At work this morning I realized that all the managers, supervisors and otherwise responsible people were on vacation. So I turned to Flossie, my coworker and said, "Hey! We don't have any adult supervision today!" She said, "You're right" and I said, "well, except for me . . . I guess I'm an adult. I have a degree you know!" She just laughed and said, "You sure do!"

Of course my degree has absolutely nothing to do with my job. I made my "no adult supervision" comment in all earnestness since I am low man on the totem pole at work and I am much associated with my young coworker as we exude silliness about the place.

Today we were having a non-sensical conversation, basically ignoring the two other people sitting at the table with us. We discussed how tsunami was a pretty word, and if it didn't have such a horrible meaning we would name a daughter such a nice name. "This is my daughter Tsunami, and her twin Alluetta."

One of our table mates chimed in to say how tragic the tsunami was, and why did it have a "t" at the beginning? Well, we just didn't know, perhaps only because it is foreign, but there are plenty of English words with the same affliction! Knife, knee, knight (kanigit) not only that but pneumonia, psychology, how about comb and bomb (which I'm sure are supposed to rhyme, but they do not!)

Another person joined us and said, "what are you talking about?" and I said, "bombs!" (with the second b pronounced) He said, "oh." Flossie explained about the unpronounced letters. (I was content to leave him wondering if I was retarded, apparently she was a little more concerned for my dignity.)

He said, "well, I thought you'd be talking about sciency things, usually that's what people talk about here."

You see that was his mistake, taking us for scientists . . . We are just there for the love and attention, and the weekly pay check.

By that time the others had tired of our nonsense and moved on.

We moved on to discuss our British names recalling that mine was Cynthia Castlebottom. I declared that the spelling should henceforth be Tsythiab Castlebottom.

And Flossie said, you know when you watch a sitcom and you think, "nobody really has conversations like that!" We have those kinds of conversations all the time.

I said, "yes, I know." with a lateral lisp.

Everyday when I drive to work I pass Mac Author Blvd, and lately when I see I've been thinking about a song that always intrigued me a kid. "Mac Author's Park"

The words are (If I remember correctly) "Mac Author's Park is melting in the dark, all the sweet green icing flowing down. Someone left the cake out in the rain. I don't think that I can take it, 'cause it took so long to bake it, and I'll never have that recipe again!"

The only real way to know what that means would be to ask the writer, but in my mind it always meant- here is the end of a relationship, which was very good, but became neglected and the singer fears he will not have a relationship as good as that one again.

What a strange metaphor. Honestly, who would leave a cake out in the rain?! If there is cake and there is rain, the cake is coming with me to a dry spot. I would never forget a cake. A loaf of bread, maybe, but not a cake, especially a cake with green frosting. I mean, you don't come across a green frosted cake every day. Well, it's just a thought

I dreamed I was cutting out my ingrown toenail, and when I finally got it trimmed back so that it wouldn't hurt me, I pulled the toe nail back to see what was behind it and there were balls of yarn, papers and toys under there. I started to pull them out, but it was like an endless cavern!

I don't know what that means.

I also dreamed that I was cleaning someone's house and I noticed that the walls and blinds were especially dirty. I started scrubbing them down and the dirt was coming off easily. But they stopped me from cleaning because they said the paint would come off and the dyes in the curtains and blinds would run. I thought to myself in my dream that it would be better to have faded, clean walls and blinds than to have dirty ones, or they should just buy new if they were so worried about the colors.

I don't know what that means either.

I used to receive the Dallas Morning News. It got to the point where I never took them out of the the plastic bags and just threw them in the closet. I pulled the September 4 edition out yesterday to use it for wrapping paper, and I thouhg I'd read the funnies first. I found this.

Aside from Arafat's recent passing, this comic intrests me on several levels. First it is making a very non-pc statement about cultural norms in the Middle East, second, it is a pig making those comments . . . which makes an Islamic world leader cry --irony, yes?

My semester was going well until just a few weeks ago when my professor turned into an evil menace. I handed in a 10 page research paper on reform of western based ESL curriculums and materials to be used in the Middle East and other Muslim contexts.
His comment was that it was "An Excellent paper, but some sloppy academic writing" and gave me a B. Then he crossed out the B and gave me a C. My paper went from an A to a C! I was a bit concerned about the change since that paper was 30% of my grade, and C is as good as failing in grad school.

So I looked at the paper and he was right. I had forgotten one of my citations. I forgot one citation! I went to him and explained that I had simply forgotten it. It was a list and I had wondered if the citation needed to go at the beginning or the end or if it needed to be interspersed through out the list, then I suppose I got distracted and forgot. I made a mistake!

(Dear Jesus,
I made a mistake. I forgot a citation. Can I still come to heaven when I'm done here? Do you have enough blood to cover this one?)

I told my prof I thought two letter grades for a mistake was a bit harsh. He said, "oh that wasn't the only place." It wasn't huh? No, he pointed out a cited paraphrase he didn't like. He also pointed out a few other phrases and words he thought were questionable.

He pointed out my use of the phrases global culture, public property, Islamic Revolution and Islamic clergy.

If I understand the rules of plagerism correctly one needs only put quotes around words and phrases within a summerized text setting, (ie, I summerized and cited a section of an article) if the word or phrase in question is particular to the author. If for example this author coined the pharse global culture I would write it as "global culture" not just global culture.

As far as I'm concerned, however, the phrase global culture is public property! Anyone who reads or speakes about the world in a general context uses and is intimatly aquainted with the phrase global culture! It's not new!
And Islamic Revolution! That is the name of a historical event! How can I use other words for it? My sentance: "In 1978-1979 Ayatollah Knomeini led the Islamic Revolution in Iran, which toppled the Pahlavi dynasty and replaced it with Islamic rule."

Perhaps I should have written "In 1978-1979 "Ayatollah" Knomeini supposedly led the so called "Islamic Revolution." I don't believe it really happened, because after all, Iran isn't a real country and Islam isn't a real religion."

How would this sentance be interpreted: In 1775 Paul Revere rode to warn colonists of the begining of the "American Revolution." The quotation marks indicate to readers that either a. it wasn't a real event or b. this is just the title that some people call it, while others do not accept this title. Everyone calls it the American Revolution, just as everyone calls what happened in Iran in 1979 the Islamic Revolution.

I can't really protest the grade because I did forget the one citation, and it is up to the teacher's disgression as to how to deal with issues of "academic dishonesty."

However, I did tell him I disagreed with his assessment, that I wasn't a cheater. On his final he was nervy enough to ask "Why do you think your proffessor has such strong feelings regarding the issue of plagerism concerning the writings of graduate students and TESOL professionals?" for extra credit.

I wrote something along the lines of the importance of academic honesty so that one may be an example of excellence for fellow students, future students and for future-fellow professionals. Then I put "And so your professor doesn't take two letter grades off a paper worth 30% of your grade which could potentially cause you to have to take the class again as a result of a MISTAKE." I thought about adding something about the Islamic Revolution, but I didn't since I'd already written him another nasty little note in one of the "short answer" blanks of the test concerning the appropriateness of the question in light of the focus of the class and his comments on what and how to study for his final.

I'll probably have to take that class again. This degree is getting longer and longer.

So, I'm driving this Mercedes. I'm sure it was a really extraordinary car 25 years ago, but now it's just scary. The power steering fluid leaks, the oil leaks, the radio doesn't work, the interior lights are practically non-existent, I can't turn the heater off and I can't roll the windows down. The driver's side door won't lock and the other doors won't unlock. The sun roof works. The power seats work. The check break light never goes off and the turning signals blink when they want to.

My car is in the shop with as of yet unknown problems. Most importantly among these problems is that it won't start. I hope to find out what my course of action will be by Monday.

So, I think my most powerful planets are in retrograde or something . . . that was my excuse last time a “series of unfortunate events” happened to me. Let me tell you, Lemony Snicket or whatever her name is, don’t got that market cornered.

I suppose I’ll have to read the book to find out her gig, but I have a lot of complaining to do. Of course there is no time for it all now. I was diligently watching TV and knitting tonight. I finished my hat (oh-so-woefully-incorrectly-but-done) and my matching legwarmers got their final touch. Now, I shall begin work on the matching scarf and things will be well in my world. At least that is the theory.

I propose this theory to myself every day. Thus far I have been wrong (for at least the past two weeks) but I’m an optimist.

Today I was late for work. I had to stop by Auto Zone to get some power steering fluid. I am currently driving a friend’s car and while driving along yesterday it suddenly became nearly impossible to turn the wheel. I all but gave myself internal injuries trying to go around the block, because the needed U-turn was out of the question. It was 7 something AM, and I walked into Auto Zone and said, “I need steering fluid.”
The guy looked at me and cocked his head as if to say, “uh-oh crazy woman”
So I corrected myself by saying, “I need steering fluid,” and making pantomiming driving actions.
With rising intonation he said, “Steering fluid?”
I said, “Yes. I need (mental note, I know I’m missing a word here) steering fluid.”
He said, (as he suppressed a giggle) “You mean power steering fluid?”
And I said, “Yes Jack Ass POWER steering fluid! It’s freaking 7:00AM, get off my back! How often do you think I buy this crap?!”
No, I didn’t say that at all.
I said. “Yeah, that.”

As we approached the counter I realized that I had no idea where to put this power steering fluid. So I asked the guy if he would help me.
He said, “sure.”
When we got outside he said, “pop the hood.”
I said, “I don’t know how.”
Now, I am all about the “I’m just a girl, and this is a car!” routine, but my interactions up to that point with this guy were over the top even for me. Honestly though, I had no idea how to pop the hood. What made me feel better was that he didn’t know how to either. The manager of the store had to come out and find the well hidden lever.

So the guy puts the stuff in and it was like a freaking miracle fluid! Suddenly I could turn and have no worries of a hernia.

I got to work late and nobody was around. Eventually, I figured out there was a mandatory meeting. I ran up to it, got there just in time to win a prize and sign the attendance sheet. I got back to my desk and spilled an entire cup of hot tea all over my lap. From my hips to my knees—spiced tea with cream and sugar. (I just knew it was going to be really yummy too! Drat!)
Ironically the meeting I missed was concerning “spill clean up.” So . . . I had to go to Wal-Mart to buy new pants to wear the rest of the day.

Perhaps tomorrow I will chronicle why I was not driving my car and the other “personality quirks” of the car I’m currently driving.

The stars made me smile
I walked through the dew and
the stars made me smile
and my moon shadow smiled back

How evil are you?

hmmm-- I was hoping to be somewhat more sinister

drat!

I love presents, and who doesn’t? Blogging has been bountiful to me. Okay, well maybe two presents isn’t what some people would call bountiful, but what can I say? I’m present deprived.
A few years ago I wrote a blog about my “idiot strings.” I got reintroduced to the pleasures of mittens as my reward! That was fabulous, and I still have both of my mittens, even without the idiot strings.
This week I got a really special, unexpected gift by way of blog via fan/pen pal. (Fanpal?) I wrote about my much mourned over Mickey Mouse ring of ye old days of yore when vampires ate such trinkets to induce great fear and loathing from little girls such as I.
This week the vampires were vanquished and Mickey returned to me.
Amazing and Amazing again. I love it. Thank you Fanpal!
Mickey, we have a lot of catching up to do, so much has happened in the past 27 years.

It’s funny, although I was never a big Mickey Mouse fan, now two of my favorite things are Mickey themed. Of course the ring I’ve complained about for years, and my Mickey Mouse watch my grandmother gave me, which I’ve worn pretty much every day since I was a Jr. in High school.

Words we know and love:

Screw

The screw fell out, do you have another one?
I can’t screw this in, the wood is too hard.
Did you get anything done, or have you just been screwing around?
That used car salesman screwed him over.
Man, that dude is screwed up.
That dude is a screw up.
I saw this couple screwing along the side of the road!
Screw you!
Screwball!
He is so screwy.
I am so screwed.
Screw it!

Screw

A brown eyed handsome man:

I joined orkut- third invitation is a charm. It came from Ali Reza, he is a young Iranian man I tutored in English while I was in Dubai. I also spent lots of time with his, then secret crush, now wife, Marriam.

They are both adorable, and each (separately, since they were both from consevative families who would never agree that they should spend time together before certain arrangements had been made) made my time in Dubai more enjoyable by far.

He called me tonight, I haven't talked to him in years. He and Marriam are living and going to school in Sydney now. He is working at a Persian carpet store, and he says they are both very busy at "Uni."

When I think of Ali, this is what I remember first. Occationally we would go into the city and look for things in the bigger markets. Ali was very protective and responsible for my well being and never let me get lost. We walked along a street in Dubai, he was close enough to me to sing the call to prayer in my ear and he laughed when I smiled and asked him what it meant.

He would have liked for me to be converted. I fear I would have made an even worse Muslim than I do a Christian.

I told him about my dog. When he asked his name I told him his name is Buzz, I was going to call him "Buzorg" which is Farsi for "big," but nobody would get the joke.

Ali got it. :0)

I like this:


First Fig
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends ­
It gives a lovely light!

Edna St. Vincent Millay

I had a dream, two dreams actually that vaguely follow this scenario: Much like the fantasy novels I’ve been reading lately, there is a young man in my dreams who is quite extraordinary.
However, he has only recently discovered how special he is. He grew up knowing nothing of his true identity, but suddenly it is revealed that he is a leader, a king, a warrior, a savior a sorcerer. It is prophesized that he will save the world, and while he travels with an entourage of devout followers and warriors for his cause, many are out to stop him, kill him, end the prophesy and make the days of man dark and ugly.

In the second dream, which I remember more clearly, I am part of his entourage. I had always known him, and when he learns of his new role, I am the first to accept it. I embrace it before even he understands what has happened.

In the dream, I am very unselfish, none of the reality of the jealous “why aren’t I the special one?” or the pride “he is special, so by association, I am too.” In the dream, I understand true humility.

I carry with me a basket of sweet grass and wild flowers, and I spread them out before his feet on the path. And he asks me why I’ve done this. I don’t remember my answer. I don’t remember answering. I remember I loved him. I remember it was so easy to love him, without jealousy or pride or possession. I remember knowing that what is on the ground, beneath his feet is more blessed than that which has never known him.

Messianic, yes I know.

He was beautiful, and I miss knowing him as I knew him in my dream. It was only last night and I miss knowing him.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, in his little book, Life Together states, “The final breakthrough to fellowship does not occur, because, though they have fellowship with on another as believers and as devout people, they do not have fellowship as the undevout, as sinners.” (110)

This was the quote used to open a skit I used to do with a performance group in college. The skit was about a young man confessing a sexual sin to his Sunday school class, and the class reacting to him, not in Christian love and understanding of weaknesses, but in revulsion and rejection.

One of the lines my friend was supposed to say after the secret was made known was, “I could always feel him watching me.” One day in practice she said, “I could always watch him feeling me.” Which, of course, was fabulously funny to me, and I still tease her about all these years later. The result of her slip of the tongue was that during every performance there was a longer than usual pause before that line so that she could make sure she was going to say it correctly.

Now, I’ve had the book Life Together on my shelf for several years, and I recently decided to read it through. Here are a few points of interest for me:

“If we do not give thanks daily for the Christian fellowship in which we have been placed, even where there is no greater experience, no discoverable riches, but much weakness, small faith and difficulty; if on the contrary, we only keep complaining to God that everything is so paltry and petty, so far from what we expected, then we hinder God from letting our fellowship grow according to the measure and riches which are there for us all in Jesus Christ.” P, 29

“Contrary to all my own opinions and convictions, Jesus Christ will tell me what love toward the brethren really is. Therefore, spiritual love is bound solely to the Word of Jesus Christ.” P.35

“Life together under the Word will remain sound and healthy only where it does not form itself into a movement, and order, a society, a collegium pietatis, but rather where it understands itself as being a s part of the one holy, catholic Christian Church, where it shares actively and passively in the sufferings and struggles and promise of the whole Church.” P. 37

“We are silent before hearing the Word because our thoughts are already directed to the
Word . . . We are silent after hearing the Word because the Word is still speaking and dwelling within us. We are silent at the beginning of the day because God should have the first word, and we are silent before going to sleep because the last word also belongs to God.” P.79

“Must it not be wholesome and conducive to humility for me to learn to bear such petty evils silently and patently?” p. 95

“Moreover, what we have said applies solely to confession between two Christians. A confession of sin in the presence of all the members of the congregation is not required to restore one to fellowship with the whole congregation. I meet the whole congregation in the one brother to whom I confess my sins and who forgives my sins. In the fellowship I find with this one brother I have already found fellowship with the whole congregation.” P. 113

http://www.roadsideamerica.com/attract/PALINcarp.html
http://www.grayco.com/cleveland/mott/sample4.html

It is, it is mesmerizing! About a million huge carp crammed together greedy for the tourist day old wonder bread. Yes, I did this as a child, yes I had a T-shirt proclaim "Pymatuning, where ducks walk on fish!" For some reason this fishy memory is intertwined with my remembrances of my visits to the pumpkin farm in the autumn.

In the north east mid-autumn when the leaves are still flaming, and hanging in their dying moments to sleepy trees. When the squirrels are frantic and the wind is sharp but not yet bitter. This is when the world seems to be nothing but orange and red and yellow, and the sidewalks and lawns are deep with leaves that whisper and splinter as they are waded through. This is the time to visit the pumpkin farm, where the pumpkins are piled in mountains impossible to climb- where the pumpkins range in size from what fits in a toddlers hand to what a toddler can fit inside.

I don't have any pictures from the pumpkin farm, I don't have any special memories, aside from the pumpkins and the atmosphere, but I treasure the memory, what there is of it-- those visits contain the indescribable glory of autumn in the north east, in the Sylvania by the Great Lakes.

I miss autumn, but not the long, long winter. Today I looked at a map of the county I grew up in, (searching for a pumpkin farm) and I wondered at how few towns were there. It's more agrarian than I remembered.

Look at both dolphins jumping out of the water. The dolphins areidentical. A closely monitored, scientific study revealed that in spite
of the fact that the dolphins are identical, a person under stress will
find differences in the two dolphins. If there are many differences
found between the dolphins, it means that the person is experiencing
significant amount of stress.
Look at the photograph. If you find more than one or two differencesyou may want to take a vacation.

In a rather disturbing report from the kitchen: I just found half a bag of frozen peas and carrots in the cabinent where I keep my tools. I suspect it has been there since yesterday morning when I had it out to pack my lunch at 6:15 am.

mental note: Pack lunch the night before to avoid finding random vegetables in unlikely places as a result of not being a morning person.

Here it is Halloween time again, and I thought, well time again to retell the old story about how Dracula ate my Micky Mouse ring. It’s an old tale, sad but true. I was sure I had given a very detailed account of the event on my blog, but alas, when I looked I found only 1 small reference, well 2, but only one showed up when I searched “Micky Mouse” in my archives, the other one was under “Dracula.”

When I was a child I was painfully shy. (Seriously.) I was terribly afraid to talk to strangers, unless I was animated about a certain subject, and they asked the right question. My mother, of course, knew what the right questions were to get me started on these certain topics. She thought it was really funny for me to explain things to people, because while my explanations made perfect sense to me, adult type people were baffled with my small child reasoning and conviction on the above mentioned topics. Therefore, she would set me up by telling people to ask me questions about my latest obsesion.

One of the big topics was how I was born with a bandage on my head, another important one was how Dracula ate my Micky Mouse ring.

Here’s the story, because I remember this happening:

My mother, brothers, grandmother and I had just gone to the downtown mall. A small, adjustable Micky Mouse ring had been purchaced. It was Micky standing sideways with this little hands behind his back. Adorable, and since I was only 3, even at the smallest adjutable size, it was too big.

After the mall we went to a haunted house. One of the first things to happen at the haunted house was a vampire jumped out at us. That scared me out of my skin, and I literally climbed up my mother’s leg. (which wasn’t easy because she wore a brace.) After that the haunted house was anti-climatic. (Maybe the monsters felt bad about scaring a little girl.) As soon as we got out of the haunted house, I realized that my brand new Micky Mouse ring was gone! And I knew, I knew in my heart that Dracula had eaten my ring! Nobody else would have done it, it had to be him because he was so mean and jumped out to scare me! (I’m not sure why I was convinced that he actually ate it, but that was the immediate conviction on the matter.)

I insisted that we go back and demand my Micky Mouse ring back! Oh I was livid about the affair and my mother said, “Are you going to tell Dracula to give it back?” and I said yes I would! So, we all trouped back to the haunted house and of course Dracula was the first to greet us again, an naturally I lost all my resolve and hid behind my mother. She asked about the ring, he said he never saw it, but I knew he was lying!

I knew he ate it! We looked around just incase, but it was gone, and I was so mad! So, ever after if my mother wanted to get me started, even into my adulthood, all she had to say was, “Ask Shannon about her Micky Mouse ring.” My response was always, “Dracula ate it!” And I would launch into this story about the haunted house and how scary Dracula was, and how mean he was to eat my ring and none of the other monsters were as mean or scary or bad as he was!

I still don’t like vampires, (well, who does? But I have an origional reason at least) and I still want my Micky Mouse ring back!

Everytime I try to do research on the computer, I feel like I have to wrestle with it to get any information. I keep getting the image of Jacob wrestling with God. If only I were more persistent like Jacob . . . "I'm not going to give up until you bless me." Man, if I had that kind of dedication, my fingers might never leave the keyboard . . . sigh . . . Of course Jacob gained a limp from that match . . . I'll probably get carpal tunnel, I think I already have carpal thumble from pipetting at work.

who's smarter? Me or the machine?

I fear it's the machine
(bastard!)

A few things my professor has said in class this semester:

"Get together with two other people in groups of four."
(I laughed out loud, and when he asked why I repeated what he said, and pointed out that would only be three.) To which he replied, "Well, genius isn't logical, or something."

"This exercise was kind of pointless, it's kind of like playing with yourself . . . "

"Imagine linguistic input is like rubber balls being thrown at you. In the class room it is manageable because the balls are limited, and you know what to look for. But in the real world, it's hard because a thousand rubber balls are coming at you and you are supposed to only catch the blue balls, but you don't know it and all the balls are hitting you, when all you wanted were the blue balls (giggles) blue balls, that's funny. Non native speakers, I'm laughing because the word "balls" in English is kind of funny."

"This theory was put forth in the mid 1980s, then everyone jumped on the gang banging- er no, I mean gang wangon, what is it? Band wagon!"

All the puppy training articles say that if your puppy "goes" on the floor where he's not supposed to it's not his fault, it's your fault for giving him the chance.

In my defense, I'd like to say:
1. He is the same color as the carpet, and it's kinda hard to see where he is and what he's doing all the time.
2. He's very small, (reference the hard to see part in point 1)
3. Owners are told to be alert to the "sniff and circle" routine before the elimination time, he is always sniffing and circling! I think his huge ears drag his head down!
4. His legs are only 2 inches long, it is nearly impossible to discern when he is squatting and when he's just standing there.

I got a puppy



Welcome Buzz!

Buzz likes: long walks, chew toys, hanging out with me, eliminating on the carpet, eating the carpet, sniffing everything and peanut butter.

Buzz does not like: his collar, having his ears cleaned, being left alone- at any time, ever.

Buzz is afraid of: cars, people, other dogs, cats, large bugs, being locked in the bathroom forever.

I got the following email:

beauty government looks mother brown sir" sort deep a but if, dinner same decide
throw hurry commit"
power innocent often watched means" till an following plan corner wont twenty.
some taking recess practical" day months we physical cannot circumstances under.

it was not from anyone I knew, but it wasn't a mass junk mail. It got me thinking, maybe I am I spy, and I just don't know it.

You can be my body guard and I can be your long lost pal, you can call me Betty and when I call you I can call you Al.(I'll call you Al)

Letters between nerds, in coordinating a lunch date I wrote:

"wll sk flss f sh cn cm fr lnch frdy nd lt y knw.
shnnn
fll n y'r wn vwls"

he wrote:
"ao,
ea! e e knw.
oe
: i i ou o ooa"

I have serious questions as to whether or not it could get more nerdy.

I have comments. It is kind of odd that it doesn't say anywhere, "comments" you just have to know that when you press the time of publication for each entry that you may then post a comment.

Maybe I didn't get it set up quite right. Any comments?

I wonder why

I wonder why total strangers want to join my MSN group page. It only has personal pictures on it. You don't have to be a member to look at the pictures. I don't understand. I know some people have joined so they could put there nasty remarks (look at this pornography kind of thing) on my message board, but I just remove them and block them from writing anything again. I've admitted three strangers to join my group. Let's just see what happens this time.

hahahahahaha........... it's nibbling my toe.....

gimme little wiener

I got an email asking how I was doing-- I was compelled to reply with this:

I am inconspicuously blending in with the appropriate social strata in order to observe the general habits of individuals and the general population with intentions of ploting quiet and small subterfusions intended to disorient and interanally disquiet persons and populations as well to provide me with subtule amusements.

I'm taking a curriculum design course. The above statement would be considered a "goal" as opposed to a more specific "objective" which would be more like:

I will agrieve my coworkers by manipulating interactive toys to talk to one another with in my cubical space while I am away from my cubicle, thereby disturbing the peace and ability to consentrate of everyone in the surrounding area. I will achieve at least a 75 percent success rate. The measureable result of this procedure will be at least one coworkers becoming angry and producing a communication to the effect of "Shut those stupid Furbies up!"

which really looks into what I've been doing as opposed to how I've been doing.
Maybe I should reassess my reply.

I should have said, "I think I have bird flu."
I might have west nile.

I've not been feeling so very great for the past week and a half. I thought at first that it was just a result of my I'm- feeling-sorry-for myself-attitude, but I fear now it may be more involved than that, since I am feeling less sorry for myself, but still not doing so great physically.

I decided to skip my classes tonight as a result of my affliction. I should be doing some work for that class, but here I am instead, considering my growing affection for camoflauge items.

I made a purse a few weeks ago it's camo but feminin. I swore off the purchase of yarn, right after I bought a camo colored varigated skein. I'm making a hat, it will be camo, but feminin.

I carry two purses, it confuses people.

I forgot to talk like a pirate on "National talk like a Pirate" day. I think my inner pirate may be mute.

Sometimes I feel like I talk too much and I may have used up all my words for the day before noon. I wish I could explain that to people without using up more words.

I'm considering a vow of silence.

Tomorrow is Yom Kippur-- happy atonement everybody.

I realize I'm rambling-- it is soothing.

I need to urinate--- hmmm--- too much info?

Goodbye

Sorry, one more thing.

I'd like to announce that I will be starting up my own one page printed publication. It will be called "The 3rd Stall" It will be a bathroom reader. If you would like to contribute a short article, opinon, poem or quote for my publication or would like to receive a complimentary copy of The 3rd Stall for use in the public bathrooms you frequent, please contact me at flipflipsummer@hotmail.com

Thank you,
The Management

i was feeling very pithy, but it has all been erased

more on this subject later i've promised myself

I totally just got fan mail! Wow!

I've gotten a few comments on my blog before- usually from friends of friends who found my blog as a link. There was even one girl who wrote me a few lines in an email to tell me that she had found my blog when looking up "rocks." Interesting . . . yes . . . but those were all over a year ago when I spent more time playing with my bloggie. I've been ignoring it for the most part for a while.

Ahh- so now I am encouraged to be a blogger again.

I don't know what I'll write about . . . that's besides the point. Do I ever really write about anything?

Anyway, I was excited, thought I'd tell the world.

Other news:

"My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, and their like, "It's better than yours." Damn right it's better than yours, I could teach you but I've have to charge."

It's a catchy little number-- I can never hear it again with out thinking "The Fatman made a Funny" Reference the movie "Dodge Ball, a True Underdog's story." If you haven't seen it, it's playing at the dollar theaters, stay until the very end of the credits. If you have seen it- well I suggest you get the DVD when it comes out and look for the Fatman making a funny. I'm more than a little disturbed. But when it came on I was mesmerized, and grossed out at the same time.

I am three inches from my leggwarmer goal . . . Oh yes, I will have sweaters on my legs! Ha!

I bought a Cedar Hills High school letter jacket-- Red and black, the same colors as my Jr High (Meadville Bulldogs) my High school (North Forth Myers High Red Knights) and my college (Dallas Christian College we-aren't- quite- sure-somewhere- between-red-and-maroon-Crusaders.) It's really a nice jacket, red wool, black leather sleeves-- I'll just take the CH letter off.
I got a letter in High school :0) Academic letter in (of all subjects-- this is quite amazing Algebra II) Maybe I should put my letter on it.
The best part is that I got it for $3.50. I'm sure somewhere along the lines someone paid upwards of $100 for that little jem. I do so love the thrift stores!

"The anchor holds, though the ship is battered. The anchor holds, though the sails are torn. The anchor holds inspite of the storm."

I was thinking things haven't changed in so long, that is has been a long calm. I wonder if it hasn't been storming so long I don't even take notice of the dangers anymore.

The evil eye is the name for a sickness transmitted -- usually without intention -- by someone who is envious, jealous, or covetous. It is also called the invidious eye and the envious eye. In Hebrew it is ayin ha'ra (the evil eye), which in Yiddish is variously spelled ayin horoh, ayin hora, or ayen hara. In mainland Italian it is mal occhio (the bad eye) and in Spanish mal ojo or el ojo (the bad eye or just the eye). In Sicily it is jettatore (the projection [from the eye]) and in Farsi it is bla band (the eye of evil).

Dundes theorizes that the evil eye, which has a Middle-Eastern, Mediterranean, and Indo-European distribution pattern and was unknown in the Americas, Pacific Islands, Asia, Sub-Saharan Africa or Australia until the introduction of European culture, is based upon underlying beliefs about water equating to life and dryness equating to death. He posits that the true "evil" done by the evil eye is that it causes living beings to "dry up" -- notably babies, milking animals, young fruit trees, and nursing mothers. The harm caused by overlooking consists of sudden vomiting or diarrhoea in children, drying up of milk in nursing mothers or livestock, withering of fruit on orchard trees, and loss of potency in men. In short, the envious eye "dries up liquids," according to Professor Alan Dundes -- a fact that he contends demonstrates its Middle Eastern desert origins.
Only in Sicily and Southern Italy is it believed that some people can DELIBERATELY cast the evil eye on others. There the regionally idiosyncratic belief is that certain people (including at least one former Pope) are born with the evil eye and "project" it involuntarily. Such people are called jettatores ("projectors") and their specific form of evil eye is called jettatura ("projection") in contradistinction to the garden variety of envious or praising evil eye, which in Italian is called mal occhio ("bad eye"). Jettatores are not necessarily evil or envious people, according to this belief system, and they are often represented as being saddened and embarrassed by the harm they cause.
In the eastern Mediterranean and Aegean region, especially throughout Greece and up into Turkey, there is a strong tendency to view blue-eyed people as bearers of the evil eye -- probably because few locally-born people have blue eyes and those who do show up, such as tourists, are given to praising and cooing over babies, who are thought to be most at risk from the eye.
In Italy, the evil eye is said to affect men as well as children, nursing mothers, fruit trees, and dairy animals. It brings on impotence, through a drying up of the semen. Typical protective aversions of this problem include making the gestures called the mano fico ("fig hand") and the mano cornuto ("horned hand").
Mano fico is a hand gesture in which the thumb is inserted between the index and middle finger. It means literally means "fig hand" in Italian, but "fica" or fig is a common slang term for the female genitals, so the mano fico is a representation of the sex act (with the thumb as phallus).

All so very interesting. Watch out-- I'm dangerous one look and Bla-band! And I will not spit on you!

Welcome back to the Motherland, Keeper of MJ

>

I don't know you, and you don't know me.

I should really be preparing to be very busy starting next week. I came across a complaint of someone lamenting the fact that he would have to take 17 hours in school and work 20 hours a week. I assure this youngling- it can be done.

Now I begin 40 hours of work and 9 hours of grad school. This, I am also sure can be done. It may exclude my novel reading and knitting for some time. I will survive.

I was happy to discover that if three of my classes transfer into this degree, I could be done in the Spring. I have no idea what I will do at that time, but I'm sure I will be able to think of something.

I've been on a knitting frenzy the past few weeks. I think I finally discovered how easy it is. Of course I'm still working on beginner's projects, but at least now I can put it down and I'm not totally lost when I go to start again. It's beautiful. Now, I have to convince myself to stop buying yarn.

I never changed my calendar from July. I think that is uncharacteristic of me, but I'm not sure.

The news moved from fat people to hairy people. There was a man in China who has 96% of his body covered in hair. He has to have an ear operation to remove some of the hair from his ear because he was going deaf. Now, that's a lot o ear hair.

I encountered two incredible news stories today. One was about a 1073 pound man who finally admitted that he needed professional help with his weight problem. One person who weighs over a ton, now that is amazing. I wondered how anyone (the one eating and/or the one buying and serving the food) could let it go that far.

The second story, however, shocked me even more. It was about a 38 year old 4'10" woman who weighed 480. That is a lot for such a petit height. (Well that's a lot for any height, but the point is this woman must have just been a ball of fat.) This woman had not left her house for 6 years. Her neighbors didn't even know a woman lived there. More astounding is that she never, (never-ever) left her couch for 1 year.

When the police went in to search the house (presumedly because of the stench) they found feces and rotten food everywhere. They found this woman, still alive, but fused to the couch. He skin had grown around the fibers. They took the woman, still on the couch, to the hospital on a flat bed trailer. The woman died of morbid obesity before they could surgically remove her from her furniture.

The man living with her may be charged with neglect. He said he tried to get her off the couch, but he could not.

So, with that in mind, I need to start a diet/exercise plan. For real this time.

That is after my donut frenzy I've arranged for tomorrow in celebration of Friday the 13th.

www.phobialist.com

pick your fear!

some of my favorites:

fear of bald people- peladophobia
fear of constipation- Coprastasophobia
fear of Englishness- Anglophobia
fear of Friday the 13th - Paraskavedekatriaphobia
fear of gravity- Barophobia
fear of kissing- philemaphobia
fear of meat- carnophobia
fear of otters- Lutraphobia
fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth- Arachibutyrophobia
fear of the Pope- Papaphobia
fear of yourself- Autophobia
fear of sermons- Homilophobia
fear of vegetables- Lachanophobia
fear of long words- Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia (what I didn't make it up)

And last, but certainly not least, for after reading the entire phobia list I have discovered this is my one true fear: alektorophobia- fear of chickens.

I'm not kidding either-all birds are scary but chickens are particularly vicious and wicked creatures.

 

RejeX

>

Natasha, a 5-year-old black macaque walks at the Safari Park near Tel Aviv Tuesday July 20, 2004. The young monkey began recently walking exclusively on her hind legs after a stomach ailment nearly killed her, zookeepers said.(AP Photo/Eli Dasa)

So-- Darwin was right?  We're all just monkeys with stomach aches?

Speaking of being easily distracted . . .   I almost rear ended someone on 360 the other day.  I was driving along-- la-la-la-minding my own business when this Coors Light truck drove by. 

I'm usually not distracted by beer trucks, but this one was craftily painted to attract attention from both sexes.  First, it wasn't a delivery truck, it was a silver SUV.  Second, it had scantily clad women in seductive positions painted all over the sides and back.  Third, (and this is what attracted my attention) it was glitter painted.  It was shiny silver with sparkly glitter paint mesmerizing me as it drove down the highway, making me wish my car was sparkly. 

Everyone knows that men are distracted by pictures of women with breasts on the verge of popping out of their tops, and women are drawn to sparkly things!  That was an ingenious beer truck!

I tried to take an ADD/ADHD test on line, but it took too long to load.  I got tired of waiting. 
Ironic. 
Maybe that was the test.  "How many times will one push the submit button, and for how long will one wait to take the test?  If he pushes the button twelve times in a 30 second span and gives up after a minute and a half  he has it."
If that were the case- I'd have it.

http://www.clarkson.edu/~hollenca/this_land_mov.swf

The first thing I heard when I walked into work this morning:
Two men conversing-
" . . . that really chaps my ass."
"I know."
"I went home last night and went straight to bed, because I knew that today we were going to be f- (glaces at me) screwed!"
"I know! Me too! I didn't even have any beers, I went straight to bed."
"Uh well, I had some beers, but I went straight to bed, but I couldn't sleep, because I didn't have any a/c!"
"Yeah, it's hot . . ."

I tell you what, these were not the kind of men I even wanted to consider with chapped asses, drinking beer in the heat. (Okay, so I don't want to consider anybody in that condition really, but as it turns out my imagination if formidable.)

One of the last things I moved out of the old apartment was the couch. 
 
Long ago and not so far away I thought I was losing my little bitty mind.  I wrapped two presents for Christmas.  I adorned them with mini Hershey bars.  I went to work.  When I came back from work, one present was gone, the other was missing a mini Hershey bar. 
 
I considered the possibility that I was mistaken, that I had not indeed wrapped the second gift, and there had been no mini Hershey bars to speak of.  Slowly, however, I realized that according to all the evidence (tape marks on the remaining present where a mini Hershey bar would have been, the inability to find the missing gift wrapped or unwrapped and the alleged sighting of a mouse of indeterminable size) that to be sure a rodent had absconded with my chocolate and my gift intended for my room mate.
 
I looked everywhere, I really did.  I informed my room mate that there had in fact been a gift, but that a mouse had stolen it.  I’m not absolutely sure she believed me . . . I mean what are the chances after all? 
 
When the couch was moved I found 2 mini Hershey bar wrappers, 1 chewed through wrapper and 1 rhinestone belt (that was the gift.)  Not only that, I found my lost-for-3- months-ring, 2 (unmatched) earrings, 1 shiny gold button and a whole bunch of mouse poop. 
 
Mystery Solved! 

A lesson to everyone (especially males, somehow most females seem to know this innately.)

Hypothetical situation: You and your friend are talking, joking, having a good ole time when suddenly your friend says, "Hey! Now I'm mad at you!" You are baffled. What have you done wrong? You ask, "Why, what happened? Why are you mad?" Your friend explains to you how you have offended him/but-usually-her. This explanation makes no sense at all to you. What do you do?

A.  Say, "Are you crazy? I don't know what you're talking about! Get over it!"
B.  Squint your eyes, focus on her and secretly hope that your much longed for laser eyes will    suddenly kick in and crisp her.
C.  Say, "I'm sorry I offended you, I didn't know what I did/said would upset you, I'll try not to do it again."
D.  Leave, hoping that when you've come back the alternate personality living in your friend's head will have gone by the time you come back.

The answer is C always C!! So what if you don't understand exactly what you did wrong?! You are apologizing for the perceived wrong! Most likely you will not be able to convince your friend that you honestly don't understand how what you've done is offensive. Apologize for (even unknowingly) causing the offended feeling. That way she won't be even more upset with you for being so rude as to not care weather or not she's upset.

I was feeling the domestic demi-goddess this weekend. I was sewing, I was knitting, I was cooking, I was thinking about cleaning. Actually I did my dishes as soon as I finished eating, which is mostly because I'm scared of the critters who might also like my cooking. But that's cleaning too right? I also swept the kitchen, but that too I must do everyday as a result of all the ex-critters who wandered into the boric acid whilst I was away.

I made these groovalicious wrap around pants. (Yes, PK, just like the shorts from the Philippines.) I was so proud of myself that I went out and bought a shirt just so I could wear them today. I started knitting a scarf as a gift-I'm using "eyelash" yarn, it looks like I'm knitting a something that is destined to become Elmo's new best friend on Sesame street.

I have been working a Mohawk labs for one year.  I get my one year pay raise next week.  No one has bothered to tell me how much or more likely how little that may be. I have my one year review next week.  My boss is afraid that she will make my cry during the review.   While I am a sensitive and emotional creature, I find that  scenario highly unlikely.  But why let her know that? 

I have moved.  I again am living alone (me and the left over roaches.)  My apartment is most likely slightly toxic at the point.  I have boric acid along all the walls, I have cans of Raid in the kitchen and the bathroom.  I have bug bombs, roach bate and of course the ever present "squishing shoe."  I have noticed a significant decrease in la cockaracha activities.
The previous renter was a smoker.  I know this not only from the strong smoke odor emanating from the very walls but from the tar deposits I've scraped off the windows.  I decided the best thing for me to do to mask this ever present odoriferous experience one senses upon entering my domicile was to plug in a scented oil warmer conveniently equipped with a tiny "super quiet" fan.  It emits the scent of a "Tropical Breeze." 
Now when one enters my apartment he has the sensation of a heavy smoker with a can of Raid and a death wish to any bug that crosses her path standing just up wind of a refreshing tropical breeze.  Pleasant, Yes?

That was a fine ice breaker-now, let us talk of me.  I am now officially a graduate student.  Not a seminary student, not a "special student"  not a "degreed undergraduate."  None of these,  I am now (although I STILL need to take the GRE) officially a graduate student.  Details pending.

I've been meaning to do this for a while.
I suppose deep down I was thinking that when one stays quiet long enough, people forget to check to see what's going on.  It's a slow, quiet fading process.
I've thought about writing quite a few things-things that go better unread by anyone who knows me, or knows that I'm talking about them when I start recounting the absurdity of my experiences, or more accurately the absurdity of my perspective on those experiences.  The actual experiences, I maintain, cannot possibly be any more absurd than the next person's experience. 
I could  change names but they would still know.
You know who  you are .  If there is anyone reading this, if you know me, you know I have a story about you, and I have some opinions of you good and bad.  Most likely I have not fully shared those opinions of you with you although you probably have a pretty good idea of what they are.  I'm not trying to hide those opinions, it's just that I've been told I at times come across as somewhat harsh-and I'm rarely overly mushy-so get off my back!

The Darkness
Your personality type is occluded. You may even be
a genuine goth. Aloof, mysterious, introverted.
You absorb light and energy into yourself and
seldom release it...perhaps because you've been
hurt so badly in the past.


What's Your Celestial Personality Type?
brought to you by Quizilla

huh, well what do you know?

I saw a sign that said "IT IS un AWFUL TO LITTER." Then I saw one that said "IT IS unlAWFUL TO LITTER."
I see . . . un lawful, un awful . . . so close.

I need to take a picture of the one on 20 that says "AWFFLE HO SE"
aka "WAFFLE HOUSE"

I was surprised to find no Eiffle Tower in Paris, TX. Why wouldn't a little town like that play it up? I mean, the largest Superman statue in the world is (where else) Metropolis, IL. Well, now I know.

The cicadas are out in Indiana. Curious creatures. The story is that the come out once ever 17 years. They stay mostly in the trees for about 3 weeks (making one of the most unnerving sounds I've ever heard, like thousands of tiny UFOs about to land on your head) then they die, not coming back for 17 years.

They have creepy little red eyes . . . I didnt hear them this morning. I suppose their time is up until a new generation comes along.

“I think of people who are innocent and a bit naive and it makes me want to protect them from life, like I think they have a chance since they have not been corrupted by violence and the reality that the world is a scary fucking place.”// posted by Travis
I’d like to think of myself as an innocent. I didn’t see the beheading clip. I didn’t want to. I don’t know if acynic can be an innocent too. I’ve heard very few statistics concerning the war(s) in Afghanistan and Iraq. I know about 200 American soldiers have died. And the public has clamored against the state to “pull our boys out!” Pull them out? What were we doing there again? Are we done already? I heard that one Dutch soldier died and the Netherlands thought it might be time to withdraw.
Can I still be an innocent if I think 201 men isn’t that many? 201 is tragic. 2 is tragic. The real tragedy is that the majority of Americans, I suspect the majority of soldiers sweating in the desert don’t understand. We will never win this fight. We can’t win because we don’t have the perseverance. It seems the American idea of “winning” a war is beating the loser into submission. Holding him down until he says “mercy” then we graciously let him up, and bandage his wounds, and teach him to “good way.” And because he understands our ways are better, he agrees to not pick on his neighbor because there’s always going to be a bully across the ocean. Big brother is watching.
But our opponents will never give up this time. They are wily and their words don’t match our meanings. They will never agree that “our way” or any compromise made is right for them—because it won’t be.
We lost Vietnam. We lost a lot, more money and men then people care to remember. We may have lost some power and influence—but what we lost in the jungle—I feel will not compare to what we will lose in the desert. I fear for my times.

Take the quiz: "which phsycadellic penguin are you?"

the jesus lover penguin
you are too obsessed with jesus... you need to learn how to be a bit more... less religious

Take the quiz: "Which Playing Card Are You?"

The Queen of Hearts
Loving, caring, but sometimes Vain, You are the Queen of Hearts.

It seems I "can't think" and by showing offense at that kind remark, I was deemed "petty"

It's good I get these decrees from on high, else how would I know?

Happy Cinqo de Mayo! A Mexican holiday celebrated by more people in Texas than in Mexico. (any excuse for a Bar B Q)

I bought a book at goodwill for $1.00. It is called "The Indiana Mothers' Baby Book." I bought it because it looked pretty old, and I wondered what has changed in baby care since it was written. There wasn't a publication date, but these were free informative books given to new mothers in Indiana starting in 1913. The mother who recieved this book registered her child, Jerome Grenda, born August 27, 1917.

This book has much truth to despense, such as: "Those possessing inherited, and hense transmissible physical and mental defects should never become parents, unless it is thought desirable to multiply the physically and mentally defective."

"A mean, drunken, cruel or brutal husband, or one who does not do his utmost to give good and tender care to his pregnant wife, is a low specimen, his devoid of manhood and trhe law should
deal severely with him."

"Cessation of the "monthlies" is usually regared as the first symptom of pregnancy."

"It is a very great wrong to herself and her child for a mother to feed her baby artificially if she is able to produce healthful mother's milk. Such a mother is a deserter from duty."

Crying babies:
"Babies cry only when there is a cause. Find the cause and remove it.
Perhaps he has had too much food
Perhaps he is dressed too warmly
Perhaps he needs a clean diaper
(and my personal favorite)
Perhaps and enemy has given him a pickle."

I was telling my friend (who is expecting) about this book. She noted that alot of people are asking if she will be breast feeding. She said she feels people are getting kind of bold asking after her breasts like that, and sometimes she is temped to tell them that she has decided not to, but she has contracted a wet nurse for the detail.

I went to a lip synch contest at church this weekend-- Grandmas singing "We are Family" -- grooving like the Pointer Sisters we the best act for me, but the winner was a group of 30 something women dressed as old women singing "Lady Marmalade" Which was cute, but somewhat disturbing too, aside from the fact that they looked like old women dancing with canes, I found it odd that it was perfectly acceptable for them to sing "Will you go to bed with me tonight?" at a church function. I guess it's okay to be a prostitute as long as you make your propositions in French.

Voulez-vous couchez avec moi, ce soir?

"Orange suggests that an expected change in your situation will be delayed"

I had a dream full of orange, and old friends.

"Orange: Spleen Chakra: The emotions-- This is the center of your body governing your emotions, relationships and creativity. Whe you are drawn to this color there is usually a power struggle occuring in your life having to do with money and/or sex. Use this color energy to help manage desier and express your creativity and life force."

"Tibetan Buddhist monks have long worn orange as a sign of wisdom, spontaneity, intuition and living in the present moment."

"Orange dreams
The best dreams are orange. I usually dream in black and white but now and then there is an orange dream. A most beautiful incredible floating experience. It encompasses all senses, in incredible, unexpected ways. It never lasts long enough and the memories remain strong. I love the orange dreams."

Job description: I pour water from big bottles into little bottles. When I'm finished pouring the water from the big bottles to the little bottles, I pour all the water down the drain. Then I start over pouring the water from the big bottles into the little bottles.

I've decided to do everything earlier-- at least that is the goal for May. I had a momentary lapse trying to remember why I was wanting to do everything earlier . . . go to bed earlier to get up earlier to get to work, to leave work to do what ever it is I do in the evening . . . why did I want to push this up an hour?

Oh yeah . . . work. You would think everyone at my work was very motivated. We get to work pretty early most of the time. We work quickly while in the lab, and we goof off at our desks as much as possible. (Which is considerably easier for everyone else than it is for the lion and I, being that our cubicals are open to the world, and the rest are hidden away in corners. As a matter of fact we were busted by a group of Chinese business men or scientiests, who knows, they were touring the labs. They walked by and looked at us with questions in their slanty little eyes as we sat in our shared cubical munching animal crackers dipped in peanut butter talking about my disease ridden cat.)

All this because of our boss, BS. She is nice, pretty easy going- no micro managing . . .but she talks. She talks loud so we can all hear her over the machines. She talks about nothing and everything. She says the same thing 4 times in a row, or until someone responds. She talks about her car, her ex husband, her boyfriends, her daugher, her diet, her classes, her family . . . oh how she talks! Sometimes I want to stab myself in my ear with a pipetter! But I don't.

And our coworker, E, likes to defy BS. Everyday E wears sandles in the lab. Everyday BS says to E, "Your toes are showing!" (with an air of mock scandalization and the slightest of lisps) Everyday E responds (and with finess) "I know." As if to say, "The showing of this one extrodinarily long second toe hanging off the front of my sandle is the crowning joy of my day." And everyday E walks away with the proud gait of a woman who has raged against the 'the man' and has lived another day to wear sandles in the lab.

Speaking of wearing sandles in the lab, it is against safety policy, as is wearing saris in the lab and "putting out fires which require breathing air." Heck, I am required to breath air all the time! NO fires are going out on my watch. NO! I'm going to be off breathing air somewhere out of the way!

So-- the lion and I stand in the back of the lab and bark at each other, then we say "En Francais!" and we shout, "Le bark! Le bark!" And we laugh because we find this highly amusing, and because we just want to do something to drown out the talking.

"Nevertheless, he was not content, however great his urgency, to settle for less and live the rest of his days with a wife who had large feet and a strong charcter."
Daughter of Fortune Isabel Allende

Which, of course, led to an internet search on the Chinese practice of foot binding. Which I maintained from the beginning must have been a man's idea. So the website tells, a Chinese prince over 1,000 years ago admired the small "golden lilly" feet of one of his concubines and thus the tradition of bending over the toes of a small female child, breading her foot at the arch and twisting the broken feet up on themselves. The feet were then bound with tight winding cloths and eventually the feet would shrink so that an adult woman's feet could fit into tiny slippers only three to four inches long. Of course she had to keep the slippers on all the time because not only where the "golden lillies" ugly as all get out-- the deformed and mutilated bones would begin to seep a "foul smelling substance."

The women could not walk more than a few (very small, shuffling) steps before she was beset with terrible pain. She was only an ornament.

The practice of foot binding continued until 1911 when it was banned by the new government.

fyi be very careful looking up "foot binding" on the internet . . . much like granny squares, things can easily go awry!

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and that's the harsh truth about me don't hate me because I'm beautiful

Yesterday I opened my door to go to work and there were little pink tickets all over my walkway. I picked them up and they each said, "You are insuperable."
Huh.
I didn't know what "insuperable" meant, but I put them in my purse and headed off to work.

INSUPERABLE: incapable of being surmounted, overcome, passed over, or solved.

Insuperable is a state of mind. Today I am insuperable, well, actually yesterday I was. I'm not feeling up to it today.

The other day a little girl knocked on my door to ask if my cat could come out to play. I told her my cat was already out playing, and if she could catch the cat, she could play with her. Sounded fair to me.

Last night I dreamed that my cat jumped off a bridge, never to be seen again. The again, I dreamed my pet panda fell off the same bridge on the same day and he too was never seen again. I really miss that panda.

Age eight: I've seen the world-

a child molester rolling by slowly in a beat up Caddy-
In motion

the 'fuck rock' just behind the fence in the woods-
In action

a used condom on the playground-
In full view

the ambulence came-- fat Pam O.D.ed . . .again
she can't do it right

Brenda had my brother's abortion . . .
sophmore year

patty-cake?
You know this one?
"Peanut butter mother fucker, two time bitch
mess around with me you get your ass kicked
'cause I'm a TT tucker and a bad mother fucker."
Mother goose has flown

Mouse was arrested-
all his kids got lice-
his house aint nothin' but roaches nohow

If you touch me there again, I'm telling my mom,
and she'll kill you-- you know she's crazy.
For real.

What'chu laughin' at fool? You on welfare too!

Age eight. I've seen the world.

motion
action
full view
dying
killing
rhyming
incarcerated
crazy
living
life of mine
age eight

"My captures continue to tourment me with bizzare dangling objects. They eat sumptuous meals while I am given only dry cereal to eat. My only consolation is that occationally I am able to destroy a piece of their furniture."

Happy Easter to all you peeps.


Although Just Born acquired Rodda for its jelly-bean-making capabilities, the Born family was fascinated with the three-dimensional marshmallow Easter chicks, called Peeps, that Rodda was also making at the time. Lauren Easterly, the Peeps brand manager at Just Born, said that a group of women at Rodda made Peeps by hand in the back of the factory. In 1953, it took Rodda 27 hours to make one Peep. Just Born mechanized Peep production and was able to bring the confection to consumers on a mass scale by 1954.

"We aren't women if we aren't desperate."

-she didn't want you to know she said it outloud.

"In these two tongue twisters, attention to the aspiration of prevocalic
plosives may be helpful for some students."

(I ask you, if a native English speaker can't read the directions, how can
the students learn to say the tongue twisters?)

pk

I went to go see a life size replica of the Tabernacle yesterday. It was a very odd and particular kind of thing . . . it didn’t really have the same look that had I imagined, although they had gone from the biblical descriptions. Of course, since the presentation was Christian, it was “How to find Jesus in the Tabernacle.” (I’m pretty sure at this point that going to see a Jewish reproduction of the Tabernacle would have been far more interesting.) I mean, I got the idea that if Jesus was lurking in the Tabernacle and I was looking for him, he could have just popped out of the Ark and said, “Ha! You would have never found me in there!” (You know that, “ye who look upon it shall die” thing would have deterred the search.)

Our oft tongue tied guide would point out a feature of the Tabernacle and ask this question, “What does that represent?” If you said, “Jesus” you were right nine out of ten times. If, however, you hit that rare occasion when the answer was other than “Jesus,” he would answer your mistake with a resolute and triumphant “NO!” (As in “HA-Ha! You fools! You know nothing- Nothing about this tabernacle or Jesus! I will now enlighten you!”)

First he told us where all the materials made to build the Tabernacle came from. “The linen came from Egypt; the ram skins came from New Zealand, the cloud came from Canada”. Let me repeat that. The Cloud, the “Glory of the LORD” came from . . . Canada. Fine.

Then he told us about the gate. “Does anyone know why the colors red, purple, white and blue were used?” “Jesus was a king (purple) who came from heaven (blue,) lived a perfect life (white) and shed his blood (red) for us.” (Or those are the most expensive/royal colors in the ancient world.)

“Does anyone know why the gate is thirty feet wide?” (He got me there, because I’m pretty sure the ancient Hebrews weren’t using the English\US measurement system.) The answer of course is that “Jesus’ earthly ministry began when he was 30 years old. OR maybe it was to be big enough that everyone could come to him through the door which is Him.” (So, even those double wide fat asses can come?)

“Please save your questions until after the tour. Thank you.”

The brazen alter had four horns. Why? “because Jesus had four horns?” No. The horns symbolize strength. “because the priests had to be really strong to get all those bulls up on top of that thing?” No, because when Abraham was going to sacrifice his son, there was a ram caught in a thicket by his horns. “But what does that have to do with . . .”
“Please hold your questions.”

The Table of Shewbread held twelve loaves of flat bread. “These loaves were pierced for quick baking. Just like Jesus was pierced.” (For quick baking?)

In conclusion, from this tour I learned that God is from Canada, Jesus’ favorite colors are red, blue, purple and white. Jesus thinks fat people are a-okay, but he did not have horns. He was a fan of the quick bake method.

I woke up the other morning with my finger pressing my nose. Now, there is no way to know for sure at this point, but I’m pretty sure that I was desperately pressing my nose in a vain attempt to turn my alarm off. (Some how confusing my nose with the snooze button) Yes, well --- these things happen.

I think I had a karmic moment tonight. I was sitting at a traffic light, in the lane next to the biggest ambulance I'd ever seen. For some reason I had the urge to lean forward and crane my neck up to look into the driver's seat of the ambulance. At that exact same moment that ambulance driver was craning his neck to look down and back into my car. I know it doesn't sound too unusual, but it seem so at the time.

I’ve taken to carrying a second purse. It started out as a lunch bag. It has now evolved into a bag I may or may not need at any given time. In my second purse I carry; snacks, water, a barrette, a bandana, the book I’m reading, extra batteries, lip gloss and a flyer from a fabric store. It has room for all the things I think I might want or need, but I don’t really want to be committed to carrying around all the time, so I can switch things out. Like “Mmm, this might take a while, I better take my book and my water, but I don’t think I’ll need my check book.” Switch out- leave one purse in the car.

So I’m taking step aerobics class. I admit it freely—I am a white girl with no rhythm. The leader is also a dance instructor. She’s a middle aged woman who steps and jumps and stretches and in general moves so gracefully. I’ve been there four times. I still flounder around like a dying fish. I watch the leader intently—she steps with her left leg—I see it, I comprehend it I know I should be doing the same thing—instead my right leg tries to imitate the movement (and does so quite poorly .)

I stop, I start again, “on the beat, one-two-three-dang off again!” Half a step off and doing everything backwards, I feel I must be the bane of this poor woman’s step aerobic career.
I’m pretty sure I’m going to fall off the step pretty soon.

The workout mat they handed me this week had the work “HELP” scratched onto the surface.
I feel the pain man. I feel the pain.

(outside a gymnasium) She came puffing through the door, and complaining bitterly with a adolescent daughter in tow . . . “This is ridiculous! It’s so Stupid!” She wears an exercise outfit. “I (huff-puff-waddle-waddle) can’t believe how STUPID it is!” She’s a larger woman.

The daughter: “Mo-o-om!” That sing-song three syllable “I can’t believe you are saying this out loud, there are people here!” chastisement a child gives to a parent.

The source of the complaint: She couldn’t find the elevator to get to the gym . . . which is on the second floor.

God forbid that a fat woman has to walk up twenty steps to get to a gym to do . . . whatever she was going to be doing there . . . obviously not the stair climbing machine.

I dreamed last night that I was explaining my materialism to a Lebanise man. Honestly, I should learn more about Lebanon.

How one thing leads to another . . . I forgot to feed my cat the other day, the result was that I peed on her toy. Funny how things work out. I got up and went into the bathroom to discover pads and tampons all over the floor with a light sprinkling of Q-tips. The cat must have been anxious. I peed as usual, but when I went to flush—I saw a blue thing, I looked closer, it was one of the cat’s toys, in the toilet. Already peed on. I knew I had to pull it out, else it would clog up the toilet. Ick.
In the living room, papers everywhere, in the kitchen—she had made tiny little puncture marks in the plastic cat food container . . .the one I bought because she kept eating holes in the paper cat food bags.
Mental note: don’t forget to feed the cat.

I just wanted to know how to crochet a granny square! I put in "granny square instructions" in google and the first hit said, "Granny square instructions" and I made the mistake of clicking on it . . . to find, much to my horor an pornography site . . . with pictures of old women doing . . . things . . .

Here is a marker of life:

Barbara E. Hindle: September 12, 1924 – December 15, 2003

It is impossible for me to define a life which helped to define mine, but here I honor my grandmother’s memory. My spiritual leader and provider.

She had a misunderstood daughter in my mother, and I believe she strove to correct her perceived failings in me.

I can only hope I gave her something in return.

She had a family burial plot, but she chose instead to be cremated and to have her ashes scattered in the same lake my mother’s ashes had been scattered. My aunt said the idea fascinated my grandmother, to have those ashes travel the lakes and rivers, to reach the Gulf, and move on the oceans- to move at one with my mother, just once.

I rejoice her body and spirit have found a better way. I rejoice that she has been and will always be part of who I am.

"The plot is so Captitizing, and when you think it needs a better ending, you think back over everything you've read, and say "It's good enough." "

"When I read this book, I knew this was THE book. It touched me, but not really."

These are reviews from a book that I read as a teenager. I kind of wanted to read it again, but maybe I'm remembering it as much better than it really was . . .

that's all I have to say to you and your vengence of signs, Travis

I went to Thrift town yesterday. I saw 7 pairs of women's size 11W shoes. They were all outrageous, red snake skin heals and baby-blue-see- through-sling-backs . . . I think a drag queen died and donated his wardrobe to charity.

You're Animal Farm!

by George Orwell

You are living proof that power corrupts and whoever leads you will
become just as bad as the past leaders. You're quite conflicted about this emotionally
and waver from hopelessly idealistic to tragically jaded. Ultimately, you know you can't
trust pigs. Your best moments are when you're down on all fours.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

people dressed up like food make me smile. Everytime.

I've discovered something about myself: I have the habit of taking pictures of signs.

I guess its a hobby? I never noticed I had so many pictures of signs!

My lips are almost back to normal.

A balanced mind observes the world with both innocent acceptance and cautious doubt.
I've been wearing one ear ring for a week. No one has said anything.

Today I learned about paper dresses. All the rage in the 60s until it was discovered they were not fire retardant, and wearing a paper dress you could just burst into flames at any second! Thus the demise of the paper dress craze. Long Live Nixon!

This is why I don't flip channels . . . usually. I was going through my meager number of stations when I came across the public television station. Within 5 seconds I had said "Ugh! Ahh! Ick!" concerning the introduction images for the program which was about to air.

But I was hooked, I had to see the brain surgery, I had to see the (artificial) limb replacement surgery . . . I had to know! So there I was, shunning American Idol, but like a magnet- stuck to the lives of these two people going through crazy tramatic surgeries on camera.

One was a 60 something woman who had been blind for almost 30 years. The doctors were implanting electrodes on her brain to stimulate her visual cortex. The desired result was for a camera attached to a pair of glasses to feed images to a computer, the computer to translate them to the brain, and the brain to translate a dot matrix to the eye. She could "see" what they called phonemes- twinkling dots outlining contrasts. A $100, 000 dollar venture to see twinkling outlines. Risking death or brain damage-- I'm not sure I'd be able to go so far. She had 40 wires coming out of two "ports" in the back of her head, and a bulky, heavy computer to wear around her waist. The doctor called it a "vacation from blindness" not a cure. But he hopes to advance it into a cure in the future.

A special note for the roomie: they stuck her head back together with "biologic glue." Which to me looked Abysmal with a capital B!

The second person on the show was an older Norwegian man. He had lost his leg in a hiking accident. He was getting a titanium rod implanted into his bone so that he could attach an artificial leg without the use of a vacuum seal (which is how most artificial limbs are attached.) It was stated that "the discovery of titanium's adaptability to living tissue was an accident." The doctor then said, "I was implanting titanium in rabbit's legs . . . " Wait a minute? An accident?!

"I accidentally implanted a titanium rod in this rabbit's leg . . . " Or was it more like, "Well, I was implanting things into rabbit's legs, you know, to see what would happen . . . I implanted bologna, taco shells, pink erasers ( What floats aside from wood? more wood! rocks! small churches!) nothing happened. Well, of course the rabbits died, but aside from that, nothing, until I implanted the titanium!"

Anyway, this procedure was over 90% successful. But for some reason, which they didn't explain, it had only been preformed on less than 100 patients.

A balanced mind observes the world with both innocent acceptance and cautious doubt.

“Wendy,” he said, “don’t withdraw. I can’t help crowing, Wendy, when I’m pleased with myself.” Still she would not look up, though she was listening eagerly. “Wendy,” he continued, in a voice that no woman has ever yet been able to resist, “Wendy, one girl is more use than twenty boys.”

Now Wendy was every inch a woman, though there were not very many inches, and she peeped out of the bedclothes.

“Do you really think so, Peter?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I think it’s perfectly sweet of you,” she declared, “and I’ll get up again;” and she sat with him on the side of the bed. She also said she would give him a kiss if he liked, but Peter did not know what she meant, and he held out his hand expectantly.”

“Surely you know what a kiss is?” she asked, aghast.
“I shall know when you give it to me,” he replied stiffly; and not to hurt his feelings she gave him a thimble.

“Now,” said he, “shall I give you a kiss?” and she replied with a slight primness, “If you please.” She made herself rather cheap by inclining her face toward him, but he merely dropped an acorn button into her hand; so she slowly returned her face to where it had been before, and said nicely that she would wear his kiss on the chain round her neck. It was lucky that she did put it on that chain, for it was afterwards to save her life.

Peter Pan

I think I could write a paper about this excerpt, very insightful concerning the male anf female psyche.

The unthinkable has happened . . . I have chapped lips! Sigh

So, I’ve always hated snow. From the first time I touched it until I woke up this morning and saw it glistening on the black tree branches outside my window.

I stayed inside all day . . . occasionally glaring out the window at the slowly melting snow. My “White Valentine’s Day” has not been the greatest, besides the frozenness of it all, my would be Valentine is otherwise indisposed on this fine day.

About six o’clock, finally my boredom over came my anti-snow sentiments and I went out to start my car. I looked at the snow still piled on the windshield. I considered my options in removing it. I was against touching it if at all possible. I decided to see if my windshield wipers were powerful enough to push all that nasty wet snow off the windshield, thusly saving me from coming in direct contact with the stuff.

It seemed a brilliant idea, and as I turned the wipers on, I was delighted to see that it would work! Alas, as in the movies, when everything slows down just before tragedy strikes—I saw it happening, but I was frozen, I couldn’t react fast enough . . .

I had turned the wipers on before I closed the car door—all the snow that had been piled on the windshield, was suddenly wiped right off the glass and into my car, and on to my foot and all over my power windows and locks door panel . . . Just another one of my brilliant moments.

I had a dream the other night that I was to be the mother of the new prophet.

The atmosphere was somewhere between a Muslim state and the setting of one of my favorite negative utopia books The Handmaiden's Tale.

I was standing in a large, windowless room full of women, most of them preganent, like me. We were all wearing long robes and veils, waiting in line. We were all displeased about our situations and we were complaining and demanding our rights to the (female) authorities.

My neighbor in line had rights because she was wife of a high official. I had rights because I was to be the mother of the new prophet.

Then a woman came in and quickly, quietly said, "They will aim at the table tops." Then she closed the door. As she left the lights went out and the room was black. Somehow all the women knew that this declaration meant to get on the floor.

Then the men came with machine guns and shot at the level of the table tops. They left. No one was hurt.

From someone who's been to the UAE and Kish ("The Land of Tranquilizing," as advertised in the Kish Airport) I have this to say concerning the following excerpts from an article in the international section of MSN news . . .

"What the heck is he talking about?"
Thank you for your time.

Kish, one of the three free trade zones in Iran, is the Islamic Republic’s attempt to lure tourism and foreign exchange. The island operates as a kind of bridge between the conservative morality of mainland Iran and the bikini-and-booze freedoms in parts of the United Arab Emirates, 60 miles away.

Unlike the mainland, there are no rules to limit the mingling of unrelated men and women. They even get together in wet suits for scuba diving classes — impossible elsewhere under Iran’s strict dress codes. On the streets, women go without the long coat worn across Iran.

French lawmakers overwhelmingly back veil ban
Law would prohibit religious symbols in state schools
"The key passage of the law, which schools would apply from September, reads: “In primary and secondary state schools, wearing signs and clothes that conspicuously display the pupil’s religious affiliation is forbidden.”
The issue goes to the heart of France’s self-image as a secular state that keeps faith out of state schools and services to ensure no religion dominates or suffers discrimination.

Today I learned the largest fish ever caught was a Russian Sturgeon. It was 24 feel long, 3250 pounds and caught in the Volget River (Russia of course.) That is one big fish. Normal size for a Russian Sturgeon is about 8 feet and 46 pounds.

And they are ugly, and they are the biggest producers of caviar.

I also learned how to say, "I love you, stupid" in Swahili. Ask me sometime.

And the biggest and tallest mountain from base to top is Mauna Loa. But it doesn't get much recognition because it's hanging out in the Pacific.

I heard on the radio today that on Friday February 13th (the day before Valentine’s Day) you can go to a drive through Krispy Kream in Irving to get a free donut and a wedding ceremony.
They are marrying people at a drive through donut place!
Things may have gone too far this time.