Arrrgh! Holiday travel!

Okay, so, it's Memorial Day Weekend and I have to travel two and a half hours to my mother's. Not smart. Nope. Of course, if it weren't for my son's turning the big 1-4 today, I might not have gone. Which would have been wiser. The drive on Friday wasn't too awful, until I hit Des Moines (pronounced Duh- Moyne for any non-Iowans) at rush hour. Even that wasn't too painful. However, traffic on the way home was agony! Pure torture. Well, around Des Moines at least. Some moron in some kind of tanker truck decided to come to a near complete stop on Interstate 80 before turning onto his/her exit. Which put me as the middle or third car in line in an "oh fuck, we're gonna crash" almost five car pile-up near the Adventureland/Altoona exit. The minivan and SUV behind me took the shoulder to avoid crushing me. And, as I went past the exit after this near collision, I could see absolutely no cars in front of this truck...not even down at the stop sign at the bottom of the exit ramp. Nothing. No one. Nada. I could have screamed. If it hadn't meant a rather time-consuming detour to go back and hunt this stupid shit down with my three kids and my dog in a non-A/C vehicle in close to 80 degree heat, I would have beaten the driver to a pulp with my T-bar or four-way or whatever that lug nut thing is. I'd sick my dog on him/her, but the dog'd just think it was a cool new ride and hop in enthusiastically wagging his little stubby tail, drooling and huffing his horrendous doggy breath the entire time he waits for the ride to start. The kids wouldn't have helped either...just made faces, swore a few times, and possibly trying to tie shoelaces together...and that would all be aimed at me. The driver's only risk would be ruptured spleen from laughter. And all the RV's?! Whafuck? Who are these people? Where did they come from? Where are they going? Do they even know? I'm all for getting an RV myself after my children have all moved out...makes it harder for them to find me to ask for money or to try to move back in. I just don't understand how these humongous campers can pass me by when I'm going 75...you know, the ones that could house a small military force comfortably for three years?...and these little bitty things can't seem to go over 40 and always manage to end up in front of me. I don't get it. I just don't get it. Oh yeah, and since it's a holiday weekend, there have been all kinds of tv and radio ads all over the place about the massive police efforts this weekend to enforce the seatbelt law and other safety laws. Intimidation tactics so that the State Patrol and local law enforcement agencies that garner major grants from the Feds for seatbelt enforcement can write more tickets and so that everyone drives with one eye glued to the rearview mirror for those lights. Uh huh. I didn't see one officer the entire time. Wait, I lied. I saw two of Perry's finest, at least two of their patrol cars, on two separate occasions while visiting my mom. Other than that, I did not see a single State Trooper or other law enforcement vehicle. I didn't even see one of those strange light blue DOT cars out. And I know why...honestly, this is the absolute truth...it's because of all the damned budget cuts! Nobody can afford to pay these guys holiday pay or for the gas to go cruise the interstates and highways. Which leaves perfectly law abiding drivers like myself surrounded by moronic truck drivers and other idiots to get killed or maimed while traveling. Go figure.

Meatloaf, Family Recipes, & Memory Lane

I was taken on a sentimental journey by reading Queenie's blog again. Of course, I'm also digging through my deep freeze for hamburger now too so I can quench my taste for meatloaf. Thanks, Queenie! Oh well, maybe it'll turn out this time. Any way, it made me remember my gramma's cooking (especially meatloaf). She could cook anything. Couldn't get a recipe from her though. Nope. Like all great chefs, it was "well, I used a scoop of this" or "a pinch of that". Yeah. That helps, Gramma. Unlike you, I cannot cook without explicit directions. Not if people are gonna eat it, anyway. I can bake, usually, and well. Other than that, if it can't go in a crock pot or microwave or Foreman grill, forget it and order take out...it's safer, trust me. I even have a sign in my kitchen that says "Hundreds of people have eaten in this kitchen and gone on to lead perfectly normal lives". It's a lie. 1) I have not yet fed over 50 people in my lifetime...total, not in one sitting. 2) No one I know is normal or leading a normal life whether they've eaten in my kitchen or not, but those who know me well enough to eat my food are doubly cursed and Wendy can testify to that, too. But I am digressing. (Ah ha! Found the hamburger!) Thinking of all the times my gramma fed the army that was my family brought back tons of memories. Making mints with her, learning how to make frosting roses -- I was so proud that she let me and that several of the ones I made went on someone else's wedding cake --her Forgotten cookies and fudge, and calling her in a panic from my first apartment during my first marriage because my in-laws were coming and I had forgotten how to make a roast and what to serve with it. I remember being in 7th grade Home Ec. and having to turn in like 10 recipe cards each week from outside sources and going through her recipe box and cook books. She was always willing to try something new or to play around with old recipes. I remember when a house I lived in had a grape vine in the back yard and her and Ruth (an old family friend) making homemade wine that year. I was like 9 or 10, and they'd let me taste it every now and then to see if it was ready. I know, I know, that was a horrible crime...bite me, I loved it...being considered 'old' enough to try it and giving my opinion. We found 4 bottles of the stuff in her basement four years ago after she died. It was awful, vinegary stuff. I'm almost 35, do the math and you'll see why. Even today, I still find myself dialing her number occasionally, when I miss her terribly or have some kind of sewing or cooking emergency. It doesn't go past the third or fourth number though and I remember she's gone and won't be the one to answer the phone. I know, because I called it once last year in a crying fit and some stranger answered. I hung up immediately of course, but it jarred me out of the bawling jag. I do know that there are some things that never taste the same now that she's not the one to make them: her stuffing, her meatloaf, salmon soup, homemade ice cream, mints. I have all her mint molds and cake decorating stuff now. I can't find the damn mint recipe though. I'm sure it's in her old recipe book or box in my uncle's attic or at my mom's. I take the mint molds down every now and then...I can still smell the mint dough on many of them. When I do, I know she's checking in, making sure I haven't forgotten her and all the stuff she did for all of us, and telling me how proud she is of what I've done with myself. I wish I could find that mint recipe, it was so much fun to make them with her. My own kids can remember making mints with her just like I did, and they ask me now and then if we can. I'll start digging for it again. It isn't often my older two want to do anything with me any more, and they miss her too. Maybe a trip down memory lane is something they need as much as I do. I'll just have to be careful not to cry into the dough too much.

Now, off to thaw my hamburger. I wonder if I'll find her meatloaf recipe anywhere? Probably not. She usually just threw that together. Even if I did, it wouldn't taste the same as hers. Grammas had too many secret ingredients and too much love to put into the things they fed their families...I can't compete...yet.

Never again...I swear!

Okay. The Idylls have stopped. I'm done. I'm not quite sure what came over me -- aside from a gigantic wave of self-pity. My most sincere apologies. I intend to delete the damn things as soon as I'm done with this.

In other areas, I've come up with several options to clear up our country's financial problems, along with several state issues. Since education and social security are such big issues and rightfully so, I think there are some easy solutions that should be put into place immediately. To start with, every major athlete should have a required 5% of their pay taken from them and remanded to whatever state they graduated high school from. In turn, that state is required to put that money into the educational budget. For states that are so unlucky as to miss out on this, any state that has more than 5 athletes contributing loses the other contributions. Those would be routed to states with less than 5, with those having none or one being a priority state. It would even out fairly quickly. That alone would solve the educational budget crisis within two years. On to Social Security. This one is slightly more complex, but still workable. First, we need to abolish the practice of agencies counting gross wages to decide qualification for assistance programs. Nearly one-third of a person's wages is never seen to begin with, even at tax refund time. Second, all income should be taxable. I know this sounds hinky, but it really wouldn't hurt anyone. If all income was considered taxable, earned income, more taxes would roll in, more people would get more in refunds ( mainly from the EIC), and the excess (ha) funds could go straight into the Social Security program. Within five years, Social Security would again be operating the way it should. Figure that if all sources of income count as earned income, students would pay taxes on their financial aid--sort of, since most students would get a refund of some type--which is quite a lot of tax money each year; plus the other sources of income that do not count as taxable income. I know these untaxed sources are supposed to help out the needy and so on, but there are too many loopholes that are benefiting the wrong people. So, remove the loopholes. Also, bring back the tax on food. Everyone uses it, and those who qualify for Food Stamps or the like could receive a waiver on it, since they're obviously in need of it. Still fair, but doesn't hurt anyone. Some of the tax would go to the state and some to the Feds. Split it evenly, except for places that have the local option sales tax (give them their penny on the dollar or whatever) and POOF! Problem solved. Now all I have to do is get an audience with PResident Bush and the other yahoos in power for the nonce and get them to go along with it. Riiiiiight.

Idyll Continues

With the regal bank account protected from the dangerous Overdraft, the Queen had the carriage repaired once again. However, these repair costs had far-reaching consequences. Not only was Her Highness in debt to the Trolls, the Royal Family was in dire need of such mundane articles as soap and (gasp) toilet tissue, and there was not even enough gold in the treasury counting the loan from the Trolls to purchase food for the Royal Canine, or to pay any other of the castle's bills. To top it off, the Queen received further horrific news. Apparently, the Queen, though fabulously brilliant was merely human and prone to the occasional error, had somehow overlooked a paragraph or two in the tax booklet provided to her by the OverKingdom of IRS, to whom each kingdom was forced to pay yearly tribute to. This error, though common according to representatives of IRS, meant that instead of getting a large refund as the Queen had expected, there would be none and the Queen's refund from the previous year was now in question. This would be bad enough news in and of itself, but the Queen had been counting on that refund to repay a major educational debt and fund a much needed and deserved vacation to visit her 'sister' Queen in the Kingdom of Washington over the summer. Losing the vacation was depressing, but now the Queen's journey for knowledge is at a halt until she can repay the institution of higher learning. Panic and mayhem ensued. Neighboring kingdoms the Queen had befriended funded the Queen's needs for toiletries and pet food, saving the Royal asses (literally) and preventing the Royal dog from starving or delivery to a shelter.

**to be continued**

Idyll of the Day

Once upon a long time ago, there lived a fabulously brilliant, chubby, JLo-derriered, crimson haired Queen. She was a curious queen, reading incessantly, and participating in a never-ending quest to gain knowledge. This type of quest is formidable, but far more appropriate than her other choices: the never-ending quest to save her boyfriend or the never-ending quest to define and comprehend the human male. However, the Queen believed deeply in the power of knowledge, no matter how hard to gain. Until suddenly, instead of a productive day of seeking insights, the Queen's chariot decided to fall apart on her. Undaunted, the Queen, though very peckish over the matter, took it in stride, repaired the chariot and continued on with her quest. Within a matter of days, the Royal Coach fell apart again, making the Queen peevish indeed. However, this breakdown turned out to be the fault of the Royal Chariot Repair Elves, who apologized profusely, refused payment, and were promptly executed for their crimes. Feeling much better, the Queen retired for the evening, planning to renew her energies for the next step in her quest to begin the following morn. Lo and behold, when the Queen climbed into her carriage the next day, the carriage was once again broken. Since the Royal Coach is the only one in the Queen's stable, Her Highness checked the treasury and found it severely in deficit from maintaining the royal home and the unexpected coach repairs (elves aren't cheap, you know). This caused the Queen much stress and dismay. Her Knight in Shimmering Armor could not even assist her with this task, and she was forced to seek out the assistance of the Trolls of Paydayadvance, a small, treacherous kingdom nearby. After signing with her own blood an evil contract written in sorcerer's blood on a scroll made from the skin of sacrificial virgins, the Trolls agreed to partially refill the queenly coffers. The required repayment for this deed is so foul that I am afraid to repeat it in public: the odiousness of it would poison the air for centuries.

****Stay tuned for the next Idyll, when all will be revealed****

Blast from the past

So, I called an old friend today. One I haven't spoken to in like 10 years. Just because I'd heard he's gone around to the dark side of the psycho moon. And, because I miss him. Sad, but true. Not in an "oh my god, I had the biggest crush on this guy and I just can't go on without talking to him" way, but an "I can't believe he's still nuts and oh my god, it's been so long...and remember when he..." kind of way. I'm not sure this was a smart move on my part. For one, I have no conclusive evidence either way on his mental state, which bothers me. I hate not being able to psycho-analyze my friends. For another, talk about flash backs! For most of them, you'd just have to have been there. However, at least one person who reads this semi-regularly was there and should be quivering in her pointed shoes right now. Not out of fear, but out of curiosity. And the suspense of plotted revenge.

See, this person has charisma. Lots of it. No kidding. The boy was capable of making people fall in love with him in seconds, become obsessed with his philosophies in an hour, and so on. No kidding. Yes, I was among one of the several who fell under his spell for a time. I was also one of the first to break it, but we still stayed friends. Then he moved away and we lost contact. No big deal until (dramatic music--kidding) I rediscovered my first husband and we decided to recycle our relationship. Again, you had to have been there, right Wendy? All I know is, maybe things don't change as much as we think they do, and all it'll take to prove my point there is a phone call to one of your own old buddies. Go ahead...I dare ya.

Finals Week

Panic. Caffeine. Nicotine. Headaches. Cramped fingers. New ink cartridges. Emotional outbursts. Mainlining of cheesecake. Sucks in the extreme.

How's that for minimalist writing?

Technology Keeps Kicking My Ass

I admit it, I am technologically challenged. Okay? So, whatever techno-gods or powers or whatever that may be, you can stop now! Any time. Really.

Not only does this whole blogging thing fuck with me periodically when I try to do something new, but I cannot work a pre-existing webpage for a class of mine. Whafuck? Supposedly all that is required of me is a few clicks of the mouse and viola! Webpage all complete. Uh huh. What really happens is a few mouse clicks and the whole damn site crashes on me. Not good. Since finals are just around the corner, this should be a relief. However, as part of my final, I have to get this damn thing to work so I can post an essay to this fucking page! If I do not, I get a bad grade. What is really sad is that I am not stupid. I am fairly intelligent. I can read and follow instructions. I do not fear technology. I am not phobic of it. I enjoy the ease (snort!) that technology has given my life, for the most part. I admit that I often think there's too much of it in some areas or too much reliance on it, but I adjust in minutes. So, how come I cannot get cooperation out of a piece of machinery? And don't give me the whole GIGO thing. I'm no longer buying that particular maxim. Anyway, the deus ex machina has it out for me. Literary device, too.