Perspective

I have always wondered why people like to travel. What is the lure that sends people on adventures? What do they hope to find when they get there? People? Culture? History? Souvenir shot glass from each country?

There are bloggers from all over the world and some of them take the most amazing photos. I am mesmerized by one site called Random Shots. I stare and stare at the images...and I'm not sure why. I try to imagine living there....and I can't do it. Is that what travel will do? A looking glass experience. What is it like to live in a city that is over 2000 years old? Do they even see it?

P. J. O'Rourke in "Holidays in Hell" writes about places suffering "....insurrection, stupidities, political crises, civil disturbances and other human folly...because it's fun. Like most people who don't own Bermuda shorts, I'm bored by ordinary travel. See the Beautiful Grand Canyon. Okay, I see it. Okay, it's beautiful. Now what? And I have no use for vacation paradises. .....Nor do attractions attract me. If I had a chance to visit another planet, I wouldn't want to go to Six Flags over Mars or ride through the artificial ammonia lake in a silicone-bottomed boat at Venusian Cypress Gardens. I'd want to see the planet's principal features--what makes it tick. Well, the planet I've got a chance to visit is Earth, and Earth's principal features are chaos and war. I think I'd be a fool to spend years here and never have a look."

Is travel good for paradigm puncturing? Culture clash awareness? This video absolutely gives me the heeby jeebies. Is this what it's like to go through the looking glass and land in another country?

Think of all the assumptions going on this video. (And you know what they say about assuming. ) First, people push and shove their way in to make sure they get on the train and then the people who work there finish shoving them in the way I used to shove myself in jeans when I was 23. Lying down, jumping up and down, and sucking in my gut. I used to think I was fat because I was shoving myself into jeans that were a size 3. Gack. What I wouldn't give to be double that size now. Second, is there not another train coming? Are there so many people using the train that EVERY train is that packed. My personal body bubble is cringing just thinking about this and I can't help thinking how naive that is.

I haven't even talked about history. Which is probably a good thing. One thing on my bucket list is to learn some more history. Not that it is always an exact science but it does bring some context. George Washington chopped down the cherry tree, right? History changes....which used to bug the crap out of me as a kid. Teachers would get their panties in a bunch as if history was like the multiplication tables, immutable and unchangeable.

I have always imagined traveling in outer space but after seeing District 9, I'm beginning to think that that may not be a good idea. Instead of Captain Picard on the USS Enterprise, I might end up in a refugee camp on a planet in a galaxy far, far away.

So why do you travel?

Hey, That Girl Has Two Sets of Cheeks to Powder

Egads...How many times does it have to be thrown in my face that I'm becoming a geezer? Took the gambling fools to Pechanga and we went to the round bar to drink because the only gambling I really like nowadays is wondering if the bartender will take my IOU. (It works for Arnold.) The club inside the casino just recently reopened ($30 cover charge!) and we had primo seats for people going in. I guess I should do a disclaimer here or something. I would gladly and happily have gone to clubs to listen to the bands in my 20s but my ex, well, he thought those places were too loud. Like, duh, no shit Sherlock. Youth really is wasted on the young.

Anyway, we were sitting right at the bottom of the stairs where everyone was walking up. Tattoos are definitely a defining statement of the 20 somethings. They were everywhere and seemingly on everyone. There were enough sleeves to make tank tops an oxymoron. And since the size of the dresses was little more than the size of my laptop monitor, there was a lot of skin showing. Watching the little dresses go up the stairs was highly entertaining. Not that I could really see anything. Every time a set of cheeks was headed up the stairs, a bunch of guys were going up the stairs, too. It was like magic. And it is way funny to watch the guys in my age range, geezer launching pad, busy cheek chasing. I'm pretty sure when I was 23 that a guy in his 40s and 50s would not have even registered on my radar.

I don't think my mom did so well gambling. They were ready to leave before midnight. I offered to come back and get them even if it was 3 or 4 in the morning. They have been known to come in that late in Vegas. Why do gamblers think slot machine are alive? They talk to them, they do magic finger waves over the screen while it is spinning. One lady I remember had her purse on a stool next to her while she played the slot and in her purse was a stuffed animal poking its head out of the purse and pointed toward the slot...for good luck. She would pet the animal and pull the handle (back before all the push button technology!). Kinda of reminded me of Professor Trelawney in Harry Potter.

They had a good time though. Chicken tacos, cake and ice cream, and wishing my mom a very Happy Birthday~! As my mom said to Me Too, her gambling partner and neighbor, there is a 20 year age difference between her and I...and I'm 20 years older. Talk about revisionist history. Sheesh.

Time for Music, Singing, and Genetic Engineering

I actually found this video because another blogger had this video on their blog and, of course, it reminded me of Charlie the Unicorn which led me on a wild chase through YouTube universe.

It has been a LONG week. Mom and Dad and sister and brothers and family are coming to my place tomorrow and then for my mom's birthday she wants to go to Pechanga Casino. And Me Too is coming, too. They are short gambling fools. My mom and her buddy Me Too are a hoot and my dad might actually go gambling with them. He is lucky without even trying which will fry their slot machine hineys off.

Ah, yes. Wheel of Fortune here we come.

Do Vegan Cows Give Brown Moo Juice?

College is killing my carnivore buzz. Teddy Bear started back to school and she is taking a nutrition class...and the teacher is a vegan. Now we have brown milk in the fridge. I've heard of moo juice. but poo juice? She says its soy milk but it tastes like nothing. She poured it on little pieces of cardboard and plywood. I know, I know, it was cereal, but it still didn't taste any better with the poo juice on it. I probably should learn to like it because I am lactose intolerant. Can you imagine not being able to buy Baskin Robbins 31 flavor ice creams? Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey...or whatever its called because you will be a writhing lactose emitting alien within 30 minutes?

BFF and I once went to a scrapbook convention (hey, I saw that eye roll! Knock it off) and they were giving away Skinny Cow non-dairy ice cream treats. Yummy! I can eat those, right? Right? No, no, I can't. I ended up LYING down in the lobby of the convention center wondering which was worse? Farting in public or trying to walk bent over to the bathroom and farting in a stall? Luckily, that feeling passed.

Teddy Bear loves her nutrition class and actually bought a book called "Skinny Bitch." I guess it's a vegan cookbook. TB was making a grocery list out of this book. Like it's hard to remember if its green, it's keen. She knows how I feel about the whole subject but she said they have a vegan sloppy joe? Both Killdozer and I look at her like she has eaten a magic mushroom. How do you make a VEGAN sloppy joe? With tofu, of course.

It's going to be a tough semester...

In a Battle of Wits, I'm Half Way There...

Christopher Hitchens...Vanity Fair magazine article..."Why Women Aren't Funny."

"Probe a little deeper, though, and you will see what Nietzsche meant when he described a witticism as an epitaph on the death of a feeling. Male humor prefers the laugh to be at someone's expense, and understands that life is quite possibly a joke to begin with—and often a joke in extremely poor taste. Humor is part of the armor-plate with which to resist what is already farcical enough. (Perhaps not by coincidence, battered as they are by motherfucking nature, men tend to refer to life itself as a bitch.)"


But he has a point. Why the hell do we call it Mother Nature? And why is life a bitch and then you die? I know if a lady were in charge, no friggin' way would I have a visit each month from Aunt Flo and PMS would stand for Please Me, S'il vous plait. He says we don't need to be funny because guys will like us anyway for you know what. Yeah that.

"Wit, after all, is the unfailing symptom of intelligence."

So, in a battle of wits are you fully armed? Or like me...just a half wit.

Pick Me, Pick Me!

Do you know football? The last time I followed football the Rams were still in Los Angeles and the "Fearsome Foursome" ruled the defense. Well, in my mind they did. I loved Roman Gabriel, and, of course, Deacon Jones, Rosey Grier, Merlin Olsen, and Lamar Lundy. I loved ABC sports' This Week in the NFL show. I loved learning the nuances of the games and about the players and coaches. Vince Lombardi, Tom Landry. Monday Night Football here I come. Sundays will be in front of the boob tube. Not that I have any idea how Fantasy Football is scored.

But what do I know now? Nada. Zip. Zilch. And yet I have a Fantasy Football team and I'm in a pay league. Forked over my $50 to pay. I am such a geek. Nerd. Dork is probably more like it. The name of my team? The NanoBots.


Yes, that is my logo. Go ahead. Make fun of me. The commissioner...well, L's hubby, the Marine, originally had my team named the Killers. I cannot seem to leave well enough alone.

The draft went well, I think. It went fast. We all had our laptops so it was so cool to see who picked who. The quarterback I originally wanted got picked in the first round with the very first pick. Drew Brees. So sad. As a tribute to Killdozer I picked Phillip Rivers and San Diego Chargers defense. I have Marion Barber, too.

I remember playing football in the street with my brothers. I loved kicking the football and I loved throwing it watching it spiral down the street but god help the damn brother who actually hit me. They would get their butt kicked later on.

I'm still looking for the Rams though. Someone told me they are still around somewhere. Traitors.

Why I Will Never Be Allowed to be an Eyewitness

Scene: Teddy Bear and I have just come back from seeing a movie, 9:30 at night. I'm up in my room getting ready for bed.

TB: Mom, mom, there's truck parked on the side of the house with its lights off.

I peek out the window that looks down over the street practicing my mad spy skills. Yep, small pick-up, lights off, guys talking in the middle of the street. This is a small side street that dead ends a few hundred yards away at an entrance to the snooty neighborhood behind me (with most of the homes empty because of foreclosure) and to a small park where teenagers hang out and do stupid teenage stuff. The guys are talking fairly excitedly about something when one guy gets out of the truck with a baseball bat. *gulp* I had just been about to go to the balcony off my room that also looks right down on them. Across the street is an elementary school. The parking lot is right there with a long sloping driveway. Baseball Bat guy is walking slowly toward one of the driveway entrances to the school. What is he doing? His buddy is slowly following him, lights still off.

Mom: Teddy Bear, go get me the house phone. I'm going to call the police.

TB: Your cell phone is right there, use that.

Mom: But they won't know where I'm calling from when I use my cell phone. Go get the phone!

TB: That is the dumbest thing, just call.

Mom: Damn it....go get the phone.


TB stomps off to get the phone. Meanwhile, I am now out on my balcony spying on what is going on. I have the best seats in the house. Baseball Bat guy is still walking slowly, bat in hand, toward the school. Truck pulls slowly into the long driveway and stops. Bat Guy has his cell phone out now and obviously is taking pictures with it. WTF? He is crouching and cautiously moving toward a planter that edges the driveway. He has his bat held at the ready and goes into the low bushes and flowers and starts taking pictures. His buddy is all excited in the car. Whatever it is, Bat Guy is close and clicking away. Bat Guy backs up suddenly and a big dog comes out of the bushes. I mean a tall dog, kind of mangy. A dog? They are all excited about a dog? Big Dog ambles off down the sidewalk toward the school like he does this everyday. Not a care in the world. Bat Guy and pick-up are slowly following him as he heads toward the front of the school. Big Dog disappears into the school and now I hear both guys yelling and throwing rocks and basically carrying on like a bunch of lunatics. I call 911.

911: What is your emergency? (or whatever it is they say).

Me: I need the police! Some guys are at the school across the street yelling and with baseball bats and throwing rocks or something!

911: Are they fighting?

Me: Huh?


What does she mean are they fighting? Sheesh. What a dope. I forget that even though I can see perfectly what is going on, poor 911 has no clue what I am looking at.

Me: No, no, sorry! They were together in the truck and now they are both in the school. They were parked on the side of my house with their lights off and now they are in the school.


While I speak another truck pulls up, an SUV type vehicle.

Me: Oh my god, another truck just pulled up and they are parking in front of the school!

911: What kind of vehicle is it and what color is it?

Me: Type? Color? Uh...uh. Well, ummm, the lights at the school are those orange hideous lights that change all the colors, so ummm I'm not sure what color they are. Maybe gold for the SUV and faded red for the little pick up truck.


By this point 911 is convinced that I'm a moron and I can't say they are far off the mark. Teddy Bear is looking at me like she is now convinced I'm the last person she would want around in a real emergency.

911 says they will send someone over to check it out.

The second truck was actually just a mom which I forgot to tell 911. She gets out of the truck and marches the determined mom walk to the front of the school like she is looking for something. I can hear them talking to each other now, the pick-up guys and the truck mom like they know each other. Okay. What is going on?

The Big Dog is now walking ever so slowly up the driveway back toward the street like he has had enough fun. It is such a strange walk. He has long legs and he has a lope to his walk, not much of a tail. His whole attitude is, go ahead, make my day, mess with me. The people are all agitated but Big Dog acts like he does not have a care in the world. Baseball Bat guy is throwing rocks at the dog now!! This is getting ridiculous. Dog does not seem to care and walks off down the street toward the park it seems. The guys drive off.

Great. Cops will show up and no one will be here and I will really look like a dork.

Sure enough. Pick up is now gone and 2 cop cars pull up. Two? With their lights off? They slowly glide down the street and into the school. The mom is still there and they block her so she cannot get out.

Because the school is built on a slight slope below me their voices carry right up to me. I hear them talking and then I hear the words mountain lion or maybe she says bobcat.

Oh shit. Where is my fat weiner dog? My big gray tabby cat? As if on cue, I hear my cat start carrying on just below me. Teddy Bear races down to lock the dog up but good luck catching the cat.

But everyone eventually pulls away because whatever it is gone. Teddy Bear and I stay on the balcony looking for the damn cat. My house sits on the corner and there is an easement right behind my house that slopes down to the snooty neighborhood, perfect for burglars and wild animals.

A cop car slowly comes down the street again and this time pick-up guy meets up with him and they start talking. And there it is. Mr Mountain Lion or Bobcat just walking down the sidewalk. Strolling. Out for an after dinner constitutional. Now both cop cars quickly pull up with their bright lights shining on it. They actually try to box it in with their cars. One races down the street and then turns around and shines its lights on the cat and the other cop car does the same from the other direction. What they forget is that the damn cat just has to cut across the street from the side not blocked off...which it does.

Right behind my house.




There is now a mountain lion running around behind my house? What is it with mountain lions and this family? Isn't it bad enough they tried to eat my ex-husband and other daughter (but that is another story)?

The cops are all excited now but what are they going to do? Hunt it down and shoot it? No, no, they drive off and leave us.

I am glad to say that the old mountain lion made its way to the fields near my house and was seen the next day and for a few days causing excitement but managing never to get caught.

And he didn't eat my fat weiner dog.

Slow Bistro

I love this stuff...I don't get it, but I love it. So many visual puns going on. How many do you see? A tongue lashing for sure. ha, ha.

Little Gray Cells vs. Blubber Cells-UPDATE

UPDATE: Well, unbeknownst to me, PETA (People for Exceedingly Tacky Ads) put out a Save the Whales ad to fight blubber...just trying to help me along in my quest to be svelte and slim just like them PETA people. In their quest to save fat women everywhere, they have so graciously given us their best advice...GO VEGETARIAN. I think they have taken their advice to an extreme and stuffed their heads full of straw because you know brains are like, meat, you know and meat, you know, is BAD. So all you beached whales at the beach, put down the burger and grab some tofu...then it can be your turn to make fun of someone. Of course, don't whales eat meat? Oh man, wait until PETA finds out.



I have started a new diet...and it's not even New Year's. I am only 5 feet 3 inches tall and look good at 120 pounds but let's just say I'm a few bowling balls over that weight. I have been watching what I eat. I still eat it, but now I watch it as I do. Nah. Just kidding. I have actually been good for a while. I even went out with the girls at P. F. Chang's in La Jolla and did not have a drink *gasp* and only ordered lettuce wraps. But I know this is all a mind f**k my fat cells are conspiring on.

I used to think it was my brain in charge. You know, just make the right choices, don't buy the wrong foods, blah, blah, blah. Now I know why that has never worked. My brain is not in charge of fat. There is a whole fat union thing going on and the union thugs are totally in control. They are so clever. They let me think I'm so slick for a few days and then, wham, they send out the blubber cells in charge of salty yummy chips. It was an all out offensive. Normandy Beach took place in my cellulite stricken thighs. But the little gray cells won that skirmish. I resisted. I gave name, rank, and serial number. (There was no frickin' way I was telling them my weight.)

The next offensive was tasty nummy oh-so-little-they-can't-possibly-count-as-calorie desserts at P.F. Chang's. Fortunately, none of the other traitors, I mean, friends ordered dessert, so by default I won. Blubber union headquarters was not amused. Picket lines were organized. Busloads of fatty cells were sent in as shock troops. I capitulated. The white flag went up. I ordered a Monte Cristo sandwich when I was out with my brother yesterday. This is not just a sandwich. It is a DEEP FRIED sandwich. Served with fries. But you know what? After days and days of being good, it just tasted greasy. I even gave my fries to my sister-in-law and only ate 3. Okay, 6, but they were little ones. I didn't even finish it. I have been practicing on the super slow eating thing. I read an article once that said French women stay skinny because it takes them forever to eat, so they don't eat a lot. That is how they get away with eating fattening foods. Well, that was their theory anyway. I think it has more to do with being a mistress and having to duck and cover a lot.

I think it really helped going to see Body Worlds in San Diego a few Sundays ago. Such a strange exhibit. I was totally not freaked out until looking at one body, I saw a tattoo on the wrist. It was like getting hit upside the head. One exhibit had a thin cross-section of an obese body. You could see the layers of fat on the back, in the stomach, just everywhere. You know it's bad enough to get a quick glimpse of your own fat on your back much less see it on exhibit.

I am even re-reading a book I have had for ages by Joyce Vedral on getting a fit body. I love that book. Now, if only I could look like her just by turning the pages.

"I'm Not Hanging Noodles on Your Ears"

I am making tea with my navel over this video and will be running out to get this book...wait, is that an idiom, too? So, do you have thighs like banana trees? What do you mean my head should grow in the ground like an onion?

I have enough trouble understanding my 19-year-old, I had no idea it would be that hard everywhere. My brother says things are "sick." I almost hit him the first time he said it but being the baby brother, he knew what he was doing and dodged out of the way. Sick means good. If something is bad, what do you call it?

LitChat on Twitter (yes, Twitter again) has a chat three times a week and today was with a just published author Jag Bhalla...and I missed it damn it. I went back and read the Twitter stream. It is so fun to be able to actually tweet with the author and have them answer you back. I can pretend I sound somewhat edumacated and sophistated...instead of being the hermit holed up in my office still in her pajamas at two o'clock in the afternoon. Of course, how edumacated can you be when you use words like "tweet?"


I guess I will shower and put some clothes on....I mean I have clothes on...put on some outside clothes and run to Barnes and Noble. And I must be attractive because I have thighs like a banana tree, and I'm not hanging noodles on your ears saying that, but I may be blowing sunshine up your skirt.

Tiny Bullet Train to My Fridge

wired

"Someday, a tiny subway will deliver your groceries. Won't that be nice? http://bit.ly/YVYfn"

I CLICK on the link in the Wired tweet and I read that a tiny subway will deliver my groceries. I am picturing little underground bullet trains that zap me my milk that I am always running out of because Killdozer and Teddy Bear are baby cows. Would it be delivered to a nice mail box or would it go right to my front door or even right into my house!!! I know it's asking a lot to have it put in my fridge for me, but what the heck.

There is a link in the article to the Urban Mole and I CLICK on it. Of course I do. Urban Mole? An underground package delivery system that runs through the sewers. I'm picturing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles patrolling to keep it safe.

I CLICK on the link to the Prague Pneumatic Post. Of course. My self control is less than a 2-year-old at the candy store or a 5-year-old in the cereal aisle. Basically nonexistent. Well, that sends me to Wikipedia. I don't know about you, but when I read that kind of phrase, I stop and think. A Pneumatic Post. You mean like those whooshy tubes you use at the drive-up teller window? I picture an endless spaghetti-like system of pneumatic tubes all over the country sending stuff back and forth.

I CLICK on Google and YouTube to find out about this because Wikipedia is always just a jumping off point. Do you know YouTube has a song on it called "Sub Rosa Subway?" By Klaatu. And it's about an American inventor (I love that phrase) Alfred Ely Beach who invented the Beach Pneumatic Transit, New York's first subway, but which through corruption and bureaucracy gets nixed...in the 1870s. The more things change, the more they stay the same.



But I still don't have any pictures or videos of Prague's Pneumatic Post. What is it? Is it still around? I really want to see it.

Uh oh. How did I get here?

Honest, I Can See

My birthday is coming up...on September 11th. Yep. My brother was born on December 7th. Yep. If this keeps up, there will be a disaster on all of my siblings' birthdays.

My license expires next month and I still have not heard from the DMV. They found me to register my car and thanks to Governor Girlie Man my bill is a lot higher this year for the "privilege" of driving my car on the streets of California.

I am hoping, and if I was a praying type person, I would totally be praying that I do not have to actually go in to renew my license. The last time was a nightmare. Not because they were slow. No, I made an appointment and only waited a few minutes to start the bureaucratic drivel. As I am waiting in line to take the eye test, I am thinking to myself, "Piece of cake, self. Those charts are like neon sign big. I should probably memorize them but, shoot, I can read them just fine, no need to cheat."

My turn. The fine bureaucrat tells me to read one of the lines from chart B. Easy peasy. Then she asks me to cover my right eye and read the sign. Uh oh. As with everything in my life right now, nothing is balanced, not even my eyeballs. My left eye is farsighted. That's good. Reading chart B is easy. Now cover your left eye. Shitty shit shit. Where the hell did the chart go? You would think I would remember the letters since I just read them for the nice lady. No, no, you would be soooo wrong. I struggle, guess, hem and haw. Finally, she has me look into a machine. What the frig? When does the dastardly DMV turn into optometrists? She asks me over and over if I can read the lines. Just give me my license. She asks me if I wear glasses to drive? Nope. I've never needed them because, you see, I drive with BOTH eyes open. Call me crazy.

She gives me my license, sends me to get a new picture, but tells me that next time I will probably need glasses to get my license. But I don't have glasses for driving. Lord help me.

Gosh, I guess I do know how to pray.

I Love Unicorns

Housewife Savant has a great post on unicorns...nah, just kidding. She has an AWESOME POST on commenting on blogs. As always, she is a black belt in wordology or writerology or whatever. The woman can ninja punch the hell out of the written word.

I love comments. What blogger doesn't? You are reading one of your favorite bloggers and there's a bunch of comments on a post. Yeah. You grab your bowl of popcorn to dig in and enjoy what people what to have to say. Bloggers make good commenters, you know. But, no. Sometimes the comments are so...so...not pertinent. But to be honest, I like any comment on my blog. Well, I guess, I wouldn't like to be yelled at. I am a big weenie.

So if I have left an inane and moronic comment on your blog, I'm sorry. And Charlie the Unicorn is weird.

The Longest Way

For some reason, Eloh, this reminded me of something you would appreciate. Sometimes the journey changes who you are and sometimes it just reminds you of who you are. And sometimes it just puts your ass on a plane and takes you for a ride.

Bing...Bing...Bing Goes the Internet

I have been captured by this jingle. I cannot stop listening. Oh lord. Bing, bing, bing, bing.

That "dance" is so cool. And if you are not laughing your ass off at 45 seconds into this video, there is seriously something wrong with you. Don't you want a pair of pants like Jonathan? Go Bing the internet.

Damn that Microsoft. www.bing.com

Frugal People of the World Unite~!

From a letter to the editor of the Vail Daily:

"All you people who own and drive gas-guzzling SUVs out there, as far as i'm concerned, you are all eco-terrorists! You need to beimmediately arrested, jailed and have your vehicles forcibly confiscated from you. I advocate long prison terms for your willful idiocy!

You are destroying your children's future by condemning them to a planet that will not support life anymore because you are belching out ungodly amounts of CO2 from your SUVs, causing irreversible global climate change to occur.

Are you aware that millions and millions of innocent men, women and children are dying on this planet every single day, just so you can live in million dollar condos and drive around in luxury vehicles?

I urge the Obama administration and the state legistlatures to immediately criminalize all SUVs and stop this insanity before it destroys us all! If you wasteful American idiots resist, may you be either thrown into government-operated FEMA concentration camps or taken out and shot.

Take it from Richard Heinberg and his book, “The Party's Over.” Get it through your thick heads!

Enough of your madness!

Wren Guzman"


Good lord.

So what else should be illegal and cause us to be thrown in jail for? I think all the teenagers who throw their fast food crap out of car windows should go to jail for being ecoterrorists. Then we could send Jack in the Box to jail with them so he can keep Ronald McDonald company.

Come on, folks, I'm sure you are guilty of some ecoterrorism and need to purchase carbon credits and offsets. I wonder if planting a tree absolves me of my sins?

I think frugal people of the world probably have the right idea. If you squeeze a nickel until it cries uncle, you are probably being green. They reduce because damn if they are going to buy anything, they reuse everything (wash their plastic sandwich bags, Cool Whip containers, etc.) and recycle. They definitely recycle. They paid that damn nickel to the state for recycling and they are going to get it back. I had a friend who thought it was an outrage that coffee could cost $3.00 or a martini could be $15.00. She brown bagged it every day and you know what? Because she watched every penny, it was a great diet! No gluttony allowed when you are frugal.

So we should all happily wear the title cheapskate, frugal, tightwad and tell everyone we are being green. And maybe we can stay out of jail where all the SUV driving moms are organizing a penitentiary PTA.

Bean Pot from Alpha Centauri

I think my mom likes aliens...she has always been crazy about outer space stuff, you know. I knew there was something amiss about her. We were making beans for the BBQ and mom said the lid was a no go. It did look kind of yucky. She went hunting for a new lid that would fit and this is what she created. She is the one that said it looked like an alien, not me. I'm afraid to find out who my dad really is....Michael Rennie?

Shazbot. I mean damn.

I Am "Loosing" My Mind

*sigh* This has been causing me to LOSE my mind and when I finish LOSING my mind, my cranium will have more room for my brain and it will feel LOOSER. Also, my friend L is putting me on a diet and training program and will be kicking my ass for the new few months, so I will be LOSING weight so my pants will fit LOOSER because I don't want to look like a LOSER. *fingers in the shape of an L on my forehead*

I am a grammatical hack. I love run on sentences. I think the ellipsis is an awesome super hero of punctuation. I know what a serial comma is but I think of Dexter now when I read about it. "Serial Comma Arrested in Bloody Diagram Killings." But this has been driving me batty.

Lose and loose. Loose has a nice sibilant sound to it, like you are about to say Lucy, as in Lucy has lots of 'splaining to do. Lose is all harsh, like bees with their panties in a bunch.

Thanks for letting me vent. The random PSA for no good reason is over.

But don't get me started on isles and aisles.