Where Have All The Cowboys Gone?

Seriously. I want to know where all the cowboys have gone? Well, let me delineate that a bit. By cowboys, I mean the good guys. You know, the people who actually try to rescue damsels in distress? Yes, me being said damsel. I'm a damsel. I was in distress. No knights, no cowboys, nothing. I guess it goes to show what kind of times we live in that on one of the busiest streets in my city, four hundred cars can pass me by (including one police car) with my hazard lights flashing (sort of), seeing me sitting alone...in my car...on the side of the road...just me and my dog. Yup. It took almost an hour before a police car finally pulled up behind me.

Which brings up another question. Since when do they let junior high school students wear a badge?!! Good lord! This very nice police officer who finally came to see if I was alive and well looked about as old as my middle child. Okay, okay. That is an exaggeration. He looked as old as my 15 year old. I'm not kidding. This guy looked like he had barely reached the legal age of consent. And, yes, for the other Wendy, he was definitely an example of Iowa Prime Beef. Just extraordinarily young looking. At any rate, apparently, cops now carry around these little yellow box things called 'jump packs', with which we tried (to no avail) to jump start my car. Since it did not start, I called the towing place back. Said towing place had told me 15 minutes before that it would cost me $45 for someone to come try to jump start it -- whether it worked or not, which would be separate from the tow bill. Right. The nice, young, corn-fed police officer who left his Pampers at home just last year, made the attempt for nothing (pun intended). Nada, zilch. Wouldn't even let me walk over to the Kum & Go across the way and buy him a soda or coffee or anything. He just collected his jump pack, his pliers, and waved at me and the dog and took off. I must say, however, that his gun belt or tool belt or whatever those things are called, did not do a thing for his figure. Made him look an extra foot wide and completely detracted an otherwise very fine butt. Oh yeah, there was a nice shitter on that critter, let me tell ya.

Anyway, so, what kind of world is this that no one cares to even ask through a window if a stranded woman is need of assistance? I can only imagine what it would have been like if I'd have had my youngest child with me. Personally, I'd rather go back a century or two. Cowboys riding the open range...helping women in trouble...hangings...ah! The good ole days!

And now for our next installment of "As the Nose Runs"

Okay, so that's cheesy. I can't help it, I'm sick. Deal.

And, yes, my nose is STILL a mess. In fact, it's even worse. I now have a spreading number of cold sores. I have them at the corners of my mouth, under my bottom lip, the sides of my nose, at the base of my nostrils, and here's the kicker -- INSIDE and UP my nose! That's right, folks, I have cold sores up my nose. They are quite painful and hinder the whole blowing-out-of-mucus process. It is my belief that the ones at the corners of my mouth stem from my inherited reaction to citric acid. I have been consumming mass quantities of orange juice and oranges. My mother is the same way, but worse. One orange, and her mouth is all broken out at the corners and raw for three days. The good news is, according to the doc, all I have going on is allergies. Yep. My seasonal allergies are making me this miserable. And, if I am right, have given me a raging case of impetigo. Time to go buy some Phisoderm and Abreva or whatever it's called.

Moving on to a slightly more entertaining topic. I have been found out! Yes, my hidden identity has been discovered. Curtsies to Q for some devastatingly brilliant detective work! Also, Q, apologize to your hunny for me. I had no idea that one small comment would cause you to wake him in the middle of the night. I would offer to make it up with tie-dye cake shortly after my broomstick arrives in July, but it sounds like he won't be there. Q, you both have my sympathies on that issue. I can't imagine what that must be like.

All righty then. I'm outtie. I gotta try and track down some information on Oscar Wilde's THe Picture of Dorian Grey and Decadance. No rest for the Wicked English Major!

My Poor, Poor Nose

Okay, as perfect as I am (snort!), I made a most grievous error this weekend. On Friday, I thought that my allergies were kicking my ass, as they are wont to do. So, I popped some Allegra stuff and felt a bit better. Until in the morning. I woke up feeling clogged, congested, and otherwise plugged up about the nose and head. Since the pill I took was supposed to be a twenty-four hour thing, I was pissed because I used the generic shit just to save a couple bucks. A few hours later, I was worse...just a bit, but enough to pop another one. Yeah, that worked. It only took me a few more hours to realize that it was not my allergies. I have a head cold. A most truly miserable one. My nose alternates between clogging up so badly that it feels swollen to the size of a tennis ball and doing this dripping thing. I'm not sure which is worse. I hate the clogged up feeling, but the dripping thing...well, it wouldn't be so bad, except it happens while I still feel plugged up, but this drop of clear fluid will just slide out of my nostril with no warning whatsoever. How rude! It's like having some leaky faucet attached to my face. Nothing will happen for hours, then suddenly...plooomp! A dribble of snot lands on my shirt. Whafuck? And blowing is not any help. My nose is so red and raw from constant wiping and blowing that the mere thought of a tissue makes it try to retract into my face. Maybe I'll get lucky and it'll only last until tomorrow. Yeah, and my teenage sons will not argue with each other the rest of the day. Right. I may as well plan on sprouting wings by morning.

Another fun thing about the raw nose...putting Vick's vapo-rub on it or violet scented hand lotion on it is not a good thing. Burn! Ohmyfuckinggod! I thought I'd dipped my face in acid! Another brillliant move on my part. I tried Vaseline. That lasted about two minutes until I had to blow my nose again. And since when did they start making tissues that fall apart in the merest breath of air? I have tried those extra strength things and the ones with lotion. Either I am honking at hurricane force or these things are not made like they used to be. And try to find cloth handkerchiefs. Of course, even if I could, I'd be broke in seconds. My washing machine would not be able to keep up, and I'd have to keep buying the damn things.

On the lighter side, a friend of mine told me that he'd do a traditional Native American healing dance for me (him being a Native American). Of course, he also told me that he is clearly out of practice, so one of two things will happen: 1) I'll get well or 2) it's gonna rain like hell in my bedroom. Can't wait to see which one. I hope it's the first, cuz I just don't feel up to mopping right now.

Bicyclists and Pedestrians

I live in a pedestrian town. It's a univeristy town, hence the pedestrians. And bicyclists. Loads of them. It's an ongoing, miniscule version of RAGBRAI (look it up) around here. Fine. Not a problem. It's healthy and it's got to save money on gas. I'm just too lazy to do it myself. And fat. I prefer to think of it as height challenged, but whatever. Living nearly 15 miles from campus doesn't help either. Anyway, here are some myths about Iowa, pedestrians, and cyclists.

#1: Iowa is NOT flat! It isn't full of mountains, but it isn't flat. Nope. Lots of hills. Oodles of hills. Especially on campus. Or any road leading to campus.

#2: Simply being a pedestrian or cyclist does not guarantee your safety. It may grant you the right of way, but there are still responsibilities that go with this. Such as not crossing the road on a redlight or that little 'stop' hand thing. Also, do not walk into moving vehicles. This is a sure way to take an ambulance trip. One of the first things I learned about crossing the street was to look both ways. Do not wait until a car is moving right in front of you then ride or walk right into it. That is assinine. The only real excuse for this is blindness, documented blindness. Drivers around here get used to seeing people and bikes all over the place. We honestly try to watch out for you, I swear. However, follow the laws and use some common sense. Be prepared to stop at uncontrolled intersections, obey traffic signals, and for Goddess's sake, keep your eyes open! The streets around town are heavily trafficked. People driving are in just as much of a hurry as you, and have plenty of things to watch out for. You, being sentient creatures, unlike stop signs or parked vehicles, can take action to protect yourselves.

#3: I also understand that not every person who walks on or near campus lives on campus. There are many side streets and walks that are not exactly hubs of activity. I also recognize that neon yellow or green isn't always fashionable at the local bar. However, if you need to walk or ride in the dark on a place that is not well lit, you need to assume that you are invisible. This is a false belief that will get you another trip in an ambulance. If I cannot see you or some part of you, I will assume you are not there until I have either caught you in my headlights or run into you. By the time I see you in my headlights it may be too late, and I will still run into you.

I am not perfect. I admit there have been times I didn't look as closely as I should have. I have been lucky enough to avoid an accident so far. But, I am not the only lucky one. Each person who was nearly hit by me should also thank their guardian angels or whoever, because one of these days, they may not be so lucky. And it might not be me in my sedan. It might end up being one of the thousand or so semi trucks that go through the area every day. That could be an ambulance trip to the hospital...without any lights or sirens.

Apologies to all y'all

Please forgive me! That last post was not supposed to look that way! I have no idea what I did wrong, but somehow or other, I got this HUGE FONT thing going on and posted it before I realized it. Then, I could not fix it! Then, I tried to put up the picture thing. Oh yeah, that worked well didn't it? NOT! So, please forgive me. I'm trying to get things figured out, but I am apparently technology challenged and unable to discern the finer points of anything that most third graders can do with a computer.

Kneel! For you are in the presence of greatness!

Aaah! The Feminazis are coming!

I refer to myself as a liberated woman. I do not need a man. Anything a man can do, with one biological exception, I can do if I try hard enough. I deeply believe that women have been getting the shitty end of the stick for centuries. I agree in equal pay, breaking the glass ceiling, and all that fun stuff. Really. I usually do not allow men to open doors for me...I am capable of opening most doors for myself. Unless I am in the middle of coitus, no man calls me 'baby'. My opinion on that is: don't let him call you baby unless you want him to treat you like one. I am certainly aware and offended by gender stereotyping, the daycare dilemna, and the way women are treated by healthcare professionals.

However, militant feminists are defeating their own purposes in many ways. I recently read an article written by what I refer to as a feminazi, that excruciatingly examined several songs, one of them being Every Breath You Take, by The Police or Sting or whoever. Now, I am aware that women in media, including music, are not always presented the way they should be. However, trying to start a war against violence against women or against female stereotyping using a song like that is faulty. The few psychopaths out there that would take the lyrics of that song so literally as to turn it into some advocation of stalking are a minority. I'm sorry, but I do not think that refusing to shave your legs or armpits or allowing your breasts to be unrestrained by a bra or dissecting every song lyric, commercial, ad, or other portrayal of women is realistic. Neither will becoming a spiritual lesbian. Oh yeah, that's right. Refusing to associate intimately with a person of your sexual preference out of a philosophical or spiritual bonding/protest movement doesn't do anything but cut the birth rate down a smackerel. Surrounding yourself with other women just for the sake of opposing the treatment that women get, real or perceived, won't solve the equal pay issues or the daycare issues. All it does it make it harder for these issues to become resolved. These actions and any similar ones reinforce the false theory, passed down for generations, that women are hysterical, emotional, and unstable.

Anyway, if you see these type of women headed your way, run! Be a feminist if that is what you truly believe in. Take action! I'm all for it! But do it logically, practically, and with heart and gusto. Through your spirit and nerve into it! But for crying out loud, don't make a situation worse and destroy or delay the action you are hoping to obtain.

Cookin'

Okay, so I'm going to do a bit of advertising. I went and saw a show called Cookin' last nite. It rocks! The advertise themselves as jackie Chan meets Benihana meets the Marx Brothers and they aren't lying. It was hilarious! And the guys are really hot! And the girl/lady is great! It was awesome. Anyway, if you get a chance to go see this, it is well worth the money. I fyou can stand the audience participation, the music, the sharp knives flying all over, and the smell of garlic. I was clear up in the balcony, could see great, and I could smell the garlic (and onions) for 95% of the show. I would have gone again today if there'd been another performance. Go see this!

Capital punishment, The Drug War, & Condom Runs

The state I live in is currently trying to decide whether to bring back capital punishment in light of a recent kidnapping/murder/sexual assault on a ten-year old girl. I'm all for it. Aside from drug addicts, which I will return to momentarily, child molesters have the highest rate of recidivism and notoriously evade their parole/probation officers and refuse to obey the registration laws. I know there is a lot of controversy over 'curing' said criminals. I don't buy any of that shit. Some people are simply born evil. Others have a chemical or other organic reason for their ills. And, yes, I know that victims often become abusers. Whatever. I don't believe that therapy or drugs or whatever is going to cure these perverts of their disgusting urges. And a system that will give a first time drug dealer a longer prison sentence than a child molester has serious issues! It's beyond belief that child molesters can get a five year sentence, be out within two years and first time drug offenders are getting ten or more years. Of course, the prisons are full of drug offenders to the point that no one goes to jail or prison for that right now and they're shoveling inmates back out like a child shovels sand at the beach, but convicted child molesters can walk out of prison and disappear (and frequently do) back into society and continue to harm children. Do drugs harm kids? Yes, they do. They harm adults too. I just think it's a twisted system when something so heinous as sexual assault of a child gets such meager treatment and drug addicts are treated as though they raped a nun. And, while I'm on the drug issue, for any of you who have not figured it out yet, WE HAVE LOST THE DRUG WAR!! We lost it long ago. I'm not saying it's right, healthy, or anything. Nope. But, does anyone realize how much of our national debt would disappear if the shit was legalized, as heavily taxed as booze or (gasp) cigarettes, and fines for selling to minors or not having a tax stamp were imposed on offenders? ALL of it, people, all of it. Also, along with that, if prostitution were legal, drug trade and domestic violence would drop. I'm not kidding, and I have been hearing this from cops for over a decade. Of course, with politicians running the show, the issues will never be adequately resolved until one of their kids gets raped and killed, only then will it be a national issue. Probably wouldn't take as long to get the sicko the shot either. Okay, I'm done with that...for now. Fair warning, it is one of my favorite hobby horses, so it may appear again.

Onto condoms. Prophylactics. Rubbers. Raincoats. So many names for such an ugly little item. Sorry, but they are not attractive. And all these colored and flavored things? Whafuck? Ribbed for her pleasure. Yeah. And so fucking many! Good grief! Different brands. Different types. Different sizes. Sizes? When the hell did that happen? I must not have been paying attention, but the last I knew, they only came in one size. Aren't they supposed to stretch to fit? I know they stretch. I've used several to make terrific water-balloons during my misguided youth. Back then there were like four brands, one size, lubed and non-lubed, ribbed ones, and those silly novelty ones you could buy for three quarters at the local gas station. Those had funny-looking anemone like things on the ends or were otherwise decorated. I distinctly remember looking for them in a store in my hometown when I was around 16. They whole display took up maybe four rows on one those rack things about two feet long. The rest of the area was filled with gels, foams, sponges, and pregnancy tests. Now all of these things are kept in locked glass cases like they're the crown jewels and take up an entire wall! And expensive! Oh my god! Last time I bought some, I paid like $2.50 for a pack. One kind I say the other day was like $10. For little tubular latex shit? I know they're needed and healthy and so on, but $10? For like a pack of four? No wonder these things are all over campus for free in these little baskets. Not only does it promote safe sex, but the damn things are almost prohibitively expensive. I mean, cheaper than a baby or VD, but shit! Now, for those who may be wondering why I am ranting about this, I had to go peruse the damn things for the first time in years. Not for me (don't ask), but for my oldest son. Fine. I'm a liberated woman and a 'cool' mom. I'm also not stupid. Girlfriend of 17 + 15 year old male child = teenage sex. He and I have had several talks, he knows the risks, he's fairly responsible (aside from his room and his mouth), he's smart, and he's a walking hormone. They both are. I know, I've been there. So, when he told me that it might be a good idea to obtain some condoms, I said okay. Outside. I said okay on the outside. Inside, I started crying and wondering when he stopped being three and screaming that I need to go get chains and locks for the basement. Then I quit panicking and went to Wal-Mart. And KMart. Target. Every drug stoe in town. And discovered that what I had believed to be a simple trip for protection for my son is not. I returned home empty handed. Well, without condoms. No chains or locks either. I told him about my journey and offered to take him along. He refuses to go with me to purchase these items. Fine. Tomorrow I will take him to whichever store he wishes to purchase these items from, give him my debit card, and wait in the car...shaking and sobbing, I'm sure. And marking the calendar so I know how long it's been when he tells me his girlfriend needs a pregnancy test. I'm trying to convince him that any part of him that touches a girl before he's twenty dries up and crumbles off. So far, he does not seem to buy it. Damn it anyway.

Save Me from Teenage Angst!

Help! Rescue me! Assistance! No kidding, there ought to be some sort of class (probly is someplace) on dealing with teenagers. And not becoming depressed. I thought only girls went through the whole "I'm ugly. I'm stupid. I'm fat." thing. Wrong! Oh so wrong! Apparently teenaged boys do the same thing, only angrier, and without the tears.

I'm surrounded by testosterone and I'm sick of it. I have also recently discovered how old I am. Not just physically. Mentally. My eldest son has his first girlfriend. Yep. Became official on Saturday. He's going to her prom with her and everything. My mother says he can't, that he's only three, just big for his age, and that three-year-old aren't allowed to go to prom or have girlfriends. He's even kissed her. With tongue, or so I've been informed. Time to go on a condom run. I'm not ready to be a grandma! I'm not ready for my first born child to go to prom either, but he is.

Also, the whole teenage thing is really becoming obvious in the middle child now. He's not vocal about it, but is instead choosing the 'I'm going to hide in my room and you can't make me come out' bit. Arrgh! And he insists on combing all of his hair straight forward. Then complains that he looks funny. Oh, and difference between him and his brother? His brother has a girlfriend, he has "options". Yup. Options. I asked him if these girls knew that was how he was referring to them. He said no. Well, at least he's smart enough not to tell them that. He acted all surprised when I told him that girls generally do not like to be referred to as options and that his dating life would end abruptly if they found out. It was like I'd flown in under his radar and bombed the secret bunker.

To top it all off, my eight year old daughter is wearing those little sports bra-tank top type things. It is't really a training bra, but it isn't an undershirt either. Of course, I then had to do the math and realized that HER hormones should start overflowing in the next 3-4 years. I figure I've got about 2 before she starts the whole training bra thing. Then it'll be real bras and sanitary supplies and THE TALK and oh god, just shoot me!

Handy Tip

Okay. Not sure how many of you will find this of import, but here's a handy tip: if you are a University student whose University library has an agreement allowing you to access indecis such as EBSCOHost, do not, repeat DO NOT add 68 items to a folder for later viewing and attempt to email them to yourself via the proxy server. This will cause your email inbox to become as clogged as rest area toilet during Spring Break. Apparently, the good folks at EBSCO email you each item singly...not in even groups of two or three. It has taken my email three days to load all of them. It just so happens I thought this would actually save me some time, allowing me to peruse the articles at my leisure in preparation for a massive project for class. Instead, I am being forced to wait for these articles and abstracts to sloooooooowwwwwllllllllyyyyy arrive in my inbox. Uh huh. Progress? I don't think so.

Satellite Umbilical Cords

Whoopee!!! I finally broke down and decided to get satellite tv. Now, I can once again, be connected with the rest of the world! Alright! It sounds so mundane, but living where I do, there is no such thing as cable. I'm too far beyond city limits. It's satellite or nothing. Fine. As technologically inept as I am, I was afraid to get it before. I believed that it was permanent, that once I had it hooked up or installed or whatever, that I had to continue my service at that address. I recently discovered otherwise and decided I was tired of network tv that only comes in if it is't raining or blustery. Plus, the house is already wired for it. There's a dish and everything! All the tech has to do is whatever he needs to do with the receivers. Yay! I will again be able to poison my mind with Comedy Central! I just feel so out of it whenever people talk about shows that are only on cable. I have no clue unless there's been something in the paper or I've managed to see it elsewhere. Once this is hooked up, I will be connected again and feeding my cultural self regularly. All with the push of a button. Ain't technology grand?

Kudos and Chocolate to Queenie

All Hail the Queenie! Thanks to her, I am no longer feeling like such an idiot. I now have a one link long blog roll (or is blogroll?). I plan to add more as I get more time to explore the wonderful world of blogs.

Queenie, you deserve a mountain of chocolate...with all of the calories, fat, and other undesirables taken out...with all the flavor left in! Now, if I could just find a way to make that kind of chocolate, I'd be rich in no time! Thanks so much, Queenie! Take a bow, or a curtsy or whatever...hell, take a nap! Yep, what better reward? Chocolate and a nap. You are hereby bestowed the online gifts of chocolate and naptime. Enjoy!

Technology, Exhaustion, and Pressed Babies

I must be a moron. You know those little buttons on sites that say things like "links" or whatever? I CANNOT figure out how to get one on my blog. I must be a special kind of stupid. I have read directions, called friends for help, and still can't figure it out. Anyone who reads this who would be willing to walk me through it would have a special place for them reserved in Paradise.

Ever been too tired to sleep? I hate that. Eventually, the body does just take over and knock you out for a few hours (days?), but it can happen at the most inconvenient time. Such as the middle of a lecture on Othello. Or while waiting in line for supposedly fast food. The sleeping part wouldn't bother me so much, but good god and goddess, the SNORES!! I swear that under most circumstances, I do not snore. I will whistle through my nostrils at times, but when I am really really tired, I snore. Apparently, loud enough to drown out tornado sirens and troops of marauding, chain-saw-wielding lumberjacks. This is not good in either of the above mentioned locales. The instructor lecturing on Mr. Shakespeare's work was not amused. In fact he threatened to remove me from the class permanently. It was my first infraction, by the way. The people at Arby's, however, found it quite comical. In fact, the sweet young man (perfect example of corn-fed beef if I ever saw one) gave me my food for free. Personally, I think it was simply because he was so overcome with convulsions of laughter that he could not hold onto the cash for any length of time.

My friend, Grasshopper, finally had her baby yesterday. She is fine, the baby is fine, her boyfriend survived the labor and delivery in one piece. However, it seems that there was some initial concern with the boy: he needed intubated and they may need to pump his stomach. According to the Grasshopper, he came out so fast that the fluid wasn't pressed out of him on the way out. Whafuck? I knew the birth canal was a rather tight fit from personal experience (the mom's, not the child), but I was unaware that it served a purpose other than to remind women to not do this too often. Hmph. Learn something new everyday, I guess. I had never heard of it before, but there ya go -- new and useless (to me) information. So, if anyone reading this is pregnant or thinking of becoming pregnant, you now know one other facet to having a vagina. It's for pressing babies.

Online Info

You can find almost anything online. I have discovered neon food coloring and some interesting baking ideas from Queenie. I cannot wait to see certain people I know poop smurfs! I learned about the origins of April Fool's Day. I learned that a group of kangaroos is called a mob. I have instant access to photos of my favorite animals--penguins--and all kinds of great toons, shopping, and so on. The one thing I have been unable to find is a cure for head lice. That's right...lice. Having a child in elementary school seems to bring the critters in univited. Wait, no one INVITES the damn things to visit. At any rate, we have done everything and I mean everything to get rid of these disgusting little pests short of shaving everyone's heads or pouring kerosene on ourselves. The school nurse thinks that I am to blame, since there are several days a month when my schedule overwhelms me and my daughter goes to school without a thorough combing of her hair. My girl is trying valiantly to to learn to brush it out completely on her own, but she is blessed with that wonderful fine, thick hair that can mat itself up in a matter of minutes if not braided, cut short, or otherwise restrained to her scalp. I have used OTC treatments once a week for the last four months. No lie...FOUR fucking months! I have used the bedding spray, vacuumed, washed the dog, washed everything that can go through the washer in hot water, dried things on high, frozen items for days at a time, used those metal lice combs, boiled allother brushes and combs, soaked them in bleach, put them through the washer and dryer, bought new ones...the list goes on and on. The school nurse's reaction? Check my daughter's hair once or twice a month (if we're lucky). None of the other kids in the classroom have been checked since the fall when the very first lice outbreak was reported in the school. No letters sent home to remind parents to continue checking or to inform them that another case has been reported in the school/class. Oh yeah, and to send Nix home with my oldest son (at another school, by the way) for us to use. Other than that, she tells me to put two weeks' worth of my girl's clothes in the dryer on high for at least 45 minutes then only let her wear clothes from that bag for two weeks. Huh? I'm not sure about other people, but I am not rich enough to have two weeks' worth of clothes for her to wear...I am constantly doing laundry just to keep up without having to add in the lice-y shit. Puh-leeeze! I'm sorry, but the likelihood that another child in my daughter's classroom has lice, even if from her, during the last four months is quite high. But, unless a child is crazily itching, most parents do not search their children all that frequently. A letter from the school is almost a necessity.

Okay. So, I see I've outdone myself. I apologize. I just cannot believe that science has gotten so advanced that we can track itty-bitty items through a tiny, hand-held device or give people artificial organs or clone animals, but we can't figure out how to kill a few bugs? I finally broke down and took her to the doctor...lot of good it did me but that's another story...and he informed me that lice, like roaches and other vermin, have become resistant to various chemicals. Great. Just what we needed...more pests we can't get rid of. What, men and kids weren't enough?

Personality Disorders

I have a personality disorder. In fact, I think I have several. Most people would at least have some kind of sympathetic emotion about the death of the Pope and about the controversy surrounding Terry Whatsherface. Not me. I am anti-Catholic. I apologize for any Catholics who read this. I usually am very open-minded, but organized religion creeps me out. I'm positive mine would creep out any Catholic. Anyhow, that is neither here nor there. I'm not happy the Pope is dead. I know that millions of people looked up to him, many not even Catholic,and for good reasons. I'm of the opinion that he led a good, long life. However, it is very telling of my personality that my first thought was of a hostile take-over and that I could be Pope Joan II. As for Terry (spelling?), I am of the opinion that the whole thing garnered waaaay too much attention. People are removed from life support and feeding tubes almost daily. I'm sure it's a terrible decision to make, but snap out of it already!

Another reason I am fairly certain that I have personality disorders is my supermarket rage. What the hell is with all these women who get dressed up as though attending an inaugural ball just to run to the grocery store? Makes me want to earp into their cart...all over their bottled water and diet soda. Plus, all these high-heeled, painted women spend their whole shopping experience talking on their cell phones about soap operas, the latest gossip at the country club, and what their overachieving child did that day. If you have forgotten your list or need to check into who's coming to dinner, fine, otherwise...put the phone in your purse, pocket, what the fuck ever and shop already! And get your cart out of the middle of the damned aisle while you're at it. You aren't the only people in the store you know. And cashiers who you just met are not interested in hearing about your doctor's visit, dental check-up, or yeast infection. Talk to them nicely, thank them, tell them to have a nice day, bitch about the lousy service or selection or whatever, pay the nice lady or gentleman and get the hell out of the store!

See? I am either seriously disturbed and warped or I'm just saying things that others feel and are too timid to say. I'm sure therapy would help me figure it out, but I rather like having an unusual view on life...gives me something to worry about. Besides, define normal...at my house, it's just another setting on the dryer. I'm even thinking of having that removed.

Cows, Duck Noises, and Punishment

Have you ever watched a cow try to lay down? In a slightly wet field with an overly full udder? It's hilarious! I sort of felt sorry for the poor thing. I mean it's front feet/legs were folded up under her chest and she was valiantly trying to get her rear legs to fold, but her udder kept getting in the way. I actually had to stop my car, pull off to the shoulder, and watch. She finally managed it, and then, like all children are wont to do, her came her calf, nuzzling around for a drink. She kind of tossed her head, and just laid over on her side. I believe the thought of trying to wrestle herself back up just to feed a kid who didn't want want anything to do with her five minutes ago was too much. I can sympathize.

My middle child has issues. Or I do. I'm not sure which. He's intelligent, healthy, and reasonably good-looking for being in one of those awkward teenage stages where zits try to perfom a hostile takeover of the eniter body. That isn't the issue. The issue is, he likes to make noises. Not the run-of-the-mill humming to yourself noises or fart noises or the like. He makes those too, and frequently. But, he also likes to experiment with these noises. Yesterday, I learned that he can make a noise that rather sounds like a duck being squished. I know no other way to describe it. It literally sounds like he's holding a duck and squeezing it into submission. I don't know whether to be concerned or try to get him into the sound effects department at Universal.

This morning, though, brought about a revolt. Mine own. I had to run a few errands. I left my two sons home, mistakenly believing that they are old enough to follow a list of explicit directions in my absence. I even took the precaution of talking it over with both of them befor eI left the house. I was gone maybe an hour...possibly an hour and fifteen minutes. Now, please keep in mind that this list consisted of two items apiece. I knew that the second items would only be started, and barely that, but the first item should have been completed before I returned. When I walked in, the oldest son begins by saying,"Nothing got done, but it wasn't...". I didn't let him finish. The middle child pipes up, "He tried to force me to shave...". I didn't let him finish either. Bad enough that Saturday morning TV is the most important part of the weekend and is responsible for several arguments each weekend when it comes time for chores or, god forbid, I want to watch something else...at any rate, I've reached the end of my rope. I consider myself a lenient parent. I like it that way. Kids need rules and structure, yes, but too much doesn't allow for any flexibility or fun. I don't ask much from my kids: take the garbage out weekly, pick up after yourself, help put groceries away, feed the dog once a day, and help with laundry. Oh, and clean your own fucking room! Being a college student, I admit that my studies often interfere with my own regular chores and I get lax when I feel overwhelmed. But, when I found out that nothing at all had been done, I lost it. My two oldest children are now responsible for everything of their own: cooking, laundry, school work, so on. I told them that they can do what ever the hell they want, since they obviously will anyway, but not to ask me for a damn thing. I will do mine and the youngest ones stuff that she cannot handle for herself, but they must handle their own everything else, including shopping for food. I figure that by suppertime tonight, I'll get an apology and they'll straighten out for awhile...they don't have any income and all the food in the house was purchased by me. We also live in the middle of nowhere (hence the cow watching) and neither one can drive. Hunger will eventually force them to talk to me. Hunger and thirst. Did I go overboard? Maybe. Are they being hurt? No. They will, though, be forced to acknowledge that things could be worse. All I know is something has to work, and I'm tired of being ignored. My mother pulled something similar on me, and believe me, it totally changed my outlook...until I had a job and my own car.

Manic Diatribe

Okay, I will try not to do this too often. Posting more than once a day. Honest. Just pardon the manic moment and all will survive.

What is with the idiots in government? Who decides some of this crap? I mean, seriously! My friend, Grasshopper, is due any minute. Like three days ago. She's huge, she's miserable, and she's a wee bit grumpy. All understandable. The doctor is concerned about the baby's size and keep trying to induce her. Didn't work, but that's another rant. Anyway, while in the hospital, she is filling out all the lovely paperwork that goes with the birth of a baby. She is married, but not to the baby's father. Her husband and her have been separated for nearly 4 years and he has supposedly (yeah right) filed for divorce from prison (yet another rant). According to the law, even with the filing of said divorce and the separation, the baby's real father cannot be named on the birth certificate. The most she can do is refuse to name him or refuse the State's birth record or some such stupidity, which leaves the father's name blank or by default her husband's name goes on there. Maybe it's just me, but is that psycho or what? It isn't her fault that she isn't divorced. She hasn't had the money to file and half the time hasn't known where the fuck he's at. The father is willing to sign a paternity afadavit and do whatever else, but since she's still legally married, they have no choice. Plus, it will take a court hearing aside from the divorce, to get Twitch put on the birth certificate, along with a fee of like $125. Who decides this shit? Is it pure morality that prevents lawmakers from recognizing that there are plenty of resons that a married woman may be having a baby with another man, aside from infidelity? Which is no longer illegal by the way, or a required cause for divorce. I guess the latter depends on who you talk to, but still.

Okay, that was the diatribe part. Ready for the manic part? Too bad, brace yourself!

You know all those cute little sayings and one-liners that everyone (especially me) likes to throw around? Things like, how many magnets can I stick to the front of my refridgerator before it finally tips over? Like that? Yeah. Seeing as how it's April Fool's Day, I have been pondering semi-bizarre questions about it all day. It isn't really a holiday. It's more like some strange observed tradition. It's some kind of 'day' because it is listed on most calendars, in America at least. Is there a historical reason for it? Is it religious? Do I need to worry about offending someone by NOT playing some kind of joke or prank on them today? What if I am offended by the jokes and pranks? Can I start a protest? Should I try to get April Fool's Day banned from being listed on American calendars? Conversely, what if no one plays a prank or joke on me and I am offended. Do I have any legal recourse for this lack of acknowledgement of my beliefs? And since there may be others out there who have mssed out on their participation of this 'day', is there a support group? Maybe some kind of hotline, one where you can call in to be "fooled"? There's a money making scheme. The fundraising opportunities are endless...stand-up comics and comedians, magicians, and tricksters of all kinds would line up to perform at benefits. The cash would roll in! Court jesters could come back and be gainfully employed one day each year, so long as it was a weekday. However, would they be eligible to collect unemployment the rest of the year since it would be 'seasonal' work, as such? BAck to the offending someone part. If I do not know that someone is a devout April Fooler, and I erroneously avoid pranking them, how should I rectify the situation once I am made aware of my mistake? Is a simple apology good enough? Would I be obligated to come up with some kind of prank, no matter how miniscule, on the spot in order to avoid legal ramifications? And are there certain kinds of pranks and jokes that are mainstream and acceptable? What would the symbolic representations be? I mean, there are hearts and cupids for Valentine's Day; Santa and so on for Christmas; shamrocks for St. Patrick's Day; and so on. What kind of symbol would work for today? Maybe one of those funny looking hats with all the points and bells? How about a simple, stylized number 1? If there is some historical background for this 'day', maybe some symbol from that could be used...is there a saint associated with today? A rock? A certain country or locale? Person? Book? Event?

I don't know the answers. I do know this will keep me occupied for days. I will eventually break down and look for information online, I know I will. One time, I became so enthralled with cashews and how they might look in their shells, that I finally spent all of 3 minutes online to find out (weird and not at all edible) after wondering at least once a day for over a month. Such is how my mind works during periods like this.

One last thing, I need to add/edit/whatever to my disclaimer. While names are not changed to protect innocents, names are changed to avoid the persecution/prosecution/burning at the stake/flogging/flaying/live burial of the guilty. I must admit, it's almost a shame...I am much in enamored of the living burials and burnings. As long as it isn't me.

English made simple

Okay folks, it's a stereotype, but it's amazingly close to reality. As an older student at The U of I, I am forced to look hard for connections to people who I can associate with. The younger crowd is great entertainment, but not often good for serious debate. That is not the stereotype by the way. The stereotype came into play during a discussion with one of the few other older (sort of) students I have in a class. She's going for her Master's in Education, poor thing. Any way, she said that her and another student were discussing the English majors. Knowing that I am such, she apologized ahead of time and told me that she hates the English majors: 'they all smoke...and they wear black all the time. They also seem to think that they are the only authority on literature'. She's right. The majority of the English majors I have seen (and that's a plethora), smoke. We wear black almost like a uniform. I don't consider myself an authority on literature, but I know plenty that do.

Do we do it to be able to identify our own kind? Is it just the personality of the English major? Is it a coinkydink? No idea. Nope. I'm sure that somewhere out there, maybe even at my own college, some group is reaping beacoup bucks to study just such a phenomenon. And if they aren't yet, it will be sponsored by our government soon. Either way, the stereotype seems to represent a reality. Whatever. I could give a fuck. The woman who told me this gave me something to ponder for awhile that wasn't some weird interpretation I'm supposed to be able to make of some archaic scribblings by some long-dead author. I'm happy.

So there it is. English made simple. If you smoke, wear black all the time, and profess to an abundance of literature-related trivia, you must be an English major. Funny, I have more recall on movie lines and fights I had with my recycled husband ten years ago than I have for most books I've read. Maybe I'm in the wrong line of study.