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    And so this morning we find our Intrepid Heroine evaluating her life and discovering that she's too nice.

    The Girl does not leave her laptop, except for trips to the bathroom and to scavenge food. Trying to get her to take another college course, practice driving a car, or even get outside for five minutes so that sunlight might touch her face, is like trying to raise the dead.

    The Boy and The Baby have been ready on time to catch the bus in the morning a total of about one week out of nine.

    A clean bedroom in my house is an urban legend. These days, I settle for "no visible cups or crisp packets." I think these kids would qualify for intervention from the television programme, "Hoarders."

    Unless I pitch a fit, the dishes and clean laundry get left where I leave them, to be randomly picked through until nothing's left but knives and mismatched socks.

    Clearly, something must be done to fix this, even just a little bit. Oddly enough, bribing my kids with money in exchange for doing dishes, putting their own laundry away, or even just pulling the blanket up on the bed has never been successful. Grounding the children also doesn't work, as they enjoy taking naps as much as they enjoy playing Guitar Hero. A new plan must be implemented, one that hasn't been used before, one that is sure to get their attention.

    I have the solution: Air Horn.

    I have seen the enemy...

    I have something of a situation at work.

    One of the contractors at my building has seriously freaked me out. He has behaved in such a way that I felt stalked and threatened. I reported the situation to management, and thought it was handled. The person to whom I confided did "do something," but, as it turned out, not enough "something."

    Last night, as my work buddies would say, the shit got real.

    The contractor tried to approach me inside my workplace. I told him to go away, but he did not stop. So I ran away. I couldn't scream, because I work in retail, but I high-tailed it to the nearest cashier. She seemed surprised to see me and I realised she couldn't see what had happened, so I blurted out, "I'm just going to stand here and watch you work for a few minutes." I kept my eye on the guy until he gave up and walked away without another word to me.

    His next move, however, was to report to the night manager that an employee "went nuts" on him, and he wanted something done about it. I was called back to talk to the night manager, not knowing what had been said. I was asked to tell what was going on. It seemed an odd request, because surely everyone knew.

    When I finished telling the whole story, the level of fury the night manager was keeping under control was staggering to behold.

    It turns out that the manger to whom I confided kept the situation under wraps, so that no one else, not my immediate supervisor nor the night-time manager, knew what was going on or that I needed extra supervision/protection.

    I do love my job and my coworkers, but my workplace has become a battleground now. I have had setbacks with my PTSD because of this. Poor Mister. He has endured so much, and I had made such good progress only to regress. But to continue to work there, requiring an escort from the building after dark thanks to this schmo...

    We will see what the next few days will bring as my champion, Sir Steven, kicks ass and takes names. He was most displeased to be the last to know of this situation, and as I'm his favourite employee (his words, not mine), he was particularly cross.

    If this is "stunning," I'll stay fat, thanks anyway.

    Saw this photo on a UK news site. They described Ms. Angelina Jolie as "stunning," and continued to rave about how lovely and attractive she is.

    I don't know about you, but "skeletal" has never equaled "stunning" in my book.


    I missed Free Comic Book Day and another excuse to buy more dice.


    The Race Is On!

    I work at [redacted], a department store, in their "customer service" center. Obviously, if people have problems or questions, they come see me and my coworkers. An issue has been identified that has mystified the entire crew.

    From time to time, we cannot provide the service our customers ask of us. Whether it's a Corporate decision or the decision of the Zone Manager from our individual store, or if it's just a common-sense thing, sometimes we have to say, "No, sorry." Occasionally, 'That Thing' occurs, and everyone on my crew feels a little, well, pissed off about it.

    You see, everyone else who works on my crew is not the same skin colour as me. I have never seen this as an issue, for any reason, as I accept everyone at face value until they get in my face or disappoint my expectations. Unfortunately, it most definitely IS an issue.

    About once or twice a week, a customer will bring their problem to the Customer Service desk. It doesn't matter to whom they speak; That Thing crops up after they get denied and can't change the employee's mind. If they're speaking to me, they will turn to my coworker and say, "Sista! Sista! I just know you can do something for me? /wink wink/" If they are dealing with a coworker, they will turn to me and in a very patronizing and/or begging tone of voice, say, "Soo, ma'am, isn't there anything you surely can do for me?"

    Either I've denied them because I'm white and am racist, or I'm going to help them because I'm white and will surely help a brotha or sista out because I don't want to be seen as racist.

    And this, my friends, is why we cannot move forward as a society.


    A friend recently discovered that we had an acquaintance in common, and we discussed this person in great depth. She was very curious to learn more about him, and I was eager to reassure her about his character. This young man is someone I admire, musically talented and incredibly intelligent, a comedian in one moment, sensitive and caring the next. His was a rather unfortunate story, one that should have been a blessed life but whose history will forever be marred by a distant, alcoholic father.

    That father died this weekend, of complications from a sudden, serious illness.

    Few people who worked with this man had any measure of respect for him. I truly wish I did, but having been affected by his malcontent personally, I just can't. His family, however, were practically the perfect family: angelic wife, smart and well-mannered kids. I have an urge to help arrange a sort of memorial for him, not so much to honor his memory but to honor their struggle and the years they tried to stand by him, to help him.

    But then again, I fear such a gesture will not be well-received by anyone. How much would that hurt if few people showed up? It's a risk I'm not so certain is a good idea.

    Able to leap capital T in a single bound

    I don't know if this is bogus, but it made me laugh. A guy claims to have taken a few Viagra prior to entering an airport in order to get the full experience of the TSA pat-down. He claims to have been running at full throttle by the time he reached the security center and graciously turned down the full-body x-ray. He even carried on a conversation with the TSA employee tasked with his pat-down.

    Cain positioned himself behind me and began firmly patting down my neck, back and arms. He was like one of those massage chairs at Brookstone. "How 'bout them Bears?" I joked.

    He laughed. "I'm not a big fan of the Bears."

    "I'm not talking about the sports team," I replied. "I'm talking about the woodland creatures."

    "They're all right, I guess."

    "They're good at foraging," I pointed out.

    "I'm gonna use the back of my hands now, all right?" asked Cain.

    He began to firmly stroke my buttocks, and I began giggling. He thought this was funny, too, and laughed. "I'm sorry," I apologized, "that reminds me of my uncle when I was ten."
    It carried on from there, but this was just classic good fun.

    I say, let 'em crash!

    When people go swimming through shark-infested waters, they have an increased risk of getting eaten by a shark. That is common knowledge. There is very little sympathy after the initial outrage calms, and this is as it should be.

    A group of people, four adults and 3 children, willingly went sailing their pretty yacht through pirate-infested waters and...then what happened? If you guessed that they were kidnapped and their boat seized by pirates, you may collect your prize at the door.

    It would seem that about half of the media reporting this incident think we should give a damn. I do, and then again, I don't. I feel real bad for those kids. Kids mostly just do as they're told. Poor things, they just can't choose their adult leadership. The adults, on the other hand, deserve everything they have earned for their stupidity.

    I sincerely hope the pirates treat the children with great care. The adults? Feed 'em to the sharks.

    Bring me the comfy chair!

    Iran is threatening to boycott the 2012 Olympics to be held in London. That's in England. You can read about it here, at Yahoo's newspage.

    Iran has their panties in a bunch because the artist used a style that has caused the number "2012" to look just like the word "zion." They have a point, but a bigger issue for me is not the alleged religious slight. Oh no, if I were to boycott the Olympics, it would be because the logo and the mascots chosen for it are just straight-up stupid.

    I'd post photos, but Blogger is being a butt and I'm just too lazy to copy to my desktop. Besides, your google bone ain't broken. :)

    The Endless Highway

    The past 14 months or so have been a bit of strain. I discovered a few unhappy truths about myself, and allowed myself to fall into the shadow of a dream. Even after much soul-searching and reflection, I find that I am still "at a crossroads," wracked with indecision, unable to determine the right way forward, incapable of going back.

    I was asked if I was in the grip of a depression. I cannot honestly answer yea or nay, as every day is the same, a feeling that I cannot distinguish from any other day for as long as I can remember. There are moments of great joy as well as great sadness, but mostly the days are simply marked by the changes in the weather. I have rarely ever felt in control of any facet of my life.

    One major truth that I have finally allowed to sink in is my inability to turn people away. I simply must make everyone else happy---do what they want, say what they expect, help them, coach them, encourage them, allow them their freedom. My own happiness appears to stem simply from the happiness I help create in others. A deep-seated feeling within my soul whispers to me that this is just not normal, and that I must change. I have lost my sense of importance, having spent so much time helping everyone else be more important. I have rarely ever been a priority to myself, and perhaps have lost myself along the way.

    I often feel as though I do not know the real
    me. There are things that I like, things I would like to do. But too many of these things seem to point back toward my need to please people. Many of my so-called goals, many of the plans I make, are set with the idea that the completion of my goals/plans would be of great benefit and happiness to those along for the ride. When I begin to think of the things I had wanted to do, wanted to be, in my younger days, ideas that had helped me break free from a cumbersome situation, I am filled with a heartbreaking sense of sadness. Why did I let these things go? Returning to those idea and goals, however, would overturn everything I have now, people I truly love.

    How can I change the patterns of a lifetime without adversely affecting those closest to me? Everything indicates that dramatic change would herald a new dawn for me, but at great expense. There seems no easy answer, and so I find myself perpetually lost at sea; a thought not so much comforting but comfortable: today is as yesterday was and what I expect tomorrow to be.

    Well, bless your little heart!

    Sorry, folks, but I had to do it. I got spammed. And so I have been pushed into enacting that dreadful thing: the word verification. In this instance, I am using "word" very loosely, as I have yet to encounter an actual word as found in any English-language dictionary in these verifiers.

    Many apologies, but please, dearest friends, continue to post your comments and complaints. Much love!


    it's on!

    I'm going off in search of a random word generator online. I'm fishing for topics for my next flash fiction, and since I can't actually find my hardcopy dictionary, hopefully there is a generator out there that I can "flip open" and get inspiration.

    Or you can post a random topic or a "starter sentence" in the comments.