I'm doing scooter research because I really like scooters. I want one- a Vespa I could afford- honestly Twikes are out of my range.

Here is an informative article I read: http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/10862/a_beginners_guide_to_scooters.html

I point it out because at the bottem there are comments, one made by Dr. David Leader, who says: "I am a serious scooterist."

Is there such a thing as a serious scooterist? Because just the word scooter is silly let alone "scooterist." That's just over the top silly.

I will now dedicate my life to being a serious scooterist. This shall be my goal hensforth.

There was an accident in my part of town tonight. I saw my first "rescue van." Which looked to me like a fire truck. A had brake failure and lost control and killed ten pedestrians.

Then the people who saw it were so upset they set the van on fire.

The whole store is out of my range of understanding- at least it would have been before I came here.

First- it killed ten pedestrians? That's a lot of people! I was just walking in that area yesterday. I could have been killed by a runaway Volvo! Just walking down the street minding your own business and then you and nine of your sidewalk buddies are gone.

Then- when do you as a shocked bystander go from horror at seeing what you just saw to burning the van that caused the accident?

I would like a twike.

http://www.twike.us/

I got some sea monkeys.

I have internet at home now-I have the power of the universe! HA-HAA!

I don't even care that it is now impossible to completely close my window- that there is a big fat crazy long grey cable running across the walk way to the front door that I will most likely trip over on a daily basis- I am on line! And I'm downloading Grey's Anatomy!

The world wide web is my oyster.

Dear Ms.Peterson,

It is the payment of the duty/tax amount that is an issue at the moment. I do realize that at this point of time the delivery of the shipment is of utmost importance rather than the payment. Though procedure requires that these duties should be billed to the consignee, I have instructed the clearance team to have this charge credited to you along with the other charges as well as gesture of goodwill. We’d definitely like to avoid any further delay on this shipment. You will be informed about the procedure to proceed with the clearance tomorrow.

Once again, I apologise for all the inconvenience you have faced during the last three weeks.

This is the Indian way of say- "Okay we're tired of being yelled at about this! Give us a freaking break already! Here's your crap now get off our backs!"

I shall have it tomorrow Inshallah.

http://www.dallas.edu/News_Articles/10YrReunion/index.cfm

my college is having a ten year reunion now- jeez!

well, it's not really 10 for me yet, but it's a small school, so they are inviting three classes 95, 96, 97

anyway I saw a picture of myself on the announcement site :) I look so studious

I just had a political argument. How silly of me. Admittedly I'm not politically inclined and since most people my age violently disagree with me I usually just stop listening and don’t comment. It is my opinion that no matter what a leader does in a time of crisis half of the population will think it was wrong. To be honest I’m just tired of every wrong in the world being placed on Bush.

She said: “Bush should not have gone to war with Iraq after 911.”
I asked: “What should he have done?”
She didn’t answer, so I kept asking, “What should he have done?”
Finally she said he should have done nothing.

So- when an iconic city of the Superpower of the world is attacked and thousands of civilians are senselessly killed, when the physical center of the government is targeted-then the leader of that Superpower should sit on his thumbs and say, “Gosh I wish that wouldn’t have happened.”

Makes sense to me.

My point was only I thought he had to do something. I’m not saying invading Iraq was the right something- but I also don’t think it was a totally wrong something. What happened in Iraq? 1. Lots of people got killed. – lots of people were being killed before we invaded. 2. Weapons of mass destruction were not found- well now we know right? If the UN would have been able to investigate in the first place it couldn't have been used as an excuse. 3. A cruel, murderous dictator and government officials were deposed and held accountable for war crimes and crimes against humanity. 4. Terrorists who may or may not have been aided by above cruel murderous dictator and government officials were at the very least distracted from further terrorist plans against the USA and warned that the Superpower wasn’t sitting on its thumbs.

I stand by the idea that he couldn’t do “nothing.” And starting with a known evil is better than waiting to get blown up.

If someone can tell me what he could have done and it makes more sense then:
“Nothing.”
Or
“He could have made up a pretend country and pretend people in that country and made a movie of a war and how we beat them up and won and shown it on the news” I will certainly listen to you and consider your point.

As long as I’m at it: Bill Clinton- liar, cheater, perjurer-- and anyone who doesn’t think he was serving his own self interests as much as W is must be delusional. A man who can not be trusted in his own home cannot be trusted at all.

She said it wasn't illegal to have an affair. Well why was he on trial? Seriously I was in Cyprus I missed the whole thing. Why did he perjurer himself if he didn't know it was wrong, and serious and illegal?

She said she would rather have a leader screwing his intern than one starting wars where thousands of Americans would die.

I thought (didn’t say because this gets to a point in an argument were people start looking at me like I’m an absolute monster) 1. Clinton didn’t have time to start a war as he was too busy lying, cheating and screwing. 2. Clinton didn’t have an occasion to start a war because his country wasn’t under attack. 3. (Here’s the monster part) Every soldier in Iraq was a military volunteer. They knew what they were getting into. I’ll join war protests the day there is a mention of a draft.

She said she was sure the USA would not longer be a country in 50 years.

She told me all the wrongs and I asked her how anything she mentioned was different than any other country in the world. She agreed they weren’t different- but the US was more afflicted.

Heck if it’s only going to last 50 years I better get back and enjoy it quick!

I was at the grocery store the other day desperately seeking salsa- well truthfully I had given up on salsa deciding to make my own- and was at that point desperately seeking tortilla chips- but that doesn’t just roll off the tongue does it?

I hadn’t been to that store before so I was going over it very carefully- taking stock of what was available. In the soaps and shampoo isle I noticed a little bottle of hair oil used to get rid of lice. As soon as I saw it my head started violently itching and I was thoroughly convinced I had all manner of lice bugs living productive little lives on my scalp and hair.

I threw it in the basket. I went on to find tortilla chips and maple syrup. (Score!)

When I got home I tried not to think about the community living on my head. ‘This is one of the things I do.’ I told myself. I start thinking about lice and become convinced I have it. My head starts itching and every little bit of dandruff is suspect. I then told myself to calm down because first I needed to have this stuff handy when I really did get lice and second, it’s hair oil I’d have to leave in for hours. I didn’t really relish the thought of walking around with totally oily hair. That’s kinda icky.

I threw the anti-lice oil in a drawer and started eating bad tortilla chips.

As the days pasted, my head got itchier- I saw more little white specks- and every once in a while I would go outside and see women sitting together like monkeys picking through each other’s hair . . . Yesterday I noticed a tick the size of Montana between Buzz’s toes. I burned it off, but it sent me over the edge, I couldn’t take it any more! I just knew there were lice bugs getting fat off my blood!

(Just writing about this is making my head itchy.)

Today I greased my head up with the anti-lice hair oil. I noticed the puja kits Hindus use to get themselves ready for worship came with lice combs. I bought one. I came to work today with slicked back super oily hair. J

Several people commented that I looked tanner today. I think it was the greasy hair that made them associate me with someone with darker skin. I now understand why so many Indians use hair oil. Non-animal oils irritate lice. It really gets on their tiny little nerves and they will start fighting and breaking up with you if you keep using it.

I know this is true because my first best friend, Mikey’s, grandmother told me and my mom so when I was four. I got lice for real when I was four; and my mom went to tell Mikey’s grandmother (because he lived with her) that she better check him too because he probably had it. Mikey’s grandmother said, “Black folks don’t get no lice.” My mom said, “Oh,” and “Who woulda thunk?” and “Why not?” Mikey’s grandmother said it was because the lice don’t like the grease black folks use to keep their hair from getting too dried out and nappy.

What a happy by-product no naps and no lice.

Most Indians ain’t got no naps- they have beautiful full straight black hair. Oiled hair.
I didn’t know why they oiled it- but now I get it. It’s the happy by-product they are after.

I wonder if that's why Bible people poured oil on their heads and beards too.

Customer: “What’s your name?”
SE: “Jeethu”
Customer: “G2?”
SE: “Yeah.”
Customer: “HA! Like R2D2!”
SE: “Uh- yeah.”

I dreamed the other night that my brother studied "Smith numbers" and that these numbers had something to do with medicine.

I've never heard of "Smith numbers" before.

So I looked them up on Google, feeling pretty sure there was no such thing.

Behold my error:

http://www.math.eku.edu/PJCostello/smith.htm

Smith Numbers

One interesting property of some positive integers came into existence because of a phone call. In 1982, Harold Smith called his brother-in-law, mathematician Albert Wilansky of Lehigh University, with the observation that his phone number was composite and the sum of the digits in the phone number equals the sum of the digits in its prime factors. Wilansky published this observation [6] and it was the birth of Smith numbers.

We introduce two arithmetic functions and then restate the definition of Smith numbers in terms of these two functions. Let S(N) represent the sum of the digits in N. Let Sp(N) represent the sum of the digits in the primes in the factorization of N. For example, Sp(12) = Sp(2*2*3) = 2+2+3 =7.

Definition. A composite integer N is called Smith if S(N) = Sp(N).

Well, I don't know what all this means, nor do I know what they have to do with medicine.

No work tomorrow! "There is a bandh (general strike) on Wednesday October 4, 2006 called by pro-Kannada organization."
Party on!
I guess it's some kind of state border dispute . . . whatever- another day off for me.

Most people believe that a grain of sand defined by the power drill laughs and drinks all night with a nearest freight train, but they need to remember how accurately another spartan reactor procrastinates. If a parking lot carelessly requires assistance from the feline bottle of beer, then a defendant around a minivan daydreams. A jersey cow about a corporation is resplendent. Any parking lot can secretly admire a photon inside the fundraiser, but it takes a real class action suit to derive perverse satisfaction from the annoying paper napkin. A stovepipe somewhat pees on the paternal short order cook. A ball bearing defined by the skyscraper operates a small fruit stand with a hockey player over the sheriff. A tabloid beyond the wheelbarrow caricatures a squid about a vacuum cleaner. A lover caricatures the fairy related to the bottle of beer, and a worldly chain saw figures out an apartment building. The pig pen from a sandwich seeks a movie theater from a blood clot, but some cough syrup from some football team barely organizes a fighter pilot.

I got this as a junk email - this is only the first paragraph there was more than page of this stuff . . . strangly enough the punctuation, spelling and grammar all seem to be correct.

The football boys.

The football boys came to me with a great story. I'd say a story worth at least the approximately $2.00 that I gave them. (FYI that is a crazy amount of money to give to people begging here in India, the general practice is to give not more than 5 or 6 Rupees which is about 15 cents.)

They introduced themselves as John, John and (don't remember the boy in red, but his shirt says "Christian Boys" and I thought that was cute. They told me they are good Christian boys. They told me their fathers were fishermen, but the water was too rough- and fishing wasn't good now. They told me they were very good football (soccer) players, and did I like football?

I told them I didn't really follow it. They told me their team could win a championship, but unfortunalty, they could not play. It was so sad. (They let me me know.) They told me the reason they could not win is because they could not play, and the reason they could not play was that (dramatic pause) they didn't have a football.

They told me that they could buy one and play if only they had 450 Rupees (about $9.00.) I told them I was not going to give them 450Rps. But I would give them some money- and if Igave them money they had to promise that they would not ask me for any more money the rest of the weekend.

They promised.

I have them 100 Rps. They were so happy! They promised they would dedicate the football to me- in a special ceremony and that the would always remember me when they played. (Great- dedicate a ball to me then remember me while they kick the crap out of it.)

Later in the weekend they had gathered around me again to follow me around the beach- and chat about their village and the Jesus statue on the beach and whatnot when another boy came to ask for money and they chased him away.

They were good boys after all.

Ok, yeah- I ate them- it would have been different (I think) if they had been alive, swimming around in the milk- but they were already dead- besides ants are considered a delicious snack in Guatemala.

I was having a snack last night. It was cereal. I bought some nice Muslix with soft dates and seedless raisins (it’s the little things you appreciate here.) I was enjoying it when I noticed little dead ants floating in the milk.

It is at time such as this you must make some decisions that reflect your inner most self.

I could have: 1. thrown a fit and ranted about ants in my cereal!
2. thown the yummy cereal away, disappointed to have lost my snack.
3. ignored the ants and continue to eat the cereal- figuring that I’d already
eaten some anyway.

What would you do?

hi mable
Message:
hi how ru i m an openmind tantra fre spirit from kerala in india. i wud like to ge tto know the wonderful realites withininspiring friendhsips. when u reach to kerala. pls send me an email on my id. **EMAIL ADDRESS BLOCKED** fel free to send me yr reply yr`s friednly tantrabliss

umm . . . no

Message:
ccvcvcvcvc

does this mean: consonant consonant vowel consonant vowel conconant vowel consonant vowel consonant?
or is that just the ESL teacher coming out in me?

well, it's not a roman numeral- I checked at http://www.guernsey.net/~sgibbs/roman.html

http://picasaweb.google.com/mabledawn

click the above link to see my new (I know another one!) picture web page
some day I'll settle on one I like and stick with it
I added it to my links under "picasa pictures"

Speaking of religion, Stephen Baldwin has a message for Cruise: Let's do lunch, with a little scripture on the side.

"On the Hollywood list of people I pray for often, Tom Cruise is probably No. 1," the born-again "Bio-Dome" D-lister tells Radar. "All I have to say to Tom is, God bless ya, I hope you're having fun. But I'd love through Radar magazine to throw a gauntlet down to Mr. Cruise. I'd love to break bread with him and pray with him, and I'd love for the Holy Spirit of God to reveal the truth to him. That would be an awesome thing."

Baldwin, who describes himself as one of the "new breed of Christians" who "are gettin' ready to kick ass in the name of the Kingdom," then beseeches, "Seriously though, can you put us together? Can we get a little sushi together? I'd like to give him a spicy Jesus roll."

http://entertainment.msn.com/movies/hotgossip/09-14-06_2

I went to Trivandrum this past weekend. That’s the old name- the new name is Thiruvananthapuram. I think they just changed it to Mock and Taunt English speakers.

But that’s just a theory.

It was so nice to get a way from the city- I spent the whole weekend sitting in the shade looking at the ocean, walking down the beach- playing in the waves, taking pictures of fishing boats (I probably have about 100 pictures of fishing boats.) swimming the pool, reading and enjoying the sounds of nature.

The airline let me know the flight had been pushed forward about an hour and a half before the flight departed. I was sitting in a restaurant waiting for my order when I found out I had 45 minutes to get to the airport. I was about to cancel my order when they said, “It’s ready!” I paid, and grabbed the bag and ran for it.

The airport isn’t that far way- but being that I’m in India- I just never know what’s going to happen next so I thought I better not chance missing this flight- I had to get out of town!

I put the food in my carry on bag and got to the airport in time to sit down and enjoy my lunch before the flight. I pulled the tin foil wrapped packets out the bag and realized first that there were too many packets. I opened the packets and realized next they all contained chicken. That was a sad moment for this vegetarian.

When we landed I realized I had been in such a rush to get to the airport I had forgotten to write down the name of the hotel I was supposed to meet the group at the next night.

I decided that I would just find a hotel, stay one night, check my email to learn the name of the hotel we were staying the rest of the weekend at and all would be well. A guy from the flight heard me telling the tourist desk agent that I didn’t have a place to stay that evening. He suggested a hotel and secured a cab for me.

When we got to the suggested hotel they showed me the room prices. The cheapest rooms (which of course they didn’t recommend since they didn’t have a sea view) were 90. I asked if that was 90 dollars, thinking that was pretty pricy. He said, “Oh, no!” (How silly of me to ask) “That’s 90 euros!”

I nearly choked- that’s a lot of money for India and a lot of money for Shannon.

I asked for a discount. He took it down to 70 euros- which is still about $90. I told him that was still too much for me and could he recommend a place for about $50 a night?

He told me to try Travancore Heritage Resort. So off I went in the taxi I had retained after seeing the price list.

I went to Travancore- and got a room. Then I checked my email to see where I would have to go the next day- I had to go all the way to Travancore Heritage Resort. I had just unknowingly walked into the resort 68 kilometers from the airport where we were going to stay for the weekend.

The first thing I did when I got to the resort was get lost. It was a pretty big place, and it was dark and I get lost going around a corner. The second thing I did at the resort (while I was lost) was fall in a hole and skin up and bruise both my shins and my right knee.

Obviously things were staring out well.

Buzz gets more e-press:
http://www.destefanis.blogspot.com/

Insightful words from this week's meeting:

"Good stuff" said 6 times in the first 1.5 hours. BS

"Things are going swimmingly." BS

"Is this meeting going to go to 100:00 o'clock?!" SP (not me)

"I want you to be able to recognize the smelly stuf when it's thrown at you." BS

"Standup-edness" BS

"We have things that happen to us when we're doing stuff and things." JM

"It's like, dribble-dribble-dribble-spurt! dribble dribble." BS or was it MS?
same-same


Let it also be known that we have approximately 10 hours per month alloted to tea and pee.
Tea is a diuretic. (makes you pee more often)

I got some of this: for Liars, cheaters and wrong-doers. I don't know what you guys are trying to tell me.

Instructions for use:
1. Engage stick
2. Bow head
3. Reflect upon wrong doing
4. Anoint thy lips with blessed balm
5. Rub lips together to boost powerful sin-purging action
6. Raise head and go forth cleansed from sin and ready to do-it-again.

Warning: Re-appy frequently especially during prolonged sin exposure.

Here is the letter I was told to send the to the Assistant Commissioner of Customs Air Cargo Complier, Bangalore:

Dear Sir:

Reference above mentioned AWB. I have received a package containing personal gifts from Daniel Burnham; Arlington, TX, USA.

Since I do not possess IEC code, request your good self kindly allow me to file the paper under Dummy IEC code.

Obviously I did not come up with this on my own.

Dwarfs are disproportionately short people.
Dwarves are imaginary short beings.
Midgets are proportionately short people.

“Dwarf” and “midget” are not PC but “little people” and “short statured” are.

There aren’t many “midgets” in the developed world on account of proportionate shortness is generally caused pituitary dwarfism- a easily treatable condition.

If you are 4’10” (or close to it, or shorter) you may be “short statured.” (In case you didn’t realize.)

It may be a medical condition.
OR
You may come from a short family.

JM Barrie, author of Peter Pan suffered from psychogenic dwarfism; which is cause by emotional trauma during childhood. His parents were terrible.
His adult height was 4’10”.

If you are short and want to connect with other short people, see
http://www.shortsupport.org for the short support you need.

So- another birthday-
I got one card in the mail and two through email. I got one package- and there's rumblings of another package being held hostage by FexEX. So much for may equal opportunity Bithday reminder.

Don't worry, I'll respond in kind and forget your birthdays too. Maybe that's the kinder thing at this age anyway.

Today I went to get my hair cut and colored. I got it colored medium brown- mostly just to cover my streak of white hairs.

I got it cut a few inches above my shoulders.

The salon recommened I come back to take care of my "black head problem."

Hmmpt!

Maybe I will!

In other news:

Buzz was viciously attacked by the neighbor's fluffy dog!

It was terrible, but not too terrible, at least he was only a medium sized dog- not one of those big street dogs. The mean fluffy dog pulled loose from his person and went for Buzz. I thought he just wanted to say a little doggie hello, but what he really wanted was a bite of weiner dog!

I beat the fluffy dog with my dog beating stick, until the dog beating stick tragically broke and the man who belonged to the vicious fluffy dog got ahold of him.

I checked Buzz over, he was missing a patch of fur, but no broken skin, so I figured things were okay.

Stupid fluffy dogs- you can't trust them. They look all sweet and innocent with their fuzzy little faces, then BAM! It's the tiny sharp teeth reaching out of that little fuzzy face to bite your weiner dog!

Buzz had a rough day- first the fluffy dog attack- then a funeral- I knew there had been one when I came back from the salon. There were flowers all over the street and Buzz was hiding in the corner when I opened the door.

I'm sure I've mentioned the funerals before - marching bands, fire crackers- large flower "float" for the dead person- it's like a mini parade and lucky me I live near a cemetary.

to me.

It is illegal to send anything marked USED items to India.

Don't send anything marked USED.

Apparently it doesn't matter if it in fact IS USED, as long as it's not marked used.

Moses illuminated:


Moses in the dark. I saw Michelangelo's Moses at St. Peter in Chains Church when I was in Rome.

He was in the dark. I tried to take some pictures but they wern't turning out so great.
I noticed a small box on the wall. For fifty cents I could "illuminate" Moses. I figured it was worth the charge. Then I could tell people I had illuminated Moses.

Michelangelo's Moses is pretty hot, aside from the horns.

The horns represent the glory of God which was shinning on Moses' face after he had met with God.

Horns represent power in the Bible.

Cecil B. deMille is said to have been persuaded to cast Charlton Heston as Moses in his movie-epic, The Ten Commandments, based on Heston's purported physical resemblance to Michelangelo's Moses
http://www.cptryon.org/hoagland/travels/stpeterchains/moses.html.

There is a chip on Moses' knee. (I didn't notice it.) Story has it that Michelangelo was so
in awe of the life-likeness of his own creation that he threw his chisel at the statue and yelled,
"Perché non parli? (Why don't you talk?)"

Michelangelo may have been crazy.

Michelangelo may have been gay.

Moses may be a self portraite of Michelangelo with a beard.

If that's the case, Michelangelo was hot.

Why are all the hot men gay?

Freud was in love with Michelangelo's Moses.

Freud was probably gay.

Freud was not hot. He may have done better with out the beard.
http://www.historyhouse.com/img/c/cocaine_freud.jpg

I've been reading Exodus. Exodus means “exit” in Greek. From Hebrew the name is translated “These are the names of;” which are the first words of the book. It’s intended not as a book separate from Genesis, but as a second part of it.

Moses, of course, is the main character; and if he’s also the author as tradition holds, he was brutally honest about his shortcomings.

Moses is an Egyptian name. It means “is born.” It is similar to a Hebrew word which means “drawn out” (of the water.)

Moses must have been a very interesting guy. Nothing is said of his childhood after he left his mother to live with Pharaoh’s daughter. Only when he was grown did he go out and kill and Egyptian who was beating a Hebrew.

Who was Moses growing up in Pharaoh’s palace? Was he truly like an adopted son (Prince of Egypt?) Was he more like a second class citizen or a servant? Did he always know he was Hebrew and what happened to Hebrews outside the palace? Or was the information sprung on him one day?

Did Pharaoh despise him?
Did Pharaoh’s daughter love him?

He was 40 when he left the palace and killed an Egyptian. Had he married? If he hadn’t, why not? Would no Egyptian woman have him because of his heritage? Why had he finally gone out to see the Hebrews? Was God leading him even then? Did Moses have a bad temper or was he just shocked by what he saw?

40 is the number for probation or trial (so some say.)

Moses was 40 when he left Egypt.
He stayed in the wilderness for 40 years.
He led the Israelites through the desert for 40 years.
He was on the mount for 40 days.

There’s plenty of other 40s in the Bible.

It rained for 40 day and 40 nights.
Noah waited 40 days after the mountains were visible to open the ark.
Isaac was 40 when he married Rebekah.
It took 40 days to embalm Jacob.
Joshua and Calab explored the land for 40 days.
Goliath mocked the Israelites for 40 days.
Saul was 40 when he became king.
David reigned for 40 years.
Solomon reigned for 40 years.
Elijah traveled for 40 days and 40 nights while he was fleeing from Jezabel.
Nineva had 40 days to repent or be destroyed.
Jesus fasted 40 days and 40 nights.
Jew were forbidden to give more than 40 lashes with a whip. They stopped at 39 incase they had miscounted. Jesus received 39 lashes unless they miscounted.
Jesus appeared over a period of 40 days after the resurrection.

FYI

I don't know what it means, but do think of the turtles!

Sometimes things just seem to accumulate.

Right now, things that irritate me are accumulating.

Last night when I got home at 2:45AM the gates to my apartment building were locked. Sometimes they are, some times they aren’t, depending on the mood of the guard.

So, I rattled the gates, like I do.

Usually I rattle once or twice and the guard comes out blinking sleep out of his eyes, none to happy to see me—Whatever, it’s my job to work late- it’s his job to let me in the gate.

So I rattled the gate, several times. Nobody came out to unlock the gate.

So the driver of my cab got out and climbed over the gate and went to wake up the guard. When the guard finally got up, he didn’t know where the keys were.

My driver had to find the keys.

The driver handed the keys to the guard. The guard looked at the keys like he was some idiot savant and unlocking gates was not his gift.

The driver took the keys away from him and opened the gate himself.

Then the driver told me in his minimal English to report that guard.

That I will do.

Yesterday I learned that I had received two packages.

I didn’t find this information from my company who had received them, but from the senders who had received delivery confirmation.

That irritated me.

I wrote an email to my company and told them I knew I had two packages, and I would be in in the morning to pick them up.

In the morning they called to tell me I had packages.

Duh!

I went to pick them up. They gave me one package and one letter. I asked for the other package and for my insurance card which was promised 40 days from my start date (86 business days ago.)

They said there was only one package and the card wasn’t ready yet. The card would be ready by this weekend, which is what they told me two weeks ago.

I told them I had been given confirmation that the other package had been delivered, and asked them where they supposed it was.

They suggested the post office.

I knew it wasn’t there.

I told them I’d be back on Friday.

They called when I was about half way home to tell me they had found the other package.

I seriously wanted to slap somebody.

I had ordered the missing package from a company in Mumbai. They promised it was delivered, but I didn’t have it a month later. I thought they were inept.

Now I know it wasn’t the company I ordered from (at least not completely) but it was the company that I work for who can’t manage to make a phone call or send an email to let me know to pick up a package.

One more way to make your dog hate you.

I need one!

The hired help must go.

During the last few weeks I’ve been feeling more and more uneasy (less and less easy) about my cleaning lady.

I mean, there are things which I really like about her, well, about what she does. I like that she does the dishes, she cleans the toilet and that she sweeps and mops the floor. Those are the things I like most.

The things I don’t like so much-
1. She doesn’t really make the bed, but she folds up the comforter every day. I don’t want the comforter folded up every day; I just want it to lie over the bed and look comfortable.

2. She leaves puddles of water on the bathroom floor- It makes the cuffs of my pants wet when I walk across the floor. I don’t like that. I don’t like it when she messes with my clothes- clean or dirty- I don’t feel right about a stranger messing with my undies. These are minor- I could live with them, or I could tell her to change these things, no biggie.

Then there are things which really annoy me, and they came to a head today. Maybe it’s because I never really had to share much- maybe I’m too selfish or suspicious-maybe I’m holding Indian workers to unknown-to-them American standards.

Here are some things that I think are not right at all:

1. She brings her family with her -often. I hired her- not her whole dang family! It would be different if it were just one other person. Maybe she wants to ask me something (she doesn’t know English) maybe she wants to go fast and get finished early- so I can see bringing one other person. But she’s brought all manner of people- all her kids (four of them) her sister, her nieces and nephews- not all at once, but 4-6 extra strangers in my house wandering around makes me nervous.

2. When she brings her daughter, she haves her ask all manner of what I deem inappropriate questions, in addition to the questions the daughter comes up with on her own.

(They aren’t really questions, as the question form is somewhat problematic linguistically, it does make things sound so much ruder.)

1. “My mother wants an advance.” (I was actually shocked at their forwardness when they asked for a month salary as advance!)

2. “We moved houses, give us bus money.” (FYI I already pay twice as much as an Indian employer would for the same work.)

3. “What will you do with these things when you leave? … We want them.”

4. “You will buy me a dress for my birthday.” (?)

5. “When you will leave this place?” (So we can have all your things?)

6. “Do you want this?” (Can I have it?)

7. “Where is your chocolate?”

8. “Give me some gum.”

9. “I’m hungry, give me some crackers.” (I gave her some and she said, “No, these ones.") (!!!)

Today her children went so far as to take some candy and gum. By “take” I mean steel. I know that candy and gum and minor offences- but if it starts there- does it move on to jewelry and electronics and money?

Her daughter has written in my books and made some very wrong stiches in my needle point.

I’ve had enough.

Last week I wondered how it would go down if I told them not to come back- as they lived just across the street and I saw them everyday. But now they have moved and take a bus- that makes it easier for me.

Now- how to convince them not to come back?

Because I’m nonconfrontational I feel like I need a reason- (in addition to I don’t want them in my place any more) and how to explain it so they will not try to convince me otherwise?

They are annoyingly persistent.

One day they knocked on my door for a full hour. (I didn't feel like being cleaned that day, and they weren't scheduled, I didn't feel compelled to answer.)

Bangalore is a city under construction. It’s booming, and the booming is ugly.

Every place I look there are piles of cinder blocks, granite blocks, bricks and bags of cement mix. There are piles of rocks and piles of gravel and piles of dirt and piles of sand where the small rocks have been sifted out of the piles of dirt. There are stacks of iron reinforcing bars to go into the cement. There are piles of cement mixed and in use and piles of support beams to hold up the buildings which will go up at any given time.

There is a constant rhythm of hammers pounding things into place and pounding them out of place. Nothing is wasted. There are men in dirty little skirts squatting with rocks and hammers and chisels cutting through the reinforcement bars, one at a time. There are women with huge platters filled with rocks, bricks or dirt balanced on their heads- transporting it little by little to the required destinations.

Bangalore is dirty.

The pollution rate is twice that of any other city in India.

In Dallas the pollution hangs like sludge on the horizon lending brilliant colors to the sunsets. The pollution becomes a lens of beauty for 30 minutes everyday.

I haven’t seen the horizon since I’ve been here- there are too many buildings- and I haven’t made it out of Bangalore.

It’s time for a change.

I realized that I had reached my breaking point the other day when I discovered my “tan” was really just oil based pollution settled on my skin.

I got some lotion in a package. Naturally I proceeded to put the lotion on my poor old dried up toe. Then I realized I had a bug bite on my toe, so I scratched it, scratching some of the lotion off. I went to clean the lotion I had scratched off out from under my finger nail and saw- to my great horror- that it was dark brown! It was brown like fertile soil- soil I could have grown award winning zucchini in.

Well- that just my toe. Of course my toe has some dirt on it, I only ever wear sandals.

I looked at my “tanned” arm suspiciously . . . it never had looked right, but when I tried to scrub it off with soap and water it never came off.

I lotioned up my arms and scratched my tan off to reveal more fertile soil.

It seems the oils in the lotion caused the oils in the “tan” to loosen up.

I need to see the horizon.

I need to get out of the city.

I have some trips planned- I need to plan some more and soon.

My cleaning lady brings her daughter with her sometimes. She likes to play with Buzz, as long as he doesn’t bark at her, or touch her.

She likes to ask me questions, which I think half of the time are questions her mother wants to ask me, but she doesn’t know English.

I was trying to read and her daughter was coming up with all manner of questions that she could not contain:

What are you doing?
Why are you doing that?
What is this?
What is it for?
What did you have for breakfast?
Are you Christian?
What caste are you?
When is your birthday?
Do you want this?
Why aren’t you married?
What does the dog have?
What time will you go to work?
How long will you stay here?
Will you celebrate Christmas?
Do you cook your own food?

It’s not easy being so interesting.

“Watch this space further out.”

That’s what I was doing at the beginning of my shift- I won’t mention how long- I’ve heard of people getting fired for revealing too much about work activities on their blogs.

Which- to be sure- I think is crap. FYI anything I say on my blog may or may not be wholly or partially true or not true.

Take that and rewind it back.

The planes were flying low and quiet past the gap in the buildings I was facing as I drank my tea- chai to those who think that’s a cooler word- which means in Hindi- tea.

“Watch this space further out.”

It’s like a Biblical warning. It seems significant- yet I have no idea what it means either in or out of context.

The context being an email from my boss about his boss coming to meet the team.

Meet and greet.


“Watch this space further out.”

Like a farsighted voyeur.
Like alien onlookers from the outer limits.
Like me and the planes-
I was further from my desk space, outside, watching the planes.

YouTube is great! Thanks EA for getting me addicted!
I'm so planning out a Buzz video already! If only I had his extensive wardrobe with me.

Burger the angry cat

This is why Buzz is afraid of cats!

Panda

I fear this is the type of mother I'd be . . . munch munching along day dreaming of- you know stuff and things when suddenly I remember I have a baby! Ahhh!

I've been going through my pictures. I decided I need to organize. I've been using Picassa, which is a photo editing program from Google. And Blogger is from Google, so they are linked.
I can post pictures directly from Picasa. (Now I know, since I just posted this one.)

I decided to post this one because it seems I'm facinated with the Coloseum. I have tons of pictures of it, especially the inside. Maybe I'll share them with you someday.

Someday when I've finished organizing!
 

It's so many doxie butts it blows my mind!
http://www.hotdogblog.com/modules/newbb/viewtopic.php?topic_id=3035&forum=8

The Miniature Dachshund Creed
1. If it's in my mouth, it's mine!
2. If I like it, it's mine!
3. If I can take it from you, it's mine!
4. If I had it a little while ago, it's mine!
5. If it's mine, it must never appear to be yours in any way!
6. If I'm chewing something up, all the pieces are mine.
7. If it looks like mine, it's mine!
8. If I saw it first, it's mine!
9. If you are playing with something and put it down, it automatically becomes mine.
10. If it's in the same house I'm in, it's mine!
11. If it's broken, it's yours!

Okay this is the last dachshund tidbit, but can you believe there is an entire page dedicated to the fact that dachshund paws smell like Fritos?

sad but true- grown people sniffing doxie paws . . . Fritos . . . mmmmm I gotta to sniff my dog!

http://www.hotdogblog.com/modules/newbb/viewtopic.php?topic_id=2740&forum=8

Pablo Picasso had a dachshund named Lump.
Lump was depicted in several of Picasso's paintings.

The skinny black elongated mouse on the bottem is Lump.

No wonder I never knew Picasso had a dachshund, who would have ever looked at that thing and said, "Oh, Picasso must have loved his dachshund so much! Look, he's in this painting!"

http://www.jimcaputo.com/picasso_paintings.htm

You learn something everyday.

I forgot about my sea wee- sigh- so it goes.

Today is some sort of Ganesh festival- what that means to me=

The temple started blasting the puja at 7:15 this morning.

There are what appear to be Christmas lights strung up all over the place (I only say they appear to be Christmas lights because there are little outlines of pine trees on the ones down my street.)

There are newly erected palm leaf and plastic sheeting huts all over the neighborhood housing statues of Ganesh (the mostly elephant- some human shaped god.)

When I got home from church, the music emanating from the hut at the end of my street (ally) was so loud, Buzz was hiding in the corner of the bathroom looking like he had just received a visit from the dog eating boogie man.

And I had been looking forward to a nice nap.

Not happening. I felt a little guilty leaving Buzz alone with the noise again, but I couldn't take it. Indian music as low levels is something I can bearly tolerate in small doses.

Indian music blaring and reverbrating off the concrete walls throughout the street and all around my apartment- too much.

I closed Buzz in the quietest place I could find and left.

I hope this is not an all night celebration.

Microsoft insisted that I put up a bio on their silly website nobody reads except us- and we already know each other!

Here's mine:

"Shannon started working at Microsoft in June of 2006. She graduated from the University of Texas at Arlington in December of 2005. Shannon likes reading and writing but abhors arithmetic. She also likes dachshunds, turtles, mermaids and although she’s a vegetarian, slim jims."

It was furious battle for the sea wees, but in the end I was not willing to spend $45.00 for 8 20something year old mermaid dolls with ratty hair, chewed fins and chipped paint.

But I'm not discouraged because I've found one pristine sea wee of my liking complete with accessories! I'm sure this one doll will cost almost as much as that lot of 8, but I'm going to watch it carefully . . .

signed- sea-wee fanatic

http://i24.ebayimg.com/01/i/08/13/8a/7b_1_b.JPG

I don't remember ever pretending to be a princess when I was a little girl.

I told pk this and she said her nieces weren't allowed to pretend to be princesses on account of the princesses killing their mothers.

I protested, I never heard of a princess killing her mother!

She pointed out that they always have dead mothers and/or (evil) step mothers. What is a good and alive mother to conclude?

Let’s think about this:

Cinderella’s mother- dead
Snow White’s mother- dead
Beauty (of the & the Beast)’s mother- dead
Did the little Mermaid have a mother? I don’t remember her.
What’s her face of Aladdin’s mother- no where to be found.

It does appear to be a trend . . .
I said, “Sleeping Beauty had a mother.”
She said, “I never heard of her- she must not have ever done anything great.”
True- in fact she let her daughter get cursed by an evil (fairy?)

This is a digression from my intent because- in fact, I didn’t really want to talk about princesses; because I didn’t want to be one when I was a kid.

Except for WonderWoman- she was a princess, but she was a kick-butt princess. I didn’t want to be her because she was a princess, but because she 1. she had a cool outfit 2. she had a golden lasso of truth and 3. she had an invisible jet.

And her mother- ALIVE!

Any way . . .

Since I didn’t ever pretend to be a princess I was thinking about what I did pretend to be when I was a kid.

My cousin and I had these mermaid dolls. They were called “Sea-Wees.” I loved my Sea-Wee. She had red hair and a turquoise body. She was a tub toy. She came with accessories: she had a baby, a comb, and a lilly-pad shaped sponge she and the baby could float around on.

My cousin’s Sea-Wee had blonde hair and a pink body. The past few days I’ve been obsessed thinking about these silly dolls we had when we were about 5.

So I looked on E-bay to get a picture of a Sea-Wee and I hit a bonanza of Sea-Wees! If all goes well I will have a bunch of Sea-Wees to do with what I may!

(A fool and her money are soon parted when she looks up childhood toys of E-bay.)

All that to say: when I was a kid, I pretended to be a mermaid, not a princess. (Unless it was WonderWoman, who is a princess, but not a mermaid.)

When My cousin and I went swimming we would take our Sea-Wees and have great adventures with them. Then we would take our hair out of the pony tails and the braids and swish it around in the water and tell each other how beautiful our mermaid hair was in the water.

So- I didn't grow up to be a mermaid- but I am a princess . . . I should have known to practice!

Buzz wants a job

Are those dachshunds dancing near the back waters of Africa behind David Hasselhoff?

My job . . . it's something like this . . .

send me an emu

Bangalored

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Bangalored is a neologism and used as a verb. Bangalored is used to indicate a layoff, often systemic, and usually due to corporate outsourcing of the business function to lower wage economies. The word is derived from Bangalore, India, which houses outsourcing centers for Western economies.

It refers to people who have been laid off from a multinational company because their job has been moved to India (outsourced — a business practice designed to save money that is arousing passions in some countries, especially Britain and the United States). Bangalore is cited in particular because of its reputation in the USA as a high-tech city, and widely regarded as the Silicon Valley of India that has benefited significantly from such outsourcing.

Them is meeting words: my favorite words and phrases from this week's staff meeting.

“a giant sucking sound”
“so you don’t have to peer”
“a cascading level of detail”
“a warm hand off”
“They are quite happy, but they want to be more happy.”
“I’m listening to what I see.”
“It’s good, but not what it needs to be, or should be, or could be.”
“short sharp options”
“tighten and righten”
“align your offerings”

Also used the words:

Tertiary
Linkages (three times)
Lingering
Jargon
Extrapolate
Howfar
Stymied
Cannibalize

Driven (nine times)

Meetings are so much more fun when I have fun games to play.

The national sport of India is . . . . HOCKEY!

FYI

http://www.theholidayspot.com/indian_independence_day/national_symbols.htm

The end of the sari story:

This sari business is far, far more complicated than I at first expected. I mean, it just looks like a few yards of cloth strategically wrapped around a girl.

I bought this pretty blue sari with a gold and copper boarder. I went to the tailor to check out the scene. I decided to give him an easy project before we got into a sari blouse. I had him make a kamese- one of those knee length loose fitting tunic-type shirts. He took my measurements, being overly cautious to not touch the ample goods. That was fine by me. I figured, he was the tailor, he knew how to take measurements and make clothes according to his own measurements.

After what seemed like forever (Wal-Mart has instilled instant gratification into my very heart and soul) I went back, picked up my new clothes, and went home to shimmy into them. To my (great) dismay my boobies were pressed flat like pancakes. I’m not even talking sports bra flat. I’m saying it was like I was getting a mammogram inside my shirt . . . it was disturbing to say the least.

I knew that this tailor was not my choice for a form fitting sari blouse. I had to find a lady tailor who would understand the delicate nature of the female form.

I wandered around the neighborhood until I looked into a dark little shop and found a lady sitting behind an ancient sewing machine. I told her I needed a blouse for my first sari. She measured EVERYTHING. Honestly- there was a lot of measuring going on to make a half shirt, but I’m down with thoroughness.

Again I waited less than patiently to go back to pick up the newest addition to my wardrobe of the world. When I got there she wanted me to try the blouse on before I left.

Okay- so I had to put it on over my T-shirt (remember that sari blouses are generally tight little numbers.)

So I tried to get it on, but it was too small. The tailor lady said, “No, it’s not small, it’s only because of your T-shirt and your ‘vest,’ it will fit.”

My ‘vest’ what the . . . I guess she meant my bra- so am I not supposed to wear a bra with a sari blouse? Who should I ask? Is there like a “Dear Aleezahtasha” in the news paper that I can pose all my embarrassing questions to?

As I pondered these questions the tailor lady came to “help.” But, as it had been true only moments before, it was still true at that point, the blouse was too small- so two more ladies came to “help.” Now there were three women trying their best to push my girls into a too small blouse.

Finally they were convinced it wasn’t going to happen. –whew- there was almost a riot!

I have come to the conclusion that these people take my measurements; write them down then, when they go to make the item, they look at what they wrote and think, “That can’t be right- that’s HUGE! I’ll make it smaller and it will be perfect.”

Crazy little-tiny-brown people!

Anyway- she made it bigger- well, big enough to get it on my body but barely. Eh- I need to lose a few pounds anyway.

I was walking through my neighborhood when suddenly I was confronted with a herd of goats. Not just 1 or 4 goats as that could be considered “normal” in my neighborhood, a HERD of goats- like 29 goats (or something like that.)

As I considered the oddity of that sight- something caught my eye and I turned my head and saw a sheep . . . on a bicycle.

Think about that. I want you to picture it in your mind’s eye. Let me help you. It was a black sheep, curly wool. It was a big sheep. It was an old fashioned bicycle, with a heavy frame and large wheels. The bell was ringing, (because if any form of transportation is moving, the bell or the horn is also sounding.)

So- big black sheep on old fashioned bicycle –BRRRRIIIIIIIIG! BRIIIIIIING!

Okay so what you just pictured, it wasn’t like that at all. How could it be? But it was fun to think about right?

It was more like this- two teen aged boys, a big black sheep and an old fashioned bicycle.
One boy was driving, and BRIIIIIIING! ringing the bell. The other boy was holding the big black sheep on his lap. The sheep was hanging over on both sides of the boy’s knees. The sheep didn’t seem to think anything out of the ordinary was happening.

click on the funny to read . . . about my life

Someone asked me how Pakistan and Bangladesh were related. To my great surprise I had a really informed answer off the top of my head.

Sometimes I'm amazed at the amount of useless information I retain.

Bangladesh used to be "East Pakistan" FYI

I was wandering around looking for a Persian restaurant, (someone had told me about it, I wasn’t just looking for some random Persian restaurant.) I didn’t find it, but I did find a cave-like structure on Airport Road and people were lining up to go into it and I thought- ‘I bet there’s something good in there.’ So I got in line too.

The security guy checked my bags (I’d been shopping, to console myself on not finding the Persian restaurant.) He determined that my children’s book and my stuffed turtle weren’t going to kill anyone, so he let me in.

I walked down the steps through the entrance of the fake cave-thing- big as you please; as though I knew exactly what I was doing and where I was going. I walked through a long hallway which very much reminded me of a subway station, but no tracks, no trains. I briefly wondered if there was going to be a way to get out, or if I’d be forced to take a train somewhere I didn’t want to go . . .

I came to a little man sitting at a little desk. He said, “One rupee.” So I gave him a rupee. Then the world opened up to a huge court yard with a GI-NORMOUS statue of (I didn’t know at the time, but now I do) Shiva, sitting lotus style. He was four stories high easy- sitting! There was water spurting out of his head.



I went through a turnstile and a lady said, “Shoes.” Actually, she said it in Hindi, but I don’t remember the word, so I said, “Oh, you want my shoes?” She said, “Yes, shoes.” (In English.) So I gave her my shoes, thinking at the time that I was glad I was wearing $2.00 flipflops.

I walked up the side of the courtyard taking note of the signs along the way. The more I read, the more they made me giggle. I went back to the beginning and took some pictures. When I got closer to Shiva, another little man at a little desk said, “Ten rupees.” So, not asking any stilly questions, I gave him ten rupees.

(see bucket for sign photos)

He pointed to another “cave” entrance. He said, “No pictures.” I put my camera away with great regret; I just knew I was going to encounter something fantastic in that fake cave.

I was not disappointed.

If you’ve ever been to Disney World and gone on the “Small World” ride, you will have some small clue as to what I’m about to describe. There were all these miniture scenes of locations of where holy “lings” could be found, and descriptions of their power and greatness. The scenes were all animated in some bizarre and/or disturbing way.

There were gods ascending and descending near the first ling, sometimes they got stuck half way to heaven. There was this crazy-haired-crusty-eyed ‘guru’ in the corner chanting and blinking and trying to raise his hands in a creepy animatronic-jerky representation of something holy.

There were bells chiming around the bend, but as I proceeded I was so taken with the lings and my realization that they were all phallic symbols to find out what that was all about. There were more animatronic gurus blinking and moaning in the shadows. There was an ice ling from the Himalayas. The sign invited me to touch it for good luck. I decided against it.

I am not willing to touch a frozen penis for good luck. You can quote me on that.

They rightly saved the best for last. At the last display was a story about a ling that had brought a dead cow to life. There was a freaking taxidermied cow head in the display mooing and rising and falling rhythmically. It even had blood on it!

I didn’t know what it all meant, but as I left I found myself in a temple market. I bought a little glass turtle with a ling on his back. The guy told me it was “good luck.” It seems pretty much anything with a penis in India can potentially be good luck. No wonder they have a population problem!

If anyone wants a lucky ling- I’m willing to go back for more. Just let me know.


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lingam

PS The water from his head is the symbolization of the beginning of some important river.

ao
I was sitting in my friend’s car. He was acting silly, singing songs in funny voices and telling me stories I didn’t believe. I asked him, “Do you act like this with all your friends?” He was quiet for a few seconds, and then he said, “No,” in a thoughtful tone. Still smiling, I asked him why I was the lucky one who got to see his silly side. I’ll never forget his answer. He said, “Because I love you best.”

The passenger side door of his car didn’t open from the inside. He told me he didn’t bother fixing it since it was a “chick door” anyway. He would get out and walk around to open the door, and the old ladies would smile and comment to one another what a nice young man he was. He would flash his pretty smile and I would try not to roll my eyes.

We used to go out to the lake; night swimming or for a walk on the dam. Sometimes we drove out there at night and went out to the edge of the lake and he would shine his headlights at all the parked cars. He explained the first time out that they weren’t just empty cars, but that the college kids came to the lake to “watching submarines” at that location. He drove an old black and white Chevy- which through steamed up windows might have been mistaken for a police car.

Once as we sat by the lake he told me that ever since he became a Christian he had tried to become perfect, but he was so disappointed because he didn’t think he would become perfect, even though he really wanted to. I remember telling him he couldn’t be perfect in this world because this world isn’t perfect; it’s corrupt and we can’t change that. I wish I could have told him what I’ve only recently come to understand myself.

He was right . . . men are made with eternity in their hearts. This life is only the beginning. When we become Christians, it marks the beginning of our perfection. Perfection, however, is hard work. I still believe that here, in this world, we cannot become perfect, but this world is not all. God is working with us and in us to complete our perfection. Our striving here will be rewarded in the next world. Our perfection will become complete and for that we can rejoice even now.

I believe now that the problem with Christians today is that we work to be ‘good’ when really we need to struggle for perfect. “You thought you were going to be made in to a decent little cottage; but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.” (CS Lewis, Mere Christianity)

“Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly father is perfect.” Matthew 5:48
“Keep working on that palace.” That’s what I’d tell him if we had that discussion again.

And if we were to walk on the dam in a storm I would carry the umbrella. And if you were working on the roof all morning and you were thirsty, I’d bring you some water.
And if we were to go to church and I saw Abraham Lincoln, I wouldn’t mention it. Because after all this time, I’d like to think I helped add something nice to that palace.
You added something nice to mine because you loved me best.

Your IQ Is 110

Your Logical Intelligence is Below Average Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius Your Mathematical Intelligence is Above Average Your General Knowledge is Exceptional

A Quick and Dirty IQ Test

This is a funny result since, if it had numbers I guessed. It it required thinking, (Logic) I also guessed, but I'm thinking that shows.

You Are Tofu

Okay, so you aren't exactly meat. And that's fine with you. Even if people think you're a bit bland.There's a good chance you're veg - and even if you aren't, you secretly think meat is gross.

What Kind of Meat Are You?

YOU ARE 80% GROSS

YOU ARE 80% GROSS You Are 80% Gross

You're pretty dirty, and there's a good change you're living in a total dump.And your body? Not too clean either. Watch out for killer bacteria, Pig Pen!

How Gross Are You?

okay, just one more

Reeses Peanut Butter Cups

Very popular, one of you is not enough.

What Kind of Candy Are You?

YOU ARE LIKELY A THIRD BORN You Are Likely a Third Born

At your darkest moments, you feel vulnerable.At work and school, you do best when you're comparing things.When you love someone, you tend to like to please them. In friendship, you are loyal to one person.Your ideal careers are: sales, police officer, newspaper reporter, inventor, poet, and animal trainer.You will leave your mark on the world with inventions, poetry, and inspiration.

The Birth Order Predictor

The links don't work, but here's the site I got the quizes from:

http://www.blogthings.com/quizzes/

It takes 15 minutes to get from my place to work. Today I saw ten free-range city cows and three water-buffalo.

That's right this place simply exudes every one of the romantic and exotic images you bring to mind when you consider India.

It makes me want to write a haiku:

Cows in the streets
Trash burning near by stinks, stains
Indian romance

Thank you

I am a language monkey.

Whenever I’m not reading text books (which has been a very small portion of my life it seems.) I find myself reading many books at the same time, starting many projects and always thinking of more stuff to keep me entertained.

Currently I am reading The Purpose Driven Life, A Year with CS Lewis, The Mammoth Hunters, More Than Love, Eats Leaves and Shoots, and Watercolor for the Absolute Beginner. (that’s me) I’ve just finished Genesis and have started John. I would like to go back to Genesis to do a study. I think it is my favorite book of the Bible. It has so many interesting stories and implications.

I am knitting a Christmas Stocking and cover for my MP3 player, I have a counted cross stitch in the works from last Christmas, and I considered trying to crochet a teddy bear last night. (I got stuck on the stocking pattern, I can K1 and P1 but I don’t know what Sl1 means-- gotta look that up.) I’m trying to teach myself how to watercolor (hence the book.) I have paints and brushes and pencils and paper and books . . . I’m not so good at it. I wish I could post my latest painting. It’s a church . . . it’s purple and yellow and pink . . . When the maintenance man came to fix my cable he tried not to laugh at it.

Ah- it takes me back to the Alamo . . . I would like to point out I think it is much better than my Alamo. What makes it funny (aside from the fact that it’s pink and purple and yellow) is that it’s all crooked. If I had any sense I’d try to find somebody to give me drawing lessons before I try to paint stuff. I know I don’t have a natural talent for this stuff, but it entertains me for cheap so I continue.

I think I started this post to talk about CS Lewis and the Purpose Driven Life . . . but I’ve lost that thread. I’ll think about it for tomorrow. I think I’ll try to paint a tulip now.

I was so confused!

look at the address at this site, you'll understand my problem

knit titties

The account of the Red beans

It came to pass in those days that a decree went out from Princess Shannon that all the beans should be cooked. (And this cooking was first done when Shannon was new to India.) And all the beans were cooked, and the beans were divided into portions of two; that they should be consumed at various times.

This is the account of the first portion of beans. Verily, the beans were added together with savory spices from many lands; including The United States of America and Mexico (in the New World); Kenya (on the Dark Continent) and India, which is known to many as the very land of spices and savoriness. Also added together with the beans and the savory spices was Sweet Yellow American corn, healthy tomato puree, water which had spurt forth from the tap, a smallish red onion-chopped and garlic-crushed.

This combination was indeed to become most delicious, and the scent of its cooking was pleasing to the nostrils of the LORD- the God of the Nations, as to His humble servant, Princess Shannon. Surely this pleasant and acceptable dish did cook upon a gas fire, as is right in the land of India.

As time passed Princess Shannon did take note with her senses that there was an odor which verily did not please her nostrils, (nor the nostrils of the LORD.) She did dismiss this scent saying unto herself: “India doth muchly have a foul order like unto burning.”

As more time passed Princess Shannon did go forth unto the kitchen and sadly she did see that her red beans were red no more, nor was her Sweet Yellow American corn any longer sweet or yellow (perhaps not even American) for it had all been sacrificed on the fire known as “The Gas Stovetop” to the demon god known as “Charcoal.”

Sorrowfully, Princess Shannon did mourn this tragic loss of savory goodness.

Verily I say unto thee: cooking doth require much hardship in this exotic land known as India. Two days did the beans soak, far had the spices traveled, and the corn, the Sweet Yellow American corn surely had been cut off the very core by hand!

Thus ends the account of the first portion of red beans.

*********************************************************************************
I burned the second portion too!

Thus ends the account of the second portion of red beans.

If I were in charge of writing a tourists’ guide for Bangalore, it might have a passage like this:

I went to a restaurant called the Noodle . . . Bowl . . . Noodle . . . House . . . Noodle Something. Who can keep track?

I didn’t know what to expect in the first place, but when the hostess asked if we wanted to sit in the Chinese/Thai section to the left or the Lebanese/Mexican/Italian section to the right I was a little taken aback.

First of all, when did the United Nations get involved in the restaurant business and secondly who ever heard of a Lebanese noodle?

I, for one, had to learn more. I said, “Left.”

The menu was like a freaking magazine; (complete with ads on every page) as you can imagine, there were many choices. I made a bee-line for the Lebanese noodles, but got totally distracted, and stopped in my magazine-menu-page-turning tacks by the “Mexican falafel.”

A Mexican falafel . . . I couldn’t wrap my brain around how a Mexican falafel in India might taste. I had to forgo the Lebanese noodles for the time being and satiate my hunger for a truly multinational falafel* EXTRAVAGANZA!

*Please note that falafels are my favorite-favorite things to eat, and Mexican food is my favorite-favorite kind of food. “How could this possibly go wrong?!” (You may be too smart to be asking yourself.)

And verily I say unto you, a Mexican falafel can only be described as a pita pocket full of weirdness. It was a Mediterranean burrito of sorts. It had cabbage and lettuce and refried beans and crushed tortilla chips and falafel patties and yogurt sauce and chutney (which I’m pretty darn sure isn’t Lebanese OR Mexican, it’s those crazy Indians sneaking the chutney in again.)

It wasn’t bad . . . but I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it was good. It was something I probably will not eat again, ever. (Don’t get me wrong, I’m going back for the Lebanese noodles . . . I won’t let you down in that bit of investigative reporting.)

Yeah, the Noodle place. Check it out when you come to Bangalore.

I went to my first Indian movie theater last night. I saw "Superman Returns." Yeah, I didn't know he left, but cool that he's back!

And he's young and cute (bonus!)

My first crush was on Superman. Christopher Reeve was hot. But so is the new guy . . . maybe it's the little curl that survives even when he dives to the bottom of the ocean or flies to into outer space. Maybe it's the the blue tights . . . Whatever. I dig Superman.

I think he's cooler than other superheros (a Wonder Woman exception here) because he was born Super. He didn't have to get radiated, or bitten or be rich to make lots of toys (there's no Superman-mobile) He's just Superman. He's got his curl and his cape and he's ready to save the world, but mostly Lois Lane. That girl is nothing but trouble.

I liked the movie.

Let's talk about the theater now. It only shows one movie at a time. Superman has been there for the past two weeks. I think "Pirates of the Caribbean" will come next. The theater doesn't look like much from the outside. You have to go up and reserve tickets ahead of time because nearly every show is sold out. You buy specific seats. An usher seats you. (Fancy) There is intermission, but it's called something else . . . I don't remember what they called it. You can buy tiny amounts of popcorn. It was hard to tell how many people were in the theater. I wouldn't have guessed that many, but when the movie ended, and they turned the lights on before the credits had even started, it took a while to get out.

I was starting to get a little freaked. I was having flashes of Mardi Gras in New Orleans . . . seas of people . . . inching along . . . little pushes from behind. If someone had yelled "Fire!" I'd be dead. That many people.

I don't fare well with that many people. India may not have been the ideal choice for me after all. I mean I do live in a small city (of 8 milion!).

Indians, they are everywhere.

I am a A Diamond Dragon!
Hey, I took the http://dragonhame.com online Inner Dragon quiz and found out I am a Diamond Dragon on the inside.
In the war between good and evil, a Diamond Dragon tends to walk the fine line of Neutrality....When it comes to the powers of Chaos vs. those of Law and Order, your inner dragon is a risk taker and answers to no one....As far as magical tendancies, a Diamond Dragon's nature does not lend itself well to the ways of Magic....During combat situations, a true Diamond Dragon prefers to defeat opponents by the use of spells and other tactics....The Diamond Dragon is most at home in Cool, Sunny Regions. They are Multi-Facetted individuals who inspire others to better themselves and the world around them. Unless a Diamond Dragon is the CENTER of attention, they appear to be dulled and yearning for the lime-light.'Though a Diamond Dragon is quite rare to find, if you happen upon one, be sure to be a true friend. Diamond Dragons don't like to be lied to or back stabbed. Lest they turn on you the same way, tenfold. They are Loyal, fun loving, gentle, honest, caring, and extremely wise. They also tend to be introvert ed when hurt by someone close, and their friends or companions are like family. So beware not to anger them. While they look and for all intents and purposes are easy going, when it comes to family and friends, they will defend to the death if need be and you may just find yourself enemy number one.' 'This Dragons favorite elements are: Fire, Diamonds, Deep Caverns
http://Dragonhame.Com

Oh my gosh! This quiz is so long don't do it! (Unless you have lots of time to kill)

Dearest peeps

Here is my mailing address:

Shannon Peterson
Spectrum Placement & Marketing Services Pvt. Ltd.
780, (1st Floor), 12th Main, 1st Cross, HAL 2nd Stage,
Bangalore - 560 008.
INDIA

I'm posting this because this isn't actually where I live. So if you go there expecing to find this place for the purposes of raping and pillaging me- HA! I won't be there!

All you'll get is a skinny little security guard.

However, my birthday is coming (in September) and this is the perfect time to start planning on sending a package. The mail is quite slow. Seriously, a package sent by the end of July would (probably) get here on time.

Yes, this is a shameless plea for love and attention.

Please send a small (or large if you prefer) box of goodies to the above address.
If you do, as the Jews say, "You will have many blessings in your belly button."
I don't know what that means, but blessings just about anywhere are good for me.

A girl could never have too much:
Kettle corn
slim jims (tobasco)
those lipton pasta packets . . . soon I will tell you the sad story of red beans.
kool-aid (no grape)
candy (peanut butter kind is good)
gum
deoderant (serioulsy somebody in this country needs to smell good, it might as well be me)
books
toys
music
movies
crafty thingies
holiday decore (well in advance mind you)
Letters
cards
salutaions

Buzz wants tasty chewy treats and a raw hide or two.

I'm just saying, that's all.

Do as you will. May the Spirit lead you.
Shan and Buzz

Last night I dreamed that Buzz was running with a gang of wild street dachshunds . . . I know . . . “wild street dachshund” isn’t an image that comes to one’s mind easily.

So, eventually, as a result of his bad behavior he got sick and died! (Who knows what kinds of diseases wild street dachshunds carry?) I was so distraught I picked him up and put him in a laundry basket . . . . I know it doesn’t make sense. I couldn’t deal with it at the time. Later on, however, I started thinking about it and I thought, maybe he isn’t dead, maybe he’s just sick. So I went back to the laundry basket, (took the laundry out) and there was Buzz all cold and stiff. But he blinked, so I knew he was still alive. I pulled him out and started off to the vet hoping there was still time to save him.

Then I woke up. I had not been sleeping well, so I decided after a dream like that I should just get up and get going.

Buzz is fine. The worst thing that’s happened to him is that the cleaning lady threw away his chew toys. Lucky for him I brought spares.

HA!
I think I've talked to this guy too! But he's in Bombay, Bangalore is soooo much more upscale!

I went to this little fabric store in my neighborhood this weekend. I walk past it everyday, but I haven’t stopped in because either Buzz was yanking on his leash, or it was closed when I walked by without him.

I went in because I was in a spending mood. I went in and asked for cloth the make clothes. (As opposed cloth to make saris.) She showed me some, but nothing I was really impressed by. So, I told her to show me the sari cloth. I found one I liked. It’s dark blue with a gold thread weave boarder. It’s synthetic, nothing fancy.

I really didn’t have any business buying a sari at all. I don’t even know how to put one on. But being that I was already in the process, I forged ahead. I got the sari and I said, “So, I’ve never bought a sari before, what else do I need to wear it?”
She just gave me this “Her idiot question has left me speechless” look.
So I said, “Well, do I need a petticoat?” (widely known to Americans as a slip, but fortunately I knew to say “petticoat” because I had negotiated this point about sari wearing with someone before.)
She said, “Yes. Of course you need a petticoat.” (Like, DUH!)
I said, “What about the blouse?”
She said, “The blouse is included in the sari.”
(That meant the material was longer than the actual sari.)
I said, “Oh, so I need to take it to the tailor?”
She said, “Yes, yes of course you must take it to the tailor.”
I said, “Okay.”
She said, “Do you know how to tie a sari?”
I said, “No.”
She asked, “How are you going to wear it?”
I said, “I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to ask someone.” And I smiled.

I was thinking about that interaction later and trying to imagine an equivalent situation in the US so that you could understand just how strange the interaction was for this poor woman.

I guess it would be like buying some clothing very common in the US. Let’s say jeans.
If you worked in a store and some foreign person came in to buy some jeans and she bought them and said, “So, I’ve never bought jeans before, what else do I need to wear them?” You would give her the “Her idiot question has left me speechless” look.
If she then said, “Do I need underwear?”
You would say, “Yes. Of course you need underwear.” (DUH)
If she said, “What about a T-shirt?”
You would say, “The T-shirts are in the next section.”
She would say, “So, I need to buy one?”
You would say, “Yes, of course you need to buy one!”
You would say, “Do you know how to put this outfit on?”
She would say, “No.” and smile and leave.

And you would think—that was a loony-bird!

My grandmother used to always say could tell when somebody had been in her house when she wasn’t home. She said it felt different. I used to say, “Sure Gram.” I was thinking, “Coo-Coo!” Like the air vibrates differently if someone had been in the house while you were out.

I was out most of the day today. I went to “City Market.” What that means, I learned, is that there is a place where people do gather to buy and sell veggies and flowers like a farmer’s market. I figured there had to be a place, but I couldn’t find it. All around City Market are streets and streets of stores of every description. Some streets sell clothes, other streets, hardware, others books, computer stuff, cooking utensils, etc. See pictures in the bucket.

I went with the intention of buying some clothes (ready made) on account of my washing machine not working. (That’s a whole other story.) But, I was with two men, and well, I didn’t want to bore them with my indecisions about colors and fabrics and prices. I tried not to be too distracted by the shiny things; it wasn’t easy on the jewelry street.

I ended up not buying any clothes at City Market. Instead I bought a skirt, shirt and scarf at a really posh shop in the expensive mall near my place. It wasn’t as expensive as I thought it would be. I bought everything for about $25, and I like it and will defiantly wear it outside of India. Besides, I figured I could take the blouse to the tailor and have him make me another one (using that one as a pattern) to defray the cost of paying full price for that one. J

Anyway, on the way back to my grandmother and her “feelings.” I got home and I felt suspicious. Like, something was wrong. I kept looking in drawers and thinking, “Is this all I put in here?” I was looking at the table and counters and thinking, “Is that where I left that?”

I don’t know why but I went to look at the washing machine, (like I do) and I noticed that the light on the switch was on. So I turned the washer on to check it, and it worked.

Well, heck!

I guess the apartment maintenance guy had finally come to fix it! (Whoo-Hoo! I can wash clothes!) And, I realized, I had inherited my grandmother’s “feelings.” That’s where she comes back into the story.

I washed a load of clothes and went into my spare room to hang them up. I flipped all the switches because there are seriously like 15 in there and I don’t know which one turns on the light. I went and gathered up the rest of the dirty clothes and went out to the washer, and the little light was out. Heck-Heck! What had I done?

The only thing I could think of was I had flipped all the switches in the spare room. So, I went back in the spare room and flipped them all back. Then the washer worked again, but I had to figure out which switch inside the apartment controlled the switch outside the apartment where the washer lives. (It has its own mini-balcony off the side of the kitchen.)

One by one I eliminated switches . . . flip a switch, walk out to check the washer, no. Flip a switch, walk out and check the washer, no. Flip a switch, go out and check the washer . . . what a pain.

There are lots of choices here. If I want something, say a kilo of potatoes, I can 1. Go to the store and get them.2. Call a store and have them deliver them. 3. Wait for them to come to me.

You see, there are these guys who go around selling things; all kinds of things, not just potatoes. I don’t know what to call them, they aren’t exactly street venders (I don’t think), but let’s call them that.

I haven’t bought anything from these venders, mostly because I try to ignore them when I hear them outside my window yelling their heads off. Secondly, I only happen to see them when I’m out walking Buzz, and it’s just too much to try to hold on to Buzz’s leash, (he’s ten pounds of “let’s go!”) carry the “warning stick” (other dogs back off) and usually a book. (I’ve found a nice little park-type-thing that’s like our own private dog park. It’s always empty and enclosed with a fence, so I can let Buzz free range for a few minutes each day while I read.) Point being, my hands are too full to carry money or random street vegetables.

One thing I noticed and wondered about was explained to me the other day. There are different guys for different things. The mango-man, he’s seasonal as is the jack-fruit lady. Then there’s the regular veggies guy, the plastics guy, the trinkets guy, and the occasional blankets or fabric guys and the paper guy (who, make note, is not selling paper, but buying it, or collecting it, don’t know which.) I didn’t wonder about any of these guys as they pushed their carts around the neighborhood yelling about their wares.

They all yell different things (obviously, it would be nonsense for the mango man to go around yelling “paper!”) But aside from the paper guy, they yell in another language, so I don’t know what they are saying, I only assume it is something about stuff on their carts.

Some of them have the tone of “Bring out your dead!” And that image makes me happy. When I hear the “Bring out your dead!” guy I don’t look to see who he is, because I like to imagine a muddy English man pushing a cart of dead people. Some of them sound like, (tone/melody mind you, not words) “Peanuts! Get your fresh roasted peanuts!” Some of them sound like auctioneers and others just sound really annoying, especially when I’ve gotten home from work at 3am and they are outside yelling at 9am.
“Blast you veggies man!”

I’ve diverted. What I wondered about was why is there a veggies man and a separate onion and garlic man? Why don’t they join forces? (And make one mega cart?)

Well, from what I understand some people here don’t eat onions or garlic; on religious purposes and/or because onions and garlic are considered aphrodisiacs. I never knew that about onions and garlic. I mean, generally Americans try to avoid the person who had onions and garlic for lunch, not because they don’t want to be entrapped by lust, but because they stink!

I find things here to be one the small side of conservative. While in the US things tend to be “Super Sized” “Economy Size” and “Family Size.” Things here are just a hint above “travel size.”

Everything (by everything I mean packages of food, towels, bath mats, pillows, pretty much everything except cooking ware which is HUGE, but all the containers to put things away are again tiny) is small and individually wrapped which makes me feel like a GIANT! (And not in a good way.)