Snow Emergency!

No, I don't really expect that to mean much, at least not by Utah standards, but I am just a little hopeful that maybe we'll see more than a skiff of snow.  The foot they're talking about?  Wouldn't that be amazing?  Charlie would be in over his head!

I used to have a black lab named "Mac."  He was actually, officially, named "Wasatch Big Mac."  And he was the best dog ever--EVER.  My defining dog.  Charlie comes close, which surprises me because he's so little.  But Mac was IT.  Being a lab, he loved water.  Surprisingly, he even loved it when it fell out of the sky, frozen.  He would burrow under, then explode back out in a flurry of flying snow, then dive back in and burrow so all you could see was this moving hump of snow racing around the yard.  Like a giant mole under the white.



No, that's not him, but that's how he was in the snow.  Forgive the soundtrack.

I loved that dog.  Wow, like "about to cry" loved that dog.  He was THE dog, and, when push came to shove, I failed him.

I got married, you see.  To an ass, let's be absolutely honest.  I try to keep this PG-rated, so I won't say what I really think, but that should get the message across.  I  married, I was four days post-18th birthday.  I married, and moved away, couldn't take Mac with me.  So I left him with my MOM.  My Mom, who had a history of ditching inconvenient dogs.  Nietzsche, the German Shepherd who . . . pissed her off, I guess.  Nietzsche was a good dog, she didn't bark, she wasn't mean, but she was hyper.  You would be, too, if someone left you chained in the yard day in and day out.  One day, while my Dad was TDY, Nietzsche just disappeared.  Bye-bye.  No word on what became of her.  Later, it was our Brittany Spaniel (I don't think they call them "spaniels" anymore, but that's what they were back then), Crackers (that's Wasatch Cracker Jack).  She waited until Frank and I had gone out to the pasture, then hauled Crackers to the pound.  Gave me some gawdawful lie about how, if he wasn't adopted, they'd call and we'd take him back.  Then she gave me some crappy story about how someone with a farm up in Huntsville had adopted him and oh, he was so happy now with room to run!  Problem is, I fell for that story once, with Ralph back in Virginia.  Ralph was not very good with people, and finally bit a kid who'd been teasing him, and I was told that he was "going to live on a farm."  I was five then, I believed it.  I was ten when Crackers poofed, and I wasn't nearly so gullible.

Anyway, so I left Mac with her, planning to take him just as soon as we got a place that would allow dogs.  And every time I talked to her, she told me Mac was great, Mac was fine.  And then we found a place that allowed dogs.  I bought a dog house, a big bag of food, and was very excited--if you knew anything about my first husband, you'd know that he could really make a girl feel alone.  I was looking forward to having Mac with me.  We arrived at my Mom's house, and there it was, the sad, tragic story of how Mac had disappeared in the night.  Poof!

Like magic.

I thought I saw Mac a couple of years later, in the back end of a pick-up truck.  I got within about ten feet when the truck pulled away, but this dog had grey hairs in a ring at the throat, as Mac did due to an injury.  I think it was him.  I hope it was him.  I hope they loved him.

Not Mac, but exactly his build.  And this is about how dirty and
brown he looked after a day at the pasture, but otherwise he was pitch-black.

Have I forgiven my Mom?  I don't know.  Let's just say I've moved on.  Moved on, and learned a lot about how to treat my own child.

Spent the afternoon digging through the computer desk, trying to find my boy's AMA (that's Academy of Model Aeronautics) membership card.  It's been months since it arrived, and my admonition to "get that in your wallet" didn't take hold.  Can't find it anywhere, thought I did manage to clear out a whole bunch of space in the computer desk cabinet.  That's certainly something, I suppose.  I've dropped them an email, hoping they'll send a replacement so we can get him set up with the local flying club.  In Utah, you just hit a park or school yard and fly.  Out here?  The one time we tried, we wound up with rangers on us within minutes.  So our poor boy has only had that one, aborted flight since we moved here.  He's only a beginner, and I think he's very sad over the lack of learning time.

Here are his planes--first is the one that crashed and needs repairs because it was a bit above his skill level (that was heartbreaking, lemme tell you):

And here's the trainer we got after, which was a rousing success back in Utah--such joy!

Both of these planes came from NitroPlanes.com, and we were very happy with our dealings with them.  Should any other planes come our way, I'm sure we'll go through NitroPlanes again.

Sounds like Hubby's home.  Time to go to the store.  Having bacon, chicken, and cheese sandwiches tonight.  I know that SOUNDS incredibly fattening, but the bread is only 45 calories a slice (and low carb), the cheese is the 75% reduced fat Cabot's cheddar, the chicken is broiled boneless, skinless (and cage-free, organic, etc.), and one sandwich only has one-and-a-half slices of peppered bacon.  Combine that with roasted butternut, salad with light dressing, and some steamed broccoli, and it's a terrific, tasty meal without murdering me on the calories or carbs.

I'm torn.  Bad Paneling or Wombat?

I think paneling.  Here you go!

Wow, two for two, paneling AND carpet!

Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ

Reactive Dogs and Money Woes

So, we've found maybe a place to have Charlie's "reactiveness" worked on.  It's pricey--250 bucks for eight weeks of work, but it's a class with a rolling enrollment, so dogs in all stages of training, and if he improves enough, he can roll into a more advanced class with no additional charge.  Unlike the in-town option, this one does not rely upon the "dog whisperer" stuff, which encourages punishment and forced submission which is an incredibly bad idea.  We want Charlie to improve, not shut down.  We can't afford it now, but we'll make a decision after we discover whether or not those buckets o' puke on Capitol Hill are going to put us in the poor house next month.

Speaking of dog training, I found this guy, who goes by the moniker "David the Dog Trainer," on YouTube.  This is the sort of thing I'm hoping for--gentle, firm, no abuse, no "forced alpha rolls" and other BS wolf analogies.  Dogs aren't wolves, and forcing a dog into a terrifying position as a way to mandate submission is just foolish.



When Charlie was just new, we took him to Petco for his first vaccinations.  It wasn't fun, it was crowded with large, lunging bully breeds and screaming mini-dogs, but it was cheap, and we needed cheap.  This year, we took Charlie to a nice clinic that does lower-cost vaccines--a step up from Petco, but half the price of our regular vet.  But then yesterday, an automated call came from Petco, reminding us that Charlie is due for vaccinations and letting us know when the next session is scheduled, No pressure, a nice little "and if you've already had your pet vaccinated, please disregard this message."  Good business, nice thought.

I found an old elementary school class picture the other day--scanned it and posted it to Facebook, tagging who I could.  Sadly, two people who were in that class (and were on my Facebook friends list) have, in the past year, ditched me, with D blocking me.  I can only assume that my support of President Obama and active contribution to the the "don't elect Mitt" movement angered her.  Didn't have her pegged for the kind of person who would dump and block over politics when I repeatedly offered to set up a separate posting list for folks who didn't want to see those politics, but perhaps she was having a bad day.  Or maybe she was embarrassed to ask me to spare her the posts.  Whichever, I asked that others who might be in touch with her pass the picture on.  It was nice to see folks come in and share memories about that school year, and it's amazing to me that I am in contact with so many folks I knew back in 1976.  Astounding that I still remember every name and every face this far down the road.

That's Mr. Anderson.  He had an amazing pinned bug collection, pet tarantulas, thrilling stories about black widows in his barn I still remember, and once brought in a mason jar with a live wolf spider carrying an egg sac.  He told us he was going to pin her, egg sac and all, in his collection.  I spirited her out of the classroom during lunch one day and released her in the Fitzer shrubs out front of the school.  No, I was never found out.

wolf spider with egg sac

I so adored Mr. Anderson, and he was the first teacher I ever came to realize DIDN'T like me.  In fact, he disliked me pretty strongly.  It was crushing, and yet it's a tribute to Mr. Anderson that he was fair and kind to me even though he didn't like me.  He was an outstanding educator.  Also crushing was losing a friend that year--she'd made friends with the new girl, and the new girl went on to steal my camera from my cubbyhole.  Yes, the good ol' days when you could leave something like a camera in an unlocked, wide-open cubbyhole.  I was so devastated when my friend took up for the thief that, in utterly inappropriate aggression borne of frustration and heartbreak, I grabbed my friend by the hair and yanked out a handful.  Not one of my proudest moments, but I was in 5th grade.  I'd like to think I'm a little better at communicating these days.

Not a long one today--it's laundry night.  And garbage night.  A couple of things I'd like to talk about, like wombats.  Seriously.  But for now, we'll just leave it at bad paneling.  Really, superbly, "paneling in the kitchen" bad paneling.

Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ

I Is Speak English Good

Just came across a blog by a Brit who had some interesting things to say about "an helicopter."  Of course, at first, I was terribly offended.  But then I really thought about it, and it makes perfect sense.

You see, to the average Brit, that "h" at the beginning of "helicopter" isn't really there at all.  It's not the big, forceful "HUUUUH" that we Americans give it.  In fact, it's not really there in any meaningful way.  As a result, it's perfectly reasonable for someone to say "an 'elicopter."  Right?

After all, I don't say "a Herb," but rather, "An 'erb."  I do, that's how I grew up saying it.

But here's where it (and I) get weird.  I say, "an historical event."  There's an "h" sound in there, but not a very strong one.  However, I would NEVER say, "an history book."  And speaking of "hists," I would say, "an hysterical woman," but "a histrionic man."

Moving on, I don't say, "I wish it were."  No, I say, "I wish it was."  If you see me write it any other way, it's because I'm giving into spousal pressure.  It drives (English/Philosophy major) hubby nuts when I do that.

I wish that wasn't the case ;-)

I take my verbs very seriously, and it makes me just a little crazy when I read books where that's not the case.  Leap, leaped, have leapt, get, got, have gotten, give, gave, have given--this is RIGHT to me, and I know some Brits would disagree.  Reading the Harry Potter novels aloud for my son leaves me correcting their grammar, usually automatically, without ever saying a word about it.  Because, you see, Mr. Weasley hasn't gone to the Ministry and GOT a folder, he's gone and GOTTEN it.  Apparently, that's a very American thing.  Nice to see we got one thing right, huh?

Insert big winky face here so no one is offended:

Not sure where I get my English peccadillos from--I had immigrant grandparents.  Maybe that's the source?

Hey, before I go, just a note--if you're feeding an expensive pet food because the name and price have led you to believe they're high-quality?

Please read the label.  If it begins with things like corn meal, corn, wheat, gluten, meat by-product, etc.?  Find another food.  The first couple of ingredients really should be named meat products, and "meat by-product meal" isn't something you ever want to see in your pet's food.  There are foods pushed by veterinarians that are as low in quality as Old Roy.  Seriously.  Just because a vet suggests it doesn't mean it's good.  Especially if the vet makes money off the sale.  Do some research, look around, and you can find a high-quality food that will do the job of a weight loss/diabetic food with better quality ingredients.  Do it better without the possible stomach, skin, eye, and coat problems.

If you're like we were for years and can't afford the really good foods?  Don't beat yourself up--buy Purina and love your dog.  But if you're buying something fancy and pricey because the name is famous or your vet says so?  Read the label.

This site?  Rocks.  Dog Food Advisor

Here's what we feed Charlie:

 The first food is Castor and Pollux Organix.  The second food is a Kirkland product.  That's Costco.  The Kirkland is markedly cheaper than most grain-free products, and it's a high-quality food.  So the bulk of Charlie's diet is the Nature's Domain, with a smaller amount of the Castor and Pollux mixed in. He really likes it, we feel good about feeding it to him, and it doesn't break the bank.  The Organix is good stuff--extremely good, in fact, so we'll keep mixing it in. Charlie likes the mix.  I'm not sure how this formatting is going to work out--it's looking a bit disastrous to me, and when I try to return-return-return to start a new paragraph, the cursor skips all the way down the page and there's no way for me to type between.  So, yeah, I'm just typing here to take up space.  I am SO close to being a techie, I'm just inches away from having some sort of clue what I'm doing!  Can you imagine if I really understood all this stuff?  How incredible my blog would be?  LOL, I slay me.

Oh, hey, I fixed it (I think--won't really know until I click "publish," huh?)!  Just needed to adjust the alignment!  Or whatever it is you're doing when you decide to set it to left instead of center.

Because, if you've read my blog at all, you'll know I'm all about left of center!

Epic chicken" for dinner tonight!  "Epic" is what our boy calls it.  Hubby  makes homemade chicken tenders/fillets.  Oven baked instead of fried, with spices and Corn Flake crumb breading.  Boneless, skinless organic/cage-free chicken.  We'll have it with broccoli, butternut squash, and salad.  Then super-smoothies for dessert!

Hey, is it possible to have a food hangover?  I'm asking because after a wild, lost-diet weekend, the first day after I feel sort of dragged out and oogy.  Wondering if it's the shift in diet?

Paneling!  Bad, bad paneling!

Oh, and because the universe behaves this way, THIS blog entry will be the most grammatically flawed, typo-laden disaster ever in the history of blogdom.  So don't bother to tell me I've screwed up.  That's a given :-)

Exhaust . . . ion

Right off the bat, I'm going to warn you--if you love Utah, if you find it wonderful, beautiful, amazing, perfect, or whatever, don't read any further.  Seriously.  Because what I have to say here is from the heart, but if you're a fan of the state, you're going to get your feelings hurt, you're going to get mad, and, honestly, I don't want to hear it.  You love the place?  GOOD!  You can HAVE it!  I'm glad you're happy there, because the alternative is you're miserable, and I don't want you to be miserable.  I was miserable--so I left.  See how well that worked out?  So if you're in love with the place, skip this entry, because you are sure to be offended.

*******************Begin Offensive Anti-Utah Rant*******************

                                                                               
In case you didn't know, I spent almost 40 years living in Utah.  40 really long, drawn-out, oppressive years.  Most of it in the northern part of the state (Weber and Davis Counties), some a bit farther south, in Utah County (Orem and Provo).  While I did my best to fully explore (hiking in Wasatch, Cache, and Uinta Forests, camping from north of Logan to Zion and Bryce, rock-hounding in all parts of the state), fact is, I hated it there.  I hated it because of the miserable drought most years.  I hated it because of the crap melding of politics and religion that make it near-impossible for anything but the most conservative of candidates to win.  I hated it because it was sour and grey, with Ogden coming in as the dirtiest, most sprawling carbuncle of ugly right on top.  But most of all?

I hated the air.

Northern Utah has some of the worst air in the country.  I want you to think about that.  During long stretches, it's worse than Los Angeles.  Worse than Detroit.  Worse than Phoenix.  Worse than Chicago, New York, or Washington DC.  Here, check this out:

Utah's Crappy Air

Photo Credit: The University of Utah

No, that picture isn't doctored.  And no, this isn't a recent phenomenon--my first memory of a very similar view (coming down Little Cottonwood Canyon on the way home from Snowbird) is from 1983.  Is it worse now?  Yes, as a trend, it is worsening, though there are occasionally better (and worse) patches.  Suffice to say, the air has long sucked, and continues to suck even more.  There are Utahns of a particular political bent who will actually argue, "It's because it's a basin, a bowl, this has ALWAYS happened, even when it was just Native Americans!"

Holy cow, what is that noise coming out of your face?  Are you REALLY that dull?  Have temperature inversions "always happened?"  Sure, quite likely--after all, they're a by-product of the local geology, and that hasn't changed too terribly much in the past thousand years or so.  But to argue that Native Americans also had air pollution so staggeringly bad that lung cancer, asthma, COPD, and emphysema rates were affected?  To argue that Native Americans had to stay inside their tepees, hogans, and wickiups in order to dodge the birth-defect causing, heart-attack inspiring levels of pollution?

Wow.  Because there's always got to be someone looking to push that stupidity envelope.

Sadly, Utah goes right every election. EVERY election.  Doesn't matter who the candidates are, Utah goes right.  Sure, they get the occasional "democrat" like Tim Matheson, but have you looked at his voting record?   That's no democrat, kids.  And a state that goes right AND is the home to refineries, copper giants, coal-burning power plants, traffic congestion, steel mills, and gigantic chemical plants?  You can cry out until you're blue in the face (won't take long with that air), but you will not in any way change things.  Your shouting will not save your kids (or grandkids) from breathing in that toxic swill.  Only sweeping and stringent federal action will do that, and looking at the republicans we have in office at the national level?  

Get a gas mask.  Smith and Edwards likely has a deal.

The Kennecott Smokestack near Magna--we used to call it "Orthanc."  

Had you asked me twenty years ago, I'd have told you that, by 2013, Utah's air would be markedly cleaner.  I'd have told you that the bulk of Utah's electricity would be coming from wind, solar, and water.  I'd have predicted amazing hybrid and electric cars, and the few that still ran on purely fossil fuels would have drastically improved mileage.  

Boy, wasn't I a sucker?

I was younger.  I was naive.  I completely mis-estimated the influence business, especially oil, has on our political process.  Our "representatives" are owned.  Not all of them, just enough to quash clean air and improved mileage requirements.  Just enough to make sure that oil comes out on top every time.  Just enough to subtly (and sometimes not so subtly) weaken or kill legislation that steers us away from fossil fuels and nuclear and toward wind, water, and solar.  Hey, who gets rich off sunlight and breezes?  Not the robber barons in charge now.  So those things get short shrift.  Because who cares what happens to things during our children's and grandchildren's lives?  We'll be dead then, not our problem.

Enough of that.

Well, I thought today might have the mopping and vacuuming in it, but it turns out I was wrong.  It has the reading, writing, and napping in it.  Maybe tomorrow, huh?

Here, have some bad paneling.  That's always good for a lift:

Help me out, what is that . . . recess?  Is that a shelf?  A shuttered window? 

Sad, Crazy SoCal Gunman

Have a friend in Glendora, they're watching this pretty closely.  We were talking about how some are already screaming that this is proof background checks don't work.

That's like saying dying in a car crash is proof seat belts don't work.  Hey, nothing is fool proof.  Nothing.  Doesn't mean doing our best to improve matters isn't worthwhile.

Anyway, guy's been holding onto this grudge for a long time, and, to be honest, I've known more than one cop who seemed to be dancing on that edge.  And this guy's got a more recent Navy stint under his belt, too.  That's a lot of stress and a lot of access to weapons for a guy who feels he was devastatingly wronged by the LAPD.

I hope he doesn't kill anyone else.

So, I was thinking I would post about dinner, since I was talking about it earlier.  With my diabetes, we like to keep the carbs lower (not LOW, I don't play any fad diet game).  So here it is:

2 ounces Dreamfield's Spaghetti (yes, it does make a drastic difference in my blood sugar)
2/3 cup Wegmans Parmesan and Romano Sauce
4 ounces julienned carrots (mixed in--that's what keeps me from heaping on the pasta)
1 Bistro Sensations sausage (low cal, lower fat)
3 homemade parmesan crisps--they're made in a muffin pan with home-ground parmesan and herbs.  Each crisp is 1/3 ounce of cheese.  They're super-tasty, and they keep me from wanting garlic toast.

Dessert, if we have it, will be smoothies--that's light vanilla almond milk, plus frozen blueberries, strawberries, black berries, and raspberries.  Oh, and banana.  Gotta have banana.  It's markedly lower in calories than most store-bought smoothies, and everything is fresh.  After sampling our boy's Dragonfruit the other day, I'm wondering if it might not go nicely in a smoothie, too?

I just reviewed Gold Bond Ultimate body powder over on Epinions.  Was looking over here to see if there's a picture, and instead found an advert for James Bond 007 Signature Gold Eau De Toilette.  Spray, of course.  Dang.  Okay.  Hey, maybe it smells super, duper good, right?  After all, my favorite perfume is called "Unforgivable."  Doesn't get much more stupid than that, fragrance name-wise.

Well, dinner is started, carrots cut, and here comes the hubster.  So here, have some bad paneling!

Razr Droid is a Big, Okay Phone

As I've said before, hubby decided to get our boy and me Droid Razr  for Christmas.  Though I had resigned myself to NO phone after my contract was up, instead I got a new phone.

A HUGE phone.



And what do I think?

Well, it sure is pretty.  Getting the screen protector on is a pure-D pain, though.  Little bubbles and flecks of enraging dust.

It's a big phone, that's for sure.  Which is what I wanted.  I've long thought a markedly larger screen (larger than my old LG Vortex, for sure) would help with my lousy eyes (we'll talk about my eyes sometime), but it turns out I was wrong.  This phone is still very rough for me, even with its 4+ inch screen.  Go figure.

This phone brags 4G-LTE, but I gotta say, I'm not terrifically impressed.  I find myself not getting updates, the phone lagging and locking up, mail not syncing, etc.  It's not as fast as I would have expected, and it's not as reliable, connection-wise.

The phone itself is pretty intuitive, operation-wise.  It does come utterly loaded with bloatware and crappy games that seem to defy removal.  But the app market is easy to use, and it only took a few minutes for me to customize.  It comes with 16 gig internal SIM (with up to an additional 32 gig via mini-SD), so it should take me a while to max the poor thing.

The camera is pretty okay, though the controls don't do the orientation flip I'm so fond of, and the zoom is pretty jerky, not at all smooth.

My biggest complaint about the Razr Droid?  That miserable battery life!  Wow, what a dog!  Never had a phone eat through battery like this one.  I understand why--it's got a zillion things going on and a really nice, sharp, large display.  But this phone is constantly plugged in.  When I'm home, it's charging, when I'm in the car, it's charging.  And when it's left on a table overnight?  It's practically dead by the next morning.  Yes, I could shut the 4G off (which I do at home, riding off WiFi), I could disable the mail sync, I could do all those things to extend life, but then the phone wouldn't have the very FEATURES meant to make it cooler than my last phone.

So I guess my verdict is "pretty okay."  Great if it's free through your carrier, very nice, large display, good enough camera with a decent built-in flash, but otherwise average, and a markedly worse-than-average battery life.  Or at least it sure seems that bad from where I'm sitting.  It's a decent phone, but man, if you're looking for a phone that'll last you through a day far from outlets and chargers, this probably isn't your phone.

I promised I would get back to you on the smaller candle supply site we hit after the Candlewic mess?  Well, the order came today.  We ordered on Friday, it shipped (from Montana) on Monday, it arrived today--Wednesday.  The order contained exactly what we'd asked for (and a tiny bit extra on the wax, according to our scale).  While we had chosen Fed Ex, the site does give the option for "cheapest shipping at the time of shipping," and, apparently, that turned out to be USPS or some combination of USPS and Fed Ex.  And that's just fine with us.

The name of the place?  Cierra Candles   And, while our order only consisted of glue dots, some soy wax, and a couple of fragrances, we're happy enough with them that our next order will go through them, too.  Sadly, they only have soy wax (which we'll use sometimes), so we'll have to go elsewhere for our palm.  But we're looking at checking into their soap making supplies, too!

Pouring those soy candles tonight.  Just a few, like with the others, trying to get a feel for different waxes and different scents.  This one's soy patchouli in a greenish.  Should be interesting!

Well, didn't mean for this to turn into a series of product and vendor reviews!  I guess, after writing for Epinions for 13+ years, it's just habit.

Boy, this was a text-heavy thing, wasn't it?  Let's find some really bad paneling!

Holy kitchen paneling, Batman!

Don't say "Anal"

Wow, lesson learned!  My blog takes "okay" hits.  A few comments here and there. Not a star (yet--share me!  Link folks up!).  I take respectable enough traffic, I suppose, but nothing spectacular, especially when it comes to folks leaving feedback.

With one notable exception.

Back in September of 2012, I wrote an entry titled "Anal Glands, Huh?"  About my dog's grooming experience.  That entry?  Has taken ten + times the hits most of my others have garnered, and has raked in dozens of spam messages.  Dozens.

So, I guess there's a lesson there.  Put the word "Anal" in my titles more often . . . and keep those comments moderated.  Laws, yes.

We watched Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince on Blu-Ray last night.  Not the first time, of course.  In the lead-in, there is an advert for a remastered version of the The Wizard of Oz.  Hubby, who hates that show, was completely captured because Toto looks SO much like Charlie.  So  now he wants to rent it.  LOL!

Well, our boy tested for his yellow belt in Hapkido last night.  The only one of the white belts to be invited to do so.  The others?  One is much newer, and the others have pretty abysmal attendance and participation records.  So it was just our boy for the yellows (others were testing for yellow-black (degree), red, and brown.

I haven't seen him at Hapkido in months.  I've avoided it because I felt I was making him nervous.  I wanted this to be his to do without any perceived pressure or self-consciousness.

Needless to say, I was floored by him.  So much he has committed to memory, so much he is daring to do.  He made no mistakes, he was wonderful.  And he even broke a couple of boards, one with a hand strike, one with a kick.

I am super-proud of him.  He managed to memorize his Korean, and did an all-around fantastic job.  Even the husband of the new red belt took a moment to tell us how very well he was doing for a first belt test.

Of course, it's not his first belt test.  It's just his first REAL one.  This was so much more involved and serious and demanding than the self defense martial arts he loved so much so many years ago.  This was real.  Absolutely.

I wrote a review of my amazing, magical, wondrous new keyboard of joy and perfection.  Here it is:

Logitech K800

Making more candles tonight.  Blue, this time, with a wonderful mahogany/sandalwood scent in palm wax.  Figuring out the amazing crystal formations you see with the palm.  I'll post some pics when they're done.

Updated to say "they're done."

Loving the crystalline gig with the blue ones (palm wax)

Speaking of candles. we ordered from a company called Candlewic, based in Doylestown, PA (very close to the town of Perkasie we were eyeing when first looking to move back east).  Found them online, only to later discover they're the same company as "Country Lane Candle Supplies," which stocks most of the mega-craft stores around here.  The shipping charges are steep (as they seem to be with most of the candle places we've looked at), so we made sure to order everything we wanted.  When the order came, the shipping receipt stated that the patchouli scent was on back-order.  Okay, fair enough.  But then, a day after delivery, I get an email telling me that the patchouli was out of stock, is NOT on back-order, and I won't be receiving it when it comes back in stock--I can reorder then.  Translation?

They want to nail me for another 12 bucks or so in shipping on a $2.75 product.

I responded to their email, told them that wasn't okay--I want the patchouli, my packing receipt states it's on back-order, and I want it shipped.  They ignored my email, did not respond, did not do as I asked, and refunded my card.

No more orders through Candlewic.  Way to blow it, kids.  Not that they likely care--they appear to be a very large company, and very large companies tend to let customer service take back seat to making a few extra bucks.

So our next order--some soy wax, a few scents (including the patchouli), and a few molds--went to a smaller company.  When the order comes, I'll let you know how it went.

I promised some amazing bad paneling, and fully intend to deliver tonight!  A HUGE thanks to Leif, who has kindly given permission for me to search his archive of awful in search of prime examples bad paneling!

Perfectly awful--blond paneling AND dead fish!

And a quick little note, just for a special guy in my world--don't argue Australian crime statistics with me in support of weakening gun control laws and then quote the NCPA to my BMJ.  Like the Kochs and Carl Rove are going to give me a fair, unbiased analysis.  Goodness, no wonder you can't think.

Don't Believe Everything You Read

So, I was cruising various news sites this morning when I came across a funny (ish) piece about yet another chunk of Wikipedia misinformation, this one in the form of an article made up out of whole cloth.  It's the story of a war that didn't happen, and the article has been in place for five years.  It took five years for someone to catch wise to the hoax.

The lesson there?  Don't get your information from Wikipedia.  It might be a good launching point, but don't ever let that be the foundation or "proof" upon which you base anything.

Speaking of internet hoaxes, there's one making the rounds again--the whole "Through a Rapist's Eyes" pile of trash (I won't post it--it's that awful).  It's spreading like wildfire because, once again, we have a bunch of folks who WANT to do good.  Sadly, spreading dangerous misinformation isn't "doing good."  It is, in fact, doing exactly the opposite.

In a nutshell:

Rapists do NOT seek out women with long hair.  Short hair will not protect you.

Rapists do not seek out women in particular types of clothing (and they don't carry scissors to cut through overall straps--grip!).  Dressing dowdy or wearing layers will not protect you.

Rapists are rarely the mask-wearing stranger lurking in the back seat of your car or in the grocery store parking lot (which doesn't mean you shouldn't be careful).  Instead, most rapists are KNOWN TO THEIR VICTIMS.  You have more to worry about from your DATE (or your sister's best friend, or your husband) than you do from some stranger stalking you.

Rapists are not a "one size fits all" phenomenon.  What will deter one will enrage another.

The majority of rapes do not occur in the morning hours (?).  In fact, according to The Department of Justice, most rapes occur between 6 pm and 6 am.  As you'd expect.

In fact, the only accurate part of this idiotic spam is this:  rapists thrive on seclusion.  The more alone, the more isolated a place, the more a rapist will like it.  His crime depends in large part upon his ability to keep his victim from being heard.  So the warnings to stay out of alleyways and stairwells and darkened streets are worthy of heeding.  Yes, you're more likely to be raped in a home (over two-thirds of rapes occur in homes), but it still pays to be where there are people and lights.  Still pays to lock your doors and windows, too.

Now, if you know me at all, you know how much I hate the whole "teaching the girls to dodge rape because we can't teach the boys to stop it" thing.  I spent a few years as a rape and domestic abuse counselor, and one of my duties was teaching "self-defense/rape-avoidance."  Again, even today, the entire idea pisses me off.  By teaching women to stay away from here or don't do that, we're conferring a sense of responsibility onto the potential victims rather than letting that blame rest where it should--entirely on the rapist, regardless of where the victim was, what she was doing, what she was wearing, etc.

I just found this piece, and I think it's worthy of a read.  And, of course, the obligatory Snopes article.

Back to the missing/tampered-with mail issue.  No word yet from the USPS, but the local police refused to take a report because it's a federal crime.  A terrible thought occurs.  We sent out 34 Christmas cards.  We got six in return.  Eight, if you count the two that showed up on January 2nd (11 days after being mailed), already opened, one cleared of its monetary contents.  Right before and after Christmas, we had a number of days with no mail--unusual for us.  Very unusual.  Plus, when we moved in, the real estate agent handed us the various keys and remarked, "Hmmm, only one mail key, I guess."

Here's my fear--the woman who lived here before?  The one the cops came looking for over and over?  Including once in a door-banging 2 am raid-style visit?  She moved back onto the street a few months back. Now lives across the street and four houses down.  What if she kept a key?

What if she kept a key?

What if that's why my Epinions checks keep not showing up?  What if she's snatching credit offers and the like out of the mail?

Please tell me I'm just being paranoid, huh?

Looking to take Charlie in for his annual vaccinations plus a heartworm test.  Personally, I don't agree that he needs a heartworm test--he's been on Heartgard since he was five months old, never missing a dose.  But the vet insists.  However, we won't be taking him to the vet for this--see, the vet wants $190 bucks for the vaccines plus heartworm test.  The local wellness clinic wants $75.  Kinda like the neutering thing last year.  The vet wanted $560 with microchip.  Local "Neuter Commuter" wanted $65 with microchip.  Amazing.  Yes, I get that the "Neuter Commuter" is subsidized by the ASPCA.  But I also get that, when we had Bodhi fixed back in 1996, it only cost $95 bucks at a regular vet.  Hard to believe the vet's costs have gone up by five-plus times.

Walgreens emailed me last night, said I had a script needing refilling, all I had to do was respond to the email.  I did, then got an email telling me there was a problem with the script and they were contacting my physician for renewal.  I crack open the medicine cabinet and can't find a script with that number.  I call them, and it's some script from over a year ago from the wildly personable and spectacularly inattentive urogynecologist who absolutely missed that mass, even when I told her exactly where it was, what it felt like, how big it was, etc.  So I told them to cancel the request.  I have no dealings with Dr. I up in Maryland any more.

On the paneling front, I found a gem, a pure-D miracle of awfulness, but I've dropped a line to the owner of the website to make sure it's okay for me to post it.  It's really amazing.  If I don't hear back in a day or so, I'll post it with a link-back to his page and, if he later objects, I'll remove it.  It's amazing, I'm excited to post it!  Until then, here's ME, in 1987, with my Mom's bad (but could be so much worse) upstairs paneling:

Note the mallard duck lamp.  

Yay!  The owner of the blog says I can display the picture!  Look for it tomorrow--it's an explosion of awfulness!

Fiscal Cliff, Indian Rape Victims, Saudi Clerics, and Mold

So here we are.  New Year's Eve eve.  The GOP house has refused to come to work until today.  Because I don't matter to them.

Really, that's what it is.  They don't give two squirts about me. 

My family stands to lose around six to seven hundred dollars a month if those idjits don't get their collective act together.  That is a devastating hit.  Like a "can't recover from that" hit.  But they're so busy politicking for their rich friends and their "corporation people" (because corporations are, after all, people, remember?) that they'll let me and mine sink rather than make those rich folks pay a bigger percentage than I do. 

Yes, that does make me hate them.  Being held hostage by bought politicians inspires that in me.

Found an amazing, astounding house in Alexandria.  If we were bought politicians or "corporation people," we could afford it without blinking.  But we're not, so it will never be anything more than a silly dream.  But it's lovely.  Here it is.   It would put hubby so close to work!  Hey, what's 3.8 million between friends, right?  Now all I need is a friend who feels the same way!

Terribly windy out, and very cold.  We're trying to save some money on the heat bill, but it's all I can do to resist cranking that furnace up.  I am ice cold, and that wind is working its way in through those windows and doors, doubled and insulated though they are.  It's just that strong a wind.

Woke up crying last night.  Can't remember the dream, though.  Had later dreams about swimming in this awful, dark pond with my ex-husband and a bunch of other Arabs.  The women had the most amazing bathing suits, but I was just in jeans and a t-shirt.  Hmm. 

Speaking of Arabs, did you hear the one about the Saudi clerics threatening to pray for awful illnesses and such if the government doesn't stop its attempt to allow women more rights?  Ew.  Just ew.  Talk about cheapening your faith and turning it into a bad joke.  I have no problem with Arabs (was married to an Arab for almost nine years), and I have no problem with Islam (or at least no more problem with it than with any other religion), but I have a problem with oppressive fanaticism regardless of the faith that spawns it. 

And speaking of oppressive fanaticism, how about those new Israeli housing settlements in Palestine?  Nice, huh?  No, no attempt to cause another blow up there, I'm sure.  They're the GOOD guys, remember?  Because, as we all know, the good guys take land, exile natives, and institute apartheid policies, and all the while they enjoy our support because--well, because they're the GOOD guys!  Duh!  Pretty sure the Bible telling us so helps with that. 

And last, but certainly not least, can India maybe, finally decide that women are worth lifting up, worth saving?  Because I gotta tell you, for a country that tries to forward itself as some sort of enlightened, technically advanced place, it sure does treat its women like dirt.  Think it might be that whole oppressive religion thing?  Maybe?  Just a little bit?  Hey, India?  Grow the heck up.

Wow.  That turned into a bit of a rant.  Wasn't intended.  I'm cold, and I want to go to Costco then go back to sleep. 

And here's some really crappy paneling with a story: 

Okay, first off, this is NOT how the room in question looks now.  But this is how it looked way back when.  See, my dad decided to create a bedroom for my sister down in our mostly unfinished basement.  Instead of painted walls, he found some truly awful paneling (which, I admit, I thought was purely beautiful when I was SEVEN) of the wallpaper veneer variety, and coupled it with the most atrocious, gawdawful bright red shag carpet.  Not just any shag carpet, this stuff came in 18 inch squares with adhesive backing.  Which he promptly stuck to the very nice clay tile floor already in place.  It was mind-numbingly awful.  Over the years, the basement flooded--not deep, devastating floods, but rather an inch here, two inches there.  Enough to really soak the stick-on shag and the wallpaper-over-pressboard paneling. Over the years, the stick-on-shag took on a horrendous smell, and the paneling began to disintegrate slowly from the bottom up.

Mold.

Yes, the fancy black stuff you hear about so much in the news.  Slowly eating its way through the paneling until the bottom six inches or so was just gone in some spots.  The carpet was so horrifying we tried to pull it up (38 years after it went in!), but years of damp and mold left it coming up in tiny, half-inch chunks with the adhesive doing what adhesive does--adhering.  Persistence only caused small shards of the original clay tile to come up, still stuck to the shag.  We wound up having to use a pavement scraper to take it all up, clay tile and all.  We wouldn't have bothered, but the MUSHROOMS growing up out of my Mom's basement floor in that room was just more than we could bear. 

I think this experience is what has given me such an aversion to bad paneling.  I don't hate ALL paneling.  Heck, I love a good example of Judge's paneling or other wainscoting.   But the cheap, comes in sheets, pre-fab, and especially wallpaper-veneered varieties?  I can smell the mold and see the ugly--they're indelibly stamped in my poor head. 

Not our mold, just a representative of the species.

Just Plain Mean

So, I was reading through news stories on AOL (no, not my sole--or even predominant--news source, but I like to flip through on my way to my email) and came across an "Athletes who've let themselves go," story.  Normally, I'd skip that, but the photo was, I was pretty sure, Tonya Harding.  Curious to see if I was right, I opened the page.

To a pile of puke.

You know, what IS it about us that makes holding people up to public ridicule, especially about their weight and appearance, seem like a fine, fun idea?  Why is that okay? Cool, even?  This was particularly mean, because it had a "ha, ha, ha, see how the mighty have fallen" quality, with snide little zingers accompanying each photo.  I'm not glad that Shaq has gained weight, I don't gloat because Tonya Harding is heavier than she was when she was a YOUNG PROFESSIONAL ATHLETE.  If you are glad, if you do gloat? 

Well, you're maybe not very nice.  In fact, you seem to kinda suck.

We were going to head to Ketchup again tonight, see the fireworks from a better vantage and give the fries and shakes a whirl, but it may be too cold and miserable.  We've got rain, and, worse, we've got high wind warnings out--60 mph gusts, they're saying.  My money's on no fireworks with winds like that, and even if there are fireworks, I can't have the camera out in the rain (and I'm not going to try to rubber-band-and-ziploc the camera) and I'm not about to get soaking wet in a frigid windstorm.

So tonight's probaby off.

Just got done watching the NRA's ridiculous, sickening response to Sandy Hook.  More guns.  Oh, gosh, didn't see that coming.  They suggest armed guards in schools.  Okay, let's do that--never mind that there were armed guards at Columbine and it didn't help a bit.  Let's run with it anyway.  Now, remember, that's not just paycheck.  That's rigorous, ongoing training--ask any cop or soldier if you can train for a few hours and then be "trained" and ready to roll indefinitely.  Of course not, it takes ongoing training.  That's wowser-pricy.  Thankfully, I have NO doubt that the NRA will step up and pay for every one of these guards at every public school in the nation.   They can foot the bill with membership dues!  That said, an armed guard in every school won't stop this.  The shooter in Newtown had done his damage in minutes.  Barring the spectacularly unlikely luck of the shooter and guard being in the same part of the school AND the guard just happening to have his weapon at the ready when it starts, that guard isn't going to prevent a thing.  He's either going to get shot before he clears holster or the murder's going to be done before he can even reach that part of the school.  Look at Ft. Hood, for goodness' sake!  Even the Army Police who finally took that shooter down (after he'd shot 45 people, 13 fatally)?  One of them was shot and disarmed before the partner was able to get the shot and put a stop to things.  And those are active duty American soldiers.

Enough of that garbage.  It's disappointing, but not at all surprising.  It's who we are, apparently--20 children shot down, and not only did we rush the shops to buy MORE guns and MORE ammo, we didn't even pause in our killing of each other.  Think about that--we didn't even pause for one day in our murdering each other.  I weep for my country.

Hit the liquor store tonight, grabbed a bottle of "Shambord."  That's an American-made imitation Chambord. Less than half the price, and since we're just using it for cooking anyway, it seems stupid to blow that much cash.  Tastes very similar, same alcohol content, so we'll see.  Hubby grabbed a bottle of Basil Hayden's.  If it's good enough for Francis Wolcott, it's good enough for him, right?

Dropped way too much cash shopping these past two days.  I'm feeling myself nearing the panic-attack stage.  Hubby got an award from work, and he says we're fine, but it's in my nature to worry.

All my crying about my Mom in the past few days, and I chewed her out on the phone today.  She called, let it ring five times, then hung up.  No message.  Called back, let it ring five time, then hung up.  Again, no message.  Then called back AGAIN.  This is something she has been doing for decades, and the only way to slow her down for a while is to yell.  Anything less and she just ramps up until she's doing it two or three times a day.  So I yelled at her. 

It's okay, I told her I'd call her back after I woke up (she was doing this as I was trying to nap).  I did that, and it was a good call.

Grabbed a bunch of cheeses for crackers--Butterkase, Muenster, smoked gouda, and cave-aged gruyere.  We really like cheese. 

Our Christmas tree is STILL devouring water like there's no tomorrow.  Never had a tree that kept drinking for weeks. 


Oh, and hey, the world didn't end, so have some paneling!

Nowhere near the worst paneling out there, but a pretty intense pattern, no?

A Culture of Anger and Happy Birds

I was reading my old local rag this morning (that would be the Ogden Standard Examiner, if you're interested) and came across a story about at trucker who was stabbed in the chest by another trucker.  Using a screwdriver. 

Why?  What had the gentlemen with the tool in his chest done to earn this?

He drove too slowly, apparently.  The other trucker, frustrated, whipped around him, then cut him off, got out of his truck, stomped back, and stabbed him in the chest with a screwdriver!

Calm the hell down.  I'm serious, if you have ever, EVER considered shooting, stabbing, beating, or otherwise accosting someone because their driving isn't to your liking, you need to hand those keys over to a sane person and take the damned bus. 

Hand your firearms over, too.  You're one of the scary ones who shouldn't have them.

Had someone last night tell me that the news is slanted, they only report the bad, never the good.  That things aren't as bad as they seem, it's just that the news broadcasts focus on the awfulness instead of the goodness.  This is an argument that has long bothered me.  See, asking the media to report every time something good happens is like calling your doctor every morning and shouting, "Doc!  Ever few seconds I breathe out!  And then in!  And then out!  And my heart?  It's beating 70 times a minute!  And I feel good!  And nothing hurts!"  Okay, that's great, it is, we're all very happy about that, but it's not news.  It doesn't possibly affects us ("Officials warn us to be on the lookout for a 6'2" bald male wearing a dark gray Kenneth Cole suit with a predominantly grey Brioni silk tie and matching pocket kerchief. Witnesses report he offered a woman in line at 7-11 the 56 cents she was short on her morning donut, then, after paying for his coffee and fuel, he smiled at three people.").   It's not unusual or surprising.  It doesn't need to be brought to our attention in order to perhaps inspire us to action.

I'm not saying the news hasn't gone a bit over the line when it comes to the orgy of coverage some awful things get, but to suggest that the news should focus on happy, good things?  That's silly.  Sunny, mild weather is nice, but it's the hurricane and its attendant 11 inches of rain that means to do me harm.

On the subject of silliness, the "end of the world" bull is hitting a fever pitch.  I wish there was some way to inspire these folks to send me all their money.  After all, the world's ending, what do they care?  I think my only fear is the "self-fulfilling prophecy" crowd.  You know, the ones who would decide to use that date as their "going out with a bang" date.  In other words, I'm not scared that the Mayans were right, but I am a little worried that someone might do something in order to try and prove that the Mayans were right.


And speaking of proving people right, don't do this.  Don't decide that, because someone thinks ill of you, you may as well live down to their expectations.  How childish is that?  "Well, if you already think I'm having an affair (or stealing, or not trying at school, or whatever), then I might as well just DO that!"  How incredibly immature is that response?  It's a common one in folks I've known, and it drives me utterly batty.  If someone downs you, if someone assumes the worst about you, just tell them they're wrong and continue being YOU.  Really, what do you prove by becoming the scumbag they say you are?  Besides that you're stupid?


A small note for the "if the teachers had been armed" crowd.  Please read up on the Fort Hood disaster.  A base full of highly trained soldiers, with weapons galore, and that guy managed to shoot up 45 people (13 fatally) before a couple of Army cops put an end to it.  Those were highly trained soldiers, and they couldn't stop a shooter.  You expect a group of kindergarten teachers to do better?  I'm not dissing teachers, I love them, but they're not soldiers, and even soldiers struggle with a shooter scenario.  So stop being silly.  Arming teachers is a ridiculous idea.


It's so close to Christmas, and we're all getting a little antsy.  Thinking about moving the date up a few days, opening the presents early.  Like Friday, maybe.  Or tonight.  Maybe claiming that space between Hanukkah and Christmas as our own holiday.  Maybe naming it "Impatience."  It has a nice ring to it.


Had Dreamfield's angel hair pasta with Italian chicken breast and Wegman's tomato basil sauce.  We carefully measure servings, and augment the pasta with julienned carrots, which makes for a bigger, tastier, healthier meal.  Hubby made cheese crisps in the oven--you just grate up parmesan or asiago cheese with some Italian herbs, put one tablespoon of cheese in each muffin pan spot, and then bake it.  Super tasty, and I can do that and not blow my calories.  In fact, I was a couple hundred under yesterday.  Tonight's fajitas, made with boneless, skinless chicken, red bell peppers, onions, spices, and two tablespoons of fat free sour cream wrapped up in a Kontos Lavash, which is easier on my carbs (and super tasty).  We'll have it with black beans (Goya low sodium) spiced up to our liking and one serving of Mexican rice.  Well under my calories for the day, and I do love the meal.

It's almost that time again--in February, it'll be the Great Backyard Bird Count.  I do it every year, it's easy--just put aside a piece of time and count how many of what birds you see in your yard, park, or wherever.  It's free, it's a worthy cause (trying to get a good idea of how different species of birds are doing in this changing climate), and it's fun.  Here's a link:

That's a Waxwing in the button above, by the way.  Saw some the other day in a pyracantha bush, eating the berries.  It's been a long time since I've seen Waxwings--not since I was a little kid.  It was a very happy thing.  Watching the Mockingbirds school the Blue Jays at the same time, which is marvelously comedic.  The Cardinals, of course, stood aloof.  Too cool for school.

Oh, and a shout-out to the nephew (and his latest "baby mama")?  "CELICA" is NOT a child's name, it's a CAR.  18 years old and you've already managed to produce THREE babies, NONE of whom you can support, and now you're looking to name one after a compact import?  Goodness. 

And I think that's all I have in me right now.  Here's some bad paneling:



Not the very worse paneling I've ever seen, but sure is a LOT of it.

Because No Lice is Twice as Nice

I have no idea why I typed that title. Because I'm tired, I guess.

Haven't seen any lice for over a week.  Nits, either. No, the super-heavy-duty 5% permethrin the doc prescribed (even after I said these seemed to be permethrin-resistant) didn't do a thing.  What DOES seem to be doing the trick?

Religious combing.  Lice combing, nit combing, nit picking.  Plus a heavy dose of heat via my blow dryer.  Every other day we shampoo, load our hair with Pureology (a very pricy conditioner to be using as nit-combing gel, but it's perfect for it), nit comb, then fry the hair with the blow dryer.  Thankfully, the Pureology seems to do a pretty good job of protecting the hair from the high heat. 

What a mess.  I guess a trip to the hairdresser will let us know if we've really gotten rid of them.

Watched the rat-children's Dad lose his truck today (the family's only vehicle).  Looks like it's just stopped running.  Not a surprise--the poor thing has no front door windows (they try to use towels and blankets to keep the rain out), and it's sounded increasingly unwell for months now.  My first urge?

To head over and commiserate, because I have SO been there.  To recommend Brown's Hyundai because, hey, they financed us when I didn't think ANYONE would.  I feel bad for the guy, I do.  I think he's an ineffectual, weak parent whose kids are scary and out of control, but fact is, I think he's a nice guy.  A nice guy who works hard and has it rough--and it just got a whole lot rougher. 

Right before Christmas.

I wish we could afford to step in and be the good guys for him. 

I remember, back in 1995, when we were moving from Fontana (Fontucky), California back to Utah.  It was a miserable move--hubby driving his car, me driving the U-Haul truck (with the broken dash lights) with the Mustang on the trailer (with the broken stabilizer).  I cried from Fontucky to Barstow.  Not easy, driving a 26 foot truck pulling a 17 foot auto transport over Cajon Pass while sobbing.

No, I didn't want to leave SoCal.  In hindsight, of course, I'm glad we did.  It led us here.  Eventually.

Driving that rig was very hard in the dark, and, by the time we reached Jean, Nevada (after deciding against picking up hitchhikers near the women's prison outside of town), I had a migraine that was the size of--well, at least the size of my head.  We pulled into the parking lot at some Jean casino, hoping to find some way, in those over-packed vehicles, to nap.  Understand we were moving a snake, a rat, five cats, and a dog.  All their cages crammed in the cabs of the two vehicles.  Before I could nap, however, I really needed to take something for that eye-bleeder of a headache. 

To do that?  I needed food.  We had no food.  Know what else we had almost none of? 

Money.  In fact, we were not sure we had enough money to keep the U-Haul truck in petrol. 

I tried to beg off, told hubby I'd just take the pills sans food.  He wasn't having any of that, so we headed into the casino in search of cheap casino fare.  And we found some--$2.99 prime rib with baked potato and some rather disconsolate, woobly green beans.  Add a Diet Coke for a buck and we were set.  An eight dollar meal, basically.  Well, a ten dollar meal, once you count the tip.  Of course, this was back when gas was 80 cents or so a gallon.  So ten dollar meal was a LOT of fuel.  We were now even closer to not making it to our destination.

On our way out of the casino, we passed a rather inebriated gentleman who had just hit it on the dollar slots.  He started yelling for hubby to come over.  Hubby, at the time, wasn't the Mr. Respectable he is now in a suit and tie.  No, he was a long hair (down to his ass) in grubby jeans with the obligatory tat on the arm.  He approached the man, who scooped out handfuls of dollars from his machine and offered them to us.  Hubby tried to beg off, but the man insisted--said it would screw with his luck if he didn't share with the first person he saw.  Wisely, hubby didn't persist in objecting, and we walked away with thirty-eight dollars.

38 bucks.

He had no way of knowing it, but that drunk at the slots?  Saved us.  He got us home.  We've never forgotten him.  As much as I fear and loathe those kids across the street, I don't wish them a crappy Christmas where presents go back so the truck can be fixed or replaced.  I don't wish their dad yet another crap job so he can keep them afloat.  I wish we had the money to help.  Because you know what?

I can't imagine anything cooler than being the person who puts a hand out there and pulls someone else up.


Another good diet day. I think tomorrow I'm going to start including pics of bad paneling. Because, as I pore over real estate listings, I realize there is a LOT of really offensive paneling out there. Like this (which isn't the worst I've seen, but it sure would make me sad if I had to look at it every day):