New Year's Eve

I always put an apostrophe in there--is that right?  I figure it's a possessive, you know?  Like "the eve that belongs to the new year?"  I dunno.  I think I think too much about things not necessarily requiring so much thought.

Noticing an online news trend of sorts--more and more news items are turning up in video form.  I don't like my news in small, 30 second videos.  Seems too much like fast food news, you know?  I'd rather read a more in depth piece, something with more meat and less on the "cute news reader" front. 

Considering returning our new cell phones and exchanging them for something else.  They're made by Motorola, and Motorola has some seriously troubling ties to the Israeli government and the IDF.  If we're against Israel's apartheid policies, if we support the BDS movement, then we shouldn't be buying from companies tangled up in that.  So it's looking like maybe we'll make the leap to Samsung or LG.   I know Samsung is made in South Korea, I'll have to look at LG's politics. 

Gets hard, voting with your wallet.  I haven't had a Stouffer's Macaroni and Cheese for years, and I'm sadder than sad about having to swear off Starbucks' Frappuccinos.  Well, not sadder than sad, but a bit put out.  I get over that by thinking about how much more put out I would be if someone bulldozed my house, shot up my little brother for getting too close to a wall meant to imprison my people, and tore up my olive groves to keep food off my family's table while denying my mother access to medical care and refusing to allow repair to the bombed remains of our sewage treatment facilities which continuously pump sewage into our fishing waters.  Puts it in perspective, makes going without flavored coffee a little easier. 

Did better on the blood sugar last night.  134 at two hours post-prandial is still a little higher than I'd like, but it kicks ass over 191. 

Tonight is the big, last hurrah, food-stupidity-wise.  I have really gone to new lows in the space between Christmas and New Year's, but that's okay--I went into it knowing I was going to.  Tomorrow it's back on.  And I feel like it's something I can do. 

My fancy hairspray came--Sebastian Zero Gravity.  It's a fantastic hairspray, great hold but brushable.  Sadly, the can was broken--the sprayer snapped off (not just come loose).  Amazon refunded the cash, but now I have a full can of spray I can't use.  I'm such a miser, I'm trying to figure out how to magically make that sprayer work. 

Speaking of fabulous products, notice the little "My Reviews" link up top?  That's a link to things I write, and it would make me happy if you took a look every now and then.

Watched the end of Walking Dead Season 2 last night.  A few surprises, but mostly not.  The dead folks I expected to die, though how one died was a surprise (or how one re-died, I should say), and a couple survived I expected dead.  My theory on who is what and why bore out, though not enough detail (yet).  Wish they could crank the gore down just a whit.

Sore throat two days running.  Not really bad, but not liking it.

Went to Costco earlier.  Turns out the cell phones would have been drastically cheaper there.  Oops.  Now we know.  Turns out returning the phones wouldn't ding Motorola--our carrier would just resell as pre-owned.  Next phones, we'll do better.

And that's that.  Popeyes and a burger for New Years dinner.  I hope everyone has a great New Years, and for goodness' sake, DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE.  Seriously, don't be that sloppy loser.  Call AAA (1-800-400-4222) and see if they can help in your area.  No, you don't have to be a member.  If not?  Sleep where you are, drive in the morning when you're sober.

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.

The week between Christmas and New Years

Is looking like the one that's going to end me if I'm not careful.  Went nuts on dinner tonight--not so much calories (well, until the homemade milkshake for dessert), but astounding carbs.  Like "blood sugar pushing 200" carbs.

I know how to do this better.  I know how to make smoothies that don't load my carbs or spike my blood sugar.  I know not to have garlic bread AND pasta the same meal with breaded chicken.  I KNOW this stuff.  So stop it.

Just stop.  It's enough.

I'll do a proper entry tomorrow.  Maybe even with paneling.  On the iPad right now, makes for irritating blogging.

G'night.

Christmas Past

Well, another one under my (for now) increasingly large belt.  Nah, I'm not feeling guilty about the eating--I knew it was coming, and I enjoyed it immensely.  It'll almost certainly continue until New Year's, when we'll hop back on that wagon.

Christmas Eve brought the traditional "one gift the night before" thing.  For the boy and me, it was new cell phones--the ones I talked about earlier.  They are Razr Droids--quite fancy, and the screens are big enough that I can likely comfortably use mine without squinting and giving myself a headache.  Despite having opened the box, our boy was actually quite surprised.  Sadly, hubby had gotten himself a watch . . . which came pre-broken.  Since we don't know where the receipt is (grrrr!), we're not sure the store will take it back.  Hopefully, they will.  Yes, I'm the one who always yells to keep receipts.  No, they don't often get kept.

We ate Chinese and watched, of course, A Christmas Story.  It's become something of a tradition.  A good one, I think.

Christmas morning found me wide awake at 6 am.  Understand, I hadn't gone to bed until after 3 am.  So, in a totally out-of-character move for me, I went back to sleep.  Woke up at 9:45 to my boy gently taking my hand in his.  I sure do love him.  We had a wonderful morning, and there were even some surprises for me under the tree--candle-making gear and my Ojon shampoo and leave-in conditioner.  The candle-making stuff was suspected, but the Ojon was a total shock.  Not sure HOW it was a shock, considering Facebook's "targeted advertising" has been burying me under Ojon adverts for a couple of weeks now.  Hubby LOVED his hobbit slippers, so that was a happy thing.  Our boy, sadly, is finding that our computer isn't quite up to snuff when it comes to playing his new game, Skyrim.  It plays, but it's laggy and the frames per second are crap.  I'm sad for him, but I've got 20 years of "computer can't handle the game" disappointment under my belt.  It's rough, but it's one you have to learn to live with.  Still sad, though--hate to have him even a little disappointed on Christmas.

Dinner was steaks, mushrooms and onions, roasted butternut and sweet potato, mashed red potatoes with skins, and crab cakes.  Dessert was homemade brownies with homemade whipped cream, topped with ice cream and raspberries in Chambord sauce.  It was . . . not as good as it sounded like it was going to be.  The whipped cream, which hubby made, was spectacular, but the sauce just clashed with the brownie, made it too rich.  Oh, well.  Now we know.  We watched Love, Actually (another Christmas tradition, though this one makes my heart hurt a bit every time), and then watched an episode of Walking Dead, which features one of the actors from Love, Actually. 

Speaking of Walking Dead, I'm still not sure how I feel about it.  It is, for the most part, well-enough acted, and the story is playing out well.  Sort of a The Stand meets Revolution meets 28 Days Later.  All things I enjoy.  But the gore level is excessive--gratuitous, really.  And, truth be told, I'm sick to death of Zombies.  What was funny and silly, interesting and just a little scary five years ago has been so miserably overdone, so sickeningly incorporated and internalized that I really do feel that maybe it's becoming harmful.  Guess hearing eight year-olds talk about "getting that head shot" and "double tapping" troubles me.  That said, if zombie shows are the way you tend, Walking Dead is pretty good thus far. 

Had Charlie groomed this morning.  They did a better job with his face and neck this time, but utterly failed to do his ears and tail.  I guess, when you go to Petsmart for the great price, you maybe get what you pay for.  I'll trim them up myself tonight.  I do a pretty good job.  Took him to the vet after to have his microchip checked and ask why they want him tested for heartworm.  He's been on heartworm meds since before he was six months old, there shouldn't be any need for testing, but they insist it needs to be done.  Sounds like an easy way for them to make 60 bucks. 

Hubby and son are at the theater, watching "The Hobbit." I had no desire, really--I'm not a huge theater fan, it kills me that three folks at the theater with one large popcorn and three drinks is 85 bucks. There is rarely a movie I find worth that. I don't hate "The Hobbit," but it's not my favorite of the bunch, and we have a nice enough HDTV that it'll look just fine at home when it comes out on Blu-ray.


The weather this morning was amazing--snow, wind, chunks of ice (not hail, but ice), and freezing rain.  Now it's just rain, and it is POURING down!  Has been for hours, guess there are flood warnings out.  Just put on my new Christmas shirt, then promptly ran outside into this disaster to tell a neighbor that the back door to his car was open.  I remember the days when I just would have dashed over and closed it for him, but I don't really know these folks, they likely have a car alarm, and people get weird when you touch their cars anymore.  The days of sliding behind the wheel of a stranger's car and turning their headlights off for them are gone. 

Think we're finally going to thaw the turkey soup we made at Thanksgiving and serve it up. The weather outside is, after all, frightful.

Hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas! 

Merry Christmas, Cardinals and Jays (and Mockingbirds, Squirrels, Nuthatches, Chickadees, and Juncos)!

Just a quick, mostly unserious note--just went out and filled the bird feeders, filled the squirrel feeder with dried corn cobs, put up some suet for the wood peckers, and all around made the yard happier for the birdies.  I try to remember, but I often space the feeders and the poor birds hang out on the fence, glaring at me. 

We bought the dog a new toy, a sweater, a sucker made of biscuit iced with peanut butter (the stick is rawhide, which we usually avoid, but hey, it's Christmas), some chew bones, and a bag of his fancy Castor and Pollux food. 

When I was a kid, we had these plaster molds for nativity figures.  Every year, we would make more figures and paint them.  They're missing now, those artistic endeavors, so I can only assume my mom tossed them at some point.  But I loved that--I loved it, and now I wish we'd done it with my boy.  I just suggested it, but didn't get much enthusiasm.  Looking around the internet, I see there's not much available, anyway.  These weren't cartoon-cute figures with little boy and little girl angels or cherubic Native American wise men/children.  They were the classic European-style figures, very serious.  Barnyard figures, Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus, wise men, and a couple shepherds, plus the angel with the banner.  We did this every year, and I had forgotten until today how much I loved it.

One quick, more serious thing--I caught a story on AP today about how money and toys are pouring into Newtown.  I understand that we, as Americans, have a habit of throwing money and gifts at things because we don't know how to do anything else and we want to communicate our sorrow and solidarity.  But the folks in Newtown are, by and large, fairly well off.  These folks aren't poor in that sense.  So maybe a better show of support and empathy is contacting our President and our Legislators and letting them know that this needs to stop.  That we need to never, ever mark another year with another tragedy.  Not by putting "armed guards" in public schools (didn't work at Columbine, no reason to believe it would work anywhere else), but by getting guns out of the hands of criminals and the unbalanced and putting a permanent end to the sale of assault rifles and high capacity clips.

Doing something about the pervasive culture of violence might help a bit, too.

Oh, and no paneling today, but a thought--why put a mirror directly across from the toilet in the bathroom?  And then not put any magazines or books for folks to read?  So all they have to do is stare at their own faces while they use the toilet?  Seems mean.

Iowa's Supreme Court, Irresistibility, and Seven Years Smoke-free

Came across a news bit the other day.  Iowa's (all male) Supreme Court, in a nutshell, has decided that it's okay for a male employer to fire a female employee for being "irresistibly attractive."  The employee doesn't have to be flirtatious, overtly sexual, or in any way act inappropriately.  Just being "irresistible" is enough.  In this case, it was a male dentist firing his female assistant.  For being attractive to him. 

What the hell?

Now, sure, this sort of ruling might catch up some male employees, but let's face it--this is mostly going to affect women.  Why?  Because, at the risk of sounding "reverse sexist," women don't have a "since the beginning of recorded history and likely beyond" legacy of objectifying, harassing, hassling, and projecting their sexual desires onto men.  Men haven't been the frequent targets of sexual abuse and systematic rape at the hands of women during war time.  We don't have entire faiths based, in part, on the idea that MEN are sinful by nature, tempters, and responsible for our fall from paradise.  In other words, sure, a woman MIGHT do something like this, but statistically speaking, it's markedly more likely to be a man because that's how our culture has formed.

When I was young and skinny, I had a series of bosses and coworkers who were absolutely sexually harassing/abusive. I had one who made it clear that, if I didn't date his younger brother (who was "irresistibly attracted" to me), I would be out of a job. Same guy's nephew worked at the place, and was beyond sexually harassing--had I been older, smarter about the law, and hadn't needed the job so badly, I'd have nailed him for sexual assault (yeah, assault). Understand that what this guy did to me (repeatedly, not just once) was no secret, and my boss gave me the "boys will be boys" and "it just means he likes you" lines. Instead of calling the cops (for which I would have been, at best, fired), I enlisted the aid of other male coworkers to escort me into the back so I could clock in and get things out of the walk in. Every night he was working was a scary-assed night for me--I didn't even dare walk to the bathroom alone. Five years after I stopped working there, I walked in for lunch just to take a look at the new decor. He was there. He came over and I just about flipped in the middle of the lunch crowd.

Imagine it--you look up from your pleasant lunch to see the guy who slammed you against a wall, pinned you by the throat, and roamed around up under your skirt with his filthy hand.  Ground himself against you and LICKED your face.  More than once.

He said, "Please don't freak, please don't run--I just wanted to say that I am SO sorry for the horror I put you through." It was a really odd moment.  An ugly moment. He offered to pay for my lunch, and I got ugly. I got ANGRY.  Asked him if he really thought the price of a burger and fries was going to make up for being dry-humped and viciously groped against a wall?

He started to cry.  Much as I used to cry on nights I knew I'd have to face him at work.

He was dead a few months later.  Victim of his own stupid, spectacular, drunken stunts.  I ran into his mother on campus a year or so later, and she literally accosted me in the Student Union building.  Grabbed my hand and started to cry, telling me how much her son had liked me, how he had always talked about me, how pretty I was, how smart I was, how nice I was. 

How she had thought maybe--just maybe--I was going to be her daughter-in-law.

What the hell is that?  That's what he told her he thought of me?  That's how he shows it?  That's like a dog who bites to show he's friendly.  Faced with his sobbing mom, I kept all my bitter memories to myself.  I told her how sorry I was for her loss, her hurt.  I let her go ahead and paint him as a great guy because, to her, he was.  Why crush a mom's heart any further when the guy was dead? 

That wasn't the only job that put me in a position like that.  I used to tend bar in another place in Ogden, Utah.  The owner was this lecherous, drunken immigrant whose English, which was never good, became increasingly rough as the alcohol flowed.  Guy couldn't keep his hands off the female employees and had a really bad habit of letting 13 and 14 year-old girls into the bar to sit on his lap and get drunk.  He had a lovely wife who bitterly accepted this because she didn't feel she had any choice.  They had a gorgeous daughter.  I used to babysit her on the floor in the hours before the bar opened.  I taught her to read in that bar. 

  Anyway, the owner.  Terrible for putting a hand on my ass or letting in the young girls.  And we tangled over and over about it, because, by then, I was no longer willing to let a boss (or anyone else) do that to me.  He kept letting in the little girls, and I kept asking them for ID and escorting them out.  At one point, the boss's wife cornered me, told me to stop or they'd fire me.  I said, "The inherent sickness of letting little girls in here for that purpose aside, if the cops show up, *I* am the one who is toasted.  I'm the damned bartender.  I'm the one serving up the alcohol."  She told me that they'd pay any fines or lawsuit judgments incurred.     Understand, these people couldn't even pay their damned utility bills.  This bar had no hot water, no heat, no telephone service, and they were buying beer from GROCERY STORES and reselling it in the bar because they had bounced checks to their distributors.  Plus, the law put the responsibility squarely on ME, not the bar owners.  They were going to cover my backside if a 14 year-old girl got raped or died of alcohol poisoning on my watch?  Even if that was the POINT (and it wasn't--getting little girls drunk and slobbering over them was the point), give me a break!  

It came to a head one night when the owner, once again, decided to dip his drunken paws into my till and take money so he could haul a couple of teenage girls (and our sloppy doorman) to Wendover for a night of hot tub hi jinx.  I stopped him, said, "I'm gonna need you to sign for that so I don't get screamed at tomorrow about the missing money you debauched away in Wendover.  Again."  He laughed, leaned his awful face in close to mine, and put his hand on my ass, asking if I wanted to come along for the (wink, wink) RIDE.  And I said, "You'll want to get that greasy paw off my ass before I break all your grubby fingers."     It was immediately after that they began cutting my hours viciously.  Kept telling me it was "just too slow" and they wanted to "give the other bartenders a chance."  At the same time, they were telling the other employees (including my roommate) that it was because I was a "lousy bartender" (I was the only bartender there with actual BAR experience), that I was "slow" and "difficult," and "rude to the customers."     

In other words, I was fired for asking children for identification before serving them alcohol and for not allowing my boss to grope me.

I find myself wondering--the Iowa Supreme Court.  Would this ruling protect people like my old bosses?  Or would they consider a line crossed when unwanted physical contact was made?  Would the "irresistible attraction" argument have held up with Joe's brother (who worked maintenance at the place)?  "Your Honor, I'm sorry but I had to fire her--it was destroying my brother, having to see her here night after night."  How about my violent admirer?  "Your Honor, I was helpless to control myself, she's just so irresistibly attractive I felt compelled to sexually abuse her."    How about Pedo-boss and his gropey little hands and predilection for underage girls?  Was I just "irresistible" to him, too?  

Enough of that.   A Facebook "meme" came across my wall today, What the heck, here it is:  

I don't know if Bill Nye really said that, and I don't care--not the point.  But I remember once having a then-13-year-old make some crack about a friend's intelligence, and his "proof" was that "he's just a mechanic." 

 

"Just a mechanic."

 

What a stupid thing to say.  My husband and I took him to task in a big way.  Because, while he can't help having been reared to be self-impressed and "superior," it's something he needs to unlearn as fast as possible if he wants to, in any way, be able to relate to people in this world.  I told him that, in a pinch, in the middle of Death Valley or at the top of a snowy mountain, I don't want a math genius, I don't need a kid who's adept at playing the piano or enjoys studying genetics and heredity for fun.  No, I want a MECHANIC.  And when I want my hair done, I don't want a physicist.  When my drain is clogged or my furnace kicks the bucket, I don't want a neurosurgeon. 

 

I sure as hell don't want a bunch of History professors working on my plane between flights.

 

Every person on this earth knows something I don't.  Every person has some skill or some bit of smarts I lack.  Some of those things I may not feel I need to know, but that doesn't detract from the point--they know something I don't know, and that knowledge serves them in their life. 

 

Respect that.

 

Today is cookie day--three kinds.  Peanut butter, sugar, and cardamom orange zest.  We were going to do Italian almond paste, but we decided to put that off to another holiday--we have plenty of cookies to be working with.  Also making brownies from scratch for under vanilla ice cream, homemade whipped cream and raspberry Chambord sauce.  Might use the "Shambord."  Not sure yet.  Hand cut steaks, mushrooms, roasted butternut squash and sweet potato, and salads round it out.  Oh, and lemon meringue pie, because I haven't had in years and it just sounded good. 

 

I just gained five pounds typing that. 

 

Oh, and today?  Marks seven years since I quit smoking.  Seven years that brought me to where I am today.  See, even if I did manage to survive the increasing lung problems and blood pressure issues, there's no WAY we could have afforded to move here with us smoking.  So this is my big pat on the back to myself, and a big "you can do it!" to anyone out there wishing they didn't smoke.  You don't have to smoke--you can quit whenever you want.  Seriously. 

 

I hope everyone's having a marvelous holiday season!  Two days 'til Christmas and we STILL haven't torn open the presents!  Yay! 

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?