Have I mentioned

Mimosa's are good

Good good good

Good to the last drop

Good times infinity

Especially on a hot night.

A window into my small town

Every day, at some point I find time to check out the newspaper for my little community. They have both a "real" paper version, or you can read it online. Of course, I choose the online route.
Usually, the first thing I head for is the Obituaries. Living and working in this tiny town, I usually know, and have taken care of, at some point, most of those who passed. Most nurses I know do this, we have this kind of internal score card in our heads, I think. And when a patient we really loved passes, we alert each other, usually.
The real entertainment, however, is our "Police Blotter". Every day, they report what calls have been made to the Podunk police department. I've been monitoring it this Memorial Day weekend, and as a treat for all of you few who actually read what I write, I will sum it up for you.


There were five arrests for drinking and driving. Two of them were "exes" that were involved in an altercation at a liquor store, and had called the police themselves. Idiots.

Two calls made for drunks outside of cars. One man was drunk in his own home and the police visited him, because his neighbor called them to report he was yelling. . . they did not make an arrest. The second man was escorted back to his hotel room.

Two calls regarding custody issues (man not returning kids, got arrested).

The "juvenile's" were having fun this weekend, among other things, they
street raced
threw rocks in a park
tipped a recycling bin
put dirt in gas tanks
vandalized several mailboxes
hijacked a golf cart, and cruised in it
stood in the middle of the road swinging a bat at cars
and one ran away.

Some of the more odd things?
Some lady found a decapitated rat on her doorstep
a "tatoo'd man with short dark hair and a New York accent" tried to sell meat to someone, claimed he was from "The Butcher Shop". (See, CK? I guess I have a Meat dude, too. Who knew?)
A Crown Victoria took out a telephone pole
Some asshole in a white Jeep shot his mouth off at a gas station, and another patron dumped a soda on the jeep. Our fine policemen made the soda dumper buy the asshole some car cleaning supplies.
The balloon's on display at the car dealership lost their helium, and were in the roadway. (Yes, a bystander called the police for that.)
Someone was walking with scissors, threatening car windows. She got a mental health eval for that one.
Some lady called because her neighbor's sprinklers were on too long, and making a puddle in HER yard. But she didn't want to walk over and tell them. So she called the police.
Another lady called, saying that stuff in her house kept getting stolen, then, later, it would re-appear. I'm guessing it was an older woman, who had memory problems. My own Grandmother has been known to "lose" things, then find them again, months later.
A woman called the police and asked them how long it would take her to "bleed out" because she "cut a major artery in her thigh". They never found her. But since there is no major artery in our thigh, exactly, I'm guessing she survived.
And, a stoned man with a chain saw cut down another person's tree. He was arrested for MJ possesion, under the influence of a controlled substance, and trespassing. I am wondering, did he have the munchies for wood chips?
There were a few car accidents, a few dogs left in car, a few "campers" in the local parks, a squatter, one or two resisted arrests, and multiple people who heard gunshots that actually turned out to be fireworks.
That pretty much sums up Memorial Day weekend in Podunk. At the hospital, many many drunks came to visit, and a few stayed.
Silly some of these calls may be, but I hope it stays this way, and big city never moves into Podunk. I'm sure our police department feels the same way.

Wordless Wednesday

don't take any wooden shoes

There is an all new low to reality TV. Sadly, I didn't think it could get any lower.
We have shows aplenty with people finding their "true loves" in six weeks or less. I've seen an advertisement for a new one of those where a tennis player gets to choose between women in their twenties, or women in their forties. Trash. But that's not what I am talking about.
We have shows where people (supposedly) entertain us, and we get to (supposedly) vote on whom we like. So that they'll win. (supposedly.) Popularity contest. But I can easily ignore those, so, that's not what I'm talking about.
Then we have those crazy fools who go off into the middle of nowhere, or multiple places somewhere, and have to survive. You all know what I mean. Or they are racing, or they are doing stunt junkie stuff and eating things we are not meant to introduce to our digestive tracts. I can avoid those all together without a problem. (If only my mother didn't call frequently to see if I'm tuning in! "No, Mom! Go pick up a book!)
What I refer to is another installment in the disgusting medical reality realm. Some Dutch asshat (I love that word) has decided its ok to have a reality show where the contestants win, wait for it, wait for it
A KIDNEY. Yes, a human kidney. It seems all the contestants need a kidney transplant, and they have one to offer. Makes me wonder if they are going to do the urban legend at the end of it, snatch some dutch ho off the street, and "borrow" one of hers.
"Waiting for an organ is like playing the lottery" sez one of the asshats from the TV network. Easy for her to say, she isn't the one waiting, is she? Nor is she the donor. Bitch.
Which brings me to another disgusting point. The donor has a brain tumor herself! And, she gets to listen to the stories of three whole women and their families, then decide who gets her kidney. So. Lets take the kidney from a woman who is almost certainly dying, anyhow, have a contest with anyone who matches with her kidney, and let HER decide who gets it! I hope she isn't PMS'ing, or none of those women resemble her husband's ex lover, or something like that. Need doesn't matter, the person who might be at the top of the list doesn't matter. This is TV, people! Lets make it a contest! What's next, I wonder. A blind person gets to interview death row inmates and decide who gets to be pardoned?
So now I pose a question to the few of you who read any of this. Does anyone think this new twist in a reality show is a GOOD thing? Anyone want to debate the issue, and take the side of the asshat TV network who says that this will bring more attention to the need for more donors? I promise I won't call you an asshat. Really, I won't.

What Memorial Day means to me

Too Good to pass up

So, after a hectic night at work. I come home, Blog out my frustration at AN, and finally fall into a blissful sleep. It was lovely. However, my dreams. Most of them were my usual, vivid, run of the mill fun ones. The one I am going to describe to you was the standout though. I went to bed thinking still about the ignorance of AN, but ended up dreaming about. . .(drumroll, please)
Visiting the Kaos household. Yes, CK, you were my co-star. It was bizarre. I flew in, apparently, then, even though I HATE driving in town's I am unfamiliar with, and usually refuse to do this, I rented a car to get me to the Kaos Manor. I got there in one piece, don't even remember the drive, or the car. Just that I had lots of luggage for some reason. Your neighborhood did NOT look as I expected, but wait. Thats coming. Up some steps, and the door flew open. There you were, looking like yourself with your new hair cut even (I do like it, btw.) K was in your arms, smiling, looking like herself. Being as she never met me, she was very friendly, observed that she thought we looked similar to each other. (Which, truthfully, we really don't). Then, Mr. K came out. Now, I have never met the mister in person. I couldn't see much of him beyond the mirrored sun glasses that went with the cop uniform he was wearing. Except, uhm, he was in a cop uniform that came with shorts? Yes, shorts. And before my little eyes, K threw on HER mirrored sunglasses, and suddenly, she was dressed just like Daddy, and the two of them were leaving for some father-daughter outing of some sort. Ok. My dream self accepted all this quite easily, and so did your dream self, CK. Away they go with hugs of fare thee well. Then, I examine the neighborhood. It seems you live on a busy, main road, across the street from a strip mall. Yes, I said strip mall. Directly visible to my eye, was an ice cream shop. We discourse on the strip mall, and ice cream shop. You tell me you don't generally patronize that shop, there is a much better one WAAAAAAY down that a way. Its better because the lady who own's it is a hypochondriac. What her health has to do with the ice cream I don't know. But my dream self agree'd with you that it was, indeed better, to buy ice cream from a hypochondriac.
You invite me in, and I enter into a living room that is almost victorian in the amounts of furniture it has in it. I see a couch, lamps, tables, numerous chairs. I point out to you that I like the fact that there are very few corners in this room. It was a rounded room. "Very native american of you" I point out, and describe to you the American Indian museum from the Smithsonian, in DC. (It was built to house no corners. A nice building, actually.). You accept the compliment, and we settle down into two, dark pink, deep seated wing chairs. (PLEASE, for the love of God tell me you don't have pink wing chairs.) I comment that GG must really like these comfortable chairs. Of course, you agree, she did. You are so agreeable!I observe the room, note the nice muted colors, and yet, another wing chair, over near a crackling fireplace. "Must be a nice place to settle in with a book" I think to myself. Man was that room full of furniture.
Sitting there, BS'ing, you tell me about why you don't like having house guests. It seems you're not happy when you wake up, and are worried about your bed head will appear to others. You hope I understand. I tell you that I have indeed made a hotel reservation, because I don't like staying with others, it seems. My reasoning? I might snore, especially if I drink. I gesture down the road a piece, and say I'm going to stay there. At that hotel. (Wonder if its next to the hypochondriac ice cream place?). You say, Great! I know the girl who works at the counter. When you go in, say "Hiya Red". Thats what I call her. Maybe she will give you a discount. I agree to do just that. From there, we begin to discuss a party you hosted for your parents. It was a formal event, people in nice clothing, ect. And, it was a kind of themed event. You had taken the time to tag each guest with the name of someone famous and influential, a person who shared their same first name. The only one we talked about was Matt's, though, because, unbeknownst to you, you gave him the name "Matt Langston Wilder" (a name I have never heard in my life.). In dream world, we discover, Matt Langston Wilder was a cannibal, at one point of his life, and a not so nice man who lived in the Wild Wild West era. Your Dad pointed this out at the party. And the wierd thing? I was having visions of the party as you described it, like I was there. Your Dad was Red Foreman from "That 70's show", and your Mom? I hesitate to even tell. But I have to. She was Barbara Bush. Pearls and all. (As I run away, crying. I like your Mom, I really do!). I ask you if your older half brother was at the party as well, (didn't know you had one of those, did you? Well, our dream selves thought nothing of it.). You say, with relief, that your Dad has finally disowned him, so he is persona non grata at family events. As this conversation winds down, so did the dream. I got up to go to my hotel, which, you were going to lead me to. I assume the 'Hiya Red' did get me a good discount. I'll never know, I woke up, and pondered this dream for a while, thinking, should I blog this? Obviously, I got out of bed, and did just so. As I mention above, it was just too good to pass up.

My past

I've seen some blog idea's bouncing around lately where people are dealing with their past. Its been suggested before that I, or someone else, write a blog letter from my now self to my past self. Initially, the thought intrigued me. But then, I really started thinking about it. Would my past self even pay attention to that letter? Or would she use it to change my past? I think she would use it.
Would I change my past, if I could? I think back all those years ago, to childhood. I don't think my parents would like it much if I eliminated my sisters, (or, maybe just one of them? Is it negotiable?)so there is not much I would change there. Coming into the early teens, I might try to persuade myself to pay more attention in certain Math classes, because, contrary to popular teenage belief, I DO actually use some of it now. However, I am fairly certain that my teenage self would roll her eyes at me and think "Whatever." This particular past self of mine would have probably tossed the blog letter away in the rain. Then she would sink back in to whatever book she was reading.
Joining the Navy was not a decision that was difficult for me. Nor do I regret it. Sure, there are moments of that life that I hated. But I knew it was a temporary thing for me. I never intended to stay in, and be a 'lifer'. Its not for me. The four years were managable, enjoyable, even. I learned a lot.
I made some rookie mistakes in my twenties, but who didn't? Yet, I learned from them. I'm not dead, so they couldn't have been that bad. There are a few people I would encourage my past self to avoid, but not any of the major ones in my life, like my ex husband. Good and bad, I learned a lot about myself during that part of my life. And when we were good, we were very, very, good. Its the memory of that good that has me unwilling to "settle" now. I know how its supposed to be.
And so, my thirties. I'm not nearly done with them yet, and I think a lot of good things have come out of this decade for me. I moved to Podunk, which really is the home I've always been looking for. I made some exceptional friends, done a lot of things I've wanted to do, travel, ect. And some things I never really considered doing, but now LOVE to go do. (Renaissance Faire, anyone? There's one, next weekend, in Lake Tahoe).
So, no letter to any of my poor, past selves. They had a nice life. I'd like to think they like who "we" are, now. It took us time to get there, but all in all, we are in a pretty healthy place, with few regrets.

Store bought foam

From a post I've done earlier, you all know I have issues with foam, on the top of coffee.
Don't get me wrong. I like the foam. I drink the foam. I just don't need pictures in my foam. (That's reserved for my Guiness, and, only a shamrock. It makes sense, right?). The latest thing that has set me off on foam again, is this.
I was doing the dreaded post vacation shopping. The one where you have to get everything, because you let your cupboard's run dry before you left, not wanting food to spoil and all that. I was winding down, just perusing the aisle's for any missed or desired items, and catching up with Celtic Rose, who also happened to be in the grocery store. (Hey! Did you see the Quakes over there! New flavors, new sizes!). Glancing over, I see sour cream. I need that, for the tamale's that have been living in my freezer for about 3 weeks now. Next to the sour cream? You guessed it. They are selling foam for the top of your various coffee products. It comes in cans identical to the whipped cream cans that we all love to suck down when no one is looking. (Admit it, I know you do.). Somehow, I doubt the foam will taste that good. Besides its FOAM for pity's sake. Are there people desperate enough for FOAM, on the top of their coffee to pay $2.69 for a can of it? Say it ain't so!
I think my breaking point will be if they start having competitions to see who can now make the best designs with "store bought foam."
I also want to know how they make this foam, that lives in a can. And, who decided we needed foam, in a can? Anyone that serious about their coffee usually has an expresso machine at home, and can make their own, now, "home made" foam. I'm sure its better for you. I bet store bought foam has all kinds of bad things in it. Preservatives, and other chemical's to maintain its foaminess. (Is foaminess a word?). I fear its just a matter of time before the store bought foam becomes flavored, store bought foam. What then? What is this world coming to?

Down like a punch drunk boxer

I can't say I wasn't warned. When I talked with my traveling buddy, Nancy, the other day on the phone, she sounded like she had been run backward's through a cheese grater. She had the husky voice of the 96 year old, red lipstick wearing old lady sucking on a filterless cigarette, swilling rot gut in one of those square drink glasses. With a cocktail onion. She has the dreaded Spring Cold.
I was hoping to avoid this all together, but being as I spent 9 days, sharing a room, and well, space with her, cheek to cheek in NY taxi's, ect. I knew the odds were against me. I was hoping that my superior nursing immune system would kick in and protect me. At least long enough for me to work my two nights. My friends, it was not to be. My laid back, California nurse immune system got beat down by the NYC spring cold bug. I felt slightly shitty yesterday, some body aches, ect. I attributed it to jet lag, and the fact that I didn't sleep well during the day. I went to work, anyhow, thinking, "I can do anything for 12 hours!" Yeah, right, says my body. By 0415 this am, I was a blathering idiot. Let me rethink that. A blathering idiot, taking care of a nearly dead patient on a ventilator. Perhaps, not my finest moment. My co- workers, including Celtic Rose, didn't even hardly blink when I announced, that even with only 3 hours left in the shift, I was going to have to go home. I was just DONE. Thankfully, we had a charge nurse who could take care of my patient for the last 3 hours, or, I would have been forced to suck it up. And I doubt it would have been pretty.
I was home by 0430, in bed at 0433, and sleeping like a punch drunk boxer by 0435. I just got up. Still feel like crap, but at least I feel like kind of rested crap. I go back to work in two, fun filled days. Yipee.
Hope the rest of you are good!
** upon re reading this, I feel the need to point out that it wasn't me who made the patient nearly dead, it was his years of copious alcohol intake, among other things. I think I actually managed to take good care of him up until I left. I left, because I could not see myself doing so well by him those last three hours, and I didn't want him to have any more problems than he already had. . .

Wordless Wednesday

Wikipedia Fun

I stole this from a Monkey-Girls' blog, it looked like fun. Anyone else think so? Here's how to do it. Go to Wikipedia, type in the month and day of your birth, and then list 3 events, 2 births, and a holiday that fell on that day. Here are mine:

The Holiday: Independance Day in Estonia
Births: 1619: Charles Le Brun, a french artist
1855: Chester Nimitz, a famous US Navy admiral
Events: 1804: London's Drury lane burnt down
1868: the first parade to have floats was staged at Mardi Gras in New Orleans
1920: The Nazi party was formed. (boo!)
You can do anything on wikipedia, I swear. . .

Tag, I'm it

So, here are the eight things that most of you may, or may not know about me. CK tagged me with this, and I, in turn, will supposedly tag eight other people with this. Problem? I know about the same eight people that CK does. So, if your reading this, consider yourself tagged. Celtic Rose, Kali, you two, for sure. Kali can answer these questions on the "First do no harm" blog. Sybil, if CK didn't get you, I just did. OK, now for the fun part. I will continue with CK's foreign numbering thing, as well.

Une: I took up knitting a little over a year ago, and when I am stressed out, it relaxes me like nothing else does. Its like taking a xanax sometimes. If I can get half and hour, at least, to knit, I can deal with ALMOST anything. And they let you bring knitting needles on a plane, which is a beautiful thing.

Deux: I always have my grandmother's wedding ring on. My Dad got his mom's wedding ring after she passed away. Its just a thin, plain gold band. She had big fingers, like me. It just sat around, collecting dust. One day, I picked it up, and put it on. Its been on my hand every day since then. I rarely take it off. Only when I am doing something that is going to get my hands dirty. It is always on. Has been for over ten years.

Trois: I have a strange relationship with Oranges. When I was a kid, I had an awful case of strep throat. Mom plied me with orange juice, and oranges, trying to boost my immune system, I think. It just made me sicker. After that, I refused to eat oranges for years. Two years ago, I picked up an orange, and ate it. Then, because it was so good, I had oranges for breakfast for months. Even while I was in Paris, I was finding Oranges to eat. Same with Orange juice, but only if its fresh squeezed.

Quatre: I name my cars. They NEED names. They need to be loved. I once drove a big, huge, banana yellow Ford LTD. His name was Elvis. After that, I had a small, blue, Ford Escort. Her name was Priscilla. No, I did not name the next one Lisa Marie. Her name was mielikki, actually. Because it was dark green. My car now is a red SUV, a Saturn Vue. Her name is Veruca Salt. She's lovely. And she loves her name.

Cinq: I hate wearing shoes. Barefoot is the way to be. And I NEVER wear high heels. I consider them an instrument of torture. The last time I wore a pair was for my middle sister's wedding, and I had them off as soon as decently possible.

Six: Laundry is my nemesis. I hate doing it. I like having all my clothes clean, but I hate the process! I will procrastinate doing laundry until I am down to the strangest clothing combinations I have. I just can't stand it.

Sept: A stuffed cockroach named Scurry lives atop my monitor, and watches every move I make. Yes, I borrowed it from the hospital. I took in another stuffed animal in return for it. No one wanted to give Scurry to a sick kid. So, being a sick kid myself, he came home with me.

Huit: I don't eat anything that has to be dropped into a pot of hot boiling water, alive. I don't care how good you all say it taste's. I just can't do it. Can you imagine dying that way? They say lobster's have a small brain, like that is some excuse for having it die in excrutiating pain. I'm just saying. . .

A funny thing happened on my way to the park

So, while we were in NYC, my Mom was kind of hoping that she would get to see someone famous. On our second day there, we went down to Central Park, to get my sister her much desired carriage ride, and to find John Lennon. During the ride, there were a pile of limo's outside of Trump's lovely skyscraper of a building across from the park. Some dark haired man came out, and signed autographs, and left. The whole time, our exited Irish carriage driver was asking us "who is it? who is it?" Well, how should we know! Its waaaay over there! I couldn't tell. I snapped a picture so I could zoom in on it at home, but I still can't tell. Whatever. I don't really care about celebrity sightings, anyhow.
About 20 minutes later, we were standing around across the street from one of the fancy hotel's across from Central Park. Same scenario. Piles of limo's, and about 6 beefed up Escalades. My Mom was DESPERATE to see who came out. Another 20, boring, wasted minutes later, another person no one really recognized. Though my sister swears that one of the people was from CSI Miami. Don't care, don't watch it. FINALLY we get to move on. We are passing the Donald Trump super sized building again, and my Mom, God Bless her, has to stop and take her 8 millionth picture of the building. I keep walking, bored. My arm rubs someone elses, and I look up, into the eyes and face of Ty Pennington, the guy on "Extreme Home Makeover." Yes, I watch it. I love seeing those people get new houses. I liked him on Trading Spaces, too. He grins, says "Hi Guys" and keeps on going. "Hi!" I parrot back at him, middle sister says "love the show", and we just keep going, too. We never stop walking. Mom catches up, and we tell her who we just saw, and she whips around, scanning the crowd. She says she saw the back of his head, and is still talking about his tiny ass. I think she missed him, completely. She went on the rest of the day, bemoaning the fact that we didn't ask for a picture or autograph. I'm not that kind of girl. I actually think that the famous folk of our world deserve some downtime, some time to just walk unmolested through a park, or eat a meal out without the masses pestering them. Plus, it was only Ty Pennington, for pity's sake. De Niro he isn't, capice? He was the only "famous" person we really encountered, and that was fine with me. After all, I didn't go to NYC to celebrity stalk.

Nine days, all in one posting

Okay, here we go, the big one. Where I attempt to purge the last nine days out of my head, and into type, so that whomever in blogland wants to read, laugh, and/or shudder at them can. . .
I decided to blog about the whole trip in one, long, ranty blog, because it just seemed better that way. So that tomorrow, I can go back to blogging as usual (I hope.)

Lets start in Washington, D.C. Actually, lets start in the Sarcamento airport, briefly. Just long enough to tell you that middle sister ordered my mother a double shot Cuervo Gold Margarita. And the bartender? Had a heavy hand with the tequila. My mom was giggly and very buzzed. A state that is NOT natural for her. It was most enjoyable. It took her 15 minutes to go to the bathroom, because the automatic toilets kept flushing her ass gasket down before she could sit on it, and she just stood there, giggling at it. That was the high point of the flight over.
I knew the DC aspect of the trip was going to be great when I saw the Bordeaux listed in the menu of our hotel restaurant. I love love love adore love love good Bordeaux, I am convinced that if I've had a previous life, it was as a Bordeaux guzzling can can girl in the streets of Paris, posing for all those broke ass artits. Who would of course pay me in Bordeaux. I probably died of liver failure by 25 in that life. But who cares!
Anyhow. DC was beautiful, and not just for the wine. The people of that city were incredibly friendly. We adopted this Algerian bel hop at the hotel, who always pointed us in the right direction for the day. The Smithsonian museum's are wonderful. I could spend days in them. I got to see Judy Garland's ruby slippers, the road sign from MASH, Prince's guitar, Carrie Bradshaw's computer, Abe Lincoln's hat, and multiple other strange things. Oh, and I saw the original Kermit the Frog. In real life, even. . .
The monuments are all over the city, not just the Mall. It seems like if you like someone, and you have the money to do it, you could put a monument to them in Washington, DC. I lost track after the first day of whom all we saw. Strangely enough, there is no major monument to World War I, though. There are two, smallish monuments to specific men who fought in that war, but nothing at all to honor those who were in it! It was kind of a glaring oversite, I thought. We saw the monuments by daytime, and by night time. They are beautiful. I was especially moved by the Korean War monument, it was my favorite. The Viet-nam wall was another case all in itself. You don't realize how long it is until you stand there, staring at those names. "Too many" was all we could say as we silently walked along its length, randomly touching names, and wondering what those boys could have become.
Arlington was beautiful. I did get "the look" from my mom for snickering at the eternal flame of JFK, and muttering the word "philanderer". I thought RFK's burial sight much more beautiful, and appopriate. Mom and I almost had a throw down at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier, though. I was lined up for some great camera shots, and she gave me the elbow to move me out of the way so my sister could video. Hell with that! I was there, first! And who cares about video! I can buy that in the damn store! It was hot, I was grumpy, and she almost got killed on the spot. . .
We also went into the Capital building, we saw the White House (from a distance), but were very close to the lawn (wink) and Nancy and I became very familiar with the hotel bar, where they played great techno musak and we had a few- ahem- nightcaps every night before bed. We spent a few hours there the last night, watching the rain fall, whilst I drank some more wine, and she drank (gasp) Heinikin. We also managed to get Mom giggly again at this bar. We chanted "chug a lug" while she downed a gin and tonic, then she burped, LOUD. Another priceless memory. . .
We ate good in the city, too. It wasn't hard to find a good restaurant. I highly recommend DC as a tourist destination.
On to NYC. We did not hit the hotel lottery here. Mom got confused by the names and thought she was booking us in the Plaza. (As if. . . that would have cost THREE TIMES AS MUCH.) She booked us at the "Broadway Plaza". Sounds good, right? Uh, NO! It was at the far end of broadway, where the "100 % REAL HAIR!" shops are, and countless, milling people selling jewelry and other things live. But, it was clean, I will say that for it. No bar, no Bordeaux (sob, say it ain't so!), and the bathroom was like a postage stamp. But it was a place to sleep. Nancy and I had worn out Mom and middle sister so badly in Washington with the walking, that we paid for it in NYC. We took taxi's almost everywhere. Mom rode with her eyes closed the majority of the time. We only almost got killed about three times, I was counting. . .
Central Park is wonderful. We went through practically the whole park. It runs the gamit for things to do. The baseball fields, the "grand lawn", the stinky horse carriages. We rode in one, because middle sister had always wanted to do so. Nancy and I went and found 'Strawberry Fields' and the John Lennon memorial while Mom and middle sister lounged on a bench. Its right in front, near the Dakota, where he was shot. Yoko gave the park 1 million dollars to put it there. There is a homeless man, and his black lab who seem to 'live' there, and he goes out and gets flowers to put on it every day, and arranges Mardi-Gras beads around the 'Imagine' circle in the shape of the peace symbol. One of the purer moments I had in the city was giving a few dollars to this guy. I hope he uses it to feed his dog. It was the day we'd heard that Edmund died, it just seemed right, at the moment.
We went to the Metropolitan Museum, and to the museum of Natural History, and saw all the dinosaurs. Now I have to go watch 'Night in the museum." We saw the Lion King on Broadway, and that was way too much fun. We visited a few Irish pubs, drank some good, and not so good very dark brand name beer. We saw Ground Zero, the Wall Street Bull, the Apollo in Harlem, SoHo, Greenwich Village, and countless other places. We went out to Ellis Island, cruised by the Statue of Liberty, and, every other touristy thing we could think of. It was a long, nine days. I was more than ready to come home.
Of course, once we got back to JFK airport, our first flight was delayed for so long by weather, that we missed our connection in Dallas. Then, there was only room for three of us to get from Dallas to Sacramento on the next flight. Nancy ended up coming home two hours later than we did. But, we are all home, we all have our luggage, and so, it ends well.

I'm baaaaack

Oh God its sooooo good to be home. I am so very tired. This vacation was no relaxation. I will expound in more detail tomorrow, (later today by this point) but here are some of the fun, and not so fun highlights you can look forward to.

I "accidentally" tossed a piece of gum onto a lawn of a particular, uhm, pale house with lots of fences around it over in DC on my Aunt S's birthday. Just for her. And because I would have been arrested throwing what she REALLY wanted us to toss onto said lawn.

I drank my weight in Bordeaux at the Sofitel Lafayette in DC. It was so good, I want to go back for more

Though I wanted to, numerous times, I did not commit matricide. The closest I came to it was at the tombs of the unknown soldiers in DC

Oh how I love Central Park

Our first day in NY, my friend Nancy, who was with us, learned that her dog, Edmund, had died. I loved that dog. We found out literally seconds after I posted that brief note...

Then, Friday, Celtic Rose's sweet doggie Murray went the way of the rainbow as well. I loved that dog as much as I loved Edmund. My furry nephews will be missed. :(\

NY pizza is the best, I don't care what anyone says

The Statue of Liberty is very very small

I missed you all. . .

I have 16 minutes

make that 15:45 to type this in! I am in NY, and its quite an adventure. DC was very very fun, and even pretty. New York is crowded and dirty. But I have only been here one day. We are having fun, I have much to blog about, including many examples of why I will never again travel with my mother. . . will be home Sat evening, and will start posting then!

My favorite eating utensil

For Playtah

Hands down, the best eating utensil EVER has to be the Spork.
Its a well known fact that Eve used the Spork to remove the skin from the apple she fed to Adam.* Since they were evicted from the garden after the apple incident, and all the good things in the world had to now be balanced out with evil things, the melon baller was invented. But I digress.
After the Adam and Eve incident, the Spork went underground for a few years. Interestingly enough, it resurfaced again during the 100 years war between England and France. Chevalier LeCasserolè used one to stab the famous Knight Sir Hamalot in the rump in order to evade capture. What Sir Hamalot didn't realize was that the offending Spork sticking out of his posterior had been tipped with a poisonous glaze. He died four hours later, Spork still protruding, dangerously close to the cook fire...**
From there, use of the spork spread like wildfire. In the 1920's, it was used as a swizzle stick, and hair ornament for some of the upscale flappers, like Daisy Ladle.*** When the first automobile was built, Henry Ford actually had a Spork attatched to the grill to turn the crank with. It had to be replaced, because the Irish immigrants of that time were going out at night, and stealing said Sporks to eat their potato's with.****(Sorry Celtic Rose, and BW, I just couldn't pass that one up.)
Eventually, like all good things, the Spork took a fall. It all started when their leader made a deal with KFC. After that, the only place you could find a good Spork was at the chicken house, in the school cafeteria, and, occasionally, a church potluck. I predict the Spork will rise again, however. I will just have to be patient.

* This just has to be true. I'll find it in the Bible, somewhere.
** I could swear I saw this on Monty Python, and we all know he speaks the truth!
*** Who wouldn't want to meet a flapper named Daisy Ladle. She is elusive, living here in Podunk, California.
**** Possibly made up, just to have a little fun with my favorite Roses.

SO, I am off, into the wild blue yonder. I am going to find an internet cafe in at least one city we're in, because I cannot fathom going for nine days without seeing what you all are up to. And posting myself. Its become a great outlet, and my imagination stretches beyond the beyond in this thing. You can be sure, when I get home there will probably be a large, blog from hell, probably with enough pictures to make up for the Wordless Wednesdays I'm missing!
Love to you all.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAArgh!

Trying to be a responsible person, I call my bank, and one existing credit card company to tell them I will be spending money in other places than Podunk, California. If you don't tell them, they freeze your card, then you can't spend your hard earned credit on cheesy touristy things like chocolate Eiffel Towers and french t shirts that were made in Wisconsin. (you think I kid. I will have to blog that story sometime.)
So the credit card company was great. Yeah, sure no, problem, Mz. M, making a note right here. Even let me talk to the fraud dept so they could verify with me that I'd be gone.
The bank? Sucks. Idiot man on the other end of the phone tells me that it doesn't matter where I use the card. If they think its odd, they'll freeze my account at their whim. But, here's the phone number you can call, from DC and NY to get unfrozen! Jackass. Then, proceeds to tell me that I was signed up with a rewards program for using my ATM card. So, I go to the web address to check this out. I didn't know I'd signed up for anything, but, hey. We can all use anything free, right? Or perceived as free. Well, the computer site won't let me in, so I let my fingers do the walking again (anyone else remember that phone commercial? Its a snap!)and now I get idiot woman on the phone. She tells me that I have 2 thousand some odd points, but the account was closed in 2005. So, what do I do then? Nothing, she sez. And offers to transfer me back to the GENERAL banking line. I just hung up, frustrated. Maybe later, when I am not irritable (sometime, next year?) I will call back and DEMAND my 2000 some odd points, and find out why that account is closed when Idiot Man told me I was enrolled. Meanwhile. I'm going to the store. And I'm NOT using my ATM card! Bastards.

the list

I've always had this internal "things I want to do" list running through my head. Long before Oprah, or Letterman or whomever it was that decided these things should be written down and acted upon. There are not 100 of them. I never even bothered to count them until the other night, when I was bored, and thinking too much. (Couldn't sleep, hate that.) I managed to list 38 things I wanted to do. They are varied, and include things random, like learning to make spanakopita (which is one of the best foods of the world when done right) to seeing a Sea Horse. (I don't think I've ever seen one. . .). There are some already fulfilled things, like going to Normandy and seeing the D day beaches, standing under the Eiffel Tower, seeing Mount Fuji, and learning to Knit. Of course, those things have made me add more things to the list. Now, I want to try my hand at knitting a sweater. And I want to travel more. Other places that have made the list? Ride a Gondola in Venice, take a Sauna in Finland, drink a Pint in Ireland. . . Will I be dissapointed at the end of my life if I've never done these things? Probably not. Because if I don't get to all of these places, there is a good reason. It's not like I've lived my life sitting in front of a television with a vat of ice cream, and been fine with that. There are probably things I am MEANT to do in my life that I am not aware of. Surprise is always nice.
Some things on my list benefit others. I want to take a whole paycheck, just once, and donate it to charity. I donate bits and pieces, here and there. But someday, somewhere, I am going to do that. I also want to (re) learn sign language, and see what I can do with that. I was pretty good at it in college.
Plant a garden of my own is listed as well (CK, I have garden envy.) I also want to have a dog, someday, and go to a High Tea. (pass the crumpets.) There are some personal and emotional things on my list, too. Some that I have to let go. Some that I will never let go. I can get really personal on this blog, but there are some things I just refuse to release to the internet world at large. Plus, I don't feel like crying this morning. :)
In a few days, I am going to be able to cross more off my list. The Vietnam war memorial, the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, to name a few. I guess that's what prompted this post. Its strange, to see my list, even only my partial list, in print. Its has just lived in my head for so long. I think, now that I am done with this post, I'm gonna throw my list away. Its more fun that way.

Sunday Morning update

Well, I am glad to report to you all that I had a great time last night. Its been a long time since I've met such a nice, considerate man, and he smelled good, too! He opened doors for me, he took me to dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, then we went to see a movie. SpiderMan 3. Conversation was good, he even has a brain. Now I know your all thinking it just sounds way to good. I am sure he is flawed, but hey, arn't we all, in some ways? I feel reasonably confident in saying we will go out again. He seemed interested in doing so.
So, its Sunday. And since I saw Spidey 3 last night. . .
This week's job posting in my domicile is for a chauffeur. For this job, I am picking Thomas Hayden Church. He played 'Lowell' on wings, 'Ned' in Ned and Stacey (cheesy, yet entertaining). But he played a seriously beefed up Mr. Sand Man in Spidey 3. And he looked good doing it! Far better than Tobey in the Spidey suit. So, he can drive me through town, anytime!

Postponed, rain delay

For those of you keeping score:
The very nice man I was going to meet tonight called to firm up our plans, and had experienced a hellish day at work. He beats computers for a living at a Major Medical Facility that makes Podunk Memorial look like a cemetary. He was so sweet, saying "I really want to take you out, but can we please go tomorrow?" So, I get to spend more time now refiguring out the clothing, jewelry ratio. You think I'm kidding? Ask Celtic Rose, we had a 20 minute phone conversation regarding which of my necklaces went best with my red sweater. Its supposed to be warm tomorrow, and I have the perfect green shirt. . .

A little bit o' this, a little bit o' that. . .

So, with the gentle prompt from BW, I will tell the other story I mentioned about my friendly, but sometimes incredibly stupid BIL. God help me if my sister ever finds this, but, hey, why not tempt fate. Her computer is a giant piece of shite, and she can barely get online with it.
It was Christmas Eve. I was at my Mom and Dad's, along with the blog famed GG and Uncle Barry. Older sister and her very cool bass playing husband had yet to show up. The phone rings, and I answer it. Its middle sister. She is so mad, she's crying, and barely able to eek out words. It seems my BIL got it into his head that it would be a good idea to take their new puppy, a mini weenie dog who was probably 5 or 6 months old for a ride on the Quad. He also thoughtfully included the three year old (in front of him) and he strapped THE BABY into his carseat, and then strapped the carseat onto the front of said Quad runner. I think the seven year old was on the back, as well. I have tried to block out the image of this, because, frankly, he deserves an award for stupid, and when I think about it, I want to give it to him. His rationale for having the dog on board was that he didn't want to accidentally run her over. Well, things went awry, something tilted, and the three year old almost went ass end over teakettle if I remember correctly. The dog fell off and you guessed it, he ran her over. She ended up getting a chest tube, and cracked vertebrae for Christmas. She actually survived, though. Lucky dog got to spend Christmas with the vet, at her house. So you can see my sister has her hands pretty full. . . I hesitate to hazard a guess what will be waiting for her at the end of our trip. Which brings me to my next point. . .
I am not as exited as I should be for this vacation. Oh, I know it will be fun, and nice and blah blah blah bloody blah. I'm not into it. Though I love my mom, and sister, frankly, I am not too keen on traveling with them. My Mom, she likes to be the one in control, all the time. And middle sister? I don't even know how she's going to be. She honestly has not gone anywhere without husband, or children for seven years. She is leaving her babies for the first time, EVER. And after the last story I just told of gormless BIL, we should all hold hands and pray.
What I am kind of exited about, is that I am meeting a new man tonight. He is one of the computer generated ones, the one who lives only a few miles from here. We have spoken on the phone a few times, usually for a few hours each time. He seems nice. His sense of humor is definately twisted, so he should fit right in. So now I have to go try on every article of clothing I have, then go back to what I have already picked. Just because, I'm a girl, and thats what we do. Isn't it?

You Are Cookie Monster

Misunderstood as a primal monster, you're a true hedonist with a huge sweet tooth. You are usually feeling: Hungry. Cookies are preferred, but you'll eat anything if cookies aren't around. You are famous for: Your slightly crazy eyes and usual way of speaking How you life your life: In the moment. "Me want COOKIE!"

The Sesame Street Personality Quiz

You Are a Chimera

You are very outgoing and well connected to many people. Incredibly devoted to your family and friends, you find purpose in nurturing others. You are rarely alone, and you do best in the company of others. You are incredibly expressive, and people are sometimes overwhelmed by your strong emotions.

What Mythological Creature Are You?

Poison Control

Calling middle sister's house is always chancy. She works during the day, and the chance is that you've called on on one of her work days, and will end up on the phone with my brother-in-law for an unspecified amount of time, depending on his mood. Could be 30 seconds, could be hours.
Now, my BIL is a very nice man. He was in the Navy when he was younger, a Gunners Mate. Played with guns. (not a stretch for him, he is an avid hunter.) Sadly, some of his hearing was impaired during this stretch of time, and you can put the phone down next to you, and still hear every word he utters. And,though he is very smart about many things, (and likes to talk about those things A LOT), child rearing is not his forte. None the less, he is the primary caregiver for three boys, ages 7, 3 and 1, while middle sister is at work. The kids are relatively unscathed from this, and two of them go to school for the better part of the day, now, so its all good.
So I call yesterday, and, middle sis it at work. Darn the luck. Maybe 30 seconds into the conversation, BIL says, real smooth like "you wouldn't have the number for Poison Control, would you?"
Oh shit. Who ate what sez I. They have not only the three boys, but three dogs, as well. I had many visions running through my head. Baby ate dog, baby ate a bullit, dog ate chocolate? I also had the vision of a very sick third nephew, and an obtuse BIL.
"Well, the baby ate some lotion, and middle sister is kind of freaking out. He already puked up the waffle and milk I gave him at breakfast, and is acting normal, so things are fine, right?"
By this time I'd gotten to my computer and looked up Poison Control. I gave him the number, and asked some very pointed questions about how baby was acting. Playing? check. Still walking? check. Eyes not crossed? check. Ok, but still, call poison control. Because you NEVER EVER KNOW.
Yes, the baby is fine. I knew he'd be ok, but still. Is that any way to start a conversation with someone? Poison Control basically said the boy would have diarrhea today, probably. I hope BIL is home alone with him, again, to get his just desserts! I know kids can get into anything when your back is turned, and my lotion drinking nephew is proof positive of that!

Wordless Wednesday

Barbie got a boob job, just in time for the carshow!

Clara Bow

Clara Bow had an interesting life. She had a very hard life. I would have never really thought to want to know what Clara Bow's life was like. My TV was on for background noise, as usual, while I was reading a book. I found myself putting the book down (unheard of!) to watch most of her biography.
Her father was an abusive ass, but yet, even when she was rich, she kept him around, and let him sponge off her. She even bought him a 'dry goods' shop, and roller-skated to it to give him publicity. It went under. This idiot wanted to be called "king", and made everyone call him as such. After Clara had children, he would beat one of them. Clara put boxing gloves on the boy, and let him beat the shit out of Grandpa. Lesson learned.
She was a promiscuous little thing, and didn't care who knew it. She actually had SEX with her boyfriends. She announced, repeatedly that marriage was not the only career for women." This was in the 1920-130's. Shocking! She loved being an actress. She had boyfriends from every film. I guess I'd like being an actress, too, if that happened. She survived the advent of 'talkies', and the world discovered she had a Brooklyn accent. Towards the end of her career as an actress, she started having mental problems, and became a little paranoid, even taking her aggressions out on a microphone. She still wasn't sure of these 'talkies'. She finally married one of her co-stars, moved to a ranch in Nevada, and had two boys. He became a politician, and left her alone too often. She moved to Las Vegas to be closer to him, where she died, in 1965, alone, in front of her TV set, watching a rerun of an old movie, called "The Virginian's."
Why am I blogging about Clara Bow? Because, its my blog, and I can. One of my favorite things is learning something new. I especially like hearing about women who tried, (and suceeded!) in breaking the mold of their day. I knew, a little bit, about Clara Bow before today, (I always envisioned her lips,). But I never knew she was a strong, slightly crazy promiscuous broad who made no excuses for enjoying her life the way she wanted to, regardless of what public opinion was of her.