Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Another Great MeMe - or what to do when you have too much time on your hands and no original thoughts

Another Great Meme, Thank you Sid

YOUR DETECTIVE NAME (favorite color + favorite animal species + Esquire):
The Green Monkey / Horse, Esquire

YOUR STAR WARS NAME (the first 3 letters of your last name + first 2 letters of your first name):
Ca-Sta Ca

SUPERHERO NAME (“The” + 2nd favorite color + favorite drink):
Vesuvius Margarita (The hot and cold Power Ranger)

NASCAR FAN NAME (the first names of your grandfathers/mothers):
Delmar David Lynee

STRIPPER NAME (your favorite scent + favorite treat):
Apricot/Vanilla Sherbert (ice cream didn’t sound right)

WITNESS PROTECTION NAME (mother’s & father’s middle names)
Victoria Orville

DEBUTANTE NAME (your favorite season/holiday + favorite flower):
Autumn Nasturtium

HIPPY NAME (What you ate for breakfast + your favorite plant or tree):
Cinnamon Raisin Rice Fuchsia

YOUR ALTERNATIVE ROCK BAND’S NAME (Shoe size + Favorite Food + Favorite Car model + s): 9 Take Out Rangers

YOUR ROCK BAND'S TOUR NAME (“The” + Your favorite hobby + favorite weather element + “Tour”):

The Blogging Thunder Tour

JULIEANN’S CREATION: YOUR MAD SCIENTIST NAME: ("Doctor"+ Your father's first three letters of his first name + the last five of your last name):
Dr. Thunturf

Have Fun and Happy Halloween

Saturday, October 27, 2007

Random Hit And Run

What else would you call a post that is about nothing and everything? So this weekend we have Burp. Both Ducky and I worked today so I took Burp to work with me, on the contingency that he’d let me take him out for breakfast. I know, the inhumanity of it all.

I know my six year old grandson, he’s a bottomless pit, and when he grows up he will be tall and thin (but hopefully not scrawny as his worthless biological donor.) Right now he really resembles’ Ex number 1’s son, that’s a good thing. But he eats like there is no tomorrow. So at work he ate a bowl of dynabites, aka Cocoa Krispies, a fruit roll up, and a bunch of grapes – that was between 6 and 10am. Then we went to breakfast where he ate two and a half sausage links and an entire adult size pancake – that was between 10 and 11. Then we went to the local Catholic church’s holiday bazaar, which really should have been labeled a rummage sale. Grocery shopping, and home for the Ducks game.

It’s 2pm and Burp is hungry for lunch. He’s had another fruit roll up, an Otter Pop, because grandma’s house without Otterpops is a sad grandma comment, and graham crackers. So I made him half a peanut butter sandwich and a can of Batman noodle soup. The kid is a bottomless pit I tell you.

Have you noticed how the chicken soup part of the soup just isn’t as good as it was when we were kids? I give Burp all the noodles a bit of the broth and keep the rest for myself. I only use half a can of water when I make it, and the broth just isn’t the same. Bummer Dude.

I’ve been kind of bummed. No not so much over the soup, because I can live with that, but over the huge gap in my life since late February early March. I’m one of those people who doesn’t collect a lot of friends that I let in close. I’ve always been that way, because have you ever noticed, three really is a crowd? What’s up with that? So anyway, no matter what I say to the person who is now a gaping hole in my life, it comes out wrong. I’m bummed about that. She’s recent started coming back into Friday night chat, but I have to wonder why, because it’s not to renew our former friendship. She has said she’s quit writing (which is a shame) so what gives?

Have you noticed how many people stop by a blog and totally tank the author? Jesus Fucking Christ, what is up with that? Certainly a blog is a place of give and take, but honestly I am shocked by how many people just dump their crap on the author. My blog is about nothing and everything. I ramble and rant at will, sometimes it is random, some times I’m thoroughly lost in the desert, but hey, it’s my blog. I was utterly shocked to see some of the crap on a friend of mine’s blog recently that was a blatant attack on her and totally ungrounded. It was petty, without merit (apparently a lot because I’ve said that twice now) and under the guise of Anonymous. Chicken Shit. If you have something to say sign it with either your name or your handle.

Now Natalie gets this crap all the time and I love how she deals with it. But my blogging friend this happened to yesterday doesn’t get this crap. And what did JA get raked for? A Metaphor, a metaphor about her passion for writing. Sheesh, Anonymous probably couldn’t spell Metaphor, wouldn’t understand the definition of Metaphor unless they went back and read the comments on said post, because Christie ever so nicely gave Anonymous the definition and link just to prove it. Good girl Christie.

By the way, neither Natalie or JA deserve this blatant bottom feeding hit and run. But just like the world, the Internet is full of large foreheaded low lifes, suffering God complexes.

So I am watching Oregon take on USC and hoping, hoping, alright yes, they win. But I have to ask… Why is it okay to spike the ball to stop the clock, I mean it’s a blatant act? But a team will get penalized if the QB throws the ball away. What’s up with that? Spike/throw, who came up with those rules? And why do my Ducks always have to make it suspenseful and nail biting in the last quarter? Arrrh.

Why do I always think up a poetic run, right when my sleeping pills are kicking in, I’ve begun my prayers, and I’ve got an airshift in six hours? I had this great beginning running through my mind last night as if it was problem riddled anxiety. I repeated repeated, repeated, repeated every word, thinking kewl I’ll remember this in the morning. Nada. Sucka. Zilch.

No airshift tomorrow morning, tonight my brain will be empty, a bottomless pit like Burp’s tummy, blank as new fallen snow. So is the addle pated ability of this poet.


Thursday, October 25, 2007

Talk Thursday - Heavenly Bodies

Enlightened Fairy had a great idea, Talk Thursday. I want to blog more, but often am clueless as to what I should blog. I specifically enjoy those 12am epiphanies, but darn it’s not 1234am. So Talk Thursday is perfection. This week’s title…

Heavenly Bodies

I come from a camping family. We hiked during the days in the desert, woods, forest, or beach wherever we were camping that trip, and at night we sat out by a campfire and enjoyed quality family time. I miss those campfires, the s’mores, banana boats, singing, and the stars.

In my family each child became a scout. Unlike most other kids, I was never ashamed of being in Scouts; I loved being a Scout. Two weeks every summer was spent at Skyland ranch in the San Jacinto Mountains, next to time with my grandfather, it was the highlight of my childhood. In scouting I learned about the constellations, some of the Greek myths that went with each cluster of stars. Away from the light pollution of Los Angeles the stars were brilliant, the sky seemingly jam packed with stars In the The Milky Way a gentle white swath across the sky studded with bigger, brighter stars that sparkled in the night.

Each night if we didn’t spend time around a campfire singing folk songs, we were in a meadow lying on our backs watching stars that seemed so close you could touch them. One night, probably in my fifth or sixth year there, we were laying side by side when a huge shooting star arced across the sky from northwest to southeast. The quiet whispers immediately turned to awed oohs of wonder as each girl in the meadow drank in the vision of that star shooting across our vision. And then it was gone; each of us secretly wishing for another, just so we could live it again.

On the Oregon coast, oft times, the sky is clouded over and the stars are hidden from view. But on the clear nights I can see Orion hung in the sky just above my house. The Big and Little Dippers with Polaris navigating the sky. Venus hangs just over the ocean, Mars rides in the eastern sky, and Cassiopeia spends half the night on her head.

The stories have faded from those nights spent around campfires and in the meadow. I can’t identify as many constellations as I could forty years ago. But the memory of that shooting star still burns bright. I can’t remember who was lying there with me as we watched, but I can still feel the grass in the meadow under my back soft and poky. I still remember the coolness of the air just above the ground as the temperature hit dew point. And I still remember the awe of that star.


Wednesday, October 24, 2007

A confusing blog born of fire

Every Tuesday night, I’m up late. Last night was no difference. Tuesday is the night I put together my Wednesday Links. It’s Dancing With The Stars Results night so I’m blogging for Jenny T’s Dancing Off The Edge. But I stayed up even later last night mesmerized, horrified, and saddened by the California fires, drinking in every reported word.

My entire childhood was spent in southern California. I’m third generation Angeleno, and am proud of my beginnings. Now a lot of the happier places in my memory are burning and my heart aches. Anza Boraga, Los Padres National Forest, Skyland Ranch and the San Jacintos, Lake Arrowhead and a camp I can’t remember the name of but probably had to do something with Arrowhead or pines, and then Big Bear. Which are burning or have already burnt, I’m not sure. But the earth is reclaiming it’s own, cleansing the scars, and continuing it’s cycle of life, destruction, death, rebirth.

These memories were up near the surface before the fires broke out. My brother was visiting this past week and that always makes me think of our happy childhood. My parents tried their darnedest to give us a varied beginning. Not bad for a woman who had a nanny growing up and a silver spoon, and a man who at times only had one pair of socks. We were raised on motorcycles, horses, boats, long family hikes, and a full respect of nature.

Those beginnings influenced my brother’s present, much more than it did mine. He has three thriving businesses in Sioux Falls, is well known on the mid west racing circuit, and lives life to its fullest. My brother lives to race. At forty nine he still lives, eats, and breathes racing. He has nine racing teams. All three businesses are racing related: a performance auto parts business, auto shop, and vinyl printing business. He is challenged, he grows, he is content.

Sometimes I stop in my tracks and wonder at my growth/shake my head in self-contempt. Am I stale, walking circles in the same ruts that I traced decades ago? I think not, but as a human self doubt is just another facet of my personality. Am I making the most of what I can be? Probably not but I am happy and content. Do I need more? Well of course. I need peace. I need to be needed. I need to contribute. I need to help build up others to be worthy of myself, and my place here on earth; to fulfill the legacy that my parents taught me.

I watched those images flickering on the telly last night. The terror of the lives lost, fear for the animals trying to flee the firestorms, the heartbreak people left in the wake of this tragedy race through my thoughts. I have been extremely blessed in my life, suffered no tragedies that I couldn’t over come and survive. And these people will survive too. I marveled at the strength and tenacity of those gathered in Qualcomm awaiting the first opportunity to go ?home? and start again. At the hands and hearts that gathered to help those in their time of need. I listened later to the comments of Northwest firefighters who knew their time to finally give a helping hand back to their Southern California counterparts had come.

They will survive; the trees will grow again, because well that is what trees do. Animals will repopulate their habitats, because, well that is what animals do. And mankind will rebuild their towns, their roads, their cities because that is what we do. The lives might be gone, but the memories are there. Memories that sustain us, strengthen us, and make us rebuild again.

As I sat there last night and this morning I remember how blessed I am. I thank God, my parents, my siblings, and my friends for the support systems I have always had. To those left in the wake of this firestorm my heart goes out to you, my thoughts are for you, and my prayers remember you. As cliché as it sounds, tomorrow is a brand new day.


Sunday, October 21, 2007

CV Rick’s Thirteen First Meme

First day of school:
(I searched for a picture and couldn’t find one. It was the one time I was cute, too.)
Our house sat on a bluff and you could see straight across the valley to the school. Both Mike Taylor and I had afternoon session of Kindergarten. In the west corner of our backyard sat a finished brick and flagstone barbecue where Mike and I sat all that morning waiting, waiting for the bell to end morning session, knowing that then we’d get our turn at school. I remember being so excited. My teacher was Mrs. Espinoza. Two things stand out from that day, oh mi gawd forty-six years ago:
1) Out of three afternoon kindergarten classes, six of the five year olds in my neighborhood were in my class. Six of us: Mike, Pam, George, Karin, Jody, and myself. We sat in a group three in front, three in back and all except Mike and I cried; unfortunately we were sitting in the middle of the others holding our ears shut.
2) In my class there were six girls named Debbie, it was then I decided in needed a different name.

First kiss:
I think I was in about the fifth grade. We were playing dress up in Kim Simmons garage. I loved playing dress up at Kim’s house because she had all her mom’s old square dancing petticoats. They were awesome. Kim was a year younger than me, her brother was a year older and in the middle of playing dress up one day he kissed me. While I remember it, I don’t actually remember the kiss. Keith was also there the first time I played doctor.

First date:
Ronnie Ables, his name will come up later too. I was a freshman, he was a Junior with the blackest hair and bluest eyes. He took me to see a James Bond double header at the La Habra drive in his truck.

First car:
A 1958 two tone – root beer and cream – Chevy Belaire automatic. I drove it for a year and a half with no license. I loved that car, it was dependable, a great heater and defroster.

First time:
People always tell me this doesn’t count. But in my head it does. It was kind of a date rape situation, although we weren’t dating, just messing around. When I said no, he didn’t listen. He was very apologetic when he realized I’d been a virgin. He later, I mean years later, apologized, and then tried it again. He didn’t like my knee.

First break up:
Ronnie broke up with me, we dated some more, he went out with Doreen, a chick at Monte Vista. I was heart broken. We dated some more. He broke up with me, dated Doreen. This went on for a year and a half. To this day, when a relationship is over, it is dead over.

First 'real' job:
My cousin was a groom at Paradise Turf when I was in high school. When I was fifteen she got me a job mucking stalls. I loved it, absolutely loved it. I worked there for two summers, when I was in town (this was in Phoenix, we lived in LA, but spent a lot of time at my aunt’s.)

First time to lose a job:
Bizaar story. My third job was working as a waitress in the best restaurant in Florence, at the beginning of my senior year. I am a shitty waitress, the job just did not click with me, but I was trying. Suddenly one-day the restaurant’s owner called me into his office and told me he had to lay me off. I understood laid off and was thankful I wasn’t being fired, because I didn’t want that on my work record. A week or so later (I had two jobs at the time) my other boss called me and asked why I’d written a piece for the paper? I’d not. The article accused my other employer of paying slave wages of $1 an hour to children. First off, I was 17, I knew $1 an hour was not minimum wage, but getting paid to ride horses was a dream and I accepted the pay gladly. I did not write the article. But both my bosses (I didn’t realize at the time they lived next door to each other) thought out of the barn crew I was the only one smart enough to write the article. So boss number two kindly laid me off. Now really, don’t you see that as a compliment? And I was a bad waitress.

First time in love:
Ronnie, to this day he is a wonderful pleasant memory. The guy had unbelievable fingers. But we never had sex. He gave me my first orgasm, and it would be a full ten years, two husbands, many boyfriends later before I would get to experience another.

First drink:
Hmmm, I don’t remember exactly (but kind of) my first drink. I’ve really never been much of a drinker, but I would have to assume it was Boones Farm Blackberry Mountain in high school. Shhhhh, it was on a nighttime horse ride out to the beach at work.

First Sign of a Backbone:
Seventh grade on the bus I said Pam’s brother was a brat (he really was) and she took offense at it. I can understand, I mean we stand up for our siblings. When we got off the bus to begin our three block walk home, Pam kept harping at me that she was going to kick my butt. I’ve had my butt kicked a lot of time and it’s not my favorite pastime, but Pam pushed it too far when she ripped the French cuff off my favorite dress. I punched her in the nose and she bled all the way home. It is not to say that I have a wicked punch, she just has a nose that bleeds really easy (she used it to get out of math test all the time) and I took advantage of the fact.

First Ambition:
I wanted to be a Playboy Bunny. Well what girl doesn’t want to be ogled by all the guys? Adored from a far, up close, and personal? And in magazines with boobs? Hey, I was maybe five or six and the neighbor guy had all their pictures on his garage door when I was little. We would crane our heads back to stare up at the pictures on the garage door. I remember they seemed so beautiful. Filters.

First Realization of Mortality:
Maybe the question should have been the first realization of morality. Really, I’m not sure. I’ve always understood mortality, and I have not really been touched much by death. While I remember my dad’s mother (I was two and a half when she died) I don’t remember her dying. My great grandmother died when I was in grade school. And my baby brother died when I was in sixth grade. All these things I understood, so I really can’t answer this one.

This is an open Meme so please if you want to play along do and leave your link below. JulieAnn you’ve already played this one so get to work on the greatest list. Er, please.


Friday, October 19, 2007

Tewkes Greatest Meme

The theme is "The Greatest...", as in the greatest book or movie or place to visit or meme. Whatever. I'm sure you'll get it. You're all smart people, hence I expect smart answers!

Here are the rules: Copy the meme listed below to your blog and answer the 10 questions. At the end of the questions, add one more question of your making. Let's see where this goes! Enjoy!Oh, please note: These don't necessarily have to be the greatest of all time ever. It could be the greatest whatever at this moment in your life. What's great today, might not be tomorrow. I'm as interested in the present as I am in all time, if you will!****

In your opinion, this is the greatest...
1. Book
2. Song
3. Movie
4. T.V. Show
5. Place to live
6. Place to visit
7. Place to eat
8. Fruit/Vegetable
9. Chocolate
10. Quality I Possess

1) The greatest book, my favorite book is Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. I’ve read it seven or eight times at least, I always seem to notice something new. My ideal of the characters has never changed, with each reading they remain clear and unchanged to me as reading one. Characters and images not tarnished by the movie. Of course anything by Jane Austin is aces in my books.

2) This one is so very hard for me. I love music and am in conflict because I have several favorite songs. But the greatest (in this recent span of say five or six years) Five For Fighting’s One Hundred Years. The words are awesome, the simplicity of voice and arrangement superb under linings. But then it could be Cat Steven’s Where Do The Children Play?, hmmm but then again it could be Cat Steven’s Father and Son, or Coldplay’s Clocks.

3) Without a doubt Love Actually. Fabulous casting. Outrageous, delightful, wonderful dialogue. Great plot. This movie dwelt on my mind for weeks after seeing it, months, no maybe years. I love Alan Rickman, Hugh Grant, and Emma Thompson.

4) I use to think it was Farscape or Babylon Five but I’ve tried to go back and watch episodes and they just don’t hold my attention. Joan of Arcadia rocked. Or West Wing was a very fine show.

5) The greatest place to live, undoubtedly the Oregon Coast. Heaven on earth. Enough said.

6) Anywhere with history and ghost. England, Germany, Ireland. Scotland, divine and windy. Show me the ghost. On the other hand have you ever been to Montezuma’s Castle in Mesa Verde, Arizona? Down to the earth spiritual.

7) Some hole in the wall seafood place with good fresh, deep fried squid or lobster (not deep fried. Well there goes my diet)

8) Crunchy Asian Apple pears, the big round ones with the light yellow flesh, not the brown ones, yuck. Acorn Squash (steamed with butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon – screw my diet anyway)

9) Tewkes said it best so I am borrowing her words. I’m not a chocolate snob. I am just a chocoholic. But yummm, Cadbury’s Crunchy pieces. I had them in England and they rocked. But when I’m stateside (like 99.9 percent of my life) I prefer hand dipped chocolate covered cherry truffles from Original Chocolate Sins.

10) My greatest quality, I’m not sure, is this a quality? I don’t’ hold grudges. I really don’t. I may not forget, but I won’t continually hit you over the head with the past. I will not hold it against you forever. Not everyone gets that, they like to hold on to past affronts like some kind of emotional breast plate that they can beat to keep the world at bay. Ask my husband.

Now for my bonus round. My greatest saying and words to live by….

Life is far too long to be miserable, and far too short to not be happy.

But of course we all know that I can’t chose just one…so, runner up number one could be the winner but this is me so who knows.

Where We’ve Been Is, Who We Are.

Wow, that could be number one, it deserved caps. Now I tag anyone and everyone who loves memes. Have fun with this one!


Thursday, October 18, 2007

Warning Labels are for Sissies

You have no idea where my fingers have been for excruciating amounts of time. Held fast to inanimate and sometimes should be animate objects for much longer than desired. No not by design, but by sheer stupidity; by such tunnel vision that all logic and thought of cause and effect are so gone, they are not even on the horizon. Nix, nein, nil.

In beauty college, yes I went to beauty college, (didn’t everyone) they taught us that super glue was originally developed for surgery, but found lacking: its adhesion destroyed by moisture, and it’s strength is severely tested by time. I stand here today to say, bunk! Sissies performed those test. I can vouch for the strength, toughness, and fastidious grip of superglue.

But friends, I think superglue is out done by nail glue, and do you know why? Of course you do you went to Beauty College too. But just incase, it is because nail glue has an additive not found in your common utility draw variety of superglue. Oh, no, nail glue includes an anti fungal.

An anti fungal. So tonight when I stuck my fingers, quite firmly, to my terracotta Halloween, glow in the dark, neon orange and black, Bat cut out candleholder. I. WAS. FUCKIN’. STUCK. But fear not, I will not get fungus. When my nail has become glued to the wrong side of the tip of my finger – and will not look right whether French tipped or nude, I will fear not, because I will not get fungus. When I glued my hand to the table, more than once, in the same day – because, shit I can – I only fretted just a little, but it had nothing to do with fungus. You try getting you palm unstuck from 26 year old formica.

So I have to ask, why do some things stick and other things do not – regardless of amount of pressure applied, porosity, and logic? Why is it that the no clog tips, clog until you just throw them away? Why is it that I can struggle for five minutes to unglue my thumb and index finger, but the nail won’t stick to nail? Why is it that some really cheap plastic tips just break in two when you try to glue them? And why when I accidentally drop just an itty bitty little drop on my new: jeans, jammies, or shirt - it 1) burns (I mean really smoking burns) 2) never comes out 3) and holds the originally color remarkably well. If it wasn’t for the stiff factor, and that hideous smell, I’d consider gluing all my news clothes. Hey they won’t get fungus.


Wednesday, October 17, 2007

The post where I say, Thank You

Do you ever wonder what drives a hypochondriac? Are you a hypochondriac? I could be a recent convert to the church of “Notice me I’m dying.”

A few Saturday’s ago I read a heartbreaking story of a family mourning the loss of their fourteen year old son, picked off before his prime by a small, microorganism that gave him a headache, stiff neck, and blinding pain, before his death. The culprit – an amoeba.

An Amoeba; that itty dividing organism that I once pondered under my high school microscope. The fourteen year old victim had done nothing more heinous than swim in a lake of warm, still water, where happy feet churned up the silt and mud where the Amoeba slept, crept, and waited. Now every time I get a headache and stiff neck I think of that dear departed teen.

No, I know my headache and stiff neck have nothing to do with an Amoeba Nagsomthing or other. And No, I don’t want to make light of this child’s death. I am haunted by the child and a quote in the article from the grieving father, “He asked me if he was going to die? And I said, no.” Of course he said no, even if he’d known I imagine he’d say no. My answer would have been no, because like the father, his loss is an outcome I can’t accept before the end.

A parent should never have to out last their child. I can’t remember if fear that my daughter would be taken from me choked me during my prayers, held me paralyzed in thought, but I know the terror that something might happen to my grandson. The thought alone during my prayers will rip sobs from my chest. God doesn’t do things to us. I know some people and religions believe that, I do not. But I still pour my fears, pleas, longings, and wishes for his wellness, peace, and protection into my nightly prayers. Burp is both mine and Ducky’s light and joy.

For the parents of that young man, now departed, I wish you peace. I know you will never read this, but I wish you peace. For those of you who have touched my life, I wrote this poem. Yes it does especially target some more than others. But it is mean for you all. And I hope it makes more people realize we might not have our tomorrows to appreciate those who have touched us, taught us, loved us, and even not so much liked us. They have all meant something to me, helped create who I am. So please indulge me this poem and read it with your heart, and know I mean this for you.


More than Names

I saw your name today.
Did I remember to let you know,
what you meant?
How you touched my life?
Made me think?
Who I am today
is in part because of you.

I cried your name today
posted in section C
a column over
three postings down
You were so much more
than letters in black on white
in just fifty words or less.

Before my name is no more
Please know you changed me.
The laughing gales,
tearful furrows
lessons learned, together,
your friendship and love,
helped in making me, me.

There I am, just a name
on line ten, in column five.
I was so much more
than words in black on white.
No picture captures what should be seen.
But before I leave, you should know
You were so much more to me.
© 14 September 2007 Calista Cates-Stanturf

Monday, October 15, 2007

Autumn's in the air, Cider's in the cup

Blustery weather is finally hitting the Oregon coast. The briskness of autumn, the gold and red of leaves prepared to fall, the flame of Vine Maple in the last glories of the season. And the surprising days in between of sunshine that lets me plant a few extra bulbs without getting wet or too muddy.

Halloween is right around the corner. Burp and I bought pumpkins for carving the last time we shopped together. Really he paints his, because who wants to have a pumpkin carved this early? He’ll take it home with him the next time he is down. And by then I will have frozen mine for pies, and we’ll need more.

When we were kids Trick or Treat was always followed by hot apple cider and donuts while mom went through the candy and divvied it up evenly so Buddy would get as much as I did despite the fact I am seven years older, and was out two hours longer. In hind- sight it was good and fair. Except wait, dad always got the lion’s share of the chocolate.

I still love trick or treat on Halloween, make sure I have the best candies, my talking candy bowl, and Ducky tallies the amount of kids who come to our door. I think he loves it more than the kids. And to sweeten the pot, it is constant phone calls between here and his sisters’ houses to brag about who go more at the front door.

Just around the corner, the winter days I love, when the rain is falling and I can cuddle up with a football game or good book and be lazy without purpose. I’ve already had a few nice warming fires in the woodstove. Made my first huge pot of chili, and delved into my stack of TBR’s.

And I still have hot apple cider on the cold days of fall and well into winter, spiced with a stick of cinnamon.


Saturday, October 06, 2007

And A Mighty Chest It Is

I think about blogging constantly, Hello my name is Cele, and I blog. A.LOT. SML needs to hold session soon.

Unfortunately I don’t write as much as I think about writing and not nearly as much as the average blogger. Which I suppose is okay, because who in the heck reads my blog anyway? I’m not whining, I just realize that the only person who is hurt by my not blogging is me.

So today I have a bit on my chest, and a mighty chest it is, but a chest no less that can only hold so much. So here are random attacks at thought, comprehension, and higher mental health numbers.

It started raining again today. Nothing new, this is Oregon. But about, hmmm four weeks ago I bought two new sets of windshield wiper blades; a set for Zuzu and a set from Ducky’s commuter car. Well par for course when I bought them Discount Store Down The Street didn’t have all I needed so I bought one refill for the passenger side of my truck and gave the good ones to Ducky. Well that isn’t quite true. Let me rephrase, I set aside the two good matching ones for Ducky. Today’s rain made me decide to change out my blades.

WHO THE HECK THOUGHT UP REFILL? The Marquis De Sade? So today, four weeks later, I throw the refill in the trash (but only after spending an hour trying to master the piece of crap,) drive back to Discount Store Down The Street, who now has the correct blades. Finished the job – piece of cake. Tomorrow I’ll do Ducky’s car.

I believe in truth in advertising. A rare concept I know. But damn it if a product says it’s going to take the soap scum residue and build up off my shower walls, don’t cha think it should….especially after using cases of the crap? I am here to tell you, “Fuck, NO it doesn’t.” Can’t someone tell the truth about their crappy product?

When I write an ad, I try to tell the truth. I really do. Thank God I don’t have some of the crappy restaurants in town as clients, I would be in a world of hurt. But I do have tuna fishermen as clients; so when I say “Buy your tuna off the boat fresh” I make sure I say, while supplies last first.


“While supplies last, fresh tuna is waiting for you on the Fishing Vessel Going Under.” It just makes good business sense to me. The fish will be fresh in supply while it last, and the supply will last until it’s sold. I know there is a gray line there, but let me tell you fresh tuna at a good fee tends to sell fast.

So why can’t a shower cleaner work or at least tell me it’s a fifty - fifty crapshoot? (wow, did you know crapshoot is in the dictionary? I didn’t until my spell checker corrected me. Fuck is too, I guess dictionaries are allowed to cuss, don’t tell my mom she’ll charge it a quarter for each indiscretion.)

Dog food, my poor Arlo is suffering from food allergies, the poor baby scratches and licks non-stop. Drives me friggin’ crazy (btw friggin’ is not in the dictionary.) I knew that dogs had problems with corn; you should stay away from any dog food where corn is among the top three ingredients. Try that, it’s not easy. But I learned long ago. Or so I thought. I didn't know dogs have gluten allergies worse than corn. My poor dog – his favorite treats are riddled with wheat, corn meal, and a lot of other crap not good for him. So now I must find him new treats, ask my vet about Benedyrl for him, something that will keep him from scratching, biting, licking, chewing, and driving me and Ducky crazy.

Dj’s that think the world is interested in every little opinion they have. WTF! This is only made worse by Dj’s that talk about topics they know nothing about. Drives me bat shit. It is compounded by Dj’s (dj’s, btw, is not in the dictionary) who run a joke into the ground. Who do not respect their audience. Who demean others – especially when they’re not God’s gift to radio (or the world) in the first place. Or the DJ who constantly tells you that this song was their favorite make out song in high school. The only thing worse than this, is the Dj who is boring and speak very little, but play lots of music – er which is the category I fall into. Sadly. Oh maybe not.

So what’s on your chest today?