When Chris and I canoodle together for our soft mushy-mushy talks (which are a daily requirement, you see) I snuggle right up underneath his arm with my head resting just below his chin. When we look at each other, I lean my head back with his shoulder cradling me. It is the most cozy, safe and warm place in the world.
So one day we were snuggling like this as we normally do, I leaned my head back to look at him, and he said, "Wow, look at all that gray hair!" and we giggled together. I had seen a couple gray hairs over the past couple weeks, like two, so we had a good laugh about his "old lady."
I wasn't worried. I mean, I am 34 years old and with age come certain unavoidable eventualities like drooping boobs and gray hair. Since I haven't yet had to contend with drooping boobs (thank you, Lord!!!) I simply don't care about two little bitty gray hairs.
Until I walked into the bathroom today.
You know how it's sunny outside and the sun is just lighting up everything it touches? Well, as I'm standing in the bathroom at work washing my hands, I glance up at myself in the mirror (checking my lipstick - hellow!!!) and what to my wondering eyes do appear but some premature gray with 18 tiny gray hairs!
OMG, WHERE ARE MY TWEEZERS!?!?!?
In all honesty, I can't pluck those offending follicles. I'm getting too thin as it is. I shall have to....
Wash that gray right outta my hair!
I'm gonna wash that gray right outta my hair!
Just kill me now. Youth has fled. And I've got a mini-van to boot. Hmph!!
....Which brings to mind a funny conversation Melly Girl and I had about aging recently. I was explaining how I have super hairs that grow overnight. There is one that grows on my cheek and sometimes I find these fine long hairs sprouting about the ol' nipple region. I told her that as time goes by I am going to have to be more and more vigilant that I pluck those things out so they don't take over and make my boobies furry.
Otherwise, I said, I'll be giving a whole new meaning to the words "heavy petting." OMG, I really do kill myself!
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Monday, March 27, 2006
What I said
Shawn: Why are you so quiet today?
Me: I've been quiet for two weeks at least!
Shawn: (jumps to view computer screen and seeing blog page up just laughs) Just wanted to make sure you're not viewing porn.
Me: If I was viewing porn, I certainly wouldn't be quiet!
Oh, I *kill* myself!
Me: I've been quiet for two weeks at least!
Shawn: (jumps to view computer screen and seeing blog page up just laughs) Just wanted to make sure you're not viewing porn.
Me: If I was viewing porn, I certainly wouldn't be quiet!
Oh, I *kill* myself!
Seen....in Grand Haven, MI
A young guy with a stocking cap on announcing he is a "SLACKER" in large colorful letters filling out an employment application at the local department store.
A sweet, white-haired lady straight from Driving Miss Daisy at the checkout next to me with her Easter Peeps telling me how wonderful they are when you freeze them so when you bite into them, they go crunch. As we both walk out, me marveling at her feckless naivete, she hops into her large, silver Cadillac with the following bumper sticker: Better be nice or I'll sic my flying monkeys on your ass.
An elegantly-dressed woman first wrestling, then viciously kicking a recalcitrant bag of sidewalk salt that just refused to get into the bottom of her cart.
An old couple in an SUV out at the pier on a mild Sunday night first gazing lovingly at each other before suddenly clenching each other with major make-out intention, like hands-in-the-hair, jumping in the lap, heavy panting, mushy-face. A true WTF moment.
Real honest-to-God snuff at the tobacco stand. Would have been a temptation just to try but for the $13.49 price tag.
Me falling out of my chair at work. Head-over-heels, topsy-turvy, one moment sitting upright reaching to throw something away, the next moment wheels in the air, ass on the ground.
Me walking through the parking lot at work simultaneously wondering why Bruce Sells is looking at me with such an odd expression and feeling a brisk breeze whistling through my breasticles. Button-up shirt wide open.
Me making undergarment adjustments repeatedly throughout the day causing an end-of-day, loud, cackling hen-party about the amenities of whitie tighties vs thongs when one of our agents steps into the office to announce that he has a client in his office and they've heard every word.
Could it be geographical influence? Cuz y'all know I never did stupid things before.
A sweet, white-haired lady straight from Driving Miss Daisy at the checkout next to me with her Easter Peeps telling me how wonderful they are when you freeze them so when you bite into them, they go crunch. As we both walk out, me marveling at her feckless naivete, she hops into her large, silver Cadillac with the following bumper sticker: Better be nice or I'll sic my flying monkeys on your ass.
An elegantly-dressed woman first wrestling, then viciously kicking a recalcitrant bag of sidewalk salt that just refused to get into the bottom of her cart.
An old couple in an SUV out at the pier on a mild Sunday night first gazing lovingly at each other before suddenly clenching each other with major make-out intention, like hands-in-the-hair, jumping in the lap, heavy panting, mushy-face. A true WTF moment.
Real honest-to-God snuff at the tobacco stand. Would have been a temptation just to try but for the $13.49 price tag.
Me falling out of my chair at work. Head-over-heels, topsy-turvy, one moment sitting upright reaching to throw something away, the next moment wheels in the air, ass on the ground.
Me walking through the parking lot at work simultaneously wondering why Bruce Sells is looking at me with such an odd expression and feeling a brisk breeze whistling through my breasticles. Button-up shirt wide open.
Me making undergarment adjustments repeatedly throughout the day causing an end-of-day, loud, cackling hen-party about the amenities of whitie tighties vs thongs when one of our agents steps into the office to announce that he has a client in his office and they've heard every word.
Could it be geographical influence? Cuz y'all know I never did stupid things before.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Just cuz it's news doesn't mean it's true
This story about a guy who died at his desk and went unnoticed for five days appeared in several European newspapers and finally found its way into my bosses' email in-box. Being privvy to all email, I of course opened it when I saw the subject line: "FW: FW: Don't work too hard."
As snopes explains, just because a newspaper prints it, that doesn't make it true. Hm. Someone is singing my song!
As snopes explains, just because a newspaper prints it, that doesn't make it true. Hm. Someone is singing my song!
What truth will do
Have you ever believed in something so compelling you invested your entire soul? I mean that deep-down-in-your-heart level of belief that is unshakably a part of how you see the world? It becomes a basic precept on which you evaluate the world. It becomes a foundation on which you build your life. It becomes an intrinsic part of who you are.
Then one day you discover it was all based on a lie. The reality that shaped the circumstances and decisions that led you up to the place life finds you today has all been based on lie after lie after lie after lie. What do you hold on to?
I'll tell you what you hold on to. You hold on to you. To the truth you know about yourself. You can't control what other people do; you can only control your response to what they do. But that doesn't mean you don't have power or control, because the greatest power and control a person can have is personal empowerment and self-control. These two things will take you right out of that bad place the lies deposited you.
I know I should have said something about God and how God sees you through. But isn't that exactly what I'm saying? It isn't the lofty God way up in Heaven looking down benevolently that has impact on a person's life. It is the internalized truths about what is good and right and noble and honorable that really make a difference. And in the hard moments when the very earth seems to be shifting under your feet, these are the things that you hold on to. These are the things that matter.
I traveled for a time in a place of smoke and mirrors, but now I have escaped, finding to my utter delight that there is a place where the sun does shine and good things happen and my day is not dictated by the anxious trepidation of what a phone call can bring.
Here's the last word on this subject, my people: it's not the places you've traveled that define who you are, it is how you conducted yourself on the road. I can look back and say that even though I gave myself to something that was entirely false, I was true to my own standard of what was required of me, what I knew in my heart was right to give. I gave love and honesty and openness and fidelity and truth in everything I did.
It is not me who failed, it was the object of my affection.
I don't have trouble sleeping at night. Anymore.
Then one day you discover it was all based on a lie. The reality that shaped the circumstances and decisions that led you up to the place life finds you today has all been based on lie after lie after lie after lie. What do you hold on to?
I'll tell you what you hold on to. You hold on to you. To the truth you know about yourself. You can't control what other people do; you can only control your response to what they do. But that doesn't mean you don't have power or control, because the greatest power and control a person can have is personal empowerment and self-control. These two things will take you right out of that bad place the lies deposited you.
I know I should have said something about God and how God sees you through. But isn't that exactly what I'm saying? It isn't the lofty God way up in Heaven looking down benevolently that has impact on a person's life. It is the internalized truths about what is good and right and noble and honorable that really make a difference. And in the hard moments when the very earth seems to be shifting under your feet, these are the things that you hold on to. These are the things that matter.
I traveled for a time in a place of smoke and mirrors, but now I have escaped, finding to my utter delight that there is a place where the sun does shine and good things happen and my day is not dictated by the anxious trepidation of what a phone call can bring.
Here's the last word on this subject, my people: it's not the places you've traveled that define who you are, it is how you conducted yourself on the road. I can look back and say that even though I gave myself to something that was entirely false, I was true to my own standard of what was required of me, what I knew in my heart was right to give. I gave love and honesty and openness and fidelity and truth in everything I did.
It is not me who failed, it was the object of my affection.
I don't have trouble sleeping at night. Anymore.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Where you'll find me
My life so far the last few years has been just Grace, Emily and I. Often times, when Grace and Emily were with their dad, I would go two or three days without seeing or talking to anyone. The house was quiet. Mei Ling and I, my pretty kitty, would thrrrp back and forth to each other. And enjoy the peace, the quiet. I would softly pat-pat around the apartment re-arranging the detritus of daily living so I didn't miss Grace and Emily so much. I would curl up with a book and some Chinese food. I watched my Netflix. I painted my toenails. I drew swirly figures in the dust. Life was good, even if it was a little bit lonely. I was comfortable.
Suddenly, that all changed!
Welcome to Grand Central Station, i.e. Chris' house. Kids, cats, bags and wives, let me tell you. A jungle. A madhouse. The we-have-to-lock-the-door-if-we-want-privacy kind of place. The kind of place you can't run around naked because you forgot your bathrobe when you went to take a shower. The kind of place you can't leave your panties on the bathroom floor. The kind of place where teenagers, young adults and pre-teens prance in and out in a steady stream of pre-and-post hormonal excess. In the sometimes overwhelming rush of cell phones jing-a-linging the latest ring-tones, instant messenger pinging, home phone ringing and happy children running to and fro, I found my soul expanding, my sedate complacency lifting, my little-bitty circle of family growing. Life opened its arms and embraced me.
Then, Chris had surgery. Kids, cats, bags and wives scattered. Cell phones were turned off. Cyber chat ceased. Home phone lay quietly where it was last placed. Doors stayed closed. And Chris and I snuggled up on the couch, my feet in his lap, and we looked at each other. A long time. And then he kissed me.
And my whole perspective on life changed.
Quality time is waaaaay under-rated, folks. I'd say getcherself some, but I'd recommend not having surgery to do it. Makes things rather difficult where canoodling is concerned. However, these things can be worked out....
And I'm getting a trip to the day spa. This nursing gig certainly has its privileges!
Suddenly, that all changed!
Welcome to Grand Central Station, i.e. Chris' house. Kids, cats, bags and wives, let me tell you. A jungle. A madhouse. The we-have-to-lock-the-door-if-we-want-privacy kind of place. The kind of place you can't run around naked because you forgot your bathrobe when you went to take a shower. The kind of place you can't leave your panties on the bathroom floor. The kind of place where teenagers, young adults and pre-teens prance in and out in a steady stream of pre-and-post hormonal excess. In the sometimes overwhelming rush of cell phones jing-a-linging the latest ring-tones, instant messenger pinging, home phone ringing and happy children running to and fro, I found my soul expanding, my sedate complacency lifting, my little-bitty circle of family growing. Life opened its arms and embraced me.
Then, Chris had surgery. Kids, cats, bags and wives scattered. Cell phones were turned off. Cyber chat ceased. Home phone lay quietly where it was last placed. Doors stayed closed. And Chris and I snuggled up on the couch, my feet in his lap, and we looked at each other. A long time. And then he kissed me.
And my whole perspective on life changed.
Quality time is waaaaay under-rated, folks. I'd say getcherself some, but I'd recommend not having surgery to do it. Makes things rather difficult where canoodling is concerned. However, these things can be worked out....
And I'm getting a trip to the day spa. This nursing gig certainly has its privileges!
What makes us tick
Monday, March 20, 2006
Because I love him, I have to be honest...
....He's a complete and total ass. And to think he represents all of America.
Yep, that's it. I'm moving to Canada.
Kids, cats, bags and wives
Remember the old riddle about the man with seven wives going to St. Ives? Each wife had seven sacks, each sack had seven cats, remember? Well, that is how my life has been seeming since Chris came into my life.
You may recall that Chris was the artist guy who took me to the local benefit concert with the cool guys from Verve Pipe? Well, Chris and I have been hanging out quite a bit ever since the concert, especially since he helped me find my new *party wagon* and I have been helping him recouperate after his shoulder surgery. Well, Chris has a full life, let me tell you! I'm not used to it! Because of his job and his children, both his cell phone and his home phone ring off the hook. His adopted daughter Robby was home for spring break from college. His nephew Avi lives with him. His 17 year old daughter had a friend over. His 10 year old daughter had a friend over. Plus my two girls. We've all piled in the *party wagon* to go for ice cream or a drive or to the store. Then we'd all pile out and tumble into the house with our proverbial kids, cats, bags and wives.
All this after years of living in the frequent silence of it being just me and the four walls. Wow. It is overwhelming, but it is warm and loving and fun.
You may recall that Chris was the artist guy who took me to the local benefit concert with the cool guys from Verve Pipe? Well, Chris and I have been hanging out quite a bit ever since the concert, especially since he helped me find my new *party wagon* and I have been helping him recouperate after his shoulder surgery. Well, Chris has a full life, let me tell you! I'm not used to it! Because of his job and his children, both his cell phone and his home phone ring off the hook. His adopted daughter Robby was home for spring break from college. His nephew Avi lives with him. His 17 year old daughter had a friend over. His 10 year old daughter had a friend over. Plus my two girls. We've all piled in the *party wagon* to go for ice cream or a drive or to the store. Then we'd all pile out and tumble into the house with our proverbial kids, cats, bags and wives.
All this after years of living in the frequent silence of it being just me and the four walls. Wow. It is overwhelming, but it is warm and loving and fun.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Your music is killing me, man!
We listen to the radio all day at work. We only get this one station - Star 108 - which is the musical equivalent to being served an anchovy pizza quiche with cheap chardonnay and salad. A little bit of good stuff thrown in with a bunch of crap. Like a few minutes ago they were playing Train's "Drops of Jupiter" which is a fairly cool song, right? Well, now that damn thing is belting out some chick song with "how can I live without you" repeated about fifty times. Puke.
Ok, so I admit it: I'm a musical snob. But do you - can you - understand the pain involved with endless cycles of REO Speedwagon, Mariah Carey and Phil Collins?!?! Not that those bands didn't have a good song or two (if you like that kind of stuff, which I don't). But let's face it, primarily their music was a little bit of good stuff thrown in with a bunch of crap. You know, that old industry-driven attempt to write another hit that merely results in sentimental rock-ballad drivel? Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. That cheesy 80s rock. That pathetic 90s music to whine to. Just a bunch of freakin cheez and whine.
But back to the important stuff - my pain. Listening to this radio station all day is like an eight-hour equivalent of being in the gas station with that bad song blaring that gets stuck like effing super glue in your brain. A few days ago I woke up with the following song drifting through my head:
I wanne be your man in motion
Underneath the aerial quee
Da-da-da-da-dadada
St. Elmo's Fi-yi-ya!
I don't even know the freaking words and it was stuck in my head! Primal scream! Primal scream! Today I was actually singing - actually freaking singing "If you wanna be my lover, da-da-da-dadada-mmthing." Repeatedly.
Just kill me now.
Ok, so I admit it: I'm a musical snob. But do you - can you - understand the pain involved with endless cycles of REO Speedwagon, Mariah Carey and Phil Collins?!?! Not that those bands didn't have a good song or two (if you like that kind of stuff, which I don't). But let's face it, primarily their music was a little bit of good stuff thrown in with a bunch of crap. You know, that old industry-driven attempt to write another hit that merely results in sentimental rock-ballad drivel? Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. That cheesy 80s rock. That pathetic 90s music to whine to. Just a bunch of freakin cheez and whine.
But back to the important stuff - my pain. Listening to this radio station all day is like an eight-hour equivalent of being in the gas station with that bad song blaring that gets stuck like effing super glue in your brain. A few days ago I woke up with the following song drifting through my head:
I wanne be your man in motion
Underneath the aerial quee
Da-da-da-da-dadada
St. Elmo's Fi-yi-ya!
I don't even know the freaking words and it was stuck in my head! Primal scream! Primal scream! Today I was actually singing - actually freaking singing "If you wanna be my lover, da-da-da-dadada-mmthing." Repeatedly.
Just kill me now.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
As bad as politicians and lawyers
Aaaaaargghhhhh!!!!!
What is wrong with journalists and authors today!?!? It seems every week there is another scandal calling into question the voracity of published work we had all taken for fact. We've had Tuesdays with Morrie author and columnist Mitch Albom playing the part of the stupid criminal when he wrote a column on a basketball game as though he was there; unfortunately for Albom one of the athletes mentioned in his article didn't even play due to an injury. We've got James Frye grandly embellishing his memoir, Million Little Pieces. We've got Stephen Glass, a much-celebrated young writer of the The New Republic magazine fabricating about 85% of the content of the stories he had written for The New Republic, some of which were entirely constructed out of his apparently sexless imagination. Now it seems that Dan Brown, author of The Da Vinci Code has been in court defending claims that he stole the main premises of his book from other authors! Where is their integrity? Where is their honor of their craft?!?
Unfortunately, this is just the tip of the iceberg. For every one author that gets outed, there are many more that go unreported by publishing agencies in a lame-ass attempt to save face. But even those that are reported usually result in a mere slap on the wrist. Poor Mr. Glass, for example, actually suffered some public humiliation before going on to graduate from Georgetown University Law Center and countless public appearances promoting his book, The Fabulist, which chronicled his journalistic fraud. Oh, and then there was the movie deal where Glass was portrayed by adorable and hunky Hayden Christensen. I'm sure poor old Glass cried all the way to the bank. So, answer me this: what is there to deter these dopes when committing an act of public betrayal only results in minor but temporary humiliation followed by book and movie deals?!?!
As a journalist I deeply resent this. Their dishonesty calls into question every word that is printed. I read a statistic yesterday that a whopping 3% of Americans think that politicians have integrity and honor their responsibility to the public as they carry out their duty thanks to the endless scandals riding the coattails of political life. Thanks to all the stinking bad journalists and authors out there (not to mention the bad tabloid reporting), journalists are going to get lumped in with lawyers and politicians before we know it. As someone who takes what I write for publication very seriously, I'd like to say this to all of them there bad boyz:
"Kiss my grits!!!"
What is wrong with journalists and authors today!?!? It seems every week there is another scandal calling into question the voracity of published work we had all taken for fact. We've had Tuesdays with Morrie author and columnist Mitch Albom playing the part of the stupid criminal when he wrote a column on a basketball game as though he was there; unfortunately for Albom one of the athletes mentioned in his article didn't even play due to an injury. We've got James Frye grandly embellishing his memoir, Million Little Pieces. We've got Stephen Glass, a much-celebrated young writer of the The New Republic magazine fabricating about 85% of the content of the stories he had written for The New Republic, some of which were entirely constructed out of his apparently sexless imagination. Now it seems that Dan Brown, author of The Da Vinci Code has been in court defending claims that he stole the main premises of his book from other authors! Where is their integrity? Where is their honor of their craft?!?
Unfortunately, this is just the tip of the iceberg. For every one author that gets outed, there are many more that go unreported by publishing agencies in a lame-ass attempt to save face. But even those that are reported usually result in a mere slap on the wrist. Poor Mr. Glass, for example, actually suffered some public humiliation before going on to graduate from Georgetown University Law Center and countless public appearances promoting his book, The Fabulist, which chronicled his journalistic fraud. Oh, and then there was the movie deal where Glass was portrayed by adorable and hunky Hayden Christensen. I'm sure poor old Glass cried all the way to the bank. So, answer me this: what is there to deter these dopes when committing an act of public betrayal only results in minor but temporary humiliation followed by book and movie deals?!?!
As a journalist I deeply resent this. Their dishonesty calls into question every word that is printed. I read a statistic yesterday that a whopping 3% of Americans think that politicians have integrity and honor their responsibility to the public as they carry out their duty thanks to the endless scandals riding the coattails of political life. Thanks to all the stinking bad journalists and authors out there (not to mention the bad tabloid reporting), journalists are going to get lumped in with lawyers and politicians before we know it. As someone who takes what I write for publication very seriously, I'd like to say this to all of them there bad boyz:
"Kiss my grits!!!"
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
"I yam what I yam," I said
But the test says....I am a *Magician*
"The Magician is free and full of energy. Magicians like to entertain. They like to change things. They seem driven by some invisible force. Things that never change quickly become boring to them, as they live fast-paced lives. They are very creative and able; many successful people are Magicians. Magicians, as the name implies, are often very talented and capable of performing feats that seem impossible. Although they are very artistic, they aren't usually introspective or philosophical. Magicians prefer to live in the minute. Although they really like people and even devote a portion of themselves to the world, they need their space. You can't corner a magician. He'll disappear in a puff of smoke.
The Magician's complement is the kind and generous King."
All part of the charm that is Bunnyjo! Now I just have to figure out who is going to be my kind and generous king. Oooo, I'm excited about that kind and generous part!
Test yourself at this Link: The Medieval Archetype Test
Hey, now! It's not what you think, so get your mind out of the sewer along with all those other rats and listen to this:
Since the big Sunday night cleaning, the darlings have done tolerably well keeping the room clean. One time last week things had gotten scattered across the floor, so I *encouraged* them to get that dang room straightened up and within 15 minutes - voila! Cleanliness was restored!
So, things had gotten a little out of order again before they left to spend the weekend with their dad. It had been my intention to make them clean their room when they got home last night, but they were so happy to be home (hellow!?) that I just didn't have the heart to do it. Instead, I took them for a ride in our new *party wagon* and we took a walk on the pier. When we got home, Mamacita was exremely tired (late nights are not for me!) and I basically went to bed. However....my little Angels intiated the room-cleaning on their own and got it all spiffed up in no time! Yay!
I love those little critters! Look at Emily's little monkey lips. So cute!
Suburbia hath descended.
As of 6:15 p.m. EST yesterday, the last vestiges of my youth, savoir-faire coolness and self-aggrandizing pride have left me. I have officially embraced The Man, The Establishment. I have surrendered the last of my bohemian nonconformity to the equanimity of sedate living. I am now a mini-van owner.
Leaving behind my panache for coupes, I have embraced The Bloat - I mean, The Boat. Always preferring the low center of gravity coupes, I whipped around curves and sped along the byways of life with all the va-va-voom of my highly passionate nature. Now, I gracefully ease along the road in my New Yacht. Docking is giving me a pain in the ass and reverse boating is proving to be somewhat of a
challenge. However, I no longer have to climb through the window of my car like Daisy Duke. I no longer have to use this stick thingy to turn on my headlights. I no longer have to fear the front end of my car falling off every time I apply the brake pedal.
And the best part of all is I don't have a car payment. Did I steal this vehicle? Not really. I'm sure the dealer put some profit in his pocket, but I guarantee that if I sold this vehicle tomorrow I could make at least $500 bucks on it and still give the new owner a deal. Mmmm. Ain't cash purchase power grand?
tra-la-la-la.... (that's me singing a happy-mountain bubbling-brook song while I breeze along the path of life.....)
The only bad part is that now I can't make fun of all the gas-guzzling idiots cruising around with their kids bouncing around their vehicles because now that's going to be me. Hmph!
After recently attending a secret Republican caucus on the necessity of promulgating sexually-transmitted diseases in order to prove the superiority of abstinence over protected sex, I was given the button at right and was told to "wear it proud." That moment, I decided to quit making fun of just my boyfriend GW and his cronies. After all, these guys really have some good ideas! Picking on them only muddies the water and prevents their real agendas from taking center stage. Who cares if a few more GIs had to die? The manufacturing sector has benefited from the much-needed boom driven by the need for more war machines. And besides, at least half the craziness American's are faced with comes from the other side of the aisle.
Putting action to my new-found semi-belief, I looked for someone to verbally assault. After spending 45 minutes ranting about gay-loving, bleeding heart liberals to the drunken spinster on my right, I realized she had turned her hearing aid off. C'est ca!
Then I thought of you, my innocent blog-readers! Whooo-hooo~!
Before I went leaping onto the tangent bus, however, I decided to be - for once - a fair-minded journalist. I began to investigate the so-called chasm of idiocy to the left of the center.
And guess what I found?!
Our tax dollars, hard at work!
A recent four-figure-a-plate Future Farmers of America fund raiser brought out the political heavies looking to score points with America's heartland. Here we see some Senators singing a song to the gratuitously-placed, fresh-faced, photo-op children about the dangers of having "icky farmtools" touch them on their "sanitized farmlands."
-Shawn Tyson
Chicken Processor
Bullshit Propogator
Wannabe Licensing Manager
Multi-State Insurance Center, Inc.
The Magician's complement is the kind and generous King."
All part of the charm that is Bunnyjo! Now I just have to figure out who is going to be my kind and generous king. Oooo, I'm excited about that kind and generous part!
Test yourself at this Link: The Medieval Archetype Test
Verbotten
I just had a weird thing happen. I went to Chill Daddy's blog from my link here and then took the "back button" way home, but instead of getting back Bunnyjo's bloggy page, I got a page that said I was "forbidden / this page." Anyone know what the hell that means?
Hey, and anyone know where Grandma's been? She hasn't been commenting these last few days...I miss her comments!
Hey, and anyone know where Grandma's been? She hasn't been commenting these last few days...I miss her comments!
Monday, March 13, 2006
Bedroom Update
Hey, now! It's not what you think, so get your mind out of the sewer along with all those other rats and listen to this:
Since the big Sunday night cleaning, the darlings have done tolerably well keeping the room clean. One time last week things had gotten scattered across the floor, so I *encouraged* them to get that dang room straightened up and within 15 minutes - voila! Cleanliness was restored!
So, things had gotten a little out of order again before they left to spend the weekend with their dad. It had been my intention to make them clean their room when they got home last night, but they were so happy to be home (hellow!?) that I just didn't have the heart to do it. Instead, I took them for a ride in our new *party wagon* and we took a walk on the pier. When we got home, Mamacita was exremely tired (late nights are not for me!) and I basically went to bed. However....my little Angels intiated the room-cleaning on their own and got it all spiffed up in no time! Yay!
I love those little critters! Look at Emily's little monkey lips. So cute!
Friday, March 10, 2006
Mom's Taxi
Suburbia hath descended.
As of 6:15 p.m. EST yesterday, the last vestiges of my youth, savoir-faire coolness and self-aggrandizing pride have left me. I have officially embraced The Man, The Establishment. I have surrendered the last of my bohemian nonconformity to the equanimity of sedate living. I am now a mini-van owner.
Leaving behind my panache for coupes, I have embraced The Bloat - I mean, The Boat. Always preferring the low center of gravity coupes, I whipped around curves and sped along the byways of life with all the va-va-voom of my highly passionate nature. Now, I gracefully ease along the road in my New Yacht. Docking is giving me a pain in the ass and reverse boating is proving to be somewhat of a
challenge. However, I no longer have to climb through the window of my car like Daisy Duke. I no longer have to use this stick thingy to turn on my headlights. I no longer have to fear the front end of my car falling off every time I apply the brake pedal.And the best part of all is I don't have a car payment. Did I steal this vehicle? Not really. I'm sure the dealer put some profit in his pocket, but I guarantee that if I sold this vehicle tomorrow I could make at least $500 bucks on it and still give the new owner a deal. Mmmm. Ain't cash purchase power grand?
tra-la-la-la.... (that's me singing a happy-mountain bubbling-brook song while I breeze along the path of life.....)
The only bad part is that now I can't make fun of all the gas-guzzling idiots cruising around with their kids bouncing around their vehicles because now that's going to be me. Hmph!
Coastal living goes Nor'easter
I took these pics on my lunch hour today. There's something so salty about these pictures, you could imagine that you were standing on Maine's eastern shore. Mmmm.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Just the important stuff, folks
Ok, people, I'm a-gonna rant here for a minute. Call it PMS, call it borderline personality disorder, call it feminine super-logic, but I am fed to the gills with stupid news. You know the stuff I'm talking about. It's that guilty-pleasure stuff that you peruse when you really should be working. Which, by the way, I am on lunch right now so I can legally in every way enjoy the guilty pleasure of ranting to you! 
So, let the rantings commence!
First of all, if you are stupid enough to feed your cat 5 to 6 pounds of chicken and fish everyday, someone should lock you up not put you on the front page of the idiotic Japanese paper that published this picture. Looking for a little attention? Try getting a personality and let your poor cat alone. Sheesh!
Secondly, I don't care who made the best and worst dressed list at the Oscars. I don't care who showed up arm-in-arm together. I don't care who Joan Rivers insulted. These people's job is to make good movies, period. They need to just focus on that judging from the plethora of cinematic crap out there today. And besides, there happen to be bigger issues like oh, I don't know....killing arabs for cheap oil? Let's get our priorities straight, people. Once we quit killing people for little or no reason other than they don't like our
God and happen to be pitching their tent on the largest oil reserve in the world, then we can worry about how Charlize Theron could look so damn happy with that ugly dress on (and it was hideous, doncha think?)
Here's one that should go without saying: the point of reporting atrocities such as the hate-mongers at the soldier's funeral is to hopefully discourage other would-be demonstrators and haters at future soldiers' funerals. Balance in journalism, hell! The only airtime those bigots deserve is the airtime it takes to announce their impending doom. Or something like that. Get 'em off the screen and go back to the best and worst dressed list. Cocks and bullocks!
Last but not least, here's my favorite: Oprah's Greatest Moments on DVD....because just seeing her for an hour and a half every day is not enough. Because having her name slapped all over every sappy memoir-cum-fiction is not enough. Because having dung-headed housewives TiVo-ing her show and then quoting her like the Goddamn Proverbs is not enough. We want to shell 
out $29.95 so we can relive those moments again and again.
God bless American Media.
Hey, I found a perfect picture of one o' them there air-sucking red-necks. Here, caught in the act of nostril-flaring oxygen sucking.....my boyfriend, The George.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
A quickie
Hi everyone! I know you are missing me and wondering why I haven't posted anything real or thought-provoking or insidiously clever lately, but I've been so busy actually working at work that I haven't had time to play at work like I used to. Corporate hell! Hmph.
But I'm busily concocting a scathing commentary on the insipid news media right now, so hang tight, my peoples. Wit is on its way!
love-love-love,
moi
But I'm busily concocting a scathing commentary on the insipid news media right now, so hang tight, my peoples. Wit is on its way!
love-love-love,
moi
Monday, March 06, 2006
Who's being naughty?
Miss Beatrice, the church organist, was in her eighties. She was admired for her sweetness and kindness to all. One afternoon the pastor came to call on her and she showed him into her quaint sitting room. She invited him to have a seat while she prepared tea.
As he sat facing her old Hammond organ, the minister noticed a cut-glass bowl sitting on top of it. The bowl was filled with water, and in the water floated, of all things, a condom!
When she returned with tea and scones, they began to chat.
The pastor tried to stifle his curiosity about the bowl of water and its strange floater, but soon it got the better of him and he could no longer resist.
"Miss Beatrice", he said, "I wonder if you would tell me about this?" he asked, pointing to the bowl.
"Oh, yes," she replied, "Isn't it wonderful? I was walking through the park a few months ago and I found this little package on the ground. The directions said to place it on the organ, keep it wet and that it would prevent the spread of disease. And do you know, I haven't had the flu all winter!"
***
Now, why didn't I think of that?!?!
As he sat facing her old Hammond organ, the minister noticed a cut-glass bowl sitting on top of it. The bowl was filled with water, and in the water floated, of all things, a condom!
When she returned with tea and scones, they began to chat.
The pastor tried to stifle his curiosity about the bowl of water and its strange floater, but soon it got the better of him and he could no longer resist.
"Miss Beatrice", he said, "I wonder if you would tell me about this?" he asked, pointing to the bowl.
"Oh, yes," she replied, "Isn't it wonderful? I was walking through the park a few months ago and I found this little package on the ground. The directions said to place it on the organ, keep it wet and that it would prevent the spread of disease. And do you know, I haven't had the flu all winter!"
***
Now, why didn't I think of that?!?!
Friday, March 03, 2006
Balance in Journalism
After recently attending a secret Republican caucus on the necessity of promulgating sexually-transmitted diseases in order to prove the superiority of abstinence over protected sex, I was given the button at right and was told to "wear it proud." That moment, I decided to quit making fun of just my boyfriend GW and his cronies. After all, these guys really have some good ideas! Picking on them only muddies the water and prevents their real agendas from taking center stage. Who cares if a few more GIs had to die? The manufacturing sector has benefited from the much-needed boom driven by the need for more war machines. And besides, at least half the craziness American's are faced with comes from the other side of the aisle.Putting action to my new-found semi-belief, I looked for someone to verbally assault. After spending 45 minutes ranting about gay-loving, bleeding heart liberals to the drunken spinster on my right, I realized she had turned her hearing aid off. C'est ca!
Then I thought of you, my innocent blog-readers! Whooo-hooo~!
Before I went leaping onto the tangent bus, however, I decided to be - for once - a fair-minded journalist. I began to investigate the so-called chasm of idiocy to the left of the center.And guess what I found?!
Our tax dollars, hard at work!
A recent four-figure-a-plate Future Farmers of America fund raiser brought out the political heavies looking to score points with America's heartland. Here we see some Senators singing a song to the gratuitously-placed, fresh-faced, photo-op children about the dangers of having "icky farmtools" touch them on their "sanitized farmlands."
And who said bi-partisan cooperation was impossible?
Thursday, March 02, 2006
He's out to lunch...
"And for the record...'lunch' is a highly commercialized illusion of the governmental attempt to manipulate society's need for a daily tranquility-based ritual designed to fulfill a basic human desire for food. But I digress."
-Shawn Tyson
Chicken Processor
Bullshit Propogator
Wannabe Licensing Manager
Multi-State Insurance Center, Inc.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Now it's a problem
Ok, everyone, I could use your help. The fact that my co-worker was in a crabby mood yesterday created a mere annoyance. Today, however, because I needed her help in a major project, her mood/attitude is now seriously impacting my ability to get my project done.
First of all, in our office there is a huge taboo: no one tells anyone else what to do. She is particularly touchy about it. As a matter of fact, she's rather slow and leans more toward the lazy than the ambitious, and so slightly resents any additions to her sparsely populated plate. I explained to my boss that I'd need help getting the new batch of 5000 fliers out by Friday since it took me a day and a half to do 1500. He said he'd talk to our CFO, and she'll deliver the news to my co-worker that she would be helping out. Fine.
Today, I let the CFO know I'd be ready to start the 5000 fliers by noon. As a matter of fact, because of other projects I had to do, I wasn't ready to start until 3:00. At 3:00, I began working like crazy on the project, stickering envelopes for mailing. My co-worker had mentioned earlier in the day that once she finished the contracts she was collating, she'd be able to help me.
So, at 3:30 when I noticed that she was done, I grabbed a box of envelopes and some stickers and began moving toward her desk, saying, "Here, Tawanda, there are about 500 here if you are ready to start," or something of that nature.
She stopped me dead in my tracks, saying, "I didn't say I was ready to help you."
I nearly fell over. But then she started laughing like it was a joke, saying, "You should have seen that look on Laura's face." The look on my face was, 'I can't believe you just said that to me.' Incredulous.
Ok, so she took the box of envelopes and stickers. For the next half hour as I madly stickered about 300 envelopes, I watched her slowly consume some food stuff she had brought from the kitchen. After she finished her food, she messed around with her computer trying to reinstall her Adobe in case she gets called on to do a quote, since our licensing guy is really busy and can't field the quote calls which she should be doing anyway.
It is critical to get the first 1500 evelopes stickered today, so at 5:00, Grace and Emily showed up and I set them up with a snack, a box of 500 envelopes and stickers in the break room as everyone else walked out laughing and carrying on.
Meanwhile, I've got things at home I need to do.
My instinct tells me that saying anything to her directly will only result in more attitude, and I know going over her head will make her angry. About six weeks ago, another co-worker got fed up with watching her play Solitaire on her computer and told the CFO about it. Nothing happened, but Tawanda became really upset and wouldn't talk to her for a number of days.
Now, how would YOU handle this situation?
First of all, in our office there is a huge taboo: no one tells anyone else what to do. She is particularly touchy about it. As a matter of fact, she's rather slow and leans more toward the lazy than the ambitious, and so slightly resents any additions to her sparsely populated plate. I explained to my boss that I'd need help getting the new batch of 5000 fliers out by Friday since it took me a day and a half to do 1500. He said he'd talk to our CFO, and she'll deliver the news to my co-worker that she would be helping out. Fine.
Today, I let the CFO know I'd be ready to start the 5000 fliers by noon. As a matter of fact, because of other projects I had to do, I wasn't ready to start until 3:00. At 3:00, I began working like crazy on the project, stickering envelopes for mailing. My co-worker had mentioned earlier in the day that once she finished the contracts she was collating, she'd be able to help me.
So, at 3:30 when I noticed that she was done, I grabbed a box of envelopes and some stickers and began moving toward her desk, saying, "Here, Tawanda, there are about 500 here if you are ready to start," or something of that nature.
She stopped me dead in my tracks, saying, "I didn't say I was ready to help you."
I nearly fell over. But then she started laughing like it was a joke, saying, "You should have seen that look on Laura's face." The look on my face was, 'I can't believe you just said that to me.' Incredulous.
Ok, so she took the box of envelopes and stickers. For the next half hour as I madly stickered about 300 envelopes, I watched her slowly consume some food stuff she had brought from the kitchen. After she finished her food, she messed around with her computer trying to reinstall her Adobe in case she gets called on to do a quote, since our licensing guy is really busy and can't field the quote calls which she should be doing anyway.
It is critical to get the first 1500 evelopes stickered today, so at 5:00, Grace and Emily showed up and I set them up with a snack, a box of 500 envelopes and stickers in the break room as everyone else walked out laughing and carrying on.
Meanwhile, I've got things at home I need to do.
My instinct tells me that saying anything to her directly will only result in more attitude, and I know going over her head will make her angry. About six weeks ago, another co-worker got fed up with watching her play Solitaire on her computer and told the CFO about it. Nothing happened, but Tawanda became really upset and wouldn't talk to her for a number of days.
Now, how would YOU handle this situation?
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C'est Moi!
- bunnyjo georg
- We are made to persist. That's how we find out who we are. (Tobias Wolff)