Red Alert!

According to my latest copy of National Geographic, redheads - uh, natural redheads, will be extinct by 2100. Extinct! They are blaming this "age of global intermingling". You need a red gene from each parent and here we are just running around the globe hooking up with just anybody without a care to the plight of the redheads.

Jason was somewhat alarmed by the news. What is it about men and redheads? The rarity? The reputation? The "danger-Will-Robinson" reaction to the color red imprinted in our DNA? And danger=excitement?

What I find strange is how many redheads I know. I work with four natural redheads, complete with freckles. I have two natural redheads among my acquaintances. That is six. That I can think of right off hand. And there is, according to National Geo, only 2% in the world population.

Y'all better start hooking up with other redheads now. What kind of world would this be without the redheads? Bland and boring, that's what.

Thor sez: No redheads! That's scary!

Two simple things.

No, not Thor and Loki.

Not even Jason and I, although I might qualify.

Just an observation that may be assistance to others.

About three years ago, I began a medication that caused my weight to skyrocket from about 135/140 up to 165 within three months. I have been slowly whittling away at it. Oh, for the days of yore when having a salad a couple times a week would knock off five pounds!

Last winter, my weight plateaued at 150. Would not budge.

Then I began a very concentrated effort to remove high fructose corn syrup from my diet.

The weight dropped to 148.

Then a month ago, I began drinking those Promise Activ 3 oz shots of essentially plant sterols (I find the peach flavor the tastiest). I began taking them to supplement my other cholesterol lowering activities.

My weight is now hovering around 144/145.

So, start reading your labels! No high fructose corn syrup! Guzzle plant sterols!

It'll be interesting to see what my cholesterol levels are this year. They hover just on the good side of acceptable.


Loki sez: I prefer crunches. I do two a day.

I'll be Dancing in the Streets

tomorrow, when I'm not so tired and I've slept at night.

This cracks me up:

Chewed up cards.



That's all ya get! I'm exhausted. I need a nap.

This is 100% Jason's Fault

Somethings you just shouldn't say to me.




Second set of twelves coming up - nighty nite all!

Tell Me Why

I don't like Mondays.

Probably because of thunder storms passing through, seems like the entire tri-county area had their sleep disturbed at two a.m. this morning.

My poor brain, once awakened, kicked in to night shift mode and decided that I was supposed to be awake and alert and tending to babies. It took me until almost six a.m. to convince it otherwise.

Then, once asleep, brain thought that it had worked all night and imposed a coma until almost noon.

Can you say: my plans for the day were pretty much shot? I thought you could. I don't go anywhere on Highway 61 after noon. Period.

It isn't that much of a problem, since I do have to return to work tonight, but it does mean The Great Foot Pedal Disaster of 2007 will remain unresolved until at least the end of the week, probably next week. I'm not very optimistic about this latest break down. This poor pedal has been repaired at least three times now. I'm not sure if there is a fourth life there. And it is next to impossible to find a foot pedal for a 1964-ish sewing machine. Which upsets me because the machine itself is in perfect working order and it has HUGE sentimental value to me and since I'm pretty much an idiot when it comes to anything mechanical, it is the only sewing machine I know how to use.

Anyone out there have a foot pedal for a 411-G Singer Sewing machine? Circa 1964?


Yesterday, Jason took a bunch of pictures of Loki playing his (and Thor's) favorite game, "Chase the Stick". Some of them are super fantastic, okay, most of them are, but I really liked this uncropped shot because of all the elements. There is Thor in the background, looking disgruntled because it's Loki's turn. There is my foot twisted out of the way so I don't get a claw sunk in my flesh during the hunting frenzy. And there is Loki, doing what always cracks me up, rolling over in two parts, first the top, then the fat belly slowly giving up to momentum.

I know, it's sad how easily amused I am.

My Sunday Sermon

Working twelve hour night shifts back to back leaves me little time for anything other than work-sleep-work-sleep, so I was only peripherally aware that something was afoot with Mother Teresa.

After my morning nap, I managed to read the article in Time magazine (note to self: does the magazine come in large print?).

I've long admired Mother Teresa. See, I think good works are important. I don't care for whom or why you do good works. Do them for God, for Jesus, for Allah. Do them because you think it makes you look good or may get you laid. Do them because it makes you feel good.

To me, it doesn't matter why, it matters that you do.

I think Mother Teresa was the rock star of doing good works.

And it made me angry at the Catholic Church - because the letters were mostly to her confessors over the years and she asked that the letters not be made public because she didn't want people to think more of her and not of Jesus.

And I understand the great story of it and the potential help it will be for those who struggle with their faith.

But, but, but. There is that pesky but.

She did not want this. The Church violated her wishes, violated the sacrament of the confessional.

The confession is either inviolate or it is not.

I'm sure priests over the years have heard confessions that would make excellent teaching points, but they can't use those stories in their next sermons.

So they violate their own laws because it will be a good story. They violate Mother Teresa's most private struggle - a struggle that should rightly remain between her, her God and her spiritual advisor/confessor - because it will make a point.

I don't think it is right.



Me too, Loki, me too.

Hi Ho

Hi ho, it was back to work I went.

So all you get are these lousy cat pictures.

I'm not Waiting on a Lady

I'm just waiting on the cable guy. Again. Because last week's cable guy couldn't fix the problem in the time allotted to him. So I had to get an appointment with another cable guy whose job it is to fix problems like mine. Which is, as far as I can tell, that I need new cable run.

I suppose it is progress that Comcast now gives you a three hour window of when they might show up. And so far, they have shown up in that window. Used to be an all day sort of thing - between 9 and 5. Then it went to four hours.

But this is cutting in to my prime napping hours. For some reason, I am expected to show up at my place of employment at 11pm refreshed and ready to work until dawn.

Yawn.

I wonder if I counted the channels that I haven't been able to watch for the past three weeks, then figured out how much per channel per day I'm charged for, then subtract the amount of my "missing channels", I wonder if Comcast would think poorly of that. Because I'm not supposed to just pay for what I'm not getting while I wait for them to have someone available to fix my problem at their leisure, am I?

Oh? I am? Pay for service I'm not getting for over three weeks because they haven't been able to fix it?

Slick.

(Imagine picture of Thor, looking very grumpy, here)
Thor sez: Go take a Midol and eat some chocolate!

At least it's not Valhalla

Talking Mops and Other Irritants

I'm removing myself from polite society today. I'm not fit to be around decent humans beings.

It's the heat. It's the hormones. It's the potential final death of the foot pedal to my 1960's era Singer Sewing machine. The best sewing machine ever built.

But it began last night with that talking mop head on Channel 4 news. I don't know her name, probably because of whatever that strange accent she has, I can't understand half of what comes out of her face.

And I suppose to be fair, it wasn't like she wrote the copy, but it was something along the lines of "the first teacher-turned-astronaut returned safely to earth today."

She wasn't the first "teacher-turned-astronaut". The first was Christa McAuliffe. Remember her? She died in the Challenger explosion? Are we just going to conveniently forget her death? Sweep it under the rug as icky or something? Pretend it never happened?

What an insult to her and her family.

Then it ended with waiting to pay for my burritos to go at Moe's for five minutes while the super duper perfectly oblivious can't do anything wrong or our child will be mentally scarred for life debated whether the child's chocolate chip cookie should be put in a plastic sleeve or just be put on top of her chips.

Really. A serious pro/con, point/counter-point discussion while the rest of us stupid morons who obviously didn't get the memo that the fate of their child's cookie was the most important event on the planet today and we should all stay home so they come to the right decision without that silver haired old bitch leaning over the cookie (!!!!!) to hand her debit card to the cashier.

See? I'm going to go take a nap now.




Or start yoga classes.

Why are We in this Handbasket?

And where are we going?

To hell, I tell you, straight to.

Let's trot out an old standard of a stable civilization: customer service.

I would like to state up front that none of what I say applies to Jane, she is the most awesome example of what a good employee should strive to be. That will make sense to those who know of whom I speak.

I have been shopping at the BiLo near my house for many years now. And I have seen it sliding downhill for the last year. Most notably is that hideous lobster tank that you can smell as soon as you enter the store. Smells worse than pluff mud in the sewer. Yum. Really puts me in the mood for food shopping.

Today I had not one, but two employees who were doing inventory not only leave their carts blocking the end of the aisles, but they didn't move them as I approached. Twice, I had to leave my cart, go to their cart, wheel it out of the way, go back to my cart. One, a female who was extremely busy flir-uh-talking to a male visitor, did toss me one of the most insincere "sorry"'s I've ever heard. I left her cart about four feet out in the main aisle. The second, a male, had the good sense to feel a little sorry and actually finished moving his cart after I'd begun.

Who comes first? The employee? The customer?

Perhaps this should be on the employment application.

Okay. So I make through the minefield of aisle blocking employees, manage to buy meat without gagging on the filthy aquarium smell and get to the register. And the girl running it might as well as have been dead. Really. I didn't know human beings were capable of moving so slowly and still have discernible heartbeats. I started bagging my own groceries after three other employees walked by on their way out the front door (where, when I left, I walked through their cloud of smoke) because if I'd let Morticia finish ringing up and bagging, my food would have been spoiled.

Now, I've complained about this before. But will someone please teach these young people what the f**k vegetables are? Really. Morticia holds up a bunch of celery.

"Whaddis?" she inquires.

"Celery," I reply.

She then stares, sweat beads popping out on her forehead, at the fruit/veggie code wheel of fortune. And spins it. And spins it. And spins it. And spins it. And spins it.

"Don't start with 's'?"

"No, dear, it begins with the letter 'c'."

And earlier this morning, I went by The GDC Home Furnishing Store, whatever it is called, on Sam Ritt. Now I know I don't look like some rich stuck up bitty who will drop a grand on some POS "distressed" kitchen table and I know I once positioned all their stuffed sheep in acts of fornication in the mattress room, but that was no reason for not one of the five employees I passed to greet me. No hello. No good morning. No "can I help you". Not even a damned good bye, have a nice day on my way out.

So I went somewhere else to buy what I needed. And got a good discount because the manager there loves and adores me. (Okay, so she's my mother, but she doesn't have to give me a discount!)

I'm not going anywhere else today unless it involves fine food and better wine!

Thor sez: Excuse me? You dare complain about service when we received salmon twice in a row?

New Bird

I'm not a serious bird watcher, but I do try to keep track of the birds I have seen. Yesterday, I got to add the Downy Woodpecker to my list. I'd first thought, as I watched him fly away from the feeder, that it was a Red Headed Woodpecker (not to be confused with the Red Bellied Woodpecker) because the pattern on his back was all I could really see. But once he landed, no red head. So I thumbed through the pages of my well worn Field Guide to the Birds of North America and identified him.

I know, I'm boring and a geek. Whatev. But the woodpeckers are my favorites to spot because they tend to be shy. Many years ago, at another house in West Ashley, I actually had a Pileated Woodpecker visit a few times. That was exciting.


Loki sez: Yes, yes. You speak of such birds, but you never bring any home so that we might, shall I say, examine them up close. And personal.

Slim to None

Those are my officially calculated chances of American Idol hopefuls receiving a golden ticket to move up in the try-outs.

I can only do four math type things with any sense of confidence: add, subtract, multiply and drug calculations. I'm not so sure with my division skills because sometimes, with word problems, such as "If there are 6000 people trying out and only 40 will move forward, what percentage will get a ticket?", I have no idea what number should go where. I came up with 0.006.

So, as a matter of logic, I was not surprised that my extremely multi-talented niece (singing, dancing, acting and writing) did not move forward in the competition.

But as a proud auntie, I want to go snatch someone bald and ask where they left their brains yesterday.


Thor sez: It's not fair. I practiced my remake of Stray Cat Strut until I was purrfect, but they said only humans could audition. Like Morris the Cat isn't an American Idol!

Houston, we have a problem.

Complete and utter failure.

Thor and Loki began attacking each other. Thor tried to attack the kitten. Loki turned on me and almost scratched me this morning when he heard Thor meowing in the hall.

I spoke with someone at the shelter and learned that litter mates, as Thor and Loki are, rarely ever allow an outside cat to come in to a house. All the years I've been successfully integrating new cats into the household and I never knew that. Of course, I've never had litter mates before.

So after many tears and many hateful things said to myself, I took wee little Fred back so that he would have a chance to be adopted into a safer home. This situation was unsafe for him, for Thor and Loki and even for Jason and myself.

If you want a darling little sweetie who loves to purr and snuggle and has a bit of sass, he's there for the adopting.

I'm going to to cry until I throw up now.

Then begin the Thor/Loki reunification process. Again.

I feel like shit.

Friday Mish Mosh

I've been peeking in on the charleston.net comments from time to time. I don't know if they have stepped up the monitoring or what. It seems a little better, but they are still pretty heinous. But this one, this morning, made me laugh out loud. It is a joke, right?

Posted by harrier on August 17, 2007 at 5:06 a.m. (Suggest removal)
Something smells funny here.... some that could go boom in there trunk, ragheads, off there path by many miles, and they scream up to no good. From Cairo a nesting place for terrorist, I say they should be shot for their stupidity. Ignorence should be painfull! Another point I wanna know, What was on there Laptop computer that the officer saw them close when he approched the car.

Now, that is funny.

Our television cable has been on the fritz since that huge storm last week and the cable guy is here fixing it. I feel so bad because he had to crawl under the house. Really. I feel like I should bake him cookies or something because it is hideous under there.

We have a kitten! I am going to pick him up this afternoon from the John Ancrum SPCA. He is so sweet. Just a plain, ordinary tabby kitten. I think I'm going to name him Max. I don't know why, it just came to me. Pictures later. While I was filling out the paperwork, a little boy came up to me to tell me that he thought someone else was looking at the kitten I wanted. Wasn't that nice?

Interesting days ahead.


Photo by JAZ

To Calm the Feverish Muse

I was a teen of the 70's. And lingering still is my love of all things Zeppelin. Was it not I, who recently was politely asked by an office of the law to lower my radio volume whilst playing "Kashmir"?

So will you will perhaps understand my endless amusement with this production of The Immigrant Song.

But now I have access to this photoshop thing. And stuff. And a burning desire to have something to do besides paint my ceilings and caulk bathrooms.

French Toast

I was (am) so tired this morning. But as I left the hospital, I could smell pancakes or french toast or something incredibly yummy cooking. So when I got home, I had to make myself a giant plate o' french toast with nutmeg and cinnamon. Some butter, some syrup and the rest of the fresh strawberries on top.

Hyperglycemic coma to follow.

Zombie Shuffle

That's me. Just woke up for my second 12 hour night shift. Coffee is needed. Oh, and coffee filters - can we talk? Were they invented by some caffeine hating Mormon or something? Why, when people are at their least efficient, gritty eyed, slack jawed and drooling, do they think we have the motor skills to peel apart onion skin thin layers of paper?

But then I was given the baby news. Heather, girl, I've got my fingers crossed for you. I really hope all goes well.

Then Jason told me about a "really ugly" kitten he saw at the John Ancrum SPCA today. I'll have to go tomorrow afternoon and behold the ugliness of this poor feline. Okay, okay. It's a sort of joke. Jason pronounces every kitten I point out as "ugly" as his way of inoculation against my raging kitten fever.

So there might be two new babies in blogland tomorrow. But I'll bet mine is toilet trained first!


His Royal Boredness may have a new toy soon!

For Another Day

I had in mind to explore the meaning behind an advertisement I saw in one of those liberal artsy fartsy magazines that we think Loki orders in our names. (Actually, I think they get sent to Jason because of his name being all out there with the freelancing stuff.)

Now, please, really, stop reading right now if girl stuff grosses you out. Really. I'm serious. Close your eyes as you click away from here.

Shove the monitor to the floor! Throw your laptop across the room!

Okay, it was one of those ads for vaginal rejuvenation. That doesn't puzzle me. What puzzled me was this service: Vaginal Weight Training.

Oh my God! Can you imagine the Google search hits I'll be getting now? Ick.

But I'm too tired to get into a research project on the subject. We'll save it for another day.


Well, Thor might be comfortable, but this vaginal weight training idea is making me squirm.

With much regret

As many of you may know, I have removed this blog from the Charleston.net’s Lowcountry Blogs.

This was a choice that I did not want to make, but felt I had to if I was going to be true to how I am trying to live my life and conduct myself in this world. It has nothing to do with all the fantastic people involved in this wonderful community.

I will not reprint private emails without permission, but the replies that I got from the Post and Courier on this subject were unsatisfactory.

I understand the nature of commentary on blogs. I understand that people must sign up to comment and must agree to follow certain standards when commenting or they will have their privileges revoked (and then, as we all know, sign back up again under another screen name with one of the other six or seven email accounts one can have).

Let me just say that the impression I got was that the Post and Courier is not actively trying to maintain any quality of discussion. Perhaps because, just as gladiators drew crowds to watch the maiming and death, these comment sections drive up their “hit” counts as people come to look at the hatred and fighting displayed on the virtual pages of our community voice.

I also found it wrong that a personal opinion in the form of a letter to the editor to the Post and Courier requires a valid name and address to be printed, yet people are not required to take the same responsibility for their words when placed on a comment section.

I do not believe that people who post hate and ignorance should be silenced. I think they should do so under their own name so they can take responsibility for their words.

And the Post and Courier’s hiding behind statements such as posters on the sites “policing themselves” is disingenuous at best. Anyone who has participated in or read anonymous community forums or discussions knows what happens. First, there is real discussion, then the arguments start, comments are made simply with the intent to create division and ill will, then the reasonable people leave and the forum becomes nothing more than a group of verbal thugs who support each other in their point of view.

There isn’t anything I can do to change this behavior.

I can only do what I think is correct for me.

I will continue this blog and continue to read the blogs of those who I have grown to love, I just won't be listed on the Lowcountry Blogs.

Too far!

I am not against debate and discussion of different viewpoints. In fact, I like nothing better than for someone who believes differently on a particular issue to explain their thought processes behind why they have come to the belief that they hold.

But what I do not enjoy is a person explaining their beliefs using hatred and cliched stereotypes as the "facts" of their beliefs.

In other words, I am all in favor of thoughtful discussion of all sides of an issue with the ultimate goal being a greater understanding of all viewpoints. For me, the goal of a debate isn't to convert someone to "my way" of thinking, but to understand them and hopefully, have them understand me.

We don't have to agree, merely respect each other's right to have a different opinion. And many times discover that there isn't really that much difference in our opinions at all.

And for this reason, I am very sad to find myself in a quandary. The local newspaper, the Post-Courier, has an on-line version, Charleston.net. Recently, they added a comments section to the news stories they printed on-line.

Sounded great. Discussion of local and national stories by the public.

But as is all too common in on-line and anonymous discussion, it has devolved into a morass of ugliness and ignorance.

Here, for an example, is a comment that was made on a story about low income housing:

Posted by NN on August 12, 2007 at 3:33 p.m. (Suggest removal)

ooooooo lordy, shirley! go puts da pig feet, cornbread and chitlens in da bean pot fo suppa! we gots us a new house!

Okay, I see the little button for "suggest removal" and I'm pretty sure that the powers to be at Charleston.net will remove this little gem as soon as possible.

But here is the question I have. Would this person have made this comment in those words if, like letters to the editor, he or she had to post them under their real name? I think not. I think he or she would have thought up a less inflammatory way to say that he or she does not support tax payer assistance for low income housing.

As a Charlestonian, I am embarrassed for my community that this is allowed to stand for even a moment in a public forum. Not only a local public forum, but one in which anyone anywhere with a computer can access.

My quandary? This blog is listed on the Lowcountryblogs, which is a part of the Charleston.net. I have written a letter to the Public Editor, expressing my concerns about the anonymous practice of comments. I am sure I am not the only person who is concerned about the tone the comments sections have taken.

I hope I will hear something positive back from the editor.

Blame Jason

He showed me how to do this.

It's Another Saturday Night

And I'm off to work.

Password Fatigue

Way back in the old days when this whole computer stuff was just getting started, we were warned repeatedly in the most dire tones to never write down your password, always memorize it and never divulge it to anyone. And it should be some random letters and numbers tossed together to make it even harder for the forces of evil to guess as to what it might be. And if you had more than one password, don't have them be anything even remotely similar.

Yeah, right buddy.

Maybe back in the day.

At work, I have five or six user name/password combinations. And to make it fun, each of the user names is in a different order and/or cuts off my name on a different letter. And I have to change the password every three months or so.

At home, I have at least eight that I can sit here and remember off the top of my head.

That is up to 14 different user name/password combinations. And I'm not supposed to write these down anywhere?

Are you insane?

I can't remember why I walk from one room to another! I open the fridge and have no idea why. I call my son by my brother's name. I call Thor Loki and Loki Thor. Hell, just yesterday I called Thor Jason!

I don't care. They are written down. Somewhere. If I could just remember where I hid the list...


Why I should get a kitten (or two):
I like kittens.
I've always had more than three cats at a time.
I could give him(them) a very good home.

Why I shouldn't get a kitten (or two):
Look what happened when Thor sniffed White Cat.
Extra litter box.

My Head Just Exploded

from unbearable cuteness.

Way to extinguish my kitten lust, dude.


Loki sez: Was I ever really that tiny?


Thor sez: I'm just as cute now.

Decadence

Those who know me, know that I live with a certain simplicity. I wear simple clothes. I live in a simple house which is simply decorated. I drive a simple car.

So it was with that delicious sense of decadence that I accompanied Jason downtown yesterday (how hot was it? There was NO line at Jestine's Kitchen!). Our destination: The shops at the Charleston Palace, King Joe's shining jewel.

Our purchase:



What is it?

Loki sez: A new toy for me?

No, dear Loki, it is an iSqueez.
What is an iSqueez you may ask?
Sheer joy with a plug, I say:


A foot massager, you ask? Oh no, grasshopper, this is not your average foot massager. It vibrates, it has rollers that knead your poor tired and sore dogs, it squeezes your aching calves.


It freaks out the kittens.
Loki sez: Laser eyes on.

I can't wait to come home after a long 12 1/2 hour shift and treat my poor old nurse tootsies.


Thor sez: I have a fort.

Summertime

It's hot. I know. It's August. For our newcomers and visitors, August is the only month in which it is socially acceptable to complain and the heat and/or humidity.

But in spite of this, yesterday I snuck out of the house (because some people don't think I should be doing such things) to wash the front of the house. It's pretty gruesome out there, people, I'm telling you. I'm ashamed of the amount of dirt and mildew that I allowed to accumulate.

And why oh why would I choose one of the hottest days for this chore?

Playing with the hose, of course!

We all did it, set up the sprinkler to jump through or if you were lucky, you had a Slip-N-Slide. We would play a version of tag, where the object was to get the person holding the hose.

So what better day to put on the old clothes and go out and get soaked to the skin (not to mention scare the cats by spraying the window)?

But you haven't missed out, it's gonna be a scorcher today. Go play with the hose. Going to water parks don't count, you gotta be out in your yard, making and squishing mud between your toes and making up your own games. Go sit on the swing and (quickly) eat an ice cream sandwich. Have a water balloon fight.

Be a kid for a little while. It's fun.


Thor sez: You are insane. Bring me a fan. And some tuna.

Tuesday Afternoon..

Actually, it's Tuesday morning, but the Moody Blues always comes to mind on Tuesday. Ask me why in person some day and I may tell you. But not putting that story out in the tubes of the internets, no sir-ree bob.

Reckless youth.

So I've been causing great distress to my GI tract, my blood pressure and my peace of mind by watching/reading the news lately. I've got to stop. Really. I used to be some what of a news junkie. But now, it just feels dirty to watch the news. There is no real reporting of facts, just manipulation of words to make something seem to be something depending on which side of the right/left divide the news agency stands.

And now they are calling me at home with that manipulation.

I answered the "unknown caller" the other day because I thought the phone number displayed on my caller ID might belong to someone I would want to answer. But no. It was some robot lady telling me that "most parents and grandparents" in America thought that the rating systems for movies was becoming too lenient and more questionable material was being allowed. Did I agree with that?

Well, I guess so.

Now, here is where is gets fun. Robot lady went on to tell me that since we all knew that "Hollywood values" were not compatible with "American family values" that we had to take a stand to censor (okay, she didn't use that word, but that is what she meant, I mean, was programmed to imply) what "they" were "allowed" to put in movies.

Um. Okay. Here is my American family value: if I had any questions or doubts about any movie or CD or video game that my child wanted to see/hear/play, I saw/listened/researched it myself. And if I didn't feel it was appropriate for MY child, I told him (insert gasps here) NO.
If he threw a fit or was mad at me, I (insert gasps here) held my ground.

Parenting is a benign dictatorship, people, not a democracy.

I did not expect a group of strangers to put a label on something for me. How do they know what is appropriate for my child? They don't.

And this whole backlash against the entertainment industry is just another example of parental laziness, of parental spinelessness. Parents don't want to be the meanie, they don't want to be the bad guy. Oh, honey angel, it isn't Mommy's fault you can't see that movie, some stranger said it was PG-13.

Why do you need back-up for your parental decisions?

Grow a spine and take responsibility for parenting your child.

I told robot lady this, but she wasn't interested in what I had to say. Her programming politely paused until I finished talking, then continued on with her prepared script. Quite uninterested in what my opinion was, convinced that I agreed with her because it was "for the children".

And that is how I feel this morning. Isolated. Adrift. Tired of listening to the drone of robots.


Loki sez: C'mere so I can smack ya!
Photo by JAZ

Random Thoughts on a Monday Morning

I went to see the new Bourne movie with my mother yesterday because she likes such movies. It was okay. I spent most of the movie looking at the floor because the choppy, bouncy camera shots make me a tad bit queasy. And the final apocalyptic car chase/crash made me not only look at the floor, but put my fingers in my ears as the sound was cranked up to about a million decibels or so.

Favorite movie moment: at the end of the car chase an elderly gentleman sitting a few rows behind us announced to the entire audience, "Damn! That's better than NASCAR!"

Which reminds me of one of the Star Trek movies when the closing line was "second star to the right and straight on 'til morning" and the nerdy, idiot, seat kicking, can't stop talking through the whole movie teenager sitting behind us told his friend, "That's Shakespeare" in such a tone of know-it-all-ness that I had to laugh and tell him "actually that's Peter Pan."

And, is it just me, or does anyone else feel that allowing comments on charleston.net news stories is a major mistake? Any attempts at intelligent discussion have been abandoned as those participating have formed into teams and do nothing but fling insults back and forth. It's an embarrassment to our city.

To the middle aged white dude at Moe's who didn't like what he saw on the front of my tee-shirt (Got Hope?) and displayed his disapproval by rolling his eyes and shaking his head: thanks! That made my day!

And now I leave you to your Monday with these words of wisdom:

Silly Sunday

Support Our Troops

For some, it's more than a yellow sticker....

"Legislation introduced by U.S. Senator Barack Obama (D-IL) that would provide up to a full year of job protection for a family member who is caring for a service member recovering from combat-related injuries today passed the Senate. The Military Family Job Protection Act, introduced by Senators Barack Obama and Claire McCaskill (D-MO), passed as an amendment to the reauthorization of the Children’s Health Insurance Program.

This amendment would ensure that military families not be forced to wonder whether their job will still be there when they get back home and would ease the burden on service members who must focus on their own recovery. This approach was endorsed last week by the President’s Commission. Obama was also joined in this amendment by Senators Tom Harkin (D-IA), John Kerry (D-MA), Mary L. Landrieu (D-LA), Richard J. Durbin (D-IL), Sherrod Brown (D-OH), Edward Kennedy (D-MA), and Joseph R. Biden, Jr. (D-DE).

“When America’s sons and daughters are injured overseas and they return home to begin their recovery, their families should not be forced to choose between caring for a wounded child or keeping their jobs,” said Senator Obama. “This legislation would provide a safety net that allows families to offer the care that’s necessary for our wounded heroes, easing the burden on the service members. Providing our service members and their families with the care and compassion they deserve is one thing we can still get right about this war.” "

Gosh, help for those who sacrificed for us. What a novel idea. Unlike the Bush/Cheney plan of mouthing slogans and landing on aircraft carriers all the while cutting VA benefits and sending our wounded to rat infested mildewed hell holes.

Stop Me!

Is there a support group for this some where?

For Your Viewing Pleasure

Until I don't feel quite like knocking heads together and having a major Jan-trum, please enjoy these LOL Cats:

Krazy Kitten Momma on a Keyboard

Why do cats RUN to the nearest (or best) rug or upholstered chair or sofa to throw up on?

The exception is Thor who, last Thursday evening, very nicely threw up his previous five meals in my shower, then finished off the stomach gunk on a newspaper on the floor.

Then he sprawled on the bed, looking sad and pathetic until I'd worked myself up into a proper crazy cat lady frenzy and Jason promised to take the next day off from work to take him to the vet.

Two hours later, he was gobbling down food and acting like I'd imagined the whole thing.

Then I arrive home this morning to find out that Loki had yakked up all over the carpet last night and also did the I'm-going-to-die-routine. And he is fine this morning.

I don't know. It's weird. They have never thrown up before and now both of them inside a week? So, I had to call the vet and re-establish my reputation as the overly protective cat mom. But it could have been the vaccines they received. Or it could be some virus thing if they were both sick.

But it's probably nothing.

Better not be anything.


Thor sez: Sheesh mom, you are embarrassing me!
Photo by JAZ