Bits and Pieces

2010-09-21T07:55:00.000-07:00

Ooh. Bad Robin. It's been nearly a year since posting. That's really bad. I'm going to have to work on that.

Mike and I are driving around the United States - he's a truck driver now and I'm riding with him. We started in Indiana and have been to Illinois, Missouri, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Tennessee and now Kentucky. We're heading to West Virginia.

We're having fun, but it's been a looooooong few days. Not helped by the fact that my computer is a piece of crap. I think we've had fun overall, though. It's a very different experience, but I don't think I would trade it.

Poor puppy misses me, at least so my brother says. She's been despondent. I miss her, too...

Good news: I FINALLY have coffee...

Candlelight

2009-10-24T13:03:00.001-07:00

It's been an admittedly long time since I've updated, and for that I apologize. Not that anyone reads this.

I adore candlelight. Perhaps because it can be so many different things.

Romantic
Scary
Soft
Gloomy
Comforting
Welcoming
Hopeful
Foreboding

I think, in a lot of ways, candlelight is like people. No one person is all good or all bad. A lot of things make up not only who we are, but how we respond to certain situations.

And for those of you wondering, I'm thinking about it because last night I burnt popcorn in the microwave and it filled the whole house with smoke. I read that one way to dispel the smoke, in addition to opening the doors and windows and turning on the fans (which I did, despite how cold it was and the fact that it was after midnight and I jumped every time I heard the voice of a random college student walking by), was lighting candles.

It worked. Kind of. It's still lingering. Fortunately, the alarm stopped beeping.

Go Cubs

2009-06-02T11:52:00.001-07:00

Mike and I went to two Cubs games this weekend. I'm not a Cubs fan (Go Sox), but I'll still admit that I had a great time. Watching the game take place in front of you is sooooo much more exciting than watching it on TV. It probably helped that the Cubs won on Saturday. That made it better.

Just for the record, Wrigleyville is expensive. The hot dogs were $4.25. Pizza was $4.50 and I saw the beer lady going by and have never been so relieved that beer tastes nasty. Can you say $6.50 a can? Ridiculous.

I did buy a shirt. It's pink and it's cute. Of course, now I have to deal with Mike saying that I'm a Cubs fan at heart, and I really don't know what I want. Shows what he knows. :)

Stress-Free Writing

2009-05-13T08:24:00.000-07:00

It's been too long since I've posted. I felt bad about that until I popped over to my roommate's blog and noticed she hasn't posted at all there this year. (Check it out, she has a link to a blog she was featured on, there... so proud.)

It's funny, the other day I was contemplating how, for me, writing isn't just my job. It's how I process and how I feel better and happier and how I work through things. Today, I opened one of my writing newsletters (I was a little behind, give me a break), and in it, were a bunch of responses to Dawn Copeman's article about life block, and writing as therapy (article in the newsletter).

When I'm mad, I write. When I'm happy, I write. When I hate the world, I write. When I'm tired, I write. You get the picture. It's my way of working through things, finding solutions and just getting it off my chest. I was pleased to learn others feel the same.

I read, somewhere, that many authors wrote their best books when going through something that shaped them, somehow. What they wrote about doesn't necessarily have anything to do with what they were going through, but the two played off one another. Like, working on a solution to another's problems (fictional or otherwise) helped them solve their own. Or at least helped them through.

I'm out. Need to finish working before going to Celi's graduation (from her master's program). Congratulations, Celi!

When is "Enough" Enough?

2009-04-05T08:24:00.000-07:00

The Bush Administration was by no means perfect. I can say that without a hedge. But they didn't send us $750 billion into ear-marked debt, which I personally see as a good thing. The Bush Administration didn't try to control the minute details of people's business and personal lives. Again, I see this as a good thing.

I've read a few articles this week that are kind of disturbing, the most recent of which came from my room mate: Obama Wants to Control the Banks. THAT scares me. And THIS article has a point. While dish washing detergent is probably a bit extreme, I agree that the "straw that broke the camel's back" is just that: a straw. Something unimportant and minute.

And, if it comes to something like this, where does that put me, as a christian, in terms of supporting my government, which God says is ordained by him, and supporting my fellow Americans?

Puppy Owie.

2009-03-17T12:47:00.001-07:00

My puppy has an owie. Her collar isn't stopping her from licking it. The veterinarian told me I could try shorts instead. Unfortunately, I don't have shorts. I tried one of her dresses, upside down. That didn't work, either. So I tried a pair of my pantyhose, with the legs cut off. That didn't work. so I added her collar. And then I added her collar with the collar on backwards around her waist. She's not happy. I'm not happy. I think, though, that after nearly an hour of frustration - on both our behalfs - she's given up.

She sure is pissed (and I can't blame her). I think I need a new plan. Any ideas?

Mystery of the Sugar Cookies

2009-02-05T04:45:00.000-08:00

Last week some time I got it into my head that I should send sugar cookies to my boyfriend, decorated all pretty for Valentine's Day. I thought if I sent them out by yesterday (Wednesday, February 3), they might actually get there on time. Note: might.

So, Tuesday night, Lindsay came over and we baked cookies. I figured I could send Mike about two dozen for him and some of his buddies and keep a dozen for myself. Lindsay made hers primarily for her husband, which only makes sense.

We mixed in the ingredients, stuck in the fridge, popped them on a cookie sheet and voila, beautiful cookies.

At least, that's how hers turned out.

Mine spread across the cookie sheet, making one huge uneatable cookie. Literally uneatable. They were still sticky and hot and I'm pretty sure they were mocking me. Never have I been so humiliated in cooking. Never has such a thing happened to me before.

Lindsay gave me the rest of her cookie dough, once she felt she'd made a sufficient number of cookies. The 11 I made from her batch turned out perfectly. What the heck?

We have no idea what happened. The only difference I can recall is hers were in a glass bowl and mine in a plastic.

So, this morning, I'm trying again. He'd better be grateful.

First In, Last Out

2009-01-22T19:09:00.000-08:00

So, Desiree and I are on the way to go skiing with my family, and we're stopped at some town in PA. Right now, we're watching the movie "300." Tons of people told me that I wouldn't like this movie. This is my third or fourth time seeing it, and let me tell you: I'm not disappointed.

Any movie that has men - people - fighting for a cause has my full support. End of story.

But watching this movie with Dez, who's not seen it before, gives me a different perspective on it. She was, frankly, astonished when she realized that the King was fighting on the front lines. The thing, though, is in a culture like that, a nation of soldiers, the King would HAVE to be a soldier. And there was a time where the King was to be the first one into battle and the last one out.

Whatever happened to that mentality? The mentality where if you fight for something YOU fight for it - you don't send someone else to do it for you?

"Freedom isn't free at all. It comes at the highest of costs - the cost of blood."

Hard Drive Needed; Please Replace Brain

2008-12-18T14:06:00.000-08:00

Mystery solved: I need a new hard drive. I called Dell. Never have I been so happy to have a warrantee. Never have I been so sad to have a horrible habit of losing things. All of my work from... oh... months, is gone because all of the thumb drives I've been saving it on are missing. As per usual. I'm depressed.

Of course, there is a way to get it back. I called the drive savers, and the nice woman I spoke with quoted me between $500 and $2700. Needless to say, that's a bit outside of my budget. Ha.

Worst part: I can't even go to Nappanee for coffee.

2008-12-17T19:20:00.000-08:00

Soooooo...

I was working, getting ready to submit some articles for work, and voila, my computer froze. I restarted it.

Now, I have an error message that pops up continuously, informing me "Disk read error" followed by instruction to press Ctrl+alt+del. I did that, several times. Turned it off and back on. Turned it off and left it off... nothing. Nothing at all. Same old message.

Fortunately, my old computer turned on.

Stinks.

Tears

2008-11-10T17:31:00.000-08:00

This morning, I said good-bye. Mike asked, months ago, that I not cry. I told him I'd try not to, that at the very least, I'd try not to cry in front of him. I broke my promise.

I've never been much good at promises. And I've never been good at not crying.

For awhile, I was fine. Talking to people. Talking to soldiers. Talking to soldier's wives, girlfriends, parents, sisters and friends.

Then, I talked to a friend who was crying incessantly. She told me, through her tears, that she'd been crying for the last two days. I don't doubt it. If I wasn't just home from vacation... in any case, her husband, when I announced my departure, again trying not to cry, told me to take care of myself. "You take care of yourself."

"I have McClure to take care of that."

I smiled, and I felt it falter. "Take care of him, too."

He nodded and returned the smile, perhaps realizing the mention of my boyfriend wasn't the most beneficial thing he could have done, and I turned away, quickly.

Not long after that, less than 30 minutes later, I stood outside with Mike, his dad, his great uncle, his stepmother, his grandmother and his sister, watching as they left.

I've never seen my boyfriend cry before. The first tear, he brushed off as the cold. Later, he couldn't do that anymore. Later, I knew he was crying for the same reasons as I. Later, when the tears wouldn't stop.

His tears were my undoing.

But the thing that sticks with me the most strongly is not my story, but someone else's.

Earlier this morning, Mike introduced me to another soldier in his unit, one he always talks about, but that I'd not had the opportunity to meet. Matthews, in turn, introduced me to his girlfriend (and future wife).

While we were waiting for the buses to leave, standing, shivering in the cold, one of her friends, or one of his friends, scooped her up onto his shoulders and ran with her to the bus. He held her close enough that she could touch the windows, and she did. She pounded, with her fists, "I love you!" She screamed, again, louder, hysterically, "I love you!"

She touched the window, the heat from her palm leaving a print. It stayed as the buses drove away.

Special Interruption

2008-11-05T16:00:00.000-08:00

Repeat after me "Robin, you are an amazing, wonderful, incredibly stupid. Now, tell, me how you do that."

I don't know.

NEVER leave your wallet with your credit cards, debit card and new gifts in a taxi. It's bad news.

Cruise Update: Key West, Florida

2008-11-04T06:59:00.000-08:00

So far, the cruise has been amazing. Everything on board is expensive, yes, but still amazing. Melody and I took a nice, long tour of the ship and I think we saw almost everything possible that there is to see.

The cruise has several lounges, several bars, a casino, two formal dining areas and one less-formal dining area, a pizzeria, a cafe and an ice cream place, a main pool with two hot tubs and an adult (over 21) lounge area, called Serenity that also features two hot tubs. Mel and I went there to watch the ship leave Miami yesterday and then chilled there last night.

Now, we're enjoying Key West at "Bad Ass Coffee Company" and just... relaxing.

Our room is surprisingly nice. Cramped, but only a little smaller than a dorm room. We have a nice large window by Melody's bed. Wasted, since she seems to dislike the window. Evidently, sunshine is bad.

Miami was interesting. The hotel we'd originally planned on staying at was quite a ways from the airport and they don't have a shuttle service. Evidently, in Miami, 8-10 miles isn't worthy of a shuttle. However, it was probably for the best. We saved money and were able to escape with a minimal amount of damage.

Pictures will come later. Have waaaaaay to many of them.

Soooooo nice to not be in Indiana!

10 Days and Counting to Cozumel

2008-10-23T03:55:00.000-07:00

When I was in high school, I used to count down to youth group trips, or even just youth group events, that I was excited about. I would write the number on my hand and I would know how many days were left starting at something ridiculous like 150.

However, Melody and I are leaving for Cozumel, Mexico in only ten days, and I didn't even realize it until yesterday, after my Father said, in surprise, "Oh, you're leaving at the end of next week, too." It took me a moment. I got home and I counted the days frantically, surprised.

I guess I've not been counting because we leave the first and return the eighth. Mike is deployed the 7th, and will leave Indiana the 10th. So, in my head, I think I equated counting down to my vacation as the equivalent as counting down to Mike's leaving - something I'm not sure I'm ready to face. Not that I haven't had enough time.

Initially, my man was leaving the first and we were leaving the first or second, which would have worked fine. It would give me time to focus on something that's not work. But the army changed the dates, and now... I shouldn't plan things.

It's a good thing November is National Novel Writing Month, because I can throw myself into that. And work.

Ten days until mine and Melody's vacation to Cozumel. Yay Cruise! 18 Days until Mike leaves for Iraq. Can't believe I'm counting down to that.

Am I Dating Whom?

2008-10-21T06:32:00.000-07:00

"Are you dating Mike?" Asked a woman I didn't know at Friday night's "Farewell to the Troops" party at the bar in Signature Lanes.

I stared at her blankly. Fortunately, she assumed I didn't hear her and by the time she asked me again, I knew who she was talking about.

See, at Army Parties, I'm not dating Mike. I'm dating McClure or Big Mac. I run around responding to, "McClure's old lady," or "Big Mac's woman" or "McClure's girlfriend." I introduce myself as "McClure's girlfriend." If I say "Mike" no one, with perhaps the exception of Adam, Tom and Jeff; will know who I'm talking about.

Needless to say, when the woman, Jennifer, asked if I was dating Mike, I really didn't know who she was talking about. And it turns out Jennifer is dating "the other Mike." But it turns out there are actually two other Mikes, so when I was trying to tell Mike about Jennifer and Mike on the drive to paintball the next day, he didn't know who I was talking about.

And it's not just me. Laura and I had a conversation about it while paintballing. See, she always refers to herself as "McClure's sister," so when Jennifer asked if she was Mike's sister, she just stared at her. And let me tell you, Laura's had a lot more experience being "Mike's sister" than I've had being "Mike's girlfriend."

Paintballing Miltary-Style As a Civilian

2008-10-18T18:11:00.000-07:00

Last night was the "Farewell to the Troops" party for my boyfriend's unit. So it seems only fitting that today, Mike and I met up with his sister, Laura, her boyfriend, Zach, there friends Danielle and Drew, Mike's army buddy, Adam and Adam's ex-girlfriend and ex-fiancee, Lauren.

The Crew

I met Danielle, Drew and Lauren last night. More accurately, I saw the three of them last night. Zach pointed out Danielle and Drew to me, and I asked Adam who the chick was. He answered in a tight-lipped, dreamy-eyed, one word response. "Lauren." It took me a minute, but after a second I realized that he was talking about THE Lauren he's been in love with since his first tour in Iraq. "THE Lauren?" Head bobs affirmatively. "For real?" "Yes." "What are... what's going on... what are you?" "I don't know." Fair enough.

Two weeks ago, when Mike and Adam and I went to Cedar Point, Adam told me about Lauren while Mike watched the Cubs game (their last game - he was sad). Lauren was nothing like the way I imagined her. I like her. So did/does Mike. I feel bad saying that.

Boys and Their Toys

Lauren and Adam were wearing Adam's military-issued pants (old style, from last tour). Mike and I were wearing Mike's military-issued jackets (also from last tour), and Mike and Laura were wearing Mike's pants from the last tour. Believe it or not, military-issued clothing camo is COMFORTABLE.

Anyway, Mike and I got there, got suited up, and we shared a case of paint with Adam and Lauren. The boys gave Lauren and I instructions on the proper way to hold our guns, point our guns, aim our guns and shoot our guns. However, Adam still labeled our box of paint, "The Black and Blue Crew." Lauren and I figured that was for us.

Experience?

Of the four of us girls, only Danielle and I had paintballed before. And my experience was a pathetic one from my freshman year of Grace, barely a week into the school year. Needless to say, my experience was essentially non-existent. Drew and Zach were way prepared. They each had their own equipment and have been going since, I think Zach said he started when he was 13. He's 23 now, so that's a lot of experience. I believe Drew's is comparable. Neither Mike nor Adam had been, but Laura and I refused to count them as in-experienced. They are, after all, military-trained. We were an odd group. We played something like 16 kids (10 and under, and one adult - leader? dad? something). At first, the other team had 6 kids and Drew joined them. The kids pretty much worshipped him. Hard to blame them. He did look awesome with his spare cannisters of paint balls, fake bullet-proof vest, uber-cool gun and the experience that oozed from him.

Pathetic

Our first game, we played on the "tire" field. There were stacks of tires laying about as barricades. We dodged behind them on shot. My glasses fogged up. I got shot in the face. I followed Adam out - he got shot at about the same time I did - and we went to watch our team die. He found Mike, "Come watch Your Man," just in time for the two of us to see Mike also get shot in the face. We have bad timing. We looked for Lauren next, Adam muttering under his breath about how it "wasn't fair" that she lasted longer than he. The game was over soon thereafter. We lost.

Onslaught of the Castle

The second game was a castle game. Drew and now 10 kids plus dad defended the castle. The rest of us plus five kids minus Zach (who tried to take pictures of us with my dying camera, forgot spare batteries like a moron... let's just say that didn't work, and he got shot - he had a nice neck welt for awhile) tried to attach to castle and steal the yellow flag. Mike and Adam instructed us before we left "Stay low. Stay low! Cover our backs. We'll go in." Arrogant jerks.

Needless to say, we girls didn't take to well to this, though the kids we'd earned thought it was "awesome." Mike and Adam went one way, Laura and I the other. Dunno where the others went. Laura and I were crouching behind a barricade in the woods and her gun got shot - the ref told her she was out. I took the opportunity to duck and run up close. Zach tried to direct me to get closer so I could take over covering Mike/Adam, but I got stuck. Every time I popped out to try to move, I got shot at. And there was no cover the other direction. Boo. Eventually, I got shot at, in the mouth like Mike had been the time before, and immediately agreed with Mike's estimation, "Ewww. These are nasty."

I yelled out that I'd been hit and walked out, followed again by Adam who laughed at me for my dirty pants (hello, I had to crawl. I didn't want to die!), my fogged-up glasses and my paint-covered mask. Fortunately, though, he described the rest of the game to me so I could "see" it. He couldn't decide if he was proud or ticked that Lauren and Mike were still in, and his voice changed from pride to disdain too quickly to keep track of. After ten minutes of game time, the game was over. We'd lost. Again. I hate losing.

Interlude and Tire Game

As we trudged out, Mike and I discussed Adam's ridiculous kevlar gloves and how much he wished he had them (when he got hit in the face the first game, he also go hit in the hand). Boys and their toys. We wanted to defend the next castle game- for obvious reasons; Dying and losing = bad, so had to wait awhile.

In the downtime, Lauren and I discussed how much it sucks having a man overseas. She told me some things that helped when she missed Adam and some things that she thought would help that didn't. Really appreciated it.

We decided to go ahead and play a game on the tire field before the castle field was open and meandered our way out. I was the first person shot. I have a very pretty bruise. I took the time between my death and the rest of my team winning (kicking BUTT) to make my goggles not foggy.

Defending the Castle

Defending the castle was fun, but not fun at the same time. Lauren and I shared a table and traded looking over the castle wall and through the holes to shoot the enemy. After a bit, our location was useless, and we both moved to defend other locations. I moved over to Mike. He was sitting on a table, gun through a hole and shooting away at an enemy I couldn't see. I found a hole under the table, a big gash, really and went in there. "Stop shooting! It's our man! It's Drew!" (Drew had finally managed to rejoin our team.) It was too late, and Mike ran out of paint moments later. I shared some of my mine with him and we both went back to shooting. I hit someone! So proud of myself. We won!

Victory is Ours

We played another tire game, unanimously deciding that it was the better of the two fields we'd played on. There was more room to move around, and neither team had a distinct advantage. As Adam pointed out in the car on the way home (Lauren had to leave early, so Adam caught a ride with Mike and I - jerk made me sit in back), "Any time you have the defense, you practically have it in the bag. You just need to weight for them to come to you." I finished, "And pick them off."

In any case, this tire game was fun. The teams were split up the same way they'd been the last game, and we switched sides. We were numbered off and split up, so we had about four adults (people over 20) per team, and 8-10 kids/team. I actually didn't die, I shot people, and I was able to figure out a bit more on tactics, thanks to Zach's coaching on the way from the castle field to the tire field. AND I was able to direct Adam (who after my Man left, took his spot at the next barricade) to shoot one of the kids. And one of us (both of us, probably) managed to kill Drew. Our team was victorious. Hurray!

The Last Stand

The last game that we all played was a little bit pathetic - and totally rockin'. The four of us were down to our last few paintballs, and even after we finished off the last bag, we each had barely half a tank. After Laura gave us the remainder of her bag, we each took a handfew and added them (I insisted this wasn't fair - Lauren and I have decidedly smaller hands than the boys), we still only had just over half a tank each.

This time, however, Drew, Danielle, Zach, Laura, Adam, Lauren, Mike and I insisted we play on the same team, and that the kids - all 16 of them - could play us on the same team.

Given the numbers, we did well. But that's not saying much.

Danielle, Drew, Lauren, Mike and I took the left side. The plan? Stay back, move up as can, conserve bullets. Within just a few minutes, Mike moved up and I went to take the barricade so I could get his back.

I got safe, checked left and right, saw Lauren, Danielle and Drew behind me, motioned to where the guys on the right were and took a shot. Then I went back to Mike. He motioned that he'd be moving up (I knew watching the whole season of "Band of Brothers" would one day come in handy) and ran.

As he ran, a terrible thing happened. The adult on the other team stood, saw him running, and shot him in the head. In slow motion, Mike fell forward and into the barricade. Mike held up his hands, "Hit! I'm hit!" The guy stood up and shot him AGAIN! Close range! That pissed me off. The guy stood again - Mike finally off the field - and I shot him in the face, the chest, and the arms. And then I shot two other people. One of whom didn't get off the field.

Drew called to Zach and they confirmed that left only two of their guys, and we still had Drew, Lauren, Laura, Danielle and I left. Note: military men = kaput.

There was one guy who kept dodging behind the barricade at the far right of the park. Following Zach's instructions from earlier, he was my target. I finally got him in my sight and managed to set my gun so my next shot would take him out. I shot. No more paintballs. I opened my canister. Empty. I scanned the ground. No good ones. Crap.

After a few minutes, I turned to Drew. "I'm out of paint."

"Zach just got out."

"Drew! I'm out of paint!"

"You're WHAT?"

"Out of paint!"

"Shoot."

"If I run, will that draw them out enough that you can take them out?"

"Really? Yeah! Go to the left and run, not straight down the middle, but close. Don't stop. Just sprint." Let's just say, I'm not a sprinter, but I did my best. I got shot five times. And I as I ran, I freaked as I counted heads. There were 6 kids left. Six.

I now have two marks on my right shoulder, one of right knee, one on the left of my side, one of my left thigh and one in the middle of my back - one of the ones from the right shoulder was from an earlier game. Stink.

After I got out, it wasn't long before the rest of my team ran out of paint. I didn't even have time to join Mike and Adam at the side to watch the rest of the game. When I did, Adam said, "Nice shooting. Remind me not to piss you off." We got our butts kicked, obviously. But it was good fun. And seriously, it's not like we had even numbers.

Slaughter

Most of us were done, but Mike and Adam played another game. Lauren left, I turned in my gun and Mike borrowed Zach's gun. I always feel bad because Zach is trying sooooo hard to make Mike like him, and he's so shy that he doesn't feel comfortable talking to him. Today was the first time Zach really felt like he could have a conversation with him and not have to be careful. He couldn't even tell Mike what type of music he likes. But here, he was so proud to let Mike use his gun. Laura and I exchanged glances and laughed. I feel especially bad because Mike has NO IDEA he intimidates Zach.

The boys just randomly joined a team, and I tried to get my camera to work, but couldn't take pics through the heavy screening. Zach offered to go on the field again, but noting his slightly less-swollen neck welt, I passed.

We all moved up to the screen. Mike running to the same place he'd been running to the past game. He got shot in the chest. He'd taken off his jacket and his other two layers, so had only one lightweight t-shirt in-between the paintball, the five feet from the shooter and his skin. He has a HUGE welt in the center of his chest.

He lay on the ground, the wind knocked out of him for a minute. Before he stood, he held up his gun and his arm. I couldn't hear, but imagined him yelling, "Hit!" He stood and got shot in the back by the same guy. The same adult. Also has huge welt on his back.

The game was over while I waited anxiously for Mike to get off the field. Adam beat him off and asked me what had happened with Mike - the game was over -and told me what happened to him.

McDonalds

We were starving so Adam, Mike and I stopped at McDonalds. The nice boys gave me all their pieces for the McDonalds Monopoly game, while we discussed the trouble on wall street, what we'd do with $100,000 and I was quizzed on appropriate battle tactics. The men told me they wished they could practice on-the-field training with paintball guns and not guns that held blanks. Who can blame them, right?

We discussed our marks and bruises, decided Adam had appropriately named our "Crew" and had a fun time.

They laughed at me for "taking one for the team." Adam said he'd have just turned himself in. Mike patted me on the shoulder (the left shoulder, fortunately), and I said that they were a bunch of wimps.

And I'm standing by that. At least, until they leave.

20 days and counting until Mike is deployed.

Masquerade

2008-09-24T21:17:00.000-07:00

When I was a little girl, I loved to play dress up. My mom made me a fairy costume for Halloween, and then a princess costume, and then an angel costume and tons of others. I wore those every chance I got, always inventing stories and plays and reasons to don these outfits.

I suppose I never really grew out of playing dress up. In France, I learned to dress like the French, and here I dress in the jeans (sometimes) that I'm expected to wear. I love to wear pretty clothing and jewelry and, in a way, pretend to be someone else. I write about fashion and style and colors and clothing and shoes (for another blog), and we all know if I could afford everything I wrote about, it would be in my closet.

So why does it bother me when others play dress up? Or for that matter, grown up? When it's a child, it doesn't bother me. But some people, pretending to be something they're not, soiling the reputation of what they'd like to become... that bothers me.

Don't pretend to be a soldier, be one. Don't pretend to be a businessman, be one. If you're not in business with a job and a salary, you're not a business man. If you're not enlisted in some division of the armed forces, you're not a soldier. If you're studying to become something you want to be, great. But in the meantime, don't try to build up your credibility by pretending to be something you're not.

The thing about costumes, the thing about a masquerade, is people see through it. You're just a child playing dress up, wearing over-sized shoes and a mouth that says words you don't understand.

Do us all a favor and grow up.

Stupid strikes again

2008-09-23T14:22:00.000-07:00

I had one of THOSE days again. Really, I shouldn't be overly surprised. I have one of those days at least once a week.

So, I was recently hired by the Goshen News as a correspondent to cover the LaGrange County meetings, and then, last week, added the Topeka Town meetings and the Westview School Board meetings to my schedule.

I got the rest of my work done early today, grabbed a bottle of water and headed out to Topeka (about 25 miles) to cover today's 4 o'clock town meeting.

I drove allllll around Topeka, which granted, isn't an overly large town, but still took a good half hour to do it thoroughly, and I had to dodge people who don't look before crossing streets, buggies, bicycles and constructions workers, and didn't find the town hall. I stopped at a tanning salon for directions. They got me in the right general area, but I still didn't find it.

Oh, did I mention that I left my directions at home? Any other town in Indiana, and it would have still been obscenely obvious where the meeting was. This was held in a house, or what looks like one.

At 4:12, I walked into the building, holding my breath, praying that I wouldn't disturb the meeitng and it was blissfully empty, with the exception of an over-worked secretary typing away in a back office.

At least now I know where it is.

Dear Mr. Obama

2008-09-14T17:36:00.000-07:00

Dear Mr. Obama,

I have to admit that when I first saw you, your smooth words made it easy to listen. Your inviting voice makes it to easy drown out the words your actually saying. But when I started listening to you, I recognized you.

You're like the man who promises one thing to one woman and the same thing to another. You promise change because people want change, but you purposely promise things that you'll never be able to change, things you have no power to change. Reminds me of the person who says, after millions of broken relationships, that he can change: this time he'll be faithful. It's lies, all of it. But those are believed over and over and over again. How are your promises any different from those that cross the lips of the man who has been unfaithful?

You promise lower taxes, but more government-implemented programs, which of course, will cause an increase in our taxes. You promise lower gas prices, and you must think Americans are real idiots to believe that you could possible have control over such a thing. The scary thing is the number of people willing to believe your meaningless words.

Your campaign tactics give a renewed vigor to the word "slander." You're all talk. I don't like talk. I don't like people who say they can do something they know nothing about. You know nothing about war, for instance, but the American people are sick of war, and so you say you'll end it. If you're elected... I hope that's one thing you can do. But I'm not foolish, so I doubt it.

Of course, this is just my opinion. But I'll bet there are thousands of others who agree with me.

In a recent conversation with a friend currently serving in Iraq, he asked me,
"So anything else back in the US going on? Other than Obama destroying the very fabric of America with his empty promises of change and hatred of the troops?"

He went on to tell me, "Did you know when he came to Iraq, he walked straight from the vehicle past all the soldiers and refused to look at them and went straight in to the general? Then he refused to play basketball with any of them, and told them all to leave them gym when they taped the commercial. A guy in my unit was there when they did it."

Did you think those men wouldn't tell their friends and family members how you treated them? Did you think they wouldn't tell their battle buddies? That's not the "leader" I want. A man who refuses to interact with the very people he's being elected to serve.

Yes, serve. Or is that beneath you?

If you have anything to say that you'll actually be able to change, now's the time to say it. Anything you plan to do that you can actually accomplish, tell us what it is for pete's sake! But no... your words are empty, meaningless, "blah, blah, blah."

For once, instead of standing idly in the corner letting your empty promises of change speak for you, say something we can believe in.

But you won't. Because you have nothing to say that you can hold yourself to. Ahh, what a tangled web...

Good Bye-Scary

2008-08-18T09:36:00.000-07:00

I have a problem. I'm forgetful.

I forget where I put my cell phone. I forget my key in the door. I forget where I've parked my car. I forget tickets at home. I forget that I hate Steven King novels. I forget that I don't actually like scary movies (psychological thrillers are good... horror with tons of blood and guts not so good).

The other day, I watched a movie with Desiree and Celi, Mirrors. Bad. Icky. Really gross. Those kind of things put bad feelings in my stomach and I really don't know why I put myself through it.

Yesterday, I watched an equally dissatisfying film on Lifetime (yes, I watch Lifetime). The difference between these two films was mostly that the Lifetime film wasn't as gross. There's no substance there, and I don't enjoy them.

So why do I watch them?

I wish I knew.

"Maybe Baby Daddy"

2008-08-02T16:45:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a long day, to say the least. Knowing a little about babies and waiting for them to come, I packed some work, my laptop, food, two coffee drinks (I thought about getting Adam one, too, but decided that he didn't need one), a couple books and some cash. The boys were frustrated after twenty minutes. No joke. They seemed to think that the baby would just magically pop out. I tried to explain on the way there, on the way in, and while in the waiting room that it takes time. Adam simply said, "She better pop that bastard out."

Five hours later, the doctor broke Jan's water. The boys went out to smoke just before it was time to push, and Mike volunteered the two of us to not stay in the room. While they smoked, I explained to Adam that he had to be in that room because if it is his baby, he'll regret not being there, if it is his baby, he'll have an amazing first memory of it, it'll look good to Jan's mom (who, at only six years older than him, was not impressed by his attributes) and he needs to be there to watch at least one of his kids be born. And he went in.

I swear he came out, and he was excited. He was telling us about accidentally looking and about how big the baby is and it's feet and it's hands and his dark hair and how cute he is. One hour and he was hooked. The baby is adorable (and I swear it has his nose), but he's waiting until the paternity test comes back before he says anything official. At least, that's what he says.

I tried to convince Mike that Adam wanted the baby to be his when he left. He wasn't convinced, but I think he is now. Mike and I went out with Celi and Eddie and Adam showed up later with baby pictures galore, telling everyone about his kid.

He confided in Mike and I that he'll be disappointed if this kid isn't his - that he wants it to be his. Mike thinks he's on Cloud 9 (which he is a little bit), but it doesn't actually surprise me - from what I understand, men becomes fathers when they see the baby.

He keeps talking about the baby's faces and how cute he is. He's even talking about how much it sucks to have to go to Iraq. You don't know how surprising that is unless you know him. In the first six months Mike and I dated, all I've heard Adam say was how excited he was to go back. Even recently, he was talking about how then he wouldn't have to deal with the situation.

It's crazy to me what a complete turnaround he's had.

Mike's worried. He's worried about what's going to happen if the baby's NOT Adam's... and there's that possibility. He has a point.

Everything's Broken and a Baby Will Be Born

2008-08-01T08:42:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure that everything in my house is broken. There are hornets in my backyard. The bigger of the two peach trees broke in half.

Mike came over for dinner yesterday. Earlier, while I'd been grocery shopping, the door knob broke off in my hand. I couldn't open the door to fix it, so I took the doorknob with me. Later, Mike told me to use a screwdriver to open it. It worked, but I felt like an idiot. After dinner, he fixed it.

I got the bright idea yesterday to fix the toilet seat. Finally. I took off the old one, cleaned it off and stuck on the new one. It was a lot too small. So now there's no toilet seat. I bought a new one, but haven't had the time to put it on yet. And I'm not too thrilled about the new one I bought. They didn't have a lot of options for the elongated toilet seat, so... yeah.

And I just got a phone call from Mike. His best friend's one night stand is in labor (we don't know if it's his kid or not) and he called up Mike and said, "Get your girlfriend down here. I need someone with me." Fortunately, they got out early today and Mike is coming by to get me. Mike seems to think the whole thing is amusing. So do I, actually. I hope this kid is Adam's. It would serve the fool right.

Cell Phone Dead

2008-07-25T06:40:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I decided it would be a good idea to go swimming since I'd spent the last two hours typing away at my computer. I stepped out of the bathroom and my cell phone dropped, sending the back flying and ejecting the battery in the opposite direction. When I put it all back together, it wouldn't turn on. And if it did turn on, the screen was broken, so it doesn't count. Ahh, drama.

I loved the conference yesterday, though. I've met tons of people (and will probably continue to meet more) and have had some very interesting conversations.

I have a conference scheduled with an agent later. I'm so nervous I'm afraid I'm going to pee my pants. And in the meantime, I'm sipping a skinny caramel latte. This made me realize something: I don't like skinny lattes. If I'm going to be fat (which, it seems is inevitable), I'm going to eat the good lattes. Not the ones that taste bad... even if they are only 100 calories. Should have stuck with the hotel breakfast (but I had to go to Kinko's to print something off and it would have been over by the time I returned). Maybe I need to be more organized.

Getting What We Want: Not All It's Cracked Up to Be

2008-07-23T18:45:00.000-07:00

You know how sometimes when you get the thing you want or were looking forward to, all of a sudden you don't know what to do with yourself? I've been having that recurring feeling all week.

For instance, I finally got to Muncie for the writers conference I've been looking forward to for months, but the moment I checked into the hotel, I realized something: it has been too long since I've lived alone. I don't know what to do with myself. I didn't have internet access at first and it drove me crazy.

I just got a new freelancing job that I am soooooooo excited about. The moment my editor told me that he wanted the articles ASAP, I totally blanked, not sure what to write about. I mean, I knew what to write about, I just didn't know how to do it. That's never happened. My mind was a blank slate. Finally, after three tries, I finished the first of the articles. I don't love it. I'm not even sure I like it. I'll have to edit it tomorrow after the conference.

I'm sure tomorrow I'll be so excited about the conference I'll have plenty to do. Besides, the schedules packed. And I'm sure that next month, I'll have plenty to write about - a whole month's worth of research instead of three days of research. Time makes a difference.

Still, it makes me wonder how I can want something so much and be so completely surprised at getting it that my functionality drops below zero.

Broken Toilet

2008-07-22T06:25:00.000-07:00

Somehow, our toilet seat broke. So I bought a new one. I hate putting things together. I'm bad at it. So I'm neglecting it. I just have a feeling, though not as complicated as the lawn mower, it's still going to suck.

I'd include a picture except you seriously don't want to see it. It keeps pinching. But seriously, what if I put it on wrong? Do you know how much that would stink? It might fall off. I do have a habit of things not working out quite the way I want them to.

I don't think I'm thinking straight. The last weeks have been a series of early mornings, late nights and a lack of sleep. And I have several articles to write.

Hmm. Maybe I can convince the boy to do it for me????

Early Morning Disaster Control

2008-07-21T05:36:00.001-07:00

I woke up at five this morning because the puppy was barking at my door. Turns out, we didn't lock her in the bathroom or the basement last night. She snuggled with me for about fifteen minutes before I began to feel that, perhaps, I should stop ignoring my alarm clock and go to the boys' house to take him to work.

Good thing I did, too. Mike was still asleep. However, we discussed the other day (when I thought he was asleep and the door was locked) that the door would be unlocked so I could get in.

Half an hour later, he was finishing breakfast (whenever he says "We're leaving the house at 6:30," he means, "We're leaving the house at 6:45") when I saw a red car pull up. "Is Adam giving you a ride?"

"What?"

"I think that might be Adam's car."

He looked out the window, "That is Adam's car. What do you think he's doing here?"

"Giving you a ride."

He stood to go out and talk to Adam who was looking askance at my car (and seriously, who can blame him?). "What are you doing here, Man?"

"Do you need a ride?"

"No, my woman's giving me one." Great. His woman. I poked my head out and glared at the two of them.

"Did you ever think your woman might not want to drive this morning?"

I laughed and poked my head around, "Thanks for coming by, Adam."

"I just didn't want to get to South Bend and have him call me up and ask for a ride." We both finished in our heads, "Because he would."

Evidently, Mike heard it, because he said, "Hey! I would not!"

"So, who's driving?" Asked Adam. The two of us exchanged glances and laughed. "Next time, CALL me so I know," said Adam to Mike, getting in his car. "By the way, you driving him tomorrow?"

"Yeah, need a ride?"

"I'll think about it."

Mike and I went back inside, talked for a bit and still made it before Adam. All because Adam took the way that's closer from his house, subsequently adding 20 minutes to his trip. Haha.
Army guys. They're all about efficiency, and still...

Prince Charming?

2008-07-17T11:34:00.000-07:00

It seems that when one friend starts having boy-problems, they all start having boy problems. Yesterday, while I was informing my boyfriend that he's a jerk sometimes, I had a flash back to my freshman year of college.

The roommate, Melissa, and I had recently received one of those sappy emails that people send out all the time for whatever unknown purpose. In it, there was the line about how the right boy will never make you cry. We crossed that line out because neither of us believe it. "If he doesn't make you cry," we wonder, "Do you really love him?"

Today, while going through my papers looking for something else, I stumbled across a quote from a (different) former roommate, "Write something about searching for the world's Prince Charming, but he doesn't exist. And when you find one pretty close, he's an alcoholic."

Neither of us knew then that she was pretty much telling her story.

Makes me wonder: what happens to us as we grow up? Do we just give up? Do we think that we should take the first person that comes along? What happens to dreams of Prince Charming? How do we get those back?

Last night, the current roommate and I were discussing how, essentially, you get what you look for. It's heart-breaking when your truth stares you in the face.

Creativity Down the Drain

2008-07-15T09:22:00.001-07:00

Since I have no new work today, I've spent the morning "sharpening my mind." In Sunday's paper, Goshen has a whole bunch of word puzzles/games and I love those things. And, after way longer than I would like to admit, I finally solved the first one... a thingy on writing. The quote saddens me. Mostly because it's true:

"Russia, France Germany and China. They revere their writers. America is still a frontier country that almost shudders at the idea of creative expression." - Novelist James. A Michener (who, by the way, recently passed away)

At the writing boards I visit, we frequently discuss how people look at us when we introduce ourselves as a "freelance writer." Not to mention the stupid questions they ask or the way they assume that we aren't doing anything because we "work from home." Thank goodness I live with Melody. She's one of my only friends who understands that I do, indeed, have a job.

Now, I'm off to query magazines and apply for new jobs. Hurray!

Guns No Longer Banned... In Chicago

2008-07-08T08:29:00.000-07:00

In my newspaper (the Goshen News) yesterday, they included an article, "Gun Ruling Really a Tax," based on the ruling that was recently made in Chicago, allowing anyone to own a handgun (with the proper registration, of course).

Unfortunately, despite searching, I can't find the article to link back to it, but basically, whichever reporter wrote the article felt, of course, that this is a bad thing. See, now it's no longer illegal for law-abiding citizens to have guns.

He mentions most of my arguments in a cynical tone. And the way he writes it, he sounds right. Then, he goes on to say that this ruling will increase suicides, people killing their spouses, etc.

Here's the thing: Yes, access to guns probably will increase gun crimes. (Duh.) However, if someone is going to go off and kill their spouse, or kill someone in a crime of passion or commit suicide, it doesn't change the fact, that, gun or no gun, they will find a way to do it.

I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure that I'd feel safer walking around with a gun. Consider it like this: guns are fairly commonplace in the criminal realms of any major city. As a law-abiding citizen, that makes me a target for people who would rob me, kill me or rape me. Frankly, I'd rather not have any of those things happen to me. Or anyone else. I think access to guns - for the law-abiding citizens - though not enough, is one step in the right direction. It's one step towards change.

Personally, I'm for this type of change. Not change in the "Pro-Obama Mantra" but change in matters where it matters. Change in things that can be changed - and should be. Politicians can promise change all they want, but all they have is hot air. That won't change. What will change is people: people who stand up for themselves, people who pursue change, and who strive to change the things they think should be.

Fireflies and Lost Opportunities

2008-06-29T11:21:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I babysat for my friend Heather's daughter, Isabella. Isabella is an adorable pixie-like four-year-old who laughs easily and hard - and spent the majority of the afternoon and evening pouting and throwing temper tantrums, even though Mike (the boyfriend) and I took her first to McDonalds and then to the zoo.

"I don't WANT to wait in line, boo hoo hoo."
"I want to crawl behind the line that keeps the animals in their cage! Booo hooo hooo! WAAAAAH!"
"The sea lion swam away! I can't see it! WAAAAH!"
"I WANT TO GO AGAIN!"
Eventually, when she threw a temper tantrum because she couldn't ride the merry-go-round again (those rides are EXPENSIVE. She was free for the merry-go-round, but I had to go with her, and that was two dollars. Ugh. I spent fifty dollars at the stupid zoo), Mike, sick of it, swung her up on his shoulder and we marched out and he stuffed her into the car. I think we hadn't done it before because WE wanted to see more, and at that price, we were going to stay, but the zoo was closing then, anyway.

Then, at my house:
"I want the dog on her leash!"
"I want to go in the refrigerator!" (I caught that child in the refrigerator SIX times and I have NO idea what she got out of it. Pisses me off. There's not even anything good in the fridge. Except pickles.)

Then, we were outside catching fireflies. Mike had left about two hours before, completely worn out by the child, who he'd spent all day running after in the zoo. Please note, by this time, I hadn't ANY patience left. None. It was ALL gone.

In any case, she managed to catch one, and we put it in a jar for her to take home with her. Then, we caught one more each and put those in the jar. I told her it was the last time we were going to catch them and we went outside for a few more.

Every time she missed a firefly (it flew to high or whatever), Isabella would start to cry and stomp her feet because it got away. Her tantrums made her completely miss the 3-10 fireflies that were still around her.

Made me wonder: how often am I so upset by not getting something that I want that I miss
something else?

Is Courage Lost?

2008-06-20T08:50:00.000-07:00

It's amazing how sometimes, random things, like books, television shows or sermons, coincide with things you're struggling with or dealing with. In this case, I'm watching "Little House on the Prairie" (while working) and Charles Ingalls has helped Indians receive safe passage, to the horror of many other white men in town.

When one of these men confronts him about it, saying, "You would shoot your own people?" Charles responds, "You're not my people. You're cowards."

Stand up for yourself. Seriously, if you have something to say to someone, by all means: say it. But don't be surprised when people are mad by it. When you upset people. But for goodness sakes - fight your own battles. Don't hide behind someone else and ceremoniously wash your hands. If you want something to change, change it.

Who hasn't heard, "If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself?"

It's amazing how often people will let others fight their battles for them. And then, they're shocked when the ground is pulled from beneath their feet because others know who was behind it, and it ticks them off that they were deceitful. It's amazing how often when you let others do it for you, or force them to do it for you, it collapses your plan. It's amazing how often things don't work out the way they expect.

Take responsibility for your actions. And don't lie about them. Whatever happened to courage - or for that matter, common sense?

I suppose they've washed away with all the rest of our values. Quelle surprise.

Tears

2008-06-16T10:54:00.001-07:00

I've been trying to cry since Friday, so I've been watching stupid, girly chick flicks that make me cry. The only thing, none of them have worked. Until today. Now, I'm sitting around bawling at the movie that NEVER makes me cry because it's so ridiculously inane.

Sometimes... sometimes it's good to cry.

What is a Writer?

2008-06-13T19:25:00.000-07:00

I read an interesting post today at www.writersdigest.com asking what a writer looks like. It made me smile because the responses were nothing like what I'd anticipated, for the most part. But it got me thinking: what does a writer look like? Do I look like a writer?

I suppose it's hard to say. Sometimes I'm in PJs (like today) all day. Some days I dress nicely and other days I throw on a pair of jeans.

One person, 'PaigeVonLiber' posted my favorite response:

1. Writers carry pens, pencils or markers-with a plural as we don't dare not have a writing utensil.
2. Writers will jot notes on anything that will hold an idea: paper, napkins, post-its, skin etc.
3. Writers all too often have a dazed out stare, as if they are seeing something no one else can see
4. Writers cock their heads to listen to snippets of other people's conversation; if a topic or story catches their ear
5. Writers make up invisible people to carry out the imagination’s plans
6. Writers drink-all manner of liquid both hot or cold- rumors have it sometimes even at the same time
7. Writers like snack foods as knives forks and such are hard to hold if one is writing
8. Writers dream weird stuff, they just may not say so or even admit it to themselves
9. Writers are artist whose medium are written words
10. Writers are like good characters, they come in many sizes, colors, ages, temperaments etc.

I definitely meet 1-5, 8 and 9 and 10 -but who doesn't meet 10.

It's interesting isn't it, to wonder if we look like people's perspectives/expectations for our chosen professions?

The Subtleties of War

2008-06-03T04:21:00.001-07:00

When I was four or five, my grandmother taught me how to play the card game, War. My whole family is competitive and grandma's no exception. She's told me recently that that day, while playing, every time she took one of my cars, she would cheer and yell, "It's mine! I'm winning! It's mine!" and snatch it out of my hand.

Needless to say, in order to survive in my family you nearly have to be competitive. I don't mind losing if it gives me a chance to learn, or if it's a new game, and even then, I'll try my darndest to win. I've been known to make some outrageous bids, all for the sake of winning.

Much as I enjoy competition, I don't like to be drawn into a game of War when I don't have any cards, but I can be subtle, and I like to hold on to what I have. I enjoy the upperhand. I am competitive and I don't like to lose.

So, bring it. That's right. BRING IT.

The Big Kaboom

2008-05-30T01:15:00.000-07:00

It's amazing the way some people are so determined to sabotage themselves. They might start out doing things right, but sooner or later, they do something, and even when they recover, it starts them down a whole line of one thing after another that they can't seem to overcome...

I guess there are three types of people in the world, and I know this is waaaaay over-simplifying it, but that's what I'm doing for the purposes of this post.
Person 1: Messes up, asks for and receives forgiveness, moves on
Person 2: Messes up, asks for and receives forgiveness, keeps falling into the same old pattern
Person 3: Messes up, doesn't ask for forgiveness.

I think the worst thing for people is when they use there problem as a crutch, or act like it's something they can't help: "It's not my fault I like sticking knives into people and removing their skin. When I was a kid, I stepped on a nail and now, I can't help it."

And it doesn't help when they haven't forgiven themselves. Sometimes, the matter can be resolved with the injured party, God will have forgiven them, but they can't get past it, and they dig themselves deeper in the hole and keep doing the same thing over and over again... where does it end?

Funny how people see these problems coming - on there own. But they don't do anything about it. Then, when something happens, in exactly the way they predicted, they wonder how that could be.

Here's to 1am phone calls from tearful, distraught friends. Melody, we might have a visitor sometime soon...

Some Assembly Required.

2008-05-19T13:59:00.000-07:00

My sister's here! I love my sister. She's cute and sweet and funny. And we're watching Scrubs. I was working and she's doing... something. Taking a test, I think she said.

I hate lawn mowers. I do. My lawn needs mowed. Badly. I know that. Yesterday I was finally able to afford one (and my boyfriend's Grandma can't give me one of their extras as it doesn't work).

Melody and I spent about thirty minutes trying to put it together last night. I know that barely sounds like an attempt, but we were stuck. The nuts and bolts and screws were wrong and not fitting and then, when we tried to attach the handles, they were too big. As in too wide. As in there was no way to get it to fit. Really, there isn't.

From now on, I'm not going to purchase anything, anything, unless it has no assembly required. Some assembly required? No. Not going to work. It's just not. Not unless I have a boy around who can put it together and magically, voila, I can use it.

Assembly required sucks.

SCRUBS

2008-05-17T08:53:00.000-07:00

I really can't think of anything more relaxing than chilling and watching Scrubs with my amazing roommate.

Yesterday, I bought seasons 1, 2 and 3 in preparation for the big day.

Long week. Mike left Sunday. I think I hate long distance. I mean, it's not been bad. We talk and text and email. I still don't like it.

Tons of work this week. That's probably a good thing, though, as it kept my mind off Mike being gone.

Really, I haven't much of interest to write about. My brain feels numb, but that's not interesting.

Ooh! Did you know, that every single episode of Scrubs - that I've looked at so far - starts with the word "My." I hadn't thought of that until last night, when I opened the DVDs and was bombarded with a sea of "mys."

Pictures of Ali and the Backyard

2008-04-24T13:09:00.000-07:00

The Puppy had been outside for some time when I realized I heard a disturbing sound: nothing. When Ali is quiet, it normally means she's doing something bad. So I snuck to the window and there she was, chewing on a stick, trying to shake it and kill it.

Not only did she look adorable, but I felt I needed to get a picture. So I stepped out to take some.
Of course, by the time I got there with the camera, she was being much less adorable. However, by then I was in a picture-taking mood. And some of them actually came out all right.

Give Me My Money Back!!!!

2008-04-23T19:59:00.000-07:00

I like the Electric Brew. At least, I like the atmosphere and I tend to like the people who work there. It's a reasonable distance from where live and it's easy to get to - I don't need to cross 15. The coffee, however, is somewhat below sub par. And after today, I really have a bone to pick.

I had a long morning. The puppy and work and not a lot of sleep were getting to me. I wasn't all there, and I needed a break. Coffee sounded good, so I drove to the Electric Brew, where I planned to use my "Brew Bucks" for a nice frappe. Then, I realized I was hungry, so I decided to buy the frappe and some soup or a salad or a sandwich.

I ordered my soup and then my drink. Then, I decided I didn't want the drink just then. My soup was a tomato soup type deal and tomato soup and any kind of coffee just don't mix. Mind you, he hadn't yet prepared my drink, so I said, "Actually, I'm going to wait on the frappe and get it before I leave. Can I please have a glass of water instead?"

"Sure."

He goes to ring me up and says, "So I'll ring you up for the drink now."

"No, I'd rather you didn't. I might forget. I'll get it later"

"You won't forget." I can't really remember how he said it. I took it as a teasing response: "I know how much you like coffee, you couldn't possible forget it" type of thing. In any case, he told me that I had $2.66 left on my ten dollars, and I thought nothing of it. Again, I wasn't all there.

After an hour and a half of editing, during which I remembered that Melody and I had plans to head to Main Street Coffee in Nappanee, so I was glad I'd not purchased the drink. When I left there was a long line - eight or nine people - and I don't do lines well in the best of times.

Once out to the car, I pulled something out of my purse - I had to go to the bank - and there are the remainder of my "Brew Bucks," $2.66, just like he'd said. Out of ten. It was then that I realized what had happened. He'd gone ahead and charged me for the drink.

This ticks me off for several reasons:

1) I have a free drink card
2) I asked him NOT to charge me
3) I didn't get my drink!

So now, I don't know what to do. At the time I was too mad and knew that hurrying back would not be to my advantage. But really, what do I say. "You know how yesterday I told you I didn't want you to ring me up because I would forget my drink? Well, I forgot it, and you owe me a drink." Probably not good. A million other scenarios have played out before my mind. and that (which is more or less what Melody suggested) is the best one so far.

How do I insist upon getting my drink? I paid for it. I want it. He shouldn't have charged me. End of story.

So now, I ask you: any suggestions????

John Grisham's "The Innocent Man"

2008-04-15T14:49:00.000-07:00

Melody bought John Grisham's book, "The Innocent Man" and I'm borrowing it from her. I only started it today, so saying I'm not far into it is something of an understatement.

As Americans, do we actually know what our rights are? Do we care? The innocent man. How many people have been charged with crimes they didn't commit? Whose fault is it - the officers interrogating them or those charged?

When I worked at Steak 'n Shake, I had several late-night conversations with the cops who came in to annoy us and left several hours later, having barely tipped at all. That's not the point. The point is this: Did you know that a police officer can file a complaint against you for up to six months after it occurred?

Did you know that if you invite a police officer into your home he/she has the right to search your house? One told me that you can say, "You look thirsty, why don't you step into the kitchen for the drink," which then limits the rooms the officer can search to the kitchen.

Does it make you look guilty to ask for a warrant? Maybe. But whether or not you have something to hide, that's probably the best way to go. Does it make you look guilty to ask for a lawyer? Maybe, but whether or not you committed a crime, it sure is a good idea to ask for one.

If you don't, you could end up like dozens of others: booked for a crime that you didn't commit.

Incompetence Anyone?

2008-04-11T18:39:00.000-07:00

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I always thought that law enforcement officials were supposed to be, well, enforcing the law. You know, tracking down the people doing bad things to protect the people who aren't. The older I get, the more of my illusions are being stripped away.

Although some police officers seem to have all the time in the world to enforce things like volume control, others can't even seem to manage stopping people from trying to run others over.
On our way home from the coffee shop today, Melody and I took a slightly different route back, and saw at least four patrol cars patrolling the streets.

Even so, while we were crossing the street, a car was coming up to a stop sign. We were already in the road and as pedestrians with the right of way, continued across the street. The woman driver (yes, I KNOW it was a woman) stopped at the stop sign, and then SPED up, swerving from the center of her lane towards us. I'm not exaggerating.

Both Melody and I turned to get the license plate, checked the streets we were at and verified that we both thought she was a woman. We called the cops when we got home.

Even though Melody said she had the license plate number, the woman didn't ask for it. Her solution? That they'd put out a patrol car. Wait a second - we'd seen FOUR. What's one more going to do?

Needless to say, I think they should have someone with the slightest amount of competence answering the phone and taking/directing calls. But maybe that's just me.

American Idol Gives Back: Appropriate Closing Song? And The Saddest Good-bye Ever

2008-04-10T17:45:00.000-07:00

Did you see American Idol's "American Idol Gives Back" event? I have to admit, it was better than last year. Last year, they had Simon flipping out because he hadn't known about the poverty that other people lived with. How do you not know about that?

In any case, I have a questions: How did those of you who watched it feel about the contestants singing, "Shout to the Lord" at the end of the show?

I've read a lot of reviews pertaining to it, some people are angry it was on there at all, with one blogger writing:

"Think about that when you listen to the finale song “Shout to the Lord” which is one of the anthems of the born-again movement in the world — a movement which does not support contraception and is intolerant towards gays and people with HIV/AIDS.

"I am so offended. I am so angry. American Idol should have known better and not inject religious undertones to their annual fund-raiser. Saving children in Africa and New Orleans has nothing to do with the Christian god. What were they thinking? Bah!"

Another blogger wrote, "On the one hand it doesn’t surprise me that the producers would remove Jesus from the song. On the other hand, it shocks and saddens me they would stoop so low. On the program where Maria Shriver quoted Gandhi by name, American Idol was unwilling to let “Jesus” be said on national television. I suppose they were afraid to offend non-Christians or that they simply don’t agree with Christianity. Welcome to the culture of tolerance, where every religion is accepted except Christianity; welcome to the pluralistic relativistic society that welcomes all faiths except Scriptural Christianity."

My feelings are this: I love that song. I don't think it was appropriate to sing on American Idol, and I think it was less appropriate to change the lyrics. If you don't feel the lyrics as a whole are appropriate, don't be singing any of it. End of story.

The song, which has lyrics like, "My Jesus, My Savior, Lord there is none like you," and "Shout to the Lord, All the Earth let it sing," and "Mountains bow down and the seas will roar at the sound of your name," is a worship song.

These lyrics are clearly praising God. They are meant as worship - not as a performance.

People who don't believe in God, who don't believe in his love and saving power, really shouldn't be singing them. Those are powerful lyrics. Someone whose heart doesn't mean those lyrics shouldn't be singing them with their lips.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm completely off-base. What do you think?

In other, rather more-light-hearted news:

Hello, shock: MICHAEL JOHNS went home? WHAT? How can that even be? He was... I'm shocked.
And now I'm yelling at my TV. Or... who knows. HOW? By far the best performer this year.

Melody's blaming the producers, and I think she's right. Last year on American Idol Gives Back, they didn't vote anyone off. So... maybe no one voted?
But then, I thought I heard Ryan say 31 million voters tuned in... maybe I'm wrong.

So, what you're telling me is Kristy Lee Cook, who sang horribly for the majority of the weeks, and Jason Castro, who completely BUTCHERED one of my favorite songs on Tuesday are still on? And Michael Johns is off. What is this world coming to?

2008-04-06T14:22:00.000-07:00

Pregnant Man or TV Scam?

2008-03-31T11:38:00.000-07:00

On Friday, Jan told me that she's been searching the internet endless, scanning the most baby news. One thing she came across? A pregnant man.

I'm skeptical, and I value good research, so I was a little wary, to say the least. So today, I did some research and came across several articles, but these were the best: Pregnant Man to Tell All on April Fools Day and 'Pregnant' Man Stuns Medical Profession.

When Jan told me about it, she led me to believe the man with both male and female equipment, but chose to become male and not remove his female equipment. Needless to say, that's not something I read in any of the articles I came across.

Instead, this man who was born a woman decided to become a man after falling in love with a woman. He's now married to someone else, who due to former complications, cannot conceive, so he decided to bear the child.

While a stunning decision, I can't decide how I actually feel about it. Is it immoral? I don't know that I'd go that far. Odd, certainly, and I personally don't commend the gay/lesbian/bi/transgender lifestyle, but does that make it immoral?

Legally, he's a man. Biologically, he's a woman. It's a curious situation. Part of me thinks we've crossed the line and are messing a bit too much with science and with technology. Part of me thinks we crossed that line ages ago.

Who'd have ever thought we'd come to this?

Friday Night Drinks

2008-03-30T20:25:00.000-07:00

Friday night, Mike and I went out, as per usual, to Signature Lanes (Bowling Alley/Bar for Karaoke and games). We met up with a friend of his, Jan, who is currently 4ish months pregnant, really really cute and pretty much hilarious.

Needless to say, being pregnant, Jan wasn't doing any drinking, I nursed an amaretto sour for three hours and Mike had a pepsi and rum, after which he drank Pepsi. In other words, in a bar chock-full of people, we were the only ones who were sober.

And the bar was packed. Normally, Mike can sing five or more songs in the three hours we're there. This time, Mike sang four songs in the five hours we were there.

Before Jan got up to sing her last song (poor girl had to work Saturday morning), she took her third (maybe fourth) pee break of the hour and as she passed a table of (incredibly drunk) men, some dance songs were playing in the background before the final rotation, and one of them men felt it would be fitting to spank Jan.

Now, he did stop with his hand about an inch off her butt. But that's only because she turned on him and said...something. It was something about not touching her - ever, and not touching a pregnant woman - ever. To which the guy said, "You're pregnant?"

Mike and I were watching, and Mike's eyes about popped out, "Oh my gosh. He's... so lucky she didn't smack him."

About a minute later, one of the other guys at the table approached us, apologizing. Mike held his hands up, "You're not the one who needs to apologize. And we're not the ones he needs to apologize to."

While Mike was singing, Spanky came over to talk to Jan, accompanied by Apologizer, who we learned is Spanky's cousin. Wonderful. Anyway, Spanky, far from apologizing, came over to hit on her AGAIN, not realizing AGAIN that she's pregnant or that she's the same girl he tried to spank. Spanky walked away after being shot down. Spanky's Cousin came over and apologized - again. He also added he'd pay her five bucks to slap him.

Jan left soon after, and then it was my turn, of course. Mike had gone to use the restroom and Spanky comes and sits down by me, "Hi.I'm 'Spanky.'"
"Robin."
"Do you want to get married?"
"No."
He looked taken aback, and said, "What do you mean, no?"
"I mean no."
"I... I don't mean now. I mean like, ever. Isn't that, like, every girl's ultimate goal?"
"I guess."
At which point Mike walks in, squeezes my hand, and sits back across from me.
"Oh. Are you together?"
"Yes," said Mike, realizing that maybe I wasn't just talking to the guy after he'd apologized for the Jan incident, as he'd assumed.
"Oh..." Spanky's voice trailed off. "So... maybe another time, then." Then it was his turn to sing, thank goodness, and he spilled about half his beer on me as he stood. Wonderful.

He then proceeded to offend every single person in the bar. He talked about one woman's... body, and she just happened to be the sister-in-law and sister of a couple there, who happens to be the DJ's best friend - and she was dating someone there. Then, he started talking about his cousin's wife, and about how the bartenders must be mixing the beer with something because he "wasn't even tipsy."

Mike stood to talk to someone, and said, "Tell me if he comes back over."
He did, of course. "Hi. I'm 'Spanky.' What's your name?"
"I already told you my name."
"You did? Oh, you probably did. I forgot. I think you're gorgeous, though."
"Aren't I lucky."
"So, do you want to get married?"
My mouth about dropped to the floor. "No."
"Not ever?"
I was trying not to laugh - or slap him. I felt a hand on my shoulders. His cousins'. "Money's still on the table if you want it."
Spanky interrupted, "I just think... I think..."
Mike stepped over and Spanky's voice trailed off, "You're together. And you're bigger than I am. Sorry." He spilled MORE beer on me as he moved a chair down..
I looked at Mike and the two of us let. As we left, Mike told me Spanky'd be lucky if none of the men still there beat him up. He added, "Normally that kind of thing doesn't happen here. That's why I like it."

I nodded, there wasn't much to say.

I still feel like I can smell stale beer. Ick.

Taxes Come But Once a Year

2008-03-23T07:58:00.000-07:00

My sister is in the Dominican Republic. My brother's in Italy. Where am I? In Illinois, working on my taxes.

It's funny how something that is only a big deal once a year is so stressful.

I hate taxes.

Not only did I spend seven hours on Wednesday and five hours on Friday working on them, but my mom and I spent another two hours redoing it. ALL of it.

The goods news about the two hours is it saved me $180 dollars that I don't have to pay. The bad news is I still owe a lot.

I hate taxes.

I don't think it would be so bad if I didn't think numbers were evil. Or if I didn't hate them. Or if... I don't think it would be so bad if I agreed with what the government was doing with the money. Sure, I think some things are good. But "No Child Left Behind?"

Yes! Let's pay the government to make American children less intelligent. As if they're not already stupid and behind, let's make the situation even worse.

I understand the government needs money, and I don't actually disagree with paying them. That doesn't mean I have to like it.

La Deuxieme Jour de Printemps... And there's Four Inches of Snow Outside

2008-03-21T12:30:00.000-07:00

Dear Spring,

I understand that sometimes giving in to a stronger opponent seems worthwhile, like the fight isn't worth it; and I realize winter is a mighty foe.

But he musn't win! His reign must come to an end. And soon.

It's your territory now. Three days in. What's with letting winter back in? Melt the snow! Bring on the flowers!

Your faithful but cabin-sick admirer,

Robin

Don't Blare Your Music Or You'll Be Fined

2008-03-20T14:57:00.000-07:00

Last night, while my Mom and I were talking and watching the news following American Idol, an interesting report came on about Elgin, Illiniois a town about fifteen minutes from where I grew up. It turns out that Elgin police are issuing tickets to vehicles for playing music too loudly.

If the music can be heard from 75 feet away, the vehicle is towed and searched, and it's a $250 bond, plus the towing fee to get it back.

Evidently, Elgin has been having problems with noise violations.

In a way, I can understand the frustration of having loud noise played at night from cars - especially if the passing cars music and bass is so loud it shakes your windows and what not. On the other hand, I think it's a little bit ridiculous.

At night, I understand. People are trying to sleep or have a relaxing evening. During the day, I don't actually see why it matters, honestly.

I can also understand keeping your music to respectful limits while driving through neighborhoods. But when driving in the rest of the city, I don't see anything wrong with blasting your music as loud as you like. Who are you disturbing? Other drivers whose music is also loud, rivaling you to see who can turn it up the loudest? People who will be by you in a few minutes and won't hear you anymore?

I don't often blare my music. When I'm mad, I do. When I'm tired and trying to stay awake, I do. Other than that, I like my ears and want to make sure they work for some time. But all in all, I think this kind of an ordinance is ridiculous. I think the police have MUCH more important things to be doing - especially in Elgin.

You Know You're (A Student) In Paris When...

2008-03-17T11:53:00.000-07:00

As promised...

You know you're a student in Paris when...

1- White out is your best friend; and you bought a bottle of it for every purse you own, and one to keep in the room - just in case.

2- You have a French-English and/or a French-French dictionary with you at all times.

3- Everyone can hear that you're mispronouncing the sound of "u" and "ou" and sees fit to try to correct you.

4- Your roommate can't understand you because you can't pronounce the difference between "u" and "ou"

5- Your professor has very specific instruction about the size, width, length, type. etc of paper your homework must be turned in on if you want it graded.

6- You're not sure you want it graded.

7- Grades are based on a scale of 20. 20 is NOT attainable. Only God can earn a 20. No one can earn a 19. 19 is the space in-between God and the professor. The professor (and only the professor) can earn an 18. 17 is the space between the professor and the student. Thus, 16 is the highest a student can attain. Ever.

8- You avoid words with the letter "r." A problem when that's the first letter of your first name.

9- Class exposés are frequently given over alcoholic drinks. So much so, that your professor accuses the class of being alcoholic.

10- The sandwich man (the only French man in Paris who hasn't hit on you at least once) tells you the best way to learn French is to date a French man and offers to go get one for you, adding, "Les hommes français sont très bon, mais pas très fidèle." (French men are very good, but not very faithful.)

11- You go to the cinema and understand everything except the jokes; which you only know are jokes because everyone else laughed.

12- You learn swears by watching TV. You learn that they're swears by asking someone what they mean.

13- English is Weird.

You Know You're In Paris When...

2008-03-14T08:41:00.001-07:00

Yesterday,I found a list made while in France of all the crazy things that happened in Paris. Some of them are more along the lines of "You know you're a student in Paris when..." so I have two separate sections.

You Know You're In Paris When...

1) A policeman glances at you, standing sopping wet in the pouring rain, looks you over, nods his head, then proceeds to stop traffic for you that you might finally cross the road.

2) A really scary guy tells you you're beautiful, and then proceeds to ask why you're not married, if you have a boyfriend, and where exactly you live in the U.S.

3) You don't look at a guy unless you're interested. In other words, you don't look at a guy, because if you do, he'll think you're interested.

4) People driving on the sidewalk honk at you to get out of the way

5) An old lady hits the car in front of hers, get out of her car, checks for damage, gets back in and does exactly the same thing.

6) It takes 20 minutes to leave because you have to kiss everybody goodbye.

7) You don't worry about being late because it's more than likely the other person will also be late, and they're thinking exactly the same thing about you.

8) It starts to rain and everyone promptly a-pulls out an umbrella, b-runs for the nearest store or c - backs against a wall - all at the same time.

9) It makes sense to list the price of everything in both Euros and Francs - even though Francs are not accepted. Anywhere.

10) When you enter the Metro expecting it to smell like someone just peed, but are surprised when it does, but not at all surprised to see someone peeing in front of you.

11) You see a man painted in green wearing a blue thong.

12) You see another man painted in green wearing a blue thong. This one is drinking a Heineken.

13) The first man painted green wearing a blue song notices you looking at him and thinks you're interested.

14) You find yourself eating peanuts, nutella and a clementine for breakfast and are not surprised.

15) You're surprised when there is meat and bread at a picnic, but not surprised by the champagne.

16) All around you, people are talking to themselves - constantly

17) You find yourself joining in...

18) You have addresses from people you've only met one time.

19) When a man asks you for help what he really wants to know is if you have a boyfriend

20) You tell yourself never to go somewhere, say something, or do something again, and within one week...

Tomorrow, look for "You Know You're a Student In Paris When..."

Thinking in French

2008-03-13T09:45:00.000-07:00

All day long, I've been thinking in French. I blame Michael Brown (not in a bad way) for his facebook note to me (which was, of course, en français). Earlier, while writing in French, I noticed something: my handwriting was neat and even. Flipping back a few pages, I realized that while writing in English, my language was erratic, large letters, small letters, loooong words squished up and short words made to take up more space than needed. Back to the French: even, pretty and neat.

There's only one explanation: in France, when my handwriting wasn't neat and perfectly legible, I had a professor who would mark a point off - for each word that was spelled incorrectly or which he felt was not legible. I remember one day where I rewrote a seven-page paper four times to get it looking nice (you wouldn't believe how many times I rewrote that). Using computers in France isn't allowed, as the French (typically) believe that by looking at one's handwriting, one can determine what sort of person the writer is: neat and organized, sporadic and unpredictible, sloppy and unkempt or whatever else.

It never mattered what my handwriting actually looked like in the states - except to me - as long as it was legible. Interesting.

La France me manque, Paris en particulier.

Speaking Louder Than We Have To

2008-03-13T08:30:00.000-07:00

While studying abroad, I noticed something interesting: something that Americans did especially well - when trying to find someone with whom to communicate, they speak LOUDER and SLLLOOOOWWWER than normal. In fact, they speak so loudly they could wake the dead, and so slowly, I could repaint my living room before they finish their sentence.

The other day, and then again yesterday while at Taco Bell (Mike and I meet there for lunch on occassion), something happened to remind me of those experiences. There was a Mexican man, sitting off to the side, and an American woman sat down beside him, a manager at the restaurant, where, after listening to the conversation, I determined he will be working there.

Very slowly, she sat beside him, and using hand motions (which, by the way, made no sense at all), explained that she doesn't speak Spanish, but she is the manager (sounded like maaannnaajjjjjjeeeeehr) and is delighted (deeeeellliiiighTed) that he is joining her team. You could hear her across the room. And it was only through careful listening that Mike and I were able to determine what, exactly, she was trying to say.

I'm sure he appreciated the gesture. It was kind of her, and she was clearly trying. The thing is, it was probably also embarrassing, and he hadn't a chance of understanding.

When working with someone who doesn't speak the language it IS important to speak slower and enunciate. However, if you speak too slow or enunciate too much, it is impossible to understand.

Once, when my former roommate, Euridice and I were headed somewhere (who knows where - a play, a film, a museum, a restaurant, whatever) when a clearly-American (easy to pick out - jeans and a t-shirt, tennis shoes, fat and loud) tourist approached us and asked, "Doooooooo Youuuuuuu Speeeaaakkkk Eeeeeeengliiiiiissh."

We jumped because she was so loud, and I immediately turned... I don't respond to obnoxious Americans. Euridice, who speaks perfect English - even if she's Portuguese - answered, "Yes. Can I help you?"

The woman turned to her, and scrunched up her face, then said, "You have an accent!" And walked away.

In the defense of others, she was the only person I met who was that bad. But they all asked "Do you speak English" like it was painful. Slow and crawling. It's easier to understand it when it's too fast than too slow. And you look less stupid.

Mortgages Suck

2008-03-07T12:41:00.000-08:00

I hate mortgage payments. Today, as I got ready to pay mine (now that I've been paid), I had the shock of my life when my payment was $93 higher than it should be. Not cool. My interest rate was also two percent higher. Also not cool. I have been on the phone - am still on the phone - for the last two hours trying to straighten this out.

Turns out, they sold my loan. I've figured things out, and my rate and everything is the same, but I'm still uber pissed.

I think I scared the guy I talked to from the place it was changed to because he started to ask me a question, but interrupted himself to answer mine.

SOOOOOOOOO PISSSED.

The Curse of Looking and Sounding Young

2008-03-05T10:33:00.000-08:00

If you look younger than you are (especially if you also sound younger than you are), people are constantly telling you how grateful you should be, and that someday, you'll be glad of it. This has yet to happen to me. Today, in fact, provided two reasons that I should not be grateful. At all.

I met Mike at Taco Bell today so that he could give me my cell phone, which I accidentally left at his house yesterday. As we were leaving, he was in line behind his boss. As Mike got into his car, I overheard his boss say to Mike, "You're really robbing the cradle on that one. I'm surprised they let her out of the school for lunch. What is she - 17?"
Mike, "She's 24."
I don't know why, but I found that amusing. It did, however, make me wonder if that's why the car people constantly addressed me in a "You're Beneath Me" manner - because they think I'm young.

Then, just a few minutes ago, I got a 1-800 call on the home line. I answered it and asked how I could help the person on the other line.
"Hello, I'm calling from comcast. We received a call from this number about the service, and I'd like to conduct a short survey. Is that okay?"
Me: "I guess so."
"Great, can I speak to your mother?"
Me, after a moment's frustrated paused, "I'm the homeowner here."
"Oh, you just sound so young!" I didn't respond. There are only so many times you can be told that before you want to smack someone. He continued, "I just assumed that you were... I'm sorry, how about that survey?"
Me: "What would you like to know?"
"We had a call from this number, what was your complaint?"
"I don't know. When did you receive the call?" I asked, because it's been about a week and a half since I've had to call Comcast to complain - reliable internet is marvelous.
"It wasn't you? We'll call back at a later date when the caller is home. Probably after five tonight." Click.
Worse than when my brother calls me. At least he's not a "professional." Please grow ears. Or at least the ability to use them. I'm serious.
So, Melody, if someone calls after five... you know who it is.

Car Shopping And Numbers: The Culmination Of the Things I Hate Most

2008-02-28T09:03:00.000-08:00

Here are some things I dislike:

*being pushed into something
*numbers of any kind
*being treated like I'm stupid or helpless because I'm female
*not being taken seriously because I'm female
*not having people deal with me when I'm the person to whom they should be speaking
*being told one thing when I'm fairly certain another is true
*when my saying "no" is taken as a challenge

Last night at Ford Lincoln Mercury sale (which I attended because I got a thingy in the mail and won three prizes... which turned into one prize), was the epitome of several things I detest the most.

First off, Mike was with me (he'd called up wanting to take me to dinner, so I told him if he wanted to come along with me to the car thing, that was cool), and so every time any of the sales people addressed "me" they talked to him. How the heck does he know what my budget for the car is? You'd think that when I expressly stated, "No, we're not married. He's my boyfriend" they would get the idea that it was for me, that I would be making payments and no one else. Not so. Again today, I had to clarify using those exact words.

Then, to really get me riled up, before I left last night, after scheduling an appointment for this morning (I wanted an accurate assessment on my car so that when I do get a new one, I have an idea of how much mine is worth), Leon, the car salesman I'd been dealing with, sent over his manager. His manager, who reminded me of the actor Tim Curry, immediately came over, shook mine and Mike's hands and proceeded to tell Mike that he thinks if he can get a buyer interested, he might be able to offer more for the trade in. Finally, he said to me, "If I could get you more money for your trade in, would you be interested in making the deal right now."

My response, "I'm sorry, I'd have to sleep on it. I'm not a big fan of impetuous purchases, at least not large ones."
"Well, it's a really good deal, and it might not be here tomorrow."
I thanked him, smiled, shook his hand and walked out to Mike's car as fast as possible.

Today, ten o'clock, I show up for my appointment. I'm greeted with a handshake and a smile. We took the car for another spin, and after staying up until ridiculous hours (working/researching/staring at the ceiling), I'm both tired and prepared with what I'm pretty sure is a foolproof way to make excuses and leave.

See, last night, while comparing several insurance companies, I'd realized the cost of my car insurance and the cost of the car payments would be more than my whole monthly mortgage
payment.

So I explained, "I do like the car. However, I don't love it. It doesn't have the anti-lock brakes. The insurance is high, the cost is high, and as I mentioned yesterday, I do prefer cars with manual transmissions. They get better gas mileage, they're more fun, and I hate to be shallow, but they're usually much cuter. And even though I'm not good with numbers, I do have common sense and the fact that my car payment combined with my car insurance payment would be higher than my mortgage, I'm going to have to pass."

"Let me see what I can do for you." Several minutes later, he asked if Mike would be helping with the payments, and I had to explain that we're not living together and we don't have a bank account together. Ticks me off that one would ask that. So then he asked (again) if I had a father or a brother that I needed to ask before I could proceed.

What did he expect me to say? "Yes, well, I've already told you I can't afford it and I'm not interested, but my daddy's going to tell me to go ahead." ???? Maybe that's what I should have said. Instead, I said, "No."

Then, his manager came over and he explained that I love the car (say what?) but the payments are too high. Then, I passed my car keys to the guy who was going to get the estimate (the only part I cared about) and was stuck, for the next forty minutes, listening to the talks about how much less he can make things.

Here's what I learned:

*Cars salesman will bend over backwards to make the sale.
*When the cars salesman calls, insurance rates drop a bunch (mine went down $60)
*When the word "no" is taken as a challenge, it means you have the power. Even if it doesn't get
you anywhere.
*Just because a car is newer doesn't mean it's better.

Leon told me "Well, maybe you need to start out with a car you don't love to get a car you do love. So you can trade it in and afford the new car that you do love. " (This is before he told his manager I loved it, by the way.) Ironically, the car I might love (pretty manual transmission volkswagen beetle) is about half the cost of the one I don't (Ford Focus).

Gee, I wonder what I should do?

I Can't Sleep

2008-02-27T21:28:00.003-08:00

I can't sleep. I'm not sure why. I'm tired. But when I was in bed, the puppy curled up next to me in a state of exhaustion, I couldn't sleep. One of the good things about working from home is that if, in the middle of the night, I realize I can't sleep, I can find something to work on. Then, I can sleep in or whatever later.

The worst part about not being able to see my former computer's screen is I can't save my files. That means that I have files, bookmarked pages and other things that I can't get to, through no fault of my own. And it's obnoxious. Especially when trying to apply for writing jobs. Sample? What's that? Why a sample? Oh dear.

Now I'm rambling, proof that I'm tired. Which makes it all the more frustrating that I can't sleep.

Maybe I should watch another Disney movie.

Out With the Old, On With the New

2008-02-17T19:32:00.000-08:00

I have a new computer!

I'm trying really hard to convince myself that this is a good thing. So far, I'm failing miserably. Why, you ask?
Simple: I lost the majority of my pictures, music, my bookmarks and most importantly, files. I can't afford a new computer. The reason I bought a new computer is my computer screen was GREEN. Yes, green. If you don't believe me, ask Melody. She'll confirm it.

However, the new computer is pretty, it's a Dell, and it has a two-year warranty. I like warranties.

I'm going to go eat cake. Probably not the wisest idea as I had 10 (really) cookies earlier, but I east sugar when I'm stressed... and I'm stressed.

Goshen, Indiana: Problems and Frustrations

2008-02-15T11:29:00.001-08:00

I really do love living in Goshen, don't get me wrong. However, there are some things that annoy me to no end:
*People who use my street as a shortcut
*Other drivers
*Not having good coffee
*The impossibility of getting anything done

People always use the street Melody and I live on as a shortcut. Don't know why, they just do. They seem to think that's what it was made for. Today, I was honked at when I was driving down my street (to park there) by someone who was trying to use it to drive through to the other side. This bothered me... "Not sure why." Seriously... why would you do such a thing? You have to know it's annoying.

Other drivers in Indiana bother me, so it's not necessarily just Goshen. You do know about the turn signal, no? The thing on the side of your steering wheel used to indicate that you will be turning left or right? You do realize that not using this turn signal is illegal and can cause accidents? Seriously, I'm from the Chicago area and I am proud to say that Indiana drivers are soooo much worse. The thing about Chicago drivers is this: you might think there's only the space for an ant in-between your car and the car in front of you, but a (good) Chicago driver knows how to make their car the size of an ant.

If you know me, you know that my satisfaction with life, my general overall happiness, and my contentment comes from knowing that I can get some GOOD coffee. However, Goshen, though it has several coffee shops seems to be lacking something when it comes to the word "good." For Pete's sake, make something with quality! Take pride in what you're selling! SATISFY ME! And don't even get me started on the lack of good chai.

Today, though, I was incredibly frustrated. Here's the thing about Goshen. From my house to Kroger, it's about 1.5 miles. Yet it takes 15ish minutes to get there. I'm not joking. It's about 5 miles to Walmart. It takes about 10 minutes to get there. Please explain that. So today, I needed to fax my W9 form and a writer's agreement form to the new writing job I have. Good, good.
Except for one thing: I was sent on a wild goose chase trying to find a fax machine. Every store I went to sent me somewhere else. For 2 hours. Finally, I went to the library and paid $1.50/page (which is why I'd been looking for somewhere else).

Two HOURS! Granted, most of that two hours was my trying to get from place to place. Wait... doesn't that make it worse? Ridiculous. Truly ridiculous.

The 2008 Chicago Auto Show

2008-02-15T11:19:00.000-08:00

Last Sunday, Mike and I took the train to the Chicago Auto Show. It was a long long long day, but it was truly amazing. I've never actually been much of a car person. I mean, I can look at a car and say, "Wow, that car looks nice," but it took my miata (which is sadly, no longer mine) for me to truly understand how amazing cars can be. In short, now I love cars, making this a truly fantastic experience.

I've included some pics - and we were there for five hours and didn't see it all. These are some of my favorites. These are the new Suzuki trucks. I love love love the color of the green one.

This the semi that Mike loved. He saw it, and I'd just heard an announcement about getting a coupon for $500 off a new car. Since I'm planning on buying a car this summer, that caught my interest, and I said, "Honey, we should go check that out."
"Okay, whatever..." and then, a second later, "I need... I want... I have no idea what you said."
I looked at him, and his eyes were GLUED to this semi. "Okay, we can go look."
He pulled my camera from around my neck, gave me his drink and said, "Let's trade."

And then we saw the army vehicles and spent a LOT of time taking pics there.

Seriously, we were at the auto show for five hours and didn't see everything. If you're interested in heading out there, the train tickets are about $18 roundtrip to Chicago from Southbend, tickets for the show are $10 apiece, and food inside is EXPENSIVE - bring a lunch. This is the last weekend (February 16 and 17) to see it, and it's totally worth it.

Now, if you want to see the rest of my pictures, you can go to any of these three links, which will take you to albums one, two and three of my facebook picture collections. I'd put more up here, but this has taken forever.

The Miracle of the Spray Bottle

2008-02-08T09:36:00.000-08:00

I adore my puppy, I really do. Ali is sweet and cuddly and funny. And she bites. And she jumps on things she's not supposed to jump on. And she eats shoes.

Or at least she did. Last week, I bought two spray bottles (one for Melody and one for me). It has been amazing ever since. Puppy has a combination of healthy fear of the spray bottle coupled with an intense interest in it. If it's sitting idly, she wants it. If it's picked up, about to be sprayed at her, she backs off immediately. It's wonderful.

And she listens! And she's been so much sweeter since.

The first day I was telling Mike I fell bad about spraying my baby and Mike, ever the good boyfriend (with the exception of Valentine's Day plans), said, "You shouldn't feel bad about it. It's helping her learn."

A few days ago, I said something about how much better she was being and he grinned, and then he said, "You don't feel bad anymore, do you?"

Kingston Falls: Making a Video For MTV

2008-02-08T08:04:00.000-08:00

My boyfriend has a friend, Josh, who for as long as Mike can remember, has wanted to be in a band. Now, Josh is in a heavy metal and pop christian band with Bill, Brent, Josiah, and Nate; Kingston Falls. (In the pic, the band members from left to right are Bill, Josh, Nate, Josiah and Brent.) All the band members are from the Goshen area, which I think is even cooler.

Last Saturday, Mike and I were able to participate in helping the band make a music video
for their "fun song." Frankly, I'm not much of a heavy metal fan, but I really loved their music. Loved it. (You can here the clip of their songs at their website: www.kingstonfalls.com.) If I knew how to upload it to this site, I totally would. Unfortunately, I'm technologically incompetent.

I've never made a (real) music video before. I mean, like most people (I imagine, at least) I went around making a "music video" to a song I liked or whatever. (Laurie and I chose um... oh dear, don't remember which song, right now. Probably a good thing. That thing... wow, run for cover.)

Anyway, it was a lot of fun to make the video for Kingston Falls - and a lot of work.

I also really liked the band members. They were all nice, down to earth people who were friendly, sincere, smiled a lot and were really interesting conversationalists.

There were TONS of people in the shots we did (a house party) and it was sooooo much fun. And really really hot. Those light things... they're hot. And expensive. The tech guys kept telling us not to touch them, "They'll burn your skin off." We believed them.

We took tons of shots, focusing on each of the band members, us throwing cups at them, and all other kinds of cool things. Evidently, there's one scene with Josiah, when he has a

In any case, I had a good time, and you should check out your website - and look for Kingston Falls, especially when they hit MTV.

About Valentine's Day: A Guide For Guys To Valentine's Day

2008-02-06T06:26:00.001-08:00

Dear Boys,

This is for the guy who is married to a girl, dating a girl, or interested in a girl. Here's something to think about: Valentine's day is like your wedding, it's about the both of you, but really, it's her day.

Valentine's Day should start with a compliment, such as "You're beautiful," or "I'm so glad I found you." An "I love you," is good, too - but only if it's true. A truly sincere compliment is much more important than anything superfluous or overdone.

Valentine's Day includes compliments, flowers, chocolate, stuffed animals (or any combination thereof), and only if you're creative or know what she wants, should you stray from this very specific combination of Valentine's Day elements. It also includes dinner, preferably a nice one. Valentine's Day dinner is the meal to say, "Honey, let's celebrate."

The thing about dinners is they don't have to be expensive to be nice. It does, however, have to be only two people - no third wheels for this meal; something you both like, and it has to be somewhere clean and professional. McDonalds is not a suitable Valentine's Day meal, I promise. If you can cook, more power to you: Valentine's Day is the day to whip out all the stops, making a meal at home perfectly acceptable, as well.

Yes, flowers are more expensive on Valentine's Day. Suck it up, Cupcake. By the way, roses are overdone... pretty, but overdone. Consider a combination of flowers, like roses and tulips or roses and stargazers or roses and her favorite flower or your favorite flower (you know you have one) and her favorite flower. Or, if you're stuck, ask the florist. They can help, I promise. That's what they're there for.

Every girl will complain if you give her chocolate, "Oh, it's going to make me fat," but secretly, unless she doesn't like chocolate at all, she wants it. It doesn't have to be a lot, though. Just a couple of pieces. No two-pound boxes of chocolate. That makes every girl mad - and it's obvious you waited until the last minute - or forgot - and are trying to make up for it (I know, I used to work in a candy store. Valentine's Day had the biggest sales - and the only day of the year men bought 5 lb boxes of chocolate).

No matter how old you are, you are never too old to receive a teddy bear from your sweetheart. There can be cute variations on this old gift idea, but scary monkeys do not qualify as cute, cuddly, teddy bears. By the way, neither do live animals, no matter how cute and cuddly.

Valentine's Day is not a day for gift cards, unless they're highly original - and for something specific. For instance, it is perfectly acceptable to purchase a gift card to your wife/girlfriend's favorite coffee shop, spa or masseuse. It is not acceptable to give her a gift card to Wal-Mart. Feel free to use your imagination, but keep your girl in mind, too.

A note about pre-Valentine's Day: If you ask, "Honey, what do you want for Valentine's Day?" You need to be willing to get her what she wants. None of this, "I'm sorry, sweetie, roses are $70 and they die within a week. Pick something else." That doesn't fly. If you don't want get her what she wants, don't ask her what she wants.

So boys, now you have a quick little guide to making your Valentine's Day a good, successful day, and not something that will end with you sleeping on the couch (husbands), having a pan broken over your head (anyone) or with you having a disappointed significant other and completely clueless as to why.

Sincerely,

A truly distressed girlfriend who wishes her boyfriend read her blog

Shoveling the Snow

2008-02-04T14:31:00.000-08:00

A few months ago, a neighbor shoveled my walk. I was horrified. I had been intending to do it and just never got around to it.
Since I work at home, I hid every time she walked by the house.

Today, a very nice young man came by and asked if he could shovel the stairs and sidewalk for $5. Since by now I know that there is no way I'm going to do it myself, that sounded wonderful. He looked surprised. I guess he's been turned down a lot.

Here's the thing: it's only $5, but if he does enough, that'll add up (for him). Besides, I respect someone who can go to the door of someone he doesn't know and make the offer.

Thanks, Kid.

Shipshewana Pajama Sale

2008-02-04T08:34:00.000-08:00

By 6 Saturday morning, Melody and I were in Shipshewana, shopping, at the Pajama Sale. No, pajamas weren't on sale - at least not anywhere I looked. Instead, the whole of Shipshewana was selling their goods for reduced prices - you know discounts of 30-40 percent. The catch was that you had to be wearing Pajamas in order to qualify for the sale.

Yay sales. I love shopping...

Get Your Own Drink 'Cuz, Baby, This Chai Is MINE

2008-01-31T20:39:00.001-08:00

Okay, so maybe I'm a little possessive of my chai - especially when it's warm, vanilla chai that has been made right for the first time in, oh... who knows how long.
Like every time Melody and I make our way down to the amazing coffee shop, I purchased Chai - my drink of choice.
You'd be surprised about how often a deceivingly simple drink is messed up. I mean, it's black tea with some spices, right?
However, they only make it right in 1/3 coffee shops in Goshen (Dutch Bakery, thank you) NO coffee shops in Warsaw (but then, it is Courthouse Coffee... they don't make anything well -- sorry), and the only coffee shop in Syracuse (Cool Beans... yum). Starbucks is, of course, completely hopeless. That's not fair, they are better than the Electric Brew. Hmmm... not saying much.

In any case, on occasions in which I do get to have a nice, yummy glass.... it's MINE.

Relationships And the Crazy Way They Change

2008-01-24T13:56:00.000-08:00

Do you remember your best friend from high school? Are you still friends? What about junior high friends? Still friends with them? Were you friends with them in high school?
A girl I was best friends with in junior high, "friends" with in high school and friends with in college is having her birthday tomorrow. I haven't talked to her much since last year, when she told me she and her husband were two weeks pregnant. She's had her baby... a little boy. I haven't talked to her in months... not since before the baby was born.
Best friends to... barely friends.
I mean, what do I say to her when I call her up tomorrow? Happy Birthday... congratulations on the kid?
Maybe, like last year, she won't be home and won't call me back. I realize it's terrible that I feel that way, but I do.
I know she won't respond to email, she doesn't have a Xanga (hubby asked her to give them up after she got married so ex-boyfriends couldn't get ahold of her), which leaves only the phone. Phones are awkward... really awkward.
Here's to relationships... and trying to figure them out.

Equality and Lowering the Bar

2008-01-22T14:12:00.000-08:00

Everywhere I look, I see proof that we're trying to make things more "equal." Here's the thing about equality - you can't raise everyone's intelligence to make it equal, nor can you make everyone "equally" strong. The cry of women to be seen as equal to men is rather ridiculous. As a woman, I feel I can say that. What women want when they screech "equality" isn't equality at all... it's to be seen as better... higher, more powerful.

In High school, we read a short story by Kurt Vonnegut, Harrison Bergeron. It's about two things: equality and lowering the bar. Both of which are things that our culture seems to crave, seems to want. Let's take a look at where that will lead us.

"Harrison Bergeron" by Kurt Vonnegut:

THE YEAR WAS 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren’t only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else. All this equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213th Amendments to the Constitution, and to the unceasing vigilance of agents of the United States Handicapper General.

Some things about living still weren’t quite right, though. April, for instance, still drove people crazy by not being springtime. And it was in that clammy month that the H-G men took George and Hazel Bergeron’s fourteen-year-old son, Harrison, away.

It was tragic, all right, but George and Hazel couldn’t think about it very hard. Hazel had a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn’t think about anything except in short bursts. And George, while his intelligence was way above normal, had a little mental handicap radio in his ear. He was required by law to wear it at all times. It was tuned to a government transmitter. Every twenty seconds or so, the transmitter would send out some sharp noise to keep people like George from taking unfair advantage of their brains.

George and Hazel were watching television. There were tears on Hazel’s cheeks, but she’d forgotten for the moment what they were about.

On the television screen were ballerinas.

A buzzer sounded in George’s head. His thoughts fled in panic, like bandits from a burglar alarm.

“That was a real pretty dance, that dance they just did,” said Hazel.

“Huh?” said George.

“That dance – it was nice,” said Hazel.

“Yup,” said George. He tried to think a little about the ballerinas. They weren’t really very good – no better than anybody else would have been, anyway. They were burdened with sashweights and bags of birdshot, and their faces were masked, so that no one, seeing a free and graceful gesture or a pretty face, would feel like something the cat drug in. George was toying with the vague notion that maybe dancers shouldn’t be handicapped. But he didn’t get very far with it before another noise in his ear radio scattered his thoughts.

George winced. So did two out of the eight ballerinas.

Hazel saw him wince. Having no mental handicap herself she had to ask George what the latest sound had been.

“Sounded like somebody hitting a milk bottle with a ball peen hammer,” said George.

“I’d think it would be real interesting, hearing all the different sounds,” said Hazel, a little envious. “All the things they think up.”

“Um,” said George.

“Only, if I was Handicapper General, you know what I would do?” said Hazel. Hazel, as a matter of fact, bore a strong resemblance to the Handicapper General, a woman named Diana Moon Glampers. “If I was Diana Moon Glampers,” said Hazel, “I’d have chimes on Sunday – just chimes. Kind of in honor of religion.”

“I could think, if it was just chimes,” said George.

“Well – maybe make ‘em real loud,” said Hazel. “I think I’d make a good Handicapper General.”

“Good as anybody else,” said George.

“Who knows better’n I do what normal is?” said Hazel.

“Right,” said George. He began to think glimmeringly about his abnormal son who was now in jail, about Harrison, but a twenty-one-gun salute in his head stopped that.

“Boy!” said Hazel, “that was a doozy, wasn’t it?”

It was such a doozy that George was white and trembling and tears stood on the rims of his red eyes. Two of the eight ballerinas had collapsed to the studio floor, were holding their temples.

“All of a sudden you look so tired,” said Hazel. “Why don’t you stretch out on the sofa, so’s you can rest your handicap bag on the pillows, honeybunch.” She was referring to the forty-seven pounds of birdshot in canvas bag, which was padlocked around George’s neck. “Go on and rest the bag for a little while,” she said. “I don’t care if you’re not equal to me for a while.”

George weighed the bag with his hands. “I don’t mind it,” he said. “I don’t notice it any more. It’s just a part of me.

“You been so tired lately – kind of wore out,” said Hazel. “If there was just some way we could make a little hole in the bottom of the bag, and just take out a few of them lead balls. Just a few.”

“Two years in prison and two thousand dollars fine for every ball I took out,” said George. “I don’t call that a bargain.”

“If you could just take a few out when you came home from work,” said Hazel. “I mean – you don’t compete with anybody around here. You just set around.”

“If I tried to get away with it,” said George, “then other people’d get away with it and pretty soon we’d be right back to the dark ages again, with everybody competing against everybody else. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”

“I’d hate it,” said Hazel.

“There you are,” said George. “The minute people start cheating on laws, what do you think happens to society?”

If Hazel hadn’t been able to come up with an answer to this question, George couldn’t have supplied one. A siren was going off in his head.

“Reckon it’d fall all apart,” said Hazel.

“What would?” said George blankly.

“Society,” said Hazel uncertainly. “Wasn’t that what you just said?”

“Who knows?” said George.

The television program was suddenly interrupted for a news bulletin. It wasn’t clear at first as to what the bulletin was about, since the announcer, like all announcers, had a serious speech impediment. For about half a minute, and in a state of high excitement, the announcer tried to say, “Ladies and gentlemen – ”

He finally gave up, handed the bulletin to a ballerina to read.

“That’s all right –” Hazel said of the announcer, “he tried. That’s the big thing. He tried to do the best he could with what God gave him. He should get a nice raise for trying so hard.”

“Ladies and gentlemen” said the ballerina, reading the bulletin. She must have been extraordinarily beautiful, because the mask she wore was hideous. And it was easy to see that she was the strongest and most graceful of all the dancers, for her handicap bags were as big as those worn by two-hundred-pound men.

And she had to apologize at once for her voice, which was a very unfair voice for a woman to use. Her voice was a warm, luminous, timeless melody. “Excuse me – ” she said, and she began again, making her voice absolutely uncompetitive.

“Harrison Bergeron, age fourteen,” she said in a grackle squawk, “has just escaped from jail, where he was held on suspicion of plotting to overthrow the government. He is a genius and an athlete, is under–handicapped, and should be regarded as extremely dangerous.”

A police photograph of Harrison Bergeron was flashed on the screen – upside down, then sideways, upside down again, then right side up. The picture showed the full length of Harrison against a background calibrated in feet and inches. He was exactly seven feet tall.

The rest of Harrison’s appearance was Halloween and hardware. Nobody had ever worn heavier handicaps. He had outgrown hindrances faster than the H–G men could think them up. Instead of a little ear radio for a mental handicap, he wore a tremendous pair of earphones, and spectacles with thick wavy lenses. The spectacles were intended to make him not only half blind, but to give him whanging headaches besides.

Scrap metal was hung all over him. Ordinarily, there was a certain symmetry, a military neatness to the handicaps issued to strong people, but Harrison looked like a walking junkyard. In the race of life, Harrison carried three hundred pounds.

And to offset his good looks, the H–G men required that he wear at all times a red rubber ball for a nose, keep his eyebrows shaved off, and cover his even white teeth with black caps at snaggle–tooth random.

“If you see this boy,” said the ballerina, “do not – I repeat, do not – try to reason with him.”

There was the shriek of a door being torn from its hinges.

Screams and barking cries of consternation came from the television set. The photograph of Harrison Bergeron on the screen jumped again and again, as though dancing to the tune of an earthquake.

George Bergeron correctly identified the earthquake, and well he might have – for many was the time his own home had danced to the same crashing tune. “My God –” said George, “that must be Harrison!”

The realization was blasted from his mind instantly by the sound of an automobile collision in his head.

When George could open his eyes again, the photograph of Harrison was gone. A living, breathing Harrison filled the screen.

Clanking, clownish, and huge, Harrison stood in the center of the studio. The knob of the uprooted studio door was still in his hand. Ballerinas, technicians, musicians, and announcers cowered on their knees before him, expecting to die.

“I am the Emperor!” cried Harrison. “Do you hear? I am the Emperor! Everybody must do what I say at once!” He stamped his foot and the studio shook.

“Even as I stand here –” he bellowed, “crippled, hobbled, sickened – I am a greater ruler than any man who ever lived! Now watch me become what I can become!”

Harrison tore the straps of his handicap harness like wet tissue paper, tore straps guaranteed to support five thousand pounds.

Harrison’s scrap–iron handicaps crashed to the floor.

Harrison thrust his thumbs under the bar of the padlock that secured his head harness. The bar snapped like celery. Harrison smashed his headphones and spectacles against the wall.

He flung away his rubber–ball nose, revealed a man that would have awed Thor, the god of thunder.

“I shall now select my Empress!” he said, looking down on the cowering people. “Let the first woman who dares rise to her feet claim her mate and her throne!”

A moment passed, and then a ballerina arose, swaying like a willow.

Harrison plucked the mental handicap from her ear, snapped off her physical handicaps with marvelous delicacy. Last of all, he removed her mask.

She was blindingly beautiful.

“Now” said Harrison, taking her hand, “shall we show the people the meaning of the word dance? Music!” he commanded.

The musicians scrambled back into their chairs, and Harrison stripped them of their handicaps, too. “Play your best,” he told them, “and I’ll make you barons and dukes and earls.”

The music began. It was normal at first – cheap, silly, false. But Harrison snatched two musicians from their chairs, waved them like batons as he sang the music as he wanted it played. He slammed them back into their chairs.

The music began again and was much improved.

Harrison and his Empress merely listened to the music for a while – listened gravely, as though synchronizing their heartbeats with it.

They shifted their weights to their toes.

Harrison placed his big hands on the girl’s tiny waist, letting her sense the weightlessness that would soon be hers.

And then, in an explosion of joy and grace, into the air they sprang!

Not only were the laws of the land abandoned, but the law of gravity and the laws of motion as well.

They reeled, whirled, swiveled, flounced, capered, gamboled, and spun.

They leaped like deer on the moon.

The studio ceiling was thirty feet high, but each leap brought the dancers nearer to it. It became their obvious intention to kiss the ceiling.

They kissed it.

And then, neutralizing gravity with love and pure will, they remained suspended in air inches below the ceiling, and they kissed each other for a long, long time.

It was then that Diana Moon Glampers, the Handicapper General, came into the studio with a double-barreled ten-gauge shotgun. She fired twice, and the Emperor and the Empress were dead before they hit the floor.

Diana Moon Glampers loaded the gun again. She aimed it at the musicians and told them they had ten seconds to get their handicaps back on.

It was then that the Bergerons’ television tube burned out.

Hazel turned to comment about the blackout to George.

But George had gone out into the kitchen for a can of beer.

George came back in with the beer, paused while a handicap signal shook him up. And then he sat down again. “You been crying?” he said to Hazel.

“Yup,” she said,

“What about?” he said.

“I forget,” she said. “Something real sad on television.”

“What was it?” he said.

“It’s all kind of mixed up in my mind,” said Hazel.

“Forget sad things,” said George.

“I always do,” said Hazel.

“That’s my girl,” said George. He winced. There was the sound of a riveting gun in his head.

“Gee – I could tell that one was a doozy,” said Hazel.

“You can say that again,” said George.

“Gee –” said Hazel, “I could tell that one was a doozy.”

Four Reasons to Oppose Universal Health Care

2008-01-19T18:15:00.001-08:00

As more and more people are falling victim to the idea that socialized health care or universal health care is a good thing, I feel it's an important topic to address. I lived in Paris, France for 6 months and all I saw is proof that universal health care is a detriment to any health care system.

1) You don't receive the best treatment available

A friend of mine who is Swedish (yes, they also have socialized health care) told me that several years ago, her little brother broke his arm. Since there were no doctors available to set it - they were all caring for other patients - he had to wait for three days. When they set it, the doctor who set it wasn't trained to set bones and did it incorrectly. It healed wrong, and had to be re-broken and reset several months later. People wait and wait for service, and they don't get what they need for months... as in the case of my friend's brother, or even for years.

2) People Take Advantage Of What's Given To Them (For Free)

Not to pick on the French, but they go to the doctor for everything, whether it's a simple cold or the stomach flu. Why shouldn't they? It's free. All of the doctor visits, the over-the-counter drugs, it's free. It's the same thing everywhere: people who have free health care go to the doctor for everything. And I mean everything. That means that the important things get pushed to the side, and you have to wait. An emergency? Well, you might be seen right away, but it could be some time before you actually receive treatment.

3) Doctors and Drug Companies Don't Offer Better Treatment or Find New Treatments

Doctors and nurses aren't paid to offer the best quality care, so they don't: again, human nature. Instead, they leave to go find work elsewhere. It works similarly for drug companies: they're not paid to supply the best, more expensive drugs because they have a budget which won't and doesn't cover them. Doctors, research scientists and others affected don't want to spend valuable and unpaid time finding new solutions to old (or new) health problems. We all like to be paid for our work - so do doctors and nurses, and they deserve what they get paid.

4) The Provided Health Care Deteriorates

Do you have bad health care now? That's not going to change. If you can't afford good health care now, you're going to be waiting, probably a LONG time to receive health care with "free" health care. Those who can afford to take care of the problem will go somewhere where they have to pay however many thousands of dollars to fix the problem - and they'll get better. The poor and middle class will be stuck, waiting - with no light at the end of the tunnel.

By the way, it's not really free - our taxes are paying for it. Has anyone ever told you "nothing's free." It's true, whether or not you've heard it. In this case, we're paying for the "free" health care with our taxes. That means that, despite the promises of various politicians, taxes will go UP not down. The other important thing to consider is this: the free thing is generally of a poorer quality than the thing that costs - as demonstrated above.

As with all government-run programs, free health care will become more expensive and deteriorate with time - if not right from the get-go. For more information, check out this website.

I Hate Geico Insurance

2008-01-17T09:51:00.000-08:00

A year ago, I decided to purchase Geico insurance. It was partially because of their incredibly intelligent and well-done ads, and partially because I needed insurance and partially because it seemed liked a goo deal. About 2 months into the Geico-relationship, I realized something: I hate Geico. Geico Insurance Geico Insurance Geico Insurance Geico Geico Geico Geico. Geico Insurance Geico Insurance Geico Insurance Geico Geico Geico Geico.
As the year continued, I hated Geico more. And then, to make it worse, Geico stopped using the cute little Gecko AND Geico stopped using the Cavemen. And when Geico did use either the Cavemen or the Gecko, it was in incredibly stupid stupid stupid ways. Instead, Geico is using the incredibly stupid Celebrity/real people commercials to sell Geico Insurance. Here's the thing: It's not working. I always change the channel. A commercial, even if it's for a company or product I hate, like Geico, should not make me want to blow my brains out. But maybe that's just me. Geico Geico Geico Geico Geico Insurance Geico Geico Geico Geico Geico. Geico Insurance Geico Insurance Geico Insurance Geico Geico Geico Geico.
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Then, over Christmas, I got into an accident, and evidently, my Geico Insurance policy ran out. Geico called me three times in one day (I probably didn't pick up because I didn't recognize the number) telling me that they needed to get ahold of me to work things out. Geico Geico Geico Geico Geico Insurance Geico Geico Geico Geico Insurance Geico Insurance Geico Insurance Geico Geico Geico Geico.
I called back several times, and today I finally got ahold of Geico After I read the scary Geico woman my Geico Insurance claim number at least 3 times, she said, "Oh, I'm sorry, you weren't insured by us at the time, so we're not doing anything. I sent you a letter." Geico Geico Geico Geico Geico Geico Geico Insurance. Geico Geico Geico Geico Insurance Geico Insurance Geico Insurance Geico Geico Geico Geico.
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October 20th

2008-01-13T19:21:00.000-08:00

"October 20th."
"What?"
"October 20th. That's the day we're deployed... I thought you should know."

I didn't cry. Not until I got home. He told me where they'll be. He thinks. I didn't ask how long. He didn't say.

I knew when we started dating that there was a possibility of him going back. I knew he was a soldier. I knew that. I still know that... And I'm proud of him.

But gosh... I'm scared.

The Long-Reaching Effects of Pandora's Pretty Box

2008-01-10T16:56:00.000-08:00

The other day, while in Barnes and Noble with Cheryl and Melody, I picked up a book on Greek Myths. It was a pop-up book, and I immediately opened to the page with Pandora's box, ornate and beautifully decorated, and at the top, it said, "Do Not Touch."
Whether or not you've ever picked up a Greek Myth, or studied them or believe them or think they have merit or not, you've still probably heard the story of Pandora's Box -- and of Pandora herself.
Pandora was given a gift by the gods, a beautiful box, and told not to open it under any circumstances. However, her curiosity overcame her and she opened it, and everything except for the thing that lay at the very bottom escaped. That thing at the bottom? Hope.
Today, we still have the "Pandora's Box Syndrome." When someone says, "Don't touch this," most people immediately try to devise a way to touch it. It's human nature. It's always been human nature. As soon as something is forbidden, it becomes more attractive and we want it more.
My youth pastor told a story once about his two oldest daughters. They were living in a house with one of the old stoves that gets hot - too hot to touch. He told the girls not to touch it, and the oldest one immediately went up and plastered her hand across it. She obviously burned herself. The younger one, watching her older sister carefully, I imagine went up to it, and got close (mom and dad a bit worried), she pointed to it and said, "Don't touch. It's hot."
Most of us though, take the first approach. Don't touch the wet paint. Don't poke yourself in the eye. Don't feed the bears. Well why can't I feed the bears? They're behind the bars, after all.

Pandora's box. One thing she couldn't do. Eve's apple. One thing they couldn't eat.
The difference between the stories, though, is significant. We have the thing that was left in the bottom of Pandora's beautiful, never-meant-to-be-opened box.

Happy New Year!!

2008-01-01T18:25:00.001-08:00

My year began with a scare. The normally uber-excitable puppy was lethargic and coughing and miserable. In all honesty, she was more like a baby doll than a live creature of any kind: much less my fun-loving Ali. I've never wanted a puppy to play or bite me more.

I called the animal hospital place, and I hate to say it, but they weren't helpful. Not at all. Okay, so the woman told me to take her temperature, and that if it was lower than 99 degrees or higher than 103, I should bring her in to the hospital, but that normal temperature for a dog is between 101 and 102.5 degrees. Her temperature was 101.4. Says the animal hospital lady, "She has low blood sugar. Give her canned dog food."

I did. She was acting worse, if possible, staggering alone, coughing like she was choking on something.

I found a website, "Just Answer", and an expert there answered my question almost immediately. The expert asked about all of her symptoms, how long it had been going on, etc. Then she told me it sounded like kennel cough, and gave me a rundown of ways to relieve it - not cure it - and told me to take her to the vet if it continued.

In the meantime, Ali threw up the canned dog food. All of it. She was acting a bit better after, and today she's back to her normal self, and into everything imaginable.

By the way, Ali hated having her temperature with a passion. With a passion.

Cigarette Lighters: Buyer Over 18

2007-12-31T15:30:00.000-08:00

Who knew that in order to buy a cigarette lighter, you have to be 18 or older? Who knew they would actually card one for such a thing? But they do. Oh yes, they do.

Saturday night - or was it Friday night? They're all kinda blurring together right now... Friday night, it was Friday night - Mike stopped at a gas station and since I was going to buy gum, asked me to pick him up a lighter - he'd lost his, and then he'd bought another, and lost it, too.

So, I grabbed the gum and the lighter and the woman behind the counter said, "I'll have to see an ID."

So I showed it to her. She looked at me suspiciously, clearly not believing that it was a real ID. You know, since people forge passports on a regular basis. She finally said, "Okay," and gave me my total.

So, I said (making conversation... it's what I do), "How old do you have to be to buy a lighter?"

"Eighteen," more suspicious looks, as if she still disbelieved me.

I got out to the car and told Mike about it, and he laughed! "Do I really look that young?" I asked when he stopped laughing.

"Um... today... well, you know... well..."

"Nevermind, Mike."

"Thanks, sweetie."

And then, at dinner, Mike told Adam, who spit up his alcoholic beverage. (And then a friend of theirs apologized when he said his 18-year-old students are kinda stupid sometimes, thinking I was 18... Mike choked on his coke, Adam his taco. Dang it all.)

Ali and The Boys

2007-12-30T07:17:00.000-08:00

Hurray for having reliable internet for the first time in several days!

My puppy, Ali, seems to have made a few friends in the boys, starting with my brother, progressing to my father, and ending with my boyfriend.

Ali and Ken

The first time Ken saw Ali, he scorned her, "I don't like small dogs."
Ten minutes later, he was picking her up, throwing her, petting her, etc. He "borrowed" her and went down to the basement. When he returned her, he said, "I tried to ride her."
I was a little worried. With my brother, you just never know. Later, I asked one of his friends about it. Zach said, "No, he didn't. He threw her and dropped her and made her roll. I would keep him away from the puppy, if I were you."
Well, said, Zach.
The problem is, by then, she already had a puppy crush on him. As soon as she saw him or heard him, her little butt and tail would start wagging like crazy. Then, she would go crazy, jumping around, hopping, pumping herself up for the inevitable playtime.
And then, he was going somewhere, and didn't want to play. She watched him go, with big, sad eyes and then turned her craziness on the rest of us.
I can't break her of it. Merde.

Ali and Dad

My dad thought Ali was cute pretty much immediately. HE liked petting her and holding her and playing with her. He didn't like it when she bit. He helped me come up with a temporary solution. Temporary being the key word.

Ali and Mike

When Mike first saw her, he laughed. "My cats would eat her alive." True story.
Then, when she tried to bite him, he didn't do what Ken did (push her and watch her roll over - I think she liked it), instead he picked her up waaay over his head (like my dad did) and said, "You're a little shit, you know that?

Then, today, before Mike and I were getting ready to go to lunch (I still wasn't ready, and so he played on the computer: go figure), and she bit his toes and he told me, "She's a turd."
"You don't like her?'
"No, I like her. She's cute as hell."
And then she bit his toe again. Sharp baby teeth.

Puppy needs puppy classes.

Christmas Eve Broadcast from the Apollo 8 in 1968

2007-12-24T09:37:00.000-08:00

How cool is this?

Hilary Clinton and Universal Health Care

2007-12-22T10:46:00.000-08:00

Chekc out this "commercial."

What do you think?

Personally, I think that's ridiculous. First of all, a gift is something you receive "freely." Hilary's "gifts" are something that we (as taxpayers) have the wonderful joy of paying for. Ourselves.

On a similar note, I realize that several people think Universal Health Care would be a good thing. I can say with certainty, that it wouldn't be. Government run health care programs have a tendency to fail miserably because "we the people" abuse them. What a concept.

If you don't believe me, check out the American Education system. It sucks. American Education couldn't be worse. Let's make a crazy assumption here, and say it sucks because it's government-run. Now, if the government can't run the education system, why should the health care system be any different? And if they can't run the education system, how will they be able to run both the education system and the health care system?

I'm against free health care. Because in my experience, anything that's "free" comes at great cost.

The Puppy

2007-12-19T13:34:00.000-08:00

Here are some pics of my puppy. Her name is Ali. But she hasn't quite figured that out. If you say "Ali" she occasionally looks at you and tilts her head like she thinks you might be referring to her.

There she is after her first bath. She needed it. Trust me. She also needed the second one. But look how cute and innocent she looks!

And then she adopted Cheryl's old coat... and she still has it... it's her bed since she hates her kennel with a passion I didn't know was possible in puppies.

Courage And Words

2007-12-11T19:47:00.000-08:00

There are different kinds of brave, and different kinds of courage. There's the courage to get up in front of people, and to talk, or to sing or to share. There's the courage to get things done. There's the courage to ask people for things, like money. There's the courage to tell people the way things are - or should be. There's the courage to tell a friend that he/she is stupid.

The only way I'll get up in front of people and sing - even Karaoke - is if I'm drunk, I'm pretty sure. I don't know this from experience, it's just a hunch. It's something I would want to do - something I would love to do, really, I just can't do it. That's why I think that if I hadn't any inhibitions I could do it.

Mike doesn't get that. For him, singing in front of people is no problem. I was trying to explain to him why I can't, and he said, "Just watch me, you just get up and do it. It doesn't take courage." His best friend, Adam, understood better, and while we were both listening to Mike sing, said, "He'll never understand that, Robin. He just won't." So true.

I don't have the type of courage to call out a friend, either. I can gripe and complain all I want, but when it actually comes down to it, I won't do anything. I won't try to change it. I'll think about it for sure, but thinking is different than doing.

People talk talk talk talk talk about how things should be different, about how they should be better. But I've noticed something about people. Oftentimes, the ones doing all the talking, the ones who are so passionate about getting others motivated, don't do anything themselves - and oftentimes, they never will.

I think that's a different kind of brave. I think that having the courage to realize something is wrong and working to change that is one of the best kinds of brave, one of the best types of courage. Especially when that work goes unspoken.

Long sigh Yep, that was my weekend

2007-12-10T10:29:00.001-08:00

It was a long weekend. Friday night Mike and I went to see the Golden Compass. We didn't enjoy it at all, which is sad because I was really looking forward to it.

Yesterday, I was going to go to church with Mike's grandma and uncle, but got to there house after they'd already left - and then ended up stuck.

Like the smart person I am occasionally, I called Mike to tell him I was stuck in his driveway. He laughed at me, but was willing enough to help me out. I was in the middle of explaining to him where I was, when my feet fell out from under me and I ended up flat on my face. "Humiliations galore" came to mind, but he didn't say anything, so I figured it was between me and God.

I got to the house, and he said something about seeing me take a tumble. I made a face, but didn't bother telling him that I hadn't wanted him to see, until later, when we were telling the story to his grandma. It was hilarious.

Then, he helped me get the car up the driveway. First he helped me get it out, and then he floored it, and got it up.

At least, that's what was supposed to happen. Instead, he floored it, we got about halfway up, and then it went off the driveway and into the corn field.

"We're stuck here, Babe. You're not going anywhere until someone can get this out."

So he made me breakfast. It's good to know my boyfriend can cook. I hate ice.

A Rather Long Ramble

2007-12-06T14:57:00.000-08:00

I spend most of my time at home. In fact, by the time Melody gets home, I'm so antsy to leave that I practically run her over. That's only a slight exaggeration, which she can confirm with only the smallest of eye rolls, I'm sure.

While I'm at home, I watch TV - and write. I need noise. I need it. I can't concentrate without noise. This leaves two choices: music or TV. I can only write to some music. Not some types, some music. Let me explain. I can write to Flogging Mary's "Light of a Fading Star" but none of their other songs. I can write to Liz Phair's "Why Can't I," Little Digger" or "It's Sweet" but none of her other songs. I can write to several of Avril Lavigne's songs, including, "Complicated," "He Wasn't," and "Things I'll Never Say." But even though I have those on a separate section in my iTunes, I can still only write to those songs sometimes... sometimes I can't do it, and I have to change the song in frustration. This disrupts my writing pattern twice - once when I hear it, and once when I have to change it. That's no good. That makes TV better - especially if it's a TV show I know well, like Smallville. TV is easy to drown out. (Isn't that awful?)

Anyway, one of my standard shows is "Little House On the Prairie."

In one of today's episodes, Mary Ingalls, Nellie Olsen, and a little boy who is disabled are running for class president. The boys figured that the girls would split the votes for Mary and Nellie, and all the boys would vote for the boy. I don't actually know what happened, but it ends all happy and the boy wins class president, chatta chatta. Like I said, it's drowned out. I don't pay much attention.

But today's episode brought back a crazy memory from elementary school.

My best friend, Jessica Kadlec, was running for student body president. I was soooo proud of her, and I knew, just knew, that she would do an excellent job. And if she'd gotten the position, she would have. But she didn't get it.

She promised things that could actually be done - but not things that many of the students really cared about. The guy who won, who probably didn't do anything he said he would because he simply didn't have the power, and whose name I've forgotten by now, promised all kinds of of ridiculous, but enticing things.

In elementary school, you don't really see a problem with asking someone who they voted for, and I remember asking my friend, Anna on the way home from school if she'd voted for Jessica. I mean, I was sure she had: I'd told everyone, literally everyone, that they should, because she'd do such a good job.

Anna, though, told me she hadn't, and when I incredulously asked why, she said, "Because, we can't have a girl president. Girls can't be president. They shouldn't even run. It just isn't done."

Funny, isn't it? I didn't see it then for what it was: an excuse. It makes me wonder when we vote on a larger scale: for our nation's president. Are we voting for who would truly make the better candidate, or the person who promises us the things that make us happy?

Sorry this was such a long post. Peace Out.

French and Star Trek

2007-12-03T19:24:00.000-08:00

I have an adorable boyfriend. Yesterday (Sunday) we were watching a film - Star Trek Insurrection - and at the end, we still had a bit of time before we were meeting up with some of his friends (it was one's birthday), and we were going through the Special Features.

Once those were up, he selected a chapter (I wasn't paying much attention, one of the cats had decided to grace me with its presence), and then waited for me to look up. When I did, it started playing, and I looked back down. Until I heard it in French. I looked up again so quickly I gave myself whiplash. Good job, I know.

I was sooooooo excited, though. He just sat watching my expression until I looked up at him, and then he asked, "Can you understand all of that?"
"Yep."
"Could you understand it all the way through?"
"Yep."
"Tell me what they're saying."

So I translated four or five minutes of the film before we got ready to go to with the others. It was fun.

Buying a Puppy

2007-11-29T13:01:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I put a deposit down on a little female Cavachon. She's adorable. Even Melody thinks so, and that's what I call an accomplishment.

When I first arrived at the house last night, there was one puppy that I wanted immediately. He woke up, and pushed his sisters out of the way to come over and lick my fingers. I can't begin to tell you how sad I was that he was a boy. The second one I wanted was all excited to see me (a person, really, she probably didn't care much about me specifically). The other two were adorable, as well, but much more shy. Those two weren't doing the whole pushing/barking thing.

In any case, I decided on the "middle" girl. She's not the biggest girl, nor the smallest, she has neither the most nor the fewest red spots, her fur is long (and non-shedding, yeah buddy), but neither as curly as her bigger sisters' nor as straight as the littlest sisters'. They'll probably be less than 10 pounds when they're fully grown. *cute*

I can take her home in 2 and a half weeks. I need a name. I kinda want a name that starts with an "A." So far, these are the names that have been suggested: Airi, Aliera. Suggestions are appreciated.

Love Actually: Focus on Karen

2007-11-28T08:46:00.000-08:00

Oh yes, it is totally that time again. If you don't like it, that's too bad. Karen is played by Emma Thompson... you've probably seen her somewhere: like as Sibyll Trelawney in The Harry Potter films, or as Nanny McPhee in... well, Nanny McPhee. She's a phenomenal actress.

At the very beginning, she's talking to her two children, a girl, Daisy, and a boy, Bernard, who are excited about having just received their parts in the Christmas play. Well, Daisy is. Bernard's kind of an arse. She thinks so, too.
"We've been given our parts in the nativity play, and I'm the lobster."
"The lobster?"
"Yeah."
"In the nativity play?"
"Yeah. First lobster!"
"There was more than one lobster present at the birth of Christ?"
"Duh."

I love that Karen helps David with advice on his son. Granted, her advice isn't always very comforting, but that doesn't make it bad. "Get a grip. People hate sissies. No one's ever going to shag you if you cry all the time."

Karen is also the Prime Minister's sister. She calls him up to admonish him - even though he's her big brother, while he's being all patriotic, and she's working on her kid's costumes. She's listening to Joni Mitchell (amazing!) in the background and explains to her husband, Harry, (Alan Rickman, also known as Snape)that Joni taught "your cold, English wife how to feel."

Karen's no fool. She knows Sarah is in love with Karl - and good thing, too, or Sarah never would have danced with him. Karen is also aware that Mia is someone her husband should watch out for. His protestations and "ignorance" don't add up too much: she knows Mia's young and beautiful.

That said, I wonder if Karen knows, when she sees her husband looking at the necklaces that he really is going to buy one - and that it's not going to be for her. I wonder if she doubts at all, until she learns that that is what's happened.
I have to say no, because of her expression of surprise and happiness when she pulls out the necklace - gosh, that would suck.

And then... when seeing the CD? Yeah, good to know her husband listened, and remembered that she likes Joni Mitchell... but the necklace. Gosh, I'm sure any other year, she would have been thrilled that "Mr. But you've always loved scarves" got her something personal... I think that would make it worse, actually.

I also love Karen's reaction at seeing her big brother/the Prime Minister at the children's concert. Oh, and she warned poor Natalie... and I love her expression when she - and the whole rest of the world - sees them making out.

And then, comes what I would call the Ultimatum - when she confronts her husband about giving the necklace. And there, she says one of my favorite lines, a line that I always think of when I think of adultery.
"Would you wait around to find out if it's just a necklace, or if it's sex and a necklace, or if, worst of all, it's a necklace and love? Would you stay, knowing life would always be a little bit worse? Or would you cut and run?"

Pulling My Hair Out

2007-11-26T19:38:00.000-08:00

Clean clean clean.

Melody and I ACTUALLY cleaned out the office today as well as some of the boxes from the kitchen. And we know where we're gonna put other things... kinda. Like the different stands, my Espresso machines, etc.

Took a look at a puppy today. I want a girl dog. It was a boy dog. Boys are bad. Anyone who's a girl knows that...

I want to drag the desk into the office... tchao.

Hitman (The Movie)

2007-11-25T21:33:00.000-08:00

While Bethany and I waited in line at Circuit City during Black Friday, Mike and I were busily making plans for Friday evening. Plans? Hitman.

Needless to say, I wasn't thrilled. His quick text explanations more confused with each additional message, and "video game" wasn't sounding like much of a plot. Or very interesting. I thrive on plot.

Surprisingly, it was good. I'll outline the beginning because I'm too tired to do all of it...

The story starts out with several young boys getting their heads shaved, and getting bar codes tattooed into their heads. They're all trying not to cry. Each boy is white, and they're all wearing white. The rooms are white, and all the people in the room are wearing white. I immediately thought "cult."

Later, the boys were walking down the hall in 2 straight lines. Like "Madeline," but there was no trouble-making Madeline to make it fun. Troublemakers were disciplined. Some... punished by death. By their own "classmates."

Imagine coming home, into your office, putting your gun on a table, and tripping over a body. You swear, turn the light up, and there, sitting in front of you is a man you've been tracking for the last three years - whom you thought you had three months ago. He tells you you have a nice family, and assures you that they're safe. And then, he asks you if you think you're a good man. You say yes, of course, and then he reminds you that you've killed people. You agree.

Then he asks you a question that he says will determine if you will live or if you will die, "How do you determine whether or not you should kill a good man?"

Happy Thanksgiving!

2007-11-22T11:43:00.000-08:00

I love traditions, even if they're not really traditions.

Every Thanksgiving from high school on, I have spent the night at Bethany's house (except the year I was in Paris), and then, the next day, we've gone to the Turkey Bowl.

Last night was no exception. Slurpee run, movie accompanied by work, a walk, another movie, and sleep. Turkey Bowl in the morning.

Traditions have a comfort in them, even if they're odd traditions.

Best quote from the Turkey Bowl this morning, "Bethany, you look like a Smurf!"
That quote, in and of itself is hilarious, but the thing that got me laughing: she was wrapped in a red blanket.

Congratulations, Drewie!

The Butler Did It

2007-11-17T04:23:00.000-08:00

It has been busy. Even so, Melody and I were able to go and see "The Butler Did It" at Grace with Celi yesterday.

I love Grace plays, normally, but I really wasn't a fan of last night's play. In my opinion, it wasn't at the normal caliber I've come to expect of Grace Plays. And that's not because of the acting. The acting was fantastic. The play itself was just really over-the-top cheesy. Funny, yes. Quite a lot of it was funny, but it just wasn't amazing. My favorite character was, hands down, Chastity (or was it Charity) Haze... not really sure on the last name's spelling, but she was great. The other characters all annoyed me to a certain degree.

That's not that it was terrible. The scenes were amazing, the set-up was adorable, a lot of the way they did things was fantastic. As I said, the acting was marvelous... the play was just too full of cheese. Or something.

whew

2007-11-06T12:38:00.000-08:00

It has been an incredibly long week. I'm writing for some new blogs for work!
www.famezee.com: celebrity gossip blog
www.celebzee.com: a look at the positive things celebrities are doing
www.hottogs.com: Hot and trendy things in the world of fashion
www.popsofa.com: a combination of hottogs and famezee
www.tenfootsquare.com: a travel blog
tv.popcrunch.com: a look at different television shows

I'm doing a lot of work. But I like it, so that's good, right?

And now, I need to decide where I'm going with the Novel...

Halloween

2007-11-01T05:11:00.000-07:00

Halloween was, sadly, rather uneventful. We had one child, a cute little boy dressed as Superman, come to our door.

This was probably only sad because Melody and I, despite ourselves, were actually prepared. We had 6 mice, 4 bags of candy, 2 spiderwebs (complete with spiders), 2 gargoyles, 2 costumes, and one (amazing) candy bowl.

But, had we not been prepared, it's very possible we would have children.

Nanowrimo starts today!!! I can't wait to get started!!!!! I want to get some work done, first. Today's goal: 3,000 words.

Close to finishing!!

2007-10-29T20:55:00.000-07:00

The living room is painted!

Okay, so that's a lie. But half of it is. And that half looks amazing.

There's something amazing about having a clean area to live in, not-white-walls, and floor space.

And today the couch arrived. At first, I wasn't liking the way the colors went together, but now (with the sun hitting it differently, perhaps), I like it just fine.

Clearly, we have to finish painting today. And cleaning. Yes, it would also be good to finish cleaning.

When the couch guy came with the couch, he flattered me with, "You
have such a little voice. I thought you were about five when you answered the phone."

Gee, thanks, buddy.

Then, the other guy says, "I bet it happens all the time."

And then the first guy says, "So people tell you all the time that you sound like your four, huh?" Doh.

Top Ten Best Ways to Stay Awake Driving

2007-10-27T11:27:00.000-07:00

10. Daydream. This works until your daydreams start putting you to sleep. Sleeping while driving is bad.

9. Talk to yourself. Or sing. This works well, but you might feel dumb. Other drivers - with people in their car - might look at you funny.

8. Call people and force them to talk to you. This only works if people answer. You look less odd.

7. Splash water in your face. It feels amazing, and it wakes you up. Drinking water also wakes you up, especially cold water.

6. Ice cream. McDonalds, Dairy Queen, the bars from gas stations, anything will do. Instant sugar. It kinda wakes the body up because of the cold. It's a quick thing, though.

5. Coffee. Or espresso. Chug it! Or drink it slowly... savoring is best. Those buggers are expensive.

4. Apples. They have the sugar of coffee and ice cream, but they take longer for your body to digest because of the fiber, and they're healthy.

3. Cold air. Just turn on the air or roll the window down. The problem is when you get cold and wanna turn the heat on. That'll put you right back to sleep, I promise.

2. LOUD music. Combined with cold air and coffee or apples, this is amazing.

And number one is:

1. Imagine how satisfying it would be to punch/kick/beat up someone you're mad at... or detest. This works unless your forceful punches make you shake the car. And then the terror of going off the road wakes you up. You win both ways!

What do you mean "No Connection Available?"

2007-10-25T06:41:00.000-07:00

Sitting in Starbucks this morning, I had no connection (to the internet) for several minutes. Normally, that ticks me off (just ask Melody). Today, though, I was okay with it, and started going through my files for stories/articles that I could revise or finish.

I stumbled across one that made me laugh, mostly because I remember exactly how I felt. I called it "The Herding Mentality." It's a story about the first time I saw - as in saw in person, REALLY saw - the Eiffel Tower. It made me laugh because I'm a dork. And maybe it will make you laugh, too.

The Herding Mentality

Our first night in Paris, Sarah and I caught a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. I think we stared at it, open-mouthed, for five minutes, before either of us breathed. Maybe not quite so long. In any case, it stood, only miles away from us, lit up like gold. We both gasped when it began to sparkle.

That remains my image of the Eiffel Tower, lit up in gold, with bright blue sparkles dotting the length of it, while the spotlight spins around, illuminating the sky.

Days later, Sarah and I paid our respects to the Tower. We’d visited it during the day, but it wasn’t until early evening of our last day that we climbed it.

It was still quite light when we stood in line, but, to my disgust, the line barely crawled. We waited for the elevator. We waited on the next floor for the next elevator. To add insult to injury, while others wandered freely, we were forced to stand in a single-file line, waiting for the poky elevator.

And to my utter humiliation, in my disgust (I hate lines), I cried out to Sarah, “I feel like a sheep!”

I can still see the expression on Sarah’s face while she waited for me to register what I’d just said. I don’t recall if she laughed or not; she probably did. After a moment, in a vain attempt to (unsuccessfully) regain my dignity, I added, “Well I do!”

To my relief, the elevator door opened soon after. We climbed slo-o-owly up the Tower. And at the top, there we were, finally. Finally, at the top of the Eiffel Tower, the top of Paris… the world spread beneath our feet.

Power outage

2007-10-19T12:29:00.000-07:00

The electricity went out last night. I love when that happens. For a lack of options, Melody and I lit almost all of the candles we could find in the house. It immediately made me want to write. There's just something about writing by candlelight that's so.... enticing. The candle's glow casts a spell over me that just makes me want to write... four hours if I could.

I think it has a similar effect on Melody. She pulled out my camera (her batteries were dead), and started taking pictures.

Maybe it's the aura. Or the silence. In this day and age, we so rarely have silence. There's the tv, or the radio, or car horns honking, or the sound of keys clicking away on a computer.

Last night, the sounds were... much more natural: the sound of the rain hitting the windows, or the sound of the distant thunder. The whisper of the wind through the trees, and the splash of the rain as the drops hit the tree's branches, or the sound of a puddle forming outside on the road.

Of course, there was the sound of my pen on the paper, and clicking of the camera, but I'm not sure those count.

And while I think Melody wanted the electricity to return (okay, I know she did), but I was thoroughly enjoying the relative novelty of the situation.

And then, my cell phone rang, thus breaking the spell.

A Mess of Events

2007-10-13T18:37:00.000-07:00

I should be working right now. Well, I am working right now... just taking a short break. I love working from home.

In any case, that's not exactly what I wanted to write about. Yesterday, after a nice date with Mike, I pulled a me. In other words, I managed to forget my house keys, and my car keys, leaving them in the house. What do I do? Well, there's not much TO do. I called Melody. Repeatedly.

Melody sleeps like the dead. I wanted to leave a message telling her that, but didn't. No point. I just called. Over and over and over. Mike kept telling me she left her phone downstairs or turned it off. I insisted he was wrong, and that it was near her. He right. I hate that.

At one point, I thought to myself that it was highly probable that I left the spare keys in the car. Neither Mike nor I know anything - ANYthing - about breaking into cars, but that's okay. My mom's car has one of those keycode things. So, while calling Melody, we tried that.

Problem? I haven't the slightest idea what the code could be, how many numbers it is, or anything else. We tried different combinations to no avail. Unless, of course, setting off the "thief" alert thing counts. Fortunately, it didn't beep, but if it had, that might have woken up Melody. And the rest of the neighborhood.

Then I had the bright idea to call my brother. Ken was the last one to live with my parents, he actually understands cars (comparatively speaking), he might know the code. Mike laughed at me because I kept changing between saying, "Please be awake" to "Please don't be on duty."

My poor little brother was sound asleep, "Wh...wha...what do you want?"
After a few minutes, I determined that he didn't know either. So, we tried calling Melody again. And then we tried Cheryl. A boy answered her phone. Friend's boyfriend. Hmph. She didn't know either and I suggested I call mom and dad. I felt horrible, but did it anyway. They didn't know, either. Of course not.

Mike and I each took a door and pounded on it, me in back, him in front. Evidently, that's what actually woke Melody, but I was unaware of that. I walked back in front and told Mike that I'd given up, and asked if he'd drive me to a hotel.

"Hon, you're not going to be able to find a hotel tonight. The Notre Dame game is tomorrow, and it's a home game. It's going to be booked. We'll get you in the house."

Seconds later, we saw Melody's outline behind the door. I was saved!

Thank you, Melody!

fixed water? hah

2007-10-10T14:18:00.000-07:00

Well, here are the latest pictures of our basement. Needless to say, the plumber did NOT fix the problem.

"Love Actually: Focus on Sarah

2007-10-10T10:08:00.000-07:00

I know, I know... I over-watch this film, right? Well, this time it was destiny. As E News finished, I was looking for something else to watch, and what is on, but "Love Actually?" Amazing. Just amazing. And so I decided that the first character I saw would be today's focus. Which is why we're looking at Sarah.

Now, it's a good thing I know this movie so well, or this wouldn't be so good, now would it?

Sarah is a friendly, sweet girl, who can't seem to figure out relationships. She has a brother who is institutionalized for... who knows what. "He's ill," whatever that means.

At her friend's wedding, she confronts Mark, asking if he is in love with him. Good question... wrong person. I don't know if she gets the answer she's expecting or not, but the important thing is that she asked. She understood that Mark is clearly hurting, and so she asked the awkward question so should he want to talk about it, he could.

And then, there is the horribly awkward conversation with her boss, Harry. I don't know about you, but if my boss were to ask me how long I'd been in love with a coworker, I'd want to sink through the floor.

Sarah has a similar reaction, but for one thing: she answers the question. She is rather shocked when Harry then suggests that she ask him out, then "casually drop into the conversation that you'd like to have lots of sex and babies."
"You know that?"
"Yes, I know that. Everybody knows that. Even Karl." Poor girl. And then, she thanks him for his advice, still a little stunned and leaves - as in walks the man of her affections. Ouch...

I came in as Sarah was sitting at work, late, after hours, putting on makeup. Karl walks out, and tells her goodnight. And she repeats the kind words. I can only imagine that her boss's words came to mind... but whether she had any intention of following through with his suggestion, we'll never know, because her phone rang. Her brother. Again. As usual.

A "concerned" Harry asks about the matchmaking plan, but agrees when Sarah explains she's gone goose egg (chickened out), and it's a good thing, because he's too good for her. I think his reaction is more to encourage her to do it than to be truly cruel. But her phone rings while they're playfully hitting one another with pieces of paper. Her brother. Again. As usual.

Oh, and you have to love her. Karl asks her to dance at the company Christmas party and the girl completely chokes, "Who, me?" He starts to back off, and then she fixes it. Fortunately, Harry's wife, who she's been talking to, has the foresight to take her drink so she doesn't have to worry about it any longer.

As they step out on the dance floor, the song, originally a fun dance song, turns to a slow dance song. And they dance happily in one another's arms.

Karl drives her home, and then, after a few awkward moments and some passionate kissing, Sarah invites him in. We all know they intend to have sex. Just as Harry encouraged her.

Funny insert: Karl, who is incredibly handsome is standing in his underwear by her bed, and one of the first times I watched this, my then-roommate (Portuguese, Euridice) and I were discussing how I think men in tuxes were hot. She was non-commital, and then, in this scene she turns to me and said, "Yes. He's hot. You can know because in a tux anyone is hot. But in your underwear it's just you and your underwear." Well, there is that.

In any case, just as Karl and Sarah look like they might actually be getting somewhere... the phone rings. Now, I don't want to encourage them to have sex... but she knows who's calling!!! Don't answer the phone! For goodness sakes DON'T DO IT!

But Sarah must be a nicer person than I, because she answers the phone. And it's her brother. Of course. As usual. She's off quickly, and she's left with a hot almost-naked man in her bed. Now what? The phone rings. Again. Of course. And she answers it. And it's her brother. Again. Of course. And she tells her brother that she's not busy, and agrees to go to see him.

While Sarah's sitting, talking with her brother, I can only think about what she's given up for the brother who loves her, but is never going to fulfill her. And I can't help but feel sorry for her.

Later, Sarah and Karl have one last goodbye and Merry Christmas... and threw her tears, Sarah calls her brother.

This movie doesn't end with a predictably happy ending for Sarah. And I think that's one of the charms of this film. Not everyone gets a happy ending. "Love Actually" shows love in all of its forms... love unreturned, love unfinished, love broken, sweet love, patient love, surprising...love(?),and love triumphant, too. And that's pretty cool.

(Off the subject: we have hot water!!!!)

New Water Pictures

2007-10-09T17:18:00.000-07:00

I meant to update much earlier, but my computer was running slowly... among other things.
In any case, here are the water pictures from this morning:

The good news is that I spoke with the home warranty people today and they're sending someone out tomorrow between noon and one!
Hurray!

Now, I'm smart enough to know that they'll probably not be here until... say 2, but there's always a chance that it'll happen, right?

Yeah, the water's pretty bad, now isn't it? I guess the idea is to NOT use the hot water until then.

I hate waiting.

And I really really hate not having hot water.

This is ridiculous.

More pics of the house

2007-10-08T12:45:00.000-07:00

I hate Fed Ex, and from now on I will be using only UPS. More on that later, once I know the results of tonight's conversation.

In the meantime, I will honor my father's request for pictures of the house. Here are some pics posted a few days ago, and here are some from the day I bought the house.

The dagger I bought at RenFest

And then there are the latest pics.

my bedroom so far...

A peek into the guest bedroom

Bear in mind that the house is still a mess as we are in the middle of unpacking and have been hindered by our recent plumbing problems. Yes, there are basement pics, too.

Clearly, the washer and dryer

So, if anyone has any advice as per whom to hire, what to look at, or how to fix it, it would be worth it.

water in the basement

"Water, water, everywhere..."

2007-10-03T19:50:00.000-07:00

The plumber came today! We had hot water!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I said had. Why "had" you ask? Well, "had" is because of the short-lived nature of our hot water. Melody and I returned from our coffee run tonight (yay coffee in Nappanee), and when we returned home, it was to the alarming sound of the basement's fire alarm. Oh yes. Hot water. Everywhere. "Water, water, everywhere, and all the boards did shrink. Water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink."

We turned off the pipes. Of course, the basement's puddled, and moist and humid and, well, wet, and now, we no longer have hot water to the house. I called the plumber. If he'd come tonight: 140/hr and 75 for labor/driving out. I don't think so. However, he did confirm how to turn off things, and was soundly unhelpful. Needless to say: I'm not thrilled.

Thank you, Melody, for thinking of bringing out a nice, cold one. And thank you, Ryan, for teaching me how to chug beer. Even if I'm not going to. It's funny how something as nasty as beer can make you feel better. I was telling Mike the other day that Ice Cream does that... but somehow beer does, too.

To cheer me up, though, here's what one idiot customer said to me today. "Is your guys's layaway gone?" Just say that with a hick accent, and half your teeth missing, and you pretty much know what I was up against. Guys's. Erg. One more day. "One day more..."

Funny, in "That Seventies Show", Fezz has his shirt off - and he doesn't look half bad.

Wish List

2007-10-02T14:40:00.000-07:00

Because my birthday was a few days ago and my parents (mom) and my sister keep asking, here's a short wish list:

1- Gas money so I can go visit Melissa!
2- Cool writing pens like these at Barnes and Noble that I always look at longingly
3- Shopping Spree!!!
4- Espresso Machine, need I say more?
5- Stephanie Plum books by Janet Evanovich (I have 1-6, so say any 7-13)
6- Dave Duncan "A Man of His Word" Series, (includes "The Magic Casement", "Faerie Lands Forlorn", etc)
7- Anything by Patricia A McKillip
8- Cute Shoes!
9- Games: an extension pack to my Fairy Tale Game
10- Smallville Season 6
11- Scrubs Season 1 (well, any season, really, but one seems like the logical place to start)

Oh, and to my Euridice-roomie: it was good talking to you today! And as soon as I have pics I'll post them. Or email them to you.

Bits and Pieces

Candlelight

Go Cubs

Stress-Free Writing

When is "Enough" Enough?

Puppy Owie.

Mystery of the Sugar Cookies

First In, Last Out

Hard Drive Needed; Please Replace Brain

Tears

Special Interruption

Cruise Update: Key West, Florida

10 Days and Counting to Cozumel

Am I Dating Whom?

Paintballing Miltary-Style As a Civilian

Masquerade

Stupid strikes again

Dear Mr. Obama

Good Bye-Scary

"Maybe Baby Daddy"

Everything's Broken and a Baby Will Be Born

Cell Phone Dead

Getting What We Want: Not All It's Cracked Up to Be

Broken Toilet

Early Morning Disaster Control

Prince Charming?

Creativity Down the Drain

Guns No Longer Banned... In Chicago

Fireflies and Lost Opportunities

Is Courage Lost?

Tears

What is a Writer?

The Subtleties of War

The Big Kaboom

Some Assembly Required.

SCRUBS

Pictures of Ali and the Backyard

Give Me My Money Back!!!!

John Grisham's "The Innocent Man"

Incompetence Anyone?

American Idol Gives Back: Appropriate Closing Song? And The Saddest Good-bye Ever

Pregnant Man or TV Scam?

Friday Night Drinks

Taxes Come But Once a Year

La Deuxieme Jour de Printemps... And there's Four Inches of Snow Outside

Don't Blare Your Music Or You'll Be Fined

You Know You're (A Student) In Paris When...

You Know You're In Paris When...

Thinking in French

Speaking Louder Than We Have To

Mortgages Suck

The Curse of Looking and Sounding Young

Car Shopping And Numbers: The Culmination Of the Things I Hate Most

I Can't Sleep

Out With the Old, On With the New

Goshen, Indiana: Problems and Frustrations

The 2008 Chicago Auto Show

The Miracle of the Spray Bottle

Kingston Falls: Making a Video For MTV

About Valentine's Day: A Guide For Guys To Valentine's Day

Shoveling the Snow

Shipshewana Pajama Sale

Get Your Own Drink 'Cuz, Baby, This Chai Is MINE

Relationships And the Crazy Way They Change

Equality and Lowering the Bar

Four Reasons to Oppose Universal Health Care

I Hate Geico Insurance

October 20th

The Long-Reaching Effects of Pandora's Pretty Box

Happy New Year!!

Cigarette Lighters: Buyer Over 18

Ali and The Boys

Christmas Eve Broadcast from the Apollo 8 in 1968

Hilary Clinton and Universal Health Care

The Puppy

Courage And Words

*Long sigh* Yep, that was my weekend

A Rather Long Ramble

French and Star Trek

Buying a Puppy

Long sigh Yep, that was my weekend