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  • Love Fool

    Just thinking about romantic stuff today, like this:

    Sonnet 116 by Wllm Shakespeare (or not, whatever)

    Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
         If this be error and upon me proved,
         I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

    or this, by Keats, in a private letter to his fiance:

    I never knew before, what such a love as you have made me feel, was; I did not believe in it; my Fancy was afraid of it, lest it should burn me up.

    Ho or No?

    Gotta lay off the Yahoo. However, since I'm already on edge, I'm going to share. According to this article, a minor celeb tweeted her opinions about current celeb fashion trends, specifically how she feels there is too much skin showing these days.

    Lots of back-and-forth on this, including some top-dollar name-calling. "Institutionalized misogyny" was thrown down as well. Perhaps, but let's flip this argument.

    Men attend formal functions dressed in full suits, and the cleaner the cut, the better the fit, the sexier they are. What's in a tuxedo? A full-sleeve button-down shirt with a tie, covering up the entire torso and arms down to the wrist. The jacket even hides the upper glute area. The slacks go down to the ankle. Shoes hide the entire foot.

    I've got two words for you: Daniel Craig.

    Hang on, I've got to get my breath back.

    OK, I'm good now. So, let's talk about this showing too much skin thing. Why don't men go out in cut out shirts that show off biceps, cut pecs, ripped abs? What about tight-fitting hotpants? "Nearly naked" formals?

    Oh yeah. They do. At the drag show.

    Ask nearly any woman and she'll tell you that nobody notices her unless she's somehow flaunting her "good stuff." An actress isn't noteworthy in the style pages unless she is wearing something that leaves little to the imagination. Any actress will try you that to stay relevant, they have to be seen, photographed, published, and then talked about but not disparaged.

    Yet the men are covered from neck to toe. I don't understand it. For a man to get noticed, he needs to be covered. For a woman, the less she wears, the better.

    Why?

    It's not about modesty in women. That concept is so antiquated it's ridiculous. No, it's about goose vs gander. If guys don't have to show off skin to get noticed, women shouldn't have to, either.

    It's that simple.

    A Broken System

    There's an article currently on Yahoo about a family of four who is struggling to exist on $500 in "food stamps" per month.
     
    The children describe their life as a routine of hunger. The mother talks about food options, or lack of, available in her neighborhood. The author discusses in detail the mother's confessions about food ignorance--not knowing what half the fresh veggies are at the market nor knowing which ones can be eaten raw--and also about how cheap low-nutrient, highly-processed foods are compared to the fresh foods. She acknowledges that this is a problem while admitting she doesn't know anything else.
     
    It is a disservice to this mother to try to claim her problems stem from living in New York City. My experience working in a grocery store in "regular America" has shown me that this food ignorance is far too common among recipients of assistance.
     
    This is why the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP)--the "food stamp" benefit--fails. Not because it discourages recipients from trying to improve their situation in the workforce, or that it might encourage generational dependence. There is absolutely nothing done to teach recipients about food.
     
    They are simply given lists of things they can and can't buy on the program. A food pyramid print-out isn't enough to help parents make good decisions about foods. Technically, canned pasta is a grain and a vegetable. Fruit juices are, in fact, counted as fruit servings, and a half-gallon of fruit juice contains more servings"for less money than a bag of fresh apples. Without better guidance, most recipients try to buy the most food they can with the benefits. That's the goal: more food must mean less hunger, right?
     
    The author and mother in this article seem to focus on "organic" versus "processed," and together they miss the point: a family of four certainly can eat for $20 or less per day and feel quite satisfied every day, provided they plan ahead and then purchase wisely.
     
    My monthly grocery bill is $500 or less for a family of five plus two finicky cats. This includes non-food items such as toilet paper and cleaning supplies. My nearly-grown children can only be described as well-fed by any doctor. But how do I do it?
     
    Rule #1--Walk past the beef quickly! In our house we eat a lot of chicken and pork. It's cheaper than beef per pound, even for coveted boneless breasts. It's also healthier, with lower fat content overall. The options for cooking chicken and pork are nearly endless as well, so while you're having the same meat base every single day, the flavors are as varied as the spice cabinet. One whole roasting chicken: $5 or less.
     
    Rule #2--The cheapest canned veggies are just as good as the name brand, but a bag of frozen veggies is the best value altogether. A two-pound bag of frozen veggies, cooked with seasonings, serves all five of us twice over for about $2.50 per bag. We would have to open at least 8 cans of veggies to get the same quantity.
     
    Cheaper dinner: box of pasta ($1), cheap sauce ($1.50), bag of veggies, ($2.50), slice of buttered bread each ($0.50). Five people fed for less than $6, and it's tasty.
     
    Rule #3--Bananas and apples are often more than one serving each! Unless you buy the smallest varieties, divide them between two people to stretch your savings. Pair them with a side of peanut butter for a protein punch that will help keep them feeling full longer. This is a great afternoon snack for about 50c per person.
     
    Rule #4--Hot breakfast is amazing and healthy! It takes about 10 minutes to scramble some eggs. I buy the super box of 3 dozen for $5, and cook 2 eggs per person (we're all adults, as children they only got one). That's $1.40 for eggs each morning. Add two slices of bread, half an apple, and a glass of milk per person, it's about $5 (high estimate) per day.
     
    So, hot protein-filled breakfast with fruit and toast every day, pb&j plus fruit lunch every day, chicken and two servings of veggies every day for dinner. Estimated total cost per day: less than $17 if I don't use coupons. This is if we go big on the meats. I also hit all the major marks on the food pyramid and my family rarely complains of being hungry.
     
    By carefully creating menus and sticking to them, selecting cheaper meats and sides, offering fresh fruits and veggies more than canned or juiced, drinking water instead of soda, and comparing sales to find the best overall deal, I can feed my family of 5 for about $400 a month. Sure, it's a little boring, but when your budget is more about survival than surfing, a little adventure can lead to an empty tummy!
     
    How can I do this for a family of five when the mother in the article can't do the same for her family of four? Education. I had a mother who taught me kitchen skills and a public education system that stressed health education as much as math and science. As an expectant mother, my obstetrician's office offered short classes on how to feed babies and children.
     
    This wealth of information available should be available to anyone who wants to be healthy, but clearly it isn't. The mother in this article said as much. This is, in my opinion, the major contributor to the overall failure of the SNAP program.

    Musically Challenged

    I found that I needed to explain to one of the monkeys what "liner notes" were. I went to the LP collection and pulled out Bruce for visuals.

    Ah, the memories!

    Released in 1984, Born in the USA was a must-have for any fan-girl. My parents didn't disappoint. Centered on the piano they bought me for Christmas, that album made us girls scream with joy.

    ...Wait, they bought you a piano and all you could do is scream for Brucie-boy? WTH....

    That got me looking through the other LPs on the shelf, because I wanted to show the girl more 80s gems, like my Europe LP. Only it wasn't there, and I remembered that it had gone missing during one of our many moves prior to me joining the military.

    And then I remembered: I had just bought the CD!

    And then I remembered: it was in the basket in my van when my van was stolen.

    The van was returned while the basket and its contents were not. With the loss of that basket, so went my music history, the weird and wonderful me through the past 24 years. The first two CDs I ever bought, Depeche Mode's Violator and Nine Inch Nails' Pretty Hate Machine. The last two CDs I bought before the theft, Incubus and Foo Fighters. Just about everything in between.

    There was so much awesome in that basket. I cried more for the loss of that basket than I did when the guys at the detail shop found mystery panties jammed into the back seat--for that, I just told them to shampoo the seats again like they were erasing a crime scene.

    By the way, they complied. Those seats took days to dry out!

    Other music lost that crazy night in January, which is itself a story for another day:

    Disturbed: the entire CD collection
    Nonpoint: their self-titled release
    So much Christmas music:
           Josh Groban
           Harry Connick, Jr
           British Christmas 3-disc extravaganza
           USAF Heritage of America band
    Halestorm: 1st CD, autographed by the band at the concert I attended
    Chicago's greatest hits 82-89
    Take That: Pray
    Josh Groban: Closer
    Southern Culture on the Skids: Dirt Track Date (bought that 13 years ago)
    Etta James greatest hits
    Def Leppard: Hysteria
    Sarah Brightman: Time to Say Goodbye
    Delovely, the soundtrack
    "The Ultimate Brit Mix"
    Ella Fitzgerald's greatest hits
    Europe: The Final Countdown

    There are probably others in that basket that I will some day remember that I'm missing. Le sigh.


    Mmmmm Mmmm!

    The Beav blogged about his favorite letter, inspired by his friend, Devyl. Inspiration is contagious, and so I asked for my own letter. He chose for me the letter M, and so here is a list of my favorite M words. There is no requirement for length, so this is not just some list I filled with chaff in order to complete it--it's my list, full on.

    The Magnificent, marvelous, mad Madam M!

    1. Mister: oh, yeah! I adore this guy. Not only is he my best friend, he always accepts me, encourages me on my many adventures/hair-brained ideas, and turns me to jelly with with just a look. We are each other on so many levels, and yet we have kept our identities intact. Mister is my hero.

    2. Mad: sometimes, this is me. I am so off-the-wall crazy, the only way I can be described is "mad"!

    3. Magnanimous: this is one goal of mine. To generously and genuinely give and expect nothing with grace, would be so fantastic. I'm almost there...Almost there...Stay on target!

    4. Monkey: oh, come on! They're so damn cute! It helps that they're mine, but I must say that my monkeys are the bestest!

    5. Mountains: everyone must visit a mountain range at least once before they die. Their serenity and strength are so centering, it's indescribable. One must. And that brings me to...

    6. Majesty: I'm one for frugality. But sometimes, one must look past the wasteful spending and just enjoy the pomp and circumstance.

    7. Movie: my favorites, I love to quote. Sometimes this fails, because I watch some more weird stuff. But almost always I can find a movie quote to fit a situation. I grew up watching movies as an escape from my unhappy life, and so they were almost always the silliest or geekiest films around, almost always non-standard fare. These days, my filmography is much more varied, and yet the quotes are a constant.

    8. Moonshine: I love the cosmos, and watching the moon and stars is one of my favorite treats. When the moon is full, it shines down on us with such a unique beauty, bringing light to the deep dark and then I feel safe again.

    9. Mandy: One of the saddest songs in the Barry Manilow must-play list. I swear, I can't turn it off, and it always makes me cry.

    10. 'Murrika: That sound certain politicians and media talking-heads make when they try to say, "America." It always makes me giggle and smirk while at the same time destroying piecemeal the portion of my soul that desperately wants well-educated, selfless, civic-minded people in charge of our government.

    11. and finally.... 'Murrika! Heck yeah!! My all-time favorite place to be. This country is awesome! Its founding principles are without peer. All 'Murricans should love this country as I do, should rise up to protect this country when its enemies and its elected officials are trying to destroy it. Protest, people! That's what got us our own country in the first place.... Let's keep it the best place on Earth! In the cosmos!

    Sweetcorn and Zucchini Casserole

    This is my all-time favorite vegetarian dish, from a cookbook I bought in England. It is not suitable for strict Vegans, and it can be tarted up with meats to please the omnivores. I have adjusted the measurements from UK to USA.

    2 tbsp oil
    1 small onion, chopped (I like to use reds for colour)
    4 ounces zucchini, sliced or cubed
    3 ounces canned sweet corn, drained
               *peas, green beans, or mixed veggies can be substituted
    3 ounces cooked pasta (spirals are my favourites)
    Oregano, salt and pepper to taste
    2 tsp tomato puree

    1 tbsp margarine
    1 tbsp flour
    5 ounces milk
    1 1/2 tbsp white wine (or substitute)
    1-2 ounces cheddar, grated

    breadcrumbs for topping

    Cook the pasta and drain. Meanwhile, saute onion until soft then add zucchini and brown lightly. Add the vegetables, pasta, seasonings, and puree. Once blended, pour into a prepared baking dish. Preheat oven to 350F.

    Melt the margarine then whisk in flour (this is a roux, and the base of any good gravy). Whisk in milk and wine, then blend in cheese. Once melted, pour over pasta blend. Top with breadcrumbs. Bake for about 20 minutes or until bubbly.

    For the meat-eaters, add cooked chunks of chicken, turkey, ham, leftover steak, crab, or shrimp. I've never tried it with fish.

    Happy eats!

    Conversion Therapy

    In an effort to assist my fellow cooks, I am sharing a handy chart given to me by the "local liason" at a military base where I was stationed in the 90s. With this chart, you can look up any British recipe and quickly transform it into American measurements.

    In England and Europe, many gas ovens are temped out in "marks," with 1/2 mark being a low-heat slow roast and 9 being "baked to a crisp." They also use obscure measurements like "dessert spoon" and strange ingredients like aubergines and sterilised milk.

    For the record, a dessert spoon is "the big spoon" that comes in a traditional place setting of two spoons, two forks, and a butter knife. An aubergine is an eggplant, a courgette is a zucchini, and sterilised milk is nothing more than homogenized and pasteurized milk. The British don't do this as a rule, so, if you're in England you'll want to shake your milk bottle a little to mix the cream back in before you chug it straight.

    Gas Mark   Degree F   Degree C

    9                     475            250
    8                     450            225
    7                     425            "Hot"
    6                     400            200
    5                     375            "moderate"
    4                     350             175
    3                     325             "moderately slow"
    2                     300            150
    1                     275             "slow"
    1/2                  225            125

    Substitutions:

    Plain Flour = All-Purpose Flour
    Icing Sugar = Powdered Sugar
    Demerera Sugar = Light Brown Sugar
    Castor Sugar = Granulated Sugar

    Things to note:

    UK Pint = 20 ounces!!
    1 lb of flour = 4 cups of flour
    1/2 ounce of butter = 1 tablespoon
    1 ounce flour = 1 heaped tablespoon or 2 level tablespoons

    Smarty Cat

    Many people think that cats are dumb. They supposedly can't be trained to do anything other than use a litter box. They're not fun like dogs.

    I disagree.

    We have a cat who is smarter than most dogs I know. Sure, dogs can be trained to do all sorts of fun stuff, but my cat learns.

    After we trained her to play "chase," she figured out that she could double back and scare us half out of our minds. She discovered that it takes just one claw in the the elbow to wake a sleeping human. She knows that she can bite as hard as she likes when the glove is on, but does not bite so hard when the glove is off.

    And now, she has learned that a puking sound gets a swift reaction out of the humans, and has figured out how to fake it.

    This morning at 0-dark-30, she started scratching the bedroom door to be let out. I ignored her. And then she started wheezing like she does when she's going to chuck a hairball or her dinner. I was up in an instant. Almost right away I noticed she had stopped. I looked around for the evidence, couldn't find any, and went back to bed. Very soon, the hurling began again. I hop up, she stops, and then I realize that she is absolutely determined to get out.

    So I let her out and check for signs of hurling. There are none. If cats are supposed to be dumb, mine is a flamin' genius!

    And this, my friends, is why we don't wish for bad things.

    I have this person in my life whom I've come to hate more than hate itself. I'm usually very cautious with my ill feelings, because I know that normally, they simply aren't justified. "Hate" is such a strong word, a forever word, and one shouldn't just bandy it about. I don't hate collard greens--they don't agree with my palate. See how nice and inoffensive that is? But this guy... 

    I kept my mouth shut, because I love the person who picked him. To judge him is to judge her, and I can't do that. So I try. I try to find some way to redeem him. He keeps at a job he doesn't like because it pays well enough. That's something, right?

    But then he gets accused of something terrible, and we circled the wagons to protect our own, as you do. Then the other shoe drops: the accusations were all lies. His reputation has been completely destroyed, his marriage is definitely over, his family is torn into enemy camps.

    I now find myself feeling a little bit sorry for him. Bad things should happen to bad people, absolutely, but he didn't deserve so much bad. Tossed out because he's a jerk, sure. But this? Never.

    My internal conflict is haunting what little sleep I find.

    Grammar nazis: not sure if I used "whom" correctly. If you discover I'm wrong, please comment and I'll edit.

    Lack of Awareness

    A friend on Facebook announced to the world this morning that this week is "Feeding Tube Awareness Week."

    What. The. Actual. Fuck.

    Seriously, though, this is a thing.

      See? I told you!

    In fact, there's a plethora of feeding-tube awareness-raising claptrap out there for your benefit. I give you....

    Shirts!      Stickers!     Totes!

           
    Discrete bag storage hats!                                                     ....and flair!
    (Ok, that one is pretty damned awesome)

    I realize this is a thing, and that the children and adults (and their people) affected by nutrition issues might be a little sensitive. But do we need a whole entire week dedicated to awareness of their problem? Consider that I've lived in seven (7) of these United States and a foreign country in my 40 short years on this planet, and I have never once come across someone in public with a feeding tube.

    However, I'm no Scrooge. If they want their week, fine. Let's face it, it's not the most eyebrow-raising thing to get a special mention on the Awareness Calendar. Other events include:

    • National Certified Nurse Anesthetists Week, in January. Yes, it's that specific.
    • World Salt Awareness Month, February. You've got too much, not enough, or just can't handle it.
    • The end of March kicks off Root Canal Awareness Week.
    • April 16th is National Healthcare Decisions Day. I swear, I am not making this up.
    • May plays host to "Melanoma Monday!"
    • In June, Lightning Safety Week follows on the heels of Men's Health Week, which I doubt is a coincidence.
    • July would be pretty damn awesome with its Everybody Deserves A Massage Week but it's also Cord Blood Awareness Month, which is kind of gross.
    • August has some stuff, but nothing that makes me go, "Wha...?"
    • September 21st is World Alzheimer's Day, but I'll probably forget about it.
    • October hosts "Drive Safely To Work Week;" the other 51 weeks can get bent.
    • November is National Alzheimer's Awareness Month, because you forgot about World Alzheimer Day in September.
    • December is rather boring, being hijacked by Christmas and all.


    Today, however, is Hug Yourself Happy Day, because I said so.

    **Source: http://www.awarenessdepot.com/awarenesscalendar.html

    ...and the joke's on me

    Turns out that stolen debit card number wasn't a scrape, upload redirect, or outright theft of my daughter's card while shopping.

    The card used to steal hundreds of dollars from me was actually my card to The Girl's account (it's a joint account) and the only thing I can figure is that it was in basket between the front seats where I kept my CDs.

    They bought lots of hats at Champs and cheap costume jewelry at the mall, lots and lots of who-knows-what at Family Dollar and Dollar General in a part of town where I wouldn't ever use my card, some breakfasts and lunches at some crappy fast food places, and even tried to set up recurring payments for their burner cellphone. (PS--thank you, VZW prepaid, for denying the card. I don't know why you did, but you did, and for that, I can't thank you enough.)

    The detective on the case of my stolen car couldn't be bothered to pick up his damn phone or even set up his voicemail correctly, so I was transferred to a different detective for the credit card fraud. Detective #1 did nothing concerning my stolen car, even leaving it up to a beat officer to contact me when the car was found in a neighboring state. Detective #2 found store security video footage of the same woman using my debit card several times at the same location by the end of the first day of his investigation.

    While I have little hope that anyone will ever give up this girl (snitches get stitches here), I at least have my faith restored that there is at least one person who will actually work to earn their taxpayer-funded paycheck in this county.

    If this is a joke, it isn't funny.

    So my car was stolen Saturday. It was finally found last night, and we'll be coordinating with our insurance to get it back from South Carolina and repaired or replaced. My identity was compromised, and I had to jump through those hoops. As a precaution, my workplace had to change its locks. Good fun.

    But wait! There's more!

    At some point while shopping at the mall two weeks ago, my daughter's debit card was scraped. We've had nearly $800 stolen from us.

    I work at a bank, and I don't constantly monitor our accounts. Bad form, I know, but that's how it is. But today after work, some paranoia caused me to take a second look, and I noticed an overdraft sweep out of my account. In a panic, I check the other accounts and see that my daughter's account is sitting on empty, when it should have had at least $300. Further review shows that it's actually almost $200 overdrawn. This will be swept from my account tonight to cover it, leaving me with a big hole in my account.

    It didn't register with the fraud department because the thieves did not use the scraped numbers outside of my metro area. Except that The Girl doesn't even know where these businesses are, there's no flag unless we are vigilant. The girl wasn't checking her account because she wasn't using it.

    Super double bonus: Her account is tied to my account which is tied to my savings account for overdraft protection....

    This could have been a major disaster.

    My advice: log in and check your account once a day. Be vigilant. She only used her card twice, and that's all it took to rob her blind. The sooner you notify your bank of fraud, the faster they can fix it and get your money back.

    Also, don't leave your work keys in your car.

    braintrust

    I'm finally climbing onto the "Castle" tv show bandwagon. Nathan Fillion is hawt, the dialogue is clever, the sets are believable, the cast is beyond stellar, and the theme song is absolutely catchy--basic drums, a little guitar and synth, and this whistling that gets into your brain and just won't quit.

    There's my problem. It's in my brain and it just won't quit.

    For years I've claimed that I "can't" whistle. That's not exactly true. Once upon I time, I could whistle, but then suddenly I couldn't. I didn't miss it because I have always thought whistling was as annoying as bagpipes, and so was never a prolific whistler.

    But that got me to thinking about a number of other things I had lost when I lost my whistle.

    One fine Friday in April, I was driving my little car home from school and swerved off the road to avoid slamming into a gigantic utility truck that was in my lane. My car went over the edge and down a hill, rolling door to door three or four times before finally landing on its wheels. I was not a fan of seatbelts at the time, and got tossed like the SS Minnow inside that Chevette. When all was said and done, I had a pretty bad concussion, knots on my forehead and under my hair from the roof and door frame, knots on my thighs from steering wheel, knots on one knee from the firewall, whiplash, a prickly little pain in my lower back, and a severely pinched nerve in my neck.

    At the time I was taking classes at a vocational school to help me get into a business college. At this point, I was learning to be a secretary, which would help me skip at least one very expensive semester on my (long) way to an MBA. I had learned and had become very proficient with the now-outdated dictation method of "shorthand."

    I returned to class on Monday after the crash and promptly failed a timed test. It just wasn't there--I couldn't decipher anything I'd written before, nor could I write anything in shorthand. It was as if I'd never seen it before. All I had after the test was a blank steno pad and a pounding headache between my ear and my eyeball so strong I was nauseated.

    The strength of my grades up to that point helped me pass for the year, but there was no sense in going back because the second year included regular competency exams to ensure retention. Obviously, that wasn't going to work.

    A few years later, I discovered that everything I had taught myself about Cyrillic and the French and Spanish I had learned in high school were all missing as well, but just like the whistling, it didn't bother me because I didn't use it. When I decided to learn American Sign Language and Italian, I struggled--really, really struggled. With constant practice, I was able to pass my classes. Once out of class, however, I had no one to talk or sign to, and gradually it, too, started to slip away.

    And then I got my beloved piano restored.

    Did I ever tell you about the time I was 9 or 10, in my first year of piano lessons, and I chose to perform the entire "Nadia's Theme" for my first annual recital? Yep. I did that. I could sit down and plunk out just about anything. I was so bored at lessons, though. I mean, oh my freaking gawd, who the hell actually wants to listen to a freaking minuette when there are MODERN things to be heard?! (Typical rant from every first-year student with enough talent but not enough attention span, like me.)

    So I sit down to plunk away, and all that's there is this little ditty from my second-year student book. Ms Marilyn made me play it on my lap, instead of on the piano, and I had to hum it--first the treble then the bass clefs. Maybe that's why it's still there, because it was the oddest thing I ever did in her studio. So I pulled out one of my many, many pieces of sheet music and set up for a little play-along.

    Yeah, I had nothing.

    I think I cried harder that night than I did the day the doctor called to confirm my death sentence. Dying is easy--just live a respectable life and ensure that everyone remembers you fondly without faking. But to live before dying without the cool keys under my fingers, singing to me.... Just kill me now.

    Fast-forward a few more years, and it suddenly occurred to me that the brain is a marvelous, self-destroying, self-repairing muscle, if only one chooses to employ it. If you can convince yourself you are deathly ill, why not convince yourself that you are incredibly clever--and then act on it!

    This fantastic epiphany came to me because The Baby decided to learn French in high school. She was bouncing vocabulary words around, I was correcting her pronunciation with a beautiful accent, and I had no idea what I was saying, only that I was saying it. 

    It has to be there. Maybe it's all shoved way down into some cobwebby portion of my brain, but it has to still be there. From time to time, I'll be talking to someone, and I'll realize I'm also signing. Sure, it's "exact English," which is offensive to traditionalists, but I wouldn't be able to if it wasn't there.

    Now all I need to do is find the key, unlock the door, and sweep out the cobwebs.

    What a wonderful smell you've discovered!

    I've always had issues with talking about politics. It has been, in my experience, the biggest "hot button" topic, even when compared to religion, abortion, and spanking children. To avoid confrontation, I usually keep my opinions to myself, taking care to not invite political discourse. I realise that this is not a good way of sounding out your own beliefs, testing your own opinions for validity and so forth, but I also recognize that with all things, politics has its zealots and, quite frankly, I just don't have the energy to hold my own against that level of commitment.

    Does anyone have advice on how to deflect those who speak out while I'm "on duty" at work, obviously seeking my approval of their opinions and beliefs?

    I do not want to discuss politics while I'm being paid to represent a business, as my position may not reflect that of my company's leadership. Even if it did, it's not my place to say--that's not what they pay me to do. However, when a customer pipes up about [insert politician or pundit here], voicing their stand to one and all, what can I politely say to inform them that I am uninterested in but respectful of their opinion?

    All I've got now is "I'm sorry; I don't discuss politics at work." It seems rude, and the average reaction to that statement suggests that it is, in fact, rude--at least to older men.

    I could go the "girl" route: giggle a bit, and suggest that I have no idea because my husband tells me who to vote for. (Yes, this still happens, even in my generation.) I feel that I can't, because it would be an outright lie.

    I welcome suggestions from every political corner including the apathetic, as always. I'm "equal opportunity," if nothing else.

    Godzilla versus Bridezilla

    I found myself caught up in an episode of "Comic Book Men" the other day. It was interesting, watching true fans get all orgasmy over the stuff they love.

    It was also rather sad, in a way.

    A young couple came in with this rather rare collectible. Careful questions revealed an upcoming wedding, and a desire for them to pay for the dog-and-pony show themselves. The big value reveal showed the bride's true colours.

    The collectible was his, and it was apparent that she had researched its value online (a bad idea for anyone with a collectible since the internet lies) and had decided that this little gem would buy her a wedding dress.

    Another guy was there to shell out big bucks to buy a rather revolting but limited-run action figure set. He had sold off his original set because his girlfriend said they were sick, and yet he thought they were cool.

    No one, under any circumstances, should put up with that.

    There are over 7 billion people on this planet. Keep the stuff that makes you happy and find love with someone who appreciates you for who you are and not who they want you to be.

    /steps off soapbox

    And the eyes have it

    It has been brought to my attention that I don't look people in the eye very often. Interesting, as I thought I did a fairly good job of it. Now that I've been concentrating, it turns out that it really depends on how close the other person is.

    If there's an arm's-length or more, I'm good. Any closer, and I have to force myself. Weird.

    You know what else is weird? I am an attention whore who does not take compliments well.

    Early this morning, one of our first customers of the day noticed my new lavender sweater and said that it was a very good colour for me, that it made my skin "radiant." I got very flustered and stammered something that I hope sounded like "Thank you" but probably sounded more like "derr derr." Apparently, I am all "look at me, look at me, but just don't tell me you like me!"

    Censor my internet? Oh hell no!

    If you have no idea where our government has been going for the last 12 years, and is still clearly going, please read "1984." Now.

    Say No To SOPA!

    Dude...

    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.