The Expatriate Achtung! You are 23% brainwashworthy, 27% antitolerant, and 0% blindly patriotic

Congratulations! You are not susceptible to brainwashing, your values and cares extend beyond the borders of your own country, and your Blind Patriotism does not reach unhealthy levels. If you had been German in the 30s, you would've left the country. One bad scenario -- as I hypothetically project you back in time -- is that you just wouldn't have cared one way or the other about Nazism. Maybe politics don't interest you enough. But the fact that you took this test means they probably do. I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt. Did you know that many of the smartest Germans departed prior to the beginning of World War II, because they knew some evil shit was brewing? Brain Drain. Many of them were scientists. It is very possible you could have been one of them. Conclusion: born and raised in Germany in the early 1930's, you would not have been a Nazi. The Would You Have Been A Nazi? Test - it rules -

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 15% on brainwashworthy You scored higher than 37% on antitolerant You scored higher than 0% on patriotic

Link: The Would You Have Been a Nazi Test written by jason_bateman on Ok Cupid

It's a post bonanza (again).

WHAT ARE YOU DOING RIGHT THIS INSTANT?
I'm sitting in the office. My neck is throbbing in pain. It has something to do with extreme stress, fibromyalgia, and a generally hyperchondriactoid personality problem. There is knot at the base of my cranium that is like a solid golfball. This is called a 'trigger point'. I'm close to death, I think.

HOWEVER! Relief is on the way...three asprins and:

The Frozen Vegetable Ice Pack

This relieves tension through ice cold therapy without the runniness of the typical ice-cube-in-ziplock-bag solution.

However, I now faintly smell of broccoli, as it is beginning to thaw.

WHO (IF ANYONE) IS LOOKING AT YOU RIGHT THIS MOMENT?

Funny you should ask. SHE is looking at me right now:

Doesn't she look like Satan? I think you would have a golfball size trigger point, too, if this thing stared hard at you for awhile.

Well, here's another Flash Fiction Account. You can also link to it from my Story Page Link. Have a blast!

My tribute to Sleep Goblin.
She seems to always be up right before I get up.
At two AM.
Here's to you, Sleep-a-Roo.

Evidence would support that some former coworkers have made some lovely “Anonymous” comments. I say “evidence would support” because I do not have actual proof these comments were, indeed, from said coworkers. I wouldn’t want to entrench myself in some Free Speech battle.

These are hilarious comments. I believe they were posted on ‘Beef With Anonymous’, and "Life of the Unemployed"

Why are they funny? Well, one, apparently some people have nothing better to do than keep their little eyes fastened to my blog, even though I don’t work there anymore. If I were such a worthless employee (as suggested), then why waste the time? I have an image in my head of people huddled around a computer at work checking my blog. This would be only too ironic. The fact is, people are probably waiting to go home and then taking the extra effort to check my blog, which simply means there is not enough decent television out in the world. I guess people are ‘checking’ up on my blog for human interest, perhaps? A mild tranquilizer to ease a bourgeoning caseload that burgeoned long before I came and left the office? A sense of greatness, to knock someone when she’s down? Someone to blame? Someone to use as a scape goat? Or am I giving these people too much credit? I think they just want to hurt my feelings, and get a reaction. Well, THAT, my friends, is called “dirty ball” fighting.

It’s also funny because they chose to remain Anonymous, meaning that they aren’t big enough to speak up for themselves and stand behind what they are saying. That’s a shame. Maybe they are afraid? Hmm. I find it interesting that I primarily got fired for having a big mouth. It didn’t have to do with much else; it had to do with my big mouth. One of my biggest complaints about that office was how unable people seemed to confront one another. No one went face to face with anyone else about problems. Everyone just danced around issues, rather like a group of—well, I would say children, but children express feelings in proactive ways. I, however, did face people on their own turf and ALSO apologized to people face to face. The only way to clear up an issue is to confront it. These ‘Anonymous’ folks are just proving yet another one of my points: “Cowards do not count in battle; they are there but not in it.” (Euripides).

Now, I’ve said in previous blogs that I made a mistake. I’m not unwilling to admit that. It was a subconscious thing, I’m sure, because I hated that job and had very little tolerance for some small-brained people I worked with. I’m pleased as pie not to work there anymore because as it turns out, brighter and better (paying) jobs are on the horizon. Thank Buddha and God.


Let’s take a gander at these posts, shall we?

1. “Maybe if you had done an honest job instead of cheating the State out of the money you were paid to work (when we ALL know you were not), you would not be in this situation. Who's to blame? Duh...Maybe God and Buddha would be pleased if you offered to reimburse the State of all the money you stole from them...”

Well, that can all go back to my second paragraph. I did work quite hard, but this isn’t a pissing contest with me, so, fine. This individual can point a finger at me for being ‘lazy’ and ‘cheating’ the State; I know what the truth is and so did the people that mattered. When Anonymous uses the word ‘ALL’, he discredits himself, for he is leaving no source of information. Of course, using generalized pronouns in most situations is quite dangerous and not well thought-out. I’m pretty sure I know of one or two people who would disagree with this statement. I’m also confident the State did not send me to Management training for being lazy. I don’t think the State gave me raises for being lazy. I can’t imagine the State consistently noting my hard work and giving me good reviews for being lazy. I can document these things, but Anonymous cannot. And, I think it important to say, I worked for four years at this job; even if I had ‘cheated’ the State, I did not ‘cheat’ as much as other employees have (and had). When we look higher up the bureaucratic ladder, we see the cheating get worse and worse…and that costs a lot more than me occasionally looking at my blog or bank account from my office desk. And then, we have a stab at my Theological beliefs, which is even better, because mocking one’s thought processes about religion is as childish as pointing at people who look ‘different’ from ‘normal’ in the street. Can my readers understand why I am nothing but relieved to be out of there? But I’m finished with this trite comment. Its speaker has discredited himself from the get-go by remaining Anonymous, using the word ‘ALL’ , and obviously overlooking the ‘lazy’ tendencies of other co-workers and
management.

Now let’s move to comment two, a more fascinating one, in my book. I’m going to take it line by line.

“You should be really proud of yourself...”
Thank you, I am.
“ [Y]ou have caused an extraordinary hardship on some of your former co-workers,”
I remember apologizing to a certain manager about the extra work; apparently the message was not spread.
“who did not deserve to be assigned with extra work”
We rarely get what we deserve, do we? Or, I should say, we often have hardships that we don’t deserve. But that’s a rather Socialist comment that Anonymous #2 makes; the State has never attempted to be ‘fair’ in its workload, nor ‘recognizant’ of extra hard workers. “because you decided to be dishonest and play on your computer instead of doing the work you were hired to do...”
Again, this is not what fired me. Or, maybe it was, on the books. In any case, if I hadn’t been so mind-numbingly bored with my work and disgusted with some of my coworkers, I guess it wouldn’t have come to that. Let’s not talk about why’s and what-ifs. Let’s face the music, shall we? Yes, I did use the computer for things other than work…sometimes I played a bit of DinoBlast during my lunch hour. Yes, I did check my email. Yes, I did check my blog. Yes, I also did my work.
“You wanna talk about honesty?”
Please! Why isn’t our Speaker #2 honest about his/her identity?
“You wouldn't know the truth if it bit you in the ASS!!!”
And this comment, folks, I just don’t get. What? The last thing that bit me in the ass was my cat, and I was able to know what that was. Don't fret. I'm fine.

So, I believe I’ve thoroughly worked out my demons with these small minded people (who may or may not work where I used to work), and have come out feeling even better than before. However, for the sake of posterity, I shall be removing the “Anonymous” button from my comment section. That way, if people must truly be bold, and make a statement, they will have to be honest about themselves, first. I do not mind being critiqued—I think it is healthy for growth. I think it is unfortunate that my little challenging friends must stoop to this…following my blog four weeks after the fact, and making snide comments. But that’s their world, isn’t it? And mine is a lot brighter, and much broader than that.

Today, we celebrate our bodies in an entirely innocent way.
I was struck by Spinning Girl's "Unspun", and so decided to participate.

These are extremely hard posts for me. I am entirely disenchanted with my body, and have been since I was ten years old. I am glad it is only "Half" Nekkid, and not fully nude.

My body is a warzone, for me. I eat, and hate myself, so eat more. And the cycle goes around and around. When I see pictures of myself, I don't revel in them. I don't enjoy them. I feel awkward and wrongly accused: "There's the big girl." My outsides don't match what's inside.

But I am pleased to say these Half Nekkids are helping. I am starting small, with the things about myself I truly, truly love. Maybe, one day, I can get a little bit more proud of this machine, my body.

I kept seeing this silly blogtag thing, and then I went to Spinning Girl's site, and really wanted a piece of the action. NO, not of Spinning Girl, but of this particular new thing going on. So I stole it without getting tagged. Brilliant.

Instructions:
1. Delve into your blog archive.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.

Okay, sounds easy enough...here I go...

"I have been rejected because I am an only child and not a member of their sorority."

This is from "Upon Being Rejected as a Team Member..."

It's a pretty boring post, but fun for me to find out about. Hmm. Is this supposed to mean something? Is this my destiny? Oh, Gack, I hope not.

Huh. This is strange.

Here it is...Finally. The Ode to Heather

I.
Borne of Eire, a lovely maiden.
A firefly, a mermaid, with mermaid hair
and azure eyes, she came to be a mum of three.
She was rescued (so I've heard) by a doctor,
a man of staunch intellect and great rapport,
from the North Sea, where the waters did
rap about her head so hard and almost tore
her iridescence fins from her lithe tail, but nay!
The doctor swam and found her on a little rock and
kissed away her crystal tears and brought her to shore.
Wrapped her, he did, in a coat of colors and made
her smile,
even though she lost so much, so much.
II.
Her family, large, lived beneath the sea in
caverns of great coral, moss, and lichen,
and Heather of the mist did twine her hair
between her fingertips whilst in such
pleasant company...
and her heart did cheer for those
who wore such warriors' garbs, but she
did long for more, for more.
III.
She is the mother of three water babies,
their tresses fair as hers, their hearts as pure.
She lives in a castle on the land, and smiles
with ancient memory.
Her Gaelic roots are not forgotten, but her
mind is filled with future loves.
A kinder mermaid has never been met,
and we are lucky to know her.
IV.
I have been lucky enough
to have her extend empathy, just as she has
for all who are lost at sea,
just like she, just like she.
She's bathed me in friendship and while
I barely know her:
I know this much:
A kinder soul could not be found
here or on Ireland's ground.
Thank the saints for this little fish!
She is our dearest, brightest star of the Sea,
and the doctor....Well, lucky he.

There's somebody out there who's plaguing my site. It's some Anonymous with a nasty attitude. At first, the barbs were cute. Then, they suddenly turned really nasty.

I have a sneaking suspicion this person and I know each other in real life, and this person is too much of an asshole to just tell me who he is. But I've decided not to fret anymore.

I was considering disallowing Anonymous comments, but that would prevent people like my mother from posting. While Mom probably thinks my blog is over the top, I can't stop her from posting. After all, this is the only method she has at the moment to see how truly strange her only daughter is.

So, I'm stuck with some butthead making comments in order to piss me off. The last one read, "What a pathetic life. I hope you don't have any sharp objects around."

Yes, because suicide is ALWAYS something to laugh about, isn't it?

Another idiotic barb was defending Georgia's 'at will' employment status. Anonymous said something about only competent people should be able to work, after that, the State has the right to reclaim their jobs for people who are competent.

So, there are no incompetent people who work in Georgia, apparently. And everyone who gets fired is incompetent. Hmm. Okay. Then I guess when all of my evaluations came back with glaringly good reports and I got recommended for management, that must have meant I was incompetent. Everyone writing this down? Good.

For the record, this is the last time I am even acknowledging Anonymous' presence. After this, we will all be ignoring Anonymous, and not paying attention to his 'free speach', as he likes to say.

What an asshat. (Thanks, Monica, I love this tag).

First, let's all get a big welcome together for the ESTROGEN FISHBOWL. Go look at the website, but don't expect wonders. They are new to all this blogness. They are personal friends of mine, and helping me through being jobless.

Also, there is a special little Simian out there who deserves Birthday Cheers. So, here's for Monkey (give it up for the Fuzzy Butt!).

Because I am sure most of you are curious about the tedium of my day, I thought I would document it for you.
Try not to get too excited.
6am: Wake up with boyfriend
6:30 am: Make coffee
7-8am : Check blog
8-9am: Consider a shower
9am: Go to the unemployment office, showered or not. Stand in line for awhile.
10am: Drive back home on fumes because there is no money to put gas in car
10:30am: Check blog and email
11:00am: Eat a Lean Cuisine
11-11:30am: Watch recorded Family Guy
12:00: Call that place you want a job at, where you've left two resumes and two applications. Leave another voicemail.
12:15pm-3:00pm: Search internet for jobs, email resumes, fill out on-line applications, break printer.
3:00pm-3:30pm: Try to fix printer. Give up. Eat some hotdogs.
4:00pm-6pm: Check email, check blog, call boyfriend, leave a message.
Then, realize boyfriend won't be home until 9pm because he is working on car audio system at friend's house. Feel lonely.
6pm-6:30pm: Take a nap, but wake up shortly after because house is too quiet and cat is sleeping on left foot.
6:30pm: Dig through fridge. No food. No gas. No goody. Check blog.
7:30 pm: Check blog. Write a post.
8:00 pm: Go outside and smoke (again)
8:15 pm: Dig through couch. Find enough change to buy a pack of cigarettes. Realize all the books you placed on reserve are at the library, but you don't have gas to get there. Sigh in frustration. Go to gas station and get laughed at by high school punks.
9:00pm: Boyfriend still not home. Talk to cat for awhile. Turn on some music.
9:15 pm: Boyfriend gets home. Follow boyfriend around, asking questions about his work, his co-workers, his car, his friend. Boyfriend turns on television to quiet the background 20 questions.
10:00pm: Go to bed.
11:30 pm: Wake up. Check blog. Go back to bed.
2:00am: Repeat
4:00am: Repeat and pray the next day gets here quick, only to realize there is nothing to do but what you did the day before.

This is so depressing, I'm going to get to the nap early. You'll find me buried in afghans and kleenex...bawling my eyes out.

1. Crave:: ice cream
2. Whole package:: ha ha...uh, Michael
3. Roommates:: lesbians
4. 5:30:: cocktail hour
5. Lesbian:: short hair
6. Poignant:: memory
7. Hurtful:: jobless
8. You and I:: strangers
9. Grateful:: obligation
10. Giggle:: teenager

You know the drill. She says a word, I say a free-associated word back.

I've had a tough week-or four-trying to deal with this whole getting fired/unemployment thing.

I've never been fired before. I've never been without work. I've absolutely NO idea how to pay bills, and rent is coming up. Things are getting interesting.

When a person is fired in Georgia and said person goes to the unemployment office to file, the department of Labor has to contact the employer about the 'separation'. The former employer has to sign off on the unemployment claim before poor, unemployed person can get a check.

Guess what? I'm getting denied my claim. GDC isn't signing off on the unemployment checks.

You know why? Because I'm a threat to GDC, and they want to make my life as miserable as possible. Because I stated some tough facts about how that corrupt and worthless agency performed 'corrections'.

People have often called me paranoid, and I do suffer from anxiety. Often, I'm being PERCEPTIVE and not paranoid, and all of this is coming out.

Oh, Look! I found this on the web: "Plaintiff Calvin J. Stone lost a jury verdict as to two defendants, and a directed verdict as to another, in his suit against officers of the Georgia Department of Corrections claiming they terminated his employment in retaliation for his speaking out about the improper use of public property and funds."

So, this isn't the first time someone got canned for speaking out about the TRUTH of the GDC.

Here's the truth:
1. The acting Director of Facilities was recently found in violation for doing his secretary. He was not fired. He was moved to the department of Policies and Procedures. Hmph. That's interesting.
2. The acting Commissioner uses tax money to hire a personal driver.
3. Why is it that some counties have access to only three early model Plymouths for state cars, while others drive brand new Crown Victoria's?
4. Why is it that the average Probation Officer handles approxiamately 350 active cases and is only paid roughly thirty thousand dollars?
5. Why is it that some employees can drink on the job and not get fired?
6. Why is it that some employees can lose sentences, lose cases, not supervise individuals properly, and never get reprimanded?
7. Why is it that one young woman who did her job phenomonally well got fired because she had opinions?
8. Why isn't inmate abuse more public?
9. Why doesn't the Georgia Public realize how unfit the GDC is in protecting citizens?
10. How come 'new' hire employees (employed after 2000) are not considered 'exempt' employees, thereby limiting their adverse action abilities and due process?
11. How come unions are not permitted to demonstrate on behalf of government workers?
12. HOW COME I GOT FIRED?

Some people have been telling me to calm down and know it's for the best that I got fired. Look, I know it's for the best that I don't work there anymore, no doubt, but I have every reason to be PISSED OFF.

Even more fun: In order to combat GDC, I need an attorney. I don't have any money for an attorney. I don't have any support. I just have this one little blog. I'm living in fear that I'm going to get sued, or get into some trouble. I know I've been blacklisted from just about every state agency there is. People have told me I have a decent enough case to sue. Okay.

Then someone hire me an attorney. Until then, I don't want to hear one other person in my life tell me I have a decent case. I KNOW I have a decent case. I KNOW my rights and I KNOW I'm protected under the First Amendment to say what I want to say.

Sometimes, when people are TRYING to help you fix problems, they just make you feel worse.

Should this concern me? Or does it just mean I'm a bit of a bitch? Or I like toys?

I promise you, my boyfriend is going to disagree with this. As much time as I spend in the bathroom, applying makeup, this just CAN'T be right.

Maybe in a few hours, I'll have something worthwhile to say. Until then, QUIZ TIME!

You Are 70% Boyish and 30% Girlish

You are pretty evenly split down the middle - a total eunuch. Okay, kidding about the eunuch part. But you do get along with both sexes. You reject traditional gender roles. However, you don't actively fight them. You're just you. You don't try to be what people expect you to be.

I stole it from CRUSH you.
He is such a good person at heart.

The Keys to Your Heart

You are attracted to those who are unbridled, untrammeled, and free. In love, you feel the most alive when your lover is creative and never lets you feel bored. You'd like to your lover to think you are stylish and alluring. You would be forced to break up with someone who was insecure and in constant need of reassurance. Your ideal relationship is lasting. You want a relationship that looks to the future... one you can grow with. Your risk of cheating is zero. You care about society and morality. You would never break a commitment. You think of marriage as something that will confine you. You are afraid of marriage. In this moment, you think of love as something you can get or discard anytime. You're feeling self centered.

Go, young traveler, and read my new account of fiction here.

Bring some oars if you're a monkey.

We discovered something tonight, while moving furniture around to continue the Great Painting Project.

We have mice. Lots of them.

(Note: This is NOT a blatant ad. for the Tiffany bracelet Michael bought for me. It isn't! Stop thinking I care about name brands! I so don't! It just so happens Michael bought a Tiffany bracelet? So what? Heather owns tons of Pottery Barn! Go pick on her!)

Anyway, we found this coven of mice beneath an ottoman. They apparently had been hiding out there for months, and began to ingest strange poisons which dyed their hair into bright colors, thereby eliminating any camoflauge ability.

Delilah, however, could not be convinced to kill the little bastards.

In three months, they will have reproduced so much that they will clash with my color pallette. What the heck is this cat good for, anyway?

I SO stole this from Sleep Goblin.

It's quite scary how accurate this is.


Tri-Lamb Material
82 % Nerd, 39% Geek, 56% Dork

For The Record:

A Nerd is someone who is passionate about learning/being smart/academia.
A Geek is someone who is passionate about some particular area or subject, often an obscure or difficult one.
A Dork is someone who has difficulty with common social expectations/interactions.
You scored better than half in Nerd and Dork, earning you the coveted title of: Tri-Lamb Material.

The classic, "80's" nerd, you are what most people think of when they think "nerd," largely due to 80's movies like Revenge of the Nerds and TV shows like Head of the Class. You're exceptionally bright and smart, and partly because of that have never quite fit in with your peers or social groups. Perhaps you're realized, or will someday, that it is possible to retain all of the things that you like about being brilliant and still make peace with the social cliques around you. Or maybe you won't--it's really not necessary. As the brothers of Lambda Lambda Lambda discovered, you're fine just the way you are and can take pride in that. I mean, who wants to be like Ogre, right!?

Congratulations!


Also, you might want to check out some of my other tests if you're interested in any of the following:

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Professional Wrestling

Love & Sexuality

America/Politics

Thanks Again! -- THE NERD? GEEK? OR DORK? TEST

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 92% on nerdiness You scored higher than 51% on geekosity You scored higher than 93% on dork points

Link: The Nerd? Geek? or Dork? Test written by donathos on OkCupid Free Online Dating

DOODLE OF THE DAY

Time: 1:40 pm
Place: Library/Office...facing South
Music: Jesus and Mary Chain
Mood: ---------
Just Finished Doing: Calling the ACLU, only to be told I have to write a request in for a case. Yeah, whatever.
Just About to Do: Take a nap
What Was Done Earlier: Yet another resume run to downtown Atlanta
Was it Worthwhile?: Yes, I think so.
What is Pet Doing?: Sleeping, looking really cute. I know better.
What is Significant Other Doing?: Working. Like I should be.
What is Going to be Done Tomorrow?: Washing the cars. Grocery-shopping. Photo field trip. Drawing. A Movie at home on the couch.

What News Item/Political Issue are you enraged about today?: The eleven children found in cages in Ohio. All are special needs children adopted by two crazy people who actually thought it would be best to let the children sleep in three-foot by three-foot cages. How can people do this to children?
What Book Are You Reading?: Native Son.
How do you Like it?: Fair to middling.
What are you peeved about today?: Coffee tasted like sludge this morning.

Who would you like to take this Personal Meme? Anyone who's interested.

Synopsis: My God, I'm dull.

All right. I am presenting two posts in one.
First, My Doodle of the Day.



And in celebration of Half-Nekkid Thursday...a picture of my tresses. Yes, that's the natural color. Yes, I am vain about my hair.

Atlanta is famous for all sorts of things. There's the whole birthplace of Martin Luther King, Jr. There's Margaret Mitchell's house (she was the drunk who wrote Gone With the Wind). Ted Turner's baseball stadium, which costs about thirty five dollars a ticket to sit on the field. Hmm. I know there's more stuff. Um, the traffic makes Atlanta notorious. We've got the Hawks, the Falcons, and the Braves. We're home to numerous recording artists and rappers. Centennial Olympic Park. Phipps Plaza Mall. Ludacris--who cannot spell, apparently.

You know what we're also well-known for?

Dead bodies showing up on streets. In the past six months, more than ten bodies have been found in streets, generally in the early morning whilst some poor sucker is walking the dog. Generally, these corpses have been deposited there by their killers, but some of them have been struck by passing motorists who were either to drunk to know they ran over a human, or too afraid to be caught. In any case, yesterday marked yet another corpse found on the Southeast side of Atlanta.

I don't really know what the point of all this banter is--except to say, if you move to Atlanta, please bring a lot of reflective tape and attach it to a bright orange vest, in case you are murdered and placed on the street.

Because running over a human would probably cause a lot of damage to my car.

Preface: I ride a black and purple Honda Shadow Aero 750. I have named her Lilith, and we are inseperable.

Do you know the story of Lilith? I will share it for you.

Ancient Judaism said Adam had a wife before Eve--Lilith. Lilith was old--older than Adam. Lilith was adored by the creatures. Lilith was strong and wise and noble. And, Lilith didn't like the way Adam fulfilled his manly duties. He didn't please her sexually. So Adam complained to God, and God smote Lilith and made her a dragon, or a snake. So, Lilith may or may not have borne Satan.

I hate this story, but it explains a lot, huh?

Of course, it is a wonderful metaphor for the Goddess religions that prevailed through cultures and histories long before the Male God got wind of them and started preaching HellFire. I know that ancient men were responsible for this, not God. But this is the story of Lilith, and so I named my motorcycle after her, because Lilith and I take no male riders, and flaunt men when we are out. She is my fierce mare, and she breathes hot fire. Don't mess with Lilith.

And Now, The Ode.

Upon two wheels I will sit
and make a face to all who glare
at my audacity--a woman and a motorcycle.
On two wheels, I have no pity
for any living thing, nor mercy, nor grace.
On two wheels, I respect only
the road, the long, curving road,
the granite, harsh road.
On two wheels, I am as lithe as a gymnast,
as fast as a missile, as aggressive as a tidal wave.
On two wheels, I am Alone
and Proud.

When I alight on the ground,
I remember my quiet place.
I do not look men in the eyes.
I do not make a peep.
When I alight on the ground,
I smile at children, say 'please' and 'thanks'.
When I alight on the ground,
all is generous.

On two wheels, I stop for no man,
nor speak from beneath my black helmet.
I only breathe the wet, wet wind
and lift my left arm in praise to the Earth,
and feel the grit sting my chest. I am singular.

Grasping black leather grips, throttle, brake,
clutch, and the whine of the engine
beneath my trunk,
I am at once free and captive of this machine,
this abrupt deviance from

the nice, sweet girl
everyone thinks
I am.

Discuss.

I'm quite disappointed in several of my readers who chose NOT to discuss my last drawing, and so will make it QUITE AVAILABLE for them HERE. By all means, go look and comment.

If lazy behavior continues, I will have to punish all with a swift slap of wet noodlage. Remember! I USED to be in law enforcement, but I haven't forgotten all of my tricks...

DISCLAIMER: After several people commented on this link, I did go and dig around a little bit more. It seems the company that published this is also in cahoots with an 'alternative' news site...and after reading SOME MORE...it appears the news site is concerned with the end of the world AND alien beings.

However, I STILL believe this is an important link, because you may question yourself. And that's important.

If you have a moment, go to http://spademusic.com/pentagon.html.
It may take a moment to load.
Tell me what you think.
I'm freaked out.

Popular Science presented an article, claiming to debunk the idea that a plane never crashed into the Pentagon. It has decent reading material, as well. I'm doing my best to be objective.

It's true. I doodle. Here is something rather strange and wierd.

I did it while listening to the following: STROMKERN, BOYTRONIC, DE/VISION, ICON OF COIL and other INDUSTRIAL BANDS. Okay, Boytronic is not so much industrial. I think they are just angry gayboys who want to be New Order.

Please discuss picture and what you think it means. Later, I will tell you what I think it means.

This week brought to you by: Unconscious Mutterings and Diana of the Moon.

1. Less filling:: vapid
   
2. Glue:: orange
   
3. Surprise me:: balloon
   
4. Model:: alien
   
5. Fee:: parking ticket
   
6. Microphone:: crowd
   
7. Choices:: vanilla
   
8. To the bone:: cold
   
9. Run!:: woods
   
10. Appeal:: bald
    

Okay, first off: if anyone tells me I'm not putting enough effort out to find a job, I have this to say:

"SCREWUS YOUUS"

Secondly, WHO THE HELL except me DRIVES all over Atlanta to DROP OFF a resume, rather than faxing, emailing, fedexing, or camel packing it to the location?

Today started with hope. I had a cover letter, a resume, an application. I actually blow-dried my hair. I put on a SKIRT! A skirt, I tell you! (Monkey, you're rubbing off on me). I got in my car. I filled it up with gas. That was expensive, so I SKIPPED coffee.

I got on I-75 South. I looked for exit 109, like the directions said. THERE IS NO EXIT 109!! So, I got off in downtown Atlanta. I headed into Decatur, then Dekalb. Then, I got onto I-285 (seen above). I almost died four times. One dude was going 100 miles per hour and almost hit me. His car had a neon price sticker on the windshield. I don't really care if you stole the car; JUST DON'T HIT MY NEW CAR!! Anyway, I drove almost completely around the Perimeter. I wound up in Atlanta AGAIN. I was driving for THREE HOURS before I found the office building I needed; mind you! The computer said it was only 28 miles away from my house. I put over 150 miles on my car today, all because SOUTHERNERS don't know how to LAY OUT STREETS. I HATE this city, sometimes. How can I have lived here for like thirteen years and STILL get lost?

After all that, I got lost COMING back. I wound up in Bankhead, and for those of you who listen to rap music...well, let's just say, "Bankhead represents". Of course, some thug came up to carjack me and I was all, "It's a stick," and he was all, "Oh, I don't know how to drive that. Can I take your purse?" and I was all, "No, because I just got fired and I don't really have any money." and he was all, "Dammit. Stupid blond honky bitch."

SO, I'm home. I'm not going out. I'm NOT MOVING. I'm sitting still, in the quiet, in my pajamas until tomorrow. And I'm going to call that office building back for BETTER directions come my interview!

Fuzzy Butt (ie: Monkey) heard my cry and tagged me.

SEVEN THINGS!!!!

Which reminds me of a joke, which I'll tell:
A blonde, a redhead, and a brunette walk into a bar. Redhead asks the bartender for a BL.
"What's a BL?" asks bartender.
"Duh! A Bud Light!"
The redhead asks for an ML.
"What's an ML?" asks bartender.
"Duh! A Miller Light!"
The blonde asks for a fifteen.
"What's a fifteen?" asks the bartender.
"DUH! A seven and seven!" says the blonde.

And now, onward...
Seven Things I Say Most Often:
1. I know, right?
2. I'm goin' out for a smoky treat.
3. I could use some coffee.
4. Where's my lighter? Have you seen my lighter?
5. All your base are belong to us
6. I think I'm sick. Do I look sick? I feel sick.
7. Delilah, get down!

Seven Things I Plan to Do Before I Die
1. Go to Florida. I've never been.
2. Make a lot of people laugh at once.
3. Meet Kurt Vonnegut
4. Take a Blue Train ride
5. Tell Oprah to shove off
6. Go to Paris
7. Tell the guy downstairs to please park his truck somewhere other than one foot away from our driveway.

Seven Things I Can Do
1. Ride a motorcycle
2. Dance
3. Write
4. Whistle and hum at the same time
5. Contort my ankles, knees, elbows and all finger joints
6. Touch my tongue to my nose...and then some
7. Dishes

Seven Things That Attract Me to Another Person:
1. Empathy
2. Money
3. Sincerity
4. Nice eyes (and by eyes, I mean butt)
5. Humor
6. Integrity
7. I was kidding about number two.

Seven Things I Can't Do
1. Work at Georgia Department of Corrections ever again.
2. Fit into a suitcase
3. Listen to Rush (for all Rush fans, you're so gonna love this link)
4. Do a cartwheel
5. Stop talking.
6. Cook
7. Take a joke

Celebrity Crushes
1. Kayne West
2. Michael
3. Katie
4. My Mom (no, not that way)
5. My Dad
6. Monkey
7. Spinning Girl

What? They are stars to me. Actually, I HATE celebrities of many types, so...there you go!

Firstly, this post comes with the express permission of my Boyfriend. Unlike GDC, he will not fire me for posting about a particular event.

Secondly, Michael is the handiest, greatest man guy in the world. He can fix anything, from a broken bracelet to an audio system in his car.

So, here is the story of which I referred to yesterday.

Saturday was beautiful. Michael, being cheerily handy, went to work on his car audio system. He's been acquiring all the peices for weeks, and has now begun the installation process. While he worked in the garage, I sat and watched T.V. TLC was having a 'Trading Spaces' marathon. PJ's, coffee, and TLC were the name of the game.

After ripping off a door panel and installing some very cool speakers, Michael came in energized. We watched some telly and then, without warning, he said, "You want me to start on the ceiling?"

It should be known that the tray ceiling in our apartment was the clincher for me. It's really pretty, and we decided to paint it red. That was three months ago. We've got the ladder, the paint, and brushes. I've been harping at him for weeks about it.
"So, when are we painting the ceiling?"
"Gee, the red in this pillow would be accented so nicely with a red tray ceiling!"
"Honey, my parents want the ladder back."

However, this Saturday, when Michael asked about the ceiling, I said, "Um. Sure. I guess." See, I was watching TLC and for him to have to paint the ceiling would require me moving to the bedroom or dancing around him with a paint pan. Neither sounded very good to me. But there goes Michael, off to the garage. He gets the tarp, the ladder, and the little paint pan. He begins working on the ceiling, and does a terrific job...for about ten minutes.

I'm dusting the coffee table, figuring I should do something for the house, when all of a sudden I hear, "Oh, F--k." I look up, and there is Michael, standing on the floor, surrounded in paint. Red paint. Everywhere. From the corner of the dining room to the tops of his favorite black Converse tennis shoes, I'm seeing red. I try not to laugh.

Beige carpet and red paint, my friends, are not easily separated. Michael and I discovered this after using: laundry detergent, dish soap, Goof Off, and Oxy-Clean. In the end, we have a pink carpet in the dining room. We've managed to cover most of it with a huge area rug.

While Michael fails to see the humor in this, I cannot help but chuckle. This is because Michael did something that normally, I'm famous for doing. He simply forgot the paint pan was on the ladder when he moved it. I've crashed into rocks while backing up his car. I've gotten stuck in traffic because I forget I'm driving a shift stick. Let's not forget, I get fired for being a big-mouth. And Michael stands by, and smiles, and says, "It's O.K., hon."

Well, it's my time now to say the same to him. The world is not going to end because we've repainted the floor instead of the ceiling. But he'll never hear the end of it.And I'll never stop telling him, "It's O.K., hon."
Now: Pictures!

Now, Michael is taking a break from projects, and is watching Sunday football. Good for him. Cheers, babe, you deserve a break!

All of this lay before Michael's Jackson Pollock canvas. It is eight feet tall, and the red paint is the same that is on the ceiling...err..floor. My only thought was, when the splatter first hit, "My, now he's taken the same genre from the canvas onto the floor!" If we had left the splatter there, I believe it would have been a statement unlike any other.

No, it's not blood. It's red paint, turned pink through hours of labor. Lovely, yes?

The aftermath

The beginning of a beautiful ceiling.

Okay, here goes. Another desperate cry for attention.

The Blogathon Ode.

('Round the campfire sits: Spinning Girl, Monkey, BOBI, Dane, Bobby, Calzone, Sleep Goblin, Monica, CG, Kitty, CRUSH you, Madge...Some other people who I've sure forgotten, oh! And my Mom, who's generally Anon Mom).

(In this mental picture, I'm wearing wings and a Valkyrie helmet)

I sing:
"Oh! Weary friends with too much time!
Come closer now, and feed, and dine! For Fortune's thread
runs so long,
and it is time for the Blog Song!"
(Cheers erupt. Sing song to the tune of "The Worms Go In, the Worms Go Out")

"For people who are thought of as dorks,
there is a place for us to consort.
We write about our silly lives
occasionally, we tell some lies!

BOBI drinks and so does Dane
and their audios are arcane.
We all look forward to Spinning Girl
who's blogs take all for a whirl.

We laugh our heads off at Monkey
and think Calzone is kinda funky.
We get some kicks from Sleep Goblin
and chuckle at the Travelin' Frog.

And the blogs roll in and the blogs roll out
Up your monitor and out your snout.

Heather is an Irish Saint
Her hair is red like the paint
that decorates my living room floor
However, I can say no more.

I know I'm jobless, and it shows
Because I sit around and write odes
to people that I hardly know!

CG, I think, is a spy
and Monica her husband despises (I know it didn't rhyme, shuddup)
I never get tagged by anyone at all
But that's okay, because in my head you all like me best (now, I'm struggling).

CRUSH you is something of a freak
I wonder if he eats kids as treats.
I can't believe I've stooped this low
to get more folks to come to my show.

In the end, all you I adore,
Madge and northerners from all corners.
My Mom stops by and hits some threads
I think some of what I write, she secretly dreads.

And Michael, of course, is a pet
for reading this, and thinking I'm best.
Now, I have to wrap this up,
because you're all getting sick of this ode, like I am.

Now, I have to go and link all of you. What a pain. Cheers! Hope you all liked it.

Briefly, I mean to tell all I've had a very strange day. I won't go into detail, but it had to do with a large amount of red paint and beige carpet.

Also, I've completed another story for Flash Fiction Friday, and you can find it here. It's really boring, so don't hold your breath. But I'd still love for you to read it.

Oh, and here is me and Delilah impersonating Michelangelo.And before the event with the red paint and the beige carpet...

You Are an Emo Rocker!

Expressive and deep, lyrics are really your thing.That doesn't mean you don't rock out...You just rock out with meaning.For you, rock is more about connecting than grandstanding.

I stole this from Heather. She happens to hate cats. Now, I know, and will use this fact to bug her in the future.

Humans:

For those of you base creatures that actually read this woman's stupid site, GO GET A REAL LIFE!

Of course, reading MY blog post is just fine...totally speCATular.

This woman has maligned me in her previous posts. Forget about her getting fired! That's what she deserved! You see the things she writes about me? How I am a soul-eater? How I'm crazed? How I don't appreciate her? All lies. THIS woman is the one who needs help. Look at her! Just look! She's SO self-absorbed, I'm surprised I even get FED around this joint! Sometimes, she's condescending enough to throw a fuzzy mouse at me; I just hide it under the sofa along with the other thirty mice. One day, I'll make them my minions, I promise you. Those imbeciles will assist in my takeover of this prison! Until then, I keep them lying in wait...

I will tell you this--I live to frustrate the blonde one. First, I chase her shadows all over the house. Then, I leap to the sculpture her slave man built for me and roll around on it, causing it to shake and wake the neighbors. Next, I bark at the humans, so they will know I am better than canines. When I have finished this routine, I jump down six feet to land -THUMP!-on the carpet. Whoever is foolish enough to walk past me is dead meat! I latch onto the leg of the human and bite! HaHA! The blonde one then grabs a squirt bottle (infernal device) and begins to spray me in the ear, all the while screaming, "The Power of Christ Compels Thee!" Nay, I won't be swayed! I run to my catbox, where I deliver the stench of the Earth!

I do, however, have my kryptonite. When the blonde one is tired of chasing me off bookshelves, counters, the cooking device, the microwave, the shower, the bathroom sink, the blinds, she feeds me this green herb...no, not THAT green herb...but another, which she calls 'catnip'. Supposedly, some of my feline associates grow awake and crazed when introduced to this substance. But I? I grow weary and tired. I fall asleep. It appears my brain chemistry is so berserk that I am calmed by catnip. Luckily, the blonde one lost most of it in the move. She has, however, been tempting me with Xanax, lately, but I will not fall into her trap!

All right, subordinates. I'm tired of typing now, and must go chew on the doorsill to annoy the slave man. I may post again, so don't get content! Know that I am watching, and waiting, and one day, over your soul I SHALL BE SLAVING!!! HAHAHAHAHA....where is the 'enter' key?

Mom.....! Get in here and help me!

Okay, so, I went over to Tolb's page, which has always intimidated me because he is ubercomputer man, but he had a link to CatsinSinks, which is honestly one of the most beneficial sites on the Internet. No, I mean it. If there was more stuff out there like this, than, I don't know, we'd have world peace or something.

Anyhoo, I decided since I didn't have much to say today and no major bones to pick that I haven't already picked, I would do a whole 'montage' of "Delilah in Sinks". So, it's only, like, five pictures, but still. And of course, borrowing from Madge's Dog and Cat, I have also decided to permit Delilah to post on my site, as well. I keep telling her to start her own blog, but she just gets defensive and says this is the kind of thing that I should do in exchange for her company. Whatever.

So, without further ado: DELILAH IN THE SINK....

"I PEE in your sink when you're at work...and NOW I can't do it anymore, because you don't work!"

"If you gave me fresh water out of the filter every once in awhile, I wouldn't have to stoop to this."

"Stop FILMING me!"

Edward Hopper's "City Sunlight" (1954)
Fritz's "Self-Portrait in Mirror" (2005)

I would write a story about Hopper's subject, but I don't think it would be very imaginative. It wouldn't be very imaginative because there isn't too much interesting about being alone. We can wonder what she is thinking about in city sunlight, but we know she's just feeling blue. She's shut up in a glum room looking outside, probably wishing she were outside with someone she knew, walking in the sunlight. She should just go out and do it, rather than sitting around, moping in the sun.

Then, there's my self-portrait in mirror. Hmm. Looks pretty lonely to me.

To set the tone of being alone: you should listen to some Hearts of Space programs.

Being alone is sometimes the most healing, introspective moments of our lives. I guess it doesn't look like much fun on the outside, like Hopper's lonely women and houses and city scenes. But as I look at my self-portrait, I don't see a lonely woman, necessarily. I see an explorer into the self. And I do find her to be a very fascinating woman.

Book One: The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold

Brief Critique...Because my Opinion Matters:

While touching and relaxing, I found it to be a bit trite. Suzie Salmon finds herself in heaven, watching her family evolve after her murder. She also keeps her eye on her childhood killer. Not exactly deep reading. Good weekend stuff, or rainy day stuff. Perfect example of a really neat idea not filled out as well as it could have been.

I know, I know. Like I've ever written a book.

Book Two: Johnny Got His Gun by Dalton Trumbo

On the other hand, you COULD read this book about a man blown apart by a mortar shell in World War I. This novel was published in 1938 but (like most decent things) banned for awhile as inciting 'communist' persuasions. Definitely for the serious reader, this book lets you imagine the hell of war and the hell of physical handicaps. A message is there, you just have to get through a lot of stream of consciousness to get it. Good luck. Don't read it if you're glum. Imagining yourself as armless, legless, earless, eyeless, and mouthless is really depressing. Really depressing. I did it for about an hour and almost drove myself insane.

But then, I got hungry. Go figure.

That's it. That was my post. Exciting stuff, eh?

Now that I've been fired, I've been thinking about upgrading to a huge loop or perhaps a lip piercing. But here is my modest nose piercing. I do have a cute little button nose, if I do say so myself. And I do.

Today, I am making a concerted effort to sit on my ass and not do one damn thing. Not one thing.

Today, I am snubbing normal convention. I'm not going to look for a job. I'm not going to call the credit card company. I'm not going to worry about anything. Today, I am going to do exactly what I want to do. That might mean sitting in my pajamas all day. That might mean driving around the farms outside the city. That might mean picking my nose.

I can do this, can't I? Aren't we all allowed these little respites? I think so. Now, some pictures for viewing pleasures.
Here is a picture Michael took, along with a backwards 'F'. The 'F' is from a print shop. My dad picked it up in the sixties, I think. It stands for...you guessed it...FRITZ.


Here we have Delilah and Claudia Buttons basking in the sun. Yeah, that's about right, kittykat.

Well, I've been polluting hyperspace again. Went over to dear Spinning Girl's page and found a link to Flash Fiction Friday. I think I may have seen Monkey do this too (or monkey's human?). In any case, since I have no job and lots of time, I thought I would try to expound on JJ's intro to a story.

This week it is: If only I had been able to retrieve the X before that awful...

However, in order to keep you, dear readers (all nine of you) fascinated and perplexed, I shall be completing this story on my Story Page. Please click here to derive reading pleasure.

Umm...let's see:

Went to the unemployment office today. Man, I've forgotten what's it like to live as a civilian and not a Probation Officer. I stood in line. I got barked at. I had to turn off my cell phone. I had to stand in single file.

Does the Labor Department HAVE to make you feel so worthless just because you don't have a job? Man, the consumer society SUCKS.

1. Related::Tied
   
2. Soothing::Rub
   
3. Flashback::Acid
   
4. Turmoil::Work
   
5. Immense::Gratuity
   
6. Guitar::Bob
   
7. Nonsense::Cereal
   
8. Blame::Myself
   
9. Childlike::Myself
   
10. Duff::Smash
    

Sorry, folks. I know I have not been around for awhile. I've been ducking out of view, staying out of the house. I don't want to get trapped into depression and just sitting in front of a computer all day.

In other news, I have completed another story. I so hope you'll go see it.

However, I am keeping up with all of you, and am so enjoying the Tolkien clash going on with Bowbee and Spinning Girl.

Monkey, of course, and the Banana Peel films are keeping me in high spirits, while I'm concerned for Calzone's soul.

And to my supporters, who have been so uplifting, even though we've had spats or not:
Justin, Madge, Rowan, Heather, CG, Goblin...
I know I've forgotten some, but to you folks, too, I say thanks. How nice to have a community.

Thanks.

Oh, and CRUSH you. Thanks for sticking with my blog all this time. You are the most demented individual I know, but you make it all so kosher, with your genius posts mixed in with that anarchist mantra of yours.

And Now: An Ode to Myself, Because I Need It.
A Conversation With an Alien
(A voice from outer space):

Hello, hello, can you hear me?
I've been watching this Earth of yours...how alone you are, all of you.
In all the vastness of space, I've never seen creatures as separated
as the likes of you. Such galaxies do not exist.
Here, in the inky darkness considered the end and beginning,
there is a footpath of souls traisping up and down,
bumping into one another, creating something out of nothing.
On Earth, it seems, you have forgotten your souls.
But I have not. I've watched. I've kept watch, a sentry floating above
in my spaceship, collecting your prayers, reading them,
watching the brainwaves that resemble your oceans.
Do you hear me?

I have sat outside on the porch, watching the birds
about their business, taking on brave armor, desperately seeking
maidens' attentions. I have seen the world unfurl
around me and have been amazed. I am seeking
myself amidst confusion.
Yes, I hear you.
Yes.

I consider the flesh of my body.
I consider the hue of my hair, the green eyes, the rosebud lips.
I consider the state of my soul--this lonely place you describe.
With my back against a tree trunk, I am rooted
to the Earth, and can see in front of me the wideness of the sky,
the wideness of hope.
Yes, I hear you.

Why do you fear so much? I see this:
you are afraid of what you wear and how you speak.
You are afraid of poorness and poverty.
You are afraid of being unloved, undesired.
These are such strange fears to me--my home
is made of stars and energy. Each tiny star
is kept in balance with heat and rays of light.
Why do you fear?

On Earth, we burn quicker than these stars.
We tempt ourselves with consumption to delay
the onslaught of death.
We are Philistines to the very end, concerned about
the quality of coffins.
We are afraid of death. And loneliness.

These are such small things, Elizabeth.
These are such tiny motes in the specks of Space.
Why, the life you have is so brief, Elizabeth.
But so much could be done. What shall you do?
Fear until you crumple into pieces and die?
Or, better, resurrect yourself over and over.
Yes, this I know, is the truth.

You are fading...come in! Come in!

We're leaving, now, called onward.
We are looking for you out here.
You'll be here soon. Forget your fears and live.
All shall be well.
Entropy is a term scientists use...heading to death.
The Death is the collapse of the star, the Black Hole,
and then...the densest matter creates smatters of gases
and the gases grow and explode, and then,
there is Life.
Create your own star, my friend.
Create your own Life, Elizabeth.

I drove past a carbeque today. That's when a car catches on fire. It was the morning, and I was driving against traffic--driving to work.

There was a haze across the highway, and traffic slowed down. I looked over, and saw the delivery truck that had gouged itself on a guardrail. Smoke poured out of the engine.

I thought to myself, "Well, that's a sign of something."

It was.

As highly unprophetic as I usually am, I've been paying attention to these things more and more. Call me sentimental, but after Katrina, I just started noticing.
When I got to work, no one was there. My supervisor was answering phones. I said, "Hey, where is everyone?" He said, "Hang on, Cheif wants to talk to you."

Cheif came and got me. Took me back to her office where another little guy was. He was from the legal department. He fired me.

That's right, friends. I've been fired from my job. I am no longer a Probation Officer. Suffice it to say; I lost my job because of this blog.

It's the end of the world...or...the beginning.

I got fired because I got bored. I got bored, and then I got angry. I got angry, and then, I blogged. So, there's a linear trajectory, here. Consequences. What's funny is that I used to tell my little felons, "It's all about decisions." I made a couple of bad ones, and now I'm facing the consequences.

Does it suck? You betcha it sucks. But does it mean something? I think so; I think it means that life is spinning me into action when I was too afraid to act before. Now, I don't have an excuse. Now, I'm cut loose, like a seed pod from a tree, like a carbeque fire on the highway.

I wondered if I should even keep the blogging up. I mean, this is the second time I've put my real life in danger because of my internet life. Just let it go? After some time, I thought, "No." While my lessons have been learned (like a touch to a hot stove...two times), I'm sure that my writing and my release happens on this blog for a reason. I'm also sure that I now have ALL of my constitutional rights back in place now that I don't work for the government anymore. Now, I can write without fear. I can speak without worry. There is no one out there to censor me.

One day, I'll be able to tell my kids or grandkids or someone's dog that I lost my job because I opened my mouth. And you know what? That's the worst that could happen, and the best.

Okay, folks, let's see if this works!

Fritzcapade: The Movie
Fritzcapade

This was taken shortly after Festus' arrest and detainment for several charges; 1. Contributing to the Delinquincy of a Minor 2. G.W.I.: Growling While Intoxicated 3. Indecent Exposure 4. Theft By Snatching (he stole some whiskey out of a liquor store). He is currently on five years probation, and remanded to my custody for the duration thereof. We have a hard time keeping him out of the liquor cabinet. We don't even have liquor in the house, but he still gets in the cabinet.

Delilah and Festus meet for the first time. Well, they did live together in the studio apartment before Michael and I moved in with each other. But Delilah has a very short memory span, so Festus was new to her (again). And Festus has severe medical problems based on him being approximately 97 years old. He has a hunch, as you can see, and no teeth, and scary little eyes, and senile dementia. The shoes in the background are Michael's. I think Delilah is Smelling them.

Yes, New Orleans is a disaster.

Yes, everyone is blaming everyone else, and meanwhile, people are dying. A lot of people.

This is tragic.

As I looked at CNN.com (again), I started to get all teary-eyed about the abandoned animals. When the story broke on Wednesday or whenever it was, the first thing I could think about (sadly enough) was: "What about all the pets?"

There are a lot of dead pets in New Orleans. A lot of people were seperated from their furry friends, and cats and dogs were left to sink or swim. Many animals have died due to dehydration and starvation. Other animals drowned. The plumbing failed, so fresh water was out of the question.

In Gulfport, Mississippi, the Aquarium suffered great losses. For the faint of heart, be careful looking at this next picture. It is a sea lion that was abandoned. If you are crying, that's okay, because I bawled for an hour. Over an animal.

If you are a gazillionaire who desires to help out the little furry friends, please donate to

APSCA or KATRINAFOUNDPETS.COM

I know most of you, if you are like me, probably don't have a lot of money to donate, and if you do, you probably want to help humans out, first. That's understandable.

But whatever you do, tonight, pick up your pet (if you have one you can pick up) and give him/her a hug. Snuggle with your friend until they bite, clip, or maim you. You just never know if you'll ever have to make such a horrible decision as leaving your pet behind.

In other news...my new favorite place to visit. Please link to it on the link side over there somewhere----------------------------------------->

Delilah Is Very Unsympathetic to My Plight as a Probation Officer. I tell her how much I dread work, but she turns a cold shoulder.

OH GOD I HAVE TO GO TO WORK. OH GOD I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN MAKE IT. OH GOD I NEED MORE COFFEE. OH GOD HELP ME, I HATE MY JOB.

The weekend was nice and long...so we walked up the street to take pictures of the Carnival at the Car Dealership.

Today is Michael's Birthday. He is turning 37 years old. As you can see in the picture, he acts like a seventeen year old, so we are perfect together. Just perfect.
In keeping with the spirit of ode-writing, I felt it would be a nice gift to publish a piece for him, my heart, my joy, my effervescence hope of life.

Without further ado, I give you:
An Ode to Michael on His Birthday.

I. The Darkness

In the beginning, there was Darkness, and the darkness
silhouetted the Light, and shadows emerged, and I could not see
one from the other.
And only the shadows heard my prayers.
From the depths of the darkness, I called out to you, and you heard me.
From afar, you heard me.
And all the Cosmos opened up and lit upon me with heat and starlight,
and I saw a Sun approach, burning bright and hot the shadows faint.
Burning bright and hot.
And then--

Hope.

II. Meetings

I met Michael in a hallway.
He lived right next door to me, Right Next Door.
I had heard him through the walls, like a little scuffling friend;
his face a mystery to me until that day in the hall.
I was talking to a friend. We stood
in front of my door, and here came this great
lumbering man with shoulders the size of an ox's, with hands as broad
as an acre, with a smile as impish as a gnome.
And lo, we spoke.
And as we spoke, and I spoke loudest, Michael heard me.
Michael heard me more distinctly than any person who's known me.

On late nights, Michael brought me pizza, food, gifts.
I did not know what they were, I did not know the company I kept.
But we sat in my tiny studio apartment and listened to the ceilings creak and
talked of politics-unions-healthcare-the decline of culture.
Or, I spoke, and he listened, and agreed.
And when he left the room, I missed him. My soul missed him.

Magically, we embarked on the most frightening journey of all--
The journey of relationships. We sought out one another and were silent together.
After some time, we went of photography trips.
I grew jealous of his talent with the camera-because that is who I am.
But the jealousy did not grow to a tumor, never that.
Michael kept me close and happy. Michael made me laugh.

And then, one day, the kiss.
And all the world changed.
And then, one day, the embrace.
And all the world changed--forever.

III. Spiritus Mundi

When my spirit departs this world and joins the space
beyond the sky, I will float about his head, and hope he sees
a halo of joy.

When the world opens up its maw and spews forth
vinegar anger, I will gather him in my arms and whisper
happy cries.

When we are both tired, and weary, and think we can go no further,
We shall sit next to one another, and rest our bones upon the other,
and feel the skin of each other, and thank the Spirit for the gift
we have been given.

Forever, he and I will forgive.
Forever, he and I will love.
Forever, he and I will defeat the sins of our pasts,
The skeptics of our future.

IV. Simplicity

When you snore
in the midst of night
I cannot help but laugh

When you sit in the dark
with only the t.v. for a light
I worry for your eyes.

When you load the dishwasher
it's never really full,
so I must re-load and redesignate.

And when I see you for the first time
in the morning
I am so in love, so in love.

But when we fall asleep,
your covers overlapping mine,
that is when I know
My heart has found its home.

V. Fini

The fire and the rose are one, Dear Michael.
Our hearts are both on fire
Our hearts are organs of fire
for one another.

Time will continue to float by.
We'll get old and one day, die.
For now, my love, I yearn for you,
even now, this morning, as you lay asleep.
Your eyes are liquid heat;
I cannot wait to see you
for the rest of my life.
I cannot wait to be
your loving, faithful wife.

Happy Birthday, my hero, my kindred,
my gentle man of desire.

I stole this from Spinning Girl, who stole it from Luna Nina.

Free Association is wierd and helpful for people who like to profile serial killers.

I hope I haven't triggered anything wierd.

1. Julie::Apple Pie
   
2. Emotional::Sadness
   
3. Head of household::Money
   
4. Diva::Maria Callas
   
5. Devastation::Katrina
   
6. Business or pleasure::Airplane
   
7. Crown::Thorns
   
8. Eastern::Thought
   
9. Buzzed::Fly
   
10. Officer::Myself
    

CHILD MOON
THE child's wonder
At the old moon
Comes back nightly.
She points her finger
To the far silent yellow thing
Shining through the branches
Filtering on the leaves a golden sand,
Crying with her little tongue, "See the moon!"
And in her bed fading to sleep
With babblings of the moon on her little mouth
-Carl Sandburg, Chicago Poems

I preface this Ode to Spinning Girl with Carl Sandburg. He is one of my favorite poets, because he eagerly brought nature and the city together in his work. His lyric schemes are landscapes of sounds and verbs. Perhaps not a teacher in the traditional sense, Carl Sandburg and Spinning Girl are two cut from the same cloth.
And Now....(drumroll)...the Ode to Spinning Girl.

Canto I.

There is a classroom in town in Connecticut
Where a very tall woman presides.
Her hair is like that of a moth's wing
and her nose is aligned with pride.

She talks about history or math
Or perhaps, physics and atoms.
No matter the subject she's teaching,
it's more than the students can fathom.

She's brilliant and oh-so-pretty
With eyes clear and bright with intellect.
She tells stories about lions and children
And nary a student she rejects.

Canto II.

Spinning Girl is the moniker she uses
When she dabbles with internet pleasure.
Her words are like little rubies
and her blogs are unexpected nectar.

She has readers, far and wide.
Her passion is unrelenting.
The talent she has in her little finger
Daunts my own, like a thimble.

At times, she may seem contrary
But this mood is never lasting.
Back she'll come with a comment
always funny, always witty.

Canto III.

I myself live in Georgia
With a boyfriend and a cat.
I have lots of issues
keeping thoughts intact.

But Spinning Girl is Athena
A goddess wise and fair
And when I read her blogs
I'm refreshed of my own flair.

She does this crazy stuff
with Adobe Photoshop
And lots of times I'm duped
by pictures that she's cropped.

Canto IV.

(Muse in fairy garb swings across imaginary set in my mind, changing entire mood of 'Ode to S.G.')

If there is a soul out there that nears Spinning Girl,
may that soul be bright and cheery; may that soul be
rested and unweary. May that soul
be kind enough to listen to Spinning Girl's words
and learn the immortal lessons she teaches. May that soul
be good enough to keep her safe at night.
When all the lights have burnt out, or a power surge erupts
and you and I and BOBI can no longer read her stuff,
let us pray that Spinning Girl and her ephemeral life
go on and on like Fate's three threads:
epigrammatic, ambiguous, enchanting.
Let us all remember Spinning Girl, and sing of her to children.
If every teacher taught like her,
all minds would be like fertile fields of Narnia or elysian Lands,
or the soft light stuff that makes up heaven.

Canto V.

(A little child sings):
Thank you, God, for your bright star.
Spinning Girl, Spinning Girl, wherever you are.
Teach me now, teach me at morn
Weave me a tale
To last through all time.

(Curtain down)
(Applause).

"Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch
He watches over you
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
Not to put too fine a point on it
Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet
Make a little birdhouse in your soul"
-THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS
"Birdhouse in Your Soul"

I remember this group from Middle School. They played that song, 'Triangle Man' quite a bit. This was in my thirteenth year old year of life, when the world was an angry vat of disappointment.

This was the year I was introduced to:

Sonic Youth

Primus

Smashing Pumkins

Nirvana

and:

They Might Be Giants.

It was a cerebral year of music. If you listen to the music of They Might Be Giants, you Might Find Yourself Laughing. Or Crying. Depending on the day.

Last night, I asked Michael, "Where the hell is Laura Bush?"
He said, "At home. Where a woman should be."

Au contraire, Michael! Today, I went to CNN.COM, and sure enough, she released a statement. The clip, by the way, was played after an ad for the Army Reserve (by the way, the webpage will totally remind you of a video game--that's how they sucker the kids in). A young black man sits down with his [single:read un-wed?] mother and says, "I found a way to pay for college."
Don't even get me started on THAT crap.

Anyway, then Laura comes on, wearing her traditional white. Her hair is groomed beautifully. She has that whole Good Housekeeping glow about her. She says to the cameras that people need to get ready to help.

She tells a quaint story about a small boy of high school age, after evacuating New Orleans, who started some classes in Texas and two 'big football players came up to him and are showing him about the school and taking care of him!" (That was terrible sentence structure, but I'm too fired up to change it). Aww, isn't that sweet? Texas football boys taking care of skinny black kids who have been evacuated. Doesn't anyone else see how this sickly-sweet bullcrap does nothing but impair the Bush legacy further?

Then, she went on to say that,"Well, as we can see in other disasters, the poor people are generally living in the worst housing conditions and are more vulnerable to these type of things. That's just the way it is."
I don't know, is it just me, or did that sound totally arrogant, elitist, and inappropriate? I can get a little sensitive about this kind of thing. I still don't see why she had to say THAT.

Oh, and another thing.

A lot of people are too race concious. But lemme just say: Yeah, I do think there is a connection between the amount of time it took for feds to get to New Orleans and the race of the people still in New Orleans.

That's right. I think the Americans of color got dissed really hard. And I think it's total bull how Bush 'isn't happy about the amount of time it took' to get help. I think his administration were watching football when it happened. They scratched their balls for awhile. Then, they spat their wad of snuff out. Then, they shined their boots. When they watched TV, one of 'em said, "Well, I guess we oughta get down there and do somethin' for them thar refugees."

That's what I think. I think this was blatant racism and classism. The more I think about it, the angrier I get.

Man, I love America.

I love that a place can be so diversified. So political. The home of so many polar opposites. The land made up of the riff-raff of the world.

Over the centuries, the Irish, German, Swedish, Norwegian, Chinese, Japanese, and all sorts of other diseased barbarians came to America. Don't get offended. I'm part five of these six ethnicities. Anyway, here they came and kinda went back to their own cultures and kinda adapted to new ones.

By the way, we're not a melting pot. We're a mixed salad. People tend to stick their own kind.

Okay, so my point? I made those above comments to buffer the reactions I'm going to get when readers go forward from here. Those paragraphs are a disclaimer: I am not racist, nor am I one of those America-is-so-much-Better type-supremists.

Here goes:

If you come to this country to live, DO NOT expect me to put up with YOUR cultural shit!!

If you are Mexican or Latino or Venezualan or Cuban or WHATEVER: do not whistle at me and say, "ooooomuybonita" when I walk by. Do not undress me with your eyes. Do not press your dirty hands against my bottom while in line at Exxon. My father tried to explain this behavior.

"In their culture, it's a compliment. You have to understand, it's very much a partriarchy in the Latin World."
Like I care. This is America, and the next time I get one of those 'oolala' comments, I'm gonna take my purse and start wailing on 'em.

AND MY NEXT POINT:
This is a true story. It just happened to me. Like two hours ago.

Michael and I are driving back from dinner. I go to Exxon (not for gas, but smokes). I'm driving the Scion. Michael sits in the passenger seat.
I go into the store. It is empty except for the clerk. He is African; I know this because of his name tag and his accent. He is quite articulate.
I get a Frappacino. I go up to the counter, where the bullet proof glass is and say hello, may I please have a pack of Camel Special Lights? The clerk grabs the smokes and asks for my ID.

I pass it to him. He passes it back. I hand him my ATM card and then he says,
"Wait. Was that really you in the picture?"
I have a ballcap on, so I take it off, "Yeah, it's me."
"Oh," he says, "You've gained a lot of weight!"

Ummm. Since when is it okay for people who are taking my money to tell me what's wrong with my body? Yeah, I'm sensitive about my wieght. So, I say as sarcastically as possible,
"Gee. Thanks for pointing that out."
"No problem!" he says, "You should run. You should run like twice a week. Then, you'll look good again!"
I walk out, almost in tears.
"Please come back to see me!"

Once I get into the car after Michael beat a meth addict away (no, really, a meth addict was hanging on to the door handle of my car--I'm gonna have to wash it), I told him what happened. He was mad for me. Sweet guy.

I worked one summer in a housing project in Omaha, Nebraska. I was a camp counselor for the not-for-profit group Campfire Boys and Girls. I know, it's scary. I was a counselor. Anyway, most of the kids were immigrants from the Sudan, and the rest were African-American. Man, did those two groups hate each other. The American kids would call the Sudanese 'niggers'. I just didn't understand.
One little girl, N'taye, was taunted and teased mercilessly. She still wore her hair in the traditional style of 'clean-shaven', I suppose to cut down on pests. Not only were the Americans awful to her, but the Sudanese were, too. She had it tough. But she never let them get to her. She always went home with her chin held high and a retort to a taunt right behind her lips. N'taye was my hero that summer.
Anyway, the Sudanese are extremely patriarchal. They still treat women like livestock. Girls are never as good as men. Women are constantly told they are too fat, too skinny, not pretty. These are the same group of people (but certainly not the only) that practice female genital mutilation. This barbaric practice is done when a girl first menstruates. Her clitoris is sliced off, and her vagina sewn closed with twine. Many girls die of infection. The purpose of the practice is to ensure that women know they may not derive any pleasure from sex, and are only vessels for men's use. The sewing of the vagina ensures the woman has not had sex with a man before she is married, because the groom must break through the twine on the wedding night.

Yeah, just a little male-dominated.

Anyway, I guess I just got pissed because that clerk didn't realize how insulting he was. He had no concept that in this country, you don't talk to a woman that way. You don't make her feel awkward and ugly because of a flaw, especially when she is buying something from you.

So, the next time I bitch about men in America? Yeah, remind me of the gas station. Remind me what it COULD be like.

I still want to punch that guy right in his smug little mouth with my big arm.


Yeah, I'm one of the fat kids.

I'm either extremely angry or extremely bored or a little bit of both.

I designed this flowchart to prove a point. George W. Bush is trying to kill me.

Please note: Click on the picture. Hopefully, it will open in a different screen. A resizing option will hopefully click open on your screen. Click this, and see the flowchart at actual size.

Thanks for visiting my blog.