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!

Armus waiting to die

Ever make yourself cry?  Not on purpose, not by reverberating on sad things, but just out of the blue by saying something that rebounds, gut punches you, and suddenly you're in tears?

Did that to myself last night.

Almost 16 years ago, my sister and her then-husband ditched their dog on us.  A huge, white thing (we later figured out she was a Labrador Husky), she was one year old and had already whelped a litter.  Her name was (and still is) Armus--named after the black blob from some Star Trek Next Generation episode (no, we didn't name her).

The dumping of Armus into our world wasn't supposed to be long-term. No, it was supposed to be "just for a few months, until we find another place."  All things considered, I should have known that was bull, but what are you going to do, right?  Say no?

Armus wound up staying with us for thirteen years.  To be fair, there was a point, maybe six years in, when my sister and the ex-bother-in-law (no, that's not a typo) offered to take her back.  By that time, she was joined at the hip with our other dog, and the bother-in-law planned to leave Armus outside.

No.  Not going to break up the happy couple so you can keep her on a chain in the back yard.  Turned out that, even if we had agreed, the dog would have been back a few years later, when they divorced and she moved into a "no pets" place.  How she left her three cats with us at that time is another story.

So Armus was ours for 13 years.  JoJo, her buddy for life, died.  And then we moved--first, to a place where we couldn't have a dog (and so we went to my mom's a few days a week to take care of Armus and keep her company).  And then we moved cross-country.  Oh, we agonized over that.  But, by then, Armus was 15 1/2, and was and there was no way she could make the move with us.   No matter how you sliced it, just getting her up into the cab of a gigantic truck (it had stairs and a pull-up bar to get in) would be hell on her and us (she's quite arthritic now), and making her ride on the floor, cramped up, for 500 or so miles a day?  For the better part of five days?

I didn't think she'd survive it.

So Armus is now almost 17 years old.  Mostly deaf, has a hard time getting down those three little stairs to go outside and do her business.  My sister goes over with her kids and helps make sure Armus is being cared for.  I was telling hubby and son that Armus had fallen down in the snow and ice the other day, and my Mom, who is 78, wound up also falling in the snow and ice trying to help the dog.  Between the two of them, they managed to drag each other into the house.  I said, "I can't believe Armus is still chugging along--amazing!"  Hubby said, "I know, it's a near-miracle."  And I said, with zero forethought, "What if she's just waiting for us to come home and play with her?"

Oh, damn.

That was it, I started to laugh, but I was crying, too, and the crying took over pretty quickly.  What a crappy thing to think of.  What a devastatingly SAD thought.  What if she IS waiting for us?

And now I'm crying again.  Poor Armus.

I'm not sure what to do about my weight at this point.  I had lost six pounds, but, in a month-and-a-half, I've managed to gain back that six PLUS eleven more.  Seriously, seventeen pounds I've gained since the beginning of January.  It astounds me, how fast I can gain, it's unnatural.  If gaining weight was an Olympic sport, I'd do my country proud, you know?  But I was back on it yesterday, and I'm back on it today, and I've just got to make this work.  It's easier when I can sleep.  But waking up at five in the morning is almost a guarantee that I'm going to start grazing.  This morning, I forced myself back to sleep, and it worked.  Big pear and ice water for breakfast, I'll have my nummies for lunch (only 200 calories), and I'll have pasta for dinner (we do pasta very carefully).  Even with smoothies for dessert, I'll come in at around 1,400 calories for the day.  More than anything, I need to force myself to keep track on My Fitness Pal every day.  That's what does it for me--accountability.  Seeing what I'm taking in and admitting it.  

So here I go again and still.  Forever.

Bad paneling?  I dunno, I'm a bit down right now.  Probably later, though.

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!

The Reality of Chicago and Gun Control

Well, the wingnuts are at it again--pointing at Chicago and squealing that, see, gun control doesn't work!

Read this carefully, huh?  It's important.

Gun control (or the regulation of any dangerous thing) cannot work in a bubble.  You cannot regulate in one municipality without regulating in ALL.  Why?  Because if guns are illegal in, say, ILLINOIS, but legal just a few miles down the road in Indiana or Missouri, what's to stop folks from crossing that intangible political boundary and stocking up on weapons?

Nothing.  Nothing stops them, as is painfully clear.  Since there are no roadblocks, no checkpoints, no searches, folks wanting firearms in Chicago can just drive a little while, buy to their hearts' content, then drive back.  THAT is why gun control doesn't work in Chicago.  It's like when the drinking age varied from state to state--kids from Pennsylvania would drive to New York, kids from Utah would drive to Wyoming.  Stock up, then drive back across that political boundary with none the wiser.

Only a nation-wide plan can make a difference.  Nothing short of that will work because it can't--not unless we want checkpoints at our state borders, and I sure don't want that.

Read this story this morning.  Don't tell me we don't need to do something.  Don't.

Chicago Woman Looses Four Children to Gun Violence

I'm not talking a nation-wide "gun grab" (NOBODY is, despite what Wayne LaPierre would have you believe).  But if you're crazy, you're violent, you're a criminal, you have a history of violence or drug offenses?  I want to KNOW that, and I want you to be prevented from buying a gun.  Don't say we already have those laws--the states themselves admit those laws are half-assed and rarely enforced.  I want something stringent and strenuously enforced.  I want those ARs back off the street--the NRA and the right didn't whine when it was a republican calling for those things, so I'm left assuming it has more to do with WHO is President than with what he wants.  Shame.  I want high capacity clips gone--if you need 30 or 100 rounds to take out Bambi, YOU are the person who likely shouldn't be hunting.

I own guns.  I believe sane, law-abiding Americans have a right to that, provided those weapons are, as the Constitution says, regulated.  The Second Amendment does not guarantee that we all get to have as many of whatever weapons or ammo we want without regulation.  If that's how you're reading it, you're not reading it.

More later--the doggy calls.

A New Kind of Bark Collar

Our dog likes to sleep with us.  He's a little guy, a Cairn, and he's a very good sleeper.  If he does get tired of being with us, he knows to hop down and get into his crate.  When he sleeps with me, all's well--I'm a very light sleeper, and I don't tend to sleep in late.  When he sleeps with our 14 year old?

All bets are off.

You see, our boy is home-schooled.  As a result, he may sleep until 10 or 11 am.  How late he sleeps determines how late in the afternoon he's still doing school work. It works for us.  Doesn't work so well for Charlie, our Cairn.  You see, he expects a trip outside around 9 am or so.  And that's when the whining starts.  And then the crying.  And then, maybe twenty minutes in, the flat out barking.  And then maybe, MAYBE, our boy will awaken.  I was blue-skying the other day, and I came up with it--THE solution.

A Bark Collar for our boy.  Just strap that bugger around his neck and every time Charlie barks, our boy gets a shot of citronella up the nose (not going to electric shock our boy--heck, I wouldn't do that to a dog!).  Seems to me our boy would learn quickly that the dog whining precedes the barking, and that's when it's time to get up.

No, I won't really do it, but it's a very satisfying idea.

I was thinking today about my sister's high school class ring.  It was a silver thing, with a red stone, and she lost it along with most of her other possessions when she made a quick, middle-of-the-night exit from her awful company quarters in Wendover, Nevada.  This was--gosh, almost 27 years ago.  She figured the ring was gone forever.

A few years ago, I got a call.  Out of the blue, a woman in the Pacific Northwest asking if I knew a woman with my sister's name.  It's a rare name--only one in the country, no doubt, so I knew she didn't have the wrong number.  I said yes, she's my sister, but she doesn't live here.  The woman said, "I'm going to tell you a story--it's going to sound strange, but bear with me."

Okay.  That's a good start, I like that.

She goes on to tell a story about how, 20 years earlier, she and her family had moved into an older home.  The house didn't appear to have ever been remodeled.  After living there for almost 15 years, they'd decided to remodel the basement, which was their teenage son's "area."  Upon tearing out the walls, one of her son's friends found a ring.  A class ring.  He pocketed it and said nothing for months, finally confessing one night and returning the ring to them.

Thing is, the ring wasn't theirs.  They had no idea whose it was, only that it had a name, the high school name, and the year 1978.

They did a cursory phone search, found no number matching my sister's name, and forgot about it for a few years.  While cleaning, she came across the ring again, and decided to give it another shot.  This time she found me.  Did I think this was my sister's ring?  I gave her the name of my sister's high school, and the woman said, "Oh, my God.  That's right.  How did it get in our wall?"

How DID it get in her wall?

I put her in touch with my sister, and she returned the ring a couple of weeks later.

But how did it get inside her basement wall?  A thousand miles from where it had been lost?  I understand my sister's former employer may have auctioned off her possessions, that maybe whomever wound up with the ring then went to the Pacific Northwest.  But how did the ring wind up in the woman's basement wall?

Cue ominous chord, huh?

Dinner's about ready--roast beef and light provolone on low cal/low carb bread.  Melted so it's happy and cheesy and crispy.  Plus a salad and steamed peas.  Dessert'll be smoothies with frozen blackberries, raspberries, blueberries, strawberries, and bananas with almond milk.

Ooh, speaking of fruit, our boy had his first dragonfruit last night.  Was easy to open and scoop, but the flavor was very mild--seemed it would go great in smoothies, but I'm wondering if the fruit was under ripe or if it's always very mild?  It was the white fleshed variety, not the pinkish.  Anyone know?  He also had a rambutan.  I love getting him exotic fruits.  Makes us both happy.

That's Rambutan

Dragonfruit, which can be scooped out, cut up, then served in the hollow shell. 

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.

Those Crazy Dreams Again

Here I am, 6:30 in the am, awake.  Been awake for a little more than an hour now.

Dreams.

All night, the craziest, most vivid dreams.  I dreamed about my friend Scritch.  She had lice.  The oddest lice--some had hoppers like katydids, and there was one, looked like a regular head louse, but it was HUGE--at least a half inch long.  Looked mooshy  like lice, but felt hard, chitinous.  She was sleeping over, and I wanted to sleep head to foot so I wouldn't get her lice (I had my own, but hers were unfamiliar--better the lice you know, right?), but I didn't want to make her feel bad.  Finally, I offered to lice comb and nit pick, plus the hot air treatment.  And then her Grandma (who has been dead many years) came home.

Then we were hiking in the mountains.  I want to say maybe Minnesota?  Yes, the mountains of Minnesota.  Someone had been trapping and torturing deer.  Pet deer.  Found one, Armus (my old dog back in Utah), still alive, with a noose around her neck.  Rescued her, only to realize that the hillbillies were coming to kill us for ruining their camp (?).  We ran, but now it was me, Raylan Givens, and Tim Gutterson (characters from the TV Show Justified.).  We got to a high (maybe 8 foot) fence, topped with barbed wire.  I knew I couldn't climb it, so I told them to go first.  After they were over, I shook my head and said, "I can't."  They're shouting at me, telling me I have to at least try.  I get a brilliant idea--I jump up and grab the fence, yanking it down so it doubles over and is only four feet.  Then I climb it!

In case you're not familiar with Justified?  You should be--it's really a terrific series.  Start it from the beginning so you have all the background.  Seriously, you won't be sorry.




Then?  I'm in the desert at a small tourist spot/rest stop.  Somewhere in the mid-west (yes, the deserts of the mid-west--hang on, it's coming).  My husband and I have been resting up when a tour bus arrives, carrying dozens of drama students One of whom is Darren Ewing!  I haven't actually SEEN Darren (as opposed to online contact) in years, not since high school, in fact.  But in the dream, he was still a kid, even though all the years had passed.  He was hanging out with the other drama kids, including this painfully pompous guy in an awful striped suit.  Darren decided we were more fun to hang out with, so off we went, playing a game where we would throw a Frisbee, then belt out a classic rock or blues tune while the Frisbee was in flight.  Not sure what the point was.  But somewhere along the line, Darren figured out how to BECOME the Frisbee.  Which was super-cool, and I was really hoping to master that one myself, as it's been so long since I've been able to fly.  Sadly, I can't figure it out, I keep leaping, then falling.  Finally, Darren pulls a daring one, and lands in a puddle in the middle of the ROAD.  Two cars coming, but somehow, miraculously, each misses him, one missing his head by a half inch.  That takes ALL the fun out of it, and we wander back to the tour bus, which is parked next to an amazing flowering tree that smells SO sweet and is crawling with a swarm of tarantula hawks.  That's these:

The idea of swarms of tarantula hawks had never occurred to me before (thankfully--who needs that image?), but I went out and about looking for information this morning, and I found this fun blog:  The 7 MSN Ranch  And now that it's in my head, I'm offering it up to you. Because horror LOVES company.

I have a sort of fun tarantula hawk story (words you don't often see together, I know).  Back in 1995 or so, I was driving through the West Desert of Utah, on the Bonneville Salt Flats, on my way to Wendover, Nevada (yes, Stephen King had it right when he said the locals call it "Bendover").  I'd stopped at the rest stop about ten miles shy of town, bought a few pieces from the Goshute kids who used to sell jewelry at the stop (never could convince them to take their wares to the fancy shops in Salt Lake where they could make ten times what they were charging), and was checking out the salt crystals on the flats (which never cease to amaze me, and I never walk on for fear of damaging them) when I saw it.  You know, look up at that picture.  IT.  I was absolutely captivated!   I grabbed my brand-new Nikon and started following her.  Getting in real close for "the" shot.  Trying to capture the scale--I mean, she was obviously a wasp--even if the build and the aggressive, jerking way of moving didn't clue me in, the gigantic, third of an inch STINGER was a good tip off.  Understand, she was a little over two inches long (and my memory makes her even bigger than that).  I spent ten minutes or so stalking her--never poking or prodding, just following.

When I got my pictures back, I was thrilled, but also frustrated--no one knew what sort of awesome beast this was!  These were the days before free, brimming-with-information internet (it was there, but it wasn't the all-you-can-eat breeze it is today).  Finally, I took my picture up to the science department at Weber State.  They called their "bug guy" for me.  He took one look, paled, and said, "Jesus Christ, you didn't touch it, did you?"

Turns out these gals have one of the most AGONIZING stings out there (according to various sources, including the Schmidt Sting Pain Index).  Of the "can't do anything at all at first, but once you find your voice, all you can do is scream" variety.  Click the bright red AGONIZING link up there for a run-down of the top ten most painful insect stings.  Here's another on a favorite site: The Straight Dope   

Glad I didn't poke and prod, huh?

Well, our boy tests for his first Hapkido belt tomorrow.  Wish him luck!

More maybe later--there were other things I wanted to say, but it's early and I'm tired.  I've forgotten.  And yeah, I turned my links red in this one.  Just 'cause.  Made me happy.

Oh, hey--hoping for some really good bad paneling pics!  Stay tuned!