Cruisin'

Goodbye pushy world.
Goodbye demanding job (which is not appreciative of our hard labor. no, not at all.)
Goodbye ringing phones, self-centered self-indulgent pain-in-the-ass sons.
Let's not forget those "get me my food right now" cats. Goodbye.

(singing to the tune of We're Off To See The Wizard)
We're off to go a cruisin'
A cruise to the east ca-ra-bib.
because, because, because, because,
BECCAAAUUUUSSSSEEE,
because we deserve to get far away.
We're off to go a cruisin'
A cruise to the east ca-ra-bib.

Jinx is busy disrupting my thought processes by talking about heart disease and her relatives. I can't compose in noise. SSSSSSHHHHHH!!!

Can you believe that? She made me leave my comfy spot on the couch and go hide in the bathroom to type. Just because I'm Wi-Fi and her computer isn't. Tain't fair. Tain't fair at all.

In just a few hours we will be on a huge boat drinking various things. Probably asking "why doesn't this darn boat leave now? We're on it, who cares about anyone else?"

Rumor has it there is also a singles group going on this cruise. This is good. Their behavior is sure to be so bad that they will make us look good and we won't be the ones that get kicked off the ship.

Pictures and funny commentary to follow upon our return. Goodbye.

Warning: Rant Follows

Why can’t you damn litter bugs keep your damn trash to yourself? Does the side of the road look like the county trash dump to you? I’ve got a news flash: IT ISN’T! Keep your damn trash where it belongs – inside a trashcan or on your floorboard. It does not belong in my yard, the yard next door, three blocks down the street in the gutter, in the back of your pickup so it can fly around as you do twice the speed limit through our subdivision, etc. Get the message?

Many long years ago, a wise for her years best friend told me that throwing trash out the car windows was stupid; it is your trash and you should dispose of it properly. That may not seem like a great piece of wisdom but believe me when it is coming from a 16-year olds mouth you know it must be true. I listened to her and agreed. It is my trash and I should take it with me. Besides I believe in responsibility – it is not someone else’s responsibility to pick up and throw away my trash. It is mine. My parents receive kudos for teaching me about responsibility. These days too many kids and young adults have no clue about it. That is another rant.

This morning I do the dreaded chore of taking our trash out for the trash truck to get. Lo and behold, there is debris scattered in my yard. I know it’s not our debris. We have a trashcan for stuff like that. So I get another bag to pick up the crap in my yard. Let’s see, someone hung onto this Micky-D’s cup at least 20 miles to throw it out in my front yard. They weren’t just passing by because there is no other way out of the subdivision I live in. So either they were almost to a home (theirs or someone else’s) or they had kept the cup, went to a home, left there with the cup and less than a half-a-mile later threw it out. Either way – why didn’t they just use the trash can at that house? Jumping jehoshaphat! Holy mackerel – pure-ass laziness and stupidity. (That’s not what I said when I saw my front yard. I toned it down for some of my friends.)

It wasn’t just a Micky-D’s cup, there were the cigarette packages, the Wally-world bag, the 6-pack bottle carton complete with 6 empty bottles scattered across the yard. The assorted school papers (I wouldn’t want my Mom to see that F you got either Billy Joe Bob), a plastic orange juice bottle, the Taco Bell bag (Taco Bell is 34 miles from here, couldn’t you wait till you got home???) Actually, this is a normal weekend haul from my front yard. Sometimes I even get a 12-pack of bottles*. However, this is not a weekend. In addition, it isn’t summer here anymore. What the F?????? This debris wasn’t here two mornings ago. What the H????? Got busy in the last night or two, didn’t it?

My neighbor across the street has taken to throwing the debris he gets back into the middle of the street. He says he doesn’t want it either. I usually pick it up because I don’t want to drive over the glass bottles. At least I know he is as pissed as I am about some stupid, immature, inconsiderate idiot that drives by. Some litterbugs have quite a set of balls. I know this because they have the audacity to toss their litter into my yard as they pass by WHILE I’m standing there watching them. Everyone in the neighborhood now knows I have strong lungs and a strong vocabulary. See I was paying attention to that drill instructor in basic training.

It’s not just kids – its adults! I mean people over the age of 30 who should know better. Under the age of 30 should also, but I want you to understand that it is old fogies, people my age, being this stupid. Pull your head out people. If you don’t want it in your car/truck, what makes you think I want it in my yard?

I have a theory about the beer bottles. Those are from underage drinkers who want to get rid of the evidence before they get home. Like Mom & Dad aren’t going to smell the beer on you. Or else they are from good ole boys who need to make more room in their floorboards for the 6-pack they are about to drink. Either theory is plausible out here in the middle of nowhere.

And two more things while I’m at it: Just because the lot is empty doesn’t make it the county dump either. The side of a highway isn't a trash can either. Take your damn trash home!!!!!!!

*Side note: Yes, I know that in some states you can turn those bottles in for a deposit. Not here, so they really don’t do me any good.

Loneliness

“Loneliness...
It's a place that I know well.
It's the distance between us
and the space inside ourselves.” *



Ok, here you see the completed Ugly Socks. The pattern is “Little Shell” from Knitting Pattern Central and was worked toe-up with a figure 8 cast-on.

(image removed to free up space for other pics)

The pattern is fine, its just the Trekking 105 color was a bit more than my skills could cope with. I have read around the net about the dreaded “Second Sock Syndrome” that a fair number of knitters deal with. SSS is described as the inability to begin the second sock after binding off the first one. Maybe it is because I’m new to socks, but classic SSS has not been a problem for me yet. I suffer from a variation, wherein I follow the notes I took making the first sock, and duplicate for the second. But invariably my second sock turns out WAY too loose the first time on the needles. I make my increases up to the complete number of stitches required and then go cruising on towards the heel.

About halfway to the heel, I look at my work and damned if you couldn’t fit BOTH my feet in the sock!! I don’t understand what is happening. Maybe it is because my hands have loosened up from completing one sock and my knitting becomes too loose. I don’t know. But that is the only kind of SSS that I suffer from, so I guess I should just be glad that there are no sock orphans at my house.

On a disappointing note, I made my secret order of yarn from The Knitter on the 14th thinking that I would have nice new sock yarn to take on the cruise. Imagine my dismay upon getting an email last night indicating that the order was shipped only YESTERDAY, the 25th!!!! And some of the yarn is on backorder!! Ah well, TJ and The Evil Twin (TET) stand a good chance of me working on socks for them while on the cruise.

I have it all planned out. I will sit with TJ long enough to knit to the heel and then I will transfer her sock to another set of needles. Then I will sit with TET, and work hers to the heel as well. TET will get sock one finished, then I will go back and finish TJ’s sock one. Girls, I suggest prayers to the Knitting Goddess that I don’t suffer from a crippling case of classic SSS while trying this trick of switching back and forth. We might just be begging for a whammy.


“And I've got a longing
that's hard to find-
won't give me no peace of mind.
Something that I've lived with all along.
Days and weeks and months and years,
fillin' in the time, my dear-
tryin' to find the place where I belong.” * Loneliness, 2003, Annie Lennox

Fall!!!!

A big THANK YOU to Mother Nature. She returned Fall yesterday. Yippee!!!

And a post to make up for not posting one over the weekend.

This is the second necklace I made last weekend: I designed, composed, sorted, rearranged to my satisfaction in under two hours. A very short time compared to the previous necklace. It took about an hour to string because I have never made one like this before. There really is a lot of engineering behind the beading scene. Mostly what do I have to do to get it to look like I want? My table only looked like this for a couple of hours:

Notice that is the same mug from the previous necklace. It is a different cup of tea.

I am very happy with this one. It is designed to sit at the base of the neck. It looks fancy yet fun, perfect for dressing up to party, which is what I had in mind.

I’ve cleaned the table off for now. I want to do some scrapbooking but I have some other responsibilities to finish before I can start that. Some of those responsibilities have to do with our upcoming cruise. Okay, most of them are indirectly caused by the cruise, only a couple are directly in support of the cruise. I guess I better get off the computer and get working if I want to scrapbook this week. Bye.

Crafting again

I spent Friday night and Saturday beading: making jewelry. The Geek was very understanding about nothing (except feeding the animals) being done around the house during that time. That includes supper. I managed to make two necklaces, one bracelet, and one pair of earrings. The bracelet and earrings are NOT satisfactory so will end up being redone. What is wrong with them?

The design is the longest and hardest part. I do not usually have a pattern or picture in my mind. What I have is some interesting beads that I want to make into something. Therefore, I will study them for days or weeks to see what they say to me. Usually they give me some idea what they want to become. A short necklace or a lariat, maybe a necklace/bracelet/earring set, beverage I.D. loops, bookmarks. Sometimes they do not know what they want to be so I have to ponder what to do with them. That is the easy part of the design process.

Once I know what I am doing with the main beads I have to decide what other beads will work with them in the final setting, what colors, shapes, sizes. I spend some time looking through all my beads sorting out the ones that seem to be right for the project. (I have a large collection, if I like it I buy it; I never have a project in mind.) Then comes some more pondering time while I consider the composition, the order. Finally, I sit down and start playing with the beads – moving them around, placing them next to each other, coming up with a design, rearranging because I do not like it, changing the color or composition emphasis. This part usually takes the most time; it requires lots supposing, sorting, re-sorting, re-choosing and in-depth study. Sometimes I am not sure so I leave it and come back to it later, hours or days later. My table looked like this for days:(image deleted to make room for other pics)

Several times I thought I had the right mix, I’d start stringing and say, “nope, this isn’t working.” So off come the beads and I change the design again. This first necklace took over a week in the design stage. Including many hours or stringing and re-stringing until I was happy. Once I had a design I liked the actual stringing only took and hour or so. I like the way it turned out, cheerful, happy, sunny outlook, speaks of bright sunny days and laughter. The second picture, while blurry, shows the colors the best. (I swear both pics looked good on my camera.)
(images deleted to make room for other pics)

As always, it needs a good home. Would you like it? Let me know. It is sized to sit at the base of the neck. It is not a choker but does not dangle either.

Sailing

“Fantasy, it gets the best of me
When I'm sailing
All caught up in the reverie, every word is a symphony
Won't you believe me?” *


Ok, spleen is empty, now back to our regular scheduled programming. We are under 1 week until our cruise; have I mentioned that we are going on a cruise? Seven days, with stops in Nassau, St Thomas, and St Maarten. We can hardly wait.

A couple of years ago Fozzie and I spent the weekend with TJ and the Geek. I can’t remember if we had started going to the Renaissance Fairs or not; maybe we had, and were trying to think of more reasons to get together. Anyhow, somebody mentioned getting the gang all together and taking a cruise. None of us had ever been on one before, and I know it is something I have always wanted to do. TJ had concerns because she gets horribly motion sick, Fozzie and the Geek had the usual “how much is this gonna cost me” concerns and since I had no concerns I got the job of trying to plan something.

As it turned out, TJ and the Geek took a quick 3 day cruise by the end of that year—just to see if they would like it. Earthpig and My Evil Twin took a cruise for their anniversary. Fozzie and I wound up taking a week long cruise with my parents, and 2 of my 3 sisters last year. Most all of us were in love. So last fall, when the gang gathered here for the trip to the Renaissance Fair, I had all the information I needed to get us a cruise. We started out big-my parents were going to go again, Wojo and Beautiful Bob were going to get a suite, the Earthpigs were going to get a balcony, my girlfriend from high school was going to go—it was looking like I would be able to book 8 cabins and get to sail free. But alas, life intervenes and my folks cancelled, as did Wojo and my girlfriend.

But who cares?? We are still going to cruise. We added CombatMom and her son just a few months ago, in between her active duty AirFarce deployments—we figure she could use a vacation. She will be flying in from Oklahoma. TJ and the Geek will be driving from LA (lower Alabama/Florida panhandle) to the port. Fozzie and I will get up early and meet the Earthpigs down in SC and caravan our way to Florida. I hope to stop in St Augustine for the day-Fozzie has never been there and it is a beautiful town.

As excited as I am about the cruise, I am more excited to get to be with my military family again. This is something I don’t think civilians understand. When you are in the military, far away from home, your brothers and sisters in arms are all you’ve got. Very strong bonds are formed, and these people become the extended family to your children, filling the roles of aunts, uncles, cousins. You work together, travel together and play together.

Guam seems to have been responsible for making extraordinary sets of ties. Fozzie and I were married there, and I know of 5 other couples we worked with that married that year.
All marriages are still going strong, 13 years down the road. I keep in touch with a wide variety of folks from Guam, including all those going on the cruise next week. The AirFarce changed a lot while I was in it, and much for the worse since I got out. But one thing that did not change is my love for my military family, the family of my heart.

Here’s to us guys!


“Sailing takes me away to where I've always heard it could be
Just a dream and the wind to carry me
And soon I will be free” *

* Sailing, 1979, Christopher Cross

Counting down till our cruise.

If you’ve been paying attention you will have noticed that a group of us are going on a cruise here pretty soon. We’ve been planning this for at least a year. Women will understand – planning includes things like formal dresses and being seen in a bathing suit. To that end I’ve been actively hoping, half-heartedly pursuing a little weight loss. I didn’t have a poundage in mind just a dress size. I’ve barely reached the minimum acceptable dress size and have been struggling to stay there. Giving in that I wasn’t going to lose much more I went out and bought new undies and uncovered Mother Nature’s weight plan. Take note: This is not a weight LOSS plan.

Go out and buy new bras in your current size. You’ve been putting this off, claiming you will lose the weight and get back into the expensive bras you already own. But it hasn’t happened yet. Buy new, larger ones and throw out those tight ones. As soon as the trash-man has carted them off you’ll start losing weight. It won’t work until the trash-man has gone because there can be no chance of recovering the old bras. The combination of throwing out the expensive bras and spending excessive money on new bras will create the weight loss.

As soon as you lose the weight DO NOT go out and buy smaller bras. That action is guaranteed to put the weight back on you. You have now spent excessive money on smaller bras so the body’s natural reaction is to gain weight so they are unusable. If you still have the larger bras handy then your body will gain enough weight that they will no longer fit either. Do the same thing with your clothes. I swear this works.

If you need to gain weight (I’m sure only about 5 people fall into this category) then buy clothes that fit precisely/completely. Clothes in which there is no room for another pound. Get rid of any clothes that are a little bigger. It’s the same as the bra theory only in reverse. Since you no longer have loose-fitting clothes your body will automatically gain enough weight to make the clothes you do have feel uncomfortable.

If you don’t want to gain weight, then whatever you do, DO NOT buy clothes that have any spare room in them. Your body will make the connection between you not wanting to gain weight, and the spare room in the clothes, and gain weight immediately.

And there you have it, my thoroughly tested hypothesis. I expect that the feedback I will receive on this post will be sufficient to declare this a scientific law.

Fall has fell

"Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
wake me up when september ends" *


I don’t like this time of year. The weather can’t make up its mind what it wants to do; 40 in the morning, 80 in the afternoon. Mother Nature with menopause. I want to scream ‘just pick one already’. As TJ's double post below shows, I'm not the only one.

The days become shorter and I sleep longer and longer in the morning, unwilling to face the day. I have seasonal affective disorder (SAD) and it just really screws with me around now. I know how the bears feel—I eat more and I’m ready to hibernate until spring. I sit directly under a lamp with a full sun bulb all day long—maybe it helps some. It’s hard to tell. I get cranky, moody, depressed, generally unsatisfied with life and myself. Only slightly different than PMS, not that I think it helps Fozzie much.

I’m usually good until the first cold snap, and then I begin snapping too. The afternoon temperature climb does not fool me, nor do anything to improve my mood because now the sweats I jumped into from bed are too hot to wear. And the too hot feeling only lasts until right after I make dinner; then the sun sinks quickly and the house goes cold. SIGH And I hate being cold, with a passion. Once I get cold, it takes forever for me to warm back up. Thin blood I guess.

Fall signals the beginning of the holiday season—Ho fucking Ho. Christmas depresses me, almost always has. Its used to be a time for the family to get together and celebrate the birth of the man who came to save us all from our sins and give us everlasting life. Now it is a commercial nightmare that begins in the stores in September and runs thru the rest of the year. It’s all about outdoing, showing off, pretending we all get along for one fucking day, and being disappointed when we don’t. Well, you can keep that shit, I refuse to play.

My family has a hard time understanding how uncomfortable I am with the holidays. All that forced familiarity just gets on my last freakin nerve, and with the change of the seasons, my nerves are already shot. I much prefer to stay home.

I have friends out there of various religious faiths and we have been known to celebrate “Un-Xmas” at my house. There is no tree, there are no decorations, there are no gifts—the JW’s have the right idea for once, and they are welcome at my house. My mother refers to JW's as 'godless heathens' because they do not celebrate Xmas. This is more than a little amusing when you recall that the Xtians took over all the Pagan holidays in the first place. The pagans celebrate the Solstice around 21 December, marking the longest night of the year. After the Solstice, the days start getting just a little longer, marking the return of the sun. I am all for more sunshine, and so the pagans are welcome at my house too.

Matter of fact, all faiths and those of no faith are welcome and none are preached around my kitchen table, especially at the holidays. And that’s the way I like it. Growl. Now leave me the fuck alone until Spring gets here.

"wake me up when september ends
wake me up when september ends
wake me up when september ends" *

*Wake me up when September ends, 2004, Green Day

Mother Nature#$@*$?%(&$

Don't bother me, I'm still pouting. Mother Nature has not returned fall yet.

Wait just a minute there.....

What happened to fall? I just finish writing a paean to it and it takes a leave of absence. Did I not say I hated summer? Were you listening Mother Nature? Give fall back. It's too darn hot out there today. Give it back I say. Now.

All I have to say about Surlymon is....

.......Thank God, I don’t have children. I wish he would get it together. I hope you don't have to cave in but that need to keep him in college is going to weigh heavily. I could volunteer to come up and make his life really miserable.

We were supposed to take opposite sides of the issue of not liking and liking fall. However, Surlymon changed the course of BlueJinx’s post. I will still give my side of the discussion and as long as Surlymon doesn’t get too surly she will be able to give her side later.

Fall:
I really, really like fall. It’s cool and crisp in the mornings (anything under 80 is cool) till about 8. And then it heats up to an unreasonably warm 85 or 90 in the afternoon. Here in L.A. summer seems to last forever: April through September. Maybe even March, sometimes with October. I hate summers down here. It feels like 120 at 630 a.m. and that lasts till after midnight. I don’t care what the weatherman says, I believe that during the summer the daily low is only about 90. It is too hot for too long down here.

And that’s why I like fall. Glorious mornings I can sit on the porch sipping hot tea, wearing my sweatpants, without sweat dripping from my brow. Cool evenings for the same thing. My dog can stay outside for hours with keeling over from heat exhaustion. (She has a heavy, black coat; even shaved she has a tendency to overheat in the summer if outside for more than 20 minutes.) And if I feel a need to go swimming, the afternoons are always hot enough for a dip in the ocean. Many pre-schoolers are still working on their tans in their wading pools at this time of year.

These cool mornings give me time to catch up on all the yard work I will not do during heatstroke season. It is cool enough that long walks are enjoyable, they are not a moving sauna. You can have lunch picnics that don't cook themselves as soon as you take the food outside. Fall gives me a chance to put out flowering plants that have a chance at surviving; during heatstroke season even the outdoor plants need the AC on. I can open the house up and feel cool, refreshing breezes, listen to the birds sing, hear the dump trucks rattling by.

Fall, fall, glorious fall. Don’t ask me about leaves turning colors – that only lasts a day down here in L.A. I’m hoping for a cold winter. It would be nice to wear a few of my sweaters before the moths eat them up.

True

“This is the sound of my soul
This is the sound
I bought a ticket to the world
But now i've come back again”*

We really need this cruise. Things here at the Rock Bottom Mushroom Farm have been more than a little stressful lately. Fozzie, after an exceptional round of sex the other night, did not drop off into peaceful, serene dreams like I did. He wound up sitting straight up in bed in the middle of the night, realizing that each year that we have lived here, he has made substantially LESS income than the year before. It put him in a terrible mood, to realize that he is not where he planned to be at this stage in life. SIGH

And then there are the ever exciting and oh so expensive adventures of Surlymon the Maniac. Surlymon, brilliant art college student by day, whose alter ego is Leadfoot, speed demon of the highways and byways. And he has the grades (3.7 gpa) and the points on his license (8 at the moment) to prove it. The kid is gonna kill me yet. While the beleaguered FozzieBear and I sail away to Caribbean ports of call for a week of much needed pampering, Surlymon will be going to traffic court for his THIRD speeding ticket in a year. The kicker is that this ticket will suspend his driving privileges for 60 days. And do you think that Surlymon gives a shit?? He seems to be wearing that cloak of invincibility that is standard issue for boy/men his age---“What, me worry?”

Its like the Gunfight at the OK Corral. Sheriff FozzieBear and Doc Bluejinx squared off against Surlymon the Stupid. Naw, its more like Mad Max in the Thunderdome when we are all three together anymore. I only wish my legs looked half as good as Tina Turner. Surlymon just does not have a clue how his actions are affecting the rest of us. Our car insurance rates rival the national debt, and they only know about ONE of the speeding tickets so far. I have had the nervous shits for over a month now, with no end in sight, my lungs are about to leap out of my chest and go on strike from processing all the fags I’ve been inhaling, and most food tastes like dirt. God I love stress!!!

Fozzie is driving himself and our van into the ground with work, we signed our lives away to the tune of $30 thousand to put this man/child in college, our income this year is gonna be $10k less than last year, and I, on my VA income am the big breadwinner in this house. We pay Surlymon’s college, we pay his insurance, we pay the $8k loan on the car he drives like a maniac, and we pay for a cell phone that 1. is dead a lot, 2. seldom with him, 3. never turned on when it is with him and he has the NERVE to come home poormouthing Friday because he only has $30 in his checking account. (I have recently demanded that he turn over half his paychecks to go towards insurance).

For a test to see if Surlymon truly had his hitchhiking plans in place for his upcoming 60 day suspension, I told him Saturday I was going to need his car on Thursday this week. First words out of his mouth were “For how long?” and then immediately “Can YOU take me to Peabody’s so I can ride with him that day?” When I said no, he almost exploded. We have been telling him since we knew about the upcoming suspension that I was not going to turn into his personal driver. The way he reacted Saturday night proves that he has been thinking I would cave in.

When he was in Jr and Sr High schools, he would regularly get kicked off the bus. We happen to live 7 miles from the Jr and 5 miles from the Sr high schools, and you guessed it, I made him walk. I would drive him in the mornings, but he had to hike home in the afternoons. My point was that I was not going to be punished by his stupidity. He wasn’t punished by it either; the little shit actually preferred walking to riding that zoo they call a bus. College is further away, and walking is not going to be an option this time. Bus service is not going to be an option either, way out here in the sticks. And then there is the transportation he is gonna need to his job, to his weekly allergy shots, his monthly shrink appointment, and of course college 5 days a week.

Call me lazy, a bad mother, sadist, whatever you like. I just don’t think that I should immediately bail him out of this mess he has made. The worst part is knowing that of course I will, in the end. All I need now is the chauffer’s uniform.

“Why do i find it hard to write the next line
When i want the truth to be said
I know this much is true”*

*True, 1983, Spandau Ballet

Another post about my cats

At my house, cat bossiness is in inverse proportion to their size and seniority. Hairball is the largest and most senior. She lets Screech chase her around and trounce her good. The Geek and I have encouraged her to sit on him at least once; that would teach him a lesson. No such luck, she just wails “mommy he’s picking on meeeee”.

Screech is the middle child and used to be the house bully. Even full-grown golden retrievers are scared of him. He will sit on a chair and wait for them to come by – SWAT. Yipes!!! Another dog learns to grovel. Tinker is the smallest, youngest and newest to the household, full of vinegar and determined to be in charge. She does not make the dog grovel; she has a different tactic. She snuggles up to the dog and plays all lovey-dovey, ain’t I sweet. Dogs fall for it! Same with us humans. If it is a lap, she is in it wanting to be petted.

Since February, there is a new boss in the house and it is Tinker. She makes sure Screech toes the line. Oddly enough, Hairball has decided she will not tolerate Tinker being bossy. She has not sat on her yet but it is merely a matter of time. Screech has become the cowardly lion. I suspect he decided to bully Tinker once and she let fly. I told Hairball he would stop if she just stood up to him once. See there cats – the human was right!

I should admit that the cats have trained the humans. Hairball will sit in your lap ONLY if there is something soft covering it. She does not lay on bare skin or blue jeans. Sweats are acceptable. She comes up to you and checks your lap out, if the covering is not acceptable she will sit to one side, mew and stare at your face then your lap. Hint, hint – put one of those nice afghans on it so I can sit down. We now know to go ahead and cover our laps as soon as we sit down. Saves energy later. Tinker is the one teaching us about emptying the litter box at least twice a day. She has a way of getting her opinion across that makes me more than happy to clean the litter box as often as she wants. Screech – the alarm clock – has taught us he will wait until the appropriate hour but, by god, we had better get up then. Therefore, we do, even on holidays.

For scientific informnation on cats, go here: Cat Fanciers

For fun information on cats try these sites:
The CAT Users Manual
Rules For Stray Cats
Home - A Cat Experience

Was it worth it?

“Was it worth it?
Yes, it’s worth living for
Was it worth it?
Yes, it’s worth giving more”*


I am going to riff off/rip off Dad Gone Mad today. He is about to undergo “Operation Testikill” and since Fozzie has had the same, I thought I’d share.

To have a vasectomy, both husband and wife must sign the paperwork agreeing to the surgery. Fozzie and I were married on a Friday afternoon in July, and the very next week we were scheduled to see the doctor. I was in a state of panic. There was no way they were gonna let him have the surgery after only a week of marriage, not to mention when they found out Fozzie’s daughter Stinkypoo was adopted. Fozzie just smiled and told me to let him do all the talking.

We get in the doctor’s office, and begin the interview. How old we were (Fozzie was 32 and I was still barely clinging to 29), how many children we had. Fozzie answered that we had 2, ages 12 and 5. Doctor wants to know why we want the vasectomy and Fozzie looks him dead in the eye and says that he does not want a 5 year old running around the house when he is 40. I almost passed out in the floor as the doctor, without skipping a beat, pulls out a pad of paper and a pen and says “this is how we’re gonna do it” and begins drawing pictures of an undercarriage.

Whew. The procedure was scheduled for the next Friday, so Fozzie can have the weekend to recover. I still believe that Fozzie chose that particular weekend just so he could get out of taking me to the Maxi Priest concert. Vasectomy vs Reggae? Fozzie reasoned that he at least got good drugs for the vasectomy, so it was a no-brainer.

Fozzie is a strapping 6’3, goofy-looking redheaded Irish boy, which means that he will sunburn on a cloudy day and bruise if you look at him cross-eyed. The devestation caused by one small incision to his balls was unbelievable. His entire undercarriage (except the very head) was BLACK, with the bruising spread out to his lower abdomen and towards the thighs. I almost cried—I thought for sure his dick was rotting off. The doctor took one look and said “Whoa!!! I’ve done a lot of vasectomys and I’ve never had bruising like that”.

All this meant Fozzie took longer than normal to heal up, and we had told Surlymon that Fozzie had had to have a shot to his testicles. Surlymon was finding it hard to play gently with Fozzie post surgery, and we had to tell him something.

About a month after the vasectomy, the 3 of us had gone down island to a local shoe store. Surlymon was starting kindergarten and was all kinds of wound up about life. Fozzie was sitting quietly on a bench, and Surlymon came flying at him, trying out his new shoes. Fozzie grabbed at him to keep him off his lap, and in a voice that echoed off the walls, Surlymon says “Does it still hurt where they gave you a shot in your TESTICLES???”

Dead silence fell over the store. Poor Fozzie turned as red as his hair as he tried to shush Surlymon, and I had to walk to the back of the store so I could laugh hysterically.
Its been 13 years, and I still laugh hysterically over that one.



“Cause it’s worth it
Yes, it’s worth living for
Cause it’s worth it
Yes, it’s worth giving more
And it’s worth it”*

*Was it worth it? 1991 Pet Shop Boys

But honey, I don’t have time to clean the house….I’m busy crafting.

The worse part (and the part I hate the most) is cleaning up after the project is done; so I have a tendency to stick with crafts that let me keep the main mess spread out for years at a time while I work on small projects. Like scrapbooking, beading, painting models. This habit does not endear me to The Geek but we have reached a compromise. I have a worktable in the living space and my crafting can stay spread out on that all the time. As messy as I want. I feel that the table is not big enough. No surprise there. I had a larger table. It was not big enough either. Conclusions concerning space issues and cluttering large areas with stuff can be drawn from that; and those conclusions would probably be correct.

Whatever. The compromise is I can have the table in the living space as long as I DO NOT leave my craft stuff spread all over the dining table, kitchen bar or island. Do not get the wrong idea about The Geek, I can USE those surfaces I just cannot leave everything spread out all over them for long periods of time. I can tell one day that we are going to have a long discussion over what is a ‘long period of time’, for right now I’m trying not to be too liberal in my interpretation. My theory is that as long as half of the dining table is available for meals I have not cluttered the table and therefore, I am not utilizing that surface for long periods of time. Even if I leave my stuff on there for weeks or months. Can you see the fine print in that?

“So what brought this up?” you ask. I just finished another couple of necklaces and I was putting up the supplies. Yes, I was on my table but I still have to put enough away so that I will have a clear surface to start the next project. I was bemoaning the fact that I have to clean up and how much I hate it. Then it dawned on me, “at least you don’t have to put it all back in the spare room.” Sometimes my conscience is annoying. So here are my latest efforts. If you would like to own it let me know. Free of charge to my friends and family, of course.

(images deleted to free up space for other pics)

Forever Live and Die

"I never know, I never know
I never know why
You make me want to cry
I never know, I never know
I never know why
Forever live and die"*


And TJ was worried she would have no content to add here! She puts me to shame.
Since the original discussion that prompted me to start this website mentioned knitting, I thought I would fill ya’ll in on my latest project. Back in Sep, the Earthpigs, TJ, Fozzie and I spent a rather memorable day in Asheville NC. The purpose of the trip was to go to EarthGuild
a fabulous store I found one day when I was checking for spinning stores that might be close to us. Let me explain that “close to us”. TJ drove all the way from LA (that’s lower Alabama, also known as the Panhandle of Fl) for this day trip, and the Earthpigs came up from central SC.

Fozzie and I had gone to Earthguild once before in the spring, and I had bought some wonderful sock yarn, Trekking XXL 101. It was very expensive yarn, and so I limited myself to just one. I was also not all that sure my skills at sock knitting were up to Trekking, as I had only used the cheap Magic Stripes yarn at this point. Well, the 101 turned into a fabulous pair of socks, and so Our Gang went up to see what they could find. I splurged on 2 skeins this time, some lovely Trekking 104 (blue) and some 105 (not blue). My Evil Twin and TJ each bought Trekking, 106 and 110 respectively. I told them if they bought the yarn, I would knit them socks.

I am lousy with math, and so far I have only knit socks to fit the feet that are nearest me at the time I am knitting them (meaning all for me, except when TJ was here I knit her some Magic Stripes footies). Having taught myself to knit the toe-up method ala Denise Powell
I need to have the socks tried on as they are knit. Saves me from math, but requires a long wait for MET and TJ. Hopefully the wait will be worth it for them.

Immediately upon returning home from Asheville, I cast on and completed the Trekking 104 socks. Love, love, love the way they turned out. All knit, all the time, until a simple ribbing for the cuffs. Then I cast on for the 105 socks. It usually takes me a few goes before I can get the cast on working the way I like, so I was not at first concerned. I quickly worked my way to the heel, got it turned and headed for home. And then took a good at what I had achieved so far. It wasn’t pretty.

I had read horror stories on the net about different brands of yarn that displayed the dreaded pooling of colors when using a straight knit in the round. Well 104 isn’t exactly pooling, but the color changes are turning out looking more like mud. Not pretty. Fozzie looked on in horror after agreeing that the sock was ugly while I frogged the whole sock.

That hurt. It hurt so bad I wound it up and put it away for about a week. Then I realized that this close to the cruise, if I didn’t find a way to fix this yarn problem, I would not have a sock to knit while having the drink of the day on Lido Deck. SIGH. I searched all over the net, trying to find a pattern that I could do that would: A. fix the ugly color problem and B. be a pattern simple enough that I could do it and C. use the same number of stitches in the pattern as I had cast on to fit my foot. SIGH.

Enter Knitting Pattern Central . Go check them out, they have patterns for everything, including this ugly sock, which now looks like this :

(image deleted to free space up for other pictures)

Still not pretty, but will have to do. At least until my package from The Knitter.com arrives. I snuck out and ordered 2 more skeins of Trekking, in 18, 95 and my beloved 104. Shhhhhhhh, don’t tell Fozzie.


*Forever Live and Die, 1986, by OMD (Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark)

Collections : Cluttering up your life/time

People collect many things: Barbies, butterflies, state quarters, books, rocks, artwork, David Winter cottages, dragons, pottery, antiques, comic books, teapots. You name it, someone collects it. I’m just as guilty as the next person. One of the things I collect is wise, witty, sometimes downright funny, but always on target, sayings. Here are a few of my favorites:

The single biggest problem with communication is the illusion that it has taken place.
Keep staring at me. I might do a trick.
This isn’t an office. It’s Hell with fluorescent lighting.
You’re just jealous that the voices talk to me.
Do not talk with this person until after their second cup of tea every morning.
Drive defensively – buy a tank.
I live in my own little worlds, but it’s okay….they know me here.
“In passing, also, I would like to say that the first time Adam had a chance he laid the blame on a woman.” (Nancy Aster)
I’m confused ….wait maybe I’m not.
We wonder why the dogs always drink out of our toilets, but look at it from their point of view, why do humans keep peeing into their water bowls.
Bills travel through the mail at twice the speed of checks.
Who is General Failure and why is he reading my hard disk? (I suspect only computer savvy people will get this one.)
“If you think you’re too small to be effective, you have never been in bed with a mosquito.” (Betty Reese)
My dreams are not dead, they are only sleeping.
“We’re all in this alone.” (Lily Tomlin)
Due to budgetary constraints, the light at the end of the tunnel will be shut off until further notice.
The nice part about living in a small town is when I don’t know what I’m doing, someone else does.
Why is lemon juice made with artificial flavor and dishwashing liquid made with real lemons?
Where are we going and why am I in this hand basket?
Stress reducer: Put a bag on your head. Mark it “Closed for remodeling.” **Caution – leave air holes.
Every time I think about exercise, I lie down until the thought goes away.
I wonder how much deeper the ocean would be without sponges.
Just when I was getting used to yesterday, along came today.

And one especially for BlueJinx:
“It is not so much our friends’ help that helps us but the confident knowledge that they will help us.” (Epicurus, Greek philosopher, 341-270 B.C.E.)

Introduction to my cats

Have you ever pondered cats? I know BlueJinx has -– she has a few. If a couple of cats call your house '‘home'’ you know what I mean. They all have personalities, petty jealousies, quirks, foibles, and downright irritating habits. Want to piss off a cat? Bring another cat home. Really want to piss off a cat? Don't empty the litter box first thing in the morning. They will find creative ways to display their solid waste to remind you that you FAILED to empty their litter box.

Cats are trainable. They don't do sit, stay and fetch. They do learn how to tell time, strategically place their regurgitated hairball for the most contact with your bare foot, and the best places to hide when it is time to go to the vet. Mine know exactly what time I'm supposed to get up. So at 10 minutes till they start their breakfast call. Softly, slowly growing louder so that by the time the alarm should go off they are wailing in my ears. I don'’t turn the alarm on anymore, the cats do a fine job of waking me up. Unfortunately they don'’t have a snooze button.

It is not just breakfast either. Oh no; Screech knows exactly when supper is supposed to happen. He starts warming up about 30 minutes prior and serenades the kitchen loudly. He's not just asking for his supper he is also demanding that the dog get her supper. Why is he so worried about the dog? Because he likes canned dog food -the gravy part. He knows if he is noisy enough we will give him a tidbit when we feed the dog. We tried keeping food in the cats dishes all day long. Hairball got immensely overweight and the vet said ‘DIET’ NOW. Hairball will eat all cat food left unattended, which is the explanation for why the other two cats are skinny. It is not an explanation for her name. That is another post.

Is there a point to this post? No. Was there supposed to be? If you want a point check out what BlueJinx writes. I write just to babble.

Let me comment on the bikini line problem. I have solution for stopping the irritation in that area caused by a close shave. Wear loose fitting clothes. Very loose. No clothing is better but try going to Wally-world that way. “Yes officer, I understand. But you see, I shaved the bikini line area this morning and it feels much better without clothes.” I bet that explanation will float like a lead balloon. Since clothes are a necessity for Wally-world, cheat a little. Wear them loose and skip the undies. No nasty elastic to irritate your tender skin.

Madness

“People say that I’m crazy,
But I’m not that way inclined
I know what I know and I’ll happily show
That Madness is all in the mind” *



Its like a special disease that only women get. You don’t hear about guys running out and getting bad haircuts just to please their friends. It happens to them by accident. Fozzie is the recent recipient of such an accident. He certainly didn’t intend to walk out scalped, but that is what happened. Nobody suggested or encouraged him to go be scalped just to see what it will look like. Only women do such stupid shit to ourselves that takes forever to correct. And we do it ON PURPOSE.

TOCC called me this week to report that in a fit of insanity she decided to mutilate herself. She woke up, looked in the mirror and didn’t like her bangs---if you are squeamish stop reading now, but you know what is coming already. She grabbed the scissors and intended to cut so her bangs would just touch her eyebrows. Somehow she managed to hold her hair wrong and her bangs are now about an inch long from the hairline. Its gonna take forever for that to grow out. Maybe she was feeling guilty for ruining my hair so recently, its hard to say. Maybe its because she is going on a surprise visit to her mother and she felt like sabotaging herself. It is a mystery.

SIGH Reminds me of that time on Guam when TJ decided to straighten her hair. She has naturally curly hair, not like Violet from Peanuts, just lots of body that the rest of us pay money to have PUT IN our hair. But crawling around the jungles and snorkeling in the ocean there must have disagreed with her in some fashion so she went and got a box of AfroSheen hair straightener to play with over the weekend. Ya’ll remember the Exxon Valdez wreck in Alaska? The pictures of people trying to scrub the sludge off the animals? Poor TJ. I think it took a week for her hair to stop looking so greasy. I felt so bad for her then; not so bad as to keep from telling the whole world about it now, but really bad at the time.

Its an infection, or a defective gene or something. Maybe its telepathic. MET called me today to say that she is planning on getting all her hair cut off. She threw this out the other night in an IM about the cruise. TJ and CombatMom all chimed in too, but I figured they were all just busting my ass about my recent disaster. Knowing Earthpig like I do I suspect she is pulling my leg. She claims to want it short and layered all over. He will kill her if she does. Last time I saw her it was over her shoulders. I trimmed it TO her shoulders one time and Earthpig nearly had a cow. Yes, go ahead and picture that—it wasn’t a pretty sight. The cow wasn’t pretty, her hair was fine. And now, a mere 17 days before our cruise, that we have been dreaming and scheming of for over 2 years, she is gonna go and scalp herself. It makes no sense. MET claims that she called Earthpig at work this morning to tell him what she wanted to do to her hair. I am not at liberty to repeat the exact phrasing involved in her description of the length she was going for, but suffice it to say that its longer than my hair. Of course his first response upon catching his breath was to shout “Did Bluejinx put you up to this???”

I had to go and get my fiasco trimmed up just Monday. Three weeks into the cut from hell and it was unmanageable. I guess I should be glad it grows out fast, but Fozzie was concerned that I would fly away from where the feathers had grown into wings at the sides of my head. Gotta love that cowlick. Fozzie’s rationale when I quizzed him about the advisability of trimming this close to the cruise was “maybe it will look good by then”.

Erma Bombeck wrote a column years ago about women and their hair. As I recall it focused more on the funky shit that happens during the growing it out long phases.
Erma was one of the ones who was not blessed with a long hair gene. I read somewhere that hair length is determined genetically. Not everyone can have hair like Crystal Gayle, which Erma didn’t know back then. Does it help us much that we know about it now? Probably not. It certainly doesn’t keep us from hacking ourselves all to hell. And who do we do all this for anyway? Other than guys like Fozzie and Earthpig, most men couldn’t care less what our hair looks like as long as it doesn’t get in their way when they are screwing us. Who do we dress up for? Who do we put on the full war paint for? Other women. Our girlfriends. Pure madness.

Getting back to girlfriends, I was on the phone to the Earthpig this afternoon when MET walked in the door with her haircut. The silence was deafening. Earthpig said he hadn’t see her hair that short since they met in training school, over 20 years ago. He liked her that way well enough to marry her, so I guess they’ll be adding another candle to the anniversary cake. Whew. Even tho its not my fault that she chopped off all her hair I will still wind up taking the blame for starting this trend. I have been known to start trends amongst my friends, like all of us going to the Renaissance Fairs, meeting up to spend a day shopping in Asheville, getting together to go on a cruise. Nice, simple things like that. Nothing ever as hair raising as this deal is turning out to be.

“Well some men seek answers in bottles
And others in degenerate ways
But I don’t care much for the question
Madness is all in the mind
Madness is all in the mind”*

*Madness (Is all in the mind) 1982 by the fantastic British group Madness

My side of the story.....

hhhhmmmm….. yes, she did indeed drag me into this, but at least I didn’t kick, scream or otherwise protest. It pretty much happened as she said. Except she missed the part where we were IMing and she asked what the name of the blog should be, it’s url, a descriptor. Duh – are you starting one right now? She didn’t really answer that but kept asking questions and sent me a link. Followed by more questions. Voila! We have a blog. I have to admit it sounds like a fun thing to do. There is no set schedule for new posts – at least I hope their isn’t. Jinx – we didn’t set a schedule did we?
Jinx is the long-winded, humorous writer of the two of us. I am apt to write shorter paragraphs pondering great themes. I sometimes B.S. well also. It has been questioned if I have ADD which would explain the short paragraphs and meandering subjects. I like to claim that my mind is pondering too many different things, all of the thoughts being important and therefore, I jump around from subject to subject trying to get my thoughts out. (See earlier comment about B.S.)

Hummingbirds: It has been a strange summer for hummingbirds at my house. During the spring they went migrating through so fast I did not get to enjoy them. In September, they were back practically banging at my back door demanding food. So I fed them daily, enjoyed watching their flights and listening to their chirps. And now they are gone! Poof! Vanished. Maybe three whole weeks of enjoyment. Am I whining about it? Darn tooin’ I am. Maybe I just never paid this much attention to them before. It’s like they said “okay, we got her trained to put out the food so let’s vamoose.” Overnight – gone. I miss them. They are so cheerful.

Hermitting: I like the sound of that word. I am a hermit. I like being by myself in my nice, cozy cave. This is, of course, hard on my friends who would like to see more of me. Maybe Jinx did not have to drag me into this blog, but just ask her (or any of my other friends), getting me out among people is a major battle. Why? Good question. The answer is anxiety disorder. Imagine doing 20 years in the military with that hanging over your head! Sometimes I wonder how I made it and most times I know that other people suffered when it became more than I could bear. To those people: I wish I had known what was going on and I hadn’t been such a bitch. I won’t grovel for forgiveness. What’s done is done. I’ll try to do better in the future.

Speaking of the military, lets talk about bios and blogs. Bio is military jargon for dry, concise descriptions of your military career. Always plain, straight to the point and really not saying much about the person themselves. Usually not more than two pages long, I’m pretty sure that’s one of the rules. (It’s been awhile and I’ve forgotten some things.) Blogs can be bios but what they really are is an insight into the person who is writing them, even if that person never writes a thing about their personal life. That is what I like about blogs. You get to know the person not the outline.

I can see I need to update my profile. I need to include disjointed (rambling, lacking continuity, disorderly, incoherent, jumbled thought processing,) in my list of adjectives describing me.

I know that Jinx is already working on her next blog entry. She is hereby warned, I don’t have it in me to do a new entry every day. I will try to write one every week. Or not.

Friend of Dorothy

It is all "The Obsessive Compulsive Cleaner's" fault. She is the reason I know how to 2-step, the reason I got married for the 3rd time, the reason I have gigantic bras, the reason I got extremely drunk in the Phillipines by buying me TRIPLE jack and cokes, the reason I got my hair cut so short that Fozzie now refuses to let me go play at her house. Do you have a TOCC in your life? You ought to. She doesn't at first seem to be a force to be reckoned with, but appearances ARE decieving. She was the original CombatMom, way back in 1991 when we met. All the folks in the office called her Mom cause she fussed over all of us like a Den Mother in the scouts. But since they got out of the AirFarce, her hubby now makes so much money that she could be a Lady of Leisure if she wanted. But the word leisure is not in her vocabulary and so she scrubs richer people's toilets to keep her self occupied. Therefore she will now be known as "The Obsessive Compulsive Cleaner" or TOCC for short.

But back to the hair. In 1977/78 the Dorothy Hamil cut was all the rage, and I just happen to have the perfect hair for that cut--nice and thick, with some body. My mom kept us girls in short shags and pixies until Perfect Sister and I were old enough to walk down to the beauty school and get our own cuts. Being a beauty school, they needed victims to hone their skills on and the price was quite cheap. I was not at this time aware of Caveat Emptor, and when I went over to have my Dorothy trimmed up before going to a party something happened. Something BAD happened. Instead of having a nice thick wedge in the back, I ended up with about an inch of hair layered all over my head!!!!! At the sensitive age of 16, I now looked like a boy, a very young skinny flatchested pimpled boy. My life was over. After crying myself sick, I dried my eyes and made a solemn vow to never get my hair cut again. Up until I made my last promotion in 1994, I grew my hair out until I could sit on it, only submitting to the occasional end trims. After my son was born in 1987, I did let CoolSis cut me up to bra strap once, but it was still long.

Being in the AirFarce, there are regulations about everything, including hair. With hair like mine, I wore it braided and pinned to the back of my head; nothing exciting, pretty boring and plain, not to mention hot and heavy. The hot and heavy part did not come into play until I was stationed on Guam in a Combat Communications Group. A CCG means that you are trained to pack up all manner of communications gear (phones, computers, teletype, satellite, radio, dixie cups and string), tents, food and water for 30 days and head into a forward area and provide these services to your user. Think Ma Bell in camoflague if it helps you. Anyhow, traveling to hot, exotic locales in Asia and roughing it is not very conducive to keeping luxurious long locks and so in 1994 I decided it was time for a bob. Nothing fancy, just off my shirt collar enough to be within regulation.

This served me well, and Fozzie could live with it too--he is one of THOSE kinds of guys, you know, that love the long hair. Earthpig is one of those guys too, and I recall that he was not real thrilled with my decision to bob, but got over it in time. I kept the bob until we retired and moved to the Carolinas in 1999. Now, I grew up just over these mountains in East TN, and I have travelled to hot jungle places that I can't spell and you can't find on a map, but NEVER do I remember being in heat and humidity like I have experienced since moving here. My Aunt Lee in TN blames it on the global warming, and after spending 80 years on this Earth, the last 40 in a 100 year old farmhouse with no AC, I'm inclined to think she knows whereof she speaks.

So back to the bob I went about 2 years ago. But my head continued to sweat, my hair sucked up the humidity and I began to resemble Rosanna Rosannadanna, complete with the large glasses. Its always something!! Thinking back fondly to the Dorothy, I started to take a poll among my friends and family, thinking they would all agree that it is the perfect cut for me.
WRONG!! MyEvilTwin put it most bluntly, saying straight out that my face was too fat to be that exposed--Fozzie, TJ and TOCC danced around that by trying to suggest that my face was rather round. Back in the day my face was thinner, but anymore its hard to tell which is bigger, the full moon in the sky or my face. So I shelved the idea and continued to sweat until I went to TOCC's to stay the night before we went to see Rascal Flatts in concert recently.

Remember my talking about forces of nature? Last time I stayed over at TOCC's before a concert she drug me out to Kohl's and made me try on bras for 2 hours and laughed at my granny panties. I had broken down a year ago and let her start putting those 30 day rinses in my hair thinking that would satisfy her and get her off my back. Apparently that was just the opening she was looking for to make me over. Having done the bra thing in Aug before Brooks and Dunn, TOCC now decided that she had thought it over and I should get my hair cut. I guess she went and found a picture of Dorothy or was just bored because the next thing I know she drags me into the car and runs down to her beauty salon and makes me an appointment for that very afternoon. I am protesting all the while and for safety's sake we go back and print out pictures of the most famous wedge in the world. Not that it helped any. The stylist I had an appointment with was all of about 25, and had no idea what we were talking about. I show her pictures and she was still clueless and starting to look nervous, which just feeds my utter terror that I'm about to get scalped AGAIN ala 1978. The stylist at the next chair is listening in, and as she is "a certain age" she begins to try and explain to Miss Clueless how this cut works. As Frankie Avalon descends from heaven above singing Beauty School Dropout, I am starting to move towards the door and run for my life when the other client sees the look of complete panic on my face and suggests that we switch stylists. Curses, foiled again!! TOCC is thrilled, and I find myself in the hands of the older stylist who tells us all about how she practically invented this cut for her sister back in the day. Well, Ms Vegomatic proceeds to slice, dice, thin, layer and I don't know what all else as my eyes were firmly screwed shut. When it is over, I see feathers. Not Farah-like, but feathers all the same. I also see for the first time in 30 years my COWLICK! Holy shit, how could you forget one of those? Ms Vegomatic did NOT give me a Dorothy, she gave me a 40- something style that only resembles a Dorothy in that my hair IS longer than 1 inch all over my head. With feathers. I look old.

I am in shock. TOCC is so excited that I think she had to change her panties when we got home. She is absolutely gushing as she exclaims that I look just like my MOM!!!!!!!! As my mother is in her 60s this does not help me. I manage to not pass out when Geoffrey at the desk gushes that the cut brings me out! and that the bill is $50. Since this was my birthday present from TOCC I feel slightly relieved that I was not the one shelling out the big bucks for this fiasco, and I puzzle over exactly what kind of OUT Geoffrey had in mind upon seeing me. I proceed to run my fingers thru what is left of my hair, getting used to having air back there and begin telling myself that it will grow out. If Fozzie doesn't kill me first. Fozzie had NO idea that this was gonna happen when he dropped me off the night before, and I'm betting he will not be pleased. Hell, I had no idea she was gonna talk me into a stunt like this, and "it will grow out" becomes a mantra.

Suffice it to say that Fozzie was most unhappy and he really hates this haircut. Hoping for an ego boost from a more objective party than TOCC, I take a picture and email it around. CoolSis thinks it will be great for the upcoming cruise, BabySis (who happens to be a stylist) thinks it is a good, precision cut, MET calls me on the phone and says "OH MY GOD what have you DONE?" Earthpig is barely speaking to me, TJ laughs and says it will grow out. I call my Mom and tell her about TOCC and the haircut, and that TOCC thinks I look just like Mom. Mom has seen the pic and proceeds to tell me to grow my hair out IMMEDIATELY as I have never looked like her IN MY LIFE and now is not a good time to start. I am taken aback by her vehemence and proceed to call TOCC to complain that she has ruined my life, everybody hates my haircut. Including my Mom. TOCC immediately demands Mom's phone number and calls me back later to report that when she introduced herself my Mom began to laugh and continued to laugh the whole time they talked. She also reported that Mom said I looked like a serial killer! Well gee thanks Mom!!! Glad I can still count on you to support me when I need it. TOCC's daughter sees a picture of me (having been out of town when her mom was torturing me) and wants to know why I have gotten a bull dyke haircut!!!!! So now I sit here, telling the world how TOCC has turned me into a Serial Killing Bull Dyke in my quest for a Dorothy hairstyle. My only consolation is that if I'm a Serial Killing Bull Dyke, then TOCC is my Bitch.

Why we are here taking up bandwidth

Since everybody and their dog (between us we have 20 creatures) has a blog these days, why not us? Actually, this story is more like my last bad haircut, a shining example of good girlfriends gone bad, but I digress.

It started out innocently enough, TJ and I were IMing away, daydreaming about our upcoming cruise and out of the blue, she wants to know when I'm going to start my own blog. Blog about what, exactly?? Its not like I have much of a life these days and certainly nothing to write home about. TJ reminds me that I knit and read blogs all day, and could take pictures of the stuff I knit and show the world my socks. (By show the world, she means herself). About this time we are invited to a group chat with My Evil Twin and CombatMom to talk with them about our upcoming cruise.

Blogging is forgotten as we dream and scheme about our cruise on the Carnival Glory at the end of this month. Its going to be more like a family reunion--military family that is. CombatMom and her son, TJ and The Geek, My Evil Twin and Earthpig, 2 of their Piglets, FozzieBear and I are heading for a weeklong excursion to more southern climes. We've been planning this thing for over 2 years now, during which time everybody but CombatMom has managed to take seperate cruises of varying lenghts just to see if we like it or not. CombatMom is still active duty and has been spending her time in the sandbox and other exotic, exciting locales and this will be her first cruise. So we are discussing the important points of going on a weeklong cruise--what to wear, how much we are going to drink, the pros and cons of tanning beds vs spray on tans, how much we are going to drink, various remedies and tips about how to control redness, irritation and discomfort on the bikini line, more drinking--you know, important stuff!!

So yesterday TJ and I are IMing again, and she wants to know if I have started a blog yet. I ask her again just exactly what the hell I have to say that is of such vital interest that it should be foisted upon the world in the form of a blog. This gives her a chance to recall our previous conversation about problem bikini lines and decides that kind of thing might be pushing the envelope too far. Feeling froggy, I remind her that the Dooce has poop and depression, Dad Gone Mad has poop and kids, why can't we have bikini lines??

And there you have it. Good girlfriends with problem bikini lines gone bad.
BTW, my recommended solution to the problem is a shaving gel by BikiniZone--hot pink bottle you can't miss it.

Still Testing

Exercise...exercise...exercise. I mean "Test. Test. Test."
Duck & cover.

Test

This is a Test of the Emergency Bitching System.
In the event that we figure out what the hell we are doing, there will
be actual content to view in the near future.
This is only a Test.