Crossing Fingers!

I got a call today from the school. I have an interview tomorrow at 2:40. I also now have a terrible case of the nerves. I HATE interviews. But, I REALLY want/need/gotta have this job!

Cautiously Optimistic...

So times have been more than a little trying lately.  I've been stuck in a rut of my own creation, and for a while now have not been able to see any hope of escaping it.  I've never had a great sense of direction, but I don't recall a time in my life where I have been so lost.  I lost my sense of self, who I was, what I wanted.  And when you can't find yourself, don't know where you are,  it's virtually impossible to navigate life with any sense of purpose or direction and find your way to your desired destination.  You kinda have to know where you're coming from to know where you're heading.

Depression is an ugly, hateful creature.  It can turn even the brightest of moments dark, eradicate all traces of hope, and leave you  wandering aimlessly and alone in the void of a desperate, desolate existence.  I've always felt that the worst kind of lonely is the loneliness you feel even as you walk amongst friends and loved ones.  The self-perceived isolation, the feeling that no one can understand the depths of your despair, the however irrational feeling that no one cares... It's rough, to put it most mildly.  Reason and logic seem to fly out the proverbial window, and you're left with tiny pieces of who you used to be, and an outlook on life that is remarkable in both its pessimism and downright inaccuracy.

Seriously?

So, needless to say, when my honey announced that he'd be gone on his business trip for damn near a month, I was miles away from thrilled.  Since we got together, I think we've spent maybe two weekends apart.  We're no good at it, as he would say.  So a MONTH???  I had visions of long, lonely nights...just me and the Molly watching TV and sulking.  Well I got that part right, but I forgot to envision the everything going to shit as soon as he got out of town part.  He flew out Wednesday.   He's been gone less than 24 hours, when the friggin' roof starts cavin' in.  Well maybe I exaggerate a little.  But let's just say there was a monsoon in full swing,  and I awaken to discover a big crack in the ceiling over the computer desk, and water dripping rapidly through it.   WTF?  This had been going on a while, judging from the puddle that had accumulated 3 inches from the CPU.   Is the ceiling gonna cave in?  How many days will I remain trapped in the rubble before the Molly eats me alive?  So I make some calls.  Then I realize that it's about a million degrees.  Check the thermostat, and the A/C is fuxt.  This is unbearable.  Inhumane.  If I know nothing about drywall, I know less than nothing about fixing A/C.  I'm considering packing it in and heading to a shelter, when the Spankster calls and walks me through it.  Then the brother came by after work to look at the roof and ceiling, and so far it seems I'm safe.  Now I get to wait for the landlord.  

In other news, holy shit about this bridge situation in Minneapolis.  The whole thing is just awful, first few hours were a little intense because we have family that live there, but they are safe and sound.  I have always been afraid of bridges.  I don't like driving on them and I pretty much come unglued when I'm in traffic that stops on one.  But now?  It used to be an irrational fear.  And some would say that it still is.  But in reading the statistics about how many bridges in America are rated as poorly or even WORSE than the one that fell, it's a little scary.  Close to 5,000 high traffic bridges rated even lower than this one on inspections.  WHICH ONES? is what I want to know.  That's a lot of fucking bridges that I don't wanna cross.  I can't even fathom what the people involved in MN are going through right now.  So sad.

Woot! Goes the Lonely Insomniac

I can't sleep. Nothing terribly unusual there. But tonight I have been too distracted by a dangerous new discovery on the internet to deal with the TV, so I have been permanently scarred by two infomercials in a row. If you haven't seen the ad for the "Hip Hop Abs", well you just wouldn't understand. It is something special. And directly following that freak show was a bunch of wackos raving about this air stepping thing, all while looking like idiots. Currently there are two women with breasts larger than my head and shirts cut down to their navels telling me that they can make me rich on the internet. I'll bet they can.

Anyway, I discovered Woot.com today. This is not a good thing. A very cool site where they have one item, very deeply discounted each day until it sells out. Just one item. It changes every night at midnight central time. But today just happens to be different. It's an occasion called a "Woot-off", indicated by flashing lights on the page, and means that as soon as one item sells out, it's immediately replaced by another. You have no idea what's next, or how long the items keep coming, or how many of each item there is. I already bought two things. Both for my significant other. But now I can't put the damned computer away, because what if that thing I want is next? What is that thing I want? I haven't the foggiest. But this is one of the cooler websites I've ever spent money at. Now I'm sleepy. Must go to bed.



'

Tick-Tock Goes the Biological Horseshit

Oh the laughing it hurts. Was just laying on the bed with the Spanky, trying to decide what to do next. He says, "If I go to sleep now, I can sleep 8 hours and get up at 6 in the morning." I call him on this obvious bullshit, saying that it'll never happen. I tell him his biological clock won't let him wake up that early, or something to that effect. Then he says, with a straight face, "my biological clock wakes me up at 630 EVERY day." And I start laughing. And he's all like, what's so funny? And I say well then how come your biological clock doesn't ever get your ass out from under the covers til after 8 or 9 every day? I say he's full of mud. He says "No, I DO wake up at 630, i just CHOOSE to go back to sleep cause i don't WANT to get up." Personally, I don't see what's so biological about setting an alarm for 630, sleeping through it for 5 minutes while it wakes me up, and then hitting the snooze button for the next two hours, but he is the scientist. I think I'm going to sneak in there and set his alarm for 6 tomorrow before I drag his snoring behind from the couch to the bedroom. See how his biology's working then. :o) He is too funny.

In other news, we had awesome dinner at Carraba's tonight with H and Dave Marowski. It was yummy. I had fun. Laughed a lot. Ate too much. Then came home. It's a rock and roll lifestyle I lead. Now I must go to sleep. I have to wake up at 6 to torture my boyfriend.

So That's Why They Call Them Mind-Altering Substances

Relief.  Finally.  The headache that has been plaguing me for a couple of weeks now finally became so unbearable this morning, that I gave up trying to help myself and called the doctor in tears.  My lovely uncle Shane graciously took time out of his busy work schedule to drive me to their office and they gave me an injection of Nubain, which usually will knock out my migraines.  I came home to lay down and sleep it off, only to get sicker and sicker.  A second call to the doc culminated in a trip to the ER.  Always a good time. 

Chris drove me over, and I waited in the waiting room with all the assholes and their screaming damn children. One lady kept letting her toddler come over and touch me.  Normally this wouldn't bother me, but I already felt like puking and the kid clearly had some type of infectious disease, and a completely revolting matted up pussy eye.  But I couldn't think of a polite way to say "Could you keep this walking stack of germs off me?"  so I just changed seats.  

Chris and I were supposed to be having dinner with his folks, as there were some relatives in town just for the day.  He was going to cancel, but I made him go ahead and go without me.  I didn't want either of us in trouble on my account, and it don't take two to wait.  He did call my sweet uncle Shane when he left, and Shane came right over after work and sat with me.  It's good to have good family. 

Anyway, they finally called me back.  They gave me fluids and a combo of toradol, demerol, and phenergan.  Nothing.  Head still pounding.  So the nurse comes back with something else, forgot to ask what it was, because the second he put it in the IV, I was feeling no pain whatsoever and could barely keep my eyes open.  Felt a little like morphine, though.  Finally, a head that isn't aching at all.  Miraculous.  So we leave at ten, and I come home and go to bed.  And then a few minutes ago I wake up hysterically crying.  I mean hysterical!  I was dreaming, and I'll spare you all the nonsensical details, but at one point my sister and I were having typical sarcastic banter with my dad about something he wanted us to do, and I didn't share his enthusiasm.  Suddenly my aunt Lane is there, and she says something to the effect of she's been listening to all this, and it's funny, but she thinks Melissa's just the sweetest thing.  But you? (she looks at me)  Not so sweet.  And oh boy did I start the boohooing.  It hurt my feelings.  All kindsa bad.  In my dreams I said "I was only kidding around, I am sweet!" Apparently I said this out loud and started SOBBING.  Gut-wrenching sobs.  Wails.  It was ridiculous.  I haven't cried like that since finding out my grandma was sick.  My eyes are puffy and sore.  All I can guess is it's the drugs.

He Likes His Weiners Black & Oh, God, Do I Need a Drink!

First order of business.  My significant other has objected to his presence on the worldwideintronets.  You think that’s bad?  I got forbode!  Not only am I not allowed to talk about a really funny thing he did yesterday, I am no longer allowed to use his real name.  He is apparently some type of government witness, terrorist, fugitive from the law, or secret agent in addition to the whole elusive bovine thing.  So from now on, I shall call him Spanky.  (He most definitely asked fer it.)  And no one shall know who this mysterious Spanky is, I am certain of it.  I do however feel that this whole business is discrimination, as others routinely mention his given name with no repercussions whatsoever.  In fact, Rusty Cage posted both his picture and a mention of his abiding affinity for black wieners on his flickr page, and he got off scot free!  Beyond that, Spanky himself has his very own webpage, with his very own picture! So as soon as I complete my bitching and moaning here, I shall immediately write my congressman, which I learned at poker nights from the master of such gambits, the divine Miss H (you do still have that direct line to Allan Bense I hope?), and then I will contact my local chapter of the ACLU.  I know my rights!  FORBODE, he says!  Hrmmph!  I’ll teach you to persecute me, Spanky McSpankerton.

Now that I have gotten that gross injustice off my chest, I shall move on to the next thing that is troubling my poor mind.  A blog that I started writing the other night when I couldn’t sleep, and then in typical mesogoodatprocrastinating fashion, left behind.  I just read more of this asshole’s stuff, (why do I torture myself so?) and so I am fired up all over again.  Now I shall attempt to finish what I started.

Shortly after signing up for MySpace, I got meningitis and was bedridden for about a month.  Despite what my Granny says, I am pretty certain my illness had nothing whatsoever to do with the computer.  It did, however, contribute to my spending copious amounts of time with my laptop, and going on a bit of a MySpace rampage for a little while there. Though I have no recollection whatsoever of doing so, I at some point in my drug induced haze subscribed to this gentleman’s blog, among many, many others.  (Who IS this guy?)  I almost never read them, but last night, I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to catch up on all my blog subscriptions.  There were a lot of really enjoyable ones from Mary Magdalene, who is always so well-written and highly entertaining if you want to check her out.  And there was also a LOT of crap.  And I tried to let it go.  But those of you who know me, well, you know that like Bon Jovi, I like to hold on to what I’ve got.  Not so much a letter go-er.  But I did uncharacteristically well.  Until this one.  And this one just got under my skin.  And I’m not even remotely Republican, or much of a Giuliani fan.  But this guy had 528 comments on his blog when I read it last night.  Most of them from some pretty close to illiterate borderline crazies (that’s the nicest word I could come up with. I’m sorry, I typed and deleted four others before ‘crazies’), with some of the weakest and most fallacious arguments I’ve heard since back in my babysitting days.

The weirdo blog guy said feel free to repost his tripe, so I am going to repost it here for your viewing pleasure.  I'd hate for you to take my opinion.

Giuliani. An abortion doctor’s best friend?

Rudy Giuliani is the Corleone's leading candidate for President of the United States. Although Mr. Giuliani is a likeable guy with plenty of charisma I believe his political views, which served him well in New York City, will ultimately prevent him from being the President of the United States. In my opinion Rudy Giuliani represents what's wrong with the Corleone party. My issue with Rudy Giuliani has to do with the disingenuous reasoning he offers in support of his liberal views. And more specifically his controversial views on abortion. We've debated the abortion issue in the past and Mr. Giuliani defends state funded abortion on the grounds that it's a "Constitutional Right". We all have different views on abortion and I'm not here to debate that issue but rather the flawed logic of Giuliani's position. Why does the state have to fund abortion simply because it's a constitutional right? We also have a right to bare arms but the government is not required to purchase every citizen a firearm. We have a constitutional right to attend church, but the government is not required to build the church, pay the pastor, and mop the floors. I'm sure anyone in favor of gun control would complain very loudly and cry foul if we all received a revolver from Uncle Sam when we turned 18? If we wanted to tug at the heart strings we could provide guns for anyone who is too poor to afford a gun of their own. This would use the same flawed logic of those who want to provide state funded abortions for the indigent. Ironically, the same man who defends the state government's funding of abortion on constitutional grounds is also in favor of gun control. I thought he was a champion of our constitutional rights and the government funding it? I guess he only defers to our constitutional rights when it fits his political agenda and not because he has a well reasoned view of the law and our rights under the law. He's what used to be known as a flimflam man. When the state gets into funding what many argue is a "private decision" then it becomes a very public decision, since all of us are involved in that mother's choice to abort her baby. And for everyone who believes that abortion is murder by paying taxes that will go toward the agenda of pro-abortionists the taxpayers indirectly fund murder. The hypocrisy of those who defend publicly funded abortions can be illustrated by simply highlighting situations where the state funds actions they disagree with vehemently. That's when we see that it's not about fairness or constitutional rights, but about their political agenda to force everyone to pay for their personal causes. If you're pro-abortion consider how you would feel if the state funded people to block the doors of the abortion clinics and hand out flyers. After all freedom of speech is a constitutional right! And further your tax dollars went toward groups that would follow abortion doctors 24/7 with placards showing aborted babies. I'm guessing you wouldn't like it. The President of the United States swears an oath of allegiance to the Constitution of the United States. If Mr. Giuliani wants to play fast and loose with the Constitution then I have absolutely no faith in him applying the principles upon which it was founded. -Mystery Cookie ** You have my permission to repost this in your blogs, bulletins, etc.

“My issue with Rudy Giuliani has to do with the disingenuous reasoning he offers in support of his liberal views. And more specifically his controversial views on abortion. We've debated the abortion issue in the past and Mr. Giuliani defends state funded abortion on the grounds that it's a "Constitutional Right". We all have different views on abortion and I'm not here to debate that issue but rather the flawed logic of Giuliani's position.”

I’m not convinced that Rudy is the only one being either disingenuous or exercising flawed logic, if he is doing so at all.  First of all, on the issue of abortion itself, his pro-choice view stems from his recognition of the importance of individual freedom.  His personal feelings toward abortion are not warm and fuzzy ones.  It also  bears mentioning that the concept of individual freedom, the freedom to go about your business with as little government intrusion as possible has long been a central tenet of conservatism.  

“Constitutional Right” is quoted, capitalized and referred back to so often that you’d think Mr. Giuliani claimed the right to an abortion was laid right out there in the Bill of Rights by Jefferson himself.  But it wasn’t, and he didn’t.  Surprised?  The fact is, however much you may not like it now (you NEVER know when something may happen to change that fact), women in this country do, in fact, have the legal right to have an abortion if that is what they choose to do.   Mr. Giuliani was not suggesting that we give them away in high schools or set up a booth at the county fair.  He was talking about revoking the Hyde Amendment, which was passed to prevent Medicaid Funds being used to cover abortions, under ANY circumstances, now.  In many states, even women in medical danger are not covered under Medicaid for abortions.  That’s just fucked, in my opionion.  And for all you self-righteous pro-lifers who like to say well abortion is only OK in certain situations like incest and rape.  Well, that’s all well and good if you’re being raped by your wealthy daddy.  But for those indigent 13 year-olds who get knocked up by their crack head uncles or neighbors, or whoever, Medicaid doesn’t pay for shit. 

What really got me was all these people complaining about how their tax dollars should not be used to support something they don’t believe in and consider to be murder.  Um, seriously?  You don’t want your tax dollars paying for a 300 dollar medical procedure, but you don’t mind financing a multi-billion dollar war that’s murdering hundreds of thousands of men, women, children, American soldiers.  And what about the fucking death penalty?  I’m against that.  But the government has no problem using my tax dollars to murder people that way.  Fucking retards.  And these same retards also don’t want their tax dollars being used to support that thirteen year old’s baby either, I guarandamntee you.  But just for the record, it costs way more to tax payers to pay for that same woman’s pre-natal care and labor and delivery. 

It’s hard to even dignify the comparison of Medicaid funded abortions to government provided weaponry with a response.  It’s just not even the same.  Abortion is a medical procedure.  The state already provides medical care.  We’re just talking about not denying access to a medical procedure that is sometimes medically necessary, and sometimes in the best interest of the patient based on some motherfucking bureaucrats idea of morality.  If the shit is legal, then it should be accessible to everyone.  As it is now, the vast majority of unwanted babies are born to the mothers who can least afford to have them.  And then the system simply turns their back. 

I get so sick of reading posts by so many self-righteous people talking about how they would NEVER have an abortion and it is NEVER the right thing and how this fetus has RIGHTS, etc., etc., blah, blah, blah.  It’s really easy to say never when an issue remains at a distance.  I’ve learned never to say never.  It has a way of coming back to bite you in the ass.  There were women who commented on this blog who had the nerve to say that women who were raped and got pregnant should just carry that baby to term and give it up for adoption if they couldn’t handle it.  “It’s not the baby’s fault.”  Fuck you!  Come back and talk to me after you’ve been violated in such a way.  This group of cells has rights?  Well what am I all of a sudden, just some goddamn incubator?  A woman has rights too.  And that’s what seems sadly lost on all these dimwitted fucktards talking about all the promise of this new life from the day of conception.  At what point did women become reduced to mere fetal containers, and the rights of a microscopic group of cells without feelings, without reason, without any of the qualities that make us actual human beings trump ours?  Maybe that woman deserves a little consideration, too.

And for you conditional people, you know who you are, “it’s only ok if they’re raped or this or that”.  Well that shit will never work.  How do you propose we prove the rape?  My rapist went to trial over a year after my assault.  Fat lot of good an abortion would have done me then.  And what about all the rapists who get acquitted?  Doesn't make the woman any less pregnant.  Hell my piece of shit rapist took a plea deal.  Pled to burglary of an unoccupied structure.  Not rape at all.  What then?  And did you know that rapists can actually have parental rights?  That’s the fucked up world we live in. 

Don’t get me wrong.  I am not a fan of abortion.  I don’t think it’s a fun thing.  I don’t think it’s a choice that any right thinking woman ever makes lightly or easily.  But the idea people have that women are using it as birth control is a misconception.  A ludicrous misconception.  It is an expensive, painful, hard thing for any woman to go through.  But sometimes, it is the best option they have.  And ONLY they can make that decision.  So butt the fuck out.  Geez.

I hate everyone.  I needs to go to the Name.  Spanky where are you!!!!

You Had Me at 'Evil', Cupcake

Oh noes!  Me head is all confused like!  What to do?  What to think?

I’ve always been one to think things through and weigh carefully the options before taking a stance on any issue.  And I try to always have a well thought out opinion prior to opening my mouth.  I think of it as Soundinglikeasshat Risk Management.  I also try to remain flexible in these opinions, though I’m not always terribly successful, as I tend to be pretty passionate when it comes to my beliefs, not the least of which is my unwavering faith in my own infallibility.   But I just saw something that has rattled me to my core. 

Ever since I put any real thought and research into it, I have been 100 percent, completely, absotively, posilutely against the death penalty.  And I’m not fond of genocide, ethnic cleansing, or religious persecution either.  I am also a proponent of free speech and believe that everyone has the right to both have and voice their own opinions.  Even those people whose opinions differ from mine, and so are clearly misguided and wrong.  (If they weren’t free to express them, then nobody could laugh at them until they shamefully see the light and eventually get off the idiot highway, and back to my way.) 

But this crazy bitch I saw today?  Holy hell.  Her opinions aren’t just wrong, they’re toxic.  She calls herself an "evil angel,"  but she's like BFF with the man upstairs.  Look, watch the video, I'm not makin' this shit up!  And she’s procreating like she’s trying to start her own goddamn marching band!  My first thought was, somebody shut her the fuck up.  Ah, but free speech.  Just cause she’s clearly a tard, don’t mean she can’t prove it to the world.  Shit.  Then I thought, somebody take her out!  Run her over, have an “accident” with the 21 gun salute at one of the military funerals she disrupts with her loony blather.  But that would still leave the dastardly brood of little hateful mini-terrorists whose minds she has already fucked.  Small scale genocide?  Goes against everything that I believe in. 

Ah, the irony.  This hateful, loathsome freak of nature continues to live and breathe in this country she admittedly hates only because all the rest of us horrible, doomed-to-hell heathens are better people than she is.  Ain't that some shit.....  Sigh.  And because the soldiers whose funerals she is disrupting with her cheering pickets and protests are serving to give her sorry good-for-nothing ass the freedom to be an insufferable ingrate.  (Is there anything in the Bible about impaling people on picket signs made and displayed in taste that is poor beyond all reason?)  If not, I may know someone who knows a guy.  I'm just sayin'.

If there’s a just God, or such a thing as Karma, these miserable fucks will die a slow and miserable death  of  a broken heart when all eleven of this evil bitch's children come out of the collective closet.  And if there is a hell, Mommy Dearest'll be stoking the fires with her “God Hates Fags” signs for eternity.

Desperately Seeking Molly Whisperer

I've been feeling lonesome lately. A little acutely aware of the fact that I haveth no friendseth. I'm homesick for Tally, though all my friends there have no doubt long since forgotten me and upgraded to a newer and more better model 'manda. I just don't seem to be able to really connect with anyone here. I miss Shane. :o( The others I fear merely tolerate my presence as Chris' other half, and I can't ever seem to relax and be myself around anyone but Dave. I'm too old for this shy bullshit. I am a nice and funny person. Why is it that I no longer am able to speak English and make witty conversation when we are around certain people? I am so intimidated, and it fills me with self-loathing and contempt. I needs me some friends dammit!! I even want someone to go shopping with. That is proof positive of my desperation, for I am not that average mall-crawling girlie-girl. Maybe one of these days.


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So, we watched the Dog Whisperer tonight for some incredibly strange reason. Mostly strange because we have neither a dog nor any intention of obtaining a dog in the foreseeable future. What was funny was how totally fascinated Chris was by him. Now we are on a quest to find a cat whisperer. Molly is in desperate need of psychological help, and now Chris is sure it is out there somewhere. If you hear of anyone, let me know!

Ramblings

What is it about Radiohead's OK Computer that makes listening to it feel like some sort of religious experience?  It's like once you put it in your stereo, it's there for good.  It would be a sacrilege to remove it.  Chris and I were having this conversation the other day.  He thinks it's because the guy sounds like he's barely clinging to life while singing most of the songs, which would make what he was saying pretty special.  I guess I can see that.  I don't know.  I just know that the first time I heard it, I was like holy hell, this is some important shit I'm listening to!  And I'm pretty sure the CD stayed in my car CD player for at least 3 months.

So we finally made it to Tallahassee this weekend to see my family.  The kids are precious as usual.  Brayden  still won't talk, and Haylee is still constantly surprising you with what comes out of her crazy mouth.  Melissa and dad cooked a great meal for us on Saturday, and my mom got a four-hour pass out of the hospital on Sunday so she could come home and hang out.  It's the first time she's been home in about a month.  She's still not getting around very well, but they're talking about discharging her on Tuesday.   I don't know how to feel about that.  I know it sucks for her to be up there in the rehab hospital, but I worry about her being at home by herself with her mobility as limited as it already is by her MS, and now the broken shoulder compounding things.  Oh well.

For our part, Chris and I were a sad case all weekend.  I had a horrible migraine, which seems par for the course lately.  But poor Chris got another kidney stone.  Very unlike me, he's too stubborn to take a pain pill when something hurts until he is near death.  So he suffered more than he had to, but I gave him plenty of the pity that he always requires when feeling under the weather.   His stubborn behind refused to call the doctor this morning which pisses me off a little.  But I'll work on him a little more later.   He was a good sport though all weekend, and even sang karaoke with me Saturday afternoon on the TV once his Vicodin kicked in.

The bad part?  Coming home to this messy house.  Holy shit what a mess.  After New Orleans last weekend and then being gone this weekend too, our house has been woefully neglected.  I'm afraid to go into the kitchen.  I think some of the dishes may have legs.  Oh noes!  Well, I better stop this rambling and go clean up some of this junk before my baby gets home.

'Tis the Season

Lessons from Jim Cantore... the weather channel guy... too funny!

To: ex-Floridians, present Floridians, and future Floridians or those who know a Floridian.

We're about to enter the peak of the hurricane season. Any day now, you're going to turn on the TV and see a weather person pointing to some radar blob out in the Atlantic Ocean and/or the Gulf of Mexico and making two basic meteorological points:

(1) There is no need to panic.
(2) We could all be killed.

Yes, hurricane season is an exciting time to be in Florida. If you're new to the area, you're probably wondering what you need to do to prepare for the possibility that we'll get hit by "the big one.''

Based on our experiences, we recommend that you follow this simple plan: 

STEP 1. Buy enough food and bottled water to last your family for at least three days.

STEP 2. Put these supplies into your car.

STEP 3. Drive to Nebraska and remain there until Thanksgiving.

Unfortunately, statistics show that most people will not follow this sensible plan. Most people will foolishly stay here in Florida.

We'll start with one of the most important hurricane preparedness items:

HOMEOWNERS' INSURANCE: If you own a home, you must have hurricane insurance. Fortunately, this insurance is cheap and easy to get, as long as your home meets two basic requirements:

(1) It is reasonably well-built, and
(2) It is located in Nebraska.

Unfortunately, if your home is located in Florida, or any other area that might actually be hit by a hurricane, most insurance companies would prefer not to sell you hurricane insurance, because then they might be required to pay YOU money, and that is certainly not why they got into the insurance business in the first place.

So you'll have to scrounge around for an insurance company, which will charge you an annual premium roughly equal to the replacement value of your house. At any moment, this company can drop you like used dental floss.

Since Hurricane Andrew, I have had an estimated 27 different home-insurance companies. This week, I'm covered by the Bob and Big Stan Insurance Company, under a policy which states that, in addition to my premium, Bob and Big Stan are entitled, on demand, to my kidneys.

SHUTTERS : Your house should have hurricane shutters on all the windows, all the doors, and -- if it's a major hurricane -- all the toilets. There are several types of shutters, with advantages and disadvantages:

Plywood shutters: The advantage is that, because you make them yourself, they're cheap. The disadvantage is that, because you make them yourself, they will fall off.

Sheet-metal shutters: The advantage is that these work well, once you get them all up. The disadvantage is that once you get them all up, your hands will be useless bleeding stumps, and it will be December.

Roll-down shutters: The advantages are that they're very easy to use, and will definitely protect your house. The disadvantage is that you will have to sell your house to pay for them.

"Hurricane-proof'' windows: These are the newest wrinkle in hurricane protection: They look like ordinary windows, but they can withstand hurricane winds! You can be sure of this, because the salesman says so. He lives in Nebraska.

Hurricane Proofing Your Property : As the hurricane approaches, check your yard for movable objects like barbecue grills, planters, patio furniture, visiting relatives, etc.; you should, as a precaution, throw these items into your swimming pool (if you don't have a swimming pool, you should have one built immediately). Otherwise, the hurricane winds will turn these objects into deadly missiles.

EVACUATION ROUTE : If you live in a low-lying area, you should have an evacuation route planned out. (To determine whether you live in a low-lying area, look at your driver's license; if it says "Florida" you live in a low-lying area.) The purpose of having an evacuation route is to avoid being trapped in your home when a major storm hits. Instead, you will be trapped in a gigantic traffic jam several miles from your home, along with two hundred thousand other evacuees. So, as a bonus, you will not be lonely.

HURRICANE SUPPLIES : If you don't evacuate, you will need a mess of supplies. Do not buy them now! Florida tradition requires that you wait until the last possible minute, then go to the supermarket and get into vicious fights with strangers over who gets the last can of SPAM.

In addition to food and water, you will need the following supplies:
- 23 flashlights, and at least $167 worth of batteries that turn out, when the power goes out, to be the wrong size for the flashlights.
- Bleach. (No, I don't know what the bleach is for. NOBODY knows what the bleach is for. But it's traditional, so GET some!)
- A 55-gallon drum of underarm deodorant.
- A big knife that you can strap to your leg. (This will be useless in a hurricane, but it looks cool.)
- A large quantity of raw chicken - to placate the alligators. (Ask anybody who went through Andrew; after the hurricane, there WILL be irate alligators.)
- $35,000 in cash or diamonds so that, after the hurricane passes, you can buy a generator from a man with no discernible teeth.

Of course these are just basic precautions. As the hurricane draws near, it is vitally important that you keep abreast of the situation by turning on your television and watching TV reporters in rain slickers stand right next to the ocean and tell you over and over how vitally important it is for everybody to stay away from the ocean.

Good luck and remember: it's great living in paradise! Those of you who aren't here yet you should come. Really

Couple of Hours I'll Never Get Back

Ok.  So we got Borat from Netflix a week or so ago and finally got around to watching it.  I'm fully aware that the following statement will totally prove once and for all my complete transition to unhip old fart, but what a complete waste of however long that piece of crap movie was!  (And for the record, Chris is an unhip old fart, too, because he totally agreed, expressing his disappointment after all the hype so many months ago.)   I am not without a sense of humor.  I can even laugh at the sad state of affairs that has become our country.  Team America, though a bit uncomfortable at times, was quite entertaining.  But this movie was pathetic.  Not only did it put some of the worst that America has to offer on display for the whole world to see, it just wasn't funny enough, when it was funny at all.  Basically it was a British guy making fun of Americans who were too stupid to realize they were being made fun of, but the subject matter was just sad.  Bigotry, sexism, rape.  Not funny.  The stadium full of people cheering the total annihilation of Iraq?  Not funny.  The douche bag frat boys?  Not funny.  The homophobic redneck rodeo clown?  Not funny.  Back pussy?  Seriously?  Not even a little bit funny.  What kind of sick fuck thinks of some shit like that?  That whole scene was just deeply disturbing.   

Pretty sure my IQ went down a few points just for watching that tripe.  If I want to see Americans making asses of themselves, all I have to do is turn on any cable news network.  They certainly don't need some foreign actor helping them out.   What's sad is how easily these morons played right along, giving him all the fodder he needed to make us all look like a bunch of jackasses.  Idiots.  And then the rest of the country celebrates?  What a sad statement that is.    I just don't get it. 

The Time We Saw the Police in New Orleans

Ok.  So we're back from New Orleans, and I've finally been walking like a normal person again for a few days now.  I think I might even be caught up on sleep.  How is it that vacations, however brief, always seem so completely exhausting?   At any rate, I think now's as good a time as any to document the travels. 

So, all things considered, I think the trip was quite successful.  There was a pretty large group of us, and we naturally all had different ideas about what we wanted and didn't want to do while we were there.  That really could have caused drama, but everyone was pretty relaxed, we did a lot of planning beforehand and considering the sheer magnitude of the event most central to our journey, I think everything came out roses!  As many of you know, the whole reason we ventured westward was to see the Police reunion concert for H's birthday, and for those of you who know her, you know this was, well, kind of a big deal.  So the fact that we made it there and back without any of the rest of us being sold into slavery for better seats or back stage passes is just short of miraculous, if you ask me.  ;o)

Also on the miraculous tip, Team Amanda's Car as one of the brothers Auvil dubbed us somehow managed to leave town only about 30 minutes later than our 10 am target.  I don't know how that happened, as it generally takes Chris and I between 2 and 4 hours to get out of town going anywhere farther than Destin - for the day.  But we did it, and accomplished all our goals, too.  We made good time getting to New Orleans, and if it weren't for one fateful bathroom stop in what may be the worst place in Mississippi, and shall remain nameless to protect the innocent, we might have had time for a nap before H, lower case- h and J checked in next door.

We stayed at the Bourbon Orleans on the corner of Bourbon St. and Orleans St.  Our suite was pretty cool, two-story, with a bed and bath loft area upstairs and a wetbar and living area downstairs that opened onto a balcony over Bourbon St.  This was good and bad.  It was really cool being able to watch all the drunk people down on the street and not be down there amongst it all.  But then, there was also no escaping it.  You could close the french doors, but you could still hear the music.  Chris, Dave, and I were right next door to the other gals, so we called the front desk to get them to unlock the bars separating our balconies, giving us one huge balcony and easy access to each other's rooms.  Then J came out with champagne for everyone, and we had a toast before heading off to the meeting spot for the tour we had reservations for. 

So we went on the Haunted History Tour.  My advice?  Skip it.  If you see it coming toward you?  Run.  It was terrible.  A complete rip-off.  One web-site said amongst other things that we'd get to "tour residences" where hauntings supposedly have occurred.  Horseshit.  What they really mean is, you give a guy 20 dollars per person to take you on a walk and tell you stuff you could have looked up on the internet.  You never get to go inside anywhere.  I'm a reasonably intelligent person, but about 50% of the time, I couldn't even follow what this guy was talking about.  He was not interesting, he was not a very good public speaker, and he jumped around from subject to subject.  It was confusing.  If you want to look at haunted places, look online before you get to the city.  I learned more in 20 minutes online than the 2 hours I spent trudging around after this kook.   Make a list of interesting places, then get a map, and walk around yourself.  If you're not with a group of twenty people, you can actually go inside some of these "haunted" hotels and look around, instead of just gazing sweatily from the hot, smelly sidewalk.  Total racket. 

After going back to the hotel, we had dinner reservations at Dickie Brennan's Bourbon House Seafood and Oyster Bar.  We walked there, and made it just in time.  We got a nice table in the window, J selected a nice bottle of wine for the table, and we ordered about 3 million appetizers.  I'm not kidding.  At least 3 dozen oysters were ordered.  Two or three bowls of soup.   Deviled stuffed crab.  What was funny is that little h ordered most of it, at the same time she ordered her food.  It was a little funny.  I guess you had to be there.   My entree was the Redfish on the Halfshell.  If you go there, order it!  It was phenomenal.  But make sure you get the lump crab meat topping.  It comes in some kind of wine sauce and costs an extra 10 bucks, but it's worth it. 

   MMMM!

After dinner, Chris and I went back to the room.   I woke up around 2, and Chris was not in bed, so I went down to find him.  He was out on the balcony by himself.  This was right after The Drunk Guy.   Chris had seen a guy coming down the street, and at first had thought he was retarded or handicapped in some way.  He was walking weird and holding his arms all strange.  But as he got closer, he realized the dude was just that wasted.  He commented about how it was a little disturbing to see, once he realized that he knew how that felt.  I had to laugh because I knew too.  But I still made him describe it.  The big,  fast steps where your feet are trying desperately to keep up with your body, which is always a foot or so ahead.  How your legs sometimes wander off to the sides.  How you may get within 5 feet of a streetlight, so you reach out to grab it to steady yourself.  But you miss.  Because it's still 5 feet away.  Yet you bump into people and walls and poles that, I don't know, you somehow just didn't see?   This kid was so drunk, yet so determined to keep walking that strangers he literally ran into started helping him along.  Song blasting from the bars at the time?  "Take your drunk ass home"  So not kidding.  Only on Bourbon Street.

Saturday morning.  Woke up a little after 8.  Got dressed and met up with everyone to go to Cafe DuMonde for beignets.  Yum.  So glad they don't have those here!  Afterwards, did some shopping, found a birthday gift for H.  It was too funny.  A shirt that said "POLICE.   GET ON THE FLOOR AND SPREAD EM.  NEW ORLEANS."  Or something very close to that.  So we decided that would be her concert tee.  It started raining, which sucked, so we went to the Cabildo Museum.  It was only six bucks.  But it was rather disappointing.  I don't know what I was expecting, but that wasn't it.  It was a little boring.  A lot of reading.  Not as much cool stuff to look at as I thought there'd be.  Turns out I'm a tougher audience than I knew.  If you're going to go to a museum, the WWII museum is much more interesting.  Chris and I went to that last year and enjoyed it.   Next we had lunch at some place across from the museum.  I'm blanking on the name.  I didn't think the food was that great, it was reasonably priced for New Orleans, but they automatically include gratuity for all parties, and the service was wholly unremarkable. 

Next was the casino.  Harrah's.  This was the one place I really wanted to go while we were there, as Chris and I had such good luck last year.  It has really expanded since we were there.  Much more of everything.  We played some video poker, got some free drinks, and tried to work up the nerve to hit the blackjack tables.  It was really crowded, being the middle of the day, and all the low limit tables were full.  We eventually found two seats and a 15 dollar minimum table, and played for a few hours.  I was getting awful cards for the longest time.  I was down to my last 15 bucks when i finally hit a blackjack, and then I steadily came back until I doubled up the 200 I bought in with.  Chris did well the whole time.  We should have left then, but we played some more, and I lost a little, but still left about 70 ahead.  Nothing like last year when we left with 800 bucks.  We still made a few hundred, which really helped with the cost of the trip.  We got a cab back to the hotel.  It was the crappiest cab I have ever seen.  Dave literally had to sit next to a spare tire.  There was a hole in the dashboard where the radio should have been.  It was unreal.  But somehow it made it back to the hotel.  Time to get ready for the concert!

So we took a cab to the concert, and got there and inside and to our seats just as the opening act was starting.  There were SO many people there!  Our seats were phenomenal.  We were on the floor 8th row,  towards the middle on the Sting side.  We were SO close!  From the moment the Police took the stage, the whole arena was on their feet, and it pretty much stayed that way the entire 2 hour show.  It was so great!  I don't know if I've ever been at a show with that much crowd energy.  It was really exciting.  And the show was great.  What made it even better was to look over at H and her sister every once in a while.  You can't look at someone that sublimely happy without feeling a little of it yourself.  I have never seen anybody rock out quite the way H rocked out that night.  I'm pretty sure it was historic.  I couldn't see J and Dave.  Here are some pictures from the NOLA paper. 

After the concert, there were no cabs to be found so we had to walk a good long ways.  I hadn't thought of this, and didn't wear my walking shoes.  Huge mistake.  Soon I had blisters that were bleeding on my feet, and I just couldn't make it  anymore, so Chris and I grabbed the first cab we saw and went back home.  If you go to New Orleans, make sure you take a pair of truly comfortable shoes.  Because you will be walking.  A lot.  

We ordered in Italian from a place called Rotelo's that delivered.  It was convenient, and good at 2 am.   I still had a headache, so i laid down and passed right out.  The others played music and sang on the hotel balcony.  We slept in and requested a late checkout on Sunday.  Another thing, if your hotel offers any rewards program, sign up for it.  We saved over a hundred bucks on our late checkout by signing up for Wyndham ByRequest.  We also got free internet access, which is how we found food while we were there.  Lots of hotels offer little perks like that, so check it out. 

Anyway, that's about it.  I drank very little which I think contributed to my enjoyment of the trip.  I was already fighting a migraine, all I needed was a hangover on top of that.  None of us really got out of control, we all got along, and I think things went pretty well.  My one regret is that my stupid camera never made it out of the bag.  We kept forgetting it.  So we will have to ask the others for pictures.  Turns out they are much better travelers than we are.  So hopefully we will reminisce vicariously through them. 

As for the hotel, we probably won't stay there again.  The bed wasn't very comfortable, and the sofa bed that poor Dave had to sleep on was truly tragic.  The foot of the bed rested on the floor and it had no sheets whatsoever.  It was nowhere near as nice and relaxing as the Windsor Court, where Chris and I stayed this time last year.  We didn't have a balcony, but the room was about the same size, and we paid less.  And everything was nicer.  Much nicer.  And quieter.  I guess maybe we're just getting old.   But maybe old ain't so bad.  At least it comes with a comfy place to sleep.

I Was the Victim of an Undomesticated Terrorist

So, I honestly don't remember the last time I got as thoroughly, intensely, blood-boilingly pissed off as i was a few minutes ago.  My heart has only just now stopped its pounding. 
First, a little background.  We had a big flower pot on the front porch.  For approximately 2.5 weeks it had flowers, a few more weeks flower carcasses, and for the last 9 months or so, dirt.  Until Molly (our cat) started crapping in it recently, with no regard for the mental wellbeing of her audience, who may be sitting as close 2 feet away.  So, we had to move it off the porch. 
About a week ago,  Molly was outside on the porch by herself for a while, and she took it upon herself to pee on one of the back pillows that i like to sit on for extra butt cushion, and shit in the corner where the flower pot used to be.  Then Chris left her out on the front porch overnight.  She went ahead and ate a frog, barfed on a padded folding chair and peed on the 90 dollar Pier 1 cushion for the wicker bench.  Butthole.  THEN, and only then does she decide to bust through the screen of the porch like some kind of feline Incredible Hulk, and roam the streets all night.  She couldn't have done that when nature was calling from her every orifice???  This cat is on a rampage.  *It should be noted that she again peed on the spot that I usually sit in.  I am beginning to suspect that this cat hates me. 
Well today, she has been bugging the crap out of me, meowing like mad.  She wants in, she wants out, she wants food, etc.  I cater to her every whim all frappin day.  She's been out on the front porch with me.  She's been inside with me.  I start watching a news program on TV, and she starts the isane whiny meowing again. I already fed her, so I get up to let her out, but she won't go out either door.  So I sit back down.  A few minutes later, I smell the unmistakeable aroma of cat piss, truly the stuff of nightmares.  Shit!  I jump up and run toward the smell, and there's a huge puddle of piss on our bed.  On my side, naturally.  I yank the sheet off, trying to save the memory foam, but it's too late.  Now I notice the edge of the down comforter is in it, too, and I'm on the verge of something between an aneurysm and a nervous breakdown.  When I go to grab an old towel to sop up the putrid mess, I discover in the hall a large pile of turds, and suffice it to say, I am not one to shit on the carpet.  Perfect.  Perfect!!!  What, has she been saving up for a fucking week for this shitapalooza? 
My new discovery puts me completely over the edge.  I clean that up, while hurling profanities at noone in particular, and leave Chris a rather excitable voice mail informing him that HIS cat is a MotherFing asshole.  How come he never answers his phone during true crises like these?  Then I return to the mess on the bed, getting madder every second, because with every passing second the smell seems to get worse, and now I have cat piss on my HANDS!  Bear in mind, by this time, I have taken complete leave of my senses.  Well, all my senses except maybe smell, so I now begin to chase the cat.  Something good is going to come of this tragedy, I have determined.  She runs behind the couch, I pull the couch out and am right behind her.  She goes under the bed, I'm right there with her, literally slinging a sock at her.  I'm not kidding.  Like I said, my brain wasn't exactly running on all cylinders, and it was the first thing within reach.  I'm screaming, furniture's flying, but I eventually corner her.  And that guilty little varmint couldn't even look me in the eye!  I guess I've just lived with dogs for too long.  Because I took that little turd into the bedroom and I put her nose on that soiled sheet and we had a brief, albeit heated and one-sided discussion about the propriety of pissing on it.  We then went out to her litterbox and informed her that this is where such activities were to take place in the future.  
And then I tossed her bad ass out the back door.  It was for her own good.  Trust me.

Can't Make This Stuff Up

Came across this blog by Practically Harmless on blogspot.com.  Made me laugh.
Okay, so it looks like the White House has hired a new pastry chef. William Yosses, the First Lady says, "has a light touch with desserts, and the enthusiasm with which he approaches his profession makes him a real asset for all of us.''

Basically, it means that the man who'll be making dessert for this guy:


is the man who wrote this book:


Can't. Make it. Up.


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