hello world - again

To anyone still out there, you may have noticed I've been away for awhile. Quite awhile. At first I thought it was a typical block keeping me from writing. In fact, there are approximately 50 (or more? I've not counted to tell you the truth) unfinished posts waiting to be edited and published. I don't know if that will ever happen. News gets old. Then there's also the fact that things around here get incredibly busy and yeah yeah you've heard it all before. Everyone who knows me has.

Recently though, I realized that it's much more than a simple block that's kept me from yapping away endlessly about nonsensical (and occasional sensical) shit. When I first started writing here, eons ago, I had a certain degree of anonymity. Just a smidge maybe, but it would do. And there was definitely a feeling of freedom to that. I don't feel that anymore. There are so many things now that I want to say but don't feel that I can. Bear in mind that this is coming from the person who chronicled her shock treatment experience. Lately I've looked back over that stuff a couple of times and can only come away thinking What the fuck?.

Much of my life has the distinct taste of a twisted up dream. For me, writing is an attempt to sort it all out. As I've said before - this is my talk therapy. And it's a fabulous setup - there are no co-pays, no mis-diagnoses, and no doctors pushing crappy drugs on me. Except - the doctor/patient confidentiality thing is gone here. Therefore, I've started writing somewhere else. Completely anon. Names and sometimes places changed to protect the innocent and not-so-innocent. I've not gotten too far with it yet because it took a bit of retrospective ambling to stumble upon something that should've been clear years ago. Maybe I'm being a "bit obtuse".

No mind really - point is, don't know how much more I'll write here. I'd like to. And perhaps now that I've broken this...whateveritis, the words will come easy and things will be back to normal. But maybe not. Who knows? I sure as hell don't. I don't know a goddamn thing anymore. Except that I've finally admitted something to myself - and it's pretty damned important. At least to me.

For now that's what matters.

congress is saving the children from my killer hats

This Christmas, I didn't have a whole lotta moola to sashay around town with - as usual. So I did what comes natural to me. I made things. That's what I do. That's why if you look at my profile, under "occupation" it says "thing-maker". There's also the fact that I've had no luck finding a job, so I can't give myself the illustrious title of Secretary (i.e. Disgruntled Office Kickin-dog). I don't mind being a Thing-Maker. I rather like it actually. I like being able to go into a store, look at a $120 dress, fondle the fabric, is that a bias cut?, I'd do those sleeves differently, ohmygod what a cheap-ass looking hem!, and walk out knowing that I have a similar pattern at home, cooler fabric, and can whip up a better one this weekend. And for free!

One of the things I made this year was a hat for my nephew with 3 different shades of green yarn. I thought he might like it because the colors came together kind of like camouflage. When he opened it on Christmas, he immediately put it on and didn't take it off for the rest of the time he was at Mamaw's. "So he likes the hat?" I asked my brother. "You see he hasn't taken it off. Green's his favorite color." I did not know that. Maybe I should change my occupation to Psychic Thing-Maker.

I also gave my niece a little pink crocheted tunic I'd made a while back. It was from an old '70s pattern book, so I changed things up and added a ruffle trim around the whole piece with this bizarro yarn called "Wiggles" (looks as if it has little rainbow colored caterpillars crawling through it). And instead of the button placket down the front (since I had the ruffle there - but also the placket looked boring), I put a little tie-closure at the top. I was pleasantly surprised that my niece put on her sweater and wore it home too.

I've said all of that to say this. You may or may not know that I sell some of the things I make online. The majority of items I sell are for babies and children. As of February 10th, those items will be illegal due to the fact that I (like so many other individual crafters & small businesses) cannot comply with the Consumer Product Safety Improvement Act's requirement that manufacturers of children's items undergo strict third-party testing & certification before their products can be sold in the United States. Exact figures on third-party testing differ from place to place, but I have read that it can range anywhere from $150 to $5000 per item. I think that might be because each piece of the finished product needs to be tested. For example : a child's jacket would require testing of the fabric, liner, batting, buttons, snaps, zipper, cord, plastic pieces on ends of cord, velcro, thread, elastic, etc. The law applies to any manufacturer of items intended for children 12 or younger. I've thought about just ignoring this cracked-out whacked-out legislation and going on about my business. But then there's the $100,000 fine per violation and up to 5 years imprisonment.

The whole point of the act is to reduce those recalls of toy police cars for lead paint (manufactured in China). Or those toy tv recalls - for lead paint (manufactured in Hong Kong). Toy xylophones for lead paint - manufactured in China. Floppy Friends Horse Toys - from China. Toy dinosaurs, some weird cowboy guy, Winnie-the-Pooh playsets, Go Diego Go boats, various wooden baby toys, Barbie accessories, Schylling Thomas & Friends and Curious George tops & pails, Tinker Bell wands, ring toss, Cranium Cadoo Board Games, Schylling toy robots, Super Wheels, Baby Einstein Color Blocks...all of these toys have at least two things in common. They contain excessive levels of lead according to federal standards and they were all manufactured in China.

Then we also have these fun little products to play with and maim ourselves : Remote-controlled helicopters due to fire and burn hazards - manufactured in China. Toy barbecue grills for laceration hazard - manufactured in China. Dive Sticks due to impalement hazard - manufactured in China. Rage Wireless Guitars for chemical burn risk- manufactured...oh, just guess where. China. I forgot the doll stroller recalled for severing a child's finger tip and posing possible entrapment hazard.

So, the thing is - if you have the choice of buying your child a toy from a large corporation that imports from a manufacturer in China, a toy with possibly harmful amounts of lead OR something handmade by a local crafter from wood, 100% cotton, wool, and certified non-toxic paints - which would you choose?

I'm only one of a multitude of people who put their heart and soul - and guess what else...Creativity! - into making something other than a slutty little Bratz doll or annoying singing Elmo. Customers buy handmade because they don't want corporate - they want something different. They want to support local business. Small business. They want recycled, upcycled, natural, unique, original, special order - they don't want another freakin' Bratz doll! What now? Sure, they get the security of knowing they get safe toys...which is great. I'm all for that. Really I am. But they get safe toys from Wal-mart. Toys-R-Us. These cool play blocks? Nope. This cute fairy doll? Nada. This kick-ass owl? Seriously, that's one awesome owl.

Is the whole point of this money? Yes and No. I don't make wads of cash on my shop. It's enough to help with groceries and gas sometimes, but my sales for the past year have been pretty bad to be honest with you. It is the only way I have right now of bringing in any income of my own though. Everything else I exist on is child support. That's an incredibly embarrassing thing to admit. But there it is. It's terribly hard to find a good job (with insurance - and that's imperative due to my medical situation - together my meds are over $1000/month) when you've been home with your kids for so long. No potential employer cares to hear that, no matter how much work children are. Nevertheless, I keep up the Etsy site because ultimately I enjoy making things. I always have. It's one of the few things I can do that I take actual pride in.

I guess in a way it does come down to money, but not in a way that you would think. I grew up not having a lot. Don't get me wrong, there were people who made sure that I was taken care of - but I learned to appreciate much of the do-it-yourselfness that my grandparents' generation possesses. Mamaw worked as a seamstress at a dry cleaner's and used to pick us up at school and take us back to work with her while she finished up. She always let me go through the scraps from altered pants and dresses in the box beside her machine and use them to sew doll clothes. I'll never forget when I was 16 and I put in my first zipper (and made box-pleats!) - I was so excited. When Noah was little I made his pajamas and sweaters and a little pair of pants out of the same fabric that I'd made that first pleated skirt from.

So maybe what I'm trying to really express is some idea of self-reliance. Like a garden, but with fabric and yarn. It is an absolutely wonderful feeling to be able to make your own clothes. And to make clothes for your kids? When some teacher at school says "What a cute dress!" as my daughter gets out of the car in the morning and I hear France reply "Thanks! My mom made it" - well...shit. That's just about the best compliment in the world. But then...to know that there are other people out there. People in Australia or Sweden, even, who think I make cool stuff and want to buy it from me? Wow! However could this have happened?

Do you know how I make my baby shoes? I don't have a pattern. I typically use 100% cotton yarn (manufactured in the U.S. or Canada, depending on the brand) and try to find some funky buttons that will look cool. It's usually in the afternoon, after France gets home and I'm simultaneously helping her with homework. I photograph them in my backyard or around my house, using different props to accent the color scheme. One pair takes up about about 20 minutes of my time and costs me approximately $1.20 in materials. They sell for $8.00 with shipping at a dollar fifty. I think that's a fair profit when sales are good. Still, as you can plainly see, this ain't fucking Mattel.

I've gone on way too long here...and more so about myself than I originally meant to. I hope I've not downplayed how far-reaching this will be though. It isn't just small online shops like mine that will be affected - it's grandmas selling baby blankets at craft fairs, local boutiques, guys who make wooden toys in their garage, businesses that provide our schools with much needed supplies and science equipment, Native Americans, some European toy-makers, libraries (seriously? what the hell?), and of course anyone who purchases items for children. Does any of this apply to you? I'm guessing most of you buy something for a kid at one point or another. Do you really want it to be a monstrosity such as this :
My, my...isn't that one of the...well I just don't know what to say about that. Don't worry though, I don't think they're available anymore - they were recalled in August of 2007. Due to lead poisoning hazard. And potential serious night terrors? Manufactured in China, imported by Fisher-Price (a subsidiary of Mattel, the world's largest toy importing company - if you click on the Mattel link a couple paragraphs up you can see that they recalled over 19 million toys in August of 2007 alone). Maybe you can also get an idea about who will be able to afford this testing when you look at their $5.970 billion revenue for 2007. And all for poisoning a bunch of kids with a psychotic drill and other assorted craptastic shit.

Oh yeah, one more thing. This law is retroactive. As of February 10th, any children's item not meeting the new federal standards automatically becomes banned as a hazardous material and must be destroyed regardless of when it was manufactured. National Bankruptcy Day is less than a month away.

Wait, I forgot something else :
There are authorized to be appropriated to the Commission for the purpose of carrying out the provisions of this Act and any other provision of law the Commission is authorized or directed to carry out -
"(A)$118,200,000 for fiscal year 2010;
"(B)$115,640,000 for fiscal year 2011;
"(C)$123,994,000 for fiscal year 2012;
"(D)$131,783,000 for fiscal year 2013; and
"(E)$136,409,000 for fiscal year 2014.

So put together how many people are losing income with how much money the new law requires...THIS MAKES SO MUCH DAMN SENSE!

**On January 8th (I started writing this over a week ago - I've been emailing people, calling people, making Saxby Chambliss one of my killer hats to send along with my letter so he can put it on his big old head and think things over, and generally being in bothered/frustrated/Boston-Tea-Party mode) the CPSC voted to exempt some products/people. Electronic products with lead embedded inside are exempt now. Of course if you have a kid who takes those kind of things apart and rubs 'em around on his face or tries to eat them, you might wanna keep an eye on him. There's also initial approval of items made from natural products like wool, cotton, gemstones, etc. I'm still wondering how that applies to cotton that's dyed though...because a bunch of beige children running around is gonna look pretty weird and totalitarian. And thrift shops & consignment shops are off the hook now too - sort of. They don't have to test the products they sell, but they still face civil/criminal penalties if caught selling items in violation of the new lead limit. What? My head hurts. Maybe it was all that licking the inside of the computer that I did earlier...

I'll be quiet now.

Five steps you can take to save natural/handmade companies

Vote to amend the law on Change.org

Learning Resources blog

Handmade Toy Alliance

CPSIA Etsy Forums

worst (best) band names of 2008

Noxious Death Fumes

Your Radiant Stalker

Danger! Floor Hazard

Sproing

Extra Cat

Danger People to the Laser Hand

Chimeric Pharmacy

Bipedal Walking Goat

Shut Your Pie Hole

I Will Eat Your Face

The Nazis Are Coming! The Nazis Are Coming!

Aye-Aye Captain!

Claw Your Face Off

Three-toed Cat

I Will Destroy You!

Baby Danger







Okay.............

In case you haven't guessed yet - these are all fake. I figure the lack of links (myspace especially) is a big tipoff. I've just been sitting here for about 10 minutes making stupid shit up because...well, there's no good reason really, I'm just like that sometimes. At least I don't think any of them are real. I googled one of the first names I thought of (Slippery Chicken) and it turned out to be extremely close to a true band's actual name : the slippery chickens. And I was, seriously, very surprised. I checked a bunch of these others to see if anything real came up (nothing did) but I didn't get all the way down the list before my imagination ran away into some smoke-filled back room at a noisy club to surreptitiously take photos of the dude with the man-purse...

Later babes...

where do we go now?

Here I am again with a full head, sick stomach, and empty hands, listening to songs that came out when I was twelve years old for some odd reason. Well, it's not odd that they came out when I was twelve years old (big hair and tight pants were both quite common at the time) - but that I find myself seeking solace in Guns N' Roses right now is a bit bizarre.

There's too much going on though...I can't adequately put any of it into words. And I've tried. Lord how I've tried. A little patience...mmmmmm, yeah...need a little patience...just a little patience...some more patience...I been walking the streets at night, just trying to get it right

Sorry, got caught up there for a minute - sometimes I just blast music in order to forget about the laws that will soon put me out of business (or force me underground? don't wanna think about it right now), breaking up cat fights (real cat - not the human kind, I can handle those alright), all of the school system shit (where to start?), all of the usual money crap/medication side-effects & vision getting worse/pure exhaustion/family guilt/seemingly hopeless job search - bleccchhh! Not to mention the things I can't even speak of. Things I only talk about to a few choice people - so of course they hear about Mr. C and the Monster incessantly. I know they're sick of it. And I do apologize, you guys. You know who you are.

Maybe I'll get around to explaining about the cats and laws later. But I just heard a wet occurrence in the hallway. And it had to be something pretty sick to have drowned out Welcome to the Jungle.

ttyl peeps

yum?

I read on Reuters that a bunch of German churches have a problem with some guy's production of the Original Chocolate GoldJesus®. And I have to say, the whole Jesus wrapped up in foil as a delicious treat is a bit weird. The fact that it's supposed to remind people of the real meaning of Christmas is even weirder. But I do love saying the Original Chocolate GoldJesus®.

I've been making chocolates for years though. I've been to the stores that sell these molds. I knew I'd seen chocolate Jesus before. As original as the Original Chocolate GoldJesus® surely must be (he does have the high-quality optical effect of gold foil wrapping), he's not the first chocolate Jesus. Just look at the crucifix lollipop. Actually, you can probably find something to satiate any religious chocolate fix. Like the baptism lolly, which allows you to eat both a little priest and baby. Or Girl with the Torah.

Now if you really want to get in the Christmas spirit, you should try this. Or better yet, here's a great gift idea! For $33.20 you can make "an exact replica of your favorite penis in milk chocolate! Includes everything you need to make the mold and some chocolate to fill it up with. Manufacturer recommends keeping mold filled with water between use so that you can mold again. Dry before use again. We suggest making a lot of chocolates at one time and storing them in the fridge wrapped air tight. We sell extra chocolate in milk, dark or white". Of all the guys I've ever known in my life, I cannot think of a single one who would be up for allowing a mold to be made of his penis so that candy might be produced. Not that this is something I would consider doing...

Adult novelty candy for a party or something is one thing. Trying to replicate your "favorite" person's genitalia with any sort of foodstuffs and keep a stash in your fridge for whatever future use seems like possible stalker-ish behavior. I don't think the Original Chocolate GoldJesus® would approve.

Femputer Demands To Know!!!!

maybe it's time to lighten up...perhaps we'll have a little hard spankin'...



Recognize Femputer's voice? Ever watch The Golden Girls? Not gonna tell ya which one it is...she's the most femputer of the bunch is all I'll say. Vibrant caftans...salt n' pepper bob...you know who I'm talkin' about...Maude? I love it when Fry says "I'm through making fun of women...now I want them to help me".

Jesus Christ people, it time Snu-Snu! And yes, as I understand it (as opposed to this video title - though I can't complain, I've found it hard to get good Futurama and it's my fave) that is the correct spelling. You know I'm a stickler. For Snu-Snu. And like I said, it time Snu-Snu. Dammit. Broken pelvises and all...

a terribly late election night "report"

Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue, Vote Ta'Kieshia For President If You Want Something New!!

NO CAMPAIGNING ALLOWED WITHIN 150 FEET OF THIS POLL
NO POLITICAL T-SHIRTS
NO POLITICAL HATS
NO POLITICAL BUTTONS
NO FORM OF CAMPAIGNING
IS ALLOWED O.C.G.(C.?) G. oh hell, I can't read this shit...
Please remove, cover up, or turn inside out. A rest room is available for these purposes, please ask staff for location.
THANK YOU!

Uh oh Ta'Kieshia - you're in trouble! 7pm - the polls just closed in Georgia. Mere moments before, France had finally finished filling out the big yellow sample ballot that we picked up this afternoon when we went to vote. But only after erasing Noah's candidate choices, most of which were write-ins like Elmo, Cap'n Crunch, and "Myself". France opted for write-ins also. For United States Senate, SuperCat beat out Saxby Chambliss, Jim Martin, and the Libertarian, Allen Buckley (Damn! I love you Allen!). For U.S. Rep. in the 111th Congress from the 11th Congressional District of Georgia - Dr. Dookie Poo (better than Phil Gingrey). And for State Rep. in the General Assembly from the 34th District - My Butt. Not quite what I meant by 'third party', but it's interesting. They're Going Rogue!

I had wanted to do the whole thing last week since the kids were out of school today. I was concerned about waiting in long lines with them and how France would deal with me having to take her to the actual voting booth thingy with me. She likes to press buttons. And I don't like Saxby Chambliss. But I don't want to get into that right now (what does it matter anyway? polls are closed here). I have a limited amount of time in my days to do things though because of my kids' schedules - one goes to school at 7:30 and is out at 2:10, the other goes in at 9 and is out at 4:15. It's kind of screwy. I kept calling the early voting places and asking about wait times and they were not good. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to pick France up on time if I got stuck in a line or there was trouble with my registration or problems with machines or who-knows-what. You never can tell. One lady I spoke to at the East Cobb Government Service Center told me "Just get a babysitter". Hmmm...why didn't I think of that? Oh yeah, because if it were that simple I would have done it already.

Turns out, waiting till today was a pretty good thing. As we walked in a man came down the hall and said "It's a madhouse in there...you have one person in line ahead of you". Huh? This compared to 3-5 hours last week? Some places I had heard it was 8. I went to the elementary school library and filled my stuff out. The guy behind the laptop told me "You're a 504 - betcha didn't know you're a 504" and chuckled to the woman on his left. "I don't know what the hell that even means, man" I said. He handed me the little plastic card and said "Any machine". France noticed a stuffed white tiger on a bookshelf and whispered "That looks like Hot Sauce!". A lady told her she could go check it out if she wanted. And that's when I caught a glimpse of a big table in the back. A big long table. Laid out with all types of food. Bags of cheetos, bowls of nuts, mints, soda, sandwiches, and guess what...cake!

The actual voting didn't take long. I'd already gone over the sample ballot online, researched the candidates (all those mo-fos), tried to figure out the convoluted proposed amendments ("Shall Cobb County, Georgia, for the purpose of providing funds to acquire land located in Cobb County for use as public parks in perpetuity, issue bonded debt in the aggregate principal amount not to exceed $40,000,000?"), and written down everything I wanted (or as close to it as I could get) on a slip of paper to stick in my pocket. Curious...who else does this? Or am I just really neurotic?

Afterward we went to get firewood. And we saw some funny things. Like that impersonator lady in the photo above, who was standing on the street corner by the Publix waving at folks. And these wacked-out pants that I can't imagine anyone in their right mind wearing. I know that's totally off subject. That's the point. I'm trying to rinse my mind of the perpetuity of my brokeness, the aggregate of lying liars who lie in Washington, and the exceedingly cracked comments from cnn's ticker (why do I still read this? more later...). Also, the point is...what the hell is up with these motherfucking pants? Any takers? Elastic at the side seam ankles on jeans...and the reason is...? I do not get it. Makes me think of those little ankle zippers that were so de rigueur during my middle school years. Didn't look good then either, but we mistakenly thought so - or was it just that they were 'cool', like New Kids and banana clips? Sometimes I'm glad I'm an old lady and don't have to deal with that shit anymore.

And I can't leave out the due-to-election-no-alcohol sign. I'd forgotten about that. When I was at the store and saw the sign I had to get a picture. I was trying to explain the whole 'buying votes with drinks' thing when a clerk walked by, smiled at me, shook his head, and said "Yeah...and how people gonna celebrate?!". It was weird because around here they usually pull big plastic sheets down over the booze on Sundays (we have Blue Laws - you guys have that crap?), but there were no sheets - just signs. France added the dramatic effect to the photo of her own accord. I think it sums everything up quite nicely.

an elementary vote

There was an "election" today at the elementary school. Or, I suppose it was yesterday since it's 12:46am now and technically the real election day. Anyway, France told me that all the kids were sent into booths, given slips of paper, told to vote, and got a sticker after they made their decisions.

"I was the only one who didn't vote for Obama!" she cried. Geez.

"Did they tell you there were more than two choices?" Of course not. This is a free country. Apples, oranges...where's my kiwi fruit? Where's my mango?

"There was a donkey and an elephant and they said they were parties but not parties with cake..." she was starting to laugh and so was I.

"Oh, there's cake all right...but they take all your freakin' cake. They take your pie too."

"And running mates...I thought that meant like in a race, like in P.E."

"Yeah, they run away with your cake!"

"What? Why are you laughing? What's the donkey mean? Can we have a party after the race? Stephanie wrote her own name down for president."

"Tell Stephanie that's awesome, I'd vote for her too."

Seriously though, I have not told my children (either one of them) who to be rooting for in this whole thing. I will say that I have repeatedly stated my emphatic belief that third parties are not given nearly enough consideration by the media, school systems (which would mean government wouldn't it? or am I just being a typical third-party nut?), and public in general.

"You know that there are more than two people running for president though, right France? There's Cynthia McKinney - she's with the Green Party. She's from Georgia." Nevermind all that craziness a couple years back - she seems to have gotten it together since then. I hope. "Ralph Nader - he's independent this year, I think. Bob Barr is the Libertarian - he's from Cobb County. And if he'd just lose that freaky mustache he would probably do okay. I mean he's got the civil liberties stuff down...but then you expect Boris and Natasha to come walking in, so that blows it."

"What are you talking about? J.C. laughed at Stephanie because she said Hillary got elected out."

"Ummm" elected out, interesting "there's no reason to laugh at Stephanie. But no, there is no 'elected out'. As I was saying though, before you interrupted me, like you always do, there are alot of other people to vote for besides just the two guys! There's another lady even! Jesus...I can't remember her name, Gloria something, Socialism Party...point is...it's not just a donkey and an elephant. There's the Constitution Party. There's Alan Keyes. Brian Moore and Stewart Alexander for the Socialist Party. There's a Constitution Party, heck I think there's even a Boston Tea Party...that sticks out in my mind because it sounds so..."

"Do they have cake?"

I'm wishing I had some liquor at this point. And I don't even drink it anymore. Sweet baby jesus, just make it all be over.

invasion

"Holy shit!" That's what I said Saturday morning when I rolled over in bed and saw this face staring down at me. The fact that I didn't sleep with my contacts in Friday night made it even worse because there was that blurry distorted effect like in a bad movie - you know, when the unassuming victim character wakes up or something and there's a fucking alien (or ax murderer, or clown, or whatever) standing there.

I don't know how long my child had been silently waiting at my bedside - or why she insisted on dressing in her Halloween costume immediately upon waking - but she thought this was the best joke ever. And maybe she was right.

The costume was a last minute pick by her dad, who'd had trouble finding that Pikachu suit she'd been talking about. I almost had her sold on Bag O' Jelly Beans when he called Thursday.

My sister and I always liked to put together our own costumes. You can do alot of cool stuff with trash bags and clothes from the goodwill. I had been telling France about some different ideas earlier in the week "You could be a hobo...if you smear a thin layer of vaseline on your face and then pat it with coffee grounds you can have an instant beard..." She wasn't too thrilled about the hobo, but the jelly beans intrigued her. Basically, you get a clear plastic trash bag and cut two leg holes in the bottom, two armholes at the sides. Blow up a ton of round balloons in all different colors, step into the bag, fill it up with balloons and tie a little ribbon up around your neck. Voila! You are a bag of jelly beans. Sort of. Of course you need to wear a body suit and tights under it. And be careful that the bottom of the bag doesn't rip while you're trick-or-treating or you end up pooping balloons down the street. I've seen this happen. I think the possibility of pooping balloons may have even been the reason France was considering this one.

When France got the other costume options though, she couldn't resist. Her father let her know that he'd found an alien and a ghost but Pikachu was MIA. The store had a bunch of girlie costumes (princesses, zombie brides, Hannah Montana, goth princesses), but nothing was France. Alien and ghost were both "boy" costumes, and both things she talks about incessantly. It turned out to be the perfect costume for the kid who once insisted I watch an episode of Larry King with her celebrating the anniversary of the Roswell Incident.

effects of candy on tooth loss

It's funny how often I find myself showing my children something and saying "Poppa taught me how to do this". What's even funnier is how many times that thing is a trick of some kind - like removing your own thumb or a way to write in code so that nobody can read notes that you pass to your friends about who you like and stuff (that's what I used it for anyway).

The other day, after picking up a bag of candy corn at the store (I know it's not good for you, but I like it nonetheless), I did something that I do every year when I buy candy corn. Something that my dad taught me a long time ago but I've never forgotten. Something I've probably already pulled on my children a dozen times and they recognize easily as a stupid joke.

"Owwww! My toof!" You may know this one. I'm not sure how widespread it is. I thought for years that my dad invented the thumb removal but that is obviously not the case, so I doubt he invented the candy-corn-tooth-loss bit either.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, here's the deal : Take a piece of candy corn (regular candy corn - not the "Indian" candy corn, or whatever it's called - it needs a white tip, unless your teeth are rotten I guess) and bite the end off gently - you can leave a little of the orange to pass for blood (but not too much), spit it into your hand, act shocked/bewildered/in pain/whatever, run up to someone and show your tooth, The End.

When France heard my plaintive cry from the kitchen, she looked up and started laughing. She was sitting in the living room floor, already spitting out her own handful of sugary "teeth". I learned alot from my dad. And I'm happy to pass it on down, monkey business and all.

**Note - If you pull this prank on your grandmother and she isn't able to tell that it's a fake tooth because she doesn't see too well and you think you're getting away with it and you just might get some money if you put it under your pillow at night, she will more than likely tell you to immediately open your mouth for inspection. Grandmothers are like that. Old ladies aren't stupid. You have been warned.

**Another thing - If you really want to gross someone out...before the person recognizes the tooth-corn as a fraud, pop it in your mouth and eat it. You can chew it or swallow it whole, your choice. If you play this well enough and time it just right, the look on the other guy's face will be priceless. It will only last a second - because the fakeness of the whole thing becomes clear instantly after you eat your own tooth, I'd say. But that split second of shock and disgust is worth it.

let's do the time warp

Saturday night, sitting home, unable to make it to my friend Mel's Halloween party because I couldn't afford gas to get there or my Nancy Grace wig - I found this :
...a yearbook photo of me from 1982, with even crazier hair than any wig could ever produce. Of course in 1982 I was seven, so this is not my real hair. But it is my face.

And here I am in 1952 - the year before my father was born. I didn't know that was possible. France said "That's like your hair was when you were little". It still does that when I have it short. Unfortunately I then look about as old as the lady in the photo probably would presently.













This was taken in 1960. I have a pair of these glasses. I don't know that I'll ever wear them again after seeing this.
















1984 - after I got kicked out of Heart. And wouldn't you know it...that's when they go on to do all the crappy songs. Forget about "Crazy on You" and "Barracuda". Instead they wanna sing "These Dreams" and "Nothing At All". Fine then I said Let the radio have 'em.















This is from my 1988 identity crisis. There are no words to express the confusion going on in my soul during this period.

















But this is my favorite. I'm thinking about changing my profile pic to this, even. Because if I were in high school in 1966 this is probably what it would have turned out like. I don't feel like smiling, jerkwad.

Have some fun with your face at yearbookyourself.com.

I'm easily amused

The other night, when France was trying to tell me that all domes were onion domes like on the Taj Bajal...

"It's Taj Mahal"

"Taj Jamal"

"No, Taj Mahal- and all domes are not onion domes, but..."

I decided to show her another example of absolutely fabulous onion domes - St. Basil's Cathedral. And I discovered something that I did not expect...I can see Russia from my house. While the St. Basil's camera does not actually look "live" - St. Petersburg does. Of course it's a bit after 1am at Stroganov Palace, so there's not a whole lot going on there. Stroganov...I'm getting hungry...time for dinner here. Oh, here's a handful of stuff in Moscow.

"Taj Jamar?"

"No."

"Jabar? Bajar? Just tell me!"

Which of these things do you find more unsettling?

A pack of 9/11 "Dress It Up" buttons, complete with Twin Towers?
Scraping a surprise wasp (?) nest out of your car trunk with a car key (since that's all you have on you to do it with) and getting a splatter of larvae goo on your jeans in the process?
This clown?
I think I know why the clown looks that way though...the full page of the book seems to be suggesting that perhaps der Clown is being heavily medicated by der Doktor, because he is nuts. Or am I looking too closely?

I love you, Dracula

if you enjoyed that, read :

20 Horror Movie Clichés I Can Do Without

I think the award should go to The Backwards Walk. But I mean that in a good way. It made me laugh the most. I have the same reaction when I see it in a movie, so it makes perfect sense. Does anyone ever really walk backwards? I mean, like, in real life? Besides my youngest child? Who usually trips over things even after I've told her to stop because she's going to trip over things and quite possibly maim the cat in the process?

It's late...I'm gonna walk backwards to my kitchen now and grab a snack. Hope no-one's mysteriously standing there with a decapitated doll-head when I close the door to the fridge...

my fellow prisoners...

Can you believe my luck? Look who I found! And in the same place as the other two baby-kissers...who'd a thunk it?
As for his captivating misspeak, I personally can relate alot more to "my fellow prisoners" than I can to "my friend(s)". Perhaps because I don't feel like the government is my friend really. No matter how many houses they visit, hands they shake, or backs they pat, I don't think any of those people, with their stupid motorcades and overpriced suits, understand what it's like to count out change in order to purchase a block of cheddar cheese. Or how it's better sometimes to buy a big box of powdered milk because you can mix it up a couple of liters at a time and it's shelf stable so that when your money runs out and you can't buy more you still can have fresh milk (**handy tip coming straight to you from a gen-u-ine broke person! you're welcome). Even people who grew up poor can easily forget what it's like when they don't have to deal with it firsthand on a day to day basis.

When the bailout talks were still going on and nobody could come to an agreement I was watching it on CNN while knitting something up to sell on my etsy shop in order to earn some cash. The reporter said that they were going to "break for dinner". It was getting close to dinner time for us too. I couldn't help but wonder what they'd all be eating. Surely not anything like what I had in my pantry. They should all get a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of water I thought That's it. You know what happens if my kid doesn't have lunch money and the school has lost the first set of paperwork I sent in for the government "free lunch program"? They wait a week or so to tell me they lost the forms, then they send home a second set for me to fill out in Spanish/Portuguese. In the meantime I'm thinking everything's cool because I've done what they told me to do - what I don't know is that my baby is at school getting nothing but a peanut butter sandwich and a little carton of milk for lunch every day. And guess what? When the paperwork finally goes through and we're approved for the program, I also receive a bill for a bunch of peanut butter sandwiches.

That the political bickering turns people off doesn't surprise me. That it makes people argue more fervently about how "right" their side is confuses me though. My fellow prisoners, they all suck! "Well, we don't suck as bad..." yeah, okay...whatever. When are we gonna have the balls as a country to take out this goddamn two-party system? You know I actually heard a reporter recently say "Thank goodness there's no Ross Perot in this election". Of course. That would throw everything out of whack. And the only way a third party can get far enough to really win any votes is if it is a rich guy. It takes so much money (for air time, campaign workers, signs, transport, touring, ads asking for more money...what else?) to run a campaign, some people never even make it on the ballot. That's a damn shame. And we're stuck with Jack Johnson and John Jackson, each asking for more and more of our dollars. I think instead of sending the major two parties money we should send them packets of Ramen Noodles. Enclose a note that says something like "Dear Senator, I just can't afford to send anything other than this - my last packet of noodles, and my undying support. I thought it still might help though...Ramen Noodles make for a quick and easy lunch or dinner. We have them all the time, my kids love them. You can even prepare them in the microwave on your bus or plane!" Any real money should go to third parties and break up this crap. Of course it's too late this time around.

voodoo politics

...there's some rumors going round
someone's underground
she can rock you in the nighttime 'til your skin turns red

wooo hooo, witch-ay woman

I'm not sure who's heard about this one, but I had to share it because when I saw the story on the news the other day I choked on my swiss cake roll. And after trying to recover with a drink of water I choked again at the ridiculous spectacle of the reporter on his cell phone with the voodoo high priestess, holding it out to the mic in speaker mode for the camera, and it would have been futile to attempt to contain my laughter after that.

Perhaps I should explain. You know how everyone's talking about the political campaigns getting all nasty and crazy and such - the national ones, I mean. Well here in Cobb County the GBI is looking into allegations that commissioner Annette Kesting hired a voodoo priestess to get even with Woody Thompson, the guy who beat her in the Democratic primary runoff. George Ann Mills, a high priestess in Blythewood South Carolina, told the Cobb County Police that Kesting wanted Thompson to either "catch cancer" or "have a car accident". The curse was never performed however. Mills says "a true priest or priestess of voodoo would not intentionally cause the death of another." Which is cool. But she did sacrifice a chicken and three roosters to protect Kesting and her son.

Then there's the fact that $3000 worth of checks from Kesting bounced. This seems to be what's bothering Mills. "I kept a paper trail of everything," Mills said "I don’t think this would have ever come out if I had been paid." With the price of chicken lately, can you blame her? Kesting denies ever even meeting Mills, says she knows no-one in South Carolina, and that her car won't even get her that far. When you look at the rest of Kesting's headlines lately though (Warrant issued for Cobb Commissioner on code violations, Kesting may avoid contempt order, Cobb Commissioner pays fine avoids arrest - all unrelated to the curse issue), it's hard to know what to believe. Voodoo Priestess or Politician. You decide.

The Post Chronicle

The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Weird Universe

blank blank

I feel like I should just draw out a time-line in order to illustrate this past month. It would be less confusing and wordy. I could use a piece of wide-rule notebook paper, the old faithful clear plastic protractor, and a blue sharpie to scribble out some garbage that would make no sense to anyone (possibly not even me), scan it, upload some photos and say to hell with it. This seems like a good idea now that I think about it...

shit...I think France broke my protractor.

Well, I'll have another go at this but I don't know how far I'll get. I've tried to write several times over the past weeks and just can't manage. I hate that. Words in my head, in my hands, my mouth - they come out, even...but then it's all too much. There's a need to keep things to myself - answering the phone becomes difficult - I wanna get a sign for the door - Sorry We're Closed, Please Come Again. I know it will pass though. It always does.

It started back on the 12th I think, when the news was predicting Ike's landfall. I got a call from my sister "Do you have gas?"

I'm not even in the room with you...I swear I didn't do it "Uh...what?"

"There" I could tell then that she driving, she was talking fast, fighting traffic. I had forgotten that she was coming to pick up Noah and take him back to her place. I was thinking about my car's tag, tax, and emissions hooey. How it would be costing me out the wazoo because it was late, but even worse it would be costing me double if I got stopped because I'd still have to pay it plus a ticket. Such simpler times...

"Oh...in my car? Not much, I'll have to get some later but first I have to - " I'm the slow-talker. The over-explainer. But I don't have to tell you that. Even though I just did.

"No, no, in Atlanta...""What?" They were running out in Chattanooga. The lines were forming. Price gouging at the places that still had any left. Limits being enforced. I wasn't aware yet of any panic going on, but when she told me what was happening it brought to mind the situation after Katrina. The rush on the stations by people with nearly full tanks and gas cans in the trunks of their cars. Prices on the signs going up up up very quickly and people waiting for an hour or more - then the numbers coming off and no cars in sight when the gas was gone. I specifically recall seeing a woman on the evening news who laughed as she said "Well I was on my way home from the mall and heard on the radio that everyone was doing it so I figured I should too!"

I told Ani about shopping lady. "Yeah, I saw some old man on tv here who said he just saw everyone lined up and wondered what they were giving out for free and thought he better get in line". Ahhhh...the American way. The American way to line up like a bunch of goddamn sheep just because everyone else is doing it, take all you can possibly take, and eliminate any opportunity for someone with an actual EMPTY FUCKING TANK to get gas! Show of hands - who thinks this might just possibly, maybe, perchance, exacerbate the increasingly dismal predicament? Anyone?

For many long months now my little red gas light has consistently been on. Not because I am a particularly negligent person, mind you - but because I am broke as a joke and cannot keep the tank filled. Luckily, my car also has a computer readout thing on the dash that tells me how many miles I have to go until the tank is empty (it says alot more besides that but that's the setting I keep it on for obvious reasons). Therefore, even when the light is on I can still estimate either an average number of days for local driving or if it's a specific location I can match the readout to mileage info from google maps or more recently the navigator dealio that my Daddy got me for my birthday (which is awesome for someone who gets as lost as I do). The problem with this is that lately I've been seeing alot of _ _ miles to empty tank. Not 65 miles to empty tank (when red light comes on), 25 miles to empty tank (I get nervous), 15 miles to empty tank (it starts to go back and forth then between 15 and _ _ miles to empty tank if I'm going uphill), but just straight out _ _ miles to empty tank - or as I call it "blank blank miles to empty tank". As in "Uh-oh, I need to get gas bad! I'm at blank blank miles to empty tank".

On September 12th my car's computer readout thingy was fluctuating between blank blank and 15. At the first station I went to cars were cutting each other off in the lot, blocking exits, and attendants were coming out every few minutes and putting plastic bags over the pump handles and taping up no gas signs handwritten in ballpoint pen. And still the snaketail of cars grew steadily back into the road toward the freeway. I sat for approximately fifteen minutes running out my blank blank and the air in my saggy back tire before wedging myself out of the hubbub to try and find another station. I passed three that were dry and headed down Powers Ferry. I knew the ones by the loop were always a few cents higher than the ones near Delk so maybe it wouldn't be as crazy there. I think it was $4.12 a gallon - it had been $3.65 or so a day earlier (which I had taken note of only because I thought at the time : wow, these prices are so much better than a couple of months ago). There wasn't a line like there had been at the place where it was $4.10 but it was still fairly busy. For a ¢.02 difference I'll pay not to deal with the wackness. I'm allergic to wackness. And hell, I only bought 10 gallons.

The 10 gallons lasted quite a while. For a couple of reasons. On the 19th I accidentally locked myself out of the house on my way to pick France up at school. I was hoping that maybe my downstairs neighbor or Noah had a key (actually Noah does have a key but didn't have it on him) and could help but in the meantime I still needed to pick France up so I just walked there. Turns out the neighbor didn't have a key either and I had to pay a locksmith $80 to get in the house (I talked them down from $150 though, so that was good). Since then, France and I have decided to walk to and from school until the weather gets too cold to do so. "I used to walk all the time when I was in elementary school. And Mamaw's house might've even been farther away from my school than our house is from yours." It sure seemed like it. But I checked the maps. The walk from my grandmother's house to the front door of my school (and I used a back entrance after kindergarten) was half a mile. The walk to France's school is a mile. Which means I'm walking four miles a day - taking her, coming back, getting her, coming back. I should market this as an exercise regimen - Blank Blank Miles to Sexy Legs. Screw you Thigh Master. Noah's taking the bus.

Then there's the fact that I ran out of Topamax. Well, I didn't run out exactly. I had been running low and needed a refill but didn't have the money for it yet. There weren't any refills left on either of my prescriptions but the pharmacy usually calls the doc and the doc refills them. At least that's how we've done this in the past. So anyway, I'd been taking half my prescribed dose for a few days when I called the pharmacy to get them refilled. Then I went to pick them up on the 22nd. But guess what? I couldn't have any Topamax. The doctor wouldn't refill the scrip without an appointment, which I couldn't afford the copay for - but even if I could...I couldn't afford the gas to get there - but even if I could...I wouldn't be able to find it (because at this point there was NONE) - but even if I could...by then I wouldn't have money for the meds. So, what happens when you come off an anticonvulsant? Well, I'd been concerned about seizures starting again of course. They gave me my Lamictal, but I'm on the highest dosage of Topamax prescribed so I was sure not having it would probably be not so good. I was not aware however that stopping an anti-seizure med flat-out could cause what is called status epilepticus. That's when your brain is in a state of persistent seizure. The epilepsy foundation website says : The most common precipitating factor in these cases in adults is withdrawal from medication or noncompliance with the regimen. Huh. I did not know that. I did not feel better.

The migraines had started days earlier and I was beginning to get the lights again. Those little white orbs flying past the left side of my head very fast. Usually the left side anyway. Sometimes both. But always there - but really not. I called the neurologist and left a detailed message for his secretary explaining the situation. She called back and told me that under no circumstances should I be coming off the meds. That she understood what was going on pretty much (concerning the fuel problem, second great depression, soup lines, people hiding money in mattresses and jumping out of windows - I kid, I don't know if all of that was happening yet) and that she would send in refills to cover two months but that I had to get in to see the doctor by then. And that "It will be okay". I'm not sure if she meant the gas part, money part, medicine part, or what. It was kind of a vague okay but a nice cellular pat on the back nonetheless.

I'm a bit surprised to still be feeling the effects of those few days with dwindling then no Topamax. The headaches have not completely subsided, nor have the lights. And unfortunately I'm getting some twinges of the deja-vous. This could be due to lack of sleep also. That does seem to play into it all in some way. Perhaps this med is just one that takes a while to get into you. I don't know. I remember when I first went on it I had to do 28 days of the steroid treatment crap before the headaches went away and it was not at all fun. But since I got my refill of it on the 26th, and that was almost 2 weeks ago (is that right?) I thought I would be feeling much better by now.

The point to all of this though is that when you put together no gas money, no gas to be found, and brain shit you come up with "Aw hell...let's just walk" - so 10 gallons of mucho expensive gas will last a while. Of course this means you have absolutely NO SOCIAL LIFE. Which bites.

Last Tuesday I found myself calling around asking the same question my sister had asked me when this story started. To the man at the BP "Do you have gas?" I felt like I was prank calling someone. After this I should order a pizza under the name I.C. Weiner - I seriously watch too much Futurama. This was better than driving around on blank blank miles to empty tank in a fruitless search however. "Yes. For now." I'm not sure if I was imagining it or not but he sounded depressed to me. "How are the lines?" I also didn't want to sit for an hour and a half or more and then have my car pushed up to the pump by strangers (this has been happening). "Eh...it's not so bad...thirty, forty minutes maybe..." That was the best I'd heard so far. And all for $4.09 a gallon. I paid 30 bucks for 7.32 gallons. I've heard the prices are even closer to "normal" this week. Notice the quotes? I remember when I got my first car...I could fill it up for about 10 bucks. But then again, I am 108 years old. That may explain that one.

So there's the convoluted rambling time-line sans sharpie and cracked protractor. I'll add photos in a moment when I quit seeing !Autosave failed ERROR Your request could not be processed. Please try again. Doesn't that just say it all? I gotta go...it's 5:54 (yeah, did I mention the insomnia? I'll come back later for that) and I need to get France up in a bit. I need to make a pot of cheap-ass coffee and see if it's raining. If it happens to be dry we'll head out for our first walk of the day. Otherwise I'll drag my blank blank volvo down the road and try not to hit any of those indecisively stupid squirrels who race into the road, see you coming, and stop to look around for an hour wondering which way to run before taking the long way back to the telephone pole.

Breaking News!

Clinton campaigns for Obama at Wal-mart! They were spotted in the beauty care aisle...she looks much shorter in person...and apparently he's a Vols fan...odd.

remember to remember me...and not go for the bug spray this time

"His goal in life was to be an echo
The type of sound that floats around and then back down
Like a feather
But in the deep chrome canyons of the loudest Manhattans
No one could hear him
Or anything"
A long time ago when I was but a wee child, I had a little pocket-sized book that told of various Wonders of Nature! One of these Wonders of Nature! was the hummingbird. The book reported such facts as that hummingbirds can fly backwards, they beat their wings 80 times per second while they hover in the air, they suck nectar out of flowers with really long beaks, they are shiny and colorful and very, very tiny...the smallest birds in the world actually. I was fascinated. I wanted to see one. I wanted to catch one and keep it as a pet. Neither of those things happened. I came to believe that they were some sort of exotic avian species and lived on a far away island or something.

When I finally grew up, had a home of my own, and figured out that they didn't live in Borneo or wherever but really were in America, I planted flowers specifically to attract hummingbirds beside my front porch. I also hung up a hummingbird feeder by the front window. I waited and waited but still didn't see any. Then one day, as I was picking up toys in Noah's room, I noticed an enormous wasp buzzing around at the feeder outside. Holy crap...I better get the bug spray before it gets in there and builds a nest...I was on my way to retrieve the can of Raid from under the sink when I realized that it was one mighty big wasp. And awfully colorful. Hmmm...maybe I should look again. I had spotted my very first hummingbird. And almost killed it. They were indeed quite small.

"So he slept on a mountain
In a sleeping bag underneath the stars
He would lie awake and count them
And the gray fountain spray of the great Milky Way
Would never let him
Die alone"


That near-accidental Mellisuga helenaecide years ago was my only encounter with the little birds until just recently. I've mentioned before that my neighbors like to feed the birds, and I've seen tons of different kinds perched outside my bedroom window. But sometime in July a new guy appeared on the scene. A diminutive fellow with iridescent green plumage was sitting on top of the big iron pole that's staked into the ground. And he was staring at me. Like out of a wild west movie. All we needed was that whistling in the background and the twangy guitar music. Did he think I posed a threat to his people? Or his...bird...ness...or whatever? Did he have some intuitive bird-knowledge of the incident?

I wanted pictures of him anyway because he was cute. I got my camera. He turned his back on me and took a poop then flew to the feeder for some juicy goodness.

He's been hanging around my place for a while now. Today I decided to write about him and was ready to upload the shots I had taken when I noticed him outside again. Dude! I was just thinking about you! He doesn't give me the evil wild west bird-eye anymore. So I think we're cool.

"Remember to remember me
Standing still in your past
Floating fast like a hummingbird" - Wilco

Freaky Outie! Freaky Outie! Woo-Woo! Woo-Woo!

"I was robbed once in seventh grade, some girl cleaned out my locker - but I got her back, I poisoned her"

Okay, let's try this again...youtube is being stinky. I understand that there are a bunch of new videos on this post and most people never even watch one if it's up, but seriously - this show is great. And I'm not just saying that because it's one of my favorites. Well maybe I am. But still you should watch it. Yes, it's a cartoon. There are 3 videos here because they complete an entire episode (it's the one where Duane tries to get Melissa to get Brendon to film his rock opera version of The Metamorphosis but Brendon doesn't want to - alright, just found out it's titled Director's Cut goes up against the jerkwad guy in the guitar competition - Guitarmageddon!). I hope they work this time. The reason I feel the need to put this out there is because I've come into contact with several people recently who've never seen Home Movies. And I think that's a damn shame. The reactions I've gotten from the friends I've "forced" (in case you can't tell, I'm an animation nut) to watch this cartoon have ranged from enjoyment to obsession. A little background : Home Movies is basically about a kid who likes to make movies. He's 8 (my daughter's age, which is funny in it's own way), his name is Brendon Small (the real Brendon Small is the creator of the show, he does the music, he's also the guy who does Metalocalypse, and he does the voices of Brendon, Perry, & Duane). His best friends Jason and Melissa make the movies with him. He lives with his mom (voiced by Paula Poundstone, who was also the judge on the short-lived but very entertaining Squigglevision cartoon Science Court) and baby sister Josie. My favorite character though is the totally insane soccer coach John McGuirk. There are lots of other neato characters of course like Melissa's dorky dad Erik, Shannon the bully, Junior why-you-make-a-funna-my-eyebrows Addleburg, and the absolutely fabulous Duane (I swear I went to high school with that guy). So I implore you my peeps, give it a look..."I gotta go man..."

America needs Moore

On the drive home from picking Noah up at school the other day, I decided to try a little test. "Hey Noah, can you do something for me? And depending on whichever your preference is, you can either write it down or just say it aloud..." surely he wouldn't disappoint. "Uh...what?" he looked nervous. "Spell 'lose' for me - again, if you're uncomfortable doing this spelling-bee style you can write it down..." I know some people don't do well spelling orally - sometimes you need to eyeball it. But with a word this easy, and a seventh grader, I was pretty confident in his ability. "L-O-S-E-? Uh...again, why?" I momentarily ignored the question "Okay, great - now how about 'loose'..." France was already yelling out C-A-T from the backseat. "L-O-O-S-E...why do you wanna know this?" Then I explained to him how so many self-proclaimed educated (seriously, they often throw that in there "I'm a college educated white female voting for..." etc.) people on political forums (CNN!) do not know how to spell 'lose'. Barack Obama will loose the election! John McCain will loose the election! Aaaarrrrggghhh!!!! It's driving me crazy! Is it the double 'o' that's confusing them? Do they think that with 'lose' you should get the long vowel sound? Like 'nose'? Because if you're wanting the long 'o', it's spelled Lowe's - and we all know that's a home improvement store. And it obviously brings yet another spelling into the mix. But that's all I can think of, that these guys are looking at perhaps 'nose' and seeing the long vowel - then looking at 'noose' and seeing the...oh, what the hell is it...I'm no teacher...a diphthong? Is that right? Then they apply the 'nose' 'noose' rules to 'lose' 'loose'. But that can't be it because 'noose' has a softer 's' instead of the 'z' sound - but I guess they just see the 'oo'. ??? What do you think? Anyway, it's annoying.

Here are some others fun sightings:

It really discusts me...

speach *this is all over the place

coment

scarey

GEOPARDY *I would think since this is the name of a television show it would be a freebie **people, quit with the caps lock...and the lols...so sick of lols

Congradulations

I am also appalled at the decision to force her child to lead a life with downs sydrone because of Palin and her husband's neglect to practice safe sex at her age of 44. *I find this statement appalling

candadate

presindent

definatley *everywhere

Dessert Storm *that must've been delicious...I see clouds of whipped cream...floods of chocolate...

palltiate *I have no clue what this is supposed to even be, but you know I'm one of those 'uneducated poor southern racist' voters...I hope you realize I'm being sarcastic. I've heard so much of this ridiculous demographic crap out of the media that I'm ready to fucking puke.

Then on other message boards not even related to politics (or politicans as France calls them, I like that actually) we have these lovely gems : slowely, shurly, accompliss, cencorship, nonsence!!!, sence, realizik, eger, linch mob, likely hood, coersed, activitys, pitchure, innosent, bigotted, psychosinamic illness, wrentched, and last but not least "My symphony goes to the Anthony's neighbors".

In summation, to quote someone from CNN's Political Ticker "You are a bunch of loosers!". You have let loose once again the image of Americans as complete imbeciles.

Not to mention that so many of these people are full of hatred and vitriol saying that a certain political candidate should've aborted her child upon learning the results of the pre-natal testing ("You know if she just aborted that stupid fetus like she was supposed to she wouldn't be in this mess."). What next, should we just exterminate children with downs syndrome? Is that what they would suggest? Then there's always "Well she probably knew it was a downie and was trying to kill it naturally since she doesn't believe in abortion", "The kid's retarded, what good is a normal name going to do him? Might as well name him Cheese Whiz", and you can't leave out her daughter (who has been repeatedly called a whore, slut, and redneck) "I can only hope that the pressure on this girl leads her to go out and get an abortion instead of going through with this to save her mom's career". Yeah, yeah, I see (sort of? maybe? okay, no, not really, but anyway) that people are trying to point out hypocrisy of her views about family values and contraception or how abstinence-only education doesn't work (I agree that abstinence-only education is stupid, but I personally have found that most school sex-ed sucks no matter how much it covers, and teenagers are gonna do what teenagers are gonna do) but don't they realize that telling someone to get an abortion is no better than telling someone not to? Whatever happened to Leave My Uterus Alone? Furthermore, I haven't heard once of the father of the child being called a slut or a whore. Boys will be boys I suppose.

If Palin were male would this even be an issue? Would he need to stay home and take care of his baby and pregnant daughter? Barack Obama has kids too. I seem to recall back when Hillary was still in the running there was alot of "go bake cookies" and "get back in the kitchen" shit going on. And once more with plenty of atrocious spelling (why does this bug me so?). Whenever a female politician talks tough she is bitter, shrill, angry, or has PMS. If she does anything less than that then she's labeled as weak and not fit to lead. She can't fucking win. The bottom line is that sexism crosses all racial boundaries. If you think I'm being bitter, shrill, or angry you're wrong. My problem is PMS. Patriarchy Misogyny and Sexism. Oh wait, I'm sorry, I missed this - "To be fair, McCain does have an illegitimate black baby".

Let me note also, I'm not a PUMA (I actually had to look that one up to see what it meant). I personally don't really agree with any of these people. My guy won't even make it onto the ballot in Georgia. Here he is : Brian Moore. Go ahead and laugh. You probably think it's preposterous to go for the Socialist. But you know what? "I'd rather vote for something I want and not get it than vote for something I don't want and get it" - Eugene V. Debs. Only problem is, he needs over 40,000 signatures for the Socialist party to even be on the ballot in my state. Yeah, some of his plans are a little wack...aren't everyone's though?

good things to remember

First up, some lab safety from the middle school...I absolutely love the graphics...hair on fire, self-mutilation, ocular mucous and/or ectoplasm...brilliant...certainly gets your attention, no?



Then we have this helpful tip from the Kroger on Moreland...but hey, at least you're not at the Killer Kroger...so maybe no-one will try to sell you crack...enjoy your shopping!

kids with an agenda

Both of my kids have agendas. As do all of the other kids they go to school with. But they aren't hidden agendas, so I don't worry too much about them having ulterior motives. Seriously though, I wish the school system would just call them planners or homework schedules or something. Agenda makes me think of politicians, dirty politicians, special interest groups who lobby politicians, and for some reason the mob. I know that last one makes no sense. Unless you tie it in somehow to dirty politicians. I don't want to think of my kids and dirty politicians at the same time. Or the mob either.
I'm already concerned about Noah's mafia leanings. His interest in The Godfather movies now wouldn't be such a big deal if it weren't for what happened to Carnaby years ago. I must say first of all that I'm not sure of the exact spelling of Carnaby because Noah always told me that I mispronounced it. I think he was 3 when he invented Carnaby. And for some reason at that age, along with producing an imaginary friend, he would often take on a little Bronx (I guess?) accent. I have no idea where it came from. So when he would tell me about Carnaby, and I would respond and ask questions etc., he would always correct me on the name. "No, it's Cahn-a-bee..." and I'd try "Conaby?". "NO! Cahn-a-bee! Cahn-a-bee!" he would get very frustrated. I'd try again "Cahnaby?". "NO!" he'd give up and go play with Carnaby. After a while though, Carnaby sort of disappeared. When I inquired about his absence one day Noah told me quite simply "I killed him". Just curious, what does it mean when a child kills his own imaginary friend? I asked Noah recently if he remembered any of this and he said that he does. I also asked him why he killed Carnaby. He leaned his chair back on two legs, laughed, and told me "He was makin' too much noise".

the horror of having a mom who talks too much

Since the kids were in New Orleans last week, I had to go to the middle school by myself on Wednesday in order to find out what "team" my kid is on. They don't get their schedules or even their assigned homerooms until the first day of school, all they know is if they are on 7A, 7B, or 7C. When I walked in I was enveloped by the noxious smell of Axe body spray, swarms of cheerleaders, and a covert cloud of preteen hormones. Sweet jesus...I have a seventh grader?

Oh yeah. A seventh grader who suddenly wants to tell me his dreams - and I don't mean what he wants to do in the future. "Last night I had a really weird dream. It was all like a cartoon, and I had these cartoon hands, like those big white gloves that characters wear, and I was running down the road. And there were all these giant cartoon sausages, with faces, running down the road chasing me. It was really weird. What'd you dream?" Nothing nearly as phallic my child...or onanistic would you say? I stopped myself before asking if each sausage had just one big winking eye. Maybe I'm reading too much into this. Perhaps he just wanted some sausage for breakfast. Or soysage, since that's what I buy (biting into a chunk of gristle grosses me out almost as much as having to handle and cook something bloody). Of course soysage doesn't (or didn't, like real sausage at one point did, and the cartoon sausages in his dream did) have a face. And then there are the big cartoon hands...so I don't really think it's about breakfast. Paging Dr. Freud...

This mom-to-a-teenager thing has come on just a little too fast for me. And it's not even that I'm especially uncomfortable about the bizarre dreams or explaining what a condom is. I've already done the condom talk. I think it was after we'd seen a thing on the news about a bunch of pregnant teenagers at a high school somewhere. Some as young as 14. Only two years older than him. I could've changed the channel I guess. But instead I figured we could talk about why it's a really dumb idea for these people to specifically plan to have babies right now. I told him that a condom should always be used, you need to be in a relationship with someone you love and care about to have sex (though I know that part probably won't hold up - I'm not stupid), and it better be a long time from now because contraception doesn't work 100% of the time and I don't want to be a grandparent anytime soon. "And think about it, the sooner you're a parent - the sooner you can be a grandparent. You want that? Didn't think so. Then you've got diseases. Some incurable. Some can even kill you. Oh, and condoms can't protect against all of those either. Like crabs. Well actually they're considered a parasite - pubic lice - lice that live in pubic hair obviously. They're just called crabs because they look like teeny tiny little bluish colored crabs. And they itch like the dickens. Or so I'm told. Anyway, all are just loads of fun!" He looked horrified. I wasn't trying to freak him out but I think I got the point across. Or maybe it was just that I was talking about condoms...and stuff. Who knows? But I don't think this should wait until he's ready to start dating. At that point he's gonna have heard what...and from who? I don't know.

This is a far cry from Cat You Better Come Home. That's what bothers me about this I think. It seems like just yesterday that I was reading that book to him every time I tucked him in. I am not exaggerating when I say every time either. Noah is the type of kid who had very specific routines, like watching a Pink Floyd concert video every night to fall asleep when he was three and jumping up and down in front of the television every time the female marathon runner with the prosthetic leg came on letting me know how much he loved her and that he was going to marry her someday (I think he was four then). I read Cat You Better Come Home so many times that I finally memorized it and I would just lay back in the bed exhausted with my eyes closed and recite it hoping that I was turning the pages at the appropriate parts. I know it still in fact : My cat pleaded and my cat cried for me to open up the door and let her go outside...then she sat on the lawn underneath a tree pretending that she couldn't hear me. It's sort of a Prodigal Cat story. By Garrison Keillor of all people. I never imagined that Garrison Keillor would take up space in my brain alongside Prufrock, Thanatopsis, and Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time...you all know the rest. It looks like Puff the cat is gone for good when it comes to my kid, but she'll always be with me. There's dogs in the dark waiting to attack and cat-hawks looking for a late-night snack, so cat you better come home!

If anyone seems uneasy about these little chats it's my son. He often gets all squirmy and says "Mom, don't worry, I'm not having kids". But I used to think the same thing and you can see what happened with that. I didn't get a condom talk. My period talk consisted of being handed a box of pads by my grandmother and told I would probably start soon. I carried a couple in my bag for at least a year and a half before anything happened. By then they were too mangled and smudged with stray lipstick to use. I got the pill at Planned Parenthood. They also assumed the role of "helpfully" explaining to me what all of the different parts of my female genitalia were - pointing out each detail and showing me in a mirror, all smiley and cheerful. I didn't have the heart to tell the lady I'd figured my tootie-smack out years ago and the two of us were getting along just dandy. I nodded my raised head and muttered "uh-huh" all the while thinking just gimme the damn pill already. The pill and I did not get along however. It fucked with my head. It fucked with my cardiac muscle. So I have children now. Actually, one looks like a small man - or even a regular sized man by some standards. And I have my own talks to give. I will not be using the mirror.

"So are you at the place yet where you pretend that we're not your parents? Like when we're in public?" I was cooking now. I laughed to myself as I thought back to being fifteen at the mall in Chattanooga with my sister, grandmother, aunt, and cousins. "What? Am I supposed to do that?" I think we'd been talking about how his dad still has a penchant for bathroom humor and he said he'd outgrown it a while ago and found it annoying. "Eh...well, most kids get embarrassed by their parents eventually. It's kind of a phase people go through. So sometimes when you're out you're like, 'I don't know these people' - that kind of thing" And sometimes you feel like you were born into the wrong family for a while. I didn't say this. He looked over at me where I was mixing up some dessert for him and his sister "Uh, no...why? Did you do that?" I was so bad that I even had a painting chosen to be in a competition at the Hunter Museum and my grandmother and two aunts came to my bedroom door dressed up like they were going to church, with their purses dangling from the crooks of their arms and asked if I was ready and - oh hell, I don't even think I had an excuse for them, I just flat out refused. What a petulant little ass I was. But I remember having this image in my mind of the three of them standing around the small canvas hanging on the museum wall and picking it apart with crackpot psychology gleaned from Oprah and the baptist church. They won't get it I thought They'll hate it. Turned out they thought it was good (I think?). But my grandmother also said "You know what? I think it looked like your daddy." Which was really odd since it was a painting of a young black child with flames behind him and half of his face was a mask of distorted color. "Yeah Noah, I did that. It's funny though because the things you find embarrassing about people when you're young can turn out to be incredibly amusing later on. Sometimes you learn to embrace the crazy. Just like I did with Mamaw, maybe someday you'll realize that my insanity is part of my charm..." He looked at me sideways "Uh...yeah...sure I will..." he has such a cute smile. But you can't tell him that - if you do he says "I'm not smiling, I'm smirking". He thinks I'm a fruitcake. He's probably right.

what's better than a fairy story?

"You lied! You lied to me! And I have proof!" she didn't really seem upset though, which confounded me even further.

"What are you - "

"I was just looking in your desk for some tape, that was all, I wasn't doing anything, I wasn't getting into your things, but I was looking in your drawer and I found THESE!" She indignantly held up a little sandwich bag containing two teeth. "And I know they're mine because most kids may lose one on one day and then one the next day but not both on the same day and I lost mine both on the same day and these are in the same bag! Right? Hmmm?"

It was odd that she'd lost them the way she did. One front tooth had looked wonky for a couple of weeks. It was obvious that it was loose and the new tooth was coming in, but I didn't push her to pull it because I'm a big wuss when it comes to the tooth thing. I mean sometimes there's like, a cracking sound sort of, and of course the gaping hole, and all the blood in the mouth, and just no...god no. I think I almost handle vomit better, if that tells you anything.

Lucky for me, one day in those last weeks of school I picked her up and was greeted with that classic snaggle-tooth eight year old's smile. She had yanked the crooked tooth out while sitting in the car-rider line. She was anxious to go ahead and put it under her pillow when we got home even though she wouldn't be going to bed for hours. She also decided to show me that the other front tooth was loose. "Ewww! No! I don't wanna see!" Told you I'm a wimp. I can't even look. Both kids have always enjoyed getting in my face, wiggling the loose ones, and laughing maniacally as I wince in pain. After getting me to take her picture, examining it, and determining that she looked weird - she disappeared to the bathroom. About fifteen minutes later she came out, blood on her shirt and the other front tooth in her hand. "Hey look!" She'd doubled her money.

That was at least two months ago. The new teeth are almost fully grown in. The slight little speech impediment and money are long gone. I'd forgotten all about the baggie of baby teeth in my desk drawer.

After confronting me about the lie tonight, she tossed the bag at me for inspection. I didn't deny that they were hers. "France, seriously, you didn't really believe that a fairy actually came and picked up your teeth and left money for them? Right? I mean, c'mon?" I thought she'd just been playing along. Or I guess I'd hoped she'd just been playing along. Sometimes her willingness to believe certain things concerns me. A few days ago she was convinced she had either e. coli or salmonella.

"Well...no...I thought...maybe an archaeologist came and bought them..." she was a little huffy now.

"What?! Hold on, wait - what? An archaeologist?" Noah turned his attention from the baseball game and mouthed archaeologist to me before beginning to laugh to himself somewhat silently. Of all the people I've ever met in my life, I don't think any have ever amused me as much as the two bizarre alien creatures I gave birth to. "Okay, for real...let me get this straight, you thought an archaeologist came to our house and bought your teeth?"

"It makes more sense than a fairy!" She had a point. And she was pissed now.

"Know who this is?"

France didn't even have to think about it. "It's Daniel." Well of course.

"Nope."

My little brother celebrated his birthday last week. This isn't him. But it could be his twin. I'm sure Daniel gets sick of hearing that he looks like Prince Harry. But it's true.

I have so many funny memories of my baby brother. Like when he tried to bury his unwanted uneaten hot-dog in the dirt of one of my aunt's potted plants. "It ain't burnt! Now pick the black off and eat it!" I can hear her still. Or when he and Jonathan killed the miniature deer by beating it to death with a stick. And the body could never be recovered because it rotted in three days. All they could produce were antlers. Which looked curiously like twigs. Or when he 'found' the little blue glass bird and gave it to me as a present. For a long time I figured it came from Mrs. Richardson's house. A few years ago he told me where he had gotten it - it wasn't from her house, but it technically wasn't a found bird either. I still have it on my shelf. Then there was that concerned school counselor who called about him breaking open the emergency exit on the bus as a joke, or on a dare - or was it both? He's always had a talent for mischief that I can't help but find amusing because there's the gorgeous smile, infectious laugh, and head full of red hair to go along with it. And of course I can never forget the time he pulled me out of the potential bar fight I was about to get us into while Jonathan went for the tire iron...

I think he's out in Utah or someplace right now. I haven't seen him in way way too long. I miss him more than I can possibly say.

variations on Beaver Wheel use

I'm a little concerned about who's gonna come googling for what and end up with 'Beaver Wheel' - I've gotten some strange searches on here before - many having little to do with my long-winded scrawl. If you happen to make one mention of a sex toy at any point you will be marked for life - let this be a warning to you. That's all in the past now though. And Beaver Wheel is not a poorly named sex toy of course - as you should all know if you have watched the "How to Properly Use a Beaver Wheel" public service video that my child insisted on making (see post below...somewhere).



Yesterday, the kids and I went to the park for an early 4th pic-nic. It was fun. Noah and I hogged the swings - then I acted like a grown-up and left so Noah could push an actual child. In the swing - I don't mean he pushed him down in the dirt. France bit the dust about 5 or 6 times while spinning the merry-go-round for a couple of small children who looked like they were getting nauseous. I met a little wiener dog named Ringo who's leash was tied to the fence post at the entry gate and wanted to take him home because he was super-cool and he just wanted some lovin'. But I didn't tuck him discreetly into my bag and scurry to the car. My bag was too small. And for the first time - I tried out the Beaver Wheel.

I know now why France likes it so much. It is a bizarrely fun contraption. I didn't get up on the thing and run in true lumberjack fashion like she does though. Ah-ha! I just learned it's called logrolling (or birling) - and involves 2 lumberjacks (one on each end of the log). The goal is to get your opponent to fall off of his end. Maybe this is why there are 2 Beaver Wheels at the playground (even if they are not connected - causing the other kid to fall into the mulch would be a bad idea here). It's to make it more authentic? It doesn't explain the flattened beavers on the logs though. They look like road-kill - or river-kill.

France and I found a couple of new ways to use the Beaver Wheel instead. I sat on it and tried to roll it as far back as possible without falling off. Kind of like I do in the swings (you know, when you swing as high as you can and lean back and try not to fall out on your head). The funny part of this is that the plastic grinding against the metal bar made a groaning, moaning, low fog-horn type sound. "Listen France! It's a Beaver Wheel fart!" She thought that was rather amusing and proceeded to do it too. She also used the wheel in order to master a handstand. I chose to skip this because I generally don't stick my ass in the air when I'm in public. At least not in front of the children.

Now just for kicks, here are some of the searches I mentioned above : muno dildo, electrified leopard forgot to wear panties, topamax sprinkles capsules come out in poop, quark boogers coming out of your scalp because I look like a booger, motherfucking typing test, new fitness center scheduled to open chico ca 2008

One of the most specific I've seen : i got a traffic ticket for turning left in a straight only lane, the sign stated this, but the painting on the street stated something else (I don't think I've ever said this...but I'll have to check now)

And the almost daily : digfast (which I totally understand, because it's just one of those things), and get off the bandwagon put down the anvil (because no-one can figure out what the hell he's saying)
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

joy to the world - meet Angel

I have never cared enough about the band Three Dog Night to wonder how they came up with their name until just now. I'm still not particularly interested in the band even though I do like that song from Hair and One is one of those songs that gets stuck in my head out of nowhere and refuses to leave. I just got curious about that name today and had to look it up because that's what I do when I don't know something (like is an armadillo related to a possum? what is a beta blocker?) or it will drive me crazy. Supposedly it's a reference to an indigenous Australian thing about sleeping in a hole in the ground with a dingo to keep warm. The more dingos you cuddle up with the warmer you'll be. This isn't what I was expecting.

I had my own three dog night last night - or early this morning to be more precise - but I wasn't snuggling with a pack of dingos. I probably would've enjoyed that more. Instead I had a small pack of howling, fighting, whining, growling, snarling, barking, crying canines trapped in the backyard at the house next door to mine. It started at 2 or 3am maybe when I heard the fence being knocked around and much running, after which the cacophony ensued. I thought it might be Angel.

These first two photos are of our friend Angel. She lives in the yard to our right. Angel sneaks under our fence sometimes and then is confused when she can't get back home on her own. Tuesday afternoon Noah told me that she was in our yard again. I asked him to go next door and see if the lady who owns her was home. She wasn't. I took Angel some water "You want your mom? She'll be back soon..." She wanted her belly rubbed. I obliged. Then she wanted to play. She actually went and picked up a stick and brought it to me - I don't think I've ever seen a dog pick up it's own random fetch stick. Then I sat down and she wanted to lick behind my ears. Of course her owner eventually came and got her and she went home. But we know she'll be back to visit us again soon.

Maybe that's why she was my first thought when I heard all the racket last night. I was worried because she's usually so quiet I thought that something might be wrong - like she might be caught in the fence or hurt. So I ended up traipsing out into the backyard in my nightgown with no shoes on at three in the morning. No Angel. That's when I figured out that it was happening next door at the other neighbor's and not in my yard. By the time I was back inside, neighbor-to-the-left's carport security light had come on. I could see the three dogs clearly now running around behind her house. Good. Maybe she'd notice the pack of hoodlum dogs and get them out of her yard before they woke up the whole neighborhood or even worse tore into one of her unsocialized outdoor ferals. Then I saw that a cement block was holding the gate closed. The dogs were there on purpose.

The barking etc. was nonstop (right under my bedroom window - my guitar ass bedroom window) until 9am. I'm assuming the dogs got tired and needed a break. It picked up a little later and has continued off and on throughout the day whenever they see a human, bird, another dog, or anything else that moves. And I'm sure they're seeing lots of cats considering they're living in the backyard of a cat rescue house. I guess it's a dog rescue now too.

**Note - As I was writing this, my incredibly chill downstairs neighbor came out of his apartment only to be greeted by the doggie hullabaloo. I was sitting here thinking of how if I were at my old apartment I would've gone to the window by now and yelled out Shut the fuck up!, when my neighbor - in a voice I'd never heard him use before - screamed "Shaddap!!!". Of course they kept barking. I hope they find homes soon. For the sake of all parties involved.