Oh Jesus - You Smiter, You!

I am in complete support of universal health care.  Why?  Because it's the 'right' thing to do. (pun intended)  And quite frankly, I am tired of hearing about how the government web site isn't working properly and how this is ALL our President's fault.  Does anyone remember how great health insurance was before?  Exactly.   I mean come on -  France, of all countries, was ranked #1 in universal health care according to the World Health Organization.  

"The French live two years longer than Americans, with half the infant mortality. France spends less than 11 percent of GDP on health compared to more than 16 percent in the United States. Cancer treatment is free. When Genentech developed Avastin, Business Week calculated a year’s supply at $48,000 in America. It cost patients nothing in France."

 Really people???
(source: http://www.globalpost.com/dispatch/news/health/131001/global-health-care-systems-obamacare)

Get over it.  It's happening.  And, one last thing.  Gays aren't going away, so plan on treating them for any illnesses, too.

This would be very funny except for the fact that there are those who

think this sh*t is really true.   

It's sad being an American most days.  :|

Ninjabreadmen

As some of you may know, my daughter is a pastry chef and she is a creative one at that.  She posted this on her Instagram the other day and it made me start to feel slightly jolly, but don't tell anyone.

I asked her why the top one said "la" on it and she had no idea what I was talking about.  I guess it wasn't meant to say "la", but that was actually my favourite one.  Think about it, a Ninjabreadman saying "la".  That's humourous.   Perhaps I was reading too much into him.

There Once was a Girl Who Loved Xmas

Yeah, so I really hate xmas.  I just find the whole "CELEBRATION" annoying.  I don't celebrate baby jesus' birth because, well, quite frankly, what's the dude every done for me?  And secondly, his star is entirely way too bright.

However, there once was a girl who loved xmas and that girl happened to be ME! The only reason I know this is because I found the proof in a photo.  I'm pretty sure this was the year I received my "Baby Alive" doll, except the 'food' (I'm not exactly sure what the f#ck that was...) got all moldy down in her little tummy and mom and dad had to throw her away a few weeks later and I only knew her to have gone "missing".  No wonder I have issues. 

Interesting FACTOID straight from Wikipedia about little Baby Alive (and when I say interesting, I mean WTF?!):
"it could be fed food packets mixed with water, and came with a bottle, diapers and feeding spoon. The spoon would be inserted into its mouth, and a lever on its back pushed to have it chew the food. The food would move through her and end up in her diaper; this version did not speak, so you had to check the diaper a few moments after feeding. It also produced droppings and threw up regularly."

Does this sound like something you'd want your child to play with?  I mean seriously.  This is just mental illness waiting to happen.

Since this is THROW BACK THURSDAY (and here I thought this meant throw one back, as in a shot of Stolis - which I still might do later), I thought I'd share this adorable picture of cute little moi from December 1972.  Now, everyone look at it and say, "awwww" because this girl now, in 2013, doesn't get this excited for xmas no mo.

"Yay for xmas and Baby Alive - who will grow mold in her stomach and have to 'go missing'!  Thanks Mom!  Thanks Dad!"  

clap, clap, clap.  

My Non-Clusterf#ck Merry-ish Tree

Last year, around this time, I wrote about my CLUSTERF#CK of a Xmas Tree.  Well, after Xmas was over last year, I tossed that sucker in the dumpster.  Yep, and I was happy to do so.   A few weeks after the holiday was over, I received (possibly as a joke... it must have been, yes...) a two-foot pre-lit tree which I put in the closet and left there unopened.

A week ago, I moved into a new house and after packing and preparing for this move over the last two months, there was no way in hell I was going to decorate for a holiday I pretty much despise.  Let's just say I am less than merry most of the year as it is and people wishing me to be merry day after day in the freezing cold doesn't make me want to be any merrier than I already am not. 

However, one of my very good friends in Ottawa sent me a set of six Ottawa Sens ornaments last March (yes, well she is always a bit late with things, but gawd bless her Canadian soul).  Let's see, six ornaments, a two-foot (60.96 cm) pre-lit tree... not much Xmas merry-ness.... how could I NOT put it up? 

This year, I consider my 60.96 cm Xmas tree with my six Ottawa Senators ornaments to be very non-clusterf#ck-like.

Unfortunately, my semi-merry-ish spirit has not really been effective in the sens(e) that The Sens have been playing very non-merrily this season. 

Love me, Love my Sens, Love my Xmas Sens Tree

A Cross between the Cartoon Character Ziggy and an Anemic Lump of Jelly

A cross between the cartoon character Ziggy and an anemic lump of jelly... well put for sure!  This would be an accurate description of the blobfish; a deep sea fish that lives in the waters off the coasts of mainland Australia (not surprised) as well as other places, islands or whatever else is in that area of the world.  I believe it's all close to Iraq, isn't it?

Apparently this fish was just recently voted the ugliest animal alive.  That would also be another reason why I don't really eat creatures from the sea.  Personally, I think Ted Cruz should have been the winner.  I hear it was a VERY close second. 


source :http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/world/2013/09/12/blobfish-voted-ugliest-animal/2806625/

 Hooroo mate.

Dear Dad...

It appears one has flown over the cuckoo's nest.  And when I say ONE, I mean ME.  It has been almost 5 years to the date since you've been gone and when I say GONE, I mean gone as in dead, deceased, passed on, crossed over... but you were long gone before that.  We know that you had mental illness, too.  You were highly OCD.   Remember how you would make us late all the time because you had to check and re-check to make sure we (all us girls) had turned off our hairdryers, curling irons, etc?  As if we could just leave a hairdryer running and not know it...

Your issues were passed along to your favourite middle daughter, ME!  SURPRISE!   Although, you never really called me your favorite middle daughter.  You usually just said I wasn't as dumb as I looked.  Maybe that's because my hairdryer was never actually running on its own when you went back the third or fourth time to make sure.  I know it was the '80s and all, and yes, we did overuse hairspray, curling irons and hairdryers, but seriously, Dad.  I didn't look THAT dumb, did I? 

I just wanted you to know, even though you probably can't read this and even if you could, you would only be wondering why I haven't already dated this instead of wanting to know what I wanted you to know... gawd,  you were pretty OCD about that too.  Everything HAD to have a date and time.  No wonder I can remember days and dates and times and good grief, it's a curse. There are some things I just want to forget and can't.  Thanks for that.  In any case, to make you feel better, Dad... the date is automatically entered when I post this blog.  Do you even know what a blog is?  Probably not.  When I would tell you years ago that I was burning a CD, you'd say "Why do you want to burn your CDs?  Don't you like them?"

Anyway, before I have to hit the big anniversary date of your DEATH and be my dramatic self, I just wanted you to know (trying this again) I'd write this now and say,

Dear Dad,
I miss you something terrible.  If I can make it until May 10th, I will look up (or down...) and say thanks.  You got me here and probably because you did pass along your OCD and other unnamed mental illnesses.  And see... I really wasn't as dumb as I looked... perhaps.
Love, 
Your favourite middle daughter

 This is a lovely photo of "Dad" and me from October 1984.  Yes, it was dated on the back, but I knew that anyway.  This was at Disney World.  He was probably wondering if I had turned off my curling iron.  Can't imagine why because it didn't do my hair much good (obviously).  And why am I holding his hat?  And why is he sitting like that?  Also, I cut out my younger sister who was sitting on the other side of him.  She was 9 then and wearing a Mickey Mouse hat.  I thought I'd be kind (for once).   The '80s were so cruel.

(R.M.B.)

~mar 1936 - sept 2008~

A Birthday on this Twenty-Third Day of July

So who is having a birthday today?  Well, I am sure a lot of people.  For instance, we have the following:

Monica Lewinsky – Hot!  I mean, who wouldn’t want to …. ew. wait.  never mind.

We have Daniel Radcliffe –  You know, Harry Potter... okay, well that’s lame, but whatever.

Then there's Slash from Guns 'n Roses – Now that's pretty sweet.  That dude can rock a guitar.  Okay, so I’m a closet Guns ‘n Roses fan who just came out of the closet. 

Woody Harrelson – Total stoner, plus I think he’s a great actor.  I'd love to share a birthday with him!  He’d light up a big phatty.

Alison Krauss – She has some pretty decent songs every now and then.
 
Philip Seymour Hoffman – LOVE THIS GUY! 
 
Florence Vidor – She was an American actress from the 1920s.  I never heard of her, but she looks beautiful. 
 
Bert Convy –  Come on.  Who doesn’t love some Bert Convy?

Normar Garciaparra - One word: BASEBALL!

Ian Thomas –  Eh, he’s a Canuck musician.  I’ll just include him for that reason alone.

Rob Stewart –  Same reason as above, except he’s an actor. 
 
Well, in any case, I think you get the idea.  There are so many more celebrities that have birthday on this 23^rd day of July, but honestly, who gives a fuck?  Today is my most awesomest, coolest, canuckian friend’s birthday and that’s the most important one of all.  :)    

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, P.!

Hope you have a great day and many, many more trips around the sun and have the moon make many, many more trips around you!  

The Jaws of Life

What does fear do?  Let me tell you about fear.  It is a destroyer of all things that are good.  Maybe paranoia is a better word -or- is it lack of trust?  Maybe not so much the lack of trust in others, but maybe the lack of trust in one's self. 

The fear of abandonment and losing all that we have known and loved whether these feelings are 'real or imagined' is quite the mental mind-game.  I believe I wrote a poem titled "real or imagined" relating to this very issue as I was once told I do something quite similar to this often. Thinking on that more, this poem was written a VERY long time ago.  Sad.  I still am playing a one-person mind-game.

Or... is it possible that the fear is of pain and hurt, whether physical or mental -OR- physical FROM the mental.  Either way it IS pain and no one really wants that.   However, this still goes back to abandonment, right?

Or... is it possible that the fear comes from the fact that there is a long history and track record that, quite frankly, is just not good.  This seems pretty damn logical, and even though it is still considered completely irrational to some, in one's mind, it is 100% rational, logical and worthy of believing.  Perception is one's reality.  That's the bottom line, is it not?  But again, this goes back to abandonment, right? 

Anger, Sadness, Fear... they all seem to twist and smash and mangle themselves together and eventually suffocate a once semi-thriving human being.  It is the breaking of these things apart that must be accomplished before anything prolific can happen. Still, these things are like twisted metal, two cars in a head-on collision, where the 'jaws of life' need to be called in to cut, spread and separate these demons to free the human spirit.  The only question is, just how in the hell how do you acquire that tool?

Lick My Pits... I mean Eyeballs?

Eyeball-licking or "worming" (....why?!?) as it is referred to is apparently a real fetish among teens in Japan.  And here I thought American teens were effed in the head.   Now we all have our little fetishes, of course.  I admit I don't mind having a pit licked every now and then.  That's normal.  It is normal, right?  I kid, I kid...

While armpit licking is not only sexy and completely safe, "worming" can be a very real problem because apparently it is causing eye chlamydia (conjunctivitis) to spread like wildfire.  Okay, that's just disgusting.  Where do these things start, you ask?  We can thank the fabulous EMO BAND Born for this in which their video "Spiral Lie" shows this neato technique.   You can view it below and so you can spare yourself the gawd awful song that it is skip to about 3:30-ish in the video. 

I have no desire to lick anyone's eyeball nor do I want mine licked.  I can barely keep my eyes open for the eye doctor.  Do not try this at home, folks.  We ought not to be spreading anymore diseases.  Please stick to the normal licking places, like one's pits. 

Dollar Dog Night, Pringles, and Hidden Obesity

I bought Pringles yesterday.  And hot dogs.  My son was craving hot dogs after seeing a commercial on TV for "Dollar Dog Night" at Progressive Field (that's where the Cleveland Indians play...) and so I bought him hot dogs.  I never buy hot dogs.  Personally, I think they are disgusting.  Of course, if one decides to take me (yes, I'm not paying) to a Tribe game, I'd be happy to shovel in several purchased (again, I'm not buying)  hot dogs.  This is why everyone loves "Dollar Dog Night" and this is why I believe my son started craving them after seeing the commercial.  People were shoveling them in on that commercial while appearing to be having hot dog orgasms.  But I digress.

So what does this have to do with hiding Pringles?  Pringles are chips and chips go with hot dogs.  Are you following?  Well, after all of this talk about hot dogs, he decided last night that he did NOT want hot dogs for dinner OR the Pringles.  I love kids.  Really, they are a blast and so easy to please.  For the record, I generally make healthy meals for him, but I was trying to be a hip, cool mom for once and get wild and crazy with these hot dogs.  But I digress again.

So there the Pringles sat, staring glaring at me calling me by name, "Hey you fat ass, come eat me".  I  heard that shit and immediately told my son to go hide them because eating a whole can of Pringles was beginning to feel like a really bad idea.  My son then said, "I'll hide them in my room."  knowing full well that I wouldn't step foot in that monstrosity of a cesspool.  Now I normally do NOT allow food in his room, but I could not have been more happy with this idea.  I would NEVER go in his room to look for ANYTHING.

I think from now on any of his junk food I don't want to be tempted to eat, I will just make him hide in his room.  Not sure how great of an idea this is because while I'm going to stay healthy and fit, my son will turn into another obese teen.

Oh well, as I know deep down inside, as a good mother,  it's all about me anyway.

Bullwinkles: A Homosexual Experience I will never Forget

Names have been changed for no reason at all because I highly doubt those involved would even remember or care, but I'm going to do it anyway.

The year was 1989.  I was either 18 or 19 - doesn't really matter much.  I was living in Bloomington, Indiana with my older sister at the time and using her ID to get into bars regularly.  All my friends were all over 21 and drinking.  What was a girl to do.

I was naive, to say the least.   I was especially naive when it came to homosexuals, homosexuality, gays, lesbians, etc., etc., etc.  One evening I became an astute individual to the world of homosexuals like real fast.

My two friends, we'll call them Gina and Grant, and I were trying to figure out what we wanted to do.  They kept going back and forth to each other saying things like "Should we?" - "I don't know... do you think she can handle it?" - "She'll be fine..." - "Let's do it." ....  Of course, I have no idea what the hell they are talking about.  They said they wanted to take me to a bar called Bullwinkles and they thought I'd really have fun.  Me being the mere innocent child I was, but ready to party said "Let's go!"

Bullwinkles was underground, so you had to walk down steps to get into the place. We had our IDs checked and although I looked nothing like my older sister, I got in with no problems (ahhh, the good old days...) and then headed toward the main bar to get drinks.  On my way to the bar, I remember looking around and thinking, "Hmm... there are only men in here.  I wonder why?"  And not even a few seconds later, I realized why there were only men in there as I saw two of them kissing against the wall just a few feet away.  I think that's when all the blood proceeded to drain from my face and my jaw dropped to the floor and of course my friends were standing there looking at me looking around with extreme joy that they had popped my gay bar 'cherry'.

Oh, but it does not stop here, no it does not...

I said to myself that I was going to be a very mature person about this even though I was a bit unnerved to say the least.  We sat down at a table and I probably sucked down my electric lemonade within minutes.  (I can't believe I drank those, but I did.)  All of a sudden, the lights go down, and spotlights and crazy colored lights with this wacked out burlesque music starts playing.  I look toward the stage where I see this lady.  But wait, it was not a lady.  It was a man, dressed up as a lady... okay, it was a drag queen.  She(He) comes out and starts dancing and singing.  And, and... gawd, the horror.

Needless to say, Gina and Grant were basically laughing their asses off - at me.  I can't even imagine what my face looked like.  I actually wish I had a picture of it now (of my face, not of the drag queen).  I must admit, I'm kind of glad I had this experience.  It was one I will never forget and there is nothing like jumping into a homosexual experience head first, right?  It was my first.... and last as of today.  ;)

Oh and here's a trip... when I was looking for a picture for this post, I actually found this (myspace?  ha!) which has pictures from Bullwinkles.  Yeah, thought so...  so glad this memory is alive and well.

Bullwinkles - Drag Queen Show

         There are just no words.

A Latex Nightmare

The following blog post contains a lot of swearing because it is highly fucking necessary.

I'm not even sure that I can explain this well enough to be understood, but I have to get this out of my system because it's just one of those "STRANGER THAN FICTION" stories that MUST be told...

You know this has to be good if I'm writing two blog posts in one day, right?  Just agree and keep reading...  So, there is a knock at my door around 6:30 tonight and this is usually a sign that I have mail that doesn't fit in my mailbox.  My mail dude has two boxes for me along with my other mail.  I have no idea what these two boxes could be because I didn't order anything.  I look at both boxes and one is addressed to me and one is addressed to (who I thought) was my son.  Please hold tightly in your mind the word THOUGHT.  This word is key in this story.

The box addressed to my son (clear as day it IS his name) is from Canada and this makes no sense in my mind.  The other box, however, is from the MLB (major league baseball) store and so I have an idea who might have sent this one.  This is why I am confused as to why there are two boxes with one addressed to my son as the box addressed to me is from who I believe, a Canadian!  As you can see, the confusion is starting to set in my little American brain. 

Stay with me people...

I look again at the address on my (apparent) son's box and the apartment number is wrong but this has happened before, so I don't really think too much of it.  I am still wondering what could possibly be inside this box that is for my 14-year-old SON???  It's still not sinking in that anything would be sent to him from my person in Canada.  (Yes, I have people in Canada.  No need for questions.)  Having that motherly instinct, I decide to open the box myself and see what the hell it is.  Let's just say I'm glad the fuck I did.  Well, actually, no I'm not.  I'm just glad my son DIDN'T.  I see the packaging slip which reads the two items enclosed:  (And this is exact wording...)

QTY 1 - Chlorinated Latex Panties with Internal Inflatable Dildo & Anal Plug
QTY 1 - Chlorinated Latex Hood with Eyes/Nose/Mouth Holes

As you can probably imagine, I am thinking W. T. F.!   I don't think it's necessary for me to go into detail all the OTHER thoughts that ran through my motherly mind.  It wasn't pretty.  As I further investigated the situation and mind you, I did NOT unwrap any of the enclosed items, I figured out that the entire address was incorrect.  This box was for the apartment building three over from mine.  Like holy effin' SHIT.  Good gawd on this green earth.   I mean, what kind of sick joke is my mail carrier playing on me?  What am I supposed to do now?  I've opened the freakin' box.  I can't keep this box in my apartment.  I am working all day tomorrow and my son will be home alone.   I think I may have to tape the fucker back up and return it to the post office.   I hope, hope, hope I NEVER see this other creeper around here.  I thought maybe I could make it until next June going month to month after my lease was up this December, but I'm pretty sure that I am out of here come December 1st, midnight. No later.

And just for those that don't know me, I have a very common last name and my son's name is extremely common, so this wasn't like some dishonest mistake I made. I just wanted to make that clarification.

Oh and here's what came for me except I don't think I was able to enjoy it too much!

I'm still sick.

I don't normally look like this, although I am sure there are some who would beg to differ.

Tofu: The Mystery Food of My Fridge

I bought a package of tofu last week.  As of today, it is still sitting in my fridge.  I have looked online for recipes and well, it's still a mystery to me. I don't get it.  All anyone ever tells me is "It takes on the flavor of what you are cooking..."  So, um, what the hell does that mean exactly?  I was going to try it because supposedly it is a good source of protein and quite frankly, I need something new in my diet.  I'm getting bored with my dinners.

I stalked asked a lady buying it at the grocery store who she said that she cuts it up into cubes, fries it in olive oil, then puts it back in the pan with some BBQ sauce and eats it like that.  Okay, great... but has anyone looked at the ingredients of BBQ sauce lately?  Sugar, carbs and a bunch of other crap I don't want entering into my body.  I think this would defeat the purpose of eating the tofu.

I don't own a wok and I don't have a lot of money to spend on some wacked out ingredients, herbs, spices, etc. So, on that note, if you can give me an easy, minimal ingredient recipe for tofu, I'd be most grateful.  I've got until June 24th before this clump of curdy-looking, water block goes bad.  Mmm, sounds yummy.  Can't wait to try it!

 nice...

Delay of Arrested Development(s)

I am not sure why I am just hearing about this today, but apparently tomorrow, May 26, 2013, at the wee morning hour of 3:01 AM EDT (why this exact time, I'm not really sure...) one will be able to view ALL 15 new episodes of Arrested Development on Netflix.  Hello?!  When the hell did that happen?  This includes the entire original cast, too.  I think I just creamed myself.

That is all.

If you've never watched the show, I highly suggest watching it starting...NOW!

Krispy Kreme: You're My Bitch, Yet Again

School is finally over for summer and at my age that is just plain silly, but I can't help but admit that I am happy to have a break.  I battled like hell the last sixteen weeks and as always (duh...) came out triumphant.  This wouldn't be because I gained any great knowledge for my future, but rather because I am about to score four free doughnuts from Krispy Kreme.  Oh yes, KK.  You're my bitch yet again.  You see, for every "A" you receive on your report card, Krispy Kreme will give you one of their glazed, gooey bitches (up to 6) for free!  That's right.  THAT'S what I'm talking about.

And don't try to tell me the free doughnuts are only for kids in kindergarten through grade six. I worked hella harder than those little brats.  If anything, I deserve TWO doughnuts for every "A" I earned, so I should actually be getting eight, not four! However, since the limit is six, I suppose that will suffice.

A small side note: Now that school is over, I'll be here much more making my delightful, grandiose blog posts that we all love so deeply.  Who isn't happy about that?

 Glaze On!

Beavers: Much More Than Purple Merkins in Canada

For the life of me, I cannot understand why humans attempt over and over and over again to hassle wild animals.  (Think back to 2006: Steve Irwin and the stingray death...)  But most recently, a fisherman in Belarus was apparently attacked by a beaver after trying to snap a fancy picture of the animal.  It bit him in the thigh and severed a major artery and he bled to death.  (That's hawt...)  The video below is of a different attack of a Russian man trying to capture a beaver just doin' its thing and it turns and attacks him.  Can ya blame the little fella?

I can see the thrill of wanting to capture wildlife through photography or video -  FROM A GAWD DAMN DISTANCE!  What I do not understand is relentlessly following an animal and then NOT expecting it to turn on you to gnaw the living shit out of your sorry ass. 

Moral of the story?  Beavers are much more than just one of Canada's national symbols or fancy merkins to dress up your privates... they are animals with big arse teeth that bite through freakin' TREES!  THINK ABOUT IT.

 

A purple merkin.... if you're into that sort of thing.
Who knew???

source: http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/world/2013/04/11/newser-beaver-kills-man/2074145/

You are a Racist A$$HOLE, King.

The po po are at it again and it's not pretty.  Florida, you are pitiful.  You don't even bother to try and hide your racist, pathetic ways, do you?

FORMER police Sgt. Ron King apparently asked some folks if they wanted to practice shooting at targets that looked like a "faceless silhouette of a person in a hoodie holding a beverage can, a pack of Skittles candy tucked in a pocket."  Sound familiar?  That's because young Trayvon Martin was wearing a hoodie, holding a beverage and a pack of skittles the night he was shot and murdered in February of 2012 by George Zimmerman; the now high profile case in Florida.  Coincidence?  I don't think so.

King has this as a "training video" on YouTube (when are people going to learn that YouTube is not a place to post ANYTHING that resembles a video to be seen by others!?) and said the target was meant as a 'no-shoot' training aid.  Oh really?  I'm so sure we're all that stupid, Mr. King.

He has apologized to the Martin family.  Oh how very.  I'm sure they really care what you have to say.  He has been fired.  Well, that's not enough.  I don't know how we can ever end the madness of racism in our country when the ignorance of people like Mr. King do shit like this and pretend it to be something completely different than the obvious.  Not funny.  Not cool.

Rant over.

source: http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2013/04/14/travyon-martin-ron-king/2081467/

Less is More

The best thing I've read so far in my American Literature class is a poem called "In a Station of the Metro" published in 1916 by Ezra Pound.  It is said to be one of the best representations of the "imagist" movement in poetry.  I say less is more because the poem only contains fourteen words, but I think after you read it, you'll see why I say that.

I tend to fixate on poets who can do this.  I find it to be one of my favourite aspects of good writing in poetry and I don't think many can pull it off.  There are only a few that I know of that can do it well and when you read their poetry, you are left thinking of the images for the rest of the day.  Pure, raw and gripping.  I love it. 

My lame-o classmates didn't want to discuss the poem at all and unfortunately the professor moved on from it because no one had any opinions to share (except for me)! Jerks!  I had a comment I was going to bring up about an author that could really use "less" rather than "more" in her writing.  Danielle Steel - PAY ATTENTION!  I tried to read one of her books and had to put it down after 50 pages.  I'm actually surprised I got that far.  Thesaurus much, Danielle?  Geezus!

I would love some (serious) reaction to the poem.  Thoughts?  What does it make you think of?  Do you even like it?  Do you agree that "less is more" here?  In poetry?  In general writing?  

 

School, Work and Life are all Kicking my Arse

As I can see by the emails, phone calls, text messages and all the thoughts & prayers that everyone has sent my way (I counted zero), you all have deeply missed my presence here, so I thought that I would write a quick note to say that school, work and life are all kicking my arse (British English Anglo-Saxon word for the buttocks, usually replaced by the euphemistic "ass" in US/Canadian English).

I am taking the most atrocious American Literature class and although I LOVE to read, I reckon that I will  read Huckleberry Finn exactly NEVER again, even if it means I have to ride my own raft down the Mississippi to escape from doing so. 

Also, I am taking two Social Work classes and although I love them so much, my classmates are nothing short of annoying.  I know I need to gain tolerance, but it is very difficult to do this when they ask stupid questions such as "Will this be on the test?"   Why must we ask that question?  Can we all just assume that if the professor is talking about it that it is probably important enough to remember?  Come on, people.  What's going to happen when your client tells you they are homeless?  Are you going to ask them if they are looking for somewhere to live?  We need to start thinking and using that thing in our skull called a brain.

I also just started a new job (for the second time in the last two months - long story, no need to get into that here...) and have been doing trainings which I have loved and hated.  Orientations are more like DISorientations.  And sitting for 6-8 hours at a time makes my arse hurt.  However, the formalities are all done now and soon I can start to mentor youth.  (Lucky kids, huh...)

Life in general is busy and in four weeks I will be done with school for the semester leaving me with exactly FIVE classes until graduation.  Perhaps I can swing by and post some more totally interesting blogs when the middle of May is upon us.  ;)

gawd hates figs.

Flying Blueberry Donuts

Last Sunday was an absolute beautiful day in Cleveland (Sunny, High 65F!) but apparently it was for the birds... literally.  Bird migration went a tad crazy the night before when radar caught MILLIONS (yes MILLIONS!) of Red-winged blackbirds, Grackles and American Robins heading back this-a-way!  Why you ask?   Because Cleveland is awesome, that's why!  AND, they have a great place to live here in northeast Ohio -  The Cleveland Metroparks.

This radar image is super cool.  The green line is an actual thunderstorm approaching.  The blue, round circles with the holes in the middle are not blueberry donuts, even though Americans probably would like them to be, but rather the thousands and thousands upon thousands of birds caught in action! 

Neato, huh?

It is Difficult Being so Perfect

I am perfect. I am the first to admit it.  It was a difficult process in my life to come to terms with this, but I believe I have finally conquered the little bastard.  It is a rough road  being as perfect as I am.   I do not believe others understand this very well.   I never have 'bad days'.  What are those anyway?  I hear people complain about such things and I merely just frolic in fields of daisies as my perfectly, wonderful, ever-so-happy life progresses.  Do you realise how it is to constantly be in a state of complete happiness ALL of the time?

I never lash out at others.  If I did this, I would not be the perfect person that I am.  And that, my friends, would just be confounded silliness.  I have also NEVER, EVER said stupid things.  This would put a black mark on my perfection.  Again, something a perfect person would never have.

Some might ask if I have ever made a mistake.  Mistakes?  There are no mistakes.  What I have learned from the only other perfect person I know is that when called out on doing something wrong (as if...), one must simply deny, deny, deny.  It's easy.

For example: 
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You:  Hey, did you steal my new Garnet Rogers CD?

Me:  No way.

You:  Yes, you did.  I saw you.

Me:  I did not! 

You:  I have video, so you are wrong, brat face!

Me:  I'm NEVER wrong!

You:  The video clearly shows you putting ~MY~ GARNET ROGERS CD in your pocket and running away.

Me:  Don't know what you're talking about.  It was obviously a set-up...
 __________________________________ 

And that's pretty much all there is to it... deny, deny, deny.   Pretty soon everyone will believe that you are NEVER wrong - myself included.

As you can tell, perfection is very difficult for me.  I only wish others could emulate my perfection and have this incredible sense of self-worth and absolute freedom that comes with this state of excellence.

This is not something that can just happen over night.  Perfection takes a long time.  Okay, actually, in my case, it did not really take that long at all.  For me, it was just a few short weeks (after I was born), but for most it will take a long time.  Once you reach it - ahhh, pure bliss. 

Please feel free to submit any questions about my snow-white purity below.  I will surely be able to give you a most perfect answer.