An Ordinary Life

It Takes a Thief

2012-02-13T17:29:00.000-05:00

I had the cloth laying on the work table in my junior high school Home Ec class when Sue announced to the teacher that she was missing her seam ripper.

For you men, a seam ripper is exactly what it sounds like. If you inadvertently sew the seam of the fabric incorrectly, you use the seam ripper to take out the stitches. It's among the required tools of a Home Ec class along with scissors and a tape measure.

As you can imagine, there's not a great deal of technology involved in a seam ripper. Not that the word, "technology" even existed in our vocabulary back then. Thus all seam rippers were identical in the class.

Just after Sue reported her loss, she walked past my table and said, "MY seam ripper looked just like THAT."

If I hadn't been a kid I might have said, "No shit, Sherlock". Everyone's seam ripper looked just "like that".

But I was a quiet kid back then. I know. It's hard to imagine now. Personally, this is one area I do thank my brother Mark (aka CnC) for helping me to develop. I'm sure this was not his intention though.

So I explained to Sue this was my seam ripper. She glared at me, knowing that I had stolen her 99 cent seam ripper while failing to notice the other 20 girls in the class also had HER seam ripper.

But throughout the semester there seemed to actually be a lot of missing items. Not just Sue's but other people's things also. Of course I would get the evil eye from Sue every time something came up missing.

One day I was pinning the pattern to my fabric when someone could not locate their scissors.

With that announcement, Sue walked right over to my table, threw back the fabric and I'll be damned if those missing scissors weren't right there under my fabric. I could feel my face turning beet red as if I had really tried to steal someone's scissors.

I suppose this is how some innocent people end up on death row.

I saw Sue's name on someone's Facebook friend list yesterday. Luckily, I am incognito on Facebook but I knew that to this day she probably still believes I was the Home Ec thief. Thank goodness the statute of limitations should have expired by now.

Caution: DO NOT Google images of a woman in handcuffs on a work computer.

Bacon Rights

2012-02-10T18:08:00.003-05:00

The Obama administration today announced that all hospitals will be required to offer bacon and other pork products on their menus.

The mandate includes Islamic and Jewish hospitals.

Kathleen Sebelius, the Secretary of Health and Human Services, announced that this mandate was in no manner an infringement of religious freedoms, but simply providing fair services for pro-pork advocates that have been the victims of discrimination.

When asked about the mandate, the Detroit Director of the ACLU applauded the mandate stating that the pork producers had been suffering unimaginable losses by hospitals that believed they should not have to provide free pork products for all their patients stating, "Pro-pork advocates have been unfairly targeted by the Islamic and Jewish hospitals long enough."

The activist group, Code Pink Ham has also been protesting in front of Jewish Deli's across the nation demanding they serve ham to the disadvantaged pro-pork victims. It's been rumored that mandate will follow shortly.

A lone wingnut Congressman, who asked not be to identified, wondered aloud, "I might actually have to finally read the Constitution, but I was almost sure there was freedom of religion in there somewhere."

You Get What You Incent

2012-02-09T21:51:00.002-05:00

I watched this video at Joan's a couple of months ago. It'll be the most entertaining and educational video you've watched in a long time.

Why be responsible when it's more profitable to be supported by the government?

Let the Tailgating BEGIN

2012-02-05T10:52:00.001-05:00

Party at my house.

Super Indy

2012-02-01T17:12:00.004-05:00

Of course it would have been much more fun if Peyton and the Colts had been in better health and playing in the Super Bowl.

But....

Unless you live here, you cannot imagine just HOW crazy Indianapolis is right now with all the festivities during this Super Bowl week. An interesting little fact, never before has a Super Bowl been played in a city where everyone, all the teams, all the media and all the fans AND the game were held all within one city limits.

My brother and I visited downtown Indy on Monday. Thank goodness we went early in the week. The crowds are picking up and unfortunately the idiotic unions are protesting Right To Work as we speak right in the middle of Super Bowl Village. If they think they are going to garner sympathy with this ploy, they are sadly mistaken.

Thankfully we are being blessed with way above normal temps this week also, so there will be no nasty ice storms or 10 inches of snow to deal with either.

Forrest Lucas gambled $121MM for 20 year naming rights for Lucas Oil Stadium back in 2006. A 30 second ad during the game cost $2.5MM. Lucas calculated the cost IF Indianapolis was awarded the Super Bowl and knowing that the entire game would bear his name along with every regular season game held at home and gambled that Indy would get the Super Bowl and thereby get a big bang for his marketing dollar. Homeland Security is saying this weekend, the stadium will have as much security as the White House.

A few years back, an Indianapolis businessman went bankrupt. His $35MM estate was part of the bankruptcy. It sat empty for years until Forrest Lucas bought himself another bargain for $3MM not to live in, but as a place to share with other corporate executives and special guests.

Once Indianapolis was awarded the 2012 Super Bowl, JW Marriott built their largest hotel in the world just a few blocks away from Lucas Oil Stadium.

Indy has been preparing downtown for a couple years now and all the surrounding interstates.

Now all the prep is done and we are in full blown Super Bowl week here. The daytime crowds are getting larger and larger and the nighttime crowds are something I do not want to be in the middle of.

They've blocked off several streets and made them into a walking village with concert stages, large TV screens, kids activities and a zip line.

Don't forget to watch our town on Sunday. OH, and there's a football game on too.

Monument Circle

So warm the ice sculptures were melting

Not Rocky

The Zip Line

Union Station - Owners and Corporate Executives $700 daily hangout. Not hotel rooms, but daytime activities BUT food and drinks are included.

Peyton's New Job

The crowds - HEY! Who's that guy with the Colts sweatshirt?

When I Was Little

2012-01-29T16:08:00.000-05:00

My brother used to love making me cry. Apparently he can still manage to do that.

Ground Control to Major Tom

2012-01-26T22:44:00.000-05:00

As I was getting dressed this morning I noticed my eyes felt like they had spent too many hours looking online or staring at an optical illusion.

So I switched outfits to run off to the grocery store.

As I stepped out and realized the weather was not quite as sunny to match my couture, so I changed once again.

But then my colon started acting up and I changed once again.

But then, I remembered back in the 70's when people started decorating their living rooms with clocks made out of a tree section and plastic beer holders stapled together.

So I decided on a retro look.

But then I decided I would rather not look like from Michael Jackson designer freak strung out on a three day crack high.

Why in the world does ANYONE pay someone to design such stupid outfits that are never worn anywhere but their self-indulgent egos walkways?

Give me a break.

Here's my idea of being dressed up.

(And yes, I do realize I am about 25 years past this look. )

Words From a True Lady

2012-01-22T21:59:00.001-05:00

God Bless this fine lady.

Did You Ever See Such a Sight in Your Life

2012-01-19T20:25:00.004-05:00

I"m struck between a 100 things to post and nothing. So I picked something in between.

Have you ever just been quickly browsing through some of your old pics and found so many that you have completely forgotten about?

I decided to grab a random pic and this is what I found.

The muscles are real, the knife is not.

This guy was my good buddy that I worked with several years ago. He liked to call me his mom. Obviously this was not his normal work attire. As part of our team's Halloween costumes, he was the farmer's wife to our three blind mice. Ya gotta love a man that will toss on a dress and a wig for part of the Halloween fun.

I miss working with him. Great guy.

Got a random pic to share?

Time to Vote - No Write in Candidates

2012-01-10T23:34:00.002-05:00

Here's your chance.

Our state rarely makes much of a difference in decided who ACTUALLY will run for President, but here's your chance with the current field.

Rank them and indicate what you find good about them and what you do not like. Then rank your winner against Obama.

And lastly. Add in someone in the field that decided not to run that you think would have been the PERFECT person to run and win.

I'll list in alphabetical order just in case someone might not be paying attention to the real candidates.

Newt Gingrich
Jon Huntsman
Ron Paul
Rick Perry
Mitt Romney
Rick Santorum

And then would (if they could) win against Obama.

Now, who would have been your ideal candidate. (I mean OTHER than me, of course.)

Cool Coincidence

2012-01-09T21:21:00.001-05:00

And yes, I believe it's a coincidence, but it IS very cool.

You can argue, of course everyone DOES, whether Tim Tebow is showboating or just honoring his faith. I believe he more likely draws criticism from the media elite because he takes a pro-life stance.

In either case, you might have seen the strange statistics today about last night's game.

He threw 316 yard against the Steelers yesterday.

Averaging 31.6 per pass.

With a 31.6 million OT viewing audience.

Go Tebow.

Hope you're playing here in 27 days. Well, since we know Peyton's out. :(

“For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life.”

John 3:16

The Greatest Conspiracy

2012-01-07T09:51:00.003-05:00

The government......has issued a proclamation asking the people to be patient and put up with hardships just a little longer.......... to raise everybody's standard of living and provide a roast of pork every Sunday for every man, woman, child and abortion in the People's State of America.

Now the planners are asking people not to blame the government, but to blame the depravity of the rich.

OK, I'll fess up. I didn't write that. Well, I typed it, but I didn't write it. And I changed the word in italics.

But someone, anyone PLEASE explain to me how those words were written in 1957.

It's a conspiracy. A grand conspiracy, I tell you. Either that or the author was our first evidence of a time traveler.

Please, By All Means, Read Me Your Resume

2012-01-05T10:44:00.011-05:00

I'm easily impressed.

Really. I wouldn't just say that if it weren't true.

When I was a young kid working as an internal auditor full time and taking my first couple of accounting classes, I can't tell you how impressed I was by the CPA in the office.

The bank had received $30k as restitution from an embezzler. When I asked the Controller why he had booked the money into investment income he responded, "I'm a CPA. I'm a CPA."

Seriously. That's what he told me. Maybe I was just a cocky kid, but that explanation didn't exactly fly with me, especially since I was the person who discovered the embezzler.

Several years ago, I directed the Internal Audit department of a bank holding company which owned a mortgage company. Loans held for sale were marked to market. Simply meaning that you estimated the days to sale and the price you might sell each loan. The calculation was a little complex, but certainly not rocket science.

The running joke among the executives involved the senior manager that was responsible for the calculation. CEO, "I talked to Eric today". CFO, "Did you understand anything he said?" CEO, "No."

I was responsible for conducting the audit of the mark-to-market. It really was simple mathematics, but the gentlemen just loved taking 12 left turns and one right to walk across the street. When I would ask him a question regarding a calculation, he told me he was a math major.

About five years ago when I started as an independent project management consultant, I scheduled a conference call with the third-party project manager to go over the project plan that had been developed a couple of months before I started.

At the beginning of the call, the outside PM started off introducing himself by telling me he was a PMP, Six Sigma, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. When he took a breath, I replied in as friendly a tone as possible, "That's nice. I'm not. Now can we go over the project plan?"

Interestingly enough, the most intelligent guy at the company the CIO, always boiled things down to the simplest solution. When going over tasks, he only wanted to know one thing. Done or Not Done? And when all chaos would reign around, he could quickly throw out all of the overwhelming issues to just concentrate the team on the top priority.

Remember the movie, Apollo 13?

"Calm down people, Calm down. work the problem." Once you boil it down to dealing with the top priority first, then recreating the universe doesn't look so overwhelming.

This is the reason I like guys like Chris Christie. I may not necessarily agree with every political position he might support, but there is something refreshing about people who are intelligent, yet can express their position clearly, without all the bull.

Unless I am conducting a job interview, I really don't care about your resume. And I am not particularly impressed when anyone tries to express themselves by attempting to get their point across using an inordinate amount of words when a couple will do.

I would have loved to have studied psychology, but Psych 101 taught me one thing. I would never be able to endure the arrogance of the professors who thought they got paid by the word.

I remember when the Prof got through rattling on for about 20 minutes in one class, the guy next to me asked, "What did he just say?"

I said, "He said drinking alcohol affects the motor skills."

The professor wasted 20 minutes of my life that I will never get back to not only state the obvious, he wasted his own time waxing on with 3,500 words when six would have been sufficient.

After spending too much time reading or listening to people who simply must express themselves in overly pretentious words or hurling insults at anyone who might disagree with them, I begin to feel like I'm sitting next to Charlie Brown listening to his teacher saying, "Waaa, waaa, waaa, waaa."

Want to impress me, take a complex issue and state it simply. Not because I need some concept "dumbed down" for me, but simply because spouting on endlessly wastes my time.

As do those who ruin someone else's blog by creating numerous online persona and overtaking the discussion.

The Green Generation

2012-01-03T20:16:00.004-05:00

I don't normally post from an internet story, but this one was so true I couldn't resist. Ok, not my words, (I've added mine in red) but certainly what is accurate....

Checking out at the grocery store recently, the young cashier suggested I should bring my own grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment. I apologized and explained, "We didn't have this green thing back in my earlier days." The clerk responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations."

She was right about one thing -- our generation didn't have the green thing in “Our” day. So what did we have back then…? After some reflection and soul-searching on "Our" day here's what I remembered we did have.... Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles repeatedly. So they really were recycled.

And we left with our groceries in paper bags, you know the B I O D E G R A D A B L E kind?

But we didn't have the green thing back in our day. We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks. But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.

Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days.

Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing. But that young lady is right. We didn't have the green thing back in our day.

When we turned 18, we likely got some clothes or some money, we didn't get a financed trip to the plastic surgeon to buy some Barbie Doll boobs making us all look like a relative of Dolly Parton. Our mothers and grandmothers faces and breasts fell as God intended them too. They didn't have them drawn back, pushed up and their lips implanted to make themselves looks some cartoon character like this.

Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana.

In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.

We had stray mutts as our pets, not some designer dog born in a disgusting puppy mill paying hundreds or even thousands of dollars feeding an industry that should never have been created to begin with.

Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity. But she's right. We didn't have the green thing back then.

Neither our house, school or family car had air conditioning, which forced us outside in the hot summer and kept us from being obese children playing tag, hide and seek and climbing trees.

Our schools were just schools. They didn't have swimming pools and NFL type football fields. Our football fields were just FIELDS with a few bleachers lined up on the sides. They were the same fields that we used to play field hockey in summer school.

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty or the garden hose in the summer instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water.

We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull. But we didn't have the green thing back then. Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus, and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service.

We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.

But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back then?

Another Year Gone By

2011-12-31T13:50:00.000-05:00

And of course we ALL say it, don't we? Why is it when we're young, days and weeks just drag but as we get older we watch as the years fly by.

I wish everyone the best of 2012.

May we all keep our health and our loved ones close.

May we all find more to laugh about than to cry.

May we all find our friends when we're deliriously happy and have them at our side when we're not.

May we all live every day in the new leap year as if it could be our last.

May we all cherish the laughter of the babies and children and savor their innocence.

May we all remember each day to appreciate the freedoms bought by the blood of our soldiers

May we all remember each day to thank the Lord for our salvation bought by the blood of Jesus.

Happy New Year my friends.

The Snobs at Riverside

2011-12-30T21:05:00.002-05:00

Cinnamon and sugar with only a slight bit of crunch before the cookie breaks away to it's sweet soft-i-ness.

I know of no one that doesn't love a fresh baked snicker doodle cookie.

More than forty years after that memorable phone call, I cannot eat, see or even hear of a snicker doodle that does not bring me back to that day.

The carrot had been dangled in front of us young girls long before we were given the assignment.

I mean, what is more American Pie than a 4H Club? Isn't that the epitome of rural America? Young kids join the 4H, they are encouraged by the selfless volunteer mothers to join in a club and then to create some entry into a local county competition of a prized steer or photography or gardening or......cookies.

Even in my rural community, there was some expectations of little girls in clubs like 4H or the Girl Scouts. Their parents had to buy the uniforms. Now in today's society, that doesn't sound like much of a stretch, does it?

Back in the late '60s, with four kids in school, purchasing a silly Girl Scouts uniform was just simply not in my parents' budget. So I, more or less seemed to have "flunked out" of the Girl Scouts. I just remember attending a couple of the meetings, which was difficult when my mother worked and wasn't able to drive me to the after school meetings and I felt out of place, sitting there among the girls all proudly outfitted in their fancy Girl Scout uniforms.

And in my mind, I cannot separate the Girl Scout meetings from the 4H meetings, except for the cookies.

Before the days of King's Island and Disney World, amusement parks were few and far between. But Indianapolis had a memorable one. Riverside Park.

At least it's memorable for me, because I cannot ever remember going there.

As part of the annual 4H county fairs, kids of all ages are encouraged to take part, leaving them with a sense of accomplishment and fun. I have a dear friend whose entire family participates, their kids, nieces and nephews spend an entire week camping out among the animals, the mothers even taking Grand Champion ribbons in the cake decorating or present wrapping contests.

But back in the late 60s, the 4H kids were led by the moms who had the convenience of being able to spend a great deal of time at the school.

Which, in my little world, meant families who had more money than we did.   They were the same parents of the cheerleader girls, the one's who were popular. The ones the boys liked. The ones who seemed to rule the world. Even if that world was some tiny speck of a dot in the middle of America that meant nothing to anyone else. They ruled.

And the mothers lived vicariously through their precious little daughters, not unlike the ones you see if you catch a 30 second glimpse of Toddlers and Tiaras.

Thank you Mom, for NEVER being one of those.

But I didn't understand that back then.

I understood that I just did not fit in.

Early in the spring, the 4H mothers told us the club would all go on a trip to Riverside Amusement Park.   An amusement park!   An entire day at an amusement park was something a little girl could not even imagine.

Of course the 4H was and is today, known for the county fairs. The fun competitions, the bringing together the families. Everyone was expected to participate in the fair.

So I decided I would enter the 4H contest for cookies. I can still remember making them in the kitchen with my mom. Roll the dough in a small ball, run them through the cinnamon and sugar mixture and press the balls onto the cookie sheets with the bottom of a glass. I'm sure we ate more than the number of cookies I had ready for the county fair entries.

Since we knew the day at Riverside would require some additional money, my parents told me that if I picked the green beans in the garden, they would give me five dollars for spending money to enjoy my day with the other little girls.   I picked a LOT of beans to earn that money.

But when I attempted to submit my baking creation, I was told that snicker doodles were not an acceptable entry. The category was "Drop Cookies". As an 8-year-old, I had no clue what they were talking about. But I quickly discovered that by forming the little round balls of dough and flattening them into that wonderful cinnamony-sugery goodness, the cookies were not just dropped onto the sheet, so they could not be entered into the county fair.

Well, okay, so we ate them instead.

But a few weeks later, the telephone rang and someone called me to the phone. Unlike today where every kid has access to phones and computers, kids did not get called at home.

I picked up the receiver and listened to Mrs. Bodine, the 4H mother. I can still hear that woman's voice ringing in my ear.

"Rita, the GIRL'S HAVE DECIDED at the last meeting that you did NOT attend, that ANYONE who did NOT enter the county fair contest would NOT be allowed to go to Riverside."

Up until that moment, the trip to Riverside had never been connected to the entry into the county fair. But supposedly a group of 8-year-olds all voted at a meeting that the two were connected and that some girls would not be invited. Yeah, you believe that, don't you?

On behalf of my little-girl-self here, I'd like to stop for a minute and think about this from an adult viewpoint.

............... OK, one more second.....................................

I'm trying to picture myself as if I'm Mrs. Bodine.

...........................................................

..........................................................

Nevermind. I'd like to be nice, but I just can't.

Someone should have bitch-slapped that broad.   Excuse my French.

I'll tell you that as an 8-year-old, I was more forgiving then than I am now. I look back now and I'm infuriated. But as a little girl, I was just heart-broken.  I burst into tears as my entire family stood there looking at me trying to figure out what was wrong.

My parents were not ones like we have today, where the parents rush in and berate the school over some minor infraction. They were ones that believed we should stand on our own. They would never have come our defense if we had been bullies or not respectful of our teachers. They believed in discipline.

But it took several minutes before they could even manage to get out of me why I was crying.

Where normally my parents would have stood back, I can still remember my dad looking at my mom. He said, "Either YOU call her back or I WILL."

The visions of picking those beans and realizing that Riverside was now off the table, I sat crushed in the living room floor while my mom dialed the rotary phone calling back Mrs. Bodine to find out what was going on.

Mom listened more patiently than could be imagined and then I can still hear the words she told Mrs. Bodine before she slammed the phone down on that nasty broad's ear.

"Yeah, well you are all nothing but a bunch of DAMNED SNOBS."

And they were too. And most likely they still are.

A week later, I received an invitation to attend the Riverside day. Back then I only wished I could go, but today I can tell you that I am glad my parents decided that I would never go back to another meeting of the 4H.

And the funny part is that the Bodines were not then nor now actually rich. They were just like the stupid mothers on Toddlers and Tiaras. They get their self-worth from separating themselves from simple little girls so they suddenly become worthy somehow. Hope that tiara looks good on your head, Mrs. Bodine.

How sad for them. Really.

Have a Grumpy Day

2011-12-29T10:38:00.000-05:00

Found this on my nephew's facebook page just now. I can't wait to see his pictures when he gets back. He's an amazing photographer. Has that "artistic eye" that I just lack.

I love this picture. And yes, all rights are reserved.

Wish I Was There

2011-12-27T18:37:00.000-05:00

My nephew just landed in India to spend just a bit of time with his faraway "brother" and family. Indy to NY to Qatar to Ahmedabad is one long trip.

I'm sure there'll be hugs and then most likely some sleep and then on to some amazing sights and sites.

No One Objects to Saying Merry Christmas

2011-12-25T23:39:00.002-05:00

In India.

Just got a wonderful email from my Indian nephew and his wife, both of who are Jain, not Christian. They are just so adorable. They sent a picture of them both dressed in their Santa hats along with this message

Wish you all a Merry Christmas and a peaceful and wonderful New Year! We miss you!

Please convey our Christmas greetings to all the family members.

love,

Signed by them both and my nephew's parents, who "dropped by" to visit last fall. My oldest nephew is heading to India tomorrow for a visit. Unfortunately he will just miss Makar Sankranti or Patang, India's amazing kite festival. I have seen the pictures of this wonderful holiday and it's truly amazing.

So a late Merry Christmas all across the world.

More information on the Indian Kite Festival. Held January 14th. They spend days and weeks creating their kites. They line the strings with a colorful mixture with shards of glass.

The reason:

They fly their kites into other kites and use the glass sharded string to cut their neighbors kite strings.

Several years ago my nephews vacationed in Thailand for Christmas and New Years. When they saw the beautiful fire lanterns, my Indian nephew studied the design and took the tradition "back home" After two years of lighting the lanterns during the night in India, many have now copied the fire lanterns and the kite festival also is celebrated with thousands of fire lanterns.

Oh how I wish I could be in India when they celebrate their kite festival and visit with our "family" from the other side of the earth.

The Spirit of Christmas

2011-12-20T22:04:00.000-05:00

I've been struggling about posting about Christmas this year. Everytime I go to write something, it seems the post starts out fine and slowly moves into becoming a downer post.

Oddly enough, this is the first year in 20 that has not have a lot of drama, so I don't want to approach these last few days celebrating Christ's birth with another "can't wait until it's all over" mood.

Sure there are things that are tough this year, the economy, unemployment, people who are no longer with us and a million other things to make it harder to face another Christmas.

But there is also a story about some "movement" that seems to be spreading across this great land. By now, I'm sure most of you have read it. Approaching half a million dollars has been reported as being paid off on complete strangers layaway orders. And it seems the more press it's getting, the more people are stepping up.

It reminded me of the story I've recounted here of the lady in a white van in front of us in the McDonald's drive through paying for our order when she noticed my niece who was driving was wearing her tiara and veil on our way to her wedding. I think the total of our order was under $10, but that is one of the most memorable parts of that day.

So, if the economy has hit you a little hard this year, but not left you without the ability to pay your bills, think about the car behind you in a drive-through.

Maybe we can continue to pay it forward (or backward at the drive-through).

After shopping and wrapping all the presents, you have to wonder if we should really be celebrating the birth of Christ in the same way we always have.

When we're rushing through our busyness of this wonderous holiday, let us all take some time out to give a complete stranger a smile. Those gestures are remembered long after this season fades from our memory.

Merry Christmas.

Rita

Carry On Santa

2011-12-16T13:06:00.000-05:00

Life After Birth

2011-12-13T16:10:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, there were twin babies that were conceived in the same womb; weeks passed and the twins developed into what they were suppose to be. As their awareness grew, they smiled and laughed for joy - "Isn't it great that we were conceived? Isn't it great that we are alive?! Together the twins explored their small world; finding their mother's cord that gave them life, they sang and leaped for joy again! "How great is our mother's love, that she shares her own life with us!" they sang...

As weeks stretched into months, the twins noticed however that each was changing, growing, getting bigger - "What does this mean?" said one. "I think it means our life in this world is drawing to an end" said the other.

"But I don't want to go, I want to stay here always!!!"

"We have no choice...but maybe there is a life after birth?" said the other. "How can that be?" responded the one." if we shed our life cord how is life possible without it? Besides, we have seen evidence that others have been here before us and none of them have returned to tell us there is life after birth! No, this is the end!!!"
And so they fell into deep despair, both thinking out loud, "If conception ends in birth, what is the purpose of life in the womb? It is meaningless. Maybe there is no mother after all..."

"But there has to be a mother," protested the other. "How else did we get here? How do we remain alive?

But the one could not be consoled, defeatedly whispering "Have you ever seen our Mother? Maybe she only lives in our minds. Maybe we made her up because the idea made us feel good..."

And so their last days in the small womb were filled with deep questioning, and fear.

But soon, the moment they had dreaded finally arrived... And when the twins passed from their small world into the unknown, they opened their eyes and cried -

for what they saw exceeded their greatest dreams...

Author Unknown.

H/T to Things I Know

Amen Colonel Potter. AMEN.

2011-12-07T21:01:00.002-05:00

RIP Harry Morgan

Welcome Chicago

2011-12-05T22:18:00.000-05:00

Apparently the Chicago Mercantile Exchange is considering moving out of Illinois because of the high tax rate and is considering INDIANAPOLIS!!!

This is 1,700 high-paying positions. Obviously it's just a discussion at this stage, but this is the part that so many people do not understand.

When tax rates become too high, companies seek a better position. If they moved, the new city would be even more willing to cut more tax deals as those 1,700 jobs will also be taxed, so ultimately the state with less tax rates actually receive more tax benefit. Why is that so hard to understand?

Please Illinois, continue to be stupid, Indy can use the jobs. I know I need one.

I've Got a Better Idea

2011-12-03T20:59:00.003-05:00

I figured there was a video that showed this whole episode in a different light. Just took a while to come out.

But here's a better idea. Even though the UC Davis police were incredibly patient, next time, just take the plastic handcuff things and handcuff each of the idiot protestors to each other.

Don't have to drag them away, just handcuff them to each other and walk off. It would be like tying two cats tails together. The "children" will be stuck in one big circle and will be begging to be let go the minute one of them needs to use a facility.

H/T CJ

Occupy Wall Street - NOW I Understand

2011-11-29T15:24:00.001-05:00

For a bit of amusement, I occasionally read the minutes from the Occupy groups. Nearly all the the minutes from their General Assembly and now this new Spokes Council (which may or may not hold the purse strings depending upon which day of the week it is) are quite entertaining and make you realize those "interviews" on the street are actually are geniuses compared to the General Assembly and Spoke Council meetings.

HOWEVER, I did find one idea this afternoon that should be implemented the world over. It's from the 11/25/11 minutes of Spokes Council where they report from the various working groups. The PoCC is the group representing the People of Color Caucus.

Below is part of a transcript of the "minutes" from that group.

"*PoCC: Mon + Wed at 4pm, only women get to talk and men have to listen"

Wouldn't you love to know how many men end up at their Monday and Wednesday meetings at 4pm?

I'm guessing zero.

But it's a brilliant idea. Think I'll try this at home.

USA Weekly - Give Me a Break

2011-11-28T20:00:00.001-05:00

From this.....

To this....

Like Michelle has ever cooked a turkey or worn an apron.

It Was Almost as if They Were ORGANIZED

2011-11-25T23:08:00.000-05:00

Maybe because too many of my offline and online friends are dealing with losses in their families this holiday I feel the need to try to find some things that help to make me smile.

I hope this video gives you something to smile about too. I loved this show, but it was one of those that was frozen in time, so doesn't translate well as reruns. Hotair.com reminded me of this episode tonight. It was just CLASSIC.

If you need a good smile, watch it all the way through the end, especially when Les Nesman delivers the line that made me think of the OWS crowd. "It was almost as if they were.......ORGANIZED."

And then Carlson delivers the infamous line, "As God as my witness, I thought turkeys could fly."

Hope You Celebrated in Your Own Style.

2011-11-25T13:51:00.000-05:00

My brother, Rumbles has a post of our Thanksgiving tradition. Not exactly Martha Stewart, but we have more fun than Martha ever dreamed.

Hope I have enough aluminum foil for the holidays

2011-11-22T18:32:00.000-05:00

Tin Foil and Chicken Broth

2011-11-20T12:22:00.005-05:00

So, is it paranoia IF someone IS really stalking you?

I filmed this after this guy made several low flying loops just above the treetops and my roof top. It was a little freaky after the 10th lap around. Finally he flew off into the great unknown.

A couple days later another sounded like it was about to land on my roof. I ran to the window to watch him fly past.

Different plane, so "they" are attempting to be incognito. Now I've noticed "they" are buzzing my house once or twice a week.

I've taken to wearing my tin foil hat around the house, someone suggested I needed to fold it in a pyramid for it to work properly.

When commenting about the increasing paranoia on facebook, my niece put me on to the REAL reason of the spy planes. And it made perfect sense because it coincides with the increased hits on this blog. Once again I am getting visitors from all over the world who are googling, "chicken broth".

So my spy planes are actually trying to steal my homemade chicken and noodle recipe because I'm pretty sure they were flying over at the exact time I've been making the homemade chicken broth.

Of course! Perhaps it a big conspiracy by the evil Swanson's corporation because those people have no clue how to make a good chicken broth.

If you think I'm kidding, I give you further proof. Last week, my family went down to Huntsville, Alabama, home of Redstone Arsenal Base to visit my aunt and my cousins. There at the space museum was evidence of the spy plane.

Yeah, looks just like those spy planes that have been circling my house. And I climbed up and could see the spies had scratched part of my broth recipe in the interior. All I can tell you is that the main ingredient was "chickens". At least they got that part right.

Wait, here come the blog hits again, all searching for "chicken", "broth", "thanksgiving".

Gotta run. Not sure where I put my pyramid tin foil hat.

Coffeypot apparently doesn't believe me. So I've added some additional proof.

Called the Blackbird, which we all know is code word for chicken.

And they stole the design of the spy plane from Madonna's bra.

Well, I suppose there's a possibility I'm wrong. Maybe it wasn't this plane. Come to think of it, the spy planes trying to steal my recipe did look more like this fully functioning rocket, conveniently disguised harmlessly inside the museum.

And contrary to popular belief, Wernher Von Braun was NOT born in America.

Thanksgiving PSA

2011-11-17T22:11:00.002-05:00

Shatner may be a hack actor, but he's great in certain roles. Boston Legal being his best. A couple of music videos and this commercial from an insurance company.

Call me a sexist, turkey frying is great, but should only be performed by a strong male, able to lift and lower the turkey VERY slowly. Use peanut oil, ONLY to the recommended line and lower the fully thawed (and seasonally injected) turkey very, very slowly.

Check oil temp and turkey temp OFTEN. Best turkey, bar none. It's a lot messier than roasting, mainly because it involves men and worrying about waiting until the oil cools back down and can be safely stored away, but it really is more tasty and moist.

H/T Hotair.com

My Thoughts After Hearing Bob Costas' Interview with Sandusky

2011-11-14T22:39:00.001-05:00

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

If you think evil does not exist, just google Sandusky's answer to Costa's question, "Are you sexually attracted to young boys?"

The cover-up of these incidents are truly disgusting.

Personally, I think a Lorena Bobbit procedure followed by a baseball bat to the skull would be light sentence.

Why Should a Date Like 11/11/11 Be Remembered?

2011-11-10T23:38:00.003-05:00

According to History Channel documentary on Vietnam, over 2.5 million people served in that war. Surely all of us can thank at least ONE of them this Friday. 11/11/11 should mean more than just another random date, it should be a Veteran's Day we remember, a day we appreciate our freedom and a day to thank our brave Veterans from every war.

God Bless them, every one.

Thank you Bobby, Thank you CoffeyPot, Thank you Greybeard, Thank you Chris. Thank you Tom. Thank you to all our fine, brave Veterans. And thank you to anyone I might have missed.

One Man's Nightmare

2011-11-07T21:01:00.001-05:00

is another man's fantasy.

Here's to you Coffey.

Enjoy. (privately I hope.

I Am Shocked

2011-11-04T23:15:00.000-04:00

SHOCKED, I tell you.

That all my male readers never made even ONE suggestive comment about sucking the gravy off Giada's pinky.

I would have bet $100 every single one of them would have.

Well, except for Jeff, he never gets out of line (at least online). ;)

Not asking for any suggestive comments on this post now, but I would still bet $100 that they all THOUGHT it, just never wrote it.

BREAKING NEWS....Al Roker Sues Chef Giada de Laurentis for Sexual Harassment

2011-11-01T18:43:00.012-04:00

AP News
November 1, 2011

NBC Today's Show host, Al Roker today announced through his attorney that he would be filing a lawsuit against world-renowned Italian Chef Giada de Laurentis for sexual harassment.

de Laurentis refused to comment on the lawsuit, even though live video filmed during this morning's episode clearly showed her making a suggestive gesture toward Roker.

Roker's attorney, Ida Chaisder alleged that due to the live filming, Roker was forced to participate in de Laurentis' overtly sexual gestures toward the beloved news/weatherman. NBC has refused to release the video which allegedly shows Giada forced Roker to suck gravy off of the chef's little finger.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

OKAY, only the last ten words of the above story are true.

I was watching the Today Show this morning where Giada, who is one attractive woman I must say, was filming with Roker a segment on making gravy.

I was in tears watching Roker's reaction to the situation. What made it even funnier was they had just had a segment on whether casual flirting was harmful or harmless.

Giada was demonstrating making various gravies and switching to the previously prepared gravy, she casually stuck her pinky finger in the gravy and offered it to Roker for a taste. A split second elapsed with Roker's eyes widening before he took her up on her offer and sucked the gravy off of Giada's pretty little - little finger.

I'm sure every other happiliy married man would have refused Giada's pinky. (YEAH, righhhht!)

You could nearly instantly see Roker's face begin to turn just a bit red and he was doing everything, and I mean EVERYTHING to NOT say something that would get him in hot water with the FCC.

Giada, realizing his quick embarassment continued on, both were smirking and finally Giada said good-naturedly, "Oh, I do that with my husband all the time."

Roker, again just stiffling what he really wanted to say laughed, "But HE's your husband."

You could tell Roker could barely get through the rest of the segment. The off screen muffled chuckling of the crew wasn't helping Roker. It was probably one of the funniest segments I have ever seen on the Today Show.

So, it begs this question.

What exactly IS sexual harassment?

Working in a predominately male environment for nearly all of my career, I have encountered some of the most inappropriate comments from males that could have easily been interpreted by some precious female as sexual harassment. Joking with male friends at work, even when it is entirely inappropriate has never, in my opinion been sexual harassment. Legally, I could have sued nearly every male I worked with in some frivilous lawsuit if I was so inclined.

I have heard of lawsuits in some of these companies being settled because some guy mentioned something about some woman's hair. And I have watched one young girl get smacked on the rear with a file folder by some married old guy who was obviously infatuated with her. She never filed a lawsuit.

I have watched some creepy guy staring directly at a woman's chest. He was seated, she was standing. He reached up and pulled a hair off of her turtleneck that had landed on her chest. She never filed a lawsuit.

I heard that same creepy guy, with an infatuation with another young girl make overtly sexual remarks to her that she complained about to me. When I suggested she actually go to HR because it was very apparent, she did not. She never filed a lawsuit.

I would never discount true claims of sexual harassment, but I've seen too many women get upset over completely harmless comments and threaten or actually file a lawsuit because it was easy money for a settlement.

........

Roker's wife, ABC News' Deborah Roberts was not available for comment.

p.s. I tried googling a slightly suggestive image for this post and....well, except for the cute baby pics, the rest were X-rated. I think google just sexually harassed me.

H/T to Joan and the Today Show for post idea.

That Old Black Magic

2011-10-31T05:56:00.000-04:00

Reposted for Halloween. Yeah, maybe I jumped the gun on this one.

When I realized that he did not recognize me when I came out from the corner, I have to admit I had a thrilling, evil chill run up my spine. Watching his shoulders shudder ever so slightly, it took every ounce of energy not to burst out laughing and to maintain my carefully applied persona.

The room lighting helped. The strobing light bouncing off the black visqueen "walls" was extremely successful in throwing off even the most manly of men.

But unlike the small groups that entered before and after him, he only entered the room with his mother. His mother, MY mother knew who would be in the room, HE did not. My spot was tucked inside a convenient fold of the visqueen where I could watch this 33 year old man enter following his momma.

I forced the grin off my face just before I walked out into the strobe light and when his eyes happened to notice that the room was no longer empty, that's when I noticed him move slightly behind Mom like a little boy.

I shuffled my way over to him and could see that he didn't particularly like this scary ghoul coming toward him. Only after I grabbed his arm and could not help but start laughing did he realize that he had just been spooked by his baby sister.

So, it's true. Revenge is best served cold and long forgotten.

Many years ago I was part of an Optimist group that held a Haunted Path each October to raise funds to help the kids. The Haunted Path was fun and COLD. Four nights staying out late into the night. I was luckier than most since my area was always visqueened off to allow the strobe light to have its full effect as disoriented group after group would come through.

I learned during the first year to watch the crowd as I would first appear. I would watch for the "weakling", the one or two people in the crowd that would have an instant reaction, just like Rumbles did when they would first see me.

The big burly men were by and large as creeped out as the little kids. I never tried to scare the little kids, but I LOVED it when some big guy would be among the small group and I would just casually let them pass.

The visqueen would move them out of the room into a completely black "hall". As the crowd would line up to go out to the hall, I would quietly fall in right behind the most scared of the group, getting closer and closer until they could sense someone was behind them and when they would turn around to look at me, I would scream just before they would belt out the biggest little girl scream.

Once the crowd would snake their way into the hallway, I would grab at their arms through the plastic or let out an ear-splitting scream through the blackness, listening to the scream echo throughout the crowd.

Now that is POWER.

Our older brother was one of the founding members of the Optimist Club. He has spent his whole life being clean cut, but he scared the most people simply by wearing torn jeans, a leather jacket and a long black wig, looking like some scary biker.

As people would park their cars in the lot, he would just sneak up behind them and begin to follow them closely. It would freak them out before they could even buy a ticket.

I miss those cold nights.

Heartbroken

2011-10-28T13:38:00.001-04:00

I just learned today that there were devasting floods in Cinque Terre a few days ago that virtually wiped out the beautiful towns of Vernazza and Monterosso. It's been reported that many bridges and houses are gone.

I am just heartsick.

Ok, here are both pictures

2011-10-25T16:09:00.001-04:00

I would never have guessed that the cute geeky kid would have grown up to be such a cutie.

I figured it out by his eyes

2011-10-24T20:50:00.000-04:00

Who is this former child star???? No fair peeking.

Racing Mourns

2011-10-16T18:11:00.002-04:00

RIP Dan. We'll miss you in Indy.

Who Is NOT Marching on Wall Street

2011-10-05T20:16:00.003-04:00

Kids that would be future:

Steve Jobs

Mark Zuckerberg

Bill Gates

You can say what you want about capitalism or about the three guys noted above, but HOW MANY JOBS have been created by these guys who were mere kids with some vision?

My Iphone is sad tonight.

RIP Steve.

Stupid is as Stupid Does

2011-09-30T19:44:00.006-04:00

Update: Ahhh, C. Neul is a modern day prophet. lol. Thanks for reminding me of your psychic abilities.

I was all set to write a post of the stupidity of BofA newly announced $5 monthly fee for using your debit card.

I was all set to jump on the greedy bankers bandwagon. Yes, I KNOW I've spent most of my career in that industry, which was why I was all set to get up in BofA's face about the increased costs that will result of people writing checks instead of using their debit cards.

I was all set to tell you readers to close your account.

I was all set to explain the inner workings of the banking industry to the executives making this stupid decision. I had half the post written

But I forgot.

I forgot that last year Dick Durbin's amendment to the Frank/Dodd bill was passed which limited the fees banks are allowed to charge retailers for electronic debit fees, cutting the fees in half.

Those fees are estimated to result in a loss of 6.6 BILLION dollars of revenue for the banks according to a WSJ article today.

I recalled the idiocy of the amendment when I heard the connection today on the radio.

This is where people JUST DON'T GET IT. If any company is now restricted in a certain aspect of their revenue by some clueless branch of the government, the company will find another avenue to make up the loss of revenue.

How hard is that to understand? Honestly?

You don't have to be the Amazing Kreskin to have predicted that the banks would find another route to revenue.

Yeah, it's all about those evil bankers. Unfortunately for those that voted for this amendment, the connection between their passage of stupid regulations and the increase in customer fees has been reported on all the news.

Oh, but I'm sure the retailers that are now profitting from the decrease in fees are going to pass that decrease down to their products, right?

RIGHT?

Bridges of Orange County - He Said, She Said

2011-09-28T18:17:00.004-04:00

The "new" old general store.

The old general store has been buried in a watery grave for about forty years now. Swimming with the fishies, not too far away is the ancient rickety bridge that we would cross slowly in our car, eyeing every broken board always wondering if today was going to be the day it would finally give way.

Crossing that bridge was not just crossing a small creek into the small southern Indiana town formerly known as Newton Stewart. The bridge was actually a time machine transporting us back into a world that time forgot.

Over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we go. And so it was on the roads that took us from grandma to grandma in our southern Indiana roots. From one small town known in the 70's for it's high school basketball fame (before class basketball ruined the sport forever for Indiana) through French Lick, the hometown of Larry Bird and back into the past.

Sometimes our advancement of progress towards getting from one place to another completely destroys the simple beauty of extremely winding roads and those quick hills where my dad would press on the gas just at the top to give us kids the "tickle-belly hills" we loved so much.

Indiana is for the most part, just some flat piece of land where people travel from a state out east to a state out west. But southern Indiana breaks away just a bit with a little vertical diversity that to this day tugs at my heart strings.

The 15 miles from Loogootee Indiana to French Lick consists of ever so slightly elevating hills and winding turns reminicient of the old movie Duel, without the wide open spaces. No one wants to get stuck behind some slowpoke, likewise no one appreciates the idiots that think they should take the wet-your-pants turns at break-neck speeds slightly pushing you with their front bumper.

Getting there is half the fun. That's what we used to experience on the drive from French Lick to Newton Stewart. The 12 miles from French Lick to Newton Stewart was even more adventurous. Sure, nothing like scaling a mountainside, but it was certainly a thrill to four rugrats packed into the back seat of a 1958 push button transmission Chrysler wagon. (OK, I'm making up the year and make of the car. I know we had a push button transmission wagon, but I don't know the year or make, I googled that part, but I'm sure CnC or my brother Mike can straighten that part out quickly). I do remember it looked something like this, so you guys can figure it out.

This was back in the days where no parent thought anything wrong with letting a three year old ride the whole trek standing up in the front seat. Of course no one would consider that today, but back in the early sixties, this was the equivalent of taking your kid to King's Island. I never became a bullet out the windshield nor did I ever get thrown out of the back of a pick-up truck. It was just routine travel back in those days. I can relish that freedom while still never considering doing that with my grandkids today. Sure, they are safer, but they'll also never know that feeling of having the wind whip around you like you could fly.

Beam me back, Scotty.

So once transported across the ~~time travel machine~~ bridge, we would experience life as it had been since the 30's.

My grandparent's owned the old general store just past the bridge. The old store (pictured above is the "new" one) made Floyd's barber shop on the Andy Griffith show look like a modern-day hack. It was a decaying building, housing the post office, the cabinet type refrigerators full of Choc Ola, Double Cola, Grape NeHi and Orange Crush,

Remembering the store now, it seems as though it had everything that one would imagine out of an old time Hollywood movie, right down to the wood burning stove and the old men sitting around smoking cigars and cigarettes and telling old men stories. One of the old guys was asked once why he always wore the same pair of pants. He replied, "Well, I figured the new dirt just knocks out the old dirt, so it just really doesn't matter much."

Up the big hill stood my grandparent's home.

My grandmother gave birth to 15 children, 11 of them lived to be adults. She lost her youngest (my uncle Kenny's twin) and her oldest within a week of each other due to the flu epidemic sometime in the 1920's. She also lost a set of twins, all before my father was born on Christmas Day 1931.

Up until the time my grandmother was forced to give up her home in the early 70's to make way to what is now Patoka Lake, there was no running water in her home and only an outhouse for a bathroom facility.   I can remember pumping water from the pump that sat on her porch onto my hand to slurp the fresh cool water. I will also never forget the smell and general yuckiness of having to use the outhouse.

If you trekked out along the small stream that ran through the town you would come upon a clearing that was filled with arrowheads and Indian beads left there from a century or more before.

When the state of Indiana came knocking on my grandmother's door wanting her land, she asked to be allowed to stay on her property and maintain the general store and post office as that area sat atop a hill and was the only area of the former Newton Stewart that was not flooded for the lake.   Her request was denied and she and my uncle were forced to give up the home and move to nearby French Lick.

Of course the move was hard for her, but it did allow her to live her remaining few years in a house that had all of the conveniences that nearly all homes had long ago possessed. Running water and an indoor bathroom.

I remember the rumor at the time that the caskets of the soon-to-be flooded cemetary would also go under a watery grave and that they would only take a shovel of dirt from each grave and place that dirt to a new location. I doubt the story is true as I've unfortunately had to return to the cemetary where most of my dad's family is buried, including those children that died before my dad was even born.

Several years ago, I returned to the area where my grandparent's house stood. The house is long gone and the "new" general store was being used as a supply shed of some type. The road that led us to her house now only remains a vague clearing between the old trees and I narrowed my eyes to remember that hill that led down to the old store and the rickety bridge. I mourned the loss of the time travel bridge and the generations that will never know that under all that water lay many never to be discovered arrow heads.

The path to get to the town f/k/a Newton Stewart still passes over the great Tillrey Hill. The road has been smoothed out to a pristine boring flat straight path. It's been graded into just a tall incline and I feel sad that there is now a whole generation of kids that are driven over the hill and have no concept of thrill of topping that hill, which used to feel you were on the front car of a roller coaster when you crested at the top, unable to see the road beneath you. Where a dad can gun the gas pedal of the car right at the top and send their little tummies into a quick trip up and spread the giggles throughout the car like a roar. They will never hear their fathers tell the story about being a little kid growing up in the 30's whose older brothers would scare them with made-up stories of the crazy lady that rode a pig sidesaddle while she stalked young boys along the stream.

Are there any roads and bridges that still exist today that allow a youngster to go back in time? Something tells me they have all been paved over or flooded away forever in the name of progress.   Yes I can get there faster, but now the generic lake that flooded the time travel bridge has no magical properties, so why would I want to waste my time? Getting to Nowhere, Indiana faster seems to be a pointless journey.

My dad trailing some of the Newton Stewart kids

What He Said

NOW We're Talkin'

2011-09-24T20:39:00.000-04:00

Hopefully the start of something big.

http://www.reuters.com/article/2011/09/24/us-usa-campaign-winner-idUSTRE78N2RE20110924

I Left My Heart....

2011-09-21T10:42:00.000-04:00

And just lost what I used to consider some of the best music ever. Can Not, Will Not EVER listen to any Tony Bennett song again.

Where I Make No Apologies for Who I AM.

2011-09-16T22:30:00.012-04:00

It is not blood that runs through my veins, but the splash of a quick summer rain on a too hot day when it pelts down quenching the thirst of my parched back yard leaving it's sweet smell along the way.

The very cells in my skin. They tell me I should only enjoy the salty air of a nearby ocean, a mere day's drive away. But in fact, they are packed with the Indiana clay that will never go away. Not from my skin, not from under my fingernails. They are permanently part of who I am, what I believe and ultimately what I would not want to spend one single moment forgetting.

I cannot deny I love fresh caught seafood, but that cannot compare to the smell of my hands after man-handling a tomato plant in early July to taste the uncomparable goodness of a red ripe fresh picked Indiana tomato while it's still warm from the summer sun. Or the dry smell when driving past a field of corn growing in a farmer's field.

To walk out your backdoor and slice your arms just a bit on the corn stalks that some people only recognize from Field of Dreams and grab a half dozen ears of the Ambrosia sweet corn before a refrigerator has began to spoil the best of your supper for the night.

To bask in the glory of a morel mushroom in those first fine days of May, where we listen to the roar of the race cars at 200 mph while frying those smells throughout the wide open house.

Knowing all this goodness will be quashed under some gloomy dark sky that pervades this middle part of America during those thousands of days in that short month of February.

The place I despise in the winter is the very place that I love all of the days of the year.    I wouldn't trade this boring, flat piece of nowhere for all of the cement and plastic and nothingness that I see on my TV from the glorious elitest who attempt to explain to me that I am not like them.

You're damned right. I am not.

So, I'll leave you with the best of the best. A bit of Pete Fountain, who knows in which state his greatest fan lives.   This courtesy of one of my best friends, whose father gave Pete his entire unparallelled collection when Pete's was drowned under Katrina.

And I long for my Indiana home.

Technologically Challenged.

2011-09-14T18:46:00.000-04:00

Figures. The old man is just like every other man. Guess where he gets sidetracked. At least she keeps her mind on task.

H/T Beej.

The Enemy

2011-09-13T14:58:00.001-04:00

For the past five and a half months I have had to work with the most vile creature God ever created. In fact, I'm not entirely certain God did create him, every morning I'm quite sure he came straight from the gates of hell. Sometimes I imagine I can still smell the evil foul stench of the day he was created.

From the first minute I walk in the door he begins to mock me. No one else seems to notice, at least not like I do. Although there is no expression, I can tell from the minute I round the corner that he will delight in another day of torture.

Literally from the moment I sit down until the last second where I run for the elevator at the end of the day he relishes in the pain he delivers. Every position I take in those godless hours, he jabs me another blow. Sometimes I spend the day taking stand after stand just to avoid the torture I get if I only sit back and attempt to be passive. Passivity is not in my nature, but I try. Honestly, I try.

In my mind I dream all day long about picking him up and slamming him through the 5th floor window. Would that give me some satisfaction? Maybe, probably.

I could be the forgiving type if he would just leave me the hell alone, but day after day, hour after hour he is there, waiting for me. One wrong move, and I seem to be making a lot of them and he punishes me for hours on end.

I've worked with the evil before, but this is different. This time I have no power. I can only sit back and let him torture me. There is no escape except for my flight at the end of the work day. I can only pray that this vile, torturous creature will not follow me to my next job as he did with my last one.

In most cases I would never think of publishing such things that might label me someone that complains about their work environment to this extent. But I have decided to fight back...the only way I can. Through this post.

I have made the decision. I will post his vile image here and I will revel if suddenly it goes viral and the entire world will associate his picture among the other evil forces this world possesses.

I hope you don't think lesser of me for doing what I would normally never do. I know his picture will not reflect how truly evil he is, but trust me on this one. I hate him. HATE him.

Here, for all the world to see is the most torturous monstrosity ever created.

Ahhhh. The Sweet Taste of an Ordinary Life Returns

2011-09-12T13:06:00.001-04:00

Just walked into a downtown restaurant when a Fred Sanford look-alike was shuffling out. I moved before he could reach me and then he said, "Look out Old Woman". I laughed. He didn't. I don't care I still think it was funny.

UPDATE: Not only THAT, but I was actually able to be at two places at one time today. Amazingly enough, while I was posting this at a Steak-n-Shake in Indianapolis, I was also apparently in San Jose, California at the exact same time. How cool is that? Well, that's where the IP address showed up anyway. Which is interesting since Steak-n-Shake is actually an Indianapolis based company.

I'd label that time travel, but it would be more accurately space travel.

The Bliss of Innocence

2011-09-10T17:17:00.008-04:00

She didn't know.

And she was only mildly interested.

I don't know how we got on the subject, but I'm sure it was spurred by the 10th anniversary.

So we talked a bit about Flight 93.

I tried to not let my emotions overtake my discussion of explaining to her the facts of flight 93.

OK, she's young, but not young enough not to remember 9/11. She was around 16 or so at the time. How could she not have any facts at all about the first soldiers of 9/11. Those brave passengers that were drafted into the war but were also our very first volunteers in that war we didn't know yet was being waged against us. Have there ever been drafted and yet volunteer soldiers before in our great nation?

They did not choose to be soldiers, but they did choose to volunteer to fight, to prove that Americans will not stand idly by when called to serve.

And she didn't know about them. I wonder if she knows who Mark Bingham was? I know she has some best friends who are gay, as do I, but does she know that a strong gay soccer player was a hero who gave his life fighting in our war against our enemy? Did she know that he called his mom, left a voice mail where he identified himself as not only Mark, but Mark Bingham as if she didn't know his last name. Did she know that this guy, that people claim the TEA party hate (we do NOT), was one of the very first volunteer soldiers on the war against terror.

Did she not listen to ANY news, regardless of whether I consider them liberal mainstream or whether I believe they at least attempt to report the news somewhat unbiasedly?

Maybe because the majority of her life has been spent under this new insecurity that I did not know until I was 42 years old. Maybe she's just a kid that just is not interested in the news, politics or anything outside of her world. I don't remember being so disinterested in things in my mid-20's but maybe I was.

Did I spend my mid-20's not caring about anything outside of what would affect me that day?

I do know that when I was eligible to vote at 18, I did not. I remember the rhetoric of how Reagan was a war monger. I remember hearing only bits and pieces of how he was going to start a war with the USSR. Thankfully, since I was completely ignorant on what's important, I did not vote in the first election when I was eligible.

Four years later I apparently knew bettter. I'd have to google who actually ran against Reagan in his second election. I do know that I voted for Reagan when he ran four years later. I voted for Bush four years after that and I was sickened by Clinton's election eight years later.

Little did I know that I would long for the days of Bill Clinton.

George Bush was not my first choice for a Republican candidate after that. I really thought Bob Dole was a great hero and would be our next President.

Little did I know that just a few days after 9/11 President Bush would give me the comfort that America might endure.

Yes I believe we are safer today than we were ten years ago on the last day of my naivety. But make no mistake, I believe we are just a breath away from losing our freedoms. When we have citizens of this great country cheering when an American flag is burned but telling us we are not free to fly those flags for fear of offending someone. That we are not allowed to say a prayer even though that right is granted to me by the First Amendment.

Today we still have people who hate our freedoms and sadly, not all of them are some crazed Islamic extremist. Too many of them have grown up right here, under the very freedom that was bought for them by the blood of our soldiers.

So we've protected America and we've protected our youth. But that protection has apparently evolved into dangerously insulating our youth. We've insultated them in just ten short years by having them not even knowing the basic facts of 9/11. Flight 93 meant nothing to this sweet little girl. I explained to her why all the passengers of the other flights cooperated with the hijackers. She didn't understand that up until that day, the playbook was go along with the hijackers and you would likely be safe. She didn't know that the hijackers used box cutters and didn't understand why those would have been effective until just even a little information into Flight 93 allowed those heroes to know differently.

I wish I could envy her innocence. I really do. But that would put me in the passenger seat of a flight bound for the World Trade Center. I would rather choose to be a passenger on flight 93 and know that those SOB's did not determine my fate, but I would choose my method of death. Make no mistake Cindy Sheehan-types there is no longer a flight-full of passengers that would have chosen a fate other than those on 93 given the proper information.

I believe those people of every gender, religion, race, and sexual preference are true heroes, but I also maintain every group of Americans bound on such a flight, given the situation and the knowledge they had at the time would do the same.

"As long as there is not an airplane crashing into this building, you're having a good day."

Let's Roll.

When Evil Calls Itself a Martyr

2011-09-10T09:38:00.000-04:00

When all your hopes come crashing down.
Someone will pull Her from the rubble.
There She Stands.

If I haven't posted this before....well, shame on me.

NOT America's Mayor

2011-09-09T20:11:00.003-04:00

Hey Dumbass.

NO. The separation of church and state is NOT part of the Constitution.

Read it sometime, you might learn something.

Sorry, just couldn't help letting the man who is not America's Mayor get to me with his exclusion of any clergy of any type and no firefighters or police being part of the 9/11 memorial in NYC this weekend. And today, faced with the outrage over this controversy actually said, "There IS a separation of church and state in the Constitution." If I had to learn the Constitution in high school government class, is it too much for our politicians to know what it says?

THIS, my friends is what's wrong with America.

And THIS IS America's Mayor.

“The microphone will not melt if we have religious leaders at the 9/11 Memorial.”

I Thought He Looked Familiar

2011-09-08T21:32:00.001-04:00

Just sayin'.

Whoooo Are You, Who Who Who Who.

2011-09-05T01:11:00.002-04:00

I wonder sometimes.

Well, I wonder when I go to the Recent Visitors link and I find someone who regularly visits this boring little blog of mine that seems to have no substantive value other than my own misguided belief that I had something to say worth reading. There's probably a half dozen posts or so that I think are worth reading, other than that, I just have a boring little life in middle America.

So I wonder when I see someone visit often that I cannot place because they never comment. And I wonder how they got here, why they read my posts and who they are. I used to get regular visits from someone that worked for a local law firm. Then, poof. They were gone, or at least gone from reading occasionally at work.

I get way too many visitors from all over the world looking up the picture of Swanson's chicken broth, which directs them to recipe on homemade chicken and noodles where I say I DON'T use that stuff. Bet Swanson isn't too happy about that.

Got one this week from someone who googled, "Vietnamese prostitutes of the "60s". Hilariously enough, it took them to my post about Jane Fonda. Serves her right.

I can tell that Average Joe lives approximately 30 miles from me. And since I know where GB and CJ live, I always assume visits from their part of the country are them. Some people are easy because I visit their site regularly too and they tell where they're from. That can lead to some interesting misunderstandings when Dana thought I was one of her asshat relatives that hijacked her blog.

I get a post now and then from Babs, so I know whenever I see a visit from that area, it's likely her, but I have no idea how she ended up at this godforsaken blog. Hi Babs.

Then I have some people that read and comment semi-regularly, but they never show up in the IP addresses. It's like they're IP ghosts or something, but I'm glad they visit.

The last one comes from someone that comes here often and never comments. I wonder who you are Denver. I suppose I don't have to know, but thanks for stopping by anyway. I have never been to Denver and hear it's just beautiful. Got an email from a recruiter a week ago asking about whether I would accept a 6 month contract there. The job was an exact match for my background, so I spouted off an hourly rate double what I've ever made, but still "cheap" by consulting standards and got a quick response back. Checked out the recruiter's background and company and it's legit. I'm assuming he sent my information on. While it would be odd to commute every week, it would be nice to make that kind of dough for half a year. And it's not like it would be having to go somewhere like Gary, probably the ugliest city in America.

So hello all you people I don't know. Glad you come past. Well except for those 500 or so that google chicken broth. They just get on my nerves.

Barefootin' - He Said, She Said.

2011-08-28T18:00:00.003-04:00

Yes I know this episode of He Said, She Said is long overdue. But here it is. Don't forget to check out what He Said.

As I cornered around the garage, running as fast as my grubby little 8-year-old bare feet would take me, I was trying to catch one of the other kids in our late night game of Tag.

It was early September slightly past dusk. Since I was younger than everyone else, of course I was “IT” more often than not.

As I sped across the front of our garage apron, I felt a fast tug on my left foot. No pain, but I instantly knew something was wrong, bad wrong. I belted out one of those nightmarish kid’s screams that pierced the neighborhood and everyone’s eardrums. Although there still wasn’t any pain, I could just “feel” something very wrong with the bottom of my toe. I hobbled as fast as possible to the inside of the house to find solace.

As I went running into the kitchen leaving a trail of blood from my Dad’s metal tool drawer that he had absently left on the garage apron, I saw Mom come flying around the corner clearly understanding those types of screams do not come with just some kiddy type drama.

My brother Mark also came running in. Which I found odd since he despised me since I had taken his “baby of the family” moniker away from him when he was four. It had only been one week since Mark’s own foot had been cut pretty severely under the bridge when he stepped on a piece of glass.

I sat down at one of the chairs and pulled my left foot up to see what the damage actually was. Mark knelt down just about the time I brought up my foot. That’s when all three of us noticed that the entire bottom half of my big toe was…gone. Where the meatiest portion of the bottom of the big toe should have been was only a gaping open wound exposed all the way to the bone of my toe. The blood was quickly forming a nice puddle on the floor when Mark gasped out an “Oh My God” before Mom shushed him back into silence.

The flurry of activity next gets a little blurred with a fading memory. My parents wrapped my foot as tightly as possible, but the blood just kept soaking through. Mom held me in her lap while Dad floored the car to drive to the nearest doctor’s office.

Unfortunately the car was nearly empty on gas and neither Mom nor Dad had any cash. This was long before the days of ATM’s and debit cards. The local gas station was a couple miles down the road. Although Harold, the owner was our neighbor, we didn’t know him well. Dad had Harold fill the tank up “just enough” and THEN told him that he had no money and was rushing me to the doctor. Harold waved him along knowing Dad would pay him as soon as possible. I think about that decision now and then. My parents both were afraid that I was bleeding to death and Dad was caught in a place of telling Harold first and risk not being able to get gas or wait until the car was filled and fess up and tell Harold he would pay him as soon as he could. He chose the latter, probably just too afraid that Harold would say no and he would have no way to get me help as soon as possible. Now and again I think about what must have been running through his mind. I don’t like to think that he was scared for me, but yet I know he was, they both were.

I remember my parents rushing me through a crowded doctor’s office. As best as I can recall, the doctor must have gotten the bleeding under control and then told my parents to take me to the hospital. Since I was still grubby and dirty and the crisis was somewhat calmed, they took me home first to clean me up a bit. I seem to remember Mom putting a nice orange dress on me before we went to the hospital.

Back in the 60’s hospitals weren’t exactly patient or family friendly. They wheeled me away from my parents into a cold examination room, where a young intern unwrapped my toe and began to “numb” it all around with about five shots on what was quickly becoming a very painful toe. He cleaned the wound as much as possible and then he wrapped it up with cotton, and no ointment to prevent the cotton from binding directly into the wound.

The next morning, before my scheduled surgery, you could have heard my screams throughout the all of Indianapolis as they kept trying to soak my toe to extract the cotton the should-have-worked-flipping-burgers-intern had stupidly wrapped tightly the night before. I can vividly remember every detail.

When they finished, they put me on a gurney to head to surgery to graft some skin from my stomach to cover the open toe. Mom and Dad tried to keep up, but hospital staff back in those days didn’t much care if a parent had the time to comfort a scared little girl still crying in pain. I remember the mask over my face and the instant out of consciousness.

Back in 1967, children under 14 were not allowed in the patient rooms and visiting hours, even for parents were very limited. The room I shared the next 10 days with two to three other little girls was the only place I was allowed. There was Mary, who was in a full body cast after she had been hit by a car. There was Jill, a red-headed little girl. I remember asking my mom what was wrong with her and she told me she had leukemia. I knew that Jill was not going to live. Nancy was a girl in another room that would come visit. Her hair was a mess because she had a broken neck and a trac tube. Nancy and her family had been in a horrible car accident. At the accident scene, the medics had moved Nancy away from her parents as they announced that she was dead. A few minutes later one of them heard her gurgling.

So I could do nothing but lay in the bed the entire time. They only time I was even allowed to sit in a chair was when they would change the bed sheet. Twice a day, they would give me an antibiotic shot in my scrawny little legs which felt like they were driving the needle into the bone. Then they would remove the needle from the syringe and give me the empty container to play with. You sure don’t see that happening today.

School had just started before the accident, so my third grade teacher had all the kids create get well cards for me. To this day we laugh about the one that had a big toe drawn on the front along with the words, “Oh Dear Toe”.

On the 10th day, the surgeon came in to remove the stitches. He was not gentle as he cut and yanked the threads from my sore toe and stomach. He complained to my mom that I was being a baby. He was lucky he made it out of the room with all his teeth. After the stitches were gone, the doc took off down the hallway. I can still remember my mom running after him and her yelling, “When can she go home?” He casually said, “I guess today.” If she hadn’t asked, I wonder if I would still be there.

Mom was so excited as she was helping me get dressed and as I slipped out of bed for the first time in 10 days, I stood on my good leg and I promptly hit the floor feeling my weakened leg muscle give out. I can remember how scared I was because I didn’t understand that not using or exercising those tiny little girl calf muscles meant my good leg was just not strong enough to support my weight.

I still can’t believe how ridiculously stupid the medical profession was back then. Not only was it completely unnecessary to keep me in the hospital that long, but to not even have me stand or use my right leg for 10 days???

Today, the scar on my toe still looks pretty nasty and you can feel the bone of my toe hiding just beneath a thin layer of skin.

On a positive note, I continue to use my “ugly toe” as we call it as a method to irritate my nieces and nephews. Our family gatherings are fairly large and someone is always lying on the floor. I wait till they least suspect it and take my bare toe and walk past them casually and then quick as a wink I move my toe to their lips and scream, “Ugly Toe Kiss”. The victim tries to wipe away the leftover toe feeling while the rest of us get a good laugh.

------

2011-08-25T21:46:00.000-04:00

Sad Sunday

2011-08-14T19:30:00.005-04:00

By now, you might have been walking past your TV while the evening news gave a 20 second spot to the latest events in Indianapolis.

One of the great country bands, Sugarland was all set to go out on stage at the Indiana State Fair. Just minutes before they were to entertain the crowd an announcer explained that the show would be delayed due to weather, they warned the crowd they may need to evacuate and told them where they should go in that event.

Sadly, just two or three minutes later there was no longer time to take cover.

Tonight's local news took the entire hour covering the story. Sugarland cancelled their concert tonight, which was supposed to be in Iowa. Their stage is gone as is their equipment, but that pales in comparison to the five people that lost their lives and the nearly 50 people injured, some severely.

Our governor Mitch Daniels spoke today, his voice cracking talking about the tragedy but offering hope. There's hope because Hoosiers attending the concert, turned from running from the stage back to saving those trapped under the rigging. "Hoosiers ran to the trouble, not from the trouble."

Say a prayer tonight for those who have lost someone. And those still suffering from their injuries.

Jennifer Nettles of Sugarland said, "I am so moved. Moved by the grief of those families who lost loved ones. Moved by the pain of those who were injured and the fear of their families. Moved by the great heroism as I watched so many brave Indianapolis fans actually run toward the stage to try and help lift and rescue those injured. Moved by the quickness and organization of the emergency workers who set up the triage and tended to the injured."

The Smartest Man in America

2011-08-08T20:33:00.000-04:00

“If the US Government was a family, they would be making $58,000 a year, they spend $75,000 a year and have $327,000 in credit card debt. They are currently proposing BIG spending cuts to reduce their spending to $72,000 a year. These are the actual proportions of the federal budget & debt, reduced to a level that we can understand.”

Any Random Day

2011-08-03T22:32:00.003-04:00

This morning I saw a Lotus parked just outside of the Conrad Hotel. I gawked a bit at it, not recalling if I had ever seen one before. Maybe it was old or not polished, but I'll have to say I really wasn't that impressed.

The office I work in for my short term contract is EXTREMELY quiet, very little conversations among all the employees, not quite sure why. They seem to basically like each other and they don't seem to be overly worked, so it's kind of odd. But this morning in the distance I could hear someone teasing one of the IT boys. They kept asking when he was going to bring in his girlfriend, said something about she probably doesn't really exist but is just some picture off the internet. Then I was almost sure someone asked him, "She's your sister, right?" Maybe he's originally from Kentucky.

Later in the morning the girl next to me was having a telephone conversation discussing the development of a mobile phone app for an upcoming event. She asked what that city's demographics were. Then she said, "Well for instance, if your demographic is older, that would suggest an IPhone app as IPhone users are older, a younger demographic would suggest the Android."

Do you think that's really true?

After lunch I decided to walk around a bit. Still checking out the restaurants downtown since it's been 15 years since I worked there. I passed by a vacant store front. The door was open and the place was being remodeled for some new business. There's a LOT of things happening in Indy, getting ready for the SuperBowl next year. Two men were standing in the doorway. One guy says very loudly to the other one, "NO, we'll do that on my property." More arguing ensued, then the first man said,, "That M0(&*& F&%@* can come here and ....." I was couldn't hear the rest as I just kept walking.

As I passed the local Jimmy John's I saw their bicycle delivery guy waiting on his bike, nothing in hand since it was nearly 2 pm. Suddenly I could hear what I assume was some chick behind me clomping fast like a Clydesdale. I didn't turn around, but as I passed the Jimmy John's guy, he said to her, "SHUT UP." He didn't sound like he was kidding. The Clydesdale seemed to stop a few feet later.

Nice shoes.

Even though I forced myself to take a late lunch, the office hours from 8:30 to 5:30 puts me in rush hour at the worst time and makes the afternoons insufferably long, especially with the silence of the office.

At 5:30 sharp I head for the elevator. As it opened a guy with glasses and in a wheel chair was getting out. He had a service dog with him. I smiled, asked him how he was doing. Then I noticed he had no legs at all but had shoes at the end of the trunk of his body. The toes of his shoes were both pointing outward. I assumed he must have some type of ability to walk. Just before I could step in the elevator, he turned around and realized he had gotten off the wrong floor.

I stuck my hand in the closing door to get it reopened for him and he and his dog wheeled back in. For some reason I figured he was heading up, so I didn't get on the elevator. He thanked me as the door closed and then I realized he was heading down and I just missed my elevator.

Today they had another switchover on my interstate. Our two lanes had to move over, next to the oncoming traffic. They were very tight lanes, bordered on both sides by those cement construction barriers.

Suddenly the cars in front of me were braking hard, luckily I had left plenty of room to stop as did the guy behind me. The car in front of me steers slowly as left as he could with the barriers and I realize there is an entire tread of a semi tire blocking our path. I too slowly made my way around the tread, wondering how close I was to the barrier and knowing the tire had to just have shredded or it wouldn't have still been where it was.

A few feet up I could see other tire tread bits kicking up in the right hand lane. Since my exit was coming up, I moved over to the right hand lane and spotted the poor trucker with his flashers on moving slowly. He had no choice there was absolutely no where else to go.

I took this picture as the exit was coming up and the cement barriers gave way to the more friendly kind.

OK, don't report me. I KNOW I'm not supposed to take pictures while driving, which explains why the picture is really off center. And we were barely moving, so I thought it would be okay. Even though the exit was just feet away, he pulled off in the first breakdown lane he could. Poor guy.

GenCon starts tomorrow. I'll have to have my phone charged and ready to take random pictures of the geeks invading town.

Exciting life, huh?

I'll take "Something Sounds Fishy" for $200 Alex

2011-07-28T19:47:00.000-04:00

So by now I'm sure you've heard about the heroic efforts of Alex Trebek chasing down a burgler.

So, in true Jeopardy fashion, I'll put it this way.

And the answer is.......

"Because famous people do stupid things."

My question is......

"Why do I have a nagging suspicion that a "celebrity" who claims that he was awoken in the middle of the night by a FEMALE burgler in a hotel room and first put on his underwear before he chased her down in the hallway could actually have hired that female for an evening away from his wife?"

Does anyone else find the story a bit odd? And Alex is the one that said in an interview that he put on his underwear before running after her. I'm sure there are a lot of men that sleep in the nude, but how many burglers that break into an occupied room in the middle of the night are female? I wouldn't place any bets his story is exactly accurate.

Bob Hope vs Jane Fonda

2011-07-24T19:39:00.004-04:00

Bob Hope performed in 199 USO tours.

"If I have to lay an egg for my country, I'll do it." - Bob Hope

In 1969, President Lyndon Johnson bestowed the Presidential Medal of Freedom upon Bob Hope for his service to the men and women of the armed forces through the USO.
In 1997, the USO successfully worked with Congress to designate Bob Hope the first honorary veteran of the U.S. armed forces.

"I guess I have my critics everywhere." – Bob Hope - In Saigon where a bomb went off at his hotel just before he checked in.

"If I had that kind of money, I wouldn't come to Vietnam, I'd send for it." – Bob Hope - Denying reports during a Christmas troop show in Saigon that he was worth $500 million.

As far as I can tell Jane Fonda went to Vietnam ONCE.

"I, a Socialist, think we should strive toward a Socialist society, all the way to Communism." Jane Fonda

""If you understood what Communism was, you would hope, you would pray on your knees that one day we would become Communist." (speaking to students at the University of Michigan in 1970)

"I wanted to do a tour like I did during the Vietnam War, a tour of the country. But then Cindy Sheehan filled in the gap, and she is better at this than I am. I carry too much baggage." - Jane Fonda

And finally, according to Wikipedia:

During her trip, Fonda made ten radio broadcasts in which she denounced American political and military leaders as "war criminals". Fonda has defended her decision to travel to North Vietnam and her radio broadcasts. Also during the course of her visit, Fonda visited American prisoners of war (POWs), and brought back messages from them to their families. When cases of torture began to emerge among POWs returning to the United States, Fonda called the returning POWs "hypocrites and liars". She added, "These were not men who had been tortured. These were not men who had been starved. These were not men who had been brainwashed." Later, on the subject of torture used during the Vietnam War, Fonda told The New York Times in 1973, "I'm quite sure that there were incidents of torture ... but the pilots who were saying it was the policy of the Vietnamese and that it was systematic, I believe that's a lie." Fonda further stated that the POWs were "military careerists and professional killers" who are "trying to make themselves look self-righteous, but they are war criminals according to the law".

Now she's spending her time crying over being dropped from QVC and never admitted what she did, writing an article claiming how everyone's lying and she's a great American.

Jane: Try spending your ass in a foxhole for a year with the enemy shooting at you. You are a traitor to every man and woman that fought in Vietnam, and to the rest of America, except your Cindy Sheehan idol. The world would be a better place with your face hidden behind a burqa.

He Eats Ken-L-Rations

2011-07-21T18:39:00.003-04:00

My dog's better than yours.

H/T to Hotair

Apparently Some Genes Can't Be Broken

2011-07-17T22:39:00.001-04:00

My father was a mechanic. He was like alot of men. I've heard several wives who have husbands who paint for a living and won't paint at home, or they are handymen and won't fix the routine maintenance on their own home.

My dad repaired things, but not necessarily in the preferred fashion. He repaired our cars with whatever might be handy. I'm sure both my brothers could tell you the crazy things he did to keep our cars running.

So...my brother Mark loves to cook. I remember over 30 years ago when he lived in a trailer in our back yard he was making a chocolate cream pie. He didn't have a mixer, only a beater that would fit into a mixer. Don't ask my why he didn't walk 50 feet and go to our house and borrow a mixer, that is something that I'm sure Einstein himself couldn't answer.

Instead, He grabs his drill, takes off the drill bit and duct tapes the beater to the drill and proceeds to whip up his concoction.   Tasted pretty good, I'll have to admit. Maybe the drill grease was a secret ingredient.

Several months ago, his garage door opener broke. Looking around his garage he found whatever was laying around, which happened to be parts of an ice maker.

You should have heard my husband laughing when he realized that my inventor brother had rigged parts of an ice maker to make his garage door opener continue to work. Don't ask me how. I'm sure somewhere there is an attorney that told ice maker makers to include warnings that say, "Ice maker parts should not be used to become a garage door opener" because some crazy person did it, was injured and sued. Bob liked to call him Rube Goldberg, which fits so well. And I won't EVEN go into why he installed a funnel in his garage, next to the sink, but I suppose only a man could figure out why.

Anyway to this day, my brother loves to cook, in fact does most of the cooking in his household. We routinely visit to partake of his chili, spaghetti, anything fixed in his smoker. He is really a very good cook.

So last fall, I invited my family to watch the Colts game and to let me know and I would fix some coney dogs. I also love to cook and there is something about football that seems to require coney dogs.

No one responded until my Einstein brother called about an hour and half before the game. I told him I would run and get some stuff to make us some coney dogs and I can hear my sister-in-law in the background screeching something.

Just so no one will get the wrong impression here, my family thrives on smart-a$$e$, so my sis-in-law fits right in.

Anyway, she is yelling so I can hear her, "Tell her that I don't want coney's, she puts too much meat into her coney sauce." Yes, she is very odd. Love her, but puhlease...who are you, Princess Diana? How do you have too much meat for a coney dog?   I already had a turkey breast roasting in the oven, but I knew it wouldn't be done in time and besides, she got sick once on chicken and I figured I would probably have too much meat in the turkey breast.

So I am trying desperately (because I only want to please my family and would never think of serving my dear crazy sis-in-law, Lady Di too much meat in her coneys) trying to figure out something I can make in 30 minutes that will make her happy for at least the entire Colts game. I only want to keep her happy.

Mark and I finally decide I can make tacos and they will run past the store on their way over since I didn't have anything in the house.

Of course I am trying to figure out how to make tacos with not alot of meat, but I didn't fret over it too much.

They arrive with about 25 minutes to spare before the game begins

I fried up the taco MEAT. They brought some canned cheese sauce and refried beans along with chips and all the fixins.

I take the refried beans, open the can with a can opener and am about to scoop out the refried beans into a microwavable bowl when my poor-man's inventor brother takes the can. He turns it upside down over the bowl and I see him grabbing my good knife that I had on the counter. This is not a Wal-Mart $5.99 knife, this was a GOOD set of knives I paid a dime-shy of a fortune for.

I have an immediate flashback to my dad. Back when countertops had metal edges, my dad and his buddies used the metal edge to pop off the caps of beer bottles.

I could see what he was going to do and was yelling NO NO NO. Short of sticking my hand between the can and the knife, there was no stopping what was about to happen.

My genius brother did what my family used to do to get dog food out of the can. After opening one end, you "release" the vacuum by stabbing the bottom of the can with a knife so you can just shake out the contents. I'm pretty sure you could get the same affect by simply using the can opening on the bottom side. Personally, I just use a spatula to get stuff out of a can.

Did I mention that I love my knives?

I watch him, screaming like I was Julia Roberts in Sleeping With The Enemy while he stabs the bottom of the can. He was lucky I didn't have a gun.

I grabbed my abused knife out of his hand while he is laughing at me and inspect it like I'm a genetic scientist. Since I didn't have a microscope handy, I couldn't see any permanent damage, although I'm sure it's there lurking, waiting until I want to slice a tomato.

I did what came naturally. I slapped him hard on the shoulder. And the closest shoulder was the one which had just been operated on a couple weeks ago and is still in a sling.

Hey, his shoulder will heal, my knife won't.

Best quote for our Independence

2011-07-04T21:57:00.002-04:00

"Seems it always happens, whenever we get too high hat, too sophisticated for flag waving, some thug nation decides we're a pushover or ready to be blackjacked. And it isn't long before we're looking up mighty anxiously to be sure the flag is still waving over us."

Yuck

2011-06-23T22:44:00.000-04:00

First, Rumbles has been complaining at me for not completing our next He Said She Said. All I will tell you is that it's the "Oh Dear Toe" edition, mine's half done.

Second, Bobby gave me his cold/throat/whateveryuckthing he had last week. Yuck.

Third, As of Monday I'll be officially out of work for three weeks. Our client needed to suspend my consulting services "for about two months". While it was was nice to hear, "you'll be the first one will call back", they also knew I wouldn't wait around for two months. I hope their business does well because I was really enjoying myself. Got tons of great feedback and hugs on my way out the door. Have some good/great/so-so leads, but nothing solid yet. BIG YUCK.

Now for the good stuff.

Two weekend ago we had a great time at the CMA Fest in Nashville TN. Had great seats and lots of fun. Greatest Country Music weekend that exists.

Last weekend, Rumbles became a grandpa for the first time. I have a gorgeous new nephew. Congrats Rumbles.

This weekend, my "Texas Daughter" is coming back to visit with her husband and twins girls. We had a great time last year and I can't wait to see my granddaughters again. As I've said numerous times, not all families are created by biology. She's been teaching them to say, "Grandma Rita". I've been slaving over preparing my world famous chicken and noodles for their surprise. Feeling lousy today, but I managed to get alot of the broth done. They'll be staying until Wednesday morning, so spent the morning grocery shopping and trying to plan a menu. Bobby's cold thingy only lasted four days, so hopefully I'll be over it by the time they get here. I plan on Lysol'ing everything down before they get here.

Next weekend is Fourth of July, hopefully having friends over one day and a late birthday party to go to for my granddaughter's fifth birthday.

And if I'm not employed soon I WILL GO INSANE. Never lost two jobs in one year before, but I need to get a grip on this "Consulting" life. Love the freedom, but my first gig lasting four years lulled me into a false sense of security.

Apparently it's Legal

2011-06-15T21:29:00.000-04:00

But this woman is nothing more than a high-paid prostitute. I don't care WHO she's representing.

Just sayin'.

RIP Marshall Dillon [He Said, She Said] Part 3

2011-06-05T20:00:00.007-04:00

This week one of America's most infamous cowboys passed away. For those of us lucky "oldsters" we remember fondly James Arness' character of the gun slinging Marshall Dillon on Gunsmoke.

Interestingly enough, "He Said" and I decided we would tell our own story of the Wild Wild West days before our beloved Marshall Dillon passed away this week.

Well it wasn't EXACTLY like the Wild Wild West, but it did involve two drunk idiots flinging themselves through the bar's swinging doors and an even wilder tale. All I can tell you was at least there wasn't a duel at the end of the night.

I was twenty years old, so I was too young in the state of Indiana to even enter a bar. For reasons I don't remember, my sister, her husband, my brother Rumbles and his not-quite-yet first wife decided to go to his favorite place to hang out. It was called the Benchmark Inn, a local bar. Back in those days, Rumbles never let a bar seat get lonely at the Benchmark. Four of us stayed in the family area, while Rumbles went through the swinging bar doors (YES, they really were swinging bar doors) and sat down next one of his favorite drinking buddies we called Wormy. Rumbles and Wormy were already "well oiled" you might say, a state of intoxication (or something worse) was never far away.

I think I recall that we ordered dinner while sitting out in the family room. Suddenly there was some loud ruckus coming from the bar area. It wasn't difficult back then to do simple math. Just as 1 + 1 always equaled 2, Rumbles + Bar always equaled Ruckus.

Of course the four of us knew immediately that Rumbles was getting himself into a big bar fight. I'm sure it certainly wasn't his first, but it was the first where I was ever in close proximity. All of us went running toward the bar doors when they flung open and in true Wild West fashion, out came two drunks fighting. To be honest, I wouldn't EXACTLY say it was a fight, since that would imply fists. They were more accurately performing very aggressive "hugging". (Who wants to bet Rumbles takes more offense to THAT term than any other in the story?) Cue the sound of crickets here Mark.

As the two idiots swung through the doors, they were followed by the other bar sitters, all just standing by as the dingbats hugged there way to the floor. No one, NO ONE was even attempting to break up the fight.

Our group was yelling for them to stop. As was custom for her, my sister decided to act. She acted like she always did in a family emergency. She PANICKED. Screaming like a banshee.

In the meantime, I was po'd the other drunk bar men did not even attempt to break up the fight, which by then had become a lovefest of two straight men rolling around on the floor together.

Since no one was accomplishing anything, I grabbed my brother's pant leg and began to PULL.   Trying to get them separated. I probably weighed all of 95 pounds back then, but I wasn't going to sit back and do nothing.

After a few good yanks on his pants, I had pulled them hard enough. NO, I did not manage to pull his pants OFF although that would have probably made for a better story. I had pulled them hard enough to dislodge a freakin' GUN he had stuffed in his waistband.

Sorry Mom, but there can just be no way that this idiot brother and I share a common set of biological parents.   OH WAIT, that's right. I forgot about Dad's propensity to behave this way when he was young. Nevermind.

With seeing the gun bouncing along the floor, I suddenly decided I would let my brother explore his sexual preferences with the man on the floor. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I let go of his pant leg, grabbed up the gun and moved away from the lover's quarrel.

I was hiding the gun in my purse so I didn't see how the lovefest finally broke up. While my back was turned, the fighting stopped. It could have stopped because my screaming panicked sister started screaming, "I'll call the cops, I'll call the cops, I'LL CALL THE COPS".

The next thing I remember is that Miss Calm continues to scream and starts to hyperventilate. She collapses in the middle of the family dining area floor while everyone now stands around her. Rumbles was standing next to me and I remember grabbing his arm and pointing at our now-feral sister still screaming away and I said to him, " THIS is what you are doing to your family." For some strange reason I don't think he liked that too much.

He went storming off and I knelt down by my sister. Some strange guy was kneeling next to me and I tapped him on the shoulder and asked him to find me a paper bag.

In the meantime, my brother-in-law is doing what he does in a family crisis. He was pretty much ignoring the whole event. Although he did manage to inject a bit of humor. While his wife lay screaming on the floor, he stands there, draws back his fist and says, "Get up and I'll hit you again." as if he had slugged her a good one.

Yes, I AM the only normal one in the family. Thanks for asking.

When everything had calmed down, we left the Benchmark as they were closing the doors. I left with my sister and brother-in-law and we agreed that we would keep this entire story to ourselves, not tell Mom or Dad so they would not worry.   I hid the gun far far back in my bedroom closet.

Rumbles, not realizing we had NOT ratted him out answered a simple, innocent question from our Mom a few days later and ratted himself out, telling her the whole story because he thought she already knew. I figure THAT was the best revenge for his stupidity.

Whenever we talked about the incident with the gun, Rumbles stupidly claims, "I would have never used it." And I add, "I believe you, BUT you did not know if the other guy would have!!!!"

Thank Sweet Jesus that Rumbles had a religious conversion on that same bar stool a few short years later when he had just pulled another stupid stunt which he thought for sure was going to land him in jail. He said of that incident that when he sat on that bar stool he prayed, "Jesus, if you get me out of this situation, you'll never have to ever get me out of another one." I watched my brother that next day outside after the second incident, working on his bike and listening to GOSPEL music. He didn't touch a drop for years after that.

And there have been no swinging bar doors with my brother in the middle of a bar fight since.

Well, none that I'm aware of anyway.

We Remember

2011-05-30T18:38:00.000-04:00

Buy the poppies.

H/T - Beej/Carrie

And the Smell of Sunday Supper on the Table

2011-05-29T20:03:00.002-04:00

I heard it before I saw it. It sounded just like a blow torch and not a sound you would expect to hear at the dinner table.

I was pretty young, probably under 7 and it was a Sunday afternoon. Mom was fixing dinner and I was in the kitchen with her. I don’t know where the rest of the kids were, but I’d make a bet they were off stirring up trouble somewhere.

Dad came rushing in from the garage where he had been working on a car. Having grown up in the 30’s with 10 other kids, he wasn’t exactly raised to be one of those “touchy-feely” fathers. Pretty much after the age of four, you didn’t get hugs and the first time I remember my father telling me he loved me (back) was on his death bed when I was 32 years old. He had finally started returning hugs only a month or two before that, knowing that the liver cancer was going to do him in.

So, Dad was the kind of man you would describe as being a strict parent. He believed in lectures and strong discipline when raising kids. That can be misinterpreted when you’re growing up and so it was with Dad. He wielded a strong hand or belt when he felt someone needed it. Or a lecture, if you were lucky. Mark was usually the “lucky participant” of the majority of the lessons, mainly because he was not smart enough to keep out of trouble or his mouth shut.

But I digress.

So Dad comes running into the kitchen and turns on the faucet and begins to vigorously wash his mouth with the well water. When he could finally speak he told Mom what had happened. Apparently while working on our car, he had siphoned some of the gas out into a BEER BOTTLE. Then forgetting that the beer bottle next to him wasn’t beer, he swigged a big gulp of the gasoline. I remember being a little afraid. I wasn’t quite old enough to know how serious it might be, but I could sense his bit of panic when washing his mouth out.

An hour or so later, the six of us sat down for Sunday dinner. Only mom and I knew what had happened with the gas/beer chugging. Dad didn’t like tomatoes or spaghetti, so I don’t really remember what he was eating, but the all of us grubby kids were slurping our spaghetti. Dad always finished eating before the rest of us and that day he did what he always did when he was done eating.

He grabbed a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it and then proceeded to blow out the match, breathing a three foot flame of gasoline fumes across the table.

Yep, THAT was the flame thrower sound. Mom and I knew why it happened, but the other kids thought it was that nightmare we all probably had after one of Dad’s discipline exercises. To them, I’m sure it seemed like he really WAS that fire breathing dragon. It was instant chaos. I think I started crying; Mark sat there in sheer terror, probably thinking Dad had figured out something Mark had done wrong (again) and he was about to catch holy hell. Helen stood up in panic, putting both hands down on the table, one in Michael’s plate of spaghetti, neatly cutting it all in bite-sized pieces for him. I don’t remember what Michael did, probably because Michael never seemed to do anything.

It was a Sunday dinner none of us will ever forget. You could say it has been “burned into our memory.”

Tornados all around Indiana tonight

2011-05-25T22:25:00.000-04:00

And getting another wave of scary storms. WHAT THE HECK is going on with this scary weather for days and days on end?

He Said - She Said - Of course SHE's RIGHT.

2011-05-22T21:30:00.003-04:00

Thinking back, all I can tell you was that I was a precious child, full of love and sweetness, always willing to do anything for my brothers and sister. When I came along, my sister was six, one brother five, and the other four.

The only thing I did wrong my entire life was ruining their Three Stooges routine.

And they never let me forget it. They were abusive siblings, always picking on me, but I endured their torture graciously and never held their meanness against them. My parents tried to protect me, mainly from my brother Mark. Their method of protection was telling Helen (who was one mean girl) that if Mark hit me she could hit him. How did she handle her newfound authority? By saying (when my parents weren’t around), “Hit her Mark. Hit her.” If he even came close she could beat the hell out of him.

See? They all conspired against me. It’s sad really. Such a sweet child being so abused.

But I forgave them and ultimately won them over with my saintly demeanor.

Well, at least this is how I remember those years. I’m sure someone else might have a different opinion, but they would be wrong, of course.

Since there might actually be a differing account of the events in our lives, my brother (the meanest one) and I have decided to start a “He Said, She Said” series. We’ll post about events in our lives and see how different or alike our versions are.

So look for our series of He Said, She Said. But remember, that my recollection will be factual and Mark’s (Rumbles) might be skewed.

But to set the final record straight, my memory of the abuse I suffered might be just a bit exaggerated to gain the sympathetic vote. If I remember right, I was pretty good at using that when we were little.

Rumbles and I are blessed with a wonderful family. I rarely find others are so lucky. Sure we fought like other kids did, but every year all of us became closer and closer. We spend wonderful times together. But more importantly, we are there for each other, we stick together and we face hard times together and celebrate good times with gusto. No one has my back as much as the people in my family. And I have theirs.

I wish everyone else could be so lucky. So check out what “He Said” over at Rumbles from the Vent.

Just look at the love I have for my big brother. Even if he can't remember to keep his pants zipped.

Does this make me an Intellect?

2011-05-18T23:46:00.001-04:00

At my new consulting position recently I've had two of the executives express their excitement about my work documenting processes. Both, in separate conversations have said that I'm creating "Intellectual Property" that is extremely valuable for the company.

Here's why this post is not boasting of my amazing ability. While my outward reaction to their compliments has been appreciative and humble, I am inside stifling a burst of laughter. If I was honest I would describe my job as picking up crayons and drawing colorful pictures with lines and geometric shapes. But I'm using Visio to do that.

Here's an example so you can see for yourself.

Click on the picture to be in awe of my work.

After I'm done coloring, I write down the process in such simple terms that they could hire my 9-year-old grandson to do the job and he'd be bored instantly. Things like this:

The injury process only begins when a patient is injured. The patient telephones the doctor's office and the Staff answers the telephone. The Staff schedules an office visit with the Physician and the Patient notes the date and time of the appointment. The Patient goes to the Physician and the Physician examines the Patient's injury. (See, if I'm not clear here, there could be confusion and the Patient might end up examining the Physician's foot. This may seem like a far fetched example, but believe me, I have heard of stranger things happening. Anyway, back to the Intellectual Property narrative)

The Physician amputates the foot and attaches a wheel. The Patient then rolls home.

When I get done coloring pretty pictures and writing the process in a third grade level, I hold a meeting to get the official executive approval of the document. I use words like "illustrate" and "narrative" and that makes me sound smart.

Don't you wish you had my skill set?

OK, now I'll add a little bit of explanation as to why this apparently IS a skill set worth paying for.

Obviously this is not the kind of process I am documenting. Some are very complex and I work with great people who have years of experience in their field and all of the processes and ideas are only in their heads.

My skill set isn't playing with crayons and writing in third grade vocabulary. My skill set is communication and extracting the years of knowledge the professionals have in their DNA out of their mouths and into my fingertips so I can break it down into simple tasks in plain English and present it all in a nice professional looking document. The professionals do not possess the skill set to take their vast knowledge and break it down into simple step-by-step processes. They can't look at the process from an outsider's view and since I know nothing about their business, I can only understand the process if I break it down to a elementary level. So, you could say my skill set is thinking like a grade schooler.

The executives then get to take that document, that "Intellectual Property" to the Board, to Investors and to the Clients. Ultimately, the document creates (or it should) an impression that the company is professional and organized. They know their business and they can prove it to you. While it seems funny to me, that really IS Intellectual Property.

You can bet I'm adding my ability to create Intellectual Property will be included on my resume from now on. Even if it does feel like I do nothing all day except color pretty pictures.

Indy's Busy Weekend

2011-05-14T12:52:00.002-04:00

This weekend it's all about this.....

Qualifications. Which, to be honest has lost it's fanatical appeal of bygone days. The split between the IRL and and CART in the mid '90s left the race with quite a bit of fall out. Most of the recognizable names were no longer racing at Indy. Only A.J. Foyt was loyal to the organization that made racing.

Arrogantly, Mario Andretti, splitting with CART had the nerve to say that the Indy 500 was world renown because of HIM.

Although the organizations have long ago reunited, Indy will not forget Mario's traitorious comments. Indy made household names of these racers, not the other way around.

Also flying overhead this weekend are the best of the best.

These guys are amazing. The sound of the jets as they fly mere inches from wingtip to wingtip will make your heart stop. Don't worry about your little ol' heart though, because the electrical shock to make it restart will happen when you get a quick glimpse of them flying at breakneck speeds and so low that if you stand on your tiptoes you could swear you could touch them. But do it quick, because they are flying so fast you'll miss them if you blink.

Nothing beats the thrill of hearing them just before they appear. I run out of the front door at the first sound and watch them from my front yard. There have been dozens of times that they have flown so low over our house that if the pilots could take their eyes off their instruments, they could wave at me when I'm out front waving my arms like I'm trying to flag them down to stop in for a cup of tea. Or a beer after their done flying.

It never gets old.

Like a Rock

2011-05-10T22:33:00.001-04:00

Twenty years ago tonight I slept in my newly built house with so many of my relatives that most of them slept on the floor. Several more were sleeping at my parents' home getting ready for the next day's events.

It would be the last night I spent the house that I had only moved into eight months prior.

I don't recall any great details of that next morning. Only getting dressed at the church, a few tears, my father walking me down the aisle. I'm pretty sure THIS time he was happy to be escorting me to my new life with Bob. I remember standing around the corner when dad pointed out that Bob could see me. I ducked back around. And even though it was not a Catholic church, the organist played Ave Maria while we waited. It struck a chord in my long-ago Catholic roots.

I remember it being a very short but very sweet wedding. And one where I had no doubt I was walking into my future.

The road between here and there had such unexpected turns. Less than a year later, my father lay dying of liver cancer. I spent our second anniversary at the funeral of what had once been my favorite aunt, the one I was named after.

Yes there have been terrific heartaches and yet wonderful highs. The good Lord has blessed us with wonderful grandbabies and sweet memories. We have great families who can lift our spirits and sweet friends that are more like family.

Last year we had plans to go away on a great trip for our 20th, but the timing was just not with us. So tomorrow, I'll head off to work, Bob will take his dad to the VA and we'll just keep on keeping on.

If someone flipped a switch and I was waking up in my old house, knowing today what I didn't know then..... Yes, I would do it all over again. Heartaches and disappointment be damned. We'll be soon settling into our "twilight" years and the future looks even brighter.

Happy Anniversary Bobby. The next twenty will be even better than the first twenty.

"Twenty years now, where'd they go? Twenty years. I don't know. I sit and I wonder sometimes, where they've gone."

Billions

2011-05-02T16:58:00.004-04:00

So we've turned over more than 18 BILLION dollars to a country that harbored America's # 1 terrorist and are wailing in the streets today that we killed their hero.

I say it's time we target more of their "heroes".

And time to cut the bastards from the payroll.

Quite frankly Musharraf, you can join your buddy as fish food.

Thank you Navy Seals. Thank you CIA Interrogators.

Thank you President Obama.

Yes, I WANT my President's administration to be taking this seriously.

And thank you President Bush. Today we learn this intell was collected during your administration, under the interrogation procedures used by the CIA that were viewed by many on the left as being a "war crime".

Welcome to hell Bin Laden. I'm sure Mohammad Atta has already let you in on that little white 72 virgins lie by now.

Chiming In

2011-04-28T20:24:00.004-04:00

Ok, for once I'm going to jump on the bandwagon.

No, I really don't care about the Brit's royal family (is royal supposed to be capitalized in this situation?) but yes, I will DVR the ceremony.

I was twenty-two years old when Lady Di married Prince Charles. Obviously that was long before DVRs and a few years before Beta Max recorders were affordable, so I woke up early to watch. I still remember sitting in the kitchen with my mom that early morning and seeing Lady Di coming up the aisle in that incredibly long long train.

I remember the fairy tale carriage she rode in. I was young and believed in the fairy tale and hoped that it wasn't only skin deep.

Shortly thereafter it became obvious the marriage was just a sham. Today, I still believe that Diana probably didn't know that she was only picked for good breeding. I'm sure she was incredibly insufferable to be around, but throughout the years I loved seeing her with her children. I still remember seeing William running into her arms after spending time away from her. And my heart broke watching the two boys walk behind the horse drawn casket.

So although I don't spend more than a nickel's worth of attention to the royal family, I will still DVR the ceremony.

I guess all girls want to believe in the fairy tale no matter what they may tell you.

Update: I thought I would be mildly interested, but actually the ceremony was the kind told in fairy tales. The bride was gorgeous and it was so sweet when she finally got up to the altar, William leaned over and you could easily read his lips. He said, "You look so beautiful. Beautiful" And he was right.

Rise Up

2011-04-24T10:13:00.000-04:00

Happy EASTER! Truly the Holiest of Holy Days.

I Wanna Have a Beer With This Guy

2011-04-19T18:58:00.000-04:00

I love the artistic turn this takes when the reporter pans her camera back to the guys she's having a side discussion with.

I watched this several times, laughing harder each time. It's comic genius

H/T Hotair

Rumbling Surgery - Updated

2011-04-07T20:30:00.002-04:00

Update: He's home and doing well.

Tomorrow morning, Rumbles goes under the knife due to his work accident. Amazingly, they are going to remove two of his neck vertebrae, replace them with cadaver vertebrae and then weld three of them together AND it's considered out-patient surgery.

In keeping with family tradition, I can't let a good ribbing go to waste. Enjoy the video Mark. I'm sure those bolts extruding out of your neck will come in handy next Halloween.

Good luck big brother. You'll be fine. Love you.

Sometimes Your Kids Just Won't Listen

2011-04-01T06:32:00.001-04:00

Tomorrow I will get a chance to watch my big brother cry like a little girl again. I can't wait. We'll all be watching as the "baby" of the next generation of my family is "given away". I told her it was nice she planned such a big party for my birthday. Go read his Father of the Bride post, while I get myself a Kleenex.

I Never Thought I Would See The Day (Warning Political Discussion)

2011-03-31T22:34:00.003-04:00

Yes, I do TRY to not blog about politics, although I have very strong beliefs and my "hobby" is reading alot of differing viewpoints about politics. I have become much more passionate about what I believe the older I get.

I even read radical liberal sites just to keep an eye on what people at the opposite end of the spectrum might be thinking, even sites like DailyKos. Rarely do I find any logical reasoning. There are some reasonable sites where you can at least disagree intelligently without resorting to namecalling, but they are rare. When anyone (right or left) can no longer support their ideology, too many of them resort to the Nazi, Racist, Hitler names which I just find appalling.

In perusing my nightly routine of reading several politcal blogs of both sides, I found the most amazing thing tonight.

One of the people I find most offensive is not a blogger, but a very well known "supposed journalist" for Time. Joel Klein I don't read his writings often because he is so biased and hateful that I want to throw my laptop across the room. I read the article because of a link on hotair.com stating that Klein was in "full throttle freak out mode" about possible GOP contenders in 2012.

Klein likes to complain about the horrible rhetoric and he's the worst of the worst about throwing it at Conservatives and the Tea Party.

Of course the article starts off slamming every conservative belief and ripping into all the "front-runners" thus far, but he ends today's article with this:

"...so I plead, as an unflinching American patriot--please Mitch Daniels, please Jeb Bush, please run. I may not agree with you on most things, but I respect you. And you seem to respect yourselves enough not to behave like public clowns."

I literally had to read the last part a couple times to make sure I read that right. I don't think I could get behind Jeb Bush only because I think he, like Palin, Bachmann, and several other GOP contenders would draw out millions of voters only to vote AGAINST them.

But Mitch? Since Mike Pence won't run (yet), I think Mitch would be a good President and could win.

All I gotta say is that Klein must be VERY nervous about the outcome of the 2012 Presidential election and he's thinking it may NOT be in the Democrat's favor.

In the words of Arte Johnson, "Interesting, VERY interesting."

Good Will

2011-03-27T19:15:00.000-04:00

One of the best scenes in a movie ever.

And Since I No Longer Work There

2011-03-22T18:59:00.090-04:00

Which at this point in my life, could be several banks, mortgage companies, the FDIC and at least one retail shop. I have some ~~bizarre~~ wonderful co-worker stories. I'll reserve the right to change a few details to avoid ~~prosecution~~ identification. (Look at me, I found the "~~scratch that~~" font.)

As a preface, let me first state that if I mention someone's race/ethnicity/gender/stupidity or any other outstanding noticeable differences it does NOT mean I have issues with the particular trait, only that it's important to explain the storyline. I'll try to leave out those details, but if you figure that trait out all on your own, I bear no responsibility.

Ok, here goes.

When I asked him, Chang told me he had been in America 26 years.

Well, at least I THINK that is what he said.

The cubes in the office were just about the height of my head, which meant little privacy. Chang sat on the opposite side of my cube wall. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear every big SLURP of coffee, water, coke, soup. Did I say slurp, no I meant slurpS.

Not kidding. It was especially bad because the slurps would come in waves. Thirty or so within thirty seconds. Rest a couple minutes and it would start all over again. Every slurp felt like someone would jam 100k volts through my back.

At lunchtime, he would prepare this at his desk:

You can imagine the smell that would wash over me like a wave. I finally brought in two small fans and directed the smell up and over to one of my buddies that sat with an open cube next to Chang.

Immediately behind Chang, sat Cliff Clavin. For those of you that may be too young to remember who that is, he was the mailman on Cheers that would sit around the bar spouting things like this:

Cliff: "Well ya see, Norm, it's like this. A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. And when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members. In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Excessive intake of alcohol, as we know, kills brain cells. But naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine. That's why you always feel smarter after a few beers."

(Sorry, tried to find a great video of Cliff, but sadly few seem to exist that show off his vast knowledge.)
Anyway.

Cliff had been married to a Russian woman, which made him know even more about the world than the rest of us. Well, except we had Indians, Brazilians, Ukrainians, and Taiwanese. Oh and Chinese. There was an extreme amount of "English as a second language" in the office. But Cliff knew more about their cultures than they did. He once told the Chinese guy that he was “clean for a Chinese man” and told the sweet Indian lady behind me that she was “lighter skinned than most Indians”. Obviously Cliff is now divorced.

Behind Cliff was a deaf lady. She wore hearing aids, but would take them out most of the day. Many of us envied her disability as the chaos reigned down around us.

Behind the deaf lady was a very argumentative, loud yet witty Ukrainian. He had been friends with Cliff for decades. They argued like a couple in a very bad marriage.

Mr. Ukraine and Chang didn’t speak to each other often, but when they did, a huge argument would ensue. I have to explain that Chang had serious issues with the English language. It was universally impossible to understand about 4 out of 5 words he spoke. Consequently, everyone he spoke to would stand there with a “deer in the headlights” look. It was extremely entertaining to watch it happening to anyone but me. He was extremely, overly, unbelievably nice to everyone (with Mr. Ukraine being the exception), so I really did feel badly that he drove me absolutely insane.

Making it even worse was the fact that I honestly believed Chang wasn’t odd because he was from a different culture or could barely speak English. Having looked up the symptoms, I believe he may have been suffering from a mild form of Asperger’s Syndrome. He had the physical and mental conditions that matched exactly. I know, I know. I’m a horrible person but you didn’t have to work next to him 40+ hours a week.

Between my cube and the printer stood a shredder bin. Everyone shared the same printer. One day Chang shuffled back from the printer corner and very politely asked me, “Reetaa, how woiaroa ownguuu fowta shred?” He stood with papers in his hands. I figured it out. “Oh, you need to shred some papers?” Bowing his head up and down, he said, “Yes. Yes.”

I took him back around from where he just came and showed him the shredder bin.

He politely, very politely thanked me profusely. Then…..

He looked into the slot of the bin and looked confused. He looked back up at me and began to move both hands back and forth, miming a perfect imitation of a paper shredder.

“But, how does it shred?” My conscience is dealing me a huge blow right now. I know he means well, I understand he’s a nice man. I took a deep breath and said very slowly, “Chang. It doesn’t shred. It’s a BIN. They shred the paper somewhere else. This is where you place the paper to be shredded.”

Again, he nods his heads in agreement and thanks me. Twice.

Then bent down again and looked at the slot.

And again. Said. “But....how does it shred?” And again, making his Edward Scissorhand’s move.

I know at this time God is about to smite me with some severe affliction, because I just want to get away and crawl back to my cube. Patience. Patience. Breathe in. Breathe out.

“CHANG, it DOESN’T shred. “

“Oh, how?” Johnny Depp returns.

“Chang. You put the paper in the bin. It falls into a bag. Someone picks up the bag and takes it away to a place where they shred.”

“OH, ok. Thank you very much.”

I’m making my escape. Or so I thought.

“Reetaaa, what weow owrwa with paper you don’t want to shred?”

“I put it in my trash can, Chang.”

Just one tiny example of an everyday workplace that no one could write in a sitcom because it would not be believable.

Oh, and one day, my sweet Indian friend decided she would try to imitate a Chinese accent. The office was in tears.

I know. I'm horrible. But office work is this close to insanity.

An Anniversary - Of Sorts

2011-03-19T00:40:00.000-04:00

Now been four years ago today.

Thanks Doc for saving my life.

Surely We Are Being Punked

2011-03-18T21:33:00.000-04:00

So apparently today, this guy...

and this guy

and this one.

decided to give the United States a lecture at the UN Human Rights Council on human rights.

Someone, anyone tell me why we would be connected with an organization that allows these nations voting on our human rights.

I think I'll go have a migraine now.

I'll Take Nuclear for Two Hundred Please Alex

2011-03-15T21:40:00.001-04:00

Someone, anyone please explain this to me.

I am learning, but it's obvious I cannot become a Nuclear Physicist overnight, especially because I don't know the difference between Nuculer (which I'm told is NOT a word, just a mispronunciation) and Nuclear.

I've been listening to the news trying to explain this in simple terms. I want to understand more, but I have no one to ask my questions.

God, please help those poor people in Japan. I don't understand the havoc wreaked on this nation. I know there is so much I cannot understand and as one faithful Japanese man put it, "This is a test of my faith." Amen.

The Best Sitcom

2011-03-04T22:22:00.000-05:00

I refuse, and I do mean REFUSE to post about the latest Hollywood meltdown. But since the idiot claimed that he was the best sitcom ever, I wondered what your favorite might be.

I have to say Frasier made me laugh nearly EVERY episode. The combination of Frasier, Niles and their father was just classic. Martin reminded me so much of my Grandpa Cissell.

Next is a new one. I really love Big Bang Theory.

Even though not technically labeled a sitcom, we would laugh hysterically at Boston Legal. You had to get to know the characters, but once you did, no one did it better than William Shatner in that role.

Entertaining was The Golden Girls, Cheers, and Seinfeld.

I'm sure I'll think of others. I'll add them to the post as I think of them.

I'm just too tired to post serious stuff with the new job. So much to learn, getting used to new people (everyone seems to be great) and learning a new industry and dealing with a start up company and missing my old friends and comfort zone.

Which reminds me of another one. The Office. I never regularly watched it, but I lived it the last four years. The Office could never write an episode that came anywhere near the environment I worked in because no one would believe it. But the great people far outweighed the crazies and it was always entertaining to listen to someone else having a discussion with the handful of crazies when I was not having to participate. There were just too many funny non-pc stories not to tell.

Soon, my friends, I'll tell them soon. When I'm not so tired.

Are they trying to google brothel? Update

2011-03-01T18:41:00.019-05:00

I'm still getting all kinds of hits for chicken broth. Please someone from the other side of the earth explain to me why there seems to be a sudden interest in chicken broth? Is this some code word in another language that I am missing the latest news on?   It's a chicken broth conspiracy, isn't it?

Blogging and apparently googling is weird.

It's NOT Thanksgviing people.   Why aren't you reading any of my interesting posts?

Update: Here are the stats from the last 500 hits on search terms on my blog if you think I'm imagining things. The 50% doesn't include "raw chicken", "photos of chicken broth" or "3 raw chickens." I think it's the image of the Swanson's chicken broth that is getting the hits. Maybe I should try to turn this blog into a paying ad one with Swanson's except that the post it refers to says, "I don't use this stuff." (Which actually isn't entirely true, I always have some on hand JUST in case I haven't made enough broth the "real" way.)

Num   Perc.           Search Term

87      50.00%       chicken broth
5        2.87%       1978 monte carlo
5        2.87%       ordinary
5        2.87%      Officer David Moore
4        2.30%       raw chicken
  4        2.30%       peter koe
3       1.72%      "an ordinary life"
3        1.72%       Pete Koe
2        1.15%       an ordinary life
2        1.15%        blue 1978 Monte Carlo
2        1.15%        officer moore
2      1.15%        reviews of Live like you are dying
2        1.15%       west baden hotel rooms
2        1.15%        extreme hatred
2        1.15%        west baden springs
2       1.15%        i see dead people quote
2       1.15%         start out that way
1       0.57%        impd david moore
1       0.57%        baby blue 80 monte carlo
1       0.57%        kenneth anderson jake laird
1       0.57%         78 monte carlo
1       0.57%         Officer Timothy Jacob (Jake) Laird
1       0.57%        disney elevators
1       0.57%          i phone autocorrect fail
1        0.57%         eow 1/11/11
1       0.57%        death people
1       0.57%        my parents expect me to have an ordinary life
1       0.57%         west baden
1       0.57%         78 monte carlo sky blue
1       0.57%         a final 10-42
1       0.57%        the mave site.fetch my flying monkeys
1       0.57%        why love those family gatherings
1       0.57%        photos of chicken broth
1       0.57%        ordinary life
1       0.57%         monte carlo 78
1       0.57%         You and I cry I cry
1       0.57%         ordinary life estate
1        0.57%         I'll Be Seeing You Photography
1       0.57%       officer koe
1       0.57%       west baden springs hotel
1        0.57%       impd officer david moore
1       0.57%       old school monte carlo
1       0.57%       officer jakr laird indianapolis police
1       0.57%        teaching children about columbia
1       0.57%       thought id see you one more time again
1       0.57%       3 raw chickens
1       0.57%        tolerance with my friends
1       0.57%        officer peter koe
1       0.57%       locks of love bob
1       0.57%       Indianapolis police officer Pete Koe
1       0.57%        10-42 officer
1       0.57%        i have an ordinary life
1       0.57%       "Anthony Maschek"
1       0.57%        but I just thought I'd see you one more time again
1       0.57%         text from dad dont come home getting it on got to hate autocorrect
1       0.57%        an ordinary life reading for funeral
1       0.57%        iphone autocorrect failures

174  100.00%

Hi, I'm Rita

2011-02-28T23:35:00.000-05:00

Started my new contract position today.

The projects seem interesting, it's exciting to learn a new industry.

But the minute I walk out the door in the morning, I have to put on my personality face like I'm perfectly comfortable meeting new people, LOTS of new people, not knowing what to expect and appearing confident.

YUCK. I hate that stuff.

I love already knowing the personalities of the people I work with. I don't have a problem with learning new processes and asking questions when I don't know the answers, but not knowing people's personalities, who will be my friend and who might be looking to stab me in the back makes me nervous. I have stayed for years with companies where I was miserable only because I stupidly have the "devil you know" attitude.

Maybe I was just in banking too long. I'd estimate it was close to 50% that would prefer to set you up to look bad, so I'm more hesitant than what I should be.

Four years as a contractor with a retailer where I found nearly everyone was just a great deal of fun to work with and I didn't have to continually look over my shoulder for that person aiming at my head made it very hard to leave.

First assessment is that this new company is ready for some major changes and have assigned an inside resource with alot of project experience to help me along. That's all good.

It's just that poor Bob has to put up with me being wired a little too tightly for the next few months.

The good side is that I can finally tell some of the quirky stories of past assignments (names will be withheld to protect the stupid). I swear the TV show The Office could never write some of oddities of some of my past associates. It made every day interesting, that's for sure.

I'm So Confused

2011-02-26T22:02:00.000-05:00

The last few days I have been getting visits from all over the world simply because they have apparently been googling this....

I just be missing some worldwide chicken broth festival. I need to make my real version of the broth so these dozen or so people throughout the world would know what real chicken broth tastes like.

What's up with that?

Raymond

2011-02-26T11:19:00.000-05:00

Raymond - Brett Eldredge - Brett Eldredge Videos

Tolerance from my back yard

2011-02-25T00:11:00.004-05:00

I remember as a kid singing a kid's song about Daniel Boone. I cannot tell you where I first learned the song, but I guarantee you it was not from my own house.

The silly little song contained a derogatory racist remark about why Daniel Boone ran up a tree when he saw a big bear.

I distinctly remember my mom giving me hell for saying that "word" and told me how ashamed her very good black friend Gladys would be to know that I ever uttered that "n" word.

My mother's words burned into my psyche and I forever on believed that word was one of the worst words you could ever utter. Nothing makes me cringe more that hearing that word uttered and I don't care what color you are when you say it. I find it as offensive when the black rappers say it as much as I do when I hear a white racist say it.

Occasionally, unbelievably I will overhear a conversation about the KKK and those people are not condemning the group. Although I keep calm, I cannot help but explain to them that I was raised Catholic and the KKK hated me and my family as much as they hated people of color. Most never realize how that hate-filled group not only hated (and still do) blacks, but also Catholics. Suddenly they find themselves staring into the eyes of someone the KKK hates and the discussion quickly ends.

I remember my mom telling stories of how her southern Indiana town sometimes had burning crosses in their yards because they were Catholic.

I try to stay away from posting blogs about politics, but I see the "new word" vitriol thrown about from the right and left. They both do it and they are both wrong.

Anyone who carries a sign putting a Hitler mustache on Obama, on George Bush or WI Governor Walker and of course the "evil" Dick Cheney (sarcasm) should be required to spend one day hearing a story of a Jew who had to spend one year in an concentration camp. Yeah, they have a right to their free speech, but they really need to understand how that free speech was bought, paid and bled for them to be able to carry such disgusting signs. And maybe they would understand how making those comparisons diminish the true evilness of Adolph Hitler and his attempt to annihilate an entire group of people.

When I was a kid, I didn't have much of a political lean, as I grew older, I slowly grew into a Conservative.

That doesn't mean I don't love a good discussion with someone that believes differently that I do. I find those kinds of conversations as interesting as I do with my Hindu, Jain, Jewish, Muslim and even my athiest friends. I know they will not change my Christian view and I know I will not change their religion or lack thereof, but I find it fascinating the differences and the similarites.

That being said, I have yet to understand those people I disagree with that turn our discussions into a personal attack. Believe me, I am not stupid and I cannot help but be offended when people call me filthy names because I believe differently than they do.

I don't believe that diehard liberals are stupid, I just believe they don't see the world as I see it.

It becomes apparent early on when I can have an intelligent discussion with someone that has a different opinion than I do and the one that just wants to make it personal.

A year or so ago I used to read and comment on a very liberal (although she thought she was a moderate) blogger. When she referred to me as a Teabagger, I tried my best to explain to this woman why that was such an offensive term. It didn't work. When I backed her into a corner with her own words, she still didn't understand my position. It was then I realized I could not have an intelligent discussion with her about anything.

A day after comments back and forth, she posted an extremely nasty blog about all Tea "baggers". I gave up. Her hatred spewed out in her blog, which used to be interpersed with some conservative dialogue, but her nasty attacks now leaves her blog comments only filled with her blogging friends who believe only as she does. It was a shame, she's an intelligent person but ultimately her hatred of anyone who believed differently overtook what used to be a fairly reasonable liberal view.

The same thing happened with a very good friend of mine after she (a few years ago) believed everything Michael Moore said when he directed the movie about 9/11 wherein Bush and Cheney supposedly knew, aided and abetted the attack. I finally directed the conversation away from her ranting and raving by reminding her that we had met to help a friend who was grieving her sister's unexpected death, not to discuss politics.

Last year our 10 year friendship ended after she was ranting at the party about how unfair it was that some local big celebrity was sending his kids to a private school and this local celebrity thought it was awful that they were paying property tax to the public school and his kid couldn't participate in the public school's sports program, since he didn't attend the public school. I asked her why that was any different than how I was paying property tax when our kids were long out of public school. This local celebrity could afford to pay for his entire town and fund any sports facility in the state if he wanted his kids to get the best sports training.

She went on and on and then I made the worst mistake ever. I answered her question when she asked me if I thought the big local celebrity loved this country.  He is known for being very political and I saw him at Farm Aid in October 2001 when a fan was waving the American flag past the stage. The other celebrities would take the flag for awhile as they sang, the local celebrity waved his hand in dismissal when the fan tried to hand him the flag. One month after 9/11 and he refused to touch the American flag. So I answered her honestly. I didn't call him Hitler, I didn't scream or yell. I simply said, "No, I don't believe he loves this country." That impression in October 2001 forever changed my mind about him, right or wrong, that was the impression he left me with.

One sentence in a rant that had already gone on for 20 minutes.

All hell broke loose. I felt sorry for our hosts. I was not about to say I didn't believe what I had just said, and it wouldn't have mattered anyway. My former friend began to scream at me. SCREAM. At a private party of 7. I did try to calm her down by saying that we would never agree, but that I would always love her anyway.

No change. The yelling (not by me, I just shut up) when on and on. The other ladies actually started physically moving her away from me as she screamed, moving closer and closer to my face. After 10 more minutes I told Bob it was time to leave. I hated the whole exchange for our hosts. I went upstairs, put my coat on and the hostess came up to convince me to come back and join the "party". I hated seeing her in pain, so I went back downstairs hoping my former friend had calmed down.

That didn't happen. I turned my back, watching Bob and our friend playing ping pong. In the background was my former friend still ranting and raving how awful I was and how stupid I was to believe what I believed. The funny thing was that all of the other people in the room had my political belief. Maybe not my opinion of the celebrity, but the rest of the group were conservatives.

I watched the ping pong game for another 10 minutes and when I realize that was not stopping the one-person rant behind me, I made it very clear to Bob that it was time to leave. I gave the other 4 people hugs goodbye. Bob hugged the ranting woman who then told him that "some people should just keep their opinion to themselves." She didn't understand when Bob replied calmly, "That's right Amy, some people SHOULD keep their opinions to themselves." Her right to speak her mind meant that I was not allowed to speak mine because it didn't agree with hers. I was just supposed to shut up and sit down. You see her freedom of speech was so much greater than mine.

The ranting didn't stop after I left and in fact continued all the way home for one couple who had picked Amy up for the party. After about 15 minutes in the car, our mutual friend finally said, "Amy I will never be as passionate as you are about politics and no amount of you screaming it at me will change my mind."

I was so upset for our hosts because they had loved our get togethers and the host is my oldest friend. I sent him an email the next day saying I was sorry I ruined their party by saying one sentence that apparently started the complete chaos.    My friend who drove Amy home called me the next day to see if I was okay. I was never going to bring up the incident (but I would never subject myself to that environment again) but I was so relieved that she understood how hurtful that incident was to me and was glad she stood up for me on her way home. It was then I cried. I told her I would always love Amy but that was the second time I had taken her abuse and I could never subject myself to it again.

As much as I would like to let personal verbal assaults about my deeply held beliefs not affect me, I am just not that strong. When I try to reason with that person and I get only more insults or claims of not understanding why being called filthy names is insulting, I find it necessary to keep those type of people out of my life. There are too many other dramatic things that are harder to deal with

The only thing that made it better for me was that my good friend of 25 years ( who is like a sister to me) stuck up for me and called me the next day to make sure I was okay.   I really wasn't, knowing how long we had been holding these parties and that all that was gone.

You might remember the a few couple post back where I said that life doesn't make me cry very often, well this was one incident that it did.

I miss Amy, but I won't subject myself to that type of verbal abuse from a stranger nor will I subject myself to that kind of abuse from someone I love.

I cried all the way home from the party. I only stopped when my long-term friend called me to say that she thought it was unfair and that she was worried about me. SHE apologized for her/our friend's attack.   I want to thank her for being a true friend. A forever friend.

Tolerance needs to go both ways, but sadly sometimes that just doesn't happen.

What Columbia University is teaching our children.

2011-02-20T15:32:00.000-05:00

At 28 years old, he's seen more than most of us would ever imagine in our worst nightmares.

In November 2008, Army Staff Sgt. Anthony Maschek was involved in an horrific battle in northern Iraq. He was shot 11 times in the battle, earning him the Purple Heart, one medal every soldier would rather avoid being awarded. He broke both legs and was wounded in the abdomen, arms and chest.

He spent two years at Walter Reed Medical Hospital recovering from his wounds.

Last August he enrolled at Columbia University.

There's a war going on at Columbia, a war on the ROTC and our military. The school first claimed they did not want the ROTC on their premises because of the Don't Ask Don't Tell policy of the military. Since that policy has changed, it has not changed the disgust that Columbia instills in their students against brave men and women that serve this country.

Columbia has been holding several sessions about allowing the ROTC on campus. Although there are a few professors willing to speak up in support of our military, Sociology Professor Emeritus Herbert Gans told the NY Post the following, "Universities should not be involved in military activities," Columbia should come out against spending $300 billion a year on unnecessary wars."

Even more egregious is the reaction that they students now display toward our soldiers.

Maschek was invited to address one of the sessions to discuss his military service. He said, "It doesn't matter how you feel about the war. It doesn't matter how you feel about fighting. There are bad men out there plotting to kill you."

The reaction of the students? They began to heckle this man who took 11 bullets for his country. They began to scream, "Racist" at a hero that fought for their rights to say those words. They booed him.

All I can tell you is that if I was paying for my kid to attend this school or any like it, I would haul their asses out of that school so fast they wouldn't know what hit them. And if it was my kid holding up signs like the one below, they would get their next six months education volunteering at some VA hospitals and their assignments would be to document every single war story that those heroes suffered and fought for.

It's apparent that we, as a generation, have failed to instill in a lot of our children how much blood has been shed for their freedom to be able to insult a hero.

You have to add a lot of twists and stuff.

2011-02-19T18:32:00.004-05:00

Remember which movie this quote was from?

The line was delivered by a young boy that actually explained the whole concept of the big suspenseful surprise that came at the end of the movie. It was largely overlooked because most people remember and quote the line he uttered a minute later. You can guess the movie.

Which brings me to this week.

Late on Monday afternoon I was initiated into the wonderful world of contract work. After nearly four years working independently for the same client, I was told to pack up my things.

I'll have to tell you I was in complete shock, as was the rest of my co-workers, my friends that I have grown to love. My phone was ringing off the hook (ok, cell phones don't have hooks, but you get my drift) by all my friends asking what happened. I had no answer for them as I wasn't really given one.

My major project went live last February, we were still working on fixing the minor bugs and I was beginning a new project. Then "poof" in the night, it was all over. I heard the next couple of days was not very pleasant around the office. Not to sound arrogant, but I pretty much was the life of the party. Of course the party consisted of people walking past my cube hurling an insult my way and me giving as good as I got. I really loved the people and the culture.

Since I was self-employed, that meant no unemployment either, not that that could have touched my salary, but at least I wouldn't have felt totally useless.

Still in shock Monday night, I was reviewing my contacts at linkedin.com. For those unaware, it's a job networking site that I have been on for about 5 years now. With about 150 contacts, I could see plenty of opportunity to begin working on first thing Tuesday morning. The last thing I did before going to bed was to update my status. I simply wrote "looking for opportunities" and called it a night (and a very lousy day).

When I cranked up my laptop Tuesday morning, I had an email from a friend I hadn't seen in a couple years who now owns her own small consulting firm. Wanted me to contact her right away. I called and left a voicemail AND sent a responding email. By 10 am, she emailed me she had a busy day, but wanted to call me at 1:30. Talked with her about a position she had with a client that needed my skill set. We set up a meeting for Wednesday. I spent Tuesday preparing a resume and Tuesday evening running out and buying a couple of interview suits and shoes (that was the worst part).

She called me Thursday, told me her client wanted to meet me on Friday. About 4 pm yesterday, my new boss called me to say the client thought I was perfect and I could start my new job a week from Monday. They are giving a rough estimate of 7 months to a year work, but it's a rapidly growing start up company and odds are (unless I screw something up) it'll last longer.

I was so extremely relieved and shocked I could find another contract position before even one week went by.

Bad News, Good News and then.......

Bob's cell phone woke us early this morning. His mother only said, "I need help." and hung up. We threw on some clothes, brushed our teeth and were heading out when Bob was able to get ahold of her again. We told her to call 911 as his dad was yelling in pain and struggling to breathe.

We flew down the highway and arrived at their house about 6 minutes later and there was no ambulance in site. His dad didn't want her to call, we all agreed that from now on, we will call 911 regardless of what he says.

He was standing up leaning against a recliner, loudly complaining about the pain and not being able to breathe. Bob loaded him in our car, I took the backseat and held his hand. I could tell he was more in panic than in pain. Thankfully they live only about a mile from a fire station.

The guys at the station calmed him down right away, got an IV, oxygen mask and on a stretcher. I rode in the front of the ambulance thinking I could keep him calm, but he had already settled down alot knowing he was getting help.

Come to find out, a few days ago his doc had prescribed medication to help drain the fluid that was swelling the lower half of his body, but they hadn't filled the prescription. They are very proudful people, sometime to their own detriment.

They have now admitted him with congestive heart failure and gave him some medication that is definitely removing the deadly fluids from his body. He'll turn 90 in May and smoked up until about 10 years ago.

We'll be heading back up to the hospital soon and one of us will likely stay with him through the night. He's a wonderfully old stubborn man that won't listen to many people, but he does what Bobby tells him to do and I gave him a calmer lecture in the emergency room (I save my very stern lectures for my knucklehead brother) and told him that he is not to argue with his wife anymore about calling 911. He agreed with me, he's been my buddy ever since I began calling him "Burly" even though he's a slight built old guy.

This is a picture of him with my grandson nearly nine years ago on Father's Day. God I love the guy. (Actually I love all three of these guys in the pic.) Say a prayer. Gotta run. And by the way, if anyone happens to talk with M. Night Shyamalan, you can tell him to lay off my family for awhile, everyone is a little tired of all the twists and stuff.

This is a good kind of cry.

2011-02-13T21:22:00.001-05:00

Found this from a friend on facebook. I don't know if it's really true or not, but it's a good feeling no matter what.

The Post Didn't Start Out That Way

2011-02-09T20:06:00.001-05:00

Yesterday's post was supposed to be lighthearted as I was watching some chick on TV manipulating some stupid male by using her tears and the next thing you know I have another "downer" posting.

On a lighter note, my idiot brother has another dumba$$ idea.

I'll Be Seeing You

2011-02-08T21:11:00.003-05:00

Photo courtesy of Brian Bruner.

I'll admit it. I cry alot. But....

It's not what you think.

I cry at movies, at posts from bloggers, at silly TV shows. I cry at alot of things.

But I rarely cry about life.

Don't get me wrong, I am not unemotional or unattached, it's just that I find that most women use tears as a way to manipulate people, mostly men. And I don't understand men who can't see through the tears.

When I do cry about something in life, you know it's serious. And when I reach that level, it's not a pretty cry, it's a horrible gut wrenching kind.

Bob, although he's becoming a softy like alot of men do as they age, laughs at me when I'm watching a movie or something on TV that gets the tears flowing. Even after 20 years, you'd think he'd stop saying, "Here comes the rain." when we're watching some sad or very happy show. I honestly think he says it only to keep himself from crying.

I can probably narrow down the things in life that make me cry to three things. Death, Love and Family.

A few years ago, one of my last uncles passed away from pancreatic cancer. Having lost my father 19 years ago, death of anyone, much less someone I love, immediately brings all of that up to the top of my throat and it's very hard to control.

But for some reason when Uncle Bob (yes there are alot of Bob's around in my life) passed away I could not for the life of me figure out why I was not crying.

Yeah, obviously a pancreatic cancer death is not a surprise and although not old, he was in his 70's, but still..... I loved Uncle Bob and (at that time) I had only one uncle left in the entire world.

We spent lots of summer nights at his house growing up. He was really a funny guy who we all loved.

At the funeral I was sitting directly behind his family, next to my mom. It was a nice funeral, if there is such a thing, but for some reason I kept thinking over and over, "why isn't this bothering me more?" It was the first funeral since my dad died that I didn't spend the entire time crying. I cry at complete stranger's funerals and I cried all day last week when the IMPD officer was laid to rest as I was iced in and the local station aired the funeral.

As my uncle's funeral was ending, we were standing and about to leave. But apparently my aunt had told them to play a certain song, one from the 30's/40's era. One of those great songs my mom made sure I heard growing up.

I'll be seeing you
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces
All day through.

In that small cafe;
The park across the way;
The children's carousel;
The chestnut trees;
The wishin' well.

I'll be seeing you
In every lovely summer's day;
In every thing that's light and gay.
I'll always think of you that way.

I'll find you
In the morning sun
And when the night is new.
I'll be looking at the moon,
But I'll be seeing you.

As the very first notes played and I recognized the song, I swear that I physically felt like someone had just punched me in the gut. Since I didn't know what was coming, I could not stop the very audible sob(s) that came out of my mouth. It would have been embarrassing, except this was a funeral and it was my uncle and I loved him. And I missed my dad, and I felt horrible for my cousins and aunt and mom and my family and death and and and....apparently I have become very good at burying deep deep down inside the grief that can well up in me at a moment's notice since my dad's death.

And it was made even worse because I was about 20 minutes behind all of the rest of the family's sobbing. And I was LOUD. I really tried not to be, but I just lost it.

Honestly I think it shocked my mom, because I had been perfectly fine one minute and a complete utter pool of grief the next. And they are playing the song, the song my mom had taught me to love when I was so little, as we were supposed to be filing out of the church.

So my mom led me out of the church with her arm grabbing my shoulder as I shuddered my way down the long aisle.

Second Best

2011-02-06T18:27:00.000-05:00