CafeChatNoir

No, no, it’s not “don’t cheat on your wife” – that would be too easy.

We have learned that if you do cheat on your wife, and then get in a fight with her, for the love of God, don’t back your car into a fire hydrant when storming out of said fight.

And don’t leave your golf clubs just sitting around.

and in an apparently brilliant attempt to recover, pulled into a tree.  I can only assume that he was driving in the fog with his brights on.  (It would seem this will in fact make me crash my car someday.)

The aerial shots of the “crash scene” are so very telling.  The story they tell is, “Tiger has a nice house.”

He’s already been released from the hospital, so he’s not dead.  The police have said alcohol was not a factor, so no scandal.

I can see where this would mention a 60 second spot in the sports report on the evening news.  Beyond that, there are very few people in the America that have a pressing need to know all this, and to know it every break during the football game.  (Or DURING the football game for that matter.)

Those people with a pressing need to know are his family, and I’m guessing they already are up on all the news.  Other than that, his agent and his sponsors, and I’m quite certain they’ve all been in communication today.

God I hate the 24 hour news cycle.

I keep seeing ads on Bravo for an upcoming reality show called “Launch My Line”…

They have a handful of “moguls” from various industries (none of whom I have heard of) and they are paired up with a handful of fashion designers (most of whom appear to be the stuff of nightmares) so they can launch a fashion line.

From these trailers, I have come to the following conclusions:

– Apparently any idiot can have their own fashion line.

– Bravo TV has too many programming hours to fill.

– There seem to be enough people in the world that will actually watch this, otherwise it wouldn’t go on the air.  (I think that is the part that disturbs me the most.)

I doubt I’ll be tuning in.

And that is never good.  Everywhere I have ever worked the rule was, “If Cindy has a twitching eye, leave her alone for a bit.  Really, it’s in your best interest.”  My grandmother never got this memo, hence her contributions to my visual seizures when she was in town, and her continuing contributions even when 2,000 miles away.

As my grandmother’s dementia/Alzheimer’s/whatever-the-hell-it-is has progressed, I’ve gotten more and more used to the odd calls.  And I have done my level best to answer those calls with sincerity and good humor.

Tonight however, was a new one.

“Where would I go to get a photo for an ID?”

*Idiot that I am, I just answered without further inquiry.*

“Um, most drug stores that do photo processing will do ID photo type things……….Um, can I ask why?”

“Well, it’s that thing, you know, that says ‘affix a recent photo’.”

*I have no fucking clue what on earth “that thing” could possibly be*

“Can you be a little more specific, because I really have no idea what “that thing” could be.”  (Because as much as she thinks I can – I CAN’T READ A PIECE OF PAPER FROM 2,000 MILES AWAY!!)

“I DON’T REMEMBER!”

*Oh hells bells, my tone has been nothing beyond flat to curious**, neither of which should warrant screaming hostility.  Time to scramble for something to say that won’t get me in more trouble…*

“Well Grandma, I just can’t think of anything besides a passport that would need a recent photo.  Are you planning on flying to Tokyo next week??”

This actually got a good laugh (rare and I relish it when it happens – I really do try to make her laugh.  It usually backfires, but I try.) and an answer that no, no plans to travel to Asia.  I still couldn’t get any more details from her as to what piece of paper she may have found on her desk that asked for a photo – for all I know, it could have been the Extended Studies department of ASU offering her audit privileges, but I suspect not.  I just told her that she had her state ID, which didn’t expire, and I really could not truly imagine anything that would require a “recent photo” at all.***

“Well, no.  It just said, “Attach a recent photo.”

I just told her to not worry on it since I couldn’t think of any piece of paper that required a picture at this point at her age and stage.

But my eye is twitching because I don’t have an answer.  And as much as it pisses me off when I don’t have an answer, it pisses her off that much more.

Hence, the twitching of my left eye.

If she calls tomorrow about it, little bro has instructions to tell her, “Set the piece of paper aside until Monday when Sharyn pops in and can double check it.” (Tomorrow is my day off.)

**Which is really hard to keep my tone in check if I’m not paying attention, so I am REALLY aware of my tone so I don’t come off as a complete bitch on wheels.  Even if I am entitled to be one.
***I thought later maybe, possibly, but highly unlikely – her Rec Center card.  But it’s Sun City and really, is there that much Gray & Wrinkly difference from one year to the next in Sun City?  (NOT being mean.  Just an observation of GenPop there.)  And they usually just send a new expiration date sticker w/no questions asked once you pay the dues in the spring.  And I double checked the AZ website to check that the DNR requirements hadn’t changed – unchanged since 2006.

First, I am definitely NOT the woman this article wants me to be today. No dried pineapple rings here. It’s Halloween for heaven’s sake.

The little ones walk away on a contact sugar high just from what I dump in their pumpkins.  :-D  I always make a point of having GOOD candy.  All chocolate if at all possible.  (Some years there are PayDay bars – not chocolate, but nice and gooey and sweet, so it works.)

And once again I am sure I have WAY more candy than we’ll need – living at the bottom of two hills, not all the kids come to the bottom of the hill before they turn around.  The sugar laden offerings this year include:

- M&Ms:  Plain, Peanut & Peanut Butter
- All the Reese’s: Peanut Butter Cups, Pieces, Sticks, and Fast Breaks (don’t know what they are but they have nougat in them, so it can’t be all bad.)
- Twix bars
- Snickers bars
- KitKats
- Heath bars
- Mr Goodbars

Oh yes, there will be happy kids in my neighborhood tonight.

Fairfax County is having it’s H1N1 flu vaccination clinic today.  Wait times were as high as an hour and a half, and the parking lot for the government center was completely full for a while.  (And it’s a damn big parking lot.)  I have to wonder if there were a few folks there that weren’t in the target grounp of 3-36 month olds and pregnant women.

I’ve never bothered with a flu vaccine.  I’m not in a risk group, nor am I around those in a risk group, so I have to wonder what the point is of getting the vaccine when getting the flu isn’t going to kill me.  And I have to wonder what repeated vaccines do to your ability to deal with a different strain of the flu virus in those years that the scientists pick the wrong strains to put in the vaccine.

…

Monday night, Skins vs. the Eagles.  Let’s see…  We have a coach that won’t be calling plays, a quarterback who is broken, and an owner that is a moron.  This should be a fun evening.  Are there any other winless teams out there that we need to play this season?  We’re really great at helping out those teams that really need a win.

…

The kittens have 3 modes:
- Cute, sleepy and snuggly, where I am a  great portable space heater for sleeping on.
- Cute and playful, where I am soundly ignored as they bounce about.
- Psycho-killers, where I am a large moving target.

…

Dear Democrats: Stop whining that Fox News is being mean to the White House.
Dear Republicans: Stop whining that the White House is picking on Fox News.
Dear Pundits on all sides: Shut up until you can say something that is actually productive.
Dear Congress: Here’s an idea: Put country before party and re-election and actually do your jobs for a change.  (Please note, your job is NOT to get re-elected.)

…

I really need to run a couple errands this afternoon.  The bucketloads of rain coming down are not helping with my motivation.

Either the craptaculous weather is really getting to me, or I’m getting my annual fall cold. The past two days I’ve been walking around in a complete fog and my favorite activities have been sleeping and eating. (Even more so than normal.)

Normally when I am feeling like this, I simply go to ground until it passes. Mainly because when I feel like I am rocking an IQ of 80, if I run into anyone I perceive to be stupider than I am, I get incredibly annoyed. Especially since today is a Saturday, so the likelihood of running into stupid people is higher.

However, I had to go out today, because out is where the food is. But, my quest was straightforward enough – Safeway for some of their ready-made soups* and some gooshyfood and crack for the little psychotic things living in my room, and a trip to Wendy’s for a large chili. (The chili had been on my mind since I woke up this morning. Sometimes your body knows exactly what it needs.)

So, I zipped up my hoodie (lord, I need about 10 more of these) and steeled myself for nasty weather and *shudder* people.

First there was the minivan behind me at the gas station that didn’t believe that I needed to backup in order to clear the car in front of me to exit – and that do to so, she needed to backup as well. Considered backing right up into her grill to make the point, but didn’t. Point for me.

Safeway was fine up until I discovered they don’t carry kitten canned food.
Seriously??
On to the checkouts, all of which are at least 3 people deep. OK, it is Saturday.
*deep breathing*
Then I watch one checkout clerk shut down and leave. Ah yes, Safeway’s shift management at it’s finest.
*Start making mental notes about how it will be so much better when I run the world*
Then when I finally get to the front of the line, the call goes out: “All checkout clerks to the front.”
REALLY? YOU COULDN’T HAVE DONE THAT BEFORE NOW???
Meanwhile, the tape on the coupon dispenser is empty at my checkout and it’s letting off this incessant beeping to alert all to the problem, and is being soundly ignored by all employees. I suggested to the woman in front of me that perhaps a sledgehammer would solve the problem nicely. She agreed.

Left Safeway feeling quite pleased with myself that I had not chucked a brick at someone’s head.  This might also be why they don’t sell bricks.

On to the Giant in between Safeway and Wendy’s. Walked in to discover they have a new gadget where you take a scanner and scan and bag all your stuff as you go along and then just give the scanner to the checkout clerk and pay. Looks pretty nifty, but given my state of stupid, I had a bad feeling I’d manage to take down their entire network somehow and passed. Got the last two cans of kitten food. Apparently they don’t restock those as regularly as I would have thought. (And this type of thing might be why I keep hearing persistent rumors that Giant is headed for extinction.) Tried to get some Rye Triscuits**, but that location doesn’t carry them. *sigh* Fortunately I had a very nice and non-stupid checkout clerk.

Feeling a bit buoyed by that, despite my lack of Rye Triscuits, I walked out and realized there was a Starbucks next door. Starbucks will not fail me! I don’t hate Starbucks. I think it’s a little crazy that they’re *everywhere* but they sell liquid crack, and it’s nice to have a dealer anywhere I need one.

And fail me they did not. Despite a half dozen customers in the shop, there was no line, and I got my whole milk venti latte in short order thanks to two young men who seemed to genuinely enjoy their barista duties. (Really what is it with the guy baristas that they’re all so nice? The women all just seem to be pissed off that their degree in 17th century French Lit isn’t working out the way they thought it would.)

And Wendy’s. Thank you Wendy’s. Despite the fact that I couldn’t understand a word through the speaker, you got my order right.

So, thank you world for doing your best to make up for the massive stupid that is a Safeway on a Saturday afternoon.

* The lazy git factor aside, they’re pretty tasty, and come in more manageable amounts than when I make a batch of soup myself.
** They are SO good with sharp cheddar cheese. SO GOOD.

I’m making brownies today.  Hit the store to grab a box of brownie mix, and as usual there are at least a dozen different variations on the theme.

At least 3/4 of those were “family size”, ie a 9×13 pan.

WTF?

Since when has an 8×8 pan of brownies not been enough for a family?

So, yet another icon of my childhood has shuffled off this mortal coil.  Mary Travers of Peter, Paul and Mary has passed away.

I’ll admit it – I always thought “Puff the Magic Dragon” was a dumb song.  Other than that one, their songs were played many a time in our house as we grew up.  My favorite was (and still is) “Leaving On A Jet Plane” – I suppose it could have had something to do with the fact that my Dad had to go jetting (or sailing) off for the Navy on many an occasion which made me identify with it.  Or I just liked the melody and the sentiment.  It could go either way.

I remember when we got our orders to Japan and on the way over there we stopped in Cali to basically “pickup” one of the LTs* and his wife who were also stationed to the squadron.  While we were having dinner “Leaving On A Jet Plane” came on the radio and I started singing along, cause I liked it and knew the words.  I was asked, “How do you know this song??!?”  I replied, “I don’t know, but my Mom and Dad like it.”  Despite my parents somewhat righter stance in life, they kept music out of it. :)  (This might have killed my Dad’s right credibility with the LT, but he was a good guy and didn’t hold his daughter’s statements against him.)

I don’t know why, but this really bummed me out.  I suppose it should be something I need to get used to given that I’m over 30, but I guess I’m just not ready for yet another person that I identified with as a child to be kicking off.  Damn.

*Mark Johnson, to whom I will forever be indebted for my knowledge of knowing that 12×12 = 144.

I am embarrassed to admit that I didn’t know Jeff’s last name.  He was a regular at the pool hall, and we talked on as many occasions as possible.

I can’t say that Jeff’s life was necessarily an easy one.  From what I gathered, he was living on Social Security and some form of disability.  Some might say that he was an alcoholic who could not be rehabilitated, but I suspect they were not taking in all the issues in life he ran into that would (or would not) have been helped by any form of counsel or rehabilitation that was only directed at alcohol abstience.  Things had definitely not gone spectacularly for him, but he managed to find some things in life that brought him some measure of joy, and part of that was having some beers at the pool hall.  I’ll admit I first took notice of him as he had a slight passing resemblance to the angel in “Saving Grace” and I thought, “You do not ignore or fuck with one of God’s Minions.”  It didn’t hurt that he had a kind face by any means.

What I can say about this gentleman was that he was a kind person with a good heart and he cared.  When I would stop and ask him how things were going, he always turned it to how things were going for me, and if my brother was doing well.  I remember a few months back how happy he was that he was going to be spending time with his brother (who unfortunately passed away in the past month) and he SO enjoyed to talking about it afterwards.

When I heard tonight that he had passed, it was like someone had kicked me right in the gut.  For whatever reason, I expected that I would be able to stop and talk to Jeff, well, forever.

Jeff, I am sorry that life stomped on you so much.  But I thank you for the fact that every time I saw you and we talked, that you reminded me that there are just good, kind, caring people in the universe that still remember to ask about how others are doing despite their own situation.

I hope that wherever you are now, you find the peace and happiness that we all deserve.

I’ve heard one time too many this weekend that the President is going to indoctrinate/brainwash their kids through one speech.  Even heard some folks are going to keep them home from school to keep them from hearing it.  The more times I hear it, the more seriously annoyed I get.  (For the record, I have also heard *one* reasonable comment against it, and it was simply, “I am uncomfortable with any politician in schools.”)

For those who are so concerned about it, get a copy of the speech (it’s out there) read it, send your kids to school and at the end of the day say, “So, let’s talk about what the President had to say today.”  And then have an actual rational discussion about it.

If your kid suddenly becomes a liberal democrat from one speech, it’s a good chance they were already headed that direction at 100 MPH anyway and you weren’t going to stop them by keeping them home from school.  And let’s face it, good chance that they’re going to go hunt down that speech simply because you’re so hell bent against them hearing it.

So, let them hear the speech.  Then actually talk about it afterwards.  Not, “He’s a crazy liberal socialist,” but a real conversation.

Just a thought.

# Do you like your handwriting?

It’s not great by any means, but I do like my handwriting. It might take a second look to read some words, but it’s not as bad as a doc’s prescription.

# Do you prefer to print or write in cursive?

No actual preference, as I will switch between printing and cursive at will. (And yet didn’t realize it until my brother pointed it out to me just the other night.)

# Do you think handwriting should be graded in school?

HELLS Yes. Not necessarily “great cursive” (which we *were* graded on) but being able to write something that others could read at a later date.

# Do you prefer writing in pencil or pen?

Pen! Not that I do the NYT crossword in pen or anything like that, but I do prefer pen to pencil for writing, as pens go faster across the page than pencils do.

# When you write in ink, do you prefer a neutral color such as black or blue, or a fun color like purple or green?

I don’t know why, but I HATE blue ink. Black, pink, purple, green – it’s all good. Blue I will only use when there is no alternative. (I never said I was normal.)

As in years past, my goal for this vacation was to get the whole world domination thing up and running, and again, it would seem that I’ll be heading back to Northern Virginia on Friday after all. You’d think it would be an easy thing, but there never seems to be time to squeeze in taking over the world down here.

You wake up in the morning with all sorts of ideas of how things will be when you’re in charge. But first, it’s time to take the dog for a walk. Then it’s a few cups of coffee, check the news to see if any of the major news agencies have gotten wind of your nefarious plans, catch some SportsCenter and see who is in the lead in the TdF. (Hey, if you’re going to run the world, you have to pay attention to international sporting events.)

Then it’s a few errands or some shopping or general putzing around town. Grab a sandwich for lunch, and since it’s a gorgeous day, gotta hit the beach and catch some rays. (Have you seen any benevolent world dictator that didn’t have a good tan?) But it’s OK, you can work out those details of how you’re going to form your new global empire from on the beach – the ocean waves are very soothing and will help clear your head. But there is that book you’ve been meaning to read…

Next thing you know, it’s 5PM and time to run the dog around the block again and have that pre-dinner bloody mary. Observance of the seemingly long-lost cocktail hour is a must. If you’re going to run the world, people need to see that you’re at least going to be civilized about it.

Then it’s dinner. And you can’t sit around and discuss these plans during dinner – it’s just unbecoming.

But it’s OK, still lots of hours in the evening to work on global infrastructure, cabinet posts, and the logistics of transporting the Burke crew to the HQ down here at the beach.

Except for that post-dinner food coma…

Repeat for 2 weeks and you’ve got a great tan, added 5 pounds to yourself, and dropped your stress levels quite a bit. However, you’re not running the world.

Back to relying on a lottery win. ;)

When using the outdoor shower, I will not dash across the carport naked, as it will result in irreprable ocular and mental damange to my housemates and the people staying across the street.

I will not draw up battle plans when I discover the people across the street have a slingshot.

I should not assume that any lost dog knows where it lives, as it will just go to the house it thinks looks like fun.

I will not talk about shark sightings without specifically mentioning that said sighting was at the NC aquarium.

I should not call out scores for difficulty and execution when kayakers wipe out when riding the surf into the beach.

When a grown man is bitten by a sand crab, I should not say, “No shit, they don’t like to be picked up!”

I will not look for hidden compartments in the house where I can hide when the vacation lease is up.

I should not play Scotland the Brave on the car stereo while going through town as it makes people think they are having auditory hallucinations.

Not that I’m anti-thinkng, just more pro-not-having-to-actively-think. Basically I’ve just used up all my critical thinking skills for a while. Another class knocked out in my quest to be 10 years down the road with multiple degrees and waiting tables because I still don’t know what I really want to do. :)

The paper is done, hurrah. And I think it’s a bit of crap. Not that I didn’t do the research, the piles of printouts scattered about with notes scrawled in the margins and circles and arrows and exclamation points all over them prove otherwise. It’s decently written and all that, but there’s just no way you can *really* explore any subject particularly well with a 6 page limit. I really don’t like writing down to expectations.

During this paper, I discovered that apparently I’m a freak. It seems that writing papers in longhand isn’t as common as I would have thought. Guess I’m doing my part to keep PaperMate and Mead in business. All the online resources are great, but I still print everything out and take it, plus a notebook and pen and go somewhere else to actually read and write. Transcribe it into Word every now and again to keep track of how much I’ve actually written and don’t end up with a 20 page masterpiece when the absolute limit is 10 pages. Once I’ve gotten enough thoughts out of my head to satisfy the requirements and prove whatever point I want to prove, it all gets printed out, 1 paragraph to a page. Then I again retreat to somewhere else with pen in hand and the editing carnage begins. Strike, rewrite, add, rearrange. If I used a red pen it would looks like an axe murder had taken place. Add the changes to the paper, print it out again, and repeat. And repeat. I kill a lot of trees.

Best discovery during the course of the paper – the robin that lives in the porch swing has hatched her second set of babies! (And doesn’t care that the dog likes to sleep in the shade under the swing. Thank God it’s not a mockingbird, or the dog would be traumatized for life.)

Like many people in the world, I hit happy hour more than a few times a week. The only difference is that my happy hour starts at 2330 hours rather than 1730. I simply run on a different time loop than about 90% of the DC Metro area.

Now, when one takes the late shift, there is a better than good chance that you’re going to run into someone that started their happy hour at 1730 and is still going at it full bore at 0100 hours. Can’t really judge on that one either – it is what it is. We all have bad days. However, this has given me a few insights. One of them being that most of these folks seem to be from the defense contracting sector of the beltway world. (Perhaps just a inevitable issue of living where I live…but it tends to not happen with non-govt-contractors, so I cannot help but sense a trend. Possibly a weird coincidence, but I think not.)

That all being said, I can remain quite unfazed when someone walks up and says, “I’m quite inebriated, but…” Because I could tell you were six sheets (yes, twice the traditional three sheets) to the wind even before you opened your mouth. I will certainly not be offended by the fact that alcohol may have helped you walk up to someone you don’t even know and say something complimentary. Let’s face it, alcohol is essentially liquid Xanax when consumed in sufficient amounts. (And a hell of lot easier to wean yourself off when you don’t need it anymore.)

However, there comes a point where you’ve just had one Vodka Xanax too many. And you’re describing in Cinemax-worthy detail of the ways in which you would be a GREAT boyfriend. (Or the ways in which you *think* you’d be a great boyfriend.) That is when you’ve crossed the line from “courage to talk to a stranger” to “courage to be a total freaking idiot in front of a complete stranger”… This is the point I will create an invisible super-awesome boyfriend out of whole cloth if needed. (And oh yes, I will do that if I have to. I am not above that kind of deception when required.) Or an invisible boyfriend based on a real person who I know will go along with the story if needed*… And trust me, said invisible boyfriend will be all that and a bag of chips, far and away beyond anything you think you can offer. If you’re lucky this is the point where your spectaculary more sober friend will come up and distract you with something shiny before you embarass yourself any further. (And apologize profusely for your behavior. And 5 minutes later will say, “Crap, I lost him again!”)

I will not argue that alcohol can be an excellent social lubricant. There have been countless social and pseudo-social events I have attended over the years that have been made exceptionally more tolerable with a dirty goose martini to kick things off. But really guys, you need to know where that line is – and stay on the right side of it. Or at least have friends that will keep you from speaking to any strangers when you go careening sideways over said line.

Just sayin’…

*Thank you, twas a lifesaver.
Black 47: The Reels

So, I’ve had a head/chest/ear thing going on this week, with a lovely cough, the cough really being the most annoying of it all.  I try to avoid cough/cold medicine, not because I am organic or any of that stuff, it’s because whatever they put into it that makes it work turns me into a cranky bitch.

So, I started with hot tea and lemon and honey and cough drops.  Worked semi-decently.  Not great, but better than nothing.

Then I decided I would beat the cough into submission with beer.  This worked surprisngly well.  Which makes sense when you think about it – alcohol does have mild anesthetic properties, and hence, less coughing.  The only problem with this is it’s not a practical 24/7 solution – mainly due to my own shortcomings – I’ve not been a member of the beer for breakfast club for years.  Also, there is the issue of your liver deciding to drunk dial your inner ear and make you walk into a wall.  No solution is foolproof.

This morning I gave up and went to the store to buy cough syrup.  Dammit.  I get pissed when I can’t intimidate my own body into doing what I want and I have to bring in Vicks products.  Of course, it’s been at least a year since I needed to get cough syrup and of course, all the formulations have changed.  So I’m literally sitting on the floor in the CVS with half a dozen bottles of medication trying to find something that doesn’t have Phenylephrine or Pseudoephedrine in it, cause I have figured out that’s what makes me a very angry little person.  Success!  Dextromethorphan only.

This stuff doesn’t work for crap.  It could be the fact that I can’t actually down an entire dose of it at once, thanks to the wonderful “berry blitz” flavor.  You can’t tell me with all the scientific advances we’ve made over the years, we can’t do better than cough syrup that tastes like a wild cherry life saver that has been under the couch cushions for three months.  Maybe it’s because it doesn’t have the “make me psycho” ingredients.  All I know is that this stuff definitely no longer has any benefit whatsoever for me.

Not only did the beer work better, it also had the added bonus of making everyone around me more attractive.

I’m back to the hot tea and honey and cough drops.  And I’ll just tell my inner ear to ignore any prank calls from my liver later tonight.

And yet, not 100% because I am quite shallow.

This afternoon I spied a cell phone in the grass between the sidewalk and street while I was out running.  While I did think about leaving it so the owner could backtrack to it, that was outweighed by the scattered rainstorms and the potential for kids deciding to play street hockey with it.  So, I picked it up and took it home.

Tried to call the phone to leave a voice mail for the owner, thinking they might be checking it remotely.  Great idea except that the voice mail wasn’t activated.  No “Home” or “Mom” or “ICE” in the contact list.  Put a found posting on Craigslist and a note at the bus stop where I found it.  Sent a text message to a female contact in the recent calls list.  (Dunno, just didn’t want to send a text to one of his potenially whackjob friends – mainly because I know how many whackjobs I have in my own contact list.)  And waited.

The phone rang and I answered – the owner calling from a friend’s phone!  He apparently parks his car right near the bus stop and dropped/kicked it out of the car.  Got the address for the drop off – he said, “You can drop it off at any hour, someone will be up.”  AKA, we have a house of half office workers, half restaurant industry. :)  I was on my way out, no big deal to make a 1/4 block detour to drop it off.

And this is where shallow comes in.  The voice was of a 6′2″ Tennessse farm boy between the ages of 22 to 35.  When I dropped off the phone, I was met by a lovely Indian lady at the door (wife/girlfriend/landlady/roommate) who seemed to be aware of the situation and happily accepted the phone (or had no idea and thought, “Hey, free cell phone!”)

So the phone was returned.  (Hopefully to the right address.)  But dammit, I wanted to see the face that went with the voice!!

But the phone is back with it’s rightful owner (in theory) and that has to be good enough.  And I can live with that.

***Warning to all gentlemen who may think I am dateable – this may very well change your mind***

I don’t know about anyone else out there, but if I don’t dream, I don’t have a good night’s sleep.  When things are going even marginally well, I dream nearly every night.  (And it doesn’t matter how long I sleep, as long as I dream.  12 hours with no dreams is worse than 6 hours with dreams.)  My dreams are exceptionally vivid, and about 3/4 of the time I remember the details.  (Mainly if I happen to wake up near the end of the dream and make a mental note of it.)  Otherwise, I do at least remember the fact that I had some kind of whacked out dream.

I’ll admit it – my subconscious mind is much smarter than my conscious mind.  I lost count of how many seriously screwed up help desk tickets I figured out because my subconscious mind took over and when I woke up, I had the answer.  Or, when my subconscious mind told me it was time to move on from a job that I kept hanging on to.

Such as the dream I had about physically putting out fires around the office in one job I had.  Mind you, I did have practical experience with it when my boss set his trash can on fire, but still – it was a sign that things simply were not right.

There was the dream about picking up a neighbor’s key after the electrician had come and calling said neighbor to let him know I had the key.  I actually had to call my neighbor the next day and ask if I’d called him in the middle of the night about the key.  (This is also compounded by the fact that I have had people call me in the middle of the night and I was in such a deep sleep that I didn’t remember the conversation.)  Like I said, exceptionally vivid dreams.

So dreams = good sleep.  Unless they’re nightmares of some sort.  And for the last 6 months or so, I’ve either not dreamed at all (which is bad) or had nightmares (not ‘getting shot and killed’ nightmares but just as disturbing in their own way and resulting in no real sleep.)  They have been one of two:  Either I can’t get the damn phone to stop ringing (my grandmother calling every freaking 5 minutes) or, my Mom, Dad, and/or my Grandfather showing up (all deceased) and getting into LARGE arguments about why they aren’t here to take my grandmother onto wherever ones goes when they shuffle off this mortal coil.  Neither one is conducive to a decent night’s sleep, whether it’s 3 hours or 12.  (I stopped asking my brother if I had ignored an early phone calls after a while – I realized he’d ask why I didn’t answer if she’d actually been calling – but that’s how stupidly real they were.)

After this last trip to Phoenix, I knew I’d be seriously wound up for a while (which I was) and adding Mother’s Day and then my parent’s birthdays into the mix (yes, same day, same year, and yes, May is slightly rough, why do you ask?) my poor little brain apparently couldn’t even begin to come up with some good action-adventure stories for me.  So I haven’t even been dreaming at all.  Which sucks.

It sucks on levels beyond just the fact that no dreams = crappy sleep.  When my mind is allowed to really wander, I have some seriously whacked out dreams.  Not scary, just off the wall and entertaining as hell.  Some folks do dinner and a movie – I do sleep and a movie.  I love my whacked out dreams – especially because I also tend to have lucid dreams, which makes it even more fun.  You *know* you’re dreaming, so you’re ten feet tall and bulletproof and can fly and breathe underwater and any number of cool-assed things can happen.

And as I said, it’s been a good 6 months plus since I had that kind of fun at night all by myself.  (And drinks/no drinks doesn’t matter.  I do know if I take anything stronger than Advil before bed to kill a sleep-preventing headache/backache/whatever, I will not dream.  So, I don’t self-medicate to sleep.  I will just stay awake until I think I can sleep.)

When I went to Phoenix, Sharyn* assured me many times over that things weren’t as bad as I thought (I only get the bitchy negative calls from my grandmother, so I know I don’t get the whole picture) and I did get to see how my grandmother instantaneously became calmer (and nicer!) when Sharyn was around.  It just didn’t really sink into the recesses of my mind until the past few days – and I *know* it has sunk in.  Not only am I dreaming again, they are the really fun, cool, whacked out dreams that have nothing to do with family.  (Unless someone randomly enters stage left for no reason – and if they get killed by a ninja, it’s their own damn fault for showing up.)

A quick sample from the past couple nights where it’s back to “sleep and a movie” rather than “sleep at your own risk”:

– I’m in Miami and protecting a 5 year old from a hail of gunfire and explosions.  Sounds like a nightmare, but no – I had kickass ninja skills and we both emerged unscathed.  (I probably should stop watching CSI: Miami, but hey, we escaped the bad guys!  That and a lot of my dreams key off what I’ve seen on TV.  3 seasons of The West Wing in 4 days – I had dreams about working in the White House for 3 weeks.)

– I’m working at my old help desk job and they are cutting people left and right.  Suddenly, Gabriel Byrne shows up as the employee advocate!  (Oh if we’d only had a union and him as our rep back when I actually did tha for a living.)  Telling management that if they force us to stay as pitifully understaffed as we were, we still needed more support and that we needed to have at LEAST one “wizard” on staff for us to all consult.  (Not like a Harry Potter wizard, more like Apple’s “geniuses” – I’m not *that* much of a geek.)  Of course, also a sad note on how my mind works, when I should have been seriously hitting on Mr. Byrne, I was back at the tech manager’s desk offering him a dollar for the soda machine in exchange for my being allowed to punch him.  (Which we actually did when I worked there.)  But, damn, GABRIEL BYRNE advocating for us help desk punks!!  If that’s not a dream, I’m not sure what is.

– I’m sitting in front of a stack of papers, not sure if it’s work or classwork, but get a call from someone I am quite interested in.
“Hey, would you like to do something tonight?”
*Looking at random papers in front of me*
“I’d love to, but I have all this work I need to take care of.”
“Oh, OK.”
Hang up the phone, pause a moment.  I DID NOT JUST DO THAT, DID I????  (I actually double checked my phone in the morning.  I have had phone conversations that I did not remember because they were in the middle of a deep sleep.  Apparently I did NOT turn anyone down by accident at 3AM.)

– I am the stunt double or some close extra for Emily Deschanel in Bones.  I spent the whole time running around shooting things with David Borneaz, and he wanted to go for drinks after the shoot.  Not so bad!  If I can figure out how to get a repeat on that one – I may never wake up again.

So, haven taken a few minutes to analyze my subconscious for the past couple days, I see why I’m far and away more relaxed and less strung out than I was even this time last week.

Let’s all go have some fun and whacked out dreams.

*The freaking angel sent from heaven or Minnesota who looks in on my grandmother every day and keeps her on an even keel.  Something I could never manage in my entire life.

And yes, I realize most of the gents reading this are thinking, “Seriously, I got the message the first go round, and I didn’t even qualify on THAT posting!” But…some still don’t get it. (Seriously, someone throw this series to neatorama or reddit or digg, so this goes viral and spreads the word. I’d like to think it would be a public service of sorts.)

But really guys, if you have previously attempted to drop trou in front of me to show me your tattoo in the middle of a very public venue, and it went spectacularly poorly, you should probably not approach me again, oh well, let’s say – EVER. It’s one of those “cut your losses” situations. Which has no negative bearing on you – it really doesn’t – we all have those moments where we realize things aren’t going as we would have liked. That is the point where you can decide to move on, or continue to embarrass yourself. I believe the technical term is, “Fish or cut bait.”

If you choose the latter course and my first words to you are, “I will put my cigarette out on your eyelid” when you approach me – that is your great big freaking neon sign to MOVE ON. If you try to apologize for previous offenses and your apology is quite graciously accepted, with a very specific “Now. Go. Away.” tone of voice (it’s quite unmistakable with me) you should once again – WALK AWAY.

At this point, most rational people would step back and say, “OK, I said I was sorry, she said OK, I’m in the clear,” and it’s time to GO…. Well, you need to – yes, you guessed it – walk away. I don’t ever expect anyone to walk away with their head held low – just walk away and move on. That’s all. But you may choose to stand your ground, and I don’t fault anyone for that, but it might not turn out the way you hope.

If your next step is to talk the ear off of one of my male friends, and they are giving me the, “Save Me!!!!!!!!!” sign, I am not going to abandon my friend. I will enlist other people to suddenly need my friend’s total undivided attention over any matter, be it the fact that the bar is out of Guinness to there the presence of a young lady who is quite interested in them – so they may escape your weirdness.

Should you decide to turn your attentions back to me once they are unavailable, –attentions that have been rebuffed previously in days past as well as within the last 30 minutes – I’ll just point out to you the fact that I do have a lovely contingent of big-brother bodyguards who would happily break you into pieces on my word… You should again take the giant, billboard-sized hint. It’s not a threat – it’s a undeserved courteous warning of potential issues should you continue to be an asshat. But hey – I’m courteous that way. Again, that is your sign to quietly retreat. No fuss, no muss, no outright, messy confrontations. You still have a dignified exit, and frankly, you should take it. And I will give you multiple exit ramps to take that route.

And as I said before, my large family of adopted big brothers is great for me – but it’s better for you. My Dad taught me a dozen ways to kill someone without leaving a mark. (Best. Dad. Ever. I was more prepared for college than any other gal I knew.) Trust me, you want them in the middle of it. They will be the ones pulling me off you once I have finally had it with you and your overinflated ego.

Believe it or not, I have actually become quite the pacifist over the years. There was a time that there would be no warning whatsoever, and you’d be looking down the barrel of a sleeper hold (again, thanks Dad!) and no one would have been the wiser.

But seriously guys, take the “get the hell away from me NOW” signals, and just walk away. (Mine are fairly blatantly obvious, and I won’t say a word if you actually just walk away.) No shame in it whatsoever. Don’t even bother yourself with hurt feelings, just MOVE ON. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings or ego – I’m just trying to get across the point that you should not attempt to approach me again. When you decide to call me out as a “psycho” (which is pretty weak to start with, cause I am way beyond psycho on my mildest of days) in front of my wonderful contingent of big brothers – and especially if you are laser-directing your comments to one of my rather devoted chevaliers, you’re not going to get a ton of sympathy for your plight. You won’t even look like the even ever-so-slightly injured party. It makes you look like a jackass that didn’t know when to fish or cut bait.

So Mr. Idiot That Didn’t Know When To Walk Away… It’s not my fault you can’t follow signals that are visible from the ISS crew. Suck it up, deal, and move on. Lord knows I’ve managed it over the years in the other direction. I’m sure you’ll find your soulmate somewhere along the way – but I can tell you with no measure of uncertainty – it’s not here and not now.

And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Let me start this off with a disclaimer of sorts.  I have a multitude of truly spectacular men in my life and I love them all and am so happy they all stumbled into my life.  (And you spectacular sorts all know who you are.)  But some of you gentlemen are just freaking stupid.  (At which point the use of the word gentleman is very generous, and idiot might be considered an acceptable substitute.)

The vast majority of gentlemen reading this already know all these guidelines, but sometime an occasional reminder isn’t the worst thing in the world.  And who knows, maybe this post will go viral and be of benefit to a larger audience.  And here we go:

1.  Should I take a moment to introduce myself to you at the local pub, it is because I am polite.  It does not mean that I want to have sex with you, or ever want to see you again.  It means that whether I’ve had 1 drink or 12, I still remember Roberts Rules of Parliamentary Procedure as well as every Emily Post and Miss Manners column I’ve ever read, and I am not a complete bitch on wheels.

2.  Should you have any interest in a woman, at some point the words, “So, are you involved?” really, REALLY need to come out of your mouth.  The sooner the better.  And don’t tell me I should just go about spewing out that information right off the bat – I have had many lovely conversations with people that simply wanted to have a nice conversation and there was no reason to announce my relationship status right out of the gate.  It also gives the lady in question a graceful out if needed.  And frankly, most people I know would prefer a graceful out rather than trying to create a graceful out from whole cloth.  (And dammit, I give guys the graceful out on many occasions, so there is no double standard in play.)

3.  Should you decide to buy me a drink, it does not mean that I will have sex with you.  (Especially should you choose to purchase said drink while I’m having a conversation with someone else about how buying drinks != sex.)  It’s not that I don’t appreciate the drink, but don’t read anything beyond the point where I say, “Thank you.”  Nor does it mean I will buy you a drink in return.  It doesn’t mean that I hate you, it simply means that I don’t feel the need to buy you a drink in return.  It’s not that I have not bought drinks for gentlemen in the past, because I have.  It means that if going to the pub was required to be net-zero game, I’d simply decline your offer and pay for my own drinks like I usually do, and save myself a hell of a lot of hassle.  Additionally, you are most certainly NOT allowed to be offended if you are not included in the last round that I pick up for a very few, very close, very normal, very good friends.  You already think you’re getting some for buying a Guinness, I’m certainly not going to do anything to further that delusion.

4.  If you have only known me for 20 minutes, other than a tap on the shoulder or a handshake, you are not allowed to touch me without invitation, other than accidentally bumping into me.  (I have yet to punch anyone out for inadvertently careening into me after tripping over a shoelace.  I do have a heart.)  Should you come up and decide it would be cute to flick my ear “to get my attention”, especially given that I’ve “known” you for a whopping 20 minutes, you are going to get a very cold lecture on how you do NOT touch a woman without express invitation.  Should you choose to be offended by this, once again, that is your problem, not mine, in any way, shape or form.  Frankly, you should consider yourself lucky that you still have all your teeth.

5.  I do love tattoos.  I love the artwork and meaning behind them.  I enjoy hearing the stories of why someone got a inked with a particular design.  I am always on the lookout for good tattoo artists as I really need to man up and get my MCM tat that I promised myself for not dying after 26.2 miles.  (2 years ago.)  If you have an armband and are wearing a button down shirt – I do understand that you’d have to unbutton said shirt to show it.  However, I have absolutely no desire to see any tattoo that requires that you remove your pants.  I don’t care if you’re wearing your Jockey’s – KEEP YOUR PANTS ON.  And by the by, I have several people who will instantaneously swear that the bar has a very strict pants-on rule, including the bartender.

6.  I have a very large contingent of de-facto bodyguards.  To be perfectly honest, they are as much for your protection as mine.  Over the past couple years, I have acquired several new brothers.  (Which is great, cause brothers are fun.)  They are kind, and sweet and awesome – and slightly protective of me.  But again, more for your protection than mine.  Because, if you’re seriously bothering me, do remember the fact that I am the closest person to you, and if I am really creeped out, I will gleefully (and I do mean gleefully) go on the offensive if I feel it is warranted.  Chances are my chevaliers will be preventing me from kicking out one of your kidneys rather than keeping you from bothering me any further.

So guys, just a few things to keep in mind to keep yourself from losing teeth or getting kicked in the groin by  a girl.

That all being said, do say “Hi.”  Cause if you don’t do anything ridiculously stupid, I’ll say “Hi” back.

From CNN: Five clues that you are addicted to Facebook

One day recently, Cynthia Newton’s 12-year-old daughter asked her for help with homework, but Newton didn’t want to help her, because she was too busy on Facebook. So her daughter went upstairs to her room and sent an e-mail asking her for help, but Newton didn’t see the e-mail, because, well, she was too busy on Facebook.

Yes, it’s Facebook’s fault that she seems to have abandoned parenting.

I’ve been on Facebook for about 6 months now. It’s got some great timewasters (Poker, anyone?) and yes, it can be used as a tool for avoiding real life. But it’s also been a great way to reconnect with old friends – a wonderful friend I haven’t seen in near 20 years found me on Fb and it’s been terrific to be able to catch up with her. I honestly don’t know how we would have found each other had it not been for Facebook.

Sure, I doubt that anyone really has a desperate need to know what I’m doing at any given point in the day – but Facebook Mobile was a nice little sanity saver when I was stuck in AZ at Christmas. There’s a lot to be said for being able to toss out an “I’m losing my mind” status update and get some quick support from friends. (And comments that the mind had long since gone as well.) I like being able to know what my friends are up to and how they’re doing and to be able to toss them a quick note if they need bucking up.

Facebook is also much more interactive than a regular blog, so sure, it can consume some more time than other websites. (Also why my blog feeds into the Facebook notes – not everyone knows I have a blog.) It’s a great all-in-one place for thoughts, notes, pictures and whatnot.

But, if you’re “addicted to Facebook”, it’s not Facebook’s fault. If Facebook didn’t exist, people would find other ways to avoid real life – trust me, people avoided real life and real problems long before the internet existed.  If you spend an ungodly amount of time doing anything, you need to take a quick step back and look at why you’re doing it.

This particular excerpt really bugged me:

“One of my clients met up with an old boyfriend on Facebook. They started spending hours and hours into the night talking to each other on Facebook. She made some really inappropriate comments about how unhappy she was in her marriage,” Pile said. “Her cousin saw the comments and told her parents, and the parents told the husband, and now they’re in the process of getting divorced.”

Guess what? Those two were going to get divorced eventually anyway. Using Facebook didn’t cause the divorce – it just brought the underlying problems in that particular relationship to light.

Sometimes, a little avoidance of the real world isn’t the worst thing in the world. But you can’t blame Facebook for building a killer app that enables you to do it. Suck it up and face your fears and address your issues.

Just be sure to update your status when you’ve conquered them – I’ll hit the “Like” button.

Or at least, is in the very recognizable process of springing.  Some of the signs so far:

Daylight Savings Time goes into effect tonight.

Preseason Padres games

World Baseball Classic

Mud

Everyone washing their car on Saturday morning.  Including that guy that insists on starting at 7 AM.  With the ShopVac.

Robins!

Crocuses

Assembling of new barbecue grills.

Not having to use my shirt as a kleenex when I take the dog for a walk or go for a run.

Chicken salad  (It’s just not a good winter dish.)

Being able to leave the back door open so the dog can come and go as he pleases.  And having to point out to him that the door is already open and he doesn’t need a personal escort.

The horror of realizing that soon you will *not* be wearing 4 layers outdoors and trying to jam yourself into a swimsuit.

You’ll have to excuse me, I need to get to the gym…

If you exercise regularly (or even not so regularly) you may know that a really good workout can leave you in a happy-sleepy-euphoric state.  (Especially if there is swimming involved, at least for me.)

Now, if it is a late evening workout, there’s nothing wrong if you decide to pop by the pub on the way home for a pint and a to-go order of wings, especially since you’re probably not feeling like whipping up a hot recovery snack when you get back to the old homestead.

Just keep in mind that no amount of happy-sleepy-post-exercise-euphoria can make your chapped lips withstand hot wings…

I’d write more, but I have to go drink a quart of milk and slather a block of lard on my lips and hope the pain stops in the next 24 hours or so.

I’ll admit I am not exactly the last bastion of sweetness and light, but I do *try* to be somewhat positive and go with the idea of each day is a new beginning, a chance for things to be better, etc, etc.

Then there are those occasional days where I wake up and think it’s a good thing I am single, because if there was someone else in bed with me, I’d have to roll over and punch them in the face.

Today was one of those mornings. No actual reason for it, just woke up deciding the world seriously needed to be smacked around.

I HATE IT when this happens. Wanting to shank someone when you roll out of bed just doesn’t set the best tone for the rest of the day. At least I’d like to wake up with somewhat neutral feelings towards the rest of the world and they can later truly earn a sucker punch for stupidity  over the course of the day.

Maybe I need more coffee. Or some chocolate, or to go re-read CuteOverload.com. But that will have to wait, as I have to go try and bean the mailman in the head with a slingshot.

Have a lovely day!

Usually I get useless ones that say something along the lines of, “You’re a shiny person!”, but tonight’s was a little different.

“Depart not from the path which fate has you assigned.”

Kinda gives me something to think about.

Seriously, my grey matter is overwhelmed with useless minutia that despite my best imaginative efforts to think it will profit me someday, will likely never benefit me.  Sure, I am a kickass team member in Trivial Pursuit, but that has no usually has cash value (beyond a winners’ six pack of beer) and I can say with great certainty that I would not screen test well enough to be on Jeopardy.  (Which might actually net me some cash, or at least a year’s supply of Rice A Roni.)

This is hardly a new revelation to me by any means.  However, it was once again cemented in my head this evening.

Little bro is back home from his annual Super Bowl sojourn and we headed up to the pub for a beer.  (OK, he went for beer & trivia games, I went for beer & SportsCenter – we happened to have seats next to each other.)  A complete aside, THE EMPTIER OF THE DISHWASHER IS BACK!

I watched the trivia games he was playing, and one of the answers to a question about kids’ programming was “Zoom.”

Upon seeing that ONE DAMN WORD, the signoff song of the Zoom program kicked off in my head – it was for those kiddos that wanted to contact the program.  And it goes as follows…

“Write ZOOM, Zee-double-oh-em, Box three-five-oh, Boston, Mass, Ohh-two-one-three-four, SEND IT TO ZOOM!!”

This is a program that ended in my world in 1978.  (It was resurrected in 1999, a version of which I have no knowledge – I didn’t even know it came back until I looked it up trying to figure out when it went off the air.)

I cannot find my keys 90% of the time, I will spend $40 at the market while forgetting the quart of milk I actually went there for, and yet I still know how to contact the participants of a kids telly program that ended 30+ years ago.

There is part of me that rationalizes this exceptionally well.  I don’t have to remember directions, as I have Google maps.  I don’t have to remember what days what bills are due, I have spreadsheets, and I have auto backup for my hard drive.  I don’t have to remember phone numbers, as they are all in my phone and I also have auto-backup for that as well.

Therefore, I have a decent amount of space for useless nonsense taking up my brain.

However, I watch my grandmother’s memory sliding and I am terrified that 50 years from now I will still remember the damn Zoom song and not remember which bills are due when and will be overrunning the cell phone minutes of everyone and their brother trying to make sure that my homeowner’s insurance has been paid.

Know thyself is awesome.  Seeing what’s ahead is sketchy at best.  Seeing both in the same instance is scary as fucking hell.

I keep reminding myself that as much as I love the markets and finance and such, I need to REALLY crank up my other hobbies before I get… well, a bit touched in the head for lack of a better description.  Because when I finally get dotty, I want for my step/pseudo/foster/whatever kids/grandkids to say, “It’s fun to go knit/crochet/draw/paint/make tinfoil hats” with Goofy Aunt Cindy!” rather than, “She’s mean and no fun and can’t even enjoy a good conspiracy theory because she thinks there is some random bill that hasn’t been paid!” (Which if they are any relation of mine, blood or otherwise, they WILL enjoy a good conspiracy theory until such point where Fox News mucks up the fun for all of us.)

It’s fun to kickass at Trivial Pursuit.  (Especially if you have opponents willing to wager on it.)  I just don’t want that crap to be the only thing I remember 50 years down the road.  And I’ll readily admit that I am scared shitless of what year 86 has in store for me should I live that long.

I really hope that if I live that long and my mind decides to skip out on me, I hope it goes in a fun and entertaining direction.  (I’ll start stockpiling the tinfoil now for alien invasion prevention.)

You may (or may not) know that I spent 3 years of my life in Japan, courtesy of the US Navy sending my Dad there.  It wasn’t the best place to be for grades 5-7, but it wasn’t the worst, either.  We returned to true US soil in 1985, so it’s been a while to say the least, but the experience is still well rooted in parts of my brain.

Occasionally little things will pop up as reminders of our time there, and that has happened recently, and it’s one of the more slightly absurd reminders.

Let me start with saying that this reminder is of the time when we lived off-base (aka, “on the economy” – a phrase that while I knew what it meant when it was presented to me, I still can’t say I understand it’s origins) rather than in the cushy on-base housing.  (Cushy being a somewhat relative term.)  Our off-base housing was quite adequate from a space standpoint – it wasn’t huge, but there was more than enough room for a 4 person family.  We also rented from a landlord whose daughter had lived in the US, and as a result, there were some pine trees planted in the backyard for the sole purpose of taking cuttings for Christmas wreaths and other such seasonal decorations.

The bigger issue was not with the landlord, but with the actual construction of the house itself.  The house (same as all around it) had basically NO insulation whatsoever.  Given that the area we lived in had weather patterns not so different from the DC Metro area, I am still shocked that there weren’t more instances of pipes freezing and bursting.  Given the insanely high cost of electric heat, we had a kerosene heater in the living room and that was pretty much it.  The bedrooms had electric blankets that were kicked off about 20 minutes before bed.  Fall and Spring, it was LOVELY.  Winter?  Colder than a witches tit, especially given the lack of affordable central heating.  (We moved into the house in early October – I saw no reason to move on base.  Until about January.)

Which brings me to the echo.  I was in an establishment this evening whose heating air ducts didn’t reach the ladies room.  (Or the men’s room from what I hear.)  And it’s kinda cold out.  Which makes seats in a lavatory especially chilly.

Toilet seat warmers were an especially popular product in Japan.  Not particularly high tech by any means, but better than having seriously chilled porcelain on your backside.  The store-bought ones were usually of a nice terrycloth.  (IIRC, ours were pink.)  When those when in the weekly laundry, they were replaced with a pair of knee-high athletic socks from the drawer.  Not particularly glamorous, but it certainly took care of the problem at hand of contact frostbite on one’s butt.

That all being said, it was all brought to mind as I was wishing for a set of pink terrycloth seat-warmers in the very cold ladies room this evening, which brought forth another musing…

If your house is well insulated enough, or your heat is affordable enough that you can keep the vents open to your bathrooms to keep them relatively warm, (or both) – and you don’t have to go shopping for seat-warmers…well, you’re in fairly decent shape.  And given the fact that the economy is completely in the tank and god only knows when it will get better – being able to have a properly heated WC is a very good thing.

Don’t know about you, but I think I count a few extra blessings before I hit the rack tonight.

I’ll admit I’m not super comfortable with public religious proselytizing, as it seems to have a rather unnerving focus on whether or not I have been “saved” and the status of my soul seems to create much too large a burden on the people inquiring.  I definitely get the impression that these folks are losing sleep over all the unsaved souls out there, and that’s just too much for anyone to take on as a personal responsibility.  I tend meet those who seem very sad in general that more people aren’t saved and that it is somehow their fault and that the big guy is disappointed in them.  Kinda depressing, and I try to just politely avoid them altogether as to not add another unsaved soul to their already way-too-long list.

However, it isn’t always that way.

Today, I found myself over at the Lotto in Falls Church (or Fairfax, or whatever part of town that technically is) and needing chopsticks (and a couple miso bowls, and soba, and bubblegum, AND POCKY!) I pulled into the parking lot and headed in to do a bit of shopping.  Near the front door was a young woman, all bundled up for the weather with a sash that said, “Love Jesus!”  She was singing (I can only guess it was Korean, as it was definitely not English, and there is a decent Korean population in the area.)  She had a GORGEOUS singing voice, and could have been singing, “You’re all going to hell if you’re not saved!” but she made it sound really beautiful.  As I walked by, I got a big smile and a wave and a “Jesus Loves You!!!!”  She wasn’t trying to stop anyone, or hand out fliers, or recruit people.  Just singing and smiling and wanting people to know they were loved.

She was singing again when I exited, and at the finish of the song, did a little jump and two thumbs up and happily proclaimed, “Jesus!!” almost in the same way a rocker might holler, “Thank you, Cleveland!” at the end of a concert.

I couldn’t help but give her a thumbs up back.

I’m happy she managed to find the cool Jesus.  The fun Jesus who probably kicks ass on bass guitar in Rock Band.  The Jesus that just loves everyone and makes her want to sing and tell everyone they’re loved and isn’t trying to scare the crap out of her, rather than one that is keeping a list of how many souls she’s brought to the flock.  I can’t help but envision a smiling Buddy Christ on the dashboard of her car.  Mainly, I’m happy that her religion is making her happy and joyous instead of sad and angry.

Not such a bad thing.

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. – Plato

Honestly, I think more people forget this than remember it.