I just wanted to take a moment to thank all of you so much! I have been deeply touched by your care and concern over these last few weeks. I am fighting through and have no doubt I'll be back on my feet in soon.
In the meantime, enjoy your holiday shopping with Preppy Pink Princess sponsor:
I apologize to all of you...I KNOW many of you have been expecting my take on soooo many of the events of late, but I am in Marathon Migraine Hell and it has kept me away from writing and the light of the computer. That said, I have taken enough meds to try to catch a bit and comment on a few of the things for which you have been asking.
I blame the media! Ummmm...sure. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Princess, living in a beautiful, quiet, suburb of Philly...still too young and sheltered to truly understand the danger and pain and negative in the world. I will be leaving the dates out of this post...because...frankly, they make me feel old, but if you must know, google. We begin with this post so that you have a bit of background for my next.
A group...a black Libertarian group/cult...calling themselves "MOVE," and all adopting the surname "Africa" formed in 1972 in Philadelphia. They help more than a few protests and refused to kill vermin...in fact drawing them to their property with their giant, inner city compost pile...and enraging their neighbors. This was not going unnoticed by the Philadelphia PD.
In 19**, they had built themselves an inner-city compound and despite a court order, a year long stand off, the fatal shooting of a police officer and 12 other police and firefighters, not to mention 3 bystanders...and yes, 3 "MOVE" members...being injured in the crossfire...though 9 "MOVE" members were convicted for killing the police officer...they still refused to "MOVE."
Am I the only person to find irony in the face that they called themselves "MOVE" and yet refused to, well, move...
In 19**, they finally moved to a row home on Osage Ave. As I recall, during that time, they bought neighboring row housing and tunneled between them. The compost piles continued and they were cited for health hazards because of them. Various charges and arrests had continued to accumulate against many of the "MOVE" (we swear we're not a cult, we are a black libertarian group)...and oh, by the way...whilst I understand the goals of current, true, Libertarians, and I do support some of their ideals...I am one who tends to believe too much freedom potentially leads to chaos, sorry Daddy...and all those of you who read my blog frequently are likely shocked it took me this long to even marginally digress, sorry to disappoint...but I have a lot to share with you and having been far more sick than usual, I want to take advantage of the time I'm well enough to write...what self-respecting Libertarian chooses West Philadelphia for their compound...and yes, every time I hear/write/read/say "West Philadelphia," the voices in my head IMMEDIATELY start suburban, private school, preppy white girl rapping the intro to "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air," so for all those who just did, you're not alone...at any rate, James Joyce just tapped me on the proverbial shoulder and told me to get back to the story...where was I? Yes, yes...Joe and Mary and Bob, etc, Africa continued to accumulate arrests for charges ranging including contempt of court, parole violations, terroristic threats, and...hello...it's a cult...building an illegal cache weapons. As you can imagine, tensions continued to mount.
Finally, in 19**, the city, and Mayor Wilson Goode, had had enough! When police arrived to serve an eviction notice at "MOVE"s Osage Avenue compound, it lead to yet another stand-off. There was tear gas, water cannons, the "MOVE" members began firing, again, at police and fire fighters...the escalation was intense. It was the first time I can ever recall seeing such a thing...it was all live, unfolding right there on television...I, along with everyone else for a minimum of a 100 miles at least, was riveted and terrified. It went on for what seemed like forever. Then the news kept reporting that then Mayor Wilson Goode was considering something drastic...this had been going for years and action had to be taken. He warned them repeatedly what was going to happen, though I they didn't believe him...frankly, when it was announced on tv... I don't think anyone did.
"Mommy? Daddy? What's Napalm?"
Though some say it was a combination of C4 and Tovex...some say it was Napalm. Late on the night of May 13th, by helicopter, the compound was bombed. Romona Africa and a child called Birdie Africa were the only survivors.
There has always been a bit of an urban legend that the song The Roof is on Fire was about the "MOVE" incident. Far be it from me to point out that the song came out shortly before the Osage Avenue fire.
Though the city denounced Mayor Goode's actions, no criminal charges were ever filed against anyone involved on the side of the City of Philadelphia.
Why, you may ask yourself, is this where I am choosing to start when there are a few issues on which many of you have requested I blog recently...it will become very clear to you in my next post, titled, "The British are Coming!"
Once I have addressed the topical issues you've been requesting, I'll try to provide you all with a better excuse for my absence, introduce some truly fab sponsors, get to some fantastic giveaways, and oh, my friends, the fun we will have discussing decorating, shopping, dressing and cooking for the holidays!!! My honest love, thanks, and appreciation to all of you for your understanding!!!
So Iwas thinking the other day...I think, by now, we can all agree this is a bad idea...but I swear it was an accident...I received, yet another, of those "Let's see who will forward this," "What's your favorite," "What did you have for breakfast," ridiculous emails. Little aside...I NEVER forward them!!! It doesn't mean that I don't LOVE the friends that send the to me...it means...well...when I got to thinking...it means a few things. It definitely means introspection is not my thing. Trust me...I'm as shocked as you are!
Maybe it means I don't feel like copying and typing all that stuff because...I just don't feel like it. It's entirely possible it's a migraine or an RA flare in my hands creating this particular case of the "I don't wannas," maybe I'm in the car or at the gym...or really, I just don't feel like it.
But then I realized...when I was doing that thinking thing...that sometimes, it's none of anyone's damn business!
Why do randoms, to whom the email will ultimately be forwarded, need to know what I had for breakfast? Why do they need to know what I'm reading? Why do they need to know...or all of Facebook in my status, for that matter...what color bra I'm wearing....and why do they care? I assure you, and this applies to even my very best friends, tho of this they are already aware, the ONLY reason I would give a damn about the color of ANYONE'S bra, is that they have visible bra straps...Ewwwww!!! Outside of my head, I can't imagine my likes and dislikes are THAT life-changing to anyone.
Worse are those that ask for favorites. That's what really caused all of this "thinking" silliness. I realized I simply don't have answers to those questions. They all ask:
What's your favorite color? Well, Pink...but I often like to answer Plaid or Argyle...you've got to mix things up...keep people guessing... But that's an easy one.
What's your favorite food? Ummmm...I kind of don't know. Do I say chocolate...I do LOVE chocolate. Or french fries...but not all french fries because some are soggy or have blechy coatings or seasonings (Can we say Old Bay?!?). Is a sauce a food? I mean, do alfredo and bernaise stand alone...or must I choose specifically that which they make the most delish? What about bacon? Grams used to put more and more bacon on anything people didn't like because everyone loves bacon. This particular phenomenon gave birth to the transformation of the previously merely disliked sweet potato to the "God Damn Sweet Potato"...and on the subject of potatoes...yes, potatoes, I said french fries earlier and sweet potatoes now so I'm going there...my blog...you know the rules...double baked...love...mashed...adore...scalloped...well...how can it be that in high school I framed a magazine ad for the potato (because I HATE vegetables) that was a picture of a potato with green paint being poured on it that said something along the lines of "What must we do for you to consider us a vegetable, paint ourselves green" that I find scalloped potatoes...oh dear...I have no words. Perhaps, yet again, a good time to switch to a fairytale. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Princess who sent to a sleepover in another Kingdom. I was friends with the Princess at whose home I was sleeping...but her mother, the evil Queen...well...she was the type who wouldn't let yet leave the table without cleaning your plate. The Princess and the evil Queen didn't see eye to eye on this particular issue for a number of reasons. The Princess is a VERY picky eater and doesn't enjoy anything shy of being catered to. The Princess had been taught well, by the Queen in her Kingdom, that a proper Princess ALWAYS leaves a bit on her plate. A Princess owes it to her hostess to make any dietary needs known...generally this task is preformed by minions, but the Queen must've given them the day off. Poor timing...really, REALLY, poor timing! A proper Princess doesn't criticize what she is served, but does push the food around on her plate a bit, so as to be gracious give the appearance of eating and not insult one's host. When the evil Queen asked the beautiful Princess if she liked scalloped potatoes PRIOR to cooking, the Princess firmly, tho politely, conveyed, in no uncertain terms, that scalloped potatoes...tho the Princess diplomatically kept to her self that this extends to any potatoes from a box...that scalloped potatoes were forbidden in her kingdom. The evil Queen decided to test the Princess' resolve. Ohhhhh, evil Queen, the Princess may have been a mere tot at the time, but she is the Princess, nonetheless. I should mention, no judgment...you know me, I don't judge... that the evil Queen is BAD cook. A poison apple would be step up! There was, before my time, "the Lasagna Incident," in which, and the details are hazy because pretty much everyone involved ended up in the hospital, that, as I understand it, involved jarred sauce, possibly ketchup, and Velveeta! Clearly the evil queen missed the memo, because as we sit down to dinner, the Princess' plate was piled high with scalloped potatoes made from a box. I ate the rest of what passed for food in that particular Kingdom, yet the potatoes continued to stare back at me. And the evil Queen decided, that the ideal way to teach the Princess a lesson (good luck with that), was to make her sit there until they were gone. After quite some time...enough so that what had once made a vain attempt at looking like a potato...resembled in both appearance and smell...a cold, congealed mess of sweetbreads than anything I wanted to ever see baked, fried, or mashed again! Still, the evil Queen thought surely her will was stronger than our heroine, our Princess. The evil Queen decided to compromise and force just 3 bites down the Princess' throat. It would appear that the evil Queen also missed the "No Means No" memo. At this, the Princess decided to give the evil Queen just EXACTLY what she wanted. Princess chocked down her first bite and while turning unpleasant shades of green, fortunately, our fair Princess looks fab in green, and her gorge began to rise. The evil Queen insisted on bite number 2. Princess warned her that bite 1 was not going well. The evil Queen, refused to listen. Princess took bite number 2 and gagged the entire time...it was a Royal struggle!!! Still, the evil Queen insisted on one last bite. When bite number 3 hit the gag reflex from bite number 2...things got VERY undignified!!! The henpecked King quickly swooped me up and took me straight to the bath to clean me up...he managed to hide is laughter from the evil queen until we were safely in the bathroom with the door shut. The evil Queen was STILL cleaning up after the Princess was all cleaned up and ready for bed. She had also called the King and Queen of the Princess' Kingdom...both of whom had been subjected to "The Lasagna Incident," and laughed all night and the following morning driving out to retrieve the Princess.
So far, we haven't established my favourite anything...ahhh...but tomorrow is another day...and we shall carry on, my friends!
Where to begin? So many misconceptions, so little time. People from New Jersey are not terribly entertained when upon meeting someone with the misfortune of having been born elsewhere asks, "What exit? Ha-ha." 5 coming from the north, 4 coming from the south. Satisfied? We do go "Down the Shore," not to the beach or whatever it is you other people do. See? You care what exit we're from, we don't give a damn where you summer. We INVENTED IT...Cape May. Look it up. You watch loads of "Reality" and fiction shows about us...you think you know all about us....but again, notice we're not watching nearly as much "Reality TV" about you...because again, we don't give a damn. Though there are those that would protest America's obvious fascination with New Jersey...I'm just the messenger here, folks...I would point out me thinks you doth protest too much! Check the ratings on the Real Housewives of New Jersey, the Sopranos, the Jersey Shore, etc. Go ahead, make the train wreck argument. But try this on for size, New Jersey continues to be the most densely populated state in the nation, 11th in actual population while being the 47th smallest state. Add to that the fact that New Jersey has nearly 1,000,000 acres of protected wetlands, not to mention the glorious home Mrs. Leeds, the Pine Barrens, 22% of New Jersey's land mass, only partially overlapping the wetlands and only marginally inhabitable...due in no small part to Mrs. Leeds' aforementioned 13th son. North Jersey and South Jersey are not the same thing. We take that very seriously. People from North Jersey favor New York teams. People from South Jersey know it's all about the Flyers, the Phils, and the Iggles. That's right, the Iggles. Snowballs at Santa Claus and Vet Stadium (as my friend Jim would say, 40 on the curb for the Vet), home to the first on-site court and jail in sports, my friends!!! People from South Jersey do not say "Joisey," nor do we think it's cute when when you do. People from South Jersey drink "wooder." People from North Jersey call it "Taylor Ham." People from South Jersey know that is wrong...and stupid...it's "pork roll." Being from New Jersey, there is still much South and North (in no particular order) share. For starters, we're from New Jersey...thank you, Jesus...and you're not!(I'm doing the thanking on behalf of my Jewish friends as well, you're welcome.) Bruce Willis, Bruce Springsteen, Bon Jovi, Grover Cleveland, Jack Nicholson, Buzz Aldrin, Thomas Edison, Albert Einstein, Woodrow Wilson, Judge Scalia...ME and FRANK SINATRA! We actually DO know where Jimmy Hoffa's body is buried...and we're not telling. Wetlands are better than deserts...just sayin'. Most Diners in the world...yummmm....pork roll and cheese on a bagel. 7 malls within 25 miles...BEAT THAT! Hospital waste on the beach? Damn skippy...we like a challenge! Monopoly? You're welcome. First baseball game? Played in NJ. First college football game? Rutgers vs Princeton. Rutgers won. Walt Whitman...a poet, my friends, not just a bridge! That "guido" thing? Not new. It didn't used to require an arrest record (the closest we got was a detention from Sister if our skirt didn't reach the floor when we knelt or our hair was too high) and an STD test...just a perm, a lot of gold, and Sebastian Spritz Forte. All these things and more unite those of us from New Jersey. Mother Leeds' 13th son...maybe he unites us most of all. You may believe in the Loch Ness Monster, the Chupacabra, or North Carolina's Knobby (don't be sceered DT, he has purty harr), but those...well...maybe, maybe not... Mrs.Leeds' boy, doesn't care if you choose to believe him....he IS.Mother Leeds was known to dabble in witchcraft...and swore that on a dark and stormy night, her 13th child would be born of the devil. When Lucas was born, he looked to all, a normal, baby boy. As the local women put Lucas in his mother's arms, before their very eyes, his feet became cloven hooves, he sprouted wings and a forked tail...his head described in so many terrifying ways I dare not describe them here! He flew from her arms, up the chimney, and has terrorized the Pine Barrens ever since. This was in the 1700s, mind, and some have said that Lucas grew restless, finding the Pine Barrens too small and has since terrorized further north and west into New Jersey. There are rumors though...terrible rumors...that Lucas has changed his name...and returned east...
...and had a bedazzeled lollipop named after him. Mother Leeds was right!
Tuesdays with Morrie? Really? Ummmm...no. I am a voracious reader and waste far too many hours of my life on movies. From these books and movies I have but a few expectations...a "Princess Dos and Don'ts List," if you will. I have been known to read text books for fun...teach me something. Murder mysteries...attempt to keep me guessing. Biographies...inform. Comedies and Slasher Flicks? Entertain me. Documentaries? Cultivate or broaden my interests. BUT...on MY terms. I choose to watch a documentary or biography or read text book. What I do NOT choose to do...EVER...is read a book or watch a movie in which someone else has decided I am expected to cry and feel and learn some uber important life lesson. Seriously? For those not paying attention thus far, I am MILDLY resistant to change, I am SLIGHTLY less than open-minded, and YOU are NOT going to teach ME a lesson! I am too old and too right for that kind of time-suck. Young guy didn't pay attention to old college professor with loads of wisdom to impart, like he promised, until old guy was on TV comparing statistics against, Yankee great, the Iron Horse! (For the chronically confused, it's Lou Gehrig, Morrie had his disease, ALS, Wiki it.) In theory, the author would have us read it and be moved and learn some cheesy lesson about not neglecting our elders or cherishing the time with them that we do have. Nice theory. Try my theory on for size instead. Don't be an asshole. Oddly, this works not only when it comes to following through with keeping in touch with someone like you said you would...and, let me hit the pause button here for a second...Morrie wasn't calling him, either...maybe Morrie didn't like him all that much in the first place and was only willing to spend Tuesdays with him because, at that point, he was too sick to turn him away...ok, play button...call who you say you'll call. Be kind to people. Spend as much time as you can with those you love, be it your Grandmom or your Grandson. Don't be an asshole.See? My way works!
Tuesdays with Morrie? Hell no! Email with Daddy! Rog: My favorite is "Colossal Stupidity." Voices in My Head: It was actually an "An Ode to the Colossally Stupid," but I'll let it slide. Rog: Be careful in writing this. You have a tendency to "speak" over the heads of the "audience." VMH: Like you would know, I got my height from mommy...unless my audience is tweedlebugs, I'm nowhere near going over anyone's head...also, it sounds like he thinks you guys are stupid...Diane, don't tell Murphy...this may call for an "Occupy Daddy's House." Right...because I would camp. Rog: Consolidate and simplify - except where you are using the language so beautifully - don't cut any of that, its great. VMH: I promised myself, and you, that I wouldn't self-edit...and...ummmm..."except where you are using the language so beautifully"...hello? That's ALL of it!!! Rog: You might take topics like "Colossal Stupidity" and make them a reoccurring theme. VMH: Again, not the title, and I could sit here and go on and on about how he never pays attention to anything I say...ever...ever...in my whole life...and now that's right in front of him...in writing...he still isn't paying attention...but he would say, "What," and then laugh at me. I have tried, time and again, to be consistent or have theme days...but I am so ADD I can barely keep it together for one post at a time, forget about weekly! How I Actually Responded: I've tried to do recurring themes...but...the thing is, you just never know when you're going to lucky and T.O. is going to try to kill himself again! Rog: Nobody can do that better than you. VMH: Sooooo, you're saying I talk too much? That I go on and on and on and on... Moi? Rog: You should be writing more than a blog - you write beautifully. VMH: Are you kidding? I should be writing a series of "Princess' Guide to..." shelved right next to the "Idiot's Guide to..." and the "...for Dummies"!!! Rog: The paradox is that you can comunicate so well that no one can understand you. VMH: Yup...that's the problem. I then told him about a post I really wanted to write, but hadn't. I'm a bit concerned that some of you might not see the humor in the time I stumbled across the ideal situation if I ever wanted to be a serial killer. It was awesome...just sayin'... Hmmmm...maybe I really do devote a bit too much time to books and movies.
As you know, I am, as are we all, a person of many flaws. Self awareness, however, is not one of them. I am in touch with my flaws...I accept them...if you want to get all 21st century, talk show-y about it, I own them. Among them...though I don't necessarily consider all of these flaws, I have been told others do...we find my strong, often vocal, and frequently as unchangeable as the solar system (? NO.), the tides, weather, tectonic plates (? NO.), the rising moon, the setting sun, Stonehenge, the East Coast being infinitely superior to the West Coast, opinions, my failing memory for all things relevant that remains freakishly on point when the people on Law & Order, for example, cast a new police captain and expect me not to notice that years before she was a crackhead defendant's mother, my MILD sports obsession, my love for, if from time to time perceived inappropriate use of, dark humor, my honesty which some people prefer to characterize as unfiltered bluntness...and on my occasional lack of a filter, which I have heard described as abrasiveness...to which I am the tiniest bit tempted to say, "F*ck 'em if they can't take a joke," but that is WAY too obvious a joke so let's just move on.
I felt a quick reminder of these "short-comings" was in order as we dive into the headline this morning that, frankly, gave me such giggles my puppies might have had a taste of my coffee!
"T.O. Rushed to ER for Overdose!"
I have never liked Terrell Owens. I accepted T.O. to the best of my ability when he played for my beloved Eagles, much as I do now with Michael Vick, but I have never liked the man. He is a self-centered fame whore who would likely be better served as, I don't know, a boxer, perhaps, because being a team player is well beyond his reach. When the Eagles were rid of him, I popped prosecco!!! And when it turned out that Dallas was to be his new home? Ohhhhh...It was like Christmas, my birthday, and my anniversary all wrapped up into one!!! Which, happy non-sequitur, they are...Dec 25, 26, 27...which means I always get shafted on prezzies...so get shopping, people!!! Princess says PUH-LEASE!!! Giggles. But, as usual, I digress... It just so happened that I was back, living in Texas for the second time, that season...so I could get to all the divisional games.
On the matter of divisional rivalries and my MILD sports obsession...my Iggles are in the NFC East. This division also includes the Giants...who we hate, not only as divisional rivals, but in the same way as we do the Jets...with the exception, of course, of Joe Namath, whom we LOVE...hello, straight man in hose and fur playing football, there is just nothing not to love...but they call themselves the NY Giants, though they play, and in many, if not most, cases, live in NJ...the Cowgirls, who we hate as divisional rivals and because they call themselves "America's Team"...and the Redskins. The Redskins present a unique problem as Husband is, yet again, wrong, clearly, because he is a 'Skins fan! With my obsession and propensity to speak my mind, you can imagine it gets a little heated at the Preppy Pink Palace during those games. Sleeping on the couch because a 'Skins fan doesn't deserve my guest room is one of the gentler, recurrent themes. Husband is also a Penguins fan. Did you know that you can learn how to tie a noose on Google? I have a stuffed penguin that does!
I proudly sported my McNabb Eagles jersey to Texas Stadium to watch the Cowboys lose their first game against the Eagles with T.O. as a Cowgirl. To this day, I'm pretty sure he saw me mocking him from the stands. As an Eagle, he spent far more time making drama and headlines than making plays and touchdowns. The same was the case when he became a Cowboy. He had spent nearly every week in the 2005 season, as an Eagle, in the headlines, and again in 2006 as a Cowboy...
Until the Bye Week...
It was the Cowboys' first bye week of 2006 and something horrible happened....well, horrible if you're T.O...a bye week meant no headlines. And, as it happens, T.O. would rather (picture a sort of Scarlett O'Hara back of hand to forehead pose here) die than not have the attention his inner fame whore feeds on as if it were air...or a nonfat PSL! Ohhhh...now I really want a PSL!!! DAMN! Focus...focus...ok...moving on... 35 vicodin and a trip to the ER later...guess who was all over the headlines!?! Suicide attempt? "Bad Reaction"? Cry for help? Cry for publicity?
Fast Forward to 2011...T.O., currently a free agent, announces that he is retiring...as a joke...and no one cared. He also announced that his knee is healed and he is ready and fit to play. Step right up people...the oft injured, 37yr old, prima donna is ready and waiting for your call...and the bidding war he was certain would ensue. The phone, however, failed to ring. When faced with no headlines, no calls, no interest, no...well...nothing...T.O. went with what had worked in the past. Time to OD! Again, 911 was called immediately...no actual cause for concern...he wouldn't do anything to hurt himself...not for real. And again...he has, among other things, claimed that this was a "Bad Reaction." All I could do was laugh and remember back to the 2006 "OD."
Perhaps we ought to add to my list of flaws what might be what, by some, be considered callousness and skepticism...but I'm good with that. It's not that I'm being cruel, I'm simply looking at it all through realistic colored glasses...and enjoying the hell out of it! Karma, T.O., karma. There's a reason that phone isn't ringing...
As most of you know, most of my adult life has been dedicated to non-profits and charity work. As you likely also know, I rather enjoy, rare though it is, a bit of shopping...and on those occasions, alright, on ALL occasions...I prefer to buy things that are wholly mine. Custom, if you will...or won't, it's of no consequence to me. I simply abhor the thought of wearing the same shirt that is on an Old Navy commercial every 5 minutes and is sold in bulk so that you are nearly assured that if for some strange reason you were to get lost and find yourself in a Walmart, it's quite likely you would see 5 other people in the same shirt. That said, on these really, sort of pathetically, infrequent boosts to the economy, when at all possible, I opt for "Awareness" items and/or things that can in any way be customized. If it can be embroidered, monogrammed, engraved...Husband will try to hide it...but I will find it and customized it shall be!!!
*Princess Tip: For those who find their sweet, wonderful, otherwise lovely, DHs a bit resistant to the amount of monogramming you would choose to have in your home...Williams-Sonoma custom makes monogrammed branding irons for the grill! Take my word for it, he will become a LOT more agreeable about monograms around the house when they match his "ManMakeFireCookMeatMarkTerritory" treat!
Moving on... I was doing a bit of shopping at my dear friend's, The Preppy Poppy, to pick up a few things...I won't go into too many details...the holiday's are coming, after all...but on a few of the things I asked her to make, I asked her for...gasp...monograms AND awareness ribbons. As these items are for different people, I decided to double check on the colors of the awareness ribbons for a few things.
Oh my... In a million years, I couldn't have imagined the amount of causes to which awareness ribbons would be assigned...nor could I have imagined that distinctions would be made between "graphite," "silver," and "gray" or "indigo" and "blue" or that even with that distinction, there are at LEAST 50 causes/illnesses/etc. of which one should be aware upon seeing a blue ribbon!!! Blue, people...not indigo...or light blue, periwinkle, teal or turquoise...and I'm not even going to mention the ribbons that are 2 colors. We've got green, light green, lime green, mint green, and olive green. There's a full circle starting at purple...to violet, lavender, orchid (I'm all for Testicular Cancer having an Awareness Ribbon, but come on, who's idea was ORCHID?!), pink, hot pink, red, cranberry, then burgundy on back to purple! This is by no means all of them...no, really...you can't make this up!!! Even I can't make this stuff up!! Many of them, not just blue, have 50+ causes associated with them. I care. I volunteer. I donate. I TRY to be aware...but I feel like at this point, I can say with absolute, unwavering, surety, that I will NEVER be THAT aware!
As you can imagine, part of the reason this awareness rainbow would drive entire colonies of Leprechauns to abandon their pots of gold and drink, is that, well...some of these "causes" seem just the tiniest bit questionable to me. As my darling Poodle said to me today when I was outlining this post for her, "Peach, no. Blue means only two things - First Place and Pabst Blue Ribbon."
Feral Cats. I am assuming this is an orange ribbon so that I can take aim more easily when they are outside my bedroom window at night?
Self-Injury. I can't even lie, I googled. I thought it meant someone like me who bumps into/trips over everything. Nope! Cutters. As to whether this is to identify them to others like a pledge pin, encourage them to keep up the good work (though I think it's of note that these are worn vertically...a subtle suggestion that people have had enough with the "cries for help" and just slash 'em vertically already), or inspire them to quit, I do not know.
Targeted Individuals? Turns out these are essentially adult bullying victims. Good plan. Grow up, get bullied, whine about enough on message boards to have someone come up with a catchy name that sounds less victim-y than victim, so the catchy name can earn an awareness ribbon, that you can then proudly wear wherever you go...to identify yourself to all who see you...as...wait for it...a whiny victim!!! Why not wear a "Kick Me" sign, people? You are not doing yourselves any favors!
Free Speech? Like I always say, I didn't vote for it. Sometimes, stupid shouldn't speak.
Responsible Use of Public Lands? So much for that meth lab!
Trauma? Not in relation to anything specific...and believe me, every conceivable trauma has it's own trauma specific ribbon, to include PTSD. Trauma is but one on the list of redundant and/or random. Kindness, Harmony, Hope and Support, Innocence, Transitions, Freedom, and Growth and Rebuilding were a few of my other favorites...good luck trying to find specifics on these "Awareness" ribbons. If Google doesn't know, how am I, a lifelong member of the Look-It-Up Club, ever to become aware? This may keep me awake nights!!!
For today, I'll just focus on 2. Green and Lime Green...yes, seriously, Lime Green. Surely you'll recall one of my favorite non-profits, The Queen of Hearts, dedicated to helping those with Leukemia (Green...alternate color Orange (Did I mention some have more than one color?)), Lymphoma (Lime Green), and those awaiting organ transplants (Green). QoH is still in it's infancy online, though we were founded in 2003. We hold an Aloha themed, Casino Night fundraiser every year over Labor Day Weekend, and I am thrilled to announce that our friends at Marley Lilly and The Pink Monogram were the first online to jump in and support the Queen of Hearts by donating to the Aloha's Chinese Auction! They were a huge hit! That was but the beginning of the generosity and support!!! For anyone that "Likes" Marley Lilly and Queen of Hearts on Facebook, Marley Lilly is offering free shipping on orders over $85 with offer code QoH...AND...there will be a Marley Lilly review and giveaway coming your way very soon! The Pink Monogram not only donated a pair of the Original Monogrammed Clogs to the Aloha...we have a great review and giveaway in the Queen of Hearts honor soon! In addition to these terrific ladies and their companies, two more fab women and their stores have come on board to join in helping with the online campaign to raise awareness and donating for next year's Aloha. The Monogrammed Martini, whose delightful owner was thrilled get involved, has a great Queen of Hearts awareness review and giveaway coming up...I can't wait to see what it will be...and what she comes up with for the Aloha! And last, but certainly not least, as she is to blame for this post, my sweet friend, The Preppy Poppy, has a review/giveaway in the works and I happen to know has something tres fun for the Aloha!
With all that can seem wrong with world on any given day...natural disasters, disease, neglect and abuse and murder of people's own family members...people parking in handicapped spots and being rude to waitresses...it can sometimes be hard to remember all the truly good in the world. And then I am reminded of ladies like these...willing to help others...just because...
As I often say, when things seem bleak, take a deep breath and count your blessings. Someone has it much worse. Donate. Volunteer. Help them, it will help you both.
On some level I've always known that there must be at least a few Republicans at UC Berkeley, the Holy Grail of liberal academia (no judgment, merely a statement of fact). I assumed perhaps a few legacies...maybe a handful of students trying to gather intel on the enemy...sleepers, if you will. But enough...and out at that...for a CLUB? Never, in a million years, would I have guessed!!! As it happens, however, a club there is...and active, too! When the Berkeley College Republicans caught wind that students were setting up a phone bank on campus to flood Governor Brown with calls to sign the, already passed, SB 185, they knew they needed to hold a counter-"demonstration," in so much as Republicans are capable of holding a "demonstration," rally, protest, etc...
California SB 185 is essentially an end-run around Prop 209 which prohibits "affirmative action." It would “authorize the University of California and the California State University to consider race, gender, ethnicity, and national origin, along with other relevant factors, in undergraduate and graduate admissions." What it doesn't do, is provide for any guidelines as to how this information is to be used or require the student's socioeconomic background, or any other factors, be considered as well. CA SB185 eliminates accountability in the school's admissions process and offers preferential treatment based solely on race, gender, or anything else the school or, frankly, an individual with an agenda on the admission committee, chooses creating an incredible potential for abuse!
Realizing this, though how the California Legislature missed it I'll never know, the Berkeley College Republicans organized an "Increase Diversity Bake Sale." Anything that in any way gives one race treatment different than that of another, is, by definition, racist. The BCR decided to illustrate blatant racism in CA SB 185 with CUPCAKES! Ok, they had cookies and other baked goods as well, but...I'm all about the cupcake. The baked goods were sold to "white men for $2, Asian men for $1.50, Latino men for $1, black men for 75 cents and Native American men for 25 cents. All women received 25 cents off those prices." Wow, SB185 supporters, when you look at it that way, it does appear a little racist, doesn't it though? For the record, as self-reported by UC Berkeley, White students: 31.7% Asian: 45.7% Latino: 11.5% Black: 3.4% Native American: .08% By the way, I thought they were "Indigenous Persons to North America" now...no? I can't keep up.
How is this supposed to work? I wish I could be friends with you, Skip, but you'll have to wait. It would appear I need to add an Asian guy and a Latina first.
So here they are, middle of Berkeley, phone bank encouraging racism being "protested" by cupcakes. Not to be outdone, the SB185 supporters stage a counter-counter-"demonstration." Naturally, as it was in their wheelhouse, they started out far more traditionally...marching and signs and the like...lots of Birkenstocks and patchouli. Clearly the geniuses failed to take into account the fact that all of their marching and shouting and protesting would make it a bit difficult to hear over yonder at the bank. Soon enough the phone bank got a reprieve from the noise. Gone are the days of our parents having to step over the unwashed masses staging a sit-in...at noon, whether as part of their protest or as a sign of the times...and laziness...they held nap time!!! Are you joking?!? A group, all dressed in black, comprised, statistically of more than 75% white and Asian students, lying down in the middle of campus, during classes, as a form of social protest? Right. Nothing about that seems in any way inappropriate or lazy. Really, really lazy. Make a little effort. Though I suppose asking the tie-dye set to make a little effort is shooting for the moon considering their relationship with personal hygiene.
What the SB185 supporters never saw coming? Let's not make a list...I'm referring strictly to the loud background noise making phone calls difficult thing. Ok, and the lying down and taking a midday nap being a ludicrous form of "protest" too. But there was someone who wasn't quite done yet. The one man, THE MAN, who, above all others, needed to weigh in on the issue, stepped right up to buy his $.75 cupcake! The UC Board member, the man behind Prop 209...that which prohibits "affirmative action," the founder and chairman of the American Civil Rights Institute...Ward Connerly himself. (LOVE him! He's no Oliver North or Colin Powell, and he's certainly not the Duke, the Holy Father JPII, or Ronnie, but...LOVE!) Take the hint, SB185 supporters, the very successful and influential, and in case no one noticed Black, Ward Connerly is buying a $.75 cupcake because SB185 is racist...just sayin'...
I still can't quite decide my favourite part. The cupcakes? The counter-demonstration? The counter-counter-demonstration? The fact that Ward Connerly showed up and the dear, misguided, Berkeley types are still missing the fact that they're supporting racism? Or...no...I think this is it...the fact that a good number of the students supporting SB185 are from any state but California, therefore, Mummy and Daddy get no tuition breaks as they write each check to what they consider to be a cringe-worthy and laughable educational institution...which sonny-boy is only going because he felt the need to "rebel," against his oppressive, dreadful, and otherwise horrific, Jake Ryan-esque, life...so he opted for UC Berkeley...from where, upon graduation, he hit the real world. Sonny boy lasts about 5 minutes before running home and makes VP of Nepotism at Daddy Warbucks, Inc. by 27 with a mid-6 figure income and a maid that is...kind of, sort of..."undocumented," shall we say, whose son he wants her to home-school so that he won't be eligible for a free education, via the Dream Act, at Sonny boy's Alma Mater.
And in true Disney fashion, I leave you with this, "It's the circle of life..."
Picture it...a lovely morning in a beautiful, gated, golf course community, just north of Daytona Beach. Two spectacularly gorgeous women...though the elder of the pair can often be heard yelling words, muffled by her closed door, at her mirror, and constantly trying to feed the younger fruit...lounge by the pool drinking coffee and gossiping. The elder says, "Let's go to St. Augustine for the afternoon. I'll take you to Harry's for your blackened chicken and pomegranate martinis..." As, in case you hadn't guessed, I am the younger of these two women, and Mother knowing just how to manipulate me, adds, "After lunch we'll go to the wine tasting at San Sebastian." "When do you want to leave, Mother," I query as I'm already getting dressed, because, really? If you've been to St. Augustine you understand. Mother calls her bestie, who happens to be in town because she bought a house around the corner from Mother...sigh...and invites her along. Once she is ready, it's top down in the convertible...silk scarf in my hair, oversized sunglasses protecting my peepers, and we're in St. Augustine before I could finish the 3 text conversations I was having. Seated in the courtyard at Harry's enjoying ONE order of chicken, tho I can't say that about the pom-tinis (the amount, not the enjoyment), was bliss. We took a little apres-lunch stroll through St. Augustine's delightful and useless shopping district...of course I shopped...until I saw a sandwich board set up outside a charming little patisserie. It was bathed in light from the heavens and choirs of angels sang as I read the words scrawled on it proclaiming their daily special....a PEEP LATTE!!! As you can imagine, I nearly knocked over more than a few passers-by in my haste to obtain one of, what I can only describe now, having tasted it, these hot, steaming, cardboard cups filled with the nectar of the Gods! The barista was kind enough to serve me my 20, glorious, ounces of Peep latte with a flourish, making sure I got a good look before he condemned the wee Peep to it's a burial in a non-fat, 4 shot, toasted marshmallow latte. There he was...my bright pink Peep...floating on top! I trotted off, swooning, behind Mother and her friend, towards the trolley to the Winery, only to be stopped en route by a man who was quite certain that I had been Miss Kentucky or Kansas or something a few years before and was completely unwilling to take no for an answer. I said something about "World Peace" and let him take a picture of us together. It seems I am quite a bit easier to get along with...which I can't fathom as I am SO charming even on my worst days...when I have had a delicious blackened chicken breast, a few pomegranate martinis, and Peep latte in me. I didn't even grumble (too much) when we had to (almost) run to make the trolley. At the end of the trolley ride sits the San Sebastian Winery. Mother and I tried to pretend to pay attention to the tour...tasting please!!! The tour is over, the tasting begins and we start working our way through whites. To be fair, I suppose Mother and I could have tried to take it a little more seriously...but...well...we didn't. We get to, I don't know, maybe the third white, and wrinkle our noses. Her friend clearly didn't approve of our face-making. I lean over to Mother and whisper, "This tastes like something," with a look on my face that made it very clear that that something was NOT wine. "I know. It's something familiar." Her friend gave us a dirty look and sushed us...I react so well to such things. "What is it, mom? This is driving me crazy! I can't place it!" She takes another sip, swishing it around her mouth a while, considering it. "This tastes like shampoo!!!" I nearly spit my shampoo wine everywhere other than intended bucket. Between fits of giggles we tried to explain to her friend that it tasted like that little bit of fruity scented shampoo that works it's way into your mouth while you're trying to rinse your hair. The more we tried to explain, the harder we laughed and the more annoyed her friend got. We bought her a bottle on the way out...I am not her favourite person.
PS-Today's intended post was titled "My Cupcake Cost $1.75," but dear Margaret Page inspired me to share this story instead. Fret not, "My Cupcake Cost $1.75" will be posted tomorrow!
Are you ever in a group of people...perhaps even a crowded room...and find yourself all alone? I don't mean, "feelings of loneliness" or "having to wind yourself up" or any of the other time-to-get-your-meds-adjusted buzz words. I mean, you make the worst pun ever and groan to yourself because you know you should be ashamed but no one else seems to have even noticed. I mean, you have a task, an obstacle, a challenge you just can't overcome...no matter how you try...and you refuse to quit...and call it your "White Whale," and are met with blank stares. I feel like this is happening more and more often lately.
So I thought I would compose, tho I suspect it will only be the first installment...
An Ode to the Colossally Stupid
That this will in no way be anything that could be confused in any way with anything either lyrical or poetic is of no consequence...the Colossally Stupid won't be making the connection between ODE and Lyrical Poem. In fact, it's quiet likely that they are still googling "White Whale."
The New Nanny Diaries? Colossally Stupid.
It is far too taxing on me to babysit little Tommy under these conditions. Fine, John can't come over. Whatever, he has football practice anyway. No drinking? Really? Who parties before 10 if it's not a Jamaican Me Crazy party or a tailgate? But seriously, there's got to be a line somewhere. Take last night, ok, so Tommy was sick and he hurled all over my new sweater that I was going to wear to Ladies Night at Main Street Pub this week! Everyone knows as long as you have a student ID they don't card! Not only is my sweater ruined...they didn't care, btw, didn't offer to dry clean it or replace it or anything...but I was so traumatized I couldn't make my 8:00 Psych 201 or my 10:30 Geology...which I only took so I could help John pass...Rocks for Jocks...hello...and seriously, I don't know when I'll be emotionally prepared to babysit again. I mean, I only babysit to shop because my parents think I shop too much...and whose fault is that? You teach a girl how to drive in a Jag, buy your way out of taking her to Midnight Mass with your fur, and move her into college with an egg crate, mattress pad, 600 thread count sheets (who knew you could get them in extra-long, not that 600 would be my first choice, but apparently I'm supposed to be learning personal responsibility or something. Don't they have someone for that?), silk pillow cases so as not to leech moisture from her hair and face, and line her drawers with Crabtree & Evelyn scented liner because, among other reasons, ewww...other people's clothes have been in there! Why not just go...gasp...bowling! So whatever, they limit my spending money...I'll rebel against that later...for now I have to supplement my allowance! After Tommy's foray into bulimia...I'm at a loss. I mean...there's one of those give and get sales coming up at Banana...and you know me, I'm a giver...but I have to babysit to make the money to shop properly and I'm way too freaked out! I need that stuff. Like that whatdoyoucallit that construction workers get when stuff falls on their heads so they have to stay home but they get money. I should totally get that. I'm entitled. I know I must be because people tell me I have entitlement issues all the time! And while we're at it...why do Tommy's parents need a sitter? Ummm...I've been sitting for them for a while now and I KNOW why they need a sitter! They need a break from Tommy! There's TWO of them and only ONE of me and he doesn't have to do what I say...where's my break? Hang on...Larue's texting.
OMG!!! Diary, guess what?!? Larue said that those crusty dudes in Sacramento...God, who goes to Sacramento...are voting for me to get that construction worker thing-y...she said it's called "workman's comp insurance," I can't imagine why she knows that...but that will teach Tommy to go all Exorcist on me. AND she said we can ALWAYS babysit together so instead of paying attention to Tommy, we can get ready to go out after his parents get home, because they will have to give me breaks...and some kind of paperwork to show those social security people that Mother and Father hate because they keep saying thay will never see all that money they gave them. Should I send a "Thank You" muffin basket to those crusty dudes?
Ok...so...that's awesome right? I mean, for me. But when I grow up and have kids, I'm not giving some college student construction-worker-hit-in-the-head insurance and a bunch of breaks so they need to bring a friend and both get paid, 'cause for real? I'm not stupid. I know why I need breaks and stuff...I know you won't tell, diary, but I don't really NEED breaks to babysit for 5 hours and I sort of got that "stain" out of my sweater by throwing it in the delicate cycle with woolite...but I still know...and this is ME! I'm soooo telling Tommy's parents they owe me!!!
Thanks Diary, you're the best...
Workmen's Comp+10 min break every 2 hours+30 min break every 5 hours+detailed pay stubs (and the list goes on)=Colossally Stupid
Laws about Bed Linens? Colossally Stupid. To be filed under: You Can Not Make This Sh*t Up! There is a (potentially even more Colossally Stupid) bill facing the California Legislature...I promise you, this is real...I googled it after I saw it on the news and then I had Husband google because I still couldn't believe "my lyin' eyes," as the uber-fab, Judge Marilyn Milian would say. I have confessed my pathetic obsession, my dirty little secret, my addiction for which there is no 12 step program...judge shows...to you in the past...so don't judge me, damn it!!! She says that all the time and love her. There...I said it! If you're done laughing at me we can get back to the Bill. Are you ready? I mean Really READY?!? It is a bill to make flat bottom sheets in hotels, motels, b&bs, etc...ILLEGAL! Not like when your mom said you couldn't go out and play until you made your bed, grounded kind of illegal...courts and lawyers and judges ILLEGAL!!! Now, we know that California and the USA are in debt in the billions. We have wars, poverty, unemployment...not even going down the health care road...you're just waiting for me to say immigration, not today, my friends...but as God is my witness, there is an actual bill introduced by an actual state senator waiting to be voted upon OUTLAWING FLAT BOTTOM SHEETS! (Hey...isn't that a Queen song?) Apparently 4 hotel maids said making hospital corners hurt their backs and said state senator listened...to them...and ONLY to them. I don't mean ONLY to them as opposed to the industry that stands to lose $15-$30M if this were to pass, in the cost of bed linens alone...but I mean to all the tens of thousands of other hotel maids (maid is likely not the PC term and if that's the case, I'm sorry, but I don't know of an alternative...oh...wait...housekeeping) who are very against this change because, among other things, it would increase each maid's per-room speed, thereby, again, not only driving up the costs industry-wide, but decreasing jobs. And last I checked, a huge increase in cost to the hotel industry=an increase in room prices=a less viable tourist destination=less $$$ to a state that is in so much debt it's going to have to sell itself to Mexico to see daylight=can you feel that Colossally Stupid on the horizon? Husband says math is fun, so let's take this one just a tiny bit further to make sure it's Colossally Stupid. Room price increase/reduced tourism=fewer jobs for hotel maids in a state...and Country...plagued with an unemployment problem...coinciding with the need for fewer maids because of the illegality of flat sheets, still funny, regardless of the implications...illegal sheets...but I digress, increased, per-room, turnover speed (because fitted sheets are the bomb, yo! (I can't pull that off, can I?))=fewer jobs for hotel maids=increased unemployment. Normally my circular logic makes sense, at least to me, as it is constructed, at least in part, for my benefit. I've got no dog in this fight. (Save all of your tasteless Eagles/Michael Vick jokes, I'm making them in my head) Anyway, I've always preferred English to Math...you know, like back when a perfect score on the SATs was a 1600 and schools didn't make up random, bs GPAs, a 4.0 was a 4.0, a perfect score, same as a 1600, and I think my wee choo-choo of thought is starting to derail a wee bit again...but here's where I'm going...my math may be off...BUT I'm pretty sure that if you take the 4 maids (no offense to any maids a-milking or calling birds to which one refers in December) and then there's an X and Pi and something exponential to the square route of the number you get if you add up all the digits in your birthdate you get Y. And apparently, my dog isn't just killing rats, but torturing them for information, and a rat told Lilac Water that Y is the constant for a whole bunch of hotel maids losing their jobs and increasing the unemployment rate...on top of, well all those other problems, and at this point, do you really want me to rehash...again??? No? So we agree...Colossally Stupid.
Hiking in Iran? Colossally Stupid. Let's break this down. Maybe I'm wrong and there is a shadow of the tiniest bit of a chance that this is simply Marginally Stupid. As children, our parents taught us to walk. As we got older, mastered the walking thing, they taught us to cross the street. Look left, then right, then left again. Remember that? Ok. Let's apply that earliest of lessons of "when it's safe to cross" to our genius hikers. Go to Iran. Face north. Look to your left. What do you see? Iraq. Look right. What do you see? Afghanistan. Look left again? Still Iraq. Is it safe to cross Iran Street? NO!!! Just as I suspected...Colossally Stupid.
Glad I could clear that up.
PS-If anyone knows of a state senator looking to back a bill that gets bloggers paid (minimum wage, sure, but hey, nice work if you can get it!),construction-worker-hit-in-the-head insurance (because I walk into things, hit my head, and fall down more than you can imagine), and mandatory breaks, forward me his email!!!
I am a pretty self aware person. I know my flaws...I own them...who am I kidding, I flaunt them! I have shared with you in the past that Walt Disney kind of distorted my perception of reality...let's not rehash my traumatic Chinatown visit. There are a fair amount of Hidden Mickeys throughout my home...and quite a few that are not so hidden. I drag Husband to Disney every chance I get...again, no need to rehash...World=Happiest Place On Earth...Land=Ghetto/Wrong Side of the Happiest Place On Earth tracks. My Royal status? As to whether that is a Disney issue or an entitlement one, remains to be seen. A proper Princess always gives back and as I may have mentioned, I have spent my adult life dedicated to service to my Country and my community...the America Red Cross, the Queen of Hearts, and the Peace Corps (Domestic Branch)...for example. I spent 2 years as a full-time intern during college at the Sheriff's Dept. and pulled overnights once on a week as a first responder, studying when I wasn't on the ambulance. I may regret including this, but the guys on my crew did NOT call me Princess. They had their own little pet name for me...Axe...as in Battle. I may have been a little bit of a hard ass at the time...you try running overnights on an ambulance when you're the only female on the crew! You have to, for example, take the 80+ year old woman who decided she was to old to wear panties to bed to the ladies because she can't be left alone...and she's chatty! Some things, my friends, cannot be unseen.
Why am I telling you all of this? I have been afforded the opportunity to see people at their very best and their very worst. I have shared those moments with them. I have had my heart broken seeing someone hurt by a loved one and had my heart overfilled seeing an entire community become a family after a wildfire destroyed a over a quarter of the homes in the town. I've taught EMS and Lifeguards how to administer oxygen in the morning, helped a family whose house burned down with lodging, food, and clothing in the afternoon, only to race home to wait by the phone for a call from deployed Husband.I've also had to, with a police escort, do searches of disaster shelters' sleeping areas and bathrooms because residents were coming to me with reports of weapons and drugs. I've watched as some of those same people abandoned their children at the shelters and took their Red Cross and/or FEMA money to the mall. Just when you think you can't handle seeing one more thing? One of the little girls whose mother constantly abandoned her at the shelter assuming she'd be cared for...which, of course, she was, and in my opinion, better than when her mother was there saying charming things like, "Don't go near that man, baby, we don't like people look that man." She was referring to a cop. We had more than a few residents who shared her sentiment. Back to her daughter...one afternoon, I still don't know where the child got a bottle of nail polish, she walked over, grabbed the cop's hand, and told him, in no uncertain terms, that he needed a manicure! The next thing you know, I look over, and there's this huge cop in a child sized chair at a child sized table getting a hot pink manicure!!! Some things, my friends, cannot be unseen.
No matter how much you see, no matter how many highs, no matter how many lows, people can still surprise you. Sometimes, when confronted with a new low, even promising yourself that there are even greater heights to which the human spirit can soar...well...sometimes that's just not enough.
I've given you Disney...I've thrown down a little Dickensian best of times/worst of times...now I guess it's time to tell you why I spent 10 minutes crying in my car in a store parking lot today. I was running into the store to grab some fishing line (to secure holiday decor) and a candle. That's it. But it's me and it's shopping so I grab a cart just in case. There is a man with a coffee can and a picture of his 3yr old daughter standing next to the cart asking for donations for her, as she was in the hospital after being hit by a car and he had no insurance to cover her stay. Naturally, I was heartbroken for him and his poor daughter and though I asked what had happened and if she was ok, a drunk driver, he said, she was having 4 pins put in her leg, I offered my prayers and a truly heartfelt apology that I simply don't carry cash. I do, however, carry plastic! So into my cart went a big, pink, princess, gift bag...and into that, a pink princess costume, tiara, mirror, dress-up princess jewelery, a princess wand...everyone knows princesses don't carry wands, fairy godmothers do, but I wasn't going to split hairs...I found some gross looking pink princess candy, and animal crackers, of course. I put all the presents in the gift bag and walk out to where he was standing with the gift bag, my bag, and a bottle of water for him because it was about 95 and rising at the time. He wasn't there. I must have looked like an idiot. I just sort of stood there holding this stuff in front of the store for a minute or two. That was when the store employee stationed at the front door noticed me and my sad little princess gift bag. "That bag isn't for the man that was out here earlier begging for money, is it?"
"Yes, yes it is. I don't see him though." "Ummmm...he left ma'am." "Oh no! Do you know where he went? I just bought this for him to take to his daughter." "I don't know where he went, but I know he won't be back." I can only assume that at that point my face distorted into something akin to my pug's when he hears a strange a noise, because he continued, "He was lying, a scam, you know..." I really don't know if he kept talking...I was already walking away. As I was almost to my car a woman walked by pushing a cart with her daughter in it. She looked 3. Ish. To me. What do I know? I asked them if she liked princesses and told them it was her lucky day! When the mother opened her mouth to ask the crazy lady giving away big bags of prezzies in parking lot if she was off her meds, I pointed to the employee still standing in the doorway and told her to ask him.
I got in my car, took a deep breath, pulled out my phone, typed the name of the town and "car accident" into google news...and started to cry...
Mine forever more
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?
There has not been a single day in the last 64 years that the United States of America has not needed it's Air Force...nor will there be for the next 64 years and beyond! Happy Birthday to the USAF and to all it's members, past, present, and future...and to the family members of those serving, who make the US Air Force the best in the world!
I've been sick and haven't posted for a few days, so I wanted to pop in and share a little something and make sure you don't feel neglected.
For those of you who know me and/or read my blog, you know that I occasionally lean just the teeny, tiniest, little bit toward the irreverent...
That said, for those of you that don't appreciate such things or are in any way easily offended, well, let's just say...This Post Is Not For You. You have received your warning.
As an aside, "You Have Received Your Warning" is the text from a road sign in Medford Lakes that I have always wanted to steal and hang in my garage, were I the sort of person that did such things. Moving on...
I have a dear friend that I affectionately call "Poodle." In case you don't see where this is going, she calls me "Peach." She went back to school this semester and is taking a Philosophy class, the professor of which she calls "Crazy, Old, Philosophy Bat." Anyone who took philosophy in college knows how...ummm...off balance...philosophy professors tend to be. I know I spent a fair amount of time in The Giggle Loop, a la Coupling, in my college philosophy class. I had a huge final paper due when I took it and no matter what I did, I simply could NOT bring myself to buckle down write it! I have always considered philosophy to essentially be nothing more than organized and accredited bullsh*t anyway, so I decided it was time to think outside the proverbial box...or...cave (homage to Plato!!!) And I had "another one of my brilliant ideas (Blair Warner stole that from me!)!!! I invited a friend from class over...we made a list of all the salient points we needed to cover...made a liquor store run...make sure we had plenty of batteries and blank cassette tapes (if you need to know what those are, let me know...when I'm done crying about being old, I'll brief it up)...and let the drinking begin! Once we had had a few, and started feeling philosophical, as one often does when is drinking, we hit record. We went point by point from our list and kept drinking and chatting and laughing and recording until we had filled nearly both sides of the tape! We had to save just a tiny bit of space at the end for my piece de resistance...wait for it...The Philosopher's Drinking Song by Monty Python. Easiest and most fun I have ever had on a "final term paper" in college...A+...AND he asked to keep the tape to share with future students. You may worship my lazy, alcohol soaked, ingenuity now.
Poodle was in her philosophy class this week...and I would like to share with the you the text conversation...because it made her want to kill me, just a little, because of the Giggle Loop...and because some conversations are meant to be shared.
Last chance to turn back if you are easily offended.
Poodle: Dear crazy old philosophy bat, do not preach to me that I can't consider myself a Christian if I'm willing to pollute the environment and waste natural resources. Peach: What?!? Where did she get that? Even the Popemobile has an exhaust pipe, b*tch! So put that in your tree and deforest it, you dirty hippie! Poodle: She said Christians have moral obligations which "clearly" include not polluting or wasting natural resources unless your life depends on it. Poodle: So she would say the Pope isn't a true Christian. Peach: That "clearly" must have been on one of those tablets that Moses dropped. Poodle: *snort* Peach: Well, duh! Our method of choosing a new Pope IS pollution!!! Hello, white smoke/black smoke? Poodle: Bwahahaha! Peach: And not for nothin'...why just the Christians? Why don't the Jews have this moral imperative?Of course, they're already screwed on the bacon cheeseburger thing. Poodle: Well, they usually do vote Democrat. Peach: See? That's another reason she'd say Catholics don't count. There's no deficit spending at the Vatican, my friend! No unemployment or homelessness either! Poodle: That's because they know how to live within their means. Peach: Israel, however? Lousy with 'em!Giggles. Poodle: You're still bitter about your friends purposely eating burgers and stuff in front of you on Friday's during Lent growing up, aren't you? Bwahaha! Peach: Moi? Poodle: DirecTV 246 (trutv)-Hulk Hogan micro wrestling = MIDGETS!!!
When last we were together, dear readers and friends, if there are any...who knows...do you ever wonder about that? Is anyone really reading this? It kind of makes me want to throw a random, bizarro sentence or an "Are you really reading this" in the middle...like I always wanted to do in college, but never had the guts to do there, either. I wonder which would be worse, feeling like an idiot when someone read it or feeling like a loser when your professor gave you an A and failed to mention it. Moving on...we were exploring my current short list of those which require a "Come to Jesus" talk:
Random 20yr old Illegal Alien/UCLA Student
Governor Brown & the California Legislature
So far, we have dealt, though I could certainly go on, with Pool Guy, Landscapers, and Random. This brings us to Jeff Lurie.
Jeff Lurie...Jeff, Jeff, Jeff...oh, honey! Let's talk! For those who may not know, dear Jeffrey owns my beloved Philadelphia Eagles. As a rule, I love and support you. I bleed green. I am an Eagles Fan. There have been times in the past when we haven't seen eye to eye...usually over quarterbacks. Kolb? We'll see how the decision goes.Garcia? Play...leave...no...come back...no...get out. McNabb? Poor form. He DESERVES to retire an Eagle. Despite 2 trips to the Superbowl we Eagles (Fans) have yet to have a win. We were the first team to need it's own jail and court in the stadium. For those who may not know part 2, this is a fact of which we are quite proud. We throw snowballs at Santa Claus and "BOO" our own team. We even had T.O. scared to come back into town for his first game as a Cowgirl! We prove again and again that there are NO FANS as passionate and dedicated as IGGLES FANS. When you and Andy decided to bring Michael Vick on board...when he didn't even want to come to Philadelphia, granted, he more than regrets feeling that way now...I was, to say the least, not pleased. I know it isn't my place to judge and people can change and blah, blah, whatever, but I couldn't get passed what he had done. He played his heart out and behaved like a repentant, changed man...and while I will never LIKE the man...I grew to accept him as our QB. But, Jeff...Jeff, Jeff, Jeff...For the Love of All That's HOLY...$100M?!?!?!? He's not the Pope!!! I know what you're all thinking...that I'll change my tune should we FINALLY win a Superbowl...and maybe you're right...but I doubt it. At the end of the day, changed man or not, let's just say you couldn't pay me $100M to let him dog-sit...and seriously? The man PLAYS A GAME FOR A LIVING!!! Hello? That's a privilege!!! If you've got that much to throw around, Jeff, throw some my way so I can fly home for games...I've cared about the Eagles far longer and far more than Michael Vick. I have felt the crushing defeat of those 2 Superbowls...I know what it's all about to love Dick Vermeil and to know that no lead is too big for us to blow! Maybe throw some of that money to animal charities, Jeff...in Mikey's name...AS PART OF HIS PAY...surely he won't mind!
*Of note: I wrote the above prior to the Eagles v Rams game...I know better than to jinx anything...I'm just sayin'...
The Dream Act...or Dear, Every State Politician in California...or Governor Brown and your compatriots in the California Legislature, I voted against you, surely you recognize me, I'm the one who alternates outfits between an NRA hat, Ray-Ban aviators, and either a B-1 Bomber or Ronald Reagan t-shirt for primaries and, of course, a monogrammed sweater set and pearls on Election Day...because, as I understand it, I have the right not to TELL anyone who I voted for...so I feel obligated to make sure people can TELL by looking at me. You're welcome. So, this little Dream Act thing of yours...well played! How do you envision this working for you? You've given the illegals (again, I'm not trying to be insulting, I know not the current PC term...if this offends you...you're reading the wrong blog) access to public funds for their educations in California Universities. Public funds for the privilege of higher education, one that many American Citizens find elusive, do they have priority access to these public funds? Have you made this conditional upon application for citizenship...American Citizenship, also a privilege, No? Ummmm...why not? They can apply for college, they can apply for financial aid, grants, and scholarships...clearly they are capable of "applying" for things...things they want, anyway. It seems to me, if they wanted to be citizens, they would APPLY for citizenship. Yet they don't. They aren't applying for citizenship...THEREFORE they aren't paying taxes, with which to provide the public funds for future students, American students, to go to school, and they aren't voting. That little plan you had about them being so grateful they'd be your voter base someday? Not going to happen! Let me paint you a picture. As a military spouse, if your husband is stationed in California, after 30 days, with PROOF of his assignment and your military ID, of course, you are eligible to apply for a WAIVER to the state's residency requirements for instate tuition. So...if you move to California due to a commitment to Service to Our Country, you can apply for a waiver for in-state residency requirements...but if you're here illegally...you are in some way more deserving? Is this really the message we want to send? Enough is enough! We spend a fortune trying to secure our boarders, watching the cost and crime rate skyrocket, and now we're offering INCENTIVES?!?
You know what's weird? Immigration has never been a hot-button issue for me. The Dream Act just makes me so mad!!!
On to Depakote...I can say with absolute authority that this "medicine," I use this word VERY LOOSELY, is, in fact, a direct descendant of the devil! It's an anti-seizure medication meant to control migraines and trigeminal and back spasms. You may remember Depakote from it's uncredited cameo in 15 Pounds?!?!?. Ahhhh...the good old days! I fear that when dear Doctor said, "at least 15 Pounds," I heard, "15 Pounds," and may have missed the , "at least," bit. Whoops! I'm sure there is a lesson about paying attention or selective hearing in this, but...really, not feeling it! After 5 weeks on this "medicine," I started losing hair again...after it had just started growing back in...grrrrr. My migraines and trigeminal headaches became more frequent...you could SEE my trigeminal nerve twitch and spasm...ICK!!! It gave me insane RA flares and it did not fight nice with my chemo! It was hellish! This happens from time to time with meds...that's why there are multiple medications. I get it, I do. I was weak and tired and miserable and at the 5 week point found myself on the phone with his office, 27 pounds heavier, BEGGING to not have to take it ONE DAY MORE!!! I am pleased to tell you that he took pity on me...called back and switched me to something different. Whether it works or not is too soon to say, but rest assured, I scoured the internet and weight gain is NOT listed anywhere as a side effect!!!
One Naughty List down...an infinite number go!
Tell me...comment, tweet me, Facebook, whatever...what's on your Naughty List?