Happy New Year and Happy Birthday To Me

Thirty-nine. Oh God. I'm thirty-nine today. How did that happen? It seems like just yesterday I was graduating from college. I'm certainly not where I thought I would be at thirty-nine.

I was so sure that I would be married with children by now. I was so sure that I would have a big house in suburbs by now. Where did all the time go?

I can remember when my mom turned 39 for the first time. Yep, she's one of those women who has been 39 for a thousand years. She seemed so old back then. I was twelve years old, arguing with her about her dying her hair. I was so sure that she should be proud of those gray hairs, representing her wisdom. Vowing that I would NEVER dye my hair. Ahhhh...I was so naive back then.

When I started going gray at 18, I was proud of them. I thought they made me appear older than I was. But what I didn't realize back then was that by 39, my mom had grown completely white-haired. Much earlier than most women.

Damn her and her genetics! I am more than 50% gray and have dyed my hair since I was 30. And I completely understand her need to dye. It's not that she wasn't proud of her age or wisdom. It was simply that she didn't want to look OLDER than she was!

I don't think anyone really realizes how much genetics plays a role in who we become. At least physically. There's a lot that I've gotten from my parents. Most of it bad, but with knowledge, comes power. Ha.

Let's see....premature gray hair from both of my parents, overweight, my current need for reading glasses, periodontal disease(which I have been able to fight off due to the knowledge that it was coming), high blood pressure(which I overcame by losing weight), most likely Type II diabetes sometime in the future, and most likely thinning hair when I'm older. My father also had very soft enamel on his teeth...and even with brushing like a mad man several times a day, his teeth would crack and break. This is also genetic, and I fear that there will come a day when my teeth will do the same. (Thank God for good dental insurance, you will never know.)

But even after all of those not-so-nice traits I will eventually have inherited, there are at least one thousand and one oh-so-very-nice traits I have inherited from them as well....

My mother's smile, my father's laugh lines around my eyes, my mother's elegant hands, big boobs(those are from my mom), my father's great cholesterol level.

And then the learned traits...which are the most important. My parents' senses of humor and the ability to laugh at myself, my mother's class, my father's sense to always stop and help someone in need, their morals, their idea of right and wrong, their love of family, and a hard work ethic.

I am actually crying right now as I write this....because I always focus on the negative traits that I have inherited and have never stopped to think of all the truly wonderful gifts that my parents have given me. They lead by example, never lying, cheating, or stealing. And in the world today, that's a rare trait alone.

This past Thanksgiving, just before my parents left for Florida, my mother remarked to me..."you're going to be 39 next month! We'll be the same age!" And my response back was "No way...I'll never be as old as you, I'll be 29 again!"

I think I've changed my mind....it certainly would be an honor to me if people thought of me as fondly as they do my mother...at any age. And I am truly blessed to be so much like my mom. And I guess it really doesn't matter that I'm not where I thought I would be. I am where I am. And at 39, I hopefully, have a lot of years ahead of me to change what needs to be changed.

I think I'm going to go call my mom now, and wish her a happy anniversary(of my birth), and a Happy New Year.

Oh, and Happy New Year to you.

Whew! It's over....

Finally. Three parties in two days, three Christmas dinners in two days, three desserts made, three appetizers made,and twenty-seven presents later. It's finally over.

When did the insanity begin?? Probably the year that my parents decided to become snowbirds and leave before the holiday season every year.

It used to be that every Christmas was spent at my parents' home. But now that they are in Florida six months out of the year, we scramble to decide where Christmas should be held.

Of course, my crazy sister has the biggest house, so it's usually there. But due to her insanity and mood swings, I try my best to find an alternative. So, I go to my aunt and uncle's house on Christmas Eve. I love my aunt and uncle with all my heart. Their three son's were the brothers I never had growing up. But they are all married with children now. So it's a madhouse over there too. It's nice catching up with them. We all have very different lives and only see each other a few times a year. When we were kids, we spent every weekend, every holiday, and every summer together. They dated my girlfriends, and I screwed around with all their male buddies.

I learned not to be afraid of snakes because of them. They learned how to smoke a joint because of me. Of course, I had nothing to do with Chris catching his ass on fire trying to light a fart. Nope, not me. And they had nothing to do with me getting my nose bit by their crazy dog, trying to smell his Dorito breath.

Man, I could blog everyday for a month and not cover all the insane stuff we used to do as kids together.

I certainly didn't plan on this post being about my cousins. It was supposed to be about my crazy holiday weekend. But, let's just say I'm very, very happy that it's over.

Now I just have to get through the New Year's weekend. Which, incidently includes my birthday. But that will definitely be another post.

An interesting Monday.

All day yesterday I was trying to figure out a way to get out of going to work. Unfortunately, I got a new abuse referral on Friday at the end of the day so I figured I had better go in and go see the kid. Sometimes it sucks to be dedicated.

Anyway. On my way to work(I live one town over), there are a few stoplights not working. I never even thought about the fact that my office is in the same area. There was no power at work. We hung around in the mostly-dark office waiting for the director to direct. She finally told us to leave. Yay!! I mean, who can't use an extra day off work around the holidays, right? So a few of my co-workers and I decide to go have breakfast at a cute little country kitchen. Mmmm....crispy corned beef hash and scrambled eggs. This is one of the rare occasions where I actually order corned beef. It was so good. The coffee was yummy. I didn't want to leave. I could have sat there for hours just chatting, and drinking coffee.

But leave I did. And headed over to a local store for some Christmas shopping. I have just a few gifts to buy yet....for those hard to buy for people. I spent an hour there, and didn't buy a thing. But I did run into two clients. I'm standing there looking at these pathetic Christmas Cacti, wanting so badly to buy one, but knowing as dried out and pruny as they were, they were a lost cause. Why do stores do that? It's such a waste.

And as I'm standing there, someone says hello. One of my clients that left her 6 year old home alone all day while she worked over the summer. And all I could think was, where's the kid now if you are at the store shopping? I didn't ask. I figured that she knew enough not to leave the kid alone anymore, so I figured she knew enough not to stop and say hello if the kid was home alone again. Or could that have been her diabolical plan to throw me off her scent?!?!?

I decided to go home and take a nap with the dogs, because, well, just because I could! I love naps. I could take a nap everyday if I could. I got home, let the dogs out to play for a while and then we snuggled up to take a nap. They are such good bed buddies. sleeping at the end of the bed to keep my feet warm.

When I woke up, I made a sandwich, and decided to do the dishes, which had been piling up for a while. But there was no water. WHAT??? Yep, that's right...no water. My neighbor called and informed that a watermain just three streets over had broken and they didn't know how long this would go on. I had to run to the store to get bottled water to give to the dogs. I mean, I can drink milk and orange juice...but I don't think that would be too good for them.

So here it is, after 10 at night, and there is still no water. I did go driving around 9:30 and saw that the city was still out there in the freezing cold trying to correct the problem. Gotta thank them for that. But this is the third or fourth time this year that there have been problems with the water. And three or four times this that our power has gone out for more than a day. Hmmmm....I usually like living in a small town, but this one has some serious problems.

I bought enough bottled water to make coffee in the morning. I just hope it comes on in time for me to shower before work. I have court tomorrow and just the thought of going to work without showering grosses me out.

Crap.

Busy Week

It sure has been a busy week, and I haven't even started my Christmas shopping yet.

I guess that's why I haven't posted anything lately. Work has picked up and that really sucks right around the holidays. Not that it's EVER ok to abuse your children, but why the hell do you have to do it right before Christmas?? I filed two petitions to terminate parental rights on Monday. One for torturing the children, and one for abandonment. Sick fucks.

On Wednesday while I was in court, I got the call that my friend, Carol's, husband died. This past summer she, I, and two other co-workers went up north for a weekend and we had an amazing time. She's an amazing lady and her husband was a sweetheart. After us four girls came back from up north, she and Chuck went up north for their annual two week vacation. While up north, he suffered a seizure. At first, the doctor thought it might be a reaction from some new medication he was on. But after the CT scan, realized that his brain was riddled with cancer. Lung cancer that had metastized to his brain and liver. He lived for three and a half months, which is about three months longer than they expected.

Today is the viewing, and tomorrow is the funeral. I have a work presentation to give today with a church group, then I get to spend part of the day with her at the funeral home. These things make me so sad. My heart aches for Carol. I can't imagine her pain.

A Generic Season's Greetings

Ah....back in the day, it was rare to hear someone say "Happy Holidays", or "Season's Greetings". If you were raised celebrating Christmas, you heard "Merry Christmas", and if you were Jewish, you heard, "Happy Hannukah".

It's not that simple anymore. With the increase in Multi-cultural cities and neighborhoods, with the increase in lawsuits, and the increase in different faiths/religions/paths...you run the risk of offending someone by saying one of those time honored salutations.

There's Ramadan, Kwanza(from Africa), Kwanzaa(African American), Christmas, Hannukah, Yule....and I'm sure there are more, but....who can keep up??

However, while I was growing up it was customary to hear "Merry Christmas", I was a strange kid...I always said, "Happy Holidays". Why you may ask? Well...my mother ran a law firm when I was a kid and her boss was Jewish. Once, when I went to my mother's office with her during the holiday season, I told him "Merry Christmas". He very quickly pointed out to me that not everyone was Christian and not everyone celebrated Christmas. He wasn't very nice about it and made me cry.

On the way home, my mother explained that he was Jewish and that he celebrated Hannukah. That explained why she always worked on Christmas Eve. He was gracious enough to give her Christmas Day off, but never Christmas Eve.

The next year, I was very careful to tell him "Happy Hannukah" and realized...you really can't know what holiday folks celebrate. And I felt so crappy offending him that I began just saying a generic season's greetings to everyone. Even today, I always buy Season's Greetings holiday cards to mail out, even though they usually just sit in the box, never being mailed or opened by friends and loved ones.

So, with that said, Ramadan Mubarak!(Had to look that one up), Happy Kwanza(a)!, Happy Hannukah!, Happy Yule!, and Merry Christmas!

Oh, and Happy Festivus!

Ten things....

10 Random things about me you may not know.

1. I am the youngest of three girls.
2. I have two tattoos.
3. I have a degree in biology and psychology.
4. I sleep on the right side of the bed. (I must)
5. I don't wear jewelry.
6. I know how to eat with chopsticks.
7. I drive a Jeep Cherokee.
8. I travel, a LOT.
9. My mom is my best friend.
10. I wear a size 42DD bra.

9 Places I've visited.

1. Dominica
2. St. Martin
3. Austria
4. Zurich, Switzerland
5. Las Cruces, NM
6. St. Lucia
7. Honduras
8. Dominican Republic
9. Antigua

8 Ways to win my heart

1. Love my dogs.
2. Make me laugh.
3. Compliment my cooking.
4. Hold my hand during the movie.
5. Call me in the middle of the day to tell me that you miss me.
6. Tell me I'm beautiful, and mean it.
7. Fall in love with my family.
8. Be kind to others, especially old people.

7 Things I must do before I die.

1. Get a maid.
2. Travel to Ireland.
3. Get married. It's too hard to do that after I'm dead.
4. Scuba dive the Great Barrier Reef.
5. Learn Spanish.
7. Learn French.

6 Things I'm afraid of

1. People not liking me.
2. Getting old.
3. Losing my parents.
4. Cancer.
5. Losing my luggage on vacation.
6. Breaking a bone.

5 Things I don't like

1. Liars.
2. People who talk about you behind your back.
3. Crumbs in the butter.
4. People who are mean to animals.
5. President Bush.

4 Ways to turn me off

1. Don't brush your teeth.
2. Be rude.
3. Be disrespectful.
4. Belittle me.

3 Things I do everyday

1. Feed my dogs.
2. Shower.
3. Brush my teeth. (several times)

2 Things that make me happy.

1. My critters.
2. Unexpected gifts!

1 Thing that's on my mind right now.

Thank God tomorrow is Friday. Oooohhh...and Survivor's on tonight!

Thanksgiving Pies

Mmmmmmm. Pumpkin pie, Pecan Pie, and a Louisiana Yummy.

Yep, I'm in charge of desserts this year. And those are the desserts that have been requested. But to be honest, my family requests those desserts every year. It's tradition. And not to toot my own horn, but damn, I am good at baking them!

The Pecan pie is never runny, and is loaded with gooey goodness and pecans. It's my father's favorite pie, but this year, he headed out early to Florida because of the damage to my folk's place by Hurricane Wilma. Sigh. It won't be the same without him.

My nephew, Drew, loves Pumpkin pie. That's his favorite, and I always have to make two so that he gets his own. He's a freshman in college this year and is going to school to be an aeronautical engineer. I might be biased, but he is the coolest kid ever. Even throughout his obnoxious teen years, he was so lovable. He would even STILL give his favorite aunt(me) hugs and kisses in front of his friends. He was on the wrestling team and the football team. He was very popular in high school, but even the not so popular kids loved him. I'm not sure how he turned out so amazing with a crazy mother like his, but I'll take him just the way he is.

My niece Kristyn, whom we call Bubba, loves the Louisiana Yummy. We started calling her Bubba when she was about four when she started calling my cousin Phillip, the Incredible Hulk. He's 6'7 and has a very deep voice. He used to scare her just by walking in the house. She would pull me aside and say "oh my gosh, the Hulk's here! Hide me!". He started calling her Bubba, after the football player Bubba Baker. The funny part is she's never been fat, but played rough like the boys. I guess that's where that comes from. Anyway, it stuck, and at 25, strawberry blond, blue eyes, and gorgeous, we still call her Bubba.

A Louisiana Yummy has a buttery, pecan crust, with a cheese cake like layer, then a layer of chocolate mousse, then vanilla mousse, and then topped with whipped cream. I usually make it pretty by dusting the top with cocoa powder and a sprinkling of crushed pecans. Yeah, there's never any left.

I love Thanksgiving, just to be able to spend time with my family. Of course, there is that one Thanksgiving about 10 years ago where my crazy sister and I got into a fist fight. But I guess you could blame that on the cocaine she was flying on. But that's another story.

Hope everyone has a wonderful Turkey Day!

H N T !!!

Oh yeah...that's my armpit. Pretty sexy, huh. Have a great Thursday!

Grace.

As in, I have none.

Thursday night, my mother calls and asks if I'm coming down on Friday to spend the day with Dad. He was leaving Friday night to drive to Florida for the winter, and I wouldn't see him again until Spring. I should note here that normally my mother would be with him, but she decided to stay a few more weeks to spend Thanksgiving with all of us because we give her grief every year about missing all of the holidays. My father is pretty stubborn and told her she could stay, but he wanted to get down south to check on the damage from Hurricane Wilma. So, she's flying out December 5th, enough time for us to have Thanksgiving and a mini-Christmas before she leaves.

Ok, back to the story. I told my mother I would be down at some point, but that the girls were supposed to come up for cooking lessons. Well, I felt guilty, so I called the girls and told them I would be at Granny and Papa's house instead of them driving all the way to my house. They were cool with that and planned to spend the day with us as well.

Here's the graceful part: When I got ready to leave Friday morning, I grabbed all of my stuff and headed out the door. When I got to my Jeep, I realized that I didn't have my keys. Dangit! This normally wouldn't be a problem because, while I always lock the front door, five out of seven days I forget to lock the back door. I mean, I have a Rottweiler and a Rottie mix. Who's going to break into my house??

Kudos for me! I actually locked the back door for once.

I go traipsing over to my neighbor Cindy's house because she has a spare key for my house.

And BAM!!! That's when it happens. I caught my foot on a bump in her driveway. It's all slow motion as I do a little sidestep to catch my footing and trip over my warm-up pants(as if I ever warm up for anything, other than a good meal and sex!). DOWN I go...first hitting my knees, then landing on my hands, then flopping over on my right side, where I proceed to roll and crash into her house. Even as I'm sitting here, writing this, I can't help but laugh. If someone had been rolling a camera, I'm sure I would be the $10,000 winner on America's Funniest Home Videos.

I laid in the driveway for a minute, checking to see if my parts were working. And I just started laughing. I couldn't stop. All I could do was hope that Cindy didn't feel the impact and come rushing out to see my fat ass, lying in her driveway.

Then I heard a noise. I look up, and standing on the otherside of the street watching me was the new neighbor. Crap. But then, she just turned around and walked back into the house. What the hell?? I could have been wounded! Or lay dying in the driveway! And she just walked away. Just wait until she needs to borrow some sugar.

Well, with all parts intact, I knock on Cindy's door, explain what happened, grab my key, and let myself back into my house. Listening to Cindy laugh the whole way.

I didn't hurt on Friday, but yesterday I was stiff and sore, my knees aching, but not really hurting. And this morning? I have a lovely set of matching bruises on my knees, and one on my back where I hit the house. Yeah, no, I'm not gonna post pics.

Truly, I am a graceless girl. I think it's part of my charm. I make people laugh, usually as I'm rolling down the hill, or following the bowling ball down the lane.

But if you want to talk about Grace in the behavioral/politeness category, in the face of adversity and assholes, I am always Graceful.

HNT

Ahhh....Nassau, Bahamas. Have a great day!

Wimps...all of them....

I'll be damned if everyone who was going to go with me to Trooper Yummy's party tonight has wimped out. Pansies. A co-worker of mine who's married to a trooper said her husband wouldn't let her go because he told her the parties were way too wild.

Are you kidding me??? That's the best reason TO go!

Sheesh...

So, I will be making the party alone. Me and my bodacious ta-tas in my Wench's costume. Hell, I might even shave my legs for the experience.

Half-Nekkid Thursday!

Ok, Be nice...this is my first HNT!

Rosa Parks 1913-2005

It's a sad day here in Southeast Michigan. And I'll bet, it's a sad day across America.

Rosa Parks has passed away.

Such a sweet and gentle soul.

Goodnight, Mrs. Parks.

Vegan parents

So there are these parents that are on trial right now for the death of their six month old baby. She died from malnutrition. The mother stopped breastfeeding her at six months because it hurt her nipple.

I think they should be battered and deep fried in oil.

And served with a side of coleslaw and some beef jerky.

Morons.

Cribs

Please, I beg you, put your babies in cribs to sleep.

I'm on-call again tonight. And I got a call from the service earlier about a baby that will probably not live through the night.

The story the mother gave the police was that she fell asleep with her five month old baby in the bed with her and smothered her as she slept.

The problem with the story is that the mother has a history of cocaine and heroin use. So, if she was using at the time, and the baby dies, it's manslaughter. She will be charged with her baby's death.

I took the call, but couldn't take the case. I used to work with the mom. I worked with her every day for five years. And I really like her. She's sweet, kind, has a great sense of humor.

I can't imagine the pain she is going through right now, knowing that something she did might have done, caused her child's death. Even if she wasn't using, her baby might still die. If the baby lives, the doctors say that she will be mentally devastated.

As many children die each year from being smothered in bed with someone as die from SIDS.

I can't tell you how many friends I have that sleep with their babies in bed with them. I warn them all about the dangers, and they all scoff and say 'please, I think I would know if I rolled over on my child'.

I'm thinking not.

Red Rover, Red Rover....

I had to make a visit to an elementary school today to see a kid.

And while I was there, the little kids, probably 2nd or 3rd grade were outside during recess. They were playing Red Rover.

Oh man, did that bring back memories.

I can remember being in kindergarten and I had broken my arm around Easter. I broke my arm just below the shoulder so I had a body cast that went down my arm, completely around my chest and down to my hips. There was a support bar under my left arm to keep the arm at a 75 degree angle from my body. Not the most comfortable experience, sleeping like that.

I broke my arm in school. We used to play Little Red Riding Hood. Someone was Red, and someone else was the Big Bad Wolf. Wolfie would chase Red until they were caught, and then Red became the wolf. There was one particular day when I was Red, and Tommy Morgan was the Wolf. I can remember him chasing me all around the playground and to get away from him, I climbed the stairs to the slide. When I got to the top, he tagged me, but accidentally pushed me when he did. I teased him about that all the way through high school.

I tumbled down the slide, head first. I landed on the ground and hit my head on a rock and I was out cold. I still have the scar on my forehead.

Back in those days, the school didn't call an ambulance, they called your mom. My mom came and picked me up, and the first thing I remember after being pushed, is sitting in the front seat of the car(sans seatbelt) and holding my arm. I think my mom cried harder than I did.

When we got to the hospital, they had to cut my clothes off because I was freaking out about having to take them off. I clearly remember not wanting anyone to see me naked. I was very modest...a trait that has since worn off.

They had to put me to sleep to take my clothes off and to xray my arm and set it. I remember them asking me to count backward from ten, and me telling them we hadn't learned that yet. The nurse laughed and told me to count to ten then. I remember getting to two, and then nothing until I woke up in my hospital room.

My roommate in the hospital was a boy a couple years older than me. He was so cute. And back then, you could actually spend a couple days in the hospital for something like a broken arm! I can't remember his name, but he was in the hospital because some farm machine tore his elbow and they had to sew his arm back on. He wanted to show me, but I was too scared.

That was the first time I slept away from home, and I couldn't sleep at night. One of the nights, I remember crying and the nurse coming in and asking me what was wrong. I told her I was scared and couldn't sleep. She wanted to give me a suppository and I freaked out! What the hell are you doing back there??? And once again, I have gotten over that trait as well.

I had long blond hair, and it used to get tangled down in my body cast. My mom had my hair cut off because it was too hard to take care of. Of course, it also didn't help that the anesthesia made me sick and I puked all down my cast too. My mom used to have to pour powder down in my cast every day to keep it from smelling. It was gross. I cried for days over my ugly short hair. When it grew back, it was brown. I still blame my mom for that.

I wasn't allowed to play outside at recess until my cast came off and I remember being so bummed the first day it was off and the teacher wouldn't let me play Red Rover, for fear of re-injuring my arm.

So today, while watching the kids play Red Rover, that whole memory came back. I tried to remember the rules of Red Rover, but I don't know that I remember them correctly.

I think the rules were, two teams, and one team would call out-"Red Rover, Red Rover, send ________ right over". Then that kid would have to run across the grass and try to break through the clasped hands of the other team players. If he broke through, he could come back to his team, bringing one of the other team's players. If he couldn't break through, he had to stay. This went on until there were only two players left on a team. And then....those two would try their hardest to keep their little hands clasped together. If they didn't, the game was over.

That was a great team sport. You really felt part of the group. Occasionally, you didn't break through on purpose, if the really cute boys were on the other team. It was a thrill just to hold their hands.

Man, I wish grownups played this game.

Glutton for punishment

Several months ago, I wanna say, May?, there was 'an internet guy'. Way too young for me. Ten years younger, in fact. He was impatient to meet, obnoxious, and immature, but cute, so I gave him two chances.

He fucked them both up. There are previous posts about these, so I won't ramble on...

The last time, I told him I wasn't interested, he was hurt and offended, and I thought that was the end of it.

So WHY WHY WHY did he instant message me tonight??

Telling me he missed talking to me, and he's attracted to me, and he still wants to meet.

What part of HELL NO didn't he get the last time?? Does he really think that's going to happen??

How do I let this poor thing know that I'm not interested without going all crazy-biotch on him?

The last time I talked to him was in the beginning of August. I think there's a pattern here...every two months, I hear from him. Crap. Kind of like a re-occurring rash.

On a completely separate topic...Trooper Yum called today. He's having a Halloween party on the 28th and invited me to come. I told him a few weeks ago about a wench's costume I bought at a renaissance fair and he told me that I could only come if I came as the wench...he just wants to see my bodacious ta-tas. He's going to be a roman soldier, with a skirt and everything. Of course, he had to tease and tell me that he's going to wear it the way they did back then...commando style(hope you know what that means...). Sigh...I doubt I will be able to keep my hands to myself.

I think I'll need a cockblocker...any takers?

Mustard Greens, or aka greens

My family is originally from the south. Tennessee to be exact. My grandmother, whom we called Ginky, moved to Michigan with my grandfather to work in the automobile industry in the thirties. (The story behind her nickname is that when I was little, I couldn't say grandma, so I called her Ginky, and the name stuck. Of course, most Southerners have nicknames, so it wasn't a problem for everyone to call her Ginky.)

Being from the south, our family is very big on food. And on Sunday dinners. Growing up, we had Sunday dinner every Sunday either at Ginky's house, or my other grandmother's house.(We just called her Grandma.) A typical dinner would be fried chicken, mashed potatoes with grasshopper gravy(another word I couldn't pronounce, Bra'hopper), corn, green beans cooked southern style(cooked to death with saltpork), corn bread, or biscuits, and greens. Some folks these days call this soul food, but to me, it's just good old fashioned country cooking.

I loved greens! I would pass the potatoes and gravy just to get more greens. My grandmother would handwash them in the sink, fry up some saltpork or bacon, and add the greens with a bit of water. They would steam/cook for a while, the house smelling so green.

Of course, I didn't know what kind of greens they were or that there were even different kinds of greens. I just knew they were so tender and would melt in your mouth. It wasn't until recently that I found out that they were Mustard Greens. I've made Collard Greens, but the texture wasn't the same. Kinda tough, no matter how long you cooked them. I finally thought to ask my mom why my greens didn't taste like Ginky's. She informed me that Ginky preferred Mustard or Turnip Greens. Huh. Who knew.

So today, I was taking the carpet cleaner back to Ace Hardware(probably the only Ace out in the country) and there it was....the sign...'Greens for sale'. With a phone number. As I'm driving by, I call, and asked the little old lady who answered the phone what kind of greens she was selling. 'Why Mustard Greens, of course, that and Turnip Greens.' I asked her if I could stop to get some and she said, in her southern way, 'come on along then'.

I hurried along, dropping off the cleaner and hightailing it back to the Greens house. The little old lady was indeed just that...about 80 years old and looking very much like a grandmother. She tells me her husband is out and I could just go back to the field and get what I like. She pointed to the shed, and told me that I would find bushel baskets in there to load up and then bring them back to the porch and she'd give me a bag. Huh?? Pick my own? They aren't nicely bundled like they are in the grocery store?

So I traipse(another southern word) out to the shed, get the basket, and head out to the field. Imagine acres and acres of bright green leaves with tiny yellow flowers blooming above them. Mustard is just now going to seed here in my area...and the view was lovely. It was still early enough for there to be a bit of fog hovering over the field as the sun was shining. I could picture my grandmother heading out to the field to pick some greens for dinner.

I've never picked greens before...so I wandered around for a while, looking at the greens, and decided that the younger leaves looked the greenest, and started picking. Oh....over there! More young plants! Pick pick pick. Before I knew it, the basket was almost full, and I was 30 or 40 feet into the field.

I mosey'd back to the house and Granny's husband, 'ole Grandad, was waiting for me. He chastised me for not picking a whole bushel. I laughed and told him it was just me these days and that I didn't want to pick what I wouldn't eat.

He charged me two dollars.

I came home, went to the grocery store for some pork, and cleaned a nice mess 'o greens. They are on the stove cooking as I type...and the house smells so green. I can't wait to get a bowl and fill it up with all that green tenderness. I should have made a pan of cornbread, but I don't have any buttermilk. Dang.

Two dollars sure is a bargain for a trip down memory lane.

Ugh~part deux

Whew...no more orange push-up on the walls.

And for the record, Home Depot will NOT take paint back. Dirty Bastards.

So, 45 bucks down the drain.

Luckily, I had paint left from painting the living room. So now the sunroom is a lovely honey yellow. Which is what I should have painted it in the first place...but hey, you live and learn.

Damn...what a chore. My back aches, I have paint in my hair, under my nails, and on my legs. Clearly I'm no Martha Stewart. But it looks great. Tomorrow I just have to paint the trim and I'm done.

Now, I get to clean the carpets this weekend.

I can't wait to go back to work on Monday.

Anyone want two gallons of semi-gloss orange push-up??

Ugh....

I fucked up. I mean, I really fucked up.

I decided that on my 'vacation' that I was going to paint my sunroom. Cute little room, three sides are all windows. So I go to Home Depot yesterday and I spend thirty minutes in the paint aisle. There must be 2000 different colors of paint samples in the store. I wanted a bright sunny color since it is a sunroom...My living room is a honey yellow so I wanted something different....I was thinking along the lines of terra cotta...then was going to re-do the floor in terra cotta tiles.

So why in the hell did the color turn out to be almost neon orange??? I painted one small wall, and it was a bitch because of all the windows and trim. And as I'm painting, I'm thinking 'nah...this is just the color when it's wet, it'll get darker.'

Not so much. It's still brighter than an orange push-up...c'mon..you remember the orange sherbet in a push-up container...yeah, like that.

Does anyone know what the return policy is on paint????

dangit.

Paityn

Paityn took this picture of herself with my camera-phone. Damn if she isn't a better photographer than I am!

Isn't she the cutest!!??!!

The Apple Orchard

I had an awesome day! My mom, my sisters, my niece, my great nieces, and I all went to the apple orchard!

For six bucks, you got a hayride, got to pick apples, pick out a pumpkin, have fresh apple cider and hot donuts, and feed the animals. Paityn and Lilah had a blast. They loved feeding the animals....except the buck, he was quite slobbery.

I haven't gone on a hayride in years and I didn't even realize that I missed it!

My aunt is a retired school teacher so in the fall she works at the orchard giving little kids tours through the orchard, showing them how apples are turned into cider. She does an amazing job. No wonder she was teacher of the year in her district!

Lilah had a bit of an issue when the goat tried to eat her hair, but other than that, she thought it was way cool. I swear, she is the coolest two year old ever. She's the one in ponytails in the picture. Paityn has long hair and is the smartest three year old ever. I'm not biased. Really, I'm not.

Why can't everyday be like today?

Vacation!!

AHHHHHHH...this is the first official day of my vacation. Ok, so I'm not actually going anywhere. But hey, this is the first vacation where I'm NOT going anywhere!

I take, typically, two vacations a year. In the past four years I have been to at least ten different countries, plus visited my parents in Florida. So, this will be a first for me...staying home.

It's kind of a working vacation. I want to paint the sunroom, and the bedroom, clean the carpets, and basically just do a deep cleaning throughout the house. I would also like to start the re-do on the bathroom.

Hmmm...the bathroom. If I ever see the people I bought my house from in public, someone will have to send me bail money, cuz I am definitely going to jail.

Those people were idiots in every room of the house...but in the bathroom, it's just a shame. They glued some type of linoleum on the lower half of the walls. Possibly in some feeble attempt at wainscoting? Except when I tried to take this crap off the walls, the glue pulled the paint and the backing to the drywall off the walls. Nice, huh.

So, the walls are down, but not behind the vanity and toilet because you have to take them out to get that shit off the walls...and since I only have one bathroom, it has to be timed and coordinated to take out the vanity and toilet, and pull that shit off and do whatever I'm going to do before putting it all back again. And this has to happen within one day.

I can honestly say, that the walls have been f'ed up for about a year and a half.

But who knows...maybe this will be the week. Since the only way to fix the mess in the bathroom is to tear the drywall down and start over, or cover it up again, I've decided to put beadboard on the walls half way up and do real wainscoting in the bathroom. It's cheap, will look good, and hopefully will take less than a day to get it up. But I'd really like to buy a new vanity and toilet before I start. And that's just not in this week's budget. So I guess the bathroom is out this week.

Dammit. And this is a vacation???

Finally!

Ahhhh....the withdrawals are over...and I can finally, see the light!

It's amazing to me that it took two and a half days for the electricity to be restored. Especially when the storm only lasted about fifteen minutes.

Here are some of the highlights:

1. Was in bed by 9:00pm Thursday because it's hard to read by candlelight and there wasn't anything else to do.

2. The power came back on Friday morning about 4:00am just long enough to scare the shit out of me because I couldn't remember what lights were on the power went out.

3. The power went out again on Friday morning about 4:05am just long enough for me to run around the house shutting everything off and setting the clock...fuckers.

4. Had to go to work on Friday with wet hair because I couldn't blow dry it...so I guess that makes Friday a 'bad hair day'. Though showering by candle light was kinda romantic, even if I was alone.

5. Still no power on Friday and had to throw away a whole chicken that was in the refrigerator. Oh, and the half and half for my coffee that I couldn't brew. And the mayo.

6. Ahhhh T.V.!! My God of a neighbor let me hook my fridge and t.v. up to his generator. It was nice to actually to watch t.v. until 10:00pm when he shut the generator off. Damn.

7. Was in bed by 10:15pm on Friday because the power was still off.

8. Ate pb & j on mini rye bread for dinner on Friday since it was the only thing worth eating in the house.

9. Brushed my teeth at work on Saturday because there's no way to boil water for the boil water advisory.

10. Power came back on at 7:30pm Saturday night! Of course, this was after 10 calls to Detroit Edison and fighting with the automated system to get some information.

I'm just happy that I survived! It's clear to me now that I am way too dependent on modern amenities. I had some serious internet withdrawals and could never have survived back in the days before electricity. I'm such a wuss.

No Power...

Oh criminy....there are days it's wonderful living in a small town...no traffic, less noise, very little crime. I have a huge yard with a huge garden and my dogs and I spend lots of time back there just living the simple life.

However, on the down side to all that small town charm is the fact that this cute little village has some of the oldest powerlines in the state. So when we have any type of bad weather, the power goes out.

I got home from work on Thursday and about twenty minutes after walking in the door, there was a thunderstorm. The storm only lasted about fifteen minutes, but lightening struck the powergrid and knocked out the power.

It's Saturday morning, and I'm at work so I could finish up some things before my vacation next week and to brush my teeth. I still don't have power. And the funny thing is, there's a 'boil water' advisory, but no power to boil the water.

What the hell?? I'm a refugee in my own home. I would go somewhere else, but with two huge dogs, I'm not real welcome if you know what I mean.

I don't have time to post a lot since I'm supposed to be working...but just wanted to leave a note that I'm still here....somewhere.

PMS and the morons on the phone.

Man...I was evil today. And even though I baked cookies last night and brought them in to work, my co-workers were like..."man, what the fuck is wrong with you??"

Yeah, I hope you choke on those cookies, motherfuckers.

I can honestly say that I very rarely suffer from PMS...but I guess today was the exception.

I had a woman call me today and say, "I need to fax you a substance abuse assessment on RW, what's your address?" Huh? So I give her the address and she says, "Oh, you guys changed your name!" Huh?? Nope...sure haven't...we've been Children's Protective Services since about 1968. "Oh, you aren't Judson Center?" Um...nope. "Oh...Well, I'll send this on anyway." Are you kidding me? Substance Abuse information is confidential you half-wit...sheesh. I'm thinking, what an idiot...and say this out loud after I hang up and my co-workers start laughing.

The next call I get is from a man asking me why I snatched his kids out of class on Thursday. Who, me?? "Yes you. You made them cry, and I want to know why." Did we take them? or just talk to them?? "Why would you take them???" I don't know sir, I'm not the one who snatched them. "Well who did?" I don't know, but if you give me your name and number I'll be sure to have someone call you right back. "You can't call me, I'm at work." But~didn't you just call me from work? So he gave me the number. Fucking moron.

The third call I get is from a woman wanting to know why her kid can't live with her in a fifth-wheel in her boyfriend's mother's polebarn. There's no electricity, no water, and no heat. I mean, it's September, it'll be cold here in Michigan in just a hot minute...never mind the fact that the kid goes to school in dirty clothes and smelling like he hasn't bathed in a week. I mean, why can't the kid stay with the dad until you get your fucked up shit together?? "Because he's mean to me". Hey Doofus, it isn't about YOU! It's about your kid, you selfish bitch.

I swear, it's a conspiracy.

4:15am...

And the pager goes off. I'm on-call again and not ONE page all night until 4:15am. So I stagger out of bed, trip over the dog, stub my toe, say a few choice swear words, and call the service back. It's a call from Law Enforcement(L.E.) regarding sexual abuse. Great. This usually means a trip to the hospital to interview the victim. So I call L.E. back and the officer says to me..."The sex abuse nurse examiner said I didn't have to call you because it's a child on child assault, but I wanted to call and confirm that that was true". So basically, what I heard was "Blah blah blah blah, but I wanted to call and wake you up at 4:00am because I don't believe anything anyone tells me".

And, of course, the nurse examiner was 100% correct. We don't investigate child on child assaults. Unless the parent failed to protect the victim...i.e. knew it was going on and didn't stop it. But I'm polite...I don't rip the officer's head off, even though you would think that the nurse examiner who does this type of examination REGULARLY should know the rules. C'est la vie.

Now I can't go back to sleep.

So, now it's 5:30am, I've showered, made a pot of coffee, let the dogs out, and made my lunch. If I had a man here, I'd be having great morning sex. If I hadn't quit smoking, I'd be having an early morning smoke with my coffee. But, the whole world is sleeping, everyone that is but me. Even the dogs went back to sleep.

It's kinda nice though. I didn't have to rush through my shower as I usually do in the morning. I can actually sit here and peruse the blogs on my favorite's list while I drink my coffee. It's raining outside...and the windows are open...there's a nice breeze, the pitter-ping of the raindrops on the ground, and I just realized, it's Friday. Ahhhh....

Maybe I should get up this early more often. Or...maybe I should go crawl back into bed until the alarm goes off.

September 11, 2001

Where was I? Several times I have been asked that same question...

8:00am-I didn't normally work this early in the morning. My shift as a therapist in a maximum security facility for boys was Noon until 8:00pm. I can't remember why I came in early that day. All of the boys were at the school on campus and I was hanging out in the operation's center. I was good friends with the day supervisor so we were just hanging out, having coffee. The T.V. was on, and then the breaking news. Of course, just like everyone else, it seemed like a tragic accident. Then the second plane hit. We were watching the news, and the plane just hit. Just like that. Then there was no escaping the truth...

We called our boys back from school, and sat in the T.V. room on the hall watching the drama. It was unnerving to watch these tough, street smart, smart ass boys with tears in their eyes. Asking me over and over, why? Who? How? What happens now?

At 1:00pm, our whole center, one of five at the facility, and all of the kids, and staff, went into the courtyard where we held hands, said a prayer, and cried together. That was 120 kids, and probably 30 staff.

And while we stood there, in our moment of silence, a lone plane passed overhead. A military plane on it's way to Selfridge Airforce Base. It was odd, because there was already a hold for all air traffic.

That day joined the others I can say "I remember where I was"...The day the Challenger blew up~in my college dorm room watching the shuttle as I skipped class, or the night that Princess Diana died~I was sitting in my living room, watching T.V. Or the day I called my mom at work to tell her I wasn't coming home for the weekend and found out from her secretary that my Grandmother had died.

I'm sure there will be many others before I die. And that's the sad part...I will remember.

*sniff*&cough%hack#!

Ugh....I am so sick....summer cold? summer flu? SARS? I have no idea...but if I weren't so sick, yesterday and last night would have been funny.

Normally, I am one to call in sick at the drop of a dime. Stubbed my toe? Can't go in. Gorgeous day outside? Can't go in.

But I was on-call Thursday night and on phone duty on Friday, so I didn't want to stick anyone last minute with having to work on-call or phones.

Phone duty consists of answering the child abuse hotline for our county. You can get calls from nosy neighbors telling on the crackhead that lives next door, to law enforcement needing someone to come pick up the baby they just found wandering the streets. Sometimes, the calls can be stressful, so I certainly didn't want to stick anyone. That's just bad ju-ju...and in our office, it WILL come back to haunt you.

So I toughed it out. Worked all day, went through a box and a half of kleenex, only the first box being the kind with lotion, so now my nose is red and raw. I kept having to put people on hold so I could sneeze, cough, or blow my nose. And decided when I got home, that I was going straight to bed. Of course, this pissed the dogs off...they just wanted to play. We played for a while, they got dinner, then I laid down. And that's when the fun began.

There's nothing worse than having a runny nose when you are sick. I would lie on one side, and the nostril that was closest to the bed would stuff up and I couldn't breathe out if it. Then I would wake up with snot running down my cheek. So, I would turn over, clear that nostril while the other would stuff up and run. Of course, this happened every 15 minutes, so I was awake all night. Turning over, blowing my nose, then turning over, blowing my nose. The cold and flu medicine worked on everything but my nose. Sheesh.

And every time I turned over, the dogs would wake up, want to play, want to go outside, chase the cat, try and eat the growing pile of kleenex in the garbage next to the bed. I finally crated them around 2:00am so I could TRY and get some sleep. Poor little guys...I felt bad for them, but needed some rest!

So here it is, Saturday morning, I'm exhausted, still sick, out of doggy treats/bones(to keep them occupied), and they have the energy of ten little dogs because of being cooped up in the house. I still feel like crap. I would write more, but the bed is calling...and so is my box of kleenex.

I think this is a payback for being snotty the other night. God don't like ugly.

The other dog...

I know I have posted a lot on here about Nala, and she's kept me busy quite a bit, lately. But I do have another dog...her name is Madchen(maid-chen). Which is German for girl. I got her from a rescue organization(which is defunct now, I believe.) and they told me she was a rottweiler/Mastiff mixed puppy, and that she would be over 100lbs. Just what I was looking for. Well, it must be miniature Mastiff, because full grown, she barely weighs 60 lbs. I don't mind....it's a nice size for a dog, but I was expecting something a bit more grand.

She's a sweetie. Very gentle, playful, always ready to give a little lick, or a lotta licks. But she's a tad high strung.

I took her to puppy class. Apparently it's not ok for her to cry and whine and run around(after pulling out of her collar/lead) and rile the other puppies up. Everyone else thought she was a sweetie, but they were a bit miffed when the noise in the class got out of hand and they couldn't hear the trainers. She's a rebel, and wanted all the other puppies to rebel with her. Don't get me wrong, when she's at home with just me, she's great. She knows all of her commands like sit, lie down, shake, high five. But she has way too much energy to stay. We were asked not to come back to class.

She has a few bad habits...I mean, other than the previously stated ones...such as, she loves dirty kleenex, and knows how to open the bathroom door to get at the garbage....and anything else in the bathroom garbage, if you get my drift. And she loves the cat's food. Yes, in addition to these two mongrel dogs, I have a cat. She's older than God herself, and is the Queen Bitch here at home. She was my first pet, and once she's gone...no more cats. I love her, but three critters, I think, puts me just on the other side of crazy. Madchen also loves kitty tootsie rolls so I have to keep the litter box in the basement.

My solution to the cat food/tootsie roll problem, was to put a baby-gate at the top of the landing leading down to the basement. The litterbox downstairs, and the catfood on the landing. The cat can get by the gate just fine. But Madchen is smarter than me. She can jump the babygate, eat the catfood, and run downstairs for dessert. Of course, then she wants a little kiss. Sheesh.

I have done everything to keep this dog from doing this! The dog's dog food container(large bin with a lid) sits in front of the babygate. And anything else I can find to block her jumping range. Nothing seems to work. So yesterday, I decided to get creative...I put a second babygate in front of the dog food. Just leaned it up against the bin, hoping that if she tried to jump, or move it, I would catch her.

Problem solved!! I know this, because this morning, I heard a CRASH, and watched Madchen run through the house like the devil was chasing her. It would have been funny had it not been 5:00am. It's funny now, thinking back on it.

Oh well. Clearly I have issues and perhaps me and the critters deserve each other. I swear, I'm not getting anymore animals ever! When these guys join all the other creatures in creature heaven, I am done. It'll be nice to not have to run home after work to let them out instead of meeting some yummy at the local pub, or get up at 3:00am to clean up dog puke. I will be able to be spontaneous and go away for a weekend without having to think about puppysitters! I certainly don't want to ever be that crazy old lady with 37 cats!

My house just isn't that big.

Friday....sheesh...and THANK GOD!

Ok...I'm still mad at my sister, but relieved that she is most likely going to be ok. The doctor's feel they can save her kidney, but there may be some damage to it.

Sigh.

Oh well.

I'm glad she'll be ok, but I'm still mad at her.

I was on-call last night and in the span of forty minutes received three emergency pages from the service. One was for children that were being starved, one was for a very little girl home alone, and the third one was for a child covered in bruises. I sometimes think I'm superwoman, but what the hell am I supposed to do it THAT situation?? Well, I called the sheriff's dept. and asked them to do welfare checks on the kids. I got to the calls before they did. Hmmm....busy night. I can tell you that all of the kids are safe and sound, though that made for a very busy day today....of course, the day before a long weekend. And now I will have two court hearings early Tuesday morning...nothing like putting you behind before the week even starts!

But now, it's all good...sitting here, at home, in front of the fan, drinking a cold one, and smoking a cigarette....hey, I only said I was TRYING to quit. Smokers know what I mean about ending the work week with a relaxing smoke...it's like being able to breathe again, or unbuttoning your pants after a very good meal. It's like that. I'm a closet smoker...so to unwind at home is a pleasure. And I think this is one of the first times I have ever admitted that I'm addicted to smoking. Damn. I hate that.

I don't like the fact that I smoke....I don't like having to spray myself with perfume or body spray to cover up the smell, or sticking a piece of gum in my mouth on my way into the office to hide the ashtray mouth. I hate the fact that it's five bucks for every pack I buy! I hate that I lie to the men I date and say that I'm a non-smoker. I'm sure they know...though when I first meet a guy, I will actually NOT smoke for two days so I don't smell like smoke! How sick am I??? Ugh...it really IS an addiction.

At this rate, with current gas prices, I can't afford to smoke and drive too.

I quit regularly. I even have a box of the patches in the bathroom so I can put one on first thing in the morning....But they make me itch, and I feel funny...I don't know what the hell that's about, but it bugs me. I have quit numerous times for months at a time, only to get pissed off about something and buy a pack. Believe me, it's not the physical addiction, it's the emotional one that bothers me. But even Zyban isn't for me. I've taken it before, and loved it! Worked great! But after a year, and I started smoking again, after quiting the Zyban, I developed a horrible allergy to Zyban...broke out in horrible hives all over. I ended up having to carry an epi-pen with me because my allergist couldn't get my histone level under control. It took six months. Ick...that was a nightmare. I'll quit for good. I want to. I have to. I need to. I will....soon.

Morally Twisted gives me kudos for trying....thank you very much. Keep up the encouragement. I really do need it and appreciate it.

On a darker note...I can't watch t.v. anymore. The horror down south just breaks my heart. And it pisses me off that in this amazing country, we have these problems. Dead bodies everywhere, people dying regularly because of lack of food and water. I just get ill watching it.

I've given money to the Red Cross. Our county is sending police units to assist with the trouble. My ex-boyfriend is one of them. I worry that he will be ok. I wonder how we as a country will ever recover from this. It's so shameful that we can take care of every other country, but can't take care of our own. Please give to the Red Cross whatever you can, money, blood, food donations....it's all good.

Great, now I'm bummed...I guess I'll go grab another cold one, light another cigarette, and try to put my troubles, and the world's troubles out of my mind.

I hope everyone has a great weekend.

Angry.

I'm so angry right now. My sister is in the hospital, and I'm so angry with her. There's so much drama involving her, I sometimes wish it would just kill her and get it over with instead of dragging it out for years. Then, once I think this, I feel guilty, because I really don't want my sister to die...but hell, if she's slowly killing herself anyway...

When my sister was little, she was diagnosed with Glomerulonephritis, an acute infection in the kidneys. It affects children more often than adults. What causes the infection can be any number of things, a high fever, contamination by certain toxins. Forty years ago, it wasn't understood very well, and my sister lost one of her kidneys, and her other kidney was damaged. She spent almost a year in the hospital. I was born while she was in the hospital.

They told my sister that she should never have kids because she only had one kidney and her body couldn't take the stress. Well, she has three.

Eight years ago, the Glomerulonephritis returned and she was in kidney failure. We were all tested for compatibility for a kidney donation and my other sister was a perfect match. Six out of six. That usually only happens with identical twins. It took Julie almost two years to donate her kidney to Amy. Julie's very vain, has lots of issues, and it basically took threats of death for her to agree to donate her kidney. Six years ago, Amy got a new kidney.

I got the call at 10:30 this morning to rush to the hospital. I drop everything, speed through town to get to the hospital. This isn't the first time....it happens several times a year that there is some drama with Amy and her health.

And now....she's in rejection. Not because of the kidney, but because of Amy's lifestyle. She was told in order for the kidney to work well, she would have to take her anti-rejection drugs regularly, eat healthy, exercise, and quit smoking.
She does none of the above. She parties(i.e. drinks, and does recreational drugs), smokes like a chimney, eats when it's convenient, drinks regularly soda like water, and never ever exercises.

I think she's addicted to vicodin, but refuses to admit that she has a problem.

Today at the hospital, she tells the nurse she's in terrible pain, and the nurse leaves to get her a shot of morphine and Amy gets up, grabs her purse, and takes two vicodin pills out of a plastic baggie. Shocked, I ask her what the hell she is doing and she tells me that the morphine won't be enough, she needs the pills. I make her put them back then search her purse and find her stash. I confronted her about her addiction and she calmly tells me that while she loves me, she doesn't appreciate me invading her privacy. My mother just sat there, not wanting to believe that Amy has a problem, but upset all the same.

I gave her the baggie back. I told her if she wanted to kill herself that was fine, but do it quick and stop all the drama. And I walked out of the hospital.

Dammit! What the fuck??? I mean, we all do things that are unhealthy for us...but she is KILLING HERSELF!!!! Every year, more than 50,000 people are on the waiting list for a kidney transplant. Every year, more than 6,000 die waiting for a new organ.

To be given such a precious gift and throw it all away....I'm so angry. I'm so angry. I'm so fucking angry.

My horrible weekend.

Where to start....well, the beginning I guess.

BARK! BARK! BARK! Egads, dog, it's 6:30am Saturday morning. Can't you EVER let me sleep in? Sheesh...

Nala likes to sleep on the end of the bed so she can look out the window. She's learned to open the shutters on the window and will open them, then jump on the bed, positioned just right so she can survey her kingdom.

Of course, this is a typical experience on the weekends, and I will usually get up, let the dogs out, and then go back to bed for a few more precious minutes of sleep.

Except this Saturday, when I stumbled into the living room to yell at her to shut up, she stumbles into the living room as well, her hind quarters not cooperating with the rest of her. My first thought was that jumping down from the bed, or jumping on the one of the windows in the sunroom to bark at the cat that customarily sits across the street from my house to taunt my dogs, she hurt her leg. Then I realize, it's both legs. I make her lie down, and feel her back, worried that she hurt her spine.

I tell her to stay and proceed to the bathroom to pee(I mean, don't you pee first thing in the morning?). While I'm sitting there, taking care of business and trying to figure out if I can wait until 8:30 to take her to my vet, or take her right away to the animal emergency room, she wanders into the bathroom. She seemed ok, and confused, I go to let her out while I get dressed and brush my teeth.

At the back door, her back end stops working again and she stumbles sideways. Now I'm really worried. I help her down the stairs into the backyard because I figure that it will be easier to get her into my truck from back there. She takes a few crooked steps and lies down in the grass. I rush inside, dress and brush my teeth.

By the time I get back outside, she is in the throes of the most horrible grand mal seizure I have ever witnessed. She was against the side of the house and her whole body was slamming against the side of the house. Every muscle in her body, including her eyes and her jaws were frozen and twisting. You have no idea how scary this was. I run next door, pounding first on the front door, then the back door of my neighbor's. Mark was in his jammie bottoms and hurried outside to help me, as I was certainly not making any sense in my slobbering, sobbing, fit.

We run back over to my yard, where I run in the house, grab a blanket, and run out again to help him help me, get her in the truck(Jeep Cherokee). While trying to get her out of the herb garden, where her thrashing has tossed the rocks bordering the garden across the driveway, her body seizes and she raises up, coming down on her head. I thought I was going to throw up listening to her head crunch like a smashing pumpkin.

I lost it. I did some weird tippy-toe dance, screaming and turning around, not able to watch her hurt herself. Mark yelled at me to snap out of it, and I helped him roll her stiff body onto the blanket where we carried her to the truck. I told Mark he needed to come with me to help keep her under control as I was afraid she would hurt herself or me in the truck. I have to thank Mark for telling me to 'suck it up' and 'you have to do this'. I was so pisssed at him, I stopped crying long enough to tell him to fuck off and get out of my way. I gained control and we were on our way.

I called the e.r. en route, and explained to them the symptoms. They were waiting for me with a stretcher and helped me get her out of the car. Even then, thirty minutes later, she was still stiff and seizing. We rolled her in, and they pushed me out, to take care of her.

I love having the e.r. available, but they cost a small arm and leg to even walk in the door. Nala's worth it.

They do blood work, and decide to keep her for twelve hours for observation, promising me they will call if anything changes. They suspect epilepsy, and she's the right age for it to begin. I leave, go to my regular vet's office, which is open by this time, and tell him what happened. He's worried as well, thinking that the beginning wasn't typical of an epileptic seizure. He was so good, the voice of reason, and just talking to him calmed me somewhat. He's an amazing vet, having treated all of my pets for the past fourteen years.

I go home, crying the whole way, covered in piss, shit, and blood, from her struggle. She let loose her bladder and bowels during the seizure, and cut herself up pretty bad from slamming against the house and rocks, even biting her tongue. Man, all the bad things I've ever said about her comes back, haunting me like a curse. Oh God, please let her be ok, I promise not to yell at her ever again if you just let her be ok. Madchen is home waiting for me, worried about her sister, going to the back door, the front door, looking out for Nala. Whining, coming back to me I'm sure, to ask where her big sister is. I can't do anything. I lie on the couch, then the bed, not able to focus on anything, worried about my girl.

I call a few hours later, and they tell me they had to sedate her and give her medication to stop the violent vomiting. She was sleeping at the time I called. At six in the evening, I make the drive back to the e.r. and she's waiting for me, weak, but her stub of a tail wagging. She was so happy to see me. The vet and technician told me how sweet she was, so gentle, just snuggling with them when they would check on her.

They told me she would be fine, and they believed that this was the first epileptic seizure, and recommended that I put her on Phenobarbitol to prevent her from having any more seizures. I promise to take her to my vet on Monday and discuss it with him.

She slept all night, and all of Sunday. And on Sunday, still had some weakness on her left side. Today, she was still exhausted, not wanting to go outside or play with her sister. I took her to the vet this afternoon, and he suggested that we hold off on the medication. He isn't convinced that it's epilepsy, thinking that it may in fact have been a stroke, or even a brain tumor. The problem with either of these is this: there is no cure, and either will most likely kill her. I can take her to a neuro-vet, and pay $1200.00 to have an MRI done, but this will only confirm that there is nothing to be done. Even with chemo or radiation, it just prolongs their life, it doesn't cure them. If she has another seizure, we will start her on Phenobarbitol, hoping that it will protect her. If her symptoms get worse, we will know it's one of the other problems.

And as I type this, my sweet girl is sleeping on the bed, still exhausted....but she seems stronger. I can only hope that this was a one time thing and that she will be fine.

I certainly have a new found desire to keep her safe, and love her even more for her struggle this weekend. She's so sweet, and so gentle, I can't now imagine life without her. I can understand her exhaustion. I am still tired as well. Apparently losing your mind with worry and crying is very draining. And I have several bruises I'm not sure exactly how I got.

I love you Nala...please be ok.

Flirting

I love flirting. It doesn't matter who I do it with, it's a thrill. I love feeling the desire, or the attraction, or even the feeling of power. It's not a malicious thing....it's all in fun.

When my co-worker, Renee, whose cubicle shares a common 'wall' with mine, hears me on the phone flirting, she starts giggling. Then I hear her typing and I get that email 'Quit Flirting You Freak!'

I have to explain. I investigate child abuse for a living and work with law enforcement almost every day. And there's something about a man in uniform with a big gun that makes my heart skip a beat, and my stomach do a little flip. And there are several officers, deputies, and state troopers that call for various reasons and we flirt shamelessly. Needless to say, some are married, some are single. But it's all in good fun. We respect each other and the jobs we do. It's nice to talk with someone who understands what we do for a living. It always amazes me when someone in law enforcement that fights crime for a living, with a gun, tells me how much they admire the job I do. They say I put my life on the line more than they do because I can't carry a gun, or mace, or anything else to protect myself.

It's a thrill and an ego boost when these hunka-hunka burnin' loves flirt and say all the right things. It can perk up an otherwise dreary, depressing day filled with bruises, pedophiles, and crackheads.

I like who I am, and I am confident in who I am. I think I show it too. I'm not above anyone else, nor do I act like it. But I am their equal, and I let people know it.

So when a man flirts with me, I flirt right back. I deserve it. I enjoy it. And I'm not ashamed to admit it.

So if we ever meet, feel free to flirt away, you won't be disappointed.

Greek Tragedy

It is certainly a tragedy that all of the passengers were killed on the Cypriot jet that crashed near athens. My heart goes out to their families.

Having said that, I was reading a report today on the crash and Athens' chief coroner made the following statement:

Athens' chief coroner, Fillipos Koutsaftis, said he could not determine whether the six people whose bodies were examined were conscious when the Helios Airways Boeing 737-300 plunged 34,000 feet into a mountainous area near the village of Grammatiko, 25 miles north of Athens.
"Our conclusion is they had circulation and were breathing at the time of death," Koutsaftis said, but stressed: "I cannot rule out that they were unconscious."

I think most people are breathing and have circulation at the time of death....

Wasn't it Dan Quayle who said, "For NASA, space is still a high priority"?

Recouperating

Ahh....the weekend is finally over. Not that I didn't have a fabulous weekend, but I need to recoup!

The weekend began with the drive up north. Trisha was driving, I was in the passenger seat, and Joyce was in the backseat. I love Trisha with all my heart, but her driving skills leave a lot to be desired! Rides right up on people, THEN hits the brakes. And of course, we hit rush hour traffic so it was REALLY painful for me. Trisha and Joyce laughed at me the whole way up north because I kept riding my invisible brake and covering my eyes. (Why do we ride our invisible brakes? Are we not smart enough to know that it's NOT REALLY THERE!?!?)

We saw a giant Rooster, Horse, and an Elephant on the way up north. I'm not sure what makes those kooky northerners put giant animal sculptures in their front lawns, but they do. And I was sure that Trisha was going to choke to death as she's taking a swig of her diet coke and looks up to see the giant Rooster waiving at us.

When we finally made it to Caseville, which is right at the tip of the thumb(ok...I have to go off on a tangent here for a short minute. I think everyone is familiar with the 'Michigan Mitten'....where you hold up your left hand and it's shaped like the state. [it's so cool that we can do that!] ) and the cottage is probably not 500 feet from Lake Huron. It was beautiful....so serene, calm waters, and giant Pink Flamingos. Huh?!?

It was the Cheeseburgers in Paradise weekend....complete with giant pink flamingos to honor Jimmy Buffett. Every cottage on the lake had these giant aviary delights. And as we drove into the little cottage subdivision, you couldn't help but notice the sign nailed to the tree that said CAUTION~Drunks playing

just like a 'child at play' sign. (That should have been my first clue that we were in for a bumpy ride...)

Man...what a weekend. Drinking(Cosmopolitans and Appletinis), great food(grilled pork tenderloin with a honey mustard ginger marinade and browned butter & basil tortellini), wayyyyyyyyy too much sun(oh man, my back will never be the same but I can't figure out how one leg got sunburned and not the other one), swimming(Lake Huron is awesome!), and Saturday night, Karaoke at the neighbor's house(those folks can party all night!).

We never made it to the cheeseburger fesitival....and I don't think we missed anything. We had so much fun right there at the cabin partying that there wasn't even time to go!

But it's ok. I had a can of cheeseburger ravioli for lunch today.

WooHoo!!!!!

I'm so happy! I'm leaving in approximately 30 minutes to go up north for the weekend! Do other states have an 'up north'?

I'm joining some friends at a lovely house on Lake Huron. And interestingly enough...the very small town there is having a 'Cheeseburgers in Paradise' festival this weekend. Sort of a Jimmy Buffett Weekend....so I anticipate lots of Margaritas, cheeseburgers, and debauchery!!

Ah....can't wait to drink, sleep in, and lie at the beach. Now THAT sounds like a good ol' time.

Driving.

What do you think about when you are driving in your car? Do your thoughts differ if it's a short ride versus a long ride?

I have a fifteen~twenty minute drive home from the office. And yesterday I found myself thinking about the cars our family had growing up. I have no idea what stuck that thought into my head, but I couldn't get it out. I pictured each and ever car that I could remember, and then proceeded to count them. Why the hell would I do that?!? And even as I thought, 'what the hell am I thinking about?' it actually became a nice way to unwind on the way home.

I thought about my very first car...my 1974 Gremlin that my dad bought for me from the little old lady that lived two doors down. It was a purplish-blue color and cost $300 in 1984. Well, it cost that before we actually got the damned thing home and took it to the auto shop where $700 later the engine was overhauled. Apparently Mrs. Engle didn't know you needed to change the oil more frequently than say, oh....never.

It was a piece of shit, but I loved that little car. It was my vehicle to freedom. I could finally go shopping without having to ask anyone else for a ride. Of course, there was that incident of driving to Toledo to go Christmas shopping and getting two flat tires on the way there. Yeah, dad was REAL happy to have to come and get us. Or the time that my best friend, Renee, and I drove two hours to go to the Madonna concert, only to have to pull over three times on the way there as the radiator overheated. But man, do we look cool in the pictures from that trip. Hanging out with our Madonna garb on with the Gremlin in the background. (I have GOT to get a scanner! I think the pics here would have been hilarious).

I think my favorite car though was the 1979 Ford Thunderbird my father had. It was brand new when he got it...and man, in 1979, it was hot! It was the first car we had with air conditioning and a cassette player! We were stylin'! I learned to drive on that car...and I thought my father would kill me. He took me out to the church parking lot behind our house and after just one circuit(going ten feet, slamming on the brakes, then going another ten feet...you get the picture), ordered me to get out of the car and walk home. Really, I have improved since then.

The car I miss the most is the red hot Mustang I used to own. I loved that car, bought it used, drove the shit out it...and man, I thought I looked so hot in that thing! I 'sold' it to a very former boyfriend and he never paid me for the damned thing. Of course, we thought we were slick, putting on the title the selling price of $1.00 so he didn't have to pay the sales tax. Needless to say, he was the slick one....never paying me for the car. And of course, I had no recourse since I signed the title over for a buck. Karma is a bitch I guess.

Anyway, that's what I thought of on the drive home yesterday. Some days I just think about killing the slow asshole in front of me, but other days, I drift off and wonder how the hell I made it into my driveway.

The internet guy....an update.

Well. Hmmmm. Where to begin...

I previously posted that I accepted a date with a guy that I met on the internet. I set the date for this coming Wednesday to give myself some time to digest the fact that my intuition wasn't happy with this decision.

How many times have I told myself to LISTEN TO THE VOICES IN MY HEAD??? Clearly I should pay attention to myself more.

Last night, or should I say, early this morning, my phone rings and it's him. He's drunk and just came home from a bachelor party. I think any other guy would be calling because after having too many drinks, and too many lap dances, he wanted to talk dirty....but noooooooo not this guy. He wanted to vent about what a sucky time he had because he was the 'asshole of the party'. What does that mean? He was hard to understand, slurred his words, and went on to discuss whether Lance Armstrong was a hero or just a regular guy. Huh?!? I wasn't sure I heard him right so I asked him to repeat himself. That's when he hung up on me. For the first time. I roll over, thinking about the odd conversation I just had when he calls back. He wanted to talk about how his friends didn't understand him....he shared very sad news about his family....then he started rambling about what, I have no idea. I felt bad for him but this wasn't the time to talk. I suggested he go to bed and he got angry and hung up on me for the second time.

I stayed up for a while thinking about him and the second thoughts I had about him before this conversation. It bothered me that he seemed to have some serious issues he needed to address.

So when he called this morning, he didn't remember calling and was very hungover.(my snotty side says serves him right, but I wouldn't wish a shitty hangover on even my worst enemy.)

Was I insensitive for telling him I thought he had some things to work out before he dated anyone? Was it wrong of me to tell him that he hung up on me twice while bitching about his friends? Needless to say, we aren't meeting Wednesday for drinks.

I hate to think that this was because of his age(ten years younger than me) but I do believe that it has something to do with it. Is that ageism?

I debated about giving him a third chance, but I really think I'd be wasting his time and mine.

How much you want to bet I'll hear from him again in two months?

Blogs...to share or not to share.

So far my blog has been private, or at least I hope so. I mean, clearly anyone who'd like to read it may, but I haven't told anyone I know about it. The reason is this....I bitch about people I know on here! What if my friend Angie saw the post about being her labor coach? I think it would hurt her feelings. Or how about Dave, the internet guy, who by the way I have a date with Wednesday for drinks. (I needed time to get used to the idea of actually meeting him before meeting him. Oh, and he's not seven years younger than me, he's ten.) The whole point of my blog is to vent and to share stuff I think is probably too mundane to share with my friends.

I certainly wouldn't tell my family, they would probably never speak to me again. I can't tell co-workers, since I have written about clients(and THAT could potentially get me fired).

So whom do I tell? Anyone? or just the strangers who stop by to read my ramblings?

And what if I decide to share my sexual escapades? Believe me, I have some! I certainly would hate for the men I've slept with to read what I really thought about the strange faces they make while cumming. They may turn around and tell people about the odd things I do in bed. Face it, revenge is a part of humanity.

So....is there anyone I can share my blog with, without fear of repercussions?

I wonder if I can teach the dog to surf so I can at least talk with her about it.

Dogs...love 'em or hate 'em?

I love my dogs. They are so funny, silly, goofy, lovable, and most of all, they love me unconditionally. When I come home from work each night, they can't wait to see me, wagging their tails...or in Nala's case, her stub of a tail. Madchen's tail goes 'round in circles when she's happy to see me.

They are content to lie on the floor next to the couch when I feel like vegging...or run around the back yard with me when I'm working in the garden. Nala, being a rottie, is surprisingly(not to me) gentle, bringing me a baby bird in her mouth without hurting it, so Madchen doesn't eat it. Madchen loves to sit next to me when I'm on the computer, content to have me rub her ear...her eyes half-closed, her mouth part-way open...just enjoying the attention.

Then Nala will come over, shove her out of the way and command my attention. She's very greedy that way...like a child that wants your attention constantly.

Of course, it's not all roses. There was the day I came home and found the bathroom garbage strewn from one end of the house to the other....egads...did they have to do that the same week of my period?? ew. And how about the fact that I've probably spent over a thousand bucks doggy-proofing the fence because Nala is an escape artist and smarter than me...(my local police know her by name...it's a good thing she's friendly)... Or there was the time that Madchen had diarrhea and shit all over the carpet in at least 73 different spots.

My favorite of course is every night when I go to bed, they jump on the bed to sleep with me...I have to sleep on an angle because they take up at LEAST 3/4ths of the bed. And don't get me started on the dog hair. I brush them, and I brush them....and I still end up changing my sheets several times a week. I wonder if Mexican Hairless dogs come in extra large?

Did you know they are more expensive than kids? I took them in for their annual check-up. $382 later I have all their shots, heart worm medicine, flea goo, and a lecture from the vet that Nala is 9 lbs. overweight and wasn't I feeding her that special all natural dog food that will keep her from gaining weight like he ordered me to last year(and nine lbs. ago)??? Gee Doc, I do feed her the extremely expensive special dog food that must surely have flecks of gold in it to explain the price. They play outside everyday for hours...chasing squirrels, butterflies, toads, imaginary monsters, and each other. The only thing left to do would be to tie her to the car and go for a run. (Yeah, like I'd ever run with her....only after she learns to call 911 so when I collapse from exhaustion she can call me an ambulance to take me home.)

I play fetch with them...it's the funniest thing to watch...Madchen loves the game and will play for hours, while Nala chases her just enough to make her drop the ball...then apparently she has won, and goes off to find something extremely offensive to roll in. (why do they do that?!?)

But as I sit here, looking at Nala lying on the bed so she can look out the window, and Madchen curled up on the floor next to me with her head on my foot, I have to catch my breath....they are all mine, and they love me~even when I throw away that nasty garden glove Madchen stole out of the garage and has carried around for weeks, or when I shove those damn pills down their throats and clamp their mouths shut so they don't spit them back at me. They love me, and would defend me to the death. As I would them.

Now if I could only get them to brush their teeth...

Second chances??

Ok. So a few months ago I chatted with a guy named Dave on the internet....I think I met him in a big girl chat room. He sent a few pictures of himself, and he's cute(if those are really pictures of him, and of course, I like to see the good in people, so I'm sure they were...yeah, right.), but he's seven years younger than me. (I don't mind that he's seven years younger than me, if he doesn't act like it. I once dated a man that was 21 when I was 32. Huge mistake....clearly, there is a big difference in THOSE ages.) I send him photos of me and he tells me he's very interested in meeting me. A little too aggressively if you ask me.

He lives about twenty minutes from me, but from the get-go, I have an 'iffy' feeling about him. Not sure what it is, but I have learned over the years that I have a pretty fine-tuned intuition. So this 'iffy' feeling bothers me. We chatted for several days on the internet, then he gives me his number to call him. I am definitely a safety girl and block my number when I call him. He actually has the audacity to be offended that I blocked my number! But other than that, we have a very nice conversation. I call him a few more times, then don't block my number. Big mistake...he calls three, sometimes four times a day. What the fuck?

Now, if I got those tingly feelings for him, I would be flattered that he's calling that often...but as yet, I don't, so those 'iffy' feelings really start to sing. So when he asks me out on a date, and he has no clue where he wants to go, or what he wants to do, I said yes. Am I LISTENING to myself??? What was I thinking?? Here's a man that wants to take me out, but before I even meet him I have 'iffy' feelings. Clearly I am not drinking enough water and am dehydrated and delirious.

When he says he'll call to confirm and he doesn't...I'm actually relieved. I really didn't want to meet him anyway. And the next day, he calls and says:

'well, I guess we aren't going out since you didn't call to confirm.'

I very clearly tell him:

'no, you said you would call and you didn't. I assumed you had changed your mind.'

'Well, why didn't you call to find out why I didn't call?'

'I don't chase.'

'Can we try it again?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'Well, I think we are both too lackidaisical about going out, and I don't think it will work.'

'see ya.'

I delete him from my buddy list, and life goes on....right? Well, I'll be damned if he doesn't catch me online tonight(Oh WHY didn't he delete me from HIS buddy list???) and tell me he's still interested in meeting me and can we try it again.

I said yes.

Somebody smack me really, really hard.

Shallow people...

I am still amazed at the amount of shallowness in 2005.

1. There is now a website for 'beautiful people'. You have to be beautiful by societal standards and those that are already members get to vote on whether you are beautiful 'enough' to get into the club. Do people really judge others on looks alone? Of course we have all heard the joke, 'it must have been an ugly person that said "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" '. It kind of reminds me of Christians who believe that they are the only ones getting into heaven...As if five billion non-Christians are all wrong.

2. I keep a favorites list of blogs I enjoy reading. Today, I read one of them by a very funny guy from NYC who made the mistake of posting a picture of himself with a big person in the background....he titled it 'most unfortunate background'. Now really...what was the point of that? Does it make him feel better about himself to rag and ridicule someone different than him? Would he have titled the picture the same had it been a black person, or an anorexic person? I just don't get it. I wonder if he'd be invited into the 'beautiful people' club??

3. How many times have I heard....'you are so beautiful, if only you'd lose weight'. Excuse me??!!?? This is usually from my very thin, very beautiful(by societal standards) sister. Of course, what she usually doesn't tell you is that she's had her tummy tucked, her back liposuctioned, her nose re-built, and her boobs done. I think she's going to have her ass done next. And she's definitely a pseudo-Christian.

Face it people, as a society, we are getting bigger....either learn to love us...

Or we'll sit on you.

No baby yet....dammit!

My god...who knew that being a labor coach could be sooooooooo hard! For those just tuning in, my best friend is pregnant...and didn't know it until she was eight months!

Now this is a woman that is very educated, very eloquent, and more calm than anyone I have ever met.

Not any longer.

Her brother warned me that when she's in pain she is mean...he wasn't exaggerating. Last Friday, at 1:30 in the morning, my phone rings. I grab for it, almost falling out of bed, because I have been waiting for this call. I knew it was her, panting into the phone, 'I think I'm in labor'.

I jump up, grab my hospital bag(all the magazines say you should have a bag packed for a day of waiting in the hospital), let the dogs out to pee, and GO.

Now, mind you, I have been urging her for the past two weeks to pack HER hospital bag, but alas, she hasn't...and now, we have to waste what we believe to be precious minutes, packing her bag. It took us over an hour to get out of the apartment.

If you have ever seen the movie, 'Buffy, the Vampire Slayer', with Kristy Swanson, there is a scene where Paul Reubens(Pee Wee Herman), playing a vampiric sidekick to Rutger Hauer, is stabbed, and does his best comedic death. That's exactly what she sounded like every time we hit a bump in the road, or she felt a contraction coming on. I'm sure she didn't appreciate my giggling every time this happened, but my response to fear, worry, nervousness, is to laugh. (I know, real mature, but hey, I'm only human.)

So, we stay at the hospital until 7:00am when they send us home. She was dehydrated, which brought on her contractions. She asked me to take her to her 11:00am doctor's appointment, and I figured, what the hell, I certainly wasn't going to go to work on an hour's sleep. I drop her off, call my boss to beg off the day, and head home for a nap.

When I go back to pick her up, you would swear that the baby was crowning, she was in such a dramatic state. Her doctor sends us back to the hospital and tells her that they are going to induce her labor since she is so uncomfortable and her blood pressure is rising.

THREE DAYS LATER THEY SEND HER HOME! No baby, no dilation, no effacing of the cervix. She is just fine and the baby clearly isn't ready. But it's too late, those three days were torture for me. Never have I ever seen anyone so rude and ignorant in my entire life! You would have thought that she was a high school dropout that was raised by a pack of wolves. She was demanding, rude, loud, cursing, and obnoxious. She clearly forgot what grammar in the English language was designed for. Many years ago, when I had my guts opened wide for gall bladder surgery, I never would have thought to be so rude, and crude, telling the nurses how to do their job, then telling them when it wasn't done my way.

I KNOW I should be more patient, I mean, she is trying to have a baby....but damn, have a bit of class! The thing is, they tried to induce with about five different methods, nothing worked, and she says she felt no pain. Then why be so mean?!?!?!? There was even one point on Sunday when she called me her little concubine and told me to 'get over here and put some oil on my legs and feet.'

Is SHE kidding me?!?! The last thing I wanted to do at that point, was rub her huge feet and hairy legs. But like a good labor coach, I kept my mouth shut and did it...all the time thinking, 'if you weren't in the hospital, I'd choke you.'

She went back into the hospital today for another round of induction. I went to work. Another friend of her's stood in as the labor coach. They sent her home about an hour ago, with no baby. At least I didn't have to be the concubine today.

I'm not sure where my friend has gone, but I sure hope she comes back soon...Maybe after the little guy is born.

Am I over the edge? Should I be doing more? Who knows...I'm just glad I got to spend the day with some sort of normalcy. But tomorrow, in the famous words of Scarlet O'Hara, is another day.

Babies!

My best friend is pregnant!

Sigh...it's wonderful news...and I'm very happy for her. But at the same time, a little jealous. I've wanted a baby for as long as I can remember, but I haven't been that blessed. I've been pregnant once, and the doctor said it was a fluke...my body doesn't produce enough hormone to produce eggs.

I was told that I could do fertility treatments, but that's how the McCaughey septuplets were conceived....good grief!! I don't think I want seven! Just one tiny little baby to call my own.

The funny part of the story is she's eight months pregnant and didn't know. She went to a gastro-enterologist because she was sick all the time, they didn't find anything wrong. She went to her gynocologist four weeks ago for her annual, and they didn't know. Man, nothing like waiting until the last minute!

I feel bad for being envious...but it just doesn't seem fair.

Nail polish...

Ahhhh....summer is coming! I can feel it in the air! The trees are beginning to bud, the tulips are in bloom....and I'm itching to wear sandals!

I love wearing sandals...my feet can breathe...and I can wear all sorts of different colors on my toes! Red....or Salsa...purple....and even blue! I can't wait. And toe rings! I love toe rings...

Sigh....I think I'll go paint my toes now...

A hidden paradise in Nassau, Bahamas...