I Fucking Hate Them

Why? If you need to ask, then you just would never understand. They are vile and repulsive trash. They should be divorced and broke within a matter of 18 months, if there is really such a thing as karma.

Why is it so easy for people like this to get pregnant?

Rage, rage against the dying of the light!

Dear Readers,
If you click on my weather pixie, (thanks Meegan!) you will notice that sunrise today happened at 7:34 A.M. and sunset will happen at 4:23 P.M. I am at work by 7:15, and I don’t leave until 4:30 on the dot. This means I will not be seeing the sun today. And don’t tell me to leave at lunch; I brought my lunch today in order to save moolah and calories. If I leave here, I will go on a hot lunch frenzy that will leave me poor and fat.

Back to not seeing the sun for months on end: This cannot be healthy. I am beginning to feel like a mole. When I am outside during daylight hours, I squint at that bright ball in the sky with confusion and put on my sunglasses. I am so pale, that I cannot tan. I reflect the sun until the rays break through and then I turn an appealing shade of lobster. My skin is meant to be covered.

However, this complete elusion of the sun is still not healthy. God help me when we spring forward. I just may go into shock. Any of you have a case of SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder)?

Operation “Take Back America”

The reason I have become so complacent in my political fury over the last few months is because I have discovered the antidote for the common viral republican: Stephanie Miller. (http://www.stephaniemiller.com/ )

For those of you who do not listen to Air American (ahem, Meegan) you do not know what you are missing. Sure, Al Franken is great, and Randy Rhodes gets me all fired up, but I eat, breathe and live for Mamma Steph (6 to 9 AM, PST). She is a balm for the rash that is the Bush administration. She makes me laugh at the stupidity of the neo-cons. She helps me realize the futility of Sean Hannity, the cowardliness of O’Reilly and the open bias of Fox News. The fact that I can wake up to her every morning is just what my fragile sense of being needed after 5 years of the evangelical crap Dubya has been trying to shove down my throat.

Her voice guy, Jim Ward, is the best. From Dick Vader (Cheney), to the “K to the J to the I-L” of Kim Jong Il and all the people in between, he is uncanny. Steph is the radio version of The Daily Show with John Stewart. There are not enough words to tell you how great she is. You must listen yourself. Her self-deprecatingly humor is the best, and she is completely devoid of any snooty high brow attitude. She is just a smart, real person who calls people for what they are; like when she speaks of the “noted plagiarist and transsexual” Anne Coulter, it makes me smile.

So you see, as long as I have Steph, I am not too sure how angry I will be able to get. She is like a pacifier dipped in wine. Don’t worry, if I ever feel the need to be wound up, I will turn on Randy Rhodes and blog at night.

Find your local carrier for Air America, and tune into Steph. If you cannot find her over the radio, she is available through pod cast. When you hear the notes of Twisted Sister singing through the air, and her announcer urging you to take back America, you will remember what it feels like to be on the winning team.

Here’s to November 2006! Vive La Steph!

I hope everyone enjoyed all the turkey. T-day was a hit, and all 14 guests had a wonderful time. Now, it is time for the Christmas insanity to begin.

I don’t have much to say today, other than . . . . . (cue song “another one bites the dust")

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/10239782/

Ah yes, once again the republicans are making too easy of a target. Did anyone else hear the Thanksgiving Day speech by Dubya? He sounded so beaten. It makes me a bit giddy. I guess we all have something to be grateful for.

May the force that guides the universe hear my prayer: please allow the neo-cons to continue to self destruct until election 2006.

Amen.

MMMMMMMM.............

Tomorrow, I will start one of my favorite days of the year. Thanksgiving is a time when my father and I do what we love most, cook together. I love cooking with my dad. He always encouraged me to help in the kitchen, and because of his efforts, I am what some would call a “foodie”. I love everything about food, from the way it is prepared to the presentation, to the enjoyment of the eater. It is the most fulfillment I can find in something other than my friends and family.

Dinner starts at 7 PM. It will be a 4 course sit down meal for 14 people. This is the type of thing I live for. It is about family and tradition. All the same stories will be told, and we will laugh at them like we are hearing them for the first time. They are like warm blankets reminding us of times shared with our loved ones who are no longer with us. For example: the time my grandmother Doddie drove off the pier while returning her sailor boyfriend to his ship during WWII. Or the time Doddie somehow mysteriously lost her skirt driving to a football game with my grandfather, Jack. Or the time Doddie stopped to have a drink with her friend Nancy at a little bar in Port Townsend and forgot to set her emergency brake (she watched from the bar as her car rolled through the front window of a vacuum store). Hopefully, someone will say grace in place of my grandfather this year, and right after “Father, we would like to thank you for the meal we are about to receive” hopefully that person will say “and please, let us weather these next 2 years with that idiot in office, and send us a Democrat that can be elected as president. Amen.” That is the traditional Jack prayer. If my father is too emotional, I may have to give it myself.

I hope you all have a day that is as wonderful as mine will be. Happy Turkey Day, to you and yours.

Gobble, gobble!

Nobody loves you like your mother.

Sad, but true. I have the benefit/curse of having a full blooded Sicilian mother. She is one tough cookie. No one and I mean no one messed with me or my brother. If there was a problem with Eddie or me, she took care of it. It wasn’t until I got to college that I really had to tell her to back off and let me take care of things for myself.

Don’t get me wrong, it is not that we were spoiled brats whose mother blindly defended us. Not even close. For those of you who know my mother, or know someone else’s Italian mom, there is no stepping over the line. We did not break rules. It never even occurred to me to stay out past curfew, talk back, and other normal arguments that teen’s have. It just was not an option. Period.

The other side of this coin is the intense, panic like love Sicilian mothers have for their children. If I looked even remotely sick, made one little complaint about how I felt, my mother whisked me into the doctor. Good thing he was Italian too, other wise he would have thought my mom was a complete wack job. I had the thickest file at my pediatrician’s office, and the only person who came any where close to me was my brother. This was not a coincidence. Growing up in this environment, I have become a total hypochondriac. (Meegan is very sweet when it comes to this; she calls me dramatic).

Living with her, I had grown accustomed to being treated a certain way when I feel sick. Pampered, spoiled and coddled, to be exact.

Unfortunately, my husband does not respond this way. When he is sick, he just wants to be left alone, and thinks that everyone else feels the same. WRONG!!!!! I want attention! I want to know that when he hears me dying in our bathroom, that he doesn’t just roll over and pull the covers over his head to muffle the reverberations of my agony. Unfortunately, he knows I am a hypochondriac, and treats me as such. Let me tell you this: at 6:28 AM, Sunday morning, I could have called my mother and she would have driven over to take care of me. When I call for my dear sweet husband, all he does is yell back “WHAT?”

I promised myself, while lying on the bathroom floor trying to figure out exactly when that extraterrestrial from the movie Alien impregnated me, that if and when I did recover, I was going to have to kick my husband square in the balls.

Sadly, while I laid there dying, I realized that even thought she drives me up a fucking wall, nobody loves you like your mother.

Te amo, mamma!

Volunteer Needed

Found this on the web, not sure who wrote it, but damn! It is so true! Read on:


George Bush has started an ill-timed and disastrous war under false pretenses by lying to the American people and to the Congress; he has run a budget surplus into a severe deficit; he has consistently and unconscionably favored the wealthy and corporations over the rights and needs of the population; he has destroyed trust and confidence in, and good will toward, the United States around the globe; he has ignored global warming, to the world's detriment; he has wantonly broken our treaty obligations; he has condoned torture of prisoners; he has attempted to create a theocracy in the United States; he has appointed incompetent cronies to positions of vital national importance.


Would someone please give him a blow job so we can impeach him?

Katie Bug

WARNING!!!!!! MAJOR SAPPY ALERT!!!!

I have a unique relationship with my cousin, Kate. We are the only two grandchildren from a very small family. Growing up, we saw each other at least once a week. Every Friday night, we would spend the evening at the home of our grandparents, listening to vinyl records of Mary Poppins or My Fair Lady. We would dance with scarves and open our own restaurant in the basement. Summers were spent swimming in the pool in the backyard (Kate would stay in so long that her perfect little lips would turn purple from hours in the icy water) and eating the exotic mini-bagel pizzas Doddie would make for us. Saturday morning, after cartoons, Doddie and I would take her to ballet class. Years later, I remember the first time she danced the lead in The Nutcracker. I cried.

In other words, there isn’t a moment of my childhood that I can recall that Kate wasn’t part of it. She even gave me my family moniker of “B”. She is still such an important part of my life, though I don’t talk to her as often as I would like (sometimes every day, but mostly once a week).

She is beautiful, thin, tall, smart, funny, talented and popular. She has never had a pimple. Yes, at the age of 10, it was easy to resent her perfection. But then you get to a point in you life when you stop comparing yourself to others and just learn to love. I remember as an adult when I realized I was just as important to her as she is to me.

She is such a strong and independent person. I admire her greatly. I am so proud that I am her B. Even though she is three years younger than me, I learn much from her. She teaches me to be calm, not to take myself so seriously, and to respect myself. She has a passion for the environment and the world as a whole. I am the overly emotional weepy one, while she is the even tempered rock. Yin and Yang. She always listens, and loves me no matter what I say or do. She is always giving. In fact, she has spent her entire life dancing ballet, and is taking that talent and creating a free to affordable dance studio in the area of Tacoma that would be considered “inner city”. Yes, she could have just been all talk, but she is action. She is employing her private school education and using it to improve the lives of people who have almost nothing. She will bring beauty and art into the lives of little boys and girls who might have other wise been over looked because of demographics and money. She is amazing.

We lean on each other, we laugh together, we talk and share. Our lives are intertwined. Not only are we family, we are friends. She is such a blessing in my life.

I love her.

NYC!!!!!

It is finally happening. After close to 6 years of wishing and hoping on my part and pleading from a red headed menace, I am at long last at a place in my life where I can afford to visit New York City, and more importantly, Meegan. I am so excited, I could pee. I made the reservations this morning, and I will be in NYC on January 12, 2006.

I can hardly think of anything else. I am searching for things to do, but I want to hear from you NYC locals. What is your favorite thing to do? What will be really important for me to see? Remember, I love gourmet food, and I love art.

This is all happening because I have a very giving and selfless husband who loves me more than anything. Everyone, keep you fingers crossed for good travel weather!

As a side note, FINY, you better warn everyone, because when we meet, the universe just may implode. Hmmmm, now how do we get Jack and Girlie over the same weekend????

Caught Him!!!!!!

Paul A Bryant is now in custody.

http://www.thenewstribune.com/news/crime/story/5336004p-4832403c.html

Thank you to the Tacoma Police Dept. You did a great job.

Update

Here is the update on who they might think held up Emilie:

http://www.thenewstribune.com/news/local/story/5333373p-4830325c.html

this freak needs to be caught.

Emilie, the Survivor

To the Asshole who car jacked my friend Emilie at gun point Saturday night:

You better hope I never find you.

You better pray that the police get you first.

I will tie you down and find uses for a pair of pliers and sand paper that you could never even dream of. I would not only come after you, but you friends, too. I bet your friends know what you do. Someone had to be driving the other car. Someone who knows your name. Knows who you are, and where you live.

You cannot hide forever. And even if the police never catch you, remember: there is a God, and fate, and karma. If this is the type of person you are, then I can only imagine the type of people you surround yourself with. If they are as violent and unstable as you, then you are not long for this earth. You will die the way you live.


I am so filled with rage and desolation right now; I don’t know what to do. I know I was not the victim of this crime, but I am distraught. I am shaking. I am crying at my desk.

All I can ask is “why? Why her?”

I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to her. She made it out of the situation physically ok. Mentally, she was shaken. The more she talks about it, the better she feels. I guess that is why I am sharing this with you; I hope it makes me feel better.

I won’t for a while, though.

Fuck. This sucks.

Sophadopolis and her Auntie Lizard

My dear and sweet friend Emilie, whom I shall always refer to as “the Wench” (long story, another post), and her boyfriend-husband-to-be, Vinnie, just had their little baby girl two months ago. It seems like just yesterday when Em told me she was pregnant.

“You are no longer just a Lizard; you are going to be an Auntie Lizard!!!”

(FYI – the Wench is the only person who can get away with calling me Lizard.)

The Wench, being raised by hippies, refused to choose a name for her daughter until she was born and could look at her. She felt once she came face to face with her daughter, the perfect name would come to mind.

Not so much.

For over a week after this perfect little one’s arrival, I was still referring to her as the No Name Slob.

Finally, after much debate and ado, little No Name was christened Sophie. We call her Sophadopolis. No, I don’t know why. Keep in mind, this is coming from some one who calls me Lizard, and whom I refer to as the Wench.

Any way, after receiving permission, I am marking my fourth post as Sophie’s Big Debut!!!!! Ain’t she a looker???

Weird Beard

I have a boyfriend.

I call him Weird Beard.

Yes, my husband knows.

Actually, this particular admirer is suffering from an unrequited love for me. (I warned you all that I am vain!!!) He is this FREAK ON A LEASH that my work hired four months ago. He is more than twice my age and becomes fanatical about anything that catches his interest: a PAC-10 football team, the local minor league baseball team, and me.

I made the mistake of being nice to him when he started where we work. You can not be nice to these types of people. I had covered his job in the interim of hiring for his position. I helped train him when he began. I gave him tips on who not to talk to, who he could trust and engaged in football banter.

Big mistake. Huge. It had been 2 months, and he had become increasingly annoying/obsessive. After realizing he was giving me just a bit too much attention, and dealing with sarcastic “when did you two start dating” comments from my co-workers, I started my hasty retreat.

Another big mistake. Even bigger this time due to the fact that when someone is obsessed, and feel the object they covet slipping away, they grasp tighter. It has become a sort of dodging game now.

Let me lay it out for you:
1) He has no reason to come to my end of the building but does so routinely through out the day. So much so that I have his footfall memorized and run when I hear the decent of his distinct cadence approaching. In fact, he just made his 3rd trip by and it is only about 10 AM.

2) He speaks in a loud voice and asks why we aren’t “bonding” anymore. He whines that I have become distant and cold. Stop laughing, I am not joking.

3) My network of spies (co-workers whom I adore) calls me when they see him coming. If they know I cannot get out in time, one of the guys usually comes to interrupt him with “vital” work for me.

4) When he does trap me in my cubicle, he stands very close. Close enough that sometimes I can feel his breath on the back of my neck when he sneaks up on me.

5) About a month ago I wore a nicer than normal outfit to work, substituting the normal slacks and sweater for a nice skirt. Old WB stopped in the middle of what he was saying, looked me up and down and told me I was “breathtaking”.

6) He leaves me notes on my desk and once a week has me cover for him when he travels to one of our out of town vendors. He is not in my department, and yes, there are much more relevant employees who could do this for him. He just enjoys the opportunity of interacting with me in a situation where I cannot run away

7) He has taken to hiding around corners and catching me off guard. No, I am not exaggerating.

So, you see, my dear reader, that Weird Beard is not only a bit smitten, but also very creepy. I have since spent the last two months being as rude as I can to him in an office setting. Neither one of us has our own office where I could close the door and tell him to “BACK THE FUCK OFF” privately, and I refuse to get HR involved in something I feel that I should be able to handle myself. I may crack someday soon, and go off on him in front of everyone.

Shit, there he goes again.

Growing Up

Well, my brother turns 18 today. Which is odd, because when I picture him in my head, I swear, he is still 5 years old. I know I still want to protect him like he is 5. With a 9 year age difference, I was defiantly in charge of keeping him from getting his ass kicked. I had help; Meegan often stepped up to the plate and threatened the little bullies in the neighborhood from the driver’s seat of her Volvo. Classis Meegan style!

My brother has always had an old soul. He was always too mature for his age group and was often left out of social activities with his peers. It broke my heart when he was growing up. It was so easy for me to make friends, and his awkwardness was an eye-opener. Though I was always overprotective, with the help of my husband, I have been able to let go of the little boy I helped raise and welcome my brother into my life as a man. And a wonderful man at that. Last night, he actually made me laugh pretty damn hard when he spoke of the fact that he knew he had zero sex appeal. I never thought I would hear that phrase come out of his mouth.

Happy Birthday, Eddie! I love you!

The Grand Opening

What the Hell Do I Say Now?????

For the past 6 months, I have had nooooo problem opening my progressive-liberal pie hole and commenting on other’s blogs. I have gone so far as to “guest post” for Meegan. It has been her tenacity and encouragement that got me thinking about doing this myself. With the harassment/encouragement/taunting of others (*ahem* Jack and Lisa!!!) I have been forced out of my commenter’s closet and made to open my own Blog.

The problem with writing my own blog when you are as vain as I am, is that I am afraid of boring people. That would be a fate worse than death. To have an on line diary that no one felt in necessary to comment on. The horror! Something so dull that people would actually get together and discuss what a waste of air I am. Once again, that is vanity speaking: why on Earth would I assume that people would find me dull enough to consider forming a coffee/support group? So, dear readers, all 3 of you, you must promise me that when I bore you to tears, you will let me know.

But, screw it! If you don’t know me, or have not read my comments, here is a little re-con for you:
· Very liberal (with many conservative friends and family members.)
· Love to cook (want my own business.)
· Love art history (but made the not so lucrative mistake of getting a degree in it, with supplemental minors in ancient world history and Black studies)
· Married to my husband, Chris (happily!!!)
· We just bought our first home
· My 2 best friends live on opposite sides of the country (Meegan in New York, and Eva in San Diego; I reside in the Pacific North West)
· I am the worst speller in the world (and Meegan is the best)
· Eva is my legal council, (or she will be in about 2 ½ years when she graduates from law school)
· I am dangerously close to becoming addicted to blogging.
· I have a persnickety old cat named Porkchop (adopted from the pound) and a 7 year old lab named Maggie (inherited from my grandfather).

So that is it. I am sure something will set me off in the next day or so, (indictments, anyone?) that I will need to get off of my chest.