to sacrifice something dear to me to make a point? Perhaps.

What are you supposed to do when you get shat on at every turn? Especially when those doing the shitting don't seem to care in the slightest?

Andy has some quote that says something along the lines of how you work as hard as you can and what's your reward? More hard work. The same can be said for other things in life. Understanding, patience, sacrifice...what's the reward? The expectation of more understanding, patience and sacrifice. Where are you supposed to draw the line?

I've been whammoed with a few things in these past couple of days, not the least of all being my mother's diabetes (a new ailment to add to the plethora of things wrong with her) and her triglycerides being at 375 (up to 150 is the normal range - don't know if it's the HIV treatment or what that's causing this elevation but it's put her at big-time risk for stroke, along with other factors) to my niece being rushed to the hospital today with a ruptured appendix (she was sick all night, but I guess it's her fault that she has autism and cannot communicate properly...maybe next time she'll use the word "appendicitus" so her parents will take her to the doctor when she needs it) to my father's best friend for life dying of a heart attack (dead before he hit the floor, the lucky bastard) to my sister going from simply being a bartender at a strip club to taking to the stage (who said a boob job won't give a gal some confidence?) to this and that and that and this and I'm about to fucking scream.

And that's just the shit dumped on me from other people's lives. This in no way even begins to touch upon the stresses I have going on at the moment at Chez Yates.

Where do I draw the line? When can I say, "You know what? You expect way too fucking much from me. I can only take so much and you, my friend, have just crossed the line. But thanks for playing."

Do you ever want to just cut them all loose? Every single stinking last one of them. Every emotional vampire that expects you to adapt/fix/condone their behavior, mistakes, whatever. All of 'em. I once knew a wise man that taught me the phrase, "Fuck 'em - let 'em eat fish heads."

I try - oh, lawdy how I try! But I'm so tired. Not a normal tired, I mean a weary to the bone tired. As in, "I don't want to hold my head up because I'm sick of seeing what I'm seeing" tired.

The phrase "same shit, different day" never made me smile.

Sometimes I think of the big kiss-off - man, that'd be sweet. Let me relish the thought for a moment. To be done? Thank you, I've had enough Jell-O for the evening and am feeling a bit bloated. But I'll recommend you to all of my friends!

Can you feel nostalgic for something that's not happened yet? What's the word for that?

Once upon a time last week I was lusting after a cute little laptop computer and a wireless connection. This week I can hardly gain my focus. It's all in an instant, every last bit of it. Sometimes you can't even breathe for it. It's just all shit. Shit, shit, shit. How quickly things can change. How easy a careless little nothing can turn into a huge fuck-off something.

I just realized I'm making you uncomfortable. That made me laugh.

You won't know what to say, will you? You'll be torn between saying something like, "Oh, Natalie, I'm so sorry for whatever you're dealing with" while you're feeling, "Pull your head out of your ass!" I know - because when people get like I am now I'm the same way.

That doesn't change the fact that I've stolen from you. I've taken the time you spent reading this. Feel violated? I would. Get angry - throw shit around. I don't care - hell, it ain't my house.

I use too many hyphens. I don't enjoy the semicolon. No one gave me instructions.

I may be a little bit crazy now, and maybe (bless my stars!) a little bit dangerous. Fits my mood to a fucking tee, that does.

I've just inflicted this brain shit on you. Not like you'll take away any part of my bad mood - more like you'll say, "Isn't Natalie a fuck?" or "I'm not reading her again until she calms down."

Fuck it. I'm not calming down. I am sick to death of it - sick of being treated like a backdrop, sick of being someone's whipping boy, sick of having to bear the brunt of a life gone so fucking terribly wrong...

And I'm now not making sense. And I'm using the "dot, dot, dot". And I'm starting my sentences with"and".

And I don't fucking care! You don't like it? Go eat fucking fish heads.

Some people are such steaming piles of shit that to tell them that would be to state the overtly obvious so you let it go, thinking that they surely realize what monumental dickheads they are - but they don't, do they? Emotional fucking vampires.

YOU WIN! You win, you sons of bitches who ask and take and take without win. I've shelled myself - consider me shucked. Only now that means you've killed it all. How can I stoke a fire when you're constantly pissing on it?

This ain't melodrama, folks - this here be a substitute for real life - sad, though it may be.

I don't know how to end this. This is probably the real-est you'll ever see me. Maybe I'll do the nice girl thing and delete this tomorrow or maybe I'll just scream, "Fuck it!" and leave it at that.

Sleep won't fix this tired-ingly,


Tuesday, July 15, 2003

Lovely Rita (I can't help but put the word "lovely" in front of that name every time I say it, but I'm pretty sure she hates that) has a post today where she's thanking some of the people who helped her along the way when she was first starting her blog. Kind of "to all the blogs I've loved before" meets "mambo number five". It was the first thing I read this morning and it put me in a fantastic mood (it couldn't have been all that hot, hot monkey love I've been gettin' since Andy came home...wait, I'm not supposed to talk about sex here...nevermind) so I decided that I'm going to blow a little sunshine up your ass, too. Here goes.

You know who I love? You. Yes, you! Don't look around to see if I'm talking to someone else - I'm looking right at you. By the way, you may want to do something about that funky hair growth thing you've got going on...I'm not saying that to be critical, but rather, as a friend. You want to sort that shit out cuz it looks nasty. Where was I? Oh yeah, the sunshine up your ass thing...

Every day with you is like a small piece of Canada right here on earth. You always smell vaguely of sugar cookies but not in a sickening way - more like a subtle hint of vanilla and lard.'re making me hungry. I bet you have a great sense of balance - you do, don't you. Come on now, don't be bashful. It's a skill just like anything else. I wouldn't mind raking the leaves out of your yard with you. Rake rake rake without gloves. Because you don't need them, and even if you did end up with blisters you'd turn it into something cool, like telling the neighborhood kids that you got them from radiation poisoning from the drinking water. Because that's just the kinda guy you are.

Remember the time that I almost put eyeliner on my bottom eyelids and you gently admonished me, telling me, "Never forget Joan Jett." Ah, the lessons you've taught me, 'lo these many years! Like how to gently scrape my knife across the surface of the butter rather than gouging deep into the taught me that. You taught me what a plumb line was, and why it is so very, very important. That was all you, baby. "The Crying Game"? You were the one who told me that it was surprising because the guy thought the other guy was a chick, remember? I didn't get that because she was so obviously a man - I thought the main character knew that but was, you know, disappointed in the size of her "member" and that's why he freaked. You've been so helpful and friendly and I don't know how to repay you other than to extol your many virtues here.

You make me want to leave you dirty jokes on your answering machine at three a.m. after a night of Jell-O shooters. You make me want to double-dutch jump rope. You make me want to gamble on pinochle and I've never even played it before!

Some say that we have a dangerous relationship but to them I say that, because of you, I finally feel alive for the very first time. Like on "Natural Born Killers" - you know how Robert Downey Jr. freaks out, screaming about living life? You know, just before they shoot him in the head? That's what I feel like, only without the desire to shove a hot pepper up your ass. I mean, if that's your thing I'm not judging, I'm just sayin' is all.

Having said all that, you don't happen to have $135 I could bum off ya, do you? Our starter went out this morning and we're broke. I'll hit ya back a week Friday, I swear....

Isn't that how it always goes?



Sunday, July 13, 2003

I think that laundry is my most loathed of all the chores. I hate everything about it, from handling dirty clothes (which are always covered in dog hair that I'm allergic to) to measuring the soap and fabric softener (no matter what brands I use, fragrance free or not, the smells seem to punch me in the face due to my superior olfactory senses...that ain't braggin', I simply have a uniquely strong sense of smell) to pulling clothes from the dryer (is there anything that feels nastier to the touch than warm cotton?) to folding (try folding baby clothes before you judge - can't be done) to putting everything away (between Zoe's messy room to my piles in my closet...I have a lot of silky pajamas that, yeah, should be in a separate drawer but I'm using my dresser for Nic's clothes and junk, so I have them in the closet. Have you ever tried to put heavy clothes on top of silky clothes? Won't work. They all slide off and land in a heap on the floor.). I hate it, all of it. I'd be a nudist if I could, or wear nothing but Balinese sarongs.

In case you couldn't tell just how much I hate laundry let me give you an example...currently, my lower stairwell, laundry room and hallway between the two is piled with clothes. My bathroom floor is covered in clothes because the hamper is filled to overflowing. I have no clean towels so I've been drying my hands on my shirt.

And I'm watching the E! True Hollywood Story of Shannen Doherty. For the second time.

Yeah, I think it's safe to say that I hate doing laundry.



Saturday, July 12, 2003

By the way..."I'm With Busey"? That guy needs no kind of audience.

Imagine Charles Manson and Frank Zappa had a kid - that's Gary Busey.

That's some scary stuff - yet another program on Comedy Central that I'm going to be avoiding.



Well my goodness today is already shaping up to be quite interesting...

This is my second day in a row of staying awake all night so I wonder if it's impairing my judgment at all but hell, I'm gonna run with it.

See, there's been a lot of raw sewage floating in my lake lately and despite signs telling me to stay out of the water, my ass has been swimming in the stuff. Which is fine - that's not the issue. The issue is that people were not only adding to it, they were openly shitting off the pier, right in front of me. I mean, ha ha, the joke's on them, right? What's a little more muck to my water? It was the total "in your face" aspect of it that's bothered me. But I let it slide - if that's their way of amusing themselves then so be it, ya know?

It has left me with a rather strong urge to roll my eyes, however, and reinforce my already strong bad attitude regarding idiots and high-maintenance people.

Anyway, I pulled down my email and checked what was waiting. I'm still getting idiot mail from people who think it's really funny to fuck with me about being a depressive (and no, I'm not going to cry over the mean mean things you big, bad, hateful people write to me) and now I'm getting emails about being a "faggot lover" (which is such a creative insult, don't you think?). I even got an email about sticking my nose in other people's business over the Moxie v. Moxie thing, which gave me a giggle. Then there were a couple of gossipy emails which were simply delicious and then the normal correspondence from people helping me plan my trek across country...which reminds me, I really do need to get on top of those arrangements soon.

But the gossipy ones are the ones that caught my attention...see, people decry gossip as being this huge, wicked thing but I don't buy it. Everybody gossips but it's somehow become a dirty word. Chatting about non-stuff is gossip, venting your spleen about about others - we all do it. Hell, the majority of what we write on our blogs is gossip, no? That's not the problem I have.

The problem I have is the whisper in the middle guy, you know the one? Say I'm talking to Blogger A about Blogger B and I say, "You know, Blogger B really ticked me off when they posted so and so but I didn't want to start a fight so I didn't comment" and Blogger A says, "You know, I feel exactly the same way but the last thing I need is a flame war." Simple, little thing, yes? Sure it is...until later on you hear that Blogger A said to Blogger B, "You know, Natalie doesn't like you. She said you piss her off." BOOM! Explosion! Blogger B comes knocking down my door, screaching, "I piss you off and you don't like me?" I say, "No, you pissed me off but I didn't want to say anything about it on your blog." Sometimes it becomes a Really Big Issue but most of the time it's resolved.

Which way is better? Is it better for me to comment on Blogger B's blog, "This pisses me off" and setting off that whole thing? The recent dramas 'round these parts would give any blogger pause to take that course of action. Take it back to my own blog and link to B, saying, "This really pissed me off, here's why..." or saying what I want/need to say in (seemingly) private conversation and getting it out of my system? In the second scenario nothing is made a big deal - it's just so much chitter chatter.

But the whisper in the middle guy...that's the one you need to look out for. Because they're never reporting the gossip back to you for any good reason, are they? They always start off saying things like, "I just thought you'd like to know how so and so really feels about you..." as if a snippet of a conversation can sum up a whole relationship. And what sparks gossip in the first place? Anger, frustration, annoyance...all bad stuff. Histrionic people will jump on whatever bad thing is being reported to them and run with it.

Not me. I know that you whisper in the middle guys think that you're doing me some kind of service by telling me things like, "You shouldn't link to this person because s/he said this about you..." and similar but the truth is I don't really care. If I got worked up over every bad thing people say about me then it stands to reason that I should get excited over every nice thing people say about me, too, right? As it stands, when I hear about someone who's gossiping about me I kind of go, "Huh...well, that's not very nice" and that's that. Unless they say something really out of whack and untrue that requires correction (I recently heard that my mother died but I wasn't talking about it on my blog...yes, people have gossiped about my mother - for the record, she's still alive but we're not speaking which is why I'm not posting our conversations at the moment) I tend to let that dog lie. In the same vein if someone says something really great about me I go, "Huh...well, that was pretty sweet and flattering." It's all about the median, baby.

You've gotta question the whisper in the middle guy. Stuff comes back to me and the first thing I think is, "What does this person stand to gain by telling me this?" I can count on one finger the number of times when someone actually had my best interests at heart when reporting gossip. One finger.

So I go with the flow - I don't take stock in what other people say (or what other people say that other people say) and I'm not rising to the bait. Sorry folks, but this paranoid is more worried about people beating her to death with a baseball bat while she sleeps than whatever people are saying behind her back.

If you see yourself in this post, don't worry - I still like ya and there's no reason to be embarassed or anything. Just next careful who you chatter to if you don't want it getting back to me.

No grudges-ingly,


(link ganked right from the urbanist of all the dykes)

My good deed o' the day...if you have a job lead for someone in the tech field in Connecticut or New York you could win a prize in the form of a Play Box, X Cube or Game Station...or whatever they're called. You know, the video game things. With accessories an' stuff. This is offered by Brad Choate, a friend of the man who needs the job.

This guy, Ron, has an ill child suffering from a rare form of cancer and it's imperative that he finds employment, like, yesterday so that he can maintain health coverage. If he doesn't, he may never be able to get coverage for his son ever again. Fucking HMOs - but that's the way it is. Preexisting condition, and all that.

Pass the link around, even if you can't help directly. Bloggers are always going on and on about how powerful this medium is...put your money where your mouth is and help this guy get health coverage for his kid.



Friday, July 11, 2003

For those of you who follow such things you’ll know all about the train wreck over at Beer Mary’s place about homosexuality. Short story is that some comments were taken all out of context and an explosion ensued – which is sad, because I think a highly interesting discussion could have come about, especially seeing as how Beer Mary is a medical researcher herself. But I digress.

The shit hit the fan when our button master Big Simon made the following comment:

No matter where you stand on the moral / spiritual issue, the biological issue is plain. From an evolutionary standpoint, homosexuals would be (if sexual orientation was genetic) a deviant branch of humanity simply by virtue of the fact that they cannot procreate, which is what sex is all about. If homosexuals cannot procreate, they cannot ensure the survival of their evolutionary strain, and eventually the gene would die out.

So... let's say it is genetic. Assume, then, that for hundreds - or maybe even thousands - of years, homosexuals have been forced to live repressed lives, spending their time trying to appear heterosexual, which perhaps means having children with women. In doing this, the "gay gene" would be interspersed around the gene pool, and just about anyone could end up with it. It would be, well, everywhere.

Wouldn't it make more sense, then, for those who oppose homosexuals to let them "come out" and have their relationships openly, eventually attracting anyone with said gene to their "side of the fence"? Because they would not be able to procreate and pass the genetic deviancy to a new generation, that would be the easiest way to purge such a gene from society, wouldn't it?

Furthermore, if it were biological, wouldn't it be natural to assume, then, that bisexuality could be biological? Pediosexuality? Geriatrisexuality? Beastiality? How can you say one is biological and not others? Maybe some people are simply disposed, by genetics, to have the need to force sex out of others, making rape a genetically correct sexual orientation. Taken to logical extremes, it makes more sense than homosexuality (from the evolutionary standpoint), because there's still a chance for procreation.

I want you to read through that again…he’s not saying that having sex with a child or an animal is equivalent to having sex with someone of the same gender…he’s posing the idea that, if there’s a gay gene why, in theory, couldn’t there also be a gene for anything else sexual? Which got me thinking…

Is there really any such thing as a “sexual identity”? Apart from whom you have sex with is there anything different between homosexuals and heterosexuals? Fundamentally, I mean?

So think of it this way…if, say, there is a “gay gene” (and I’m not going to argue whether there is or there isn’t) and that gay gene were removed – what then? Would the previously homosexual person revert to the “default” heterosexuality? (And by “default” I mean the majority, like saying that brown is the “default” hair color. The majority of the world is straight and the majority of the world has dark hair – I’m not saying there’s anything better or worse about it.) And what then? Remove the homosexual gene and you have…the same person, only straight? Or would they then become non-sexual?

I’ve been up all night again so maybe this isn’t as thought-out as it could be, but I’ve heard people say, “I’m gay; it’s who I am” but I don’t know that I buy that. Apart from who you have sex with you’re the same as everyone else, right? Isn’t that what the equality movement is all about?

I don’t mean to get all “If a tree falls in the woods…” on you but what about this – what sexuality are the chaste? Nuns and monks? Jodi Foster? What are they?

What if there is a gene combination that determined what your sexual desires would be…we’re a long way from understanding our glorious human genome so it’s not outside the realm of possibility…what if there’s a gene that makes you a pedophile? Scratch that – a gene that makes you desire young children above all else. (This is where I get pissed off at the whole, “choice/not a choice” thing…everyone always has a choice about where they’re going to put their genitals. You may not have a choice about what you find sexually attractive but everyone certainly has a choice as to whether or not they’re going to act on them. Again, nuns…Jodi Foster.) So there’s a gene that determines your sexual preference…see, even the word “preference” is open to argument. I prefer New England clam chowder but if I’m hard-pressed I’ll eat Manhattan. Somehow the word doesn’t equate to what I do with what’s in my pants…but vernacular aside you take the point. There’s a gene that determines which way we’re going to swing – let’s leave it at that.

Would you change it? If you could, would you change it? Say, in utero, the doctor tells you they’ve detected a beastiality gene in your child – but hey, no problem, we can remove that for you. Then your child won’t grow up having to repress the desires to screw animals. Would you do it?

Mr. and Mrs. Parents To Be, we’ve detected the gay gene in your child – we can “fix” that for you, no problem. Would you do it?

Further than that…Mr. and Mr. Adoptive Couple – the child you’re going to adopt is straight – hey, not a problem if you want a gay kid; we’ll just snip away this hetero gene.

I’m not saying that homosexuality is on par with any sexual deviancy at all…though some gays I know wear the word “deviant” as a badge of pride…but as far as the evolutionary success of the species the gay among us aren’t doing a whole lot of promotion, ya know?

But it’s a tough question I’ve been pondering for a while – what if you could change your child’s sexuality? If you knew they were gay, set up to live a life of repression, aggression, hatred, bigotry and similar ilk all for the sake of who they have sex with…would I change it? Apart from the sex there is zero difference between gays and straights. Fundamentally the child would be the same, only “protected” from the hard, hard life that homosexuals have to live by not being one.

I don’t mean “make ‘em straight cuz I ain’t raising no faggots” here, though I suppose that would come into play if this were possible.

This didn’t turn out nearly as neat and cohesive as I’d hoped, probably because I’m still thinking through it myself, but you take the point.

I wish I would have tackled this when I was more awake – I’m sure there’s a good post in here somewhere. You’ll just have to chop away for yourself to find it.



Thursday, July 10, 2003

I'm up, it's late, I'm mad.

How in the ever loving fuck does a daycare worker let her two foster sons swelter to death in her SUV when it's parked right outside the fucking daycare where she was working? She said she thought her husband was going to get the boys, ages three and five, out of the car but there was a "miscommunication" somewhere.

The boys attended the daycare where she worked and she didn't miss them for five hours. If this woman can't get her head out of her own ass to take care of children given to her by the state what the hell is she doing in a daycare in the first place?

Now, I can understand, say, forgetting to pick your kid up from soccer practice. Honey, where's our daughter? I thought you were getting her? No, you know that on Tuesdays I stay late...that kind of thing happens. Even that's awful.

But this woman drove to the daycare with the kids and went inside, leaving them in the SUV because she thought her husband was going to bring them in...wha? How the hell does that even make sense? Two kids in carseats, click click, help them down...what, didn't she have the time? Is her life that hectic and important that she can't take the two seconds to get them out of the car?

And what of the other parents that were surely walking back and forth by the vehicle, dropping off their own children for daycare? No one said or did anything...I once chased some guy down in a hardware store for locking his damn dog in his car on a hot day so you'd better believe my ass would be calling the cops if I saw two kids alone in a vehicle. My windows are as tinted as they come but you can still tell when my kids are in the back.

When I was younger...around eleven? Yeah, must have been because that's when they opened the Hy-Vee grocery store near my parents. (I'm from a small area so this was a really big deal.) The whole family piled in to go check out the new store but on the drive there I'd gotten yelled at for jacking around with my little sister so I was pouting and, fighting every urge to see the new store, I decided to stay in the car. It was hot but I forgot to have my dad open a window before they went inside (power windows) and I couldn't open the doors (childproof locking). I could have crawled in the front seat but for whatever reason I didn't. My family wasn't gone very long, returning to the car because the store was too crowded, and my sister asked me where I'd gotten the water. The water? I didn't have any water. She flipped down the vanity mirror and I saw my face - I've never seen anything like this before or since. I was sweating so badly that it looked like I had water droplets sprayed across my face. There were even huge drops of sweat beading up across the bridge of my nose and under my eyes. More were forming on my chin - not the typical sweat that runs down the side of your face, I mean droplets of the stuff oozing out of my pores. This wasn't normal sweat; it looked more like blisters. It scared me - I remember being afraid to even wipe it off - and my mother, who took me to the hospital where they said I was severly dehydrated and hooked me up to an IV. It took a good couple of bags of solution and a lot of observation before they let me leave. I wasn't in any pain physically - the only difference I noticed is that I had to pee a lot after being hooked up to the IV - but I had been feeling very sluggish prior to arriving to the hospital.

I think of this whenever I hear of kids dying in hot cars. I don't mean to say that I was close to death or anything like that but I wonder how long it would have taken - my dehydration came on so quickly and severely that I doubt it would have taken too long. Sadly, the three year old in the story was still alive five hours later but part of me takes comfort that he and his brother probably suffered very little apart from sluggishness and discomfort. Of course, I can't know that for sure, but that's what I like to believe.

I just cannot believe that these poor kids, foster kids who thought they were getting a chance at a family life, died so senselessly at the hands of a woman who made her living taking care of children. I'm just so sickened by this - I hope the image of those dead little boys haunts her for the rest of her life.

I lost another frickin' post, grrrr.....

Don't you dare say MT-ingly,


Monday, July 07, 2003

I was taking a peek around my Sims game to see what I could see when I spy a photo album. The description says something about how the game automatically takes pictures of big events in the lives of the characters. I thought, "Cool - I bet they took a picture of the 'roommates' kissing, or the upstairs decorating I've been doing..." so I clicked to take a look. In my album were three photos: one showing Bella Goth lying dead in the bedroom, one showing when I was robbed (captioned "Burglar!") and one where the Sims social services took my baby away.

Again, I don't want to read too much into this (repeat, "It's a game, it is not a metaphor for life") but it just figures. I have these two chicks living the high life (congresswoman and doctor) in a killer house throwing loads of parties for all of their fabulous friends but what's captured on film? The horrible stuff.

It's enough to send a Sim over the edge. In fact, I may try that.



Jesus built my hotrod and Satan is my motor but Blogger still keeps eating my posts.

Why does this happen? It's because today is Double Monday - all the Monday you've come to know and expect, except twice as powerful since it's at the back end of a long weekend. Yes, even the stay at home parents such as myself hate Mondays, too.

I don't like to say, "I don't like Mondays" - and I don't care for the song by the same name since it was based on a school shooting back in the seventies (when the police asked the girl why she did it she replied, "I don't like Mondays; this livens up the day") but I can emphatically say that I hate Mondays. Zoe seems sassier, Nic more demanding, the dogs more disobedient...I blame the day. Monday is January fifty-two times a year. Monday is not making it to the bathroom in time. Monday is molded bread you use for a sandwich but don't realize it's bad until you've eaten half of it.

I hate Mondays...not enough to make me want to shoot up a school yard full of kids, but definitely enough to make me climb on the roof and practice my primal screaming.

If I could go to sleep on Sunday and wake up on Tuesday my life would be so much better.



Sunday, July 06, 2003

You just wish you were this photogenic. Even with squash on his face he's still the cutest thing going.

I think he gets it from his big sister.

Since they're so good-looking I fully expect them to grow up to be stupid but hey, you can't have everything, right? I just wish there was something that could help me teach the kids to get by on their looks alone...sigh, sometimes living in a society that rewards intelligence over looks can really hinder my parenting. All of those videos showing smart but ugly people...all of those homely intelligent folks starring in's all aligned against the beautiful people. It's not fair, dammit! When are the attractive people going to get their chance to shine, huh? Stop persecuting the beautiful!

Ah, that was funny.

Anyway, thems me kids.



I just saw the Foo Fighters video, you know the one Mtv won't play? Dave Grohl and Jack Black in drag...

It's funny. It's all ironical an' stuff.

Even the CNN reporter said, "Hey, it's like Girls Gone Wild!"

The CNN guy gets it; why doesn't Mtv?

Jack and Dave, dressed as a couple of rednecks, go into a motel room and start videotaping their cross-dressing and gay sex. Methinks, perhaps, the scenario hits a little too close to home for some of the folks at Mtv, maybe.

Speaking of Girls Gone Wild...I was watching tv the other night and saw the ad for the new video they've released and I actually thought to myself, "Why are they all wearing red halter tops that say 'censored'? They're not so wild..." It took three or four more viewings (I was on Comedy Central, so the ad was played during every single commercial break) before I realized. File that one under "duh".

Don't forget - today is the big hacking day. Oh hacking day, oh hacking day...

Oh here's something...did you know that there's now a five o'clock AM on Sundays, too? I only realized that today. Five a.m. on a Sunday is probably my least favorite time of day. Wish I hadn't been awake to learn this.



Saturday, July 05, 2003

An Ode to My Detractors

To all of my detractors
(Of which I've found a few)
Here's a little bit of info
I thought I'd share with you.

Every one of my thoughts here
Come quick and with a burst
To me, there is no difference
Between my best posts and my worst

I often change my opinion
When I'm half-way through my post
But leave my thoughts apparent
A Devil's Advocate to toast

If you saw me while I typed
These entries that I spew
You'd see my tongue is in my cheek
This shouldn't be news to you.

I muddy up the water
I love to stir up shit
I sit back and watch and laugh
And have some fun with it

Those who know me, know this
It's no surprise to them
They play the game and know it
They laugh but don't condemn

My posts take me ten minutes
(Fifteen if I spell-check)
These are not literary essays
So don't bite me in the neck

You run back to your own blog
Mad at something I've said
And with no word of warning
Take cheap shots at my head

The least that you could do
Is drop me a link back
Or send an email telling me
About your ruthless attack

Instead I have to find your words
From a friend of a friend of a friend
It almost seems you're trying to hide
But I'll get there in the end

I often find it funny
To see on another blog I'm quoted
My words are written off-the-cuff
They're nothing to be noted

And another thing, about these Odes?
The same general rules apply
People say "This poem sux!"
And I laugh until I cry

Three minutes, my good reader
Three minutes is all that's spent
For me to write, and you to read
This post's half-assed content.



[I realize my words here are bland and quite airy
But that's because I don't own a rhyming dictionary]

Friday, July 04, 2003

Aargh! Why didn't anyone tell me Barry White died?!?

You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Aw, this sucks.

He loves the sexy slither of a lady snake-ingly,


Talk about pissing on my parade...apparently you can't upgrade to Windows 2003 from XP without basically gutting your entire system.

On the plus side, I did get my Jaz drive installed, which involved something called a "scuzzy card"...that's not how it's spelled, just how it's pronounced. Scuzzy. I love that word. A cool thing about Dell computers, as I discovered today, is that they open up like a briefcase. It's very, "what kinda engine ya got under that there hood?"

One word of caution about today - if you forgot to buy anything from the grocery store, just forget about it. Honestly, make due without because it is just not worth the hassle. Being stuck behind some baby vending machine in the infant aisle I decided to pick up a different type of cookie for Nic along with his regular German toast. While he seems to be enjoying his arrowroot cookies they seem to be far too easy to swallow down, as I just watched my son regurgitate a huge mushy mash of the things. It's not unlike watching a snake belch up the skeletal remains of whatever creature it had previously feasted upon. Quite disgusting, really.

Though, not nearly as disgusting as buying a cheap and nasty beer for the brats at the liquor store...couple of nice bottles of Shiraz, a pack of Boddingtons (yum) and this six-pack of...something. Something that cost $3 for a sixer that I'd never heard of...even the clerk gave me a funny look and said, "I didn't know we even stocked this."

Even Beanie's busting on me I mentioned before, I was stuck behind Mrs. Baby Factory so I picked up a few little toys for Zoe. When I got home and presented her with her plastic treasures she replied with, "Hey, mom, that sure was cute of you to buy me all this junk." You know what, kid? How's about you not read me, okay? Your older sister is still quite happy to get this kind of stuff. Hell, I am too, for that matter.

Lovely...I've noticed that the smeared sludge of the arrowroot cookies has now hardened into a cement-like crust down Nic's "USA" t-shirt. Ah, happy fourth, one and all.



Happy Independence Day, yo.

For the first time for as long as I can remember, I'm cold on the fourth of July.

Frickin' Minnesota.



Man, am I steamed.

Let's take this from the top - oh, and happy fourth of July, rah rah...I'll think more about that whole thing later - anyway, I'm sleeping, right, and Andy wakes me up. I don't really know why. I'm thinking it's the morning - I ask Andy if he'd like a cup of tea and he says, "No, I'm on wine." Huh. That's a rather peculiar beverage for this time of the morning, but hey, it's Independence Day. I'm half-way through my first cup before realizing it's still night. Lovely. But wait! There's more.

Then Andy decides, gee, wouldn't it be nice to go to sleep? Grrr...of course, I am wide awake now so I figure I'll check in with my Sims. After a couple of hours the damn thing crashes on me and I'm thinking, "Alright, it's almost one - I'll do the blog rounds quickly and go to bed." Everything is gravy for, oh, five minutes...I got no further than my own blog comments when what do I see but the BLUE SCREEN OF DEATH! Sigh. Okay, I'm so intimidated, whatever...wait...what's this? This isn't the normal blue screen, this one is filled with bad bad words like "wormhole" and "infinite loop" and "parallel dimensions" and "DIE DIE DIE". Uh oh - not good.

I get a huge jolt of adrenaline and think I've lost everything. Erica just lost everything the other day and I thought, "Well gee, whiz, I really should get Andy to install this Jaz drive thingamabob so I don't, you know, lose everything." I've been through that once before - thankfully, the majority of my pictures were backed up on his laptop. Not this time.

I reboot, praying to the little gremlins in the machine to put everything back when they found it and I swear to myself I will never feed them after midnight again...whew, everything looks fine. But it's creaking and grinding so I freak and try to back everything up but cannot for the life of me remember the best way to do it. (I'm still buzzing with adrenaline here.) I start zipping everything, thinking I can throw it on a single zip disk. (I have more disks, I'm sure, but they're probably in the basement and my basement is scary because a killer lives down there at night. Honestly, I'm so paranoid of the night time killer that if I have to walk around corners while holding Nic I'll deliberately walk backwards. That way, if some psycho is there ready to hit me with an axe then he'll get me in my back and Nic will be safe.)

Of course, not everything fits on one stupid disk so I have to then try to figure out how the hell I'm going to get it all onto cds because my regular cd making program won't work with data like this. I seriously thought to myself, "Fuck it, let it fry - I'm going to get me some Krispy Kreme" but decided against it.

That's when things took a turn for the worse. The storm hit.

Huge cracks of thunder and booms loud enough that it woke up both kids...who are currently sharing a teeny tiny daybed that barely fits me. Nic, Zoe, Bowie and myself are all scrunched on this stupid bed - kids and dog are scared of the storm and I'm trying to comfort them while backing up everything on this stupid machine and why oh why is it making that noise?

I'm burning cds, I'm thinking, "Should I copy this to Andy's machine? How much memory did he say he had left? I wonder if I should upload it and park it on that server for the time being? Okay, I'll do that....shit, transfer time 12 hours?!? Damn...I know - floppy disks! I'll put everything on its own floppy hell, when was the last time I even saw a floppy disk around here, let alone have enough to back up my bajillion kazillion gig hard drive? Shoot - come on, come on, come on! Please don't let lightening strike, please..."

Three hours. Three freaking hours in total. I'm not a complete moron, I just play one late at night.

After I did that and gave it a reboot everything seems fine. Completely back to normal now. In fact, I have a little thing called "Windows 2003" that I'm going to be installing today so I'm going to be just peachy. Exhausted as all get-out, but peachy.

For my Independence Day present I'm going to have Andy hook up my Jaz drive. I get presents today because I'm American and he's English and, well, to the victor go the spoils, eh? (I do this every Fourth of July...I'm all giving it, "What was up with those red coats, anyway? Sure, they were more fashionable but you didn't exactly blend in with the scenery, did ya? Boy, we sure did kick your asses, huh?") I know, I know - it was just a tad more complex than all of that but, oooh boy, does he get his panties in a bunch.

Backed up-ingly,


(I reserve the right to be utterly incomprehensible in the above post, owing to the fact that I am slap-happy and stupid, and shall remain that way as long as I'm awake.)

Thursday, July 03, 2003

So I was playing The Sims for the first time last night...they're sleeping at the moment. I know, I know - everyone else has been playing The Sims for the past seven years - it takes me a while to find my place on the bandwagon, alright? Sheesh - you can be so judgmental at times, you know that?

As I was saying, I'm playing The Sims and I find myself getting utterly sucked into the lives of Melissa, a sassy black girl, and Chris, a blonde-haired girl who seems to have everyone in the neighborhood, men and women, wrapped around her little finger. (I opted for the two roommates thing rather than the whole family because I already deal with that in real life - and the single guy was too can see the beer stains on his wife-beater shirt.)

They both work at the mayor's office (just because I wanted them out of the house at the same time - I need time for me sometimes) and I don't know if this is the best situation. It appears that the white girl is the more upwardly-mobile of the two, landing a position with a lobby group her first day on the job. (I know, I know - who'd she have to sleep with to get that gig, huh?) She came home that first day with a fat bonus, full of pep and energy while Melissa, the black girl, sulked and immediately went to play basketball. Okay, I thought, she's a little ticked at being held down by The Man - let's give her some time to blow off steam while Chris makes dinner and I redecorate her room. (Initially it was decorated to look like a nursery.)

Chris serves dinner and Melissa makes some angry motions toward her plate and walks away. The little bubble above her head indicates that she'd prefer a bath to a stand-up shower stall so *poof* I convert the back patio into another bathroom with a whirlpool tub, all for her. She seems a bit pleased, until I gently prompt her to practice her speech in front of a mirror (to build up that old charisma, you can never have enough charisma when you're working for the mayor!). That's when all hell breaks loose.

She looks in the mirror for a moment, flails her arms around, stomps her feet, generally throws a hissy fit and says, "I'm too depressed to even look at myself right now." Then the thought bubble above her head indicates she wants a radio. Sigh...alright, Missy, you've got a whole lot of attitude for someone who only brought home three hundred Sims bucks today and I've already redecorated your room and given you a whirlpool tub, but fine - there you go. Radio, all for you.

She goes into her room (which she's not even happy with) and starts dancing. But not just any's this nasty booty dance. Rump shaker. I'm thinking that maybe this is how everyone in Sims World dances, so I call Chris in from the kitchen and have her dance with Melissa. Chris immediately grabs Melissa and begins doing this waltz around the room...why does the white chick waltz while the black chick does a nasty booty dance? I'm a little perturbed by this but let it slide.

Melissa is feeling a bit better so I told her to look in the paper for a job, but again, she's, "Sigh...too depressed." Off she goes to watch the fish in the aquarium. I tell her, "Come on, at least eat something" so she goes into the kitchen and grabs a plate...which she immediately sets on the floor and walks away. Fine! I'll have Chris clean up your mess.

Next day after work Chris is exhausted so I send her off to the whirlpool while Melissa makes dinner. See, that's how it should work...everyone should have those little status bars alerting everyone to their energy levels, moods, etc. and we could plan our lives accordingly. This is how it went for us in our groove pad...all things being seemingly equal on the job front (Melissa managed to get a promotion, too) the household chores were assigned fairly on the basis of the chick's energy levels. That's such a novel concept, really.

While last night's dinner was a rather large meal prepared by Chris, the meal Melissa prepares seems to be a six-pack of Slim Fast on a tray. What the...? Damn, Melissa, could you possibly be any more lazy? You're really getting on my nerves...don't you walk away from me when I'm talking to you! You'd better get back in here and pick up these cans you left lying around...fine! You just go play basketball, you little snot.

Sigh - where was I? Oh yes...the thing I don't understand is why they went "stereotypical" in the races? Maybe I haven't had enough experience with the game but my black girl has a big fat attitude (with a booty to match) and prefers to play basketball and throw hissy fits while the white girl makes friends easily, studies and works to improve her career, cleans up without complaint and prefers to unwind by watching television with a drink in hand.

I don't know, I'm probably reading too much into the whole thing. It's just a game, not a metaphor for life, but I'm a people-watcher by nature and am utterly fascinated by how my characters will behave when left to their own devices.

I got so wrapped up in playing that I forgot to cook dinner (but the irony was delicious!) - Zoe came into the room with a bag of lettuce in her hand, being very dramatic about being "starving" and how all she had for dinner was "lee-us". I took the lettuce away from her and she went ballistic at me, throwing a huge temper tantrum...wait a minute here...can it be?...she has quite the round little rump...I don't believe it! Zoe is Sims Black. All this time I never knew. Huh, how about that.



Wednesday, July 02, 2003

Have you ever written a blog entry, gotten to the end and decided, "Well, that's a load of horse shit" and delete it?

Four times. I've done that four times today.

In semi-related news, I realize that I've picked up the charming habit of grinding my teeth.

Instead of pulling together these blog entries that obviously don't want to be written right now I've decided to change some stuff on my sidebar over there. I'm going to be moving people around in my blogrolls, too, as my "old school" is getting older and older while my "bit" is getting bigger and bigger. There's a rude joke in there somewhere but you're just going to have to find it yourself.

Boy, am I in a crabby mood today. I woke up around three a.m. and couldn't properly fall back to sleep, partly because I was working on a coffee pot-type tea making invention. In my mind, that is. I didn't come to any solid conclusions and somehow my mind drifted into craving land. Today's craving was for Hawaiian Punch mixed with Mountain Dew and a big fat veggie Whopper. At four in the morning, no less.

I'm operating on very little sleep for the umpteenth day in a row and the kids seem to realize this. Zoe has been chewing on my last nerve all morning...when she accidentally locked herself in the dog's kennel I took my sweet time liberating her. Well, it's not like she could get hurt in there, ya know? Besides, she often climbs in there to hang out with whichever dog is stretched out inside. (They love being in the kennel unless they're supposed to be in there - then all hell breaks loose.)

Anyway, in peeking around my blogrolls I've grabbed as many buttons as I could find - if you're on my blogroll and you have one I missed please let me know. I'm going to be changing the number of links to display on my blogroll, I think, so if you want a permanent link then throw your button my way. Especially if you're one of those notorious non-pinging people who get lost in the fray. By the time I reach the non-pingers in my blog rounds I'm usually out of time so I miss reading all of them...except for Girls Are Pretty - I read that one religiously every day. But if I had it up in the other blogrolls it would be lost somewhere in the invisible bottom since it never pings. Pah - what to do, what to do?

Oh, and you'll notice there's a link showing you whose business I'm minding to save me from harm. I don't know how often these links will change...I guess until I feel their power to protect me waning.

There was something else I wanted to mention but my mind is mush - I think I'm going to go take a nap. Right after I put Zoe back in the kennel.