If you lived in a culture where you had two roles, Extreme Breeding Unit or Burqua Holder, and your only chance to break free was a glorious death.....

I understand.

Female Suicide Bombers: Madame Bovary for the Jihadist set.

Well color me purple, and tickle me pink:

"Bush declares progress in Iraq war".

Need I say anything more?

Oh, to the folks at the House of Representatives and the Courts of Virgina:

Howdy!

Dan Savage, writer of Savage Love, does say things that are close to my heart....and for all those nasty boys in high school who were so cruel to me:

"Straight boys raised to believe that women exist for their pleasure will sometimes feel personally affronted by unattractive women, and alcohol makes them feel entitled to comment. But the passage of time makes monsters of us all, Anonymous, and the young, relatively hot straight guys tormenting you today are the bald, paunchy, and, if there is a God, burn victims of tomorrow."

http://charlotte.creativeloafing.com/gyrobase/the_dark_knight_not_/Content?oid=338821

Can I get an Amen from the back row?

If it's really true that John Edwards has both a mistress and a baby, you'd think someone who was once in the running for president and a potential veep candidate would:

a) have the sense to realize that the American populace has an enormous amount of sympathy for his wife (and for their earlier loss of their son) and, you know, maybe employ a sense of discretion or at least a DISGUISE????

b) have better security

c) arrange for more privacy

d) maybe....use a condom?

I liked John Edwards, but lack of common sense and complete disrepect towards your wife and children is really classless.

Besides, do you really have someone DRIVE you to your assignation? Who do you think you are, Ted Kennedy?

file this one under my god, the world is a terrible place

Catherine and Benjamin Mullany, murdered in Antigua while on honeymoon. I can't even put pen to paper to tell you how they died; it's too horrid to contemplate, and too wrong. Remember this photo.

(photo courtesy of the mirror, btw)

Firebrand

So perhaps I should dial it back a bit at work. Why do I suddenly feel compelled to step up? Do I think it's going to matter? Where is this renewed sense of urgency from? I made the decision to go ahead and contact the resume lady and have her work on my resume, just in case.

Mr. Manners reminded me again that this is work and nothing personal; it's a good lesson and a timely reminder. I'm getting stressed out because I am letting this get under my skin. I wanted my boss to recognize what our team did this weekend because everyone really pitched in to do something new, novel, and outside our normal boundaries. I mean, face it, our former boss would have taken care of it all by himself, and it fell to us. No one cared, but we did it, and I was damn proud of us. Trust me, it could have been a really big deal. I will find some way to recognize the people on the other teams who did the work - I've already given my guys a comp day to make up for their Saturday (even though we don't have comp days, wink wink, nudge nudge, whaddyaknow?)

Frankly, I lost the desire to work hard when they announced the sale. And recently found myself reengaged, for no apparent reason. And enjoyed it. Why? Now I can no longer wallow in work ennui. Now I'm back to being aggravated. Hah. Perhaps I enjoy the aggravation of work....

Glutton.

Also, to clarify an earlier post....

No one sent me a nasty email or left a comment using profanity or racial slurs. Goodness. My readers are usually gentle people!

Referring, in a round about way, to the idiot from a few weeks ago who was trying to drag folks into his blog war with Meg. Not referring to anyone else commenting on any other thread. Don't anyone get their knickers in a wad.

Barclays? Barclays is bad? Common sense says that a domestic buyer is out of the question. No credit card company or bank has any money. Foreign banks or equity firms or even foreign lenders are VERY leery of our markets at the moment, especially credit markets. Who would buy us? We were hoping for a European firm; one looking for a long play, without a current stake in the U.S. market (or at least, not a large one).

Ah, thoughts.

I'm tired; I need to finish my porch.

I did talk to my boss and nicely broached the subject. He was very dismissive. I am disappointed and upset, but it isn't unexpected.

The one day I really want to have no neighbors at work, everyone eventually shows up. *sigh*

Yesterday was another one of those work days where everyone is in an uproar about something, and you accept an invite to a conference call, walk in, and realize that you've walked into somewhat of am ambush (again) and have no idea what's going on.

I feel bad, because dad and LilSis's boyfriend spent the remainder of the day, while I was working and on the phone(s) yelling at folk, building my beautiful new front porch rails. Soon to have baskets, and paint, and pictures! They really are nice. Pictures, yeah, yeah, I know. So much for a daddy/daughter project.....actually, this weekend really has turned out poorly for family activities, as far as I'm concerned. Work has prevented me from having any free time at all, really, since LilSis's arrival; also too I feel like had we had any plan at all, I'd have taken some time off work and we could have all gone to the beach or something...oh well.

Best laid plans of mice....

As an ending note:

While on a call yesterday, pacing around in the driveway, answering pings, the across the cul de sac kid friend's rolled up and honked. LOUD and REPEATEDLY. And, you know, I lost my temper. It was the middle of the day. People were out. Kids were playing. People are working (like me). After checking to make sure I was on mute, I just yelled:

STOP HONKING AND GET OUT OF THE CAR AND GO RING THE DOORBELL.

Mind, he continued to honk.

But...quietly.

Yes, I've turned into the crazy lady you were all afraid of when you were kids. The one who stands behind her curtains and stares at you bad kids if you are misbehaving in the streets. I might give you the fish eye too, if you aren't careful.

Who knows, next year, I might hand out apples for Halloween. Or....toothpaste!

This is some fucking shit. I have worked coordinating something I feel is way over my head without the support of my boss all day. I'm sitting outside right now, at 8.39, with a house full of family and extended family, on another conference call (at least the eleventh of the day).

Where is my boss? I guess he doesn't, my other partner in crime pointed out, understand what we do...and the real shame in all this is that I'll eventually lose this job to an "effienciency expert".

Ah, the fallacy of the clean kitchen on television, the world where people can just take a pan right out of the dishwasher and begin cooking with it. Imagine such a world! A world where I could actually use a knife without having to scrub it first. A world where a pot might not require two or three washes or the dreaded hand wash to actually be clean prior to using it for it's intended purpose - to cook with - rather than to just occupy perpetual space in the dishwasher.

I wish. My dishwasher and I barely tolerate each other. It's enjoying the terrible twos. I spank it regularly.

I've noticed that the human desire for repetition extends to house cleaning - if I don't start my weekly cleaning in the kitchen, I never complete it, nor is it done properly.

Damn dishwasher.

There's a rat in mi kitchen what am i gonna do?

I'm digging it.

We were listening to Lithium when some loud angry yelling guy came on, with some kind of gnarly crunchy noise that passed for music in the background came on...not my scene at all, obviously, when Mr. Mannners exclaimed, excitedly:

"That's Henry Rollins!" and went to turn up the volume.

And I thought...man...that's the critically acclaimed, great singer songwriter Henry Rollins?

I must be really, really old, because I think this is total shit.

Paging Cole Porter! Failing that:

I'm gonna fix that rat!

Personal Experience: Ain't She a Bitch?

The internet brings out the inner child in all of us. Where else can you forget who you are, what you do for a living, and proceed to act like you are suddenly in second grade, and it's Valentine's Day, and not only is your Valentine's Box (made out of an old box of kleenex you emptied the night before by stuffing all the kleenex in the trash can in the loo, taping hearts made out of tin foil or hershey kiss wrappers - the only things you could find - to the outside in the HOPES someone would give you a Valentine done only after agonizingly writing out a card to every single kid in the class because it would be rude if someone didn't get a card, wouldn't it?) the shittiest box in the class, you didn't get a card either? And everyone else is enjoying their cupcake and making kissy faces at each other, and you, you little sucker you, get to feel sorry for yourself over in the corner because they are all holding hands and sticking their tongues out at you because you are just a little lonely loser.

Yeah, the internet is a hell of a lot like second grade, except we only think we're smarter, and we might have a job, and we have boobs (some of us).

I've always looked at the blog/net as a place to practice my writing. It's something I've always enjoyed (someone gave me a little blue diary when we lived in South Carolina, when I was about seven, and although my handwriting was horrid at that point I decided that I loved reading so much I should give writing a whirl as well). I'm not fool enough to think I could do this for a career, but periodically I've a mind to pick up a pen/keyboard and tell you whatever is on my mind, however silly, profane, sublime, or nonsensicial or heavy handed it is.

There is, however, one thing that I do not do. I do not get into people's personal bullshit on the internet. Certainly, I talk about family things, but in such generic terms that the casual reader hopefully hasn't a clue. I talk about personal things, again under the same terms. I bitch about work, and you all know I love to complain about politics and the economy and other things that upset me (or are stupid or just plain wrong). I don't talk about my internet friends - what they do on the internet or otherwise - and I expect the same degree of respect from them, and I expect that they treat my friends accordingly.

Now, let's move onto technology.

Those of us who blog tend to use tracking tools - especially those of us who have gotten nasty comments - to see who comes to read, when, where from, etc. These tools are not infallible. They can be beaten. They cannot detect, for example, when someone is using someone else's IP to route traffic through. They cannot tell you who is using a computer. They cannot tell you if someone is lying to you. They certainly cannot tell you if someone has a personal agenda. They certainly cannot tell you why on earth someone would take the time out of their busy day to bother responding to something so inconsequential as a fart in cyber space - because, in essence, that is what all of this amounts to. A giant cosmic fart. I've thought someone was reading my blog before - someone I didn't want here; I was wrong.

Ain't I a dumbass?

People take two roads. You might get all indignant and pick sides. Start a flame war. Visit each other's blogs, leave nasty anonymous comments. Get caught out by IP, go to someone else's house, to Kinko's, go to a website that re-routes traffic (they exist) so that you look anonymous and try again. Go to whatever social networking site they use and leave messages there. Go to all their friends pages. Whatever. Belittle them to everyone you know in cyber space. Smear them. Leave nasty messages. Be profane. Be as obscene as you want, and certainly feel free to use language that would never cross your lips in public (would you really say cunt or nigger? I bet you wouldn't). Ruin their inboxes by signing them up for Gay Pony Blond Sex with Canadian Trout spam. Create dating profiles in their name and email address. Go ahead, make someone's life hellacious. Be criminal and hack into their bank account (Go Directly to Jail). Stalk them: it's not hard to find where someone lives. You can GoogleEarth their address, and have a nice picture of their house. Hell, you can put that up on your own blog, with a nice little target superimposed over their home sweet home! You can really make someone miserable, and be like that mom who eventually drove that little girl to hang herself. How proud are you to be lumped in with that sociopath? Because you aren't any better. You've made a little clique, a little social group, and you are utilizing peer pressure to obtain the result you want - whateve result that happens to be.

So this is what I think of when I think of the internet:

You're touching me!

I am not!

Yes you are! Stop touching my side of the car or I'm going to tell!

SO second grade.

How ironic will it be if Barclay's is our buyer and I end up unemployed anyway?

That, children, could be referred to as:

Swearing a Blue Streak

But only if I had made derogatory references to someone's sexual performance, maybe buy suggesting that they had supplemented their performance with the Ski team by purchasing large amounts of Viagra, or Columbian Love Dust, or perhaps a simple Penis Pump.....

Now we're getting somewhere.

China owns some ungodly amount of Fannie and Freddie's loan base, something like $387 billion (of securities, mind, but that still translates into monies due at some point).

And:

40% of the mortgages in the U.S. are owned by Fred and Fan. FORTY PERCENT.

That would bring about economic collapse.

So think about this: if the government doesn't promise that Fan and Fred remain liquid, what message does it send to the international community? The international community we repeatedly whore our currency to? Yeah, those people.

So prepare for that big ole TAX INCREASE, because while those mother fuckers bought themselves luxury homes, expensive clothes, and rolled around in caviar naked while fucking the Swedish Women's Ski Team, you and I, and our children, and our children's children, are going to be sitting on top of what I estimate to be a 4 - 9.5% base increase in our federal income tax - FOR THE REST OF OUR WORKING LIVES.

Oh, go suck on an egg.

There is something a bit peculiar about going to the dentist, don't you think, something a bit odd about going to a doctor twice a year who takes shiny, sharp metal things into your mouth, to scrape and things that are essentially exposed bone? All the while poking with those same sharp metal objects at your gums, those pieces of soft tissue that cover parts of those boney old teeth?

Ah, nothing like a mouthful of blood to start your morning.

Two of my teenage fillings are leaking and have to go. Am being fitted for mouthguard (thanks, topomax, love that side effect).

BTW

I knew the minute I decided Mother Nature was teasing me what would happen, and indeed I was right. No sooner had I decided that it was not going to rain, as for evenings past it has threatened to do each night about this time, and turned on the hose to top off the pool (four inches, thank you), than she opened up the heavens with a downpour of great proportions.

The earth is happy, the air is clearing, and a refreshing twilight is upon us.

Now: to make chili. Not summer food, but I am HUNGRY.

It rarely happens. Off to make the most of it.

So on an early morning telecon with a senior person, several senior persons, when someone gets a ticket for not using a hands free, and commences to swear a blue streak.

I mention the concept of swearing a blue streak, only to be met with raised eyebrows.

This "swearing a blue streak" of which you speak, what is that?

My granddaddy taught me that meant you were chosing to toss out your most explicit, most profane, most obscure swear words, usually denigrating the other person's gender or sexual performance (no, he didn't teach me that part, that was googled, and preferably not in their presence) but usually used while regaling someone else with whatever adventure you were recounting.

And yet oddly, when I google this term today, I find lots of hits that link LBJ and JFK, two men who were known for swearing, being profane, and explicit, and doing lots of sexual performance type things with people of the other gender.

Co-inky-dinky?

Monday's recommended redemption reading here.

I have been accused of being too heavy handed. I admit, I have no tolerance for certain types of issues, no tolerance at all. Personal beliefs aside, if people are willing to admit to their mistakes and apologize for them, I am all about forgiveness and second chances:

But only if you are sincere, and the apology comes from the heart.

What's that saying?

Fool me once, shame on you.

Fool me twice, shame on me.

This is a tragedy all around. Poor children. Poor mother. This is the cost of an increasingly disconnected society. If the woman had someone to confide in, a friend, a competent social service system, a preacher, a mentor, some outlet, she would have been able to balance things out. Now her children pay the cost of what I presume is her isolation.

I am so sorry.

Ah, the joys of adulthood.

During my annual "girl" exam, my ob/gyn recommended, as we were sitting in the office post examination, three things: a cholesterol test, a baseline mammogram, and a colonoscopy.

I cringe. I had a cholesterol test when I was a kid, along with my first pelvic, and since I was totally ignorant about what happened at either, I ate Chick Fil A two hours before my test (oops).

My numbers were outrageous. This led two a two year period of no cheese, and cutting all fat off meat (something I still do to this day, although I do eat cheese like a fucking mouse. A Fat Mouse, at that).

But two things I didn't understand, really, were the boob and ass check. I don't have any boobs to smoosh. Baseline mammograms are ok around thirty five, it happens, but that's kinda young. I only smoked for four years in my whole life, and not consecutively. I don't tan. There's no history of any other kind of cancer in my family, outside of Carol. Ass check? Especially discomfiting given that I had just had the "digital rectal exam". Was something found? (what was running through my doctors brain? "what the fuck did I just find up this girl's butt? seriously? is that an alien? OH MY GOD@!!H!H!%@^!&%(@!"). And when I am thinking, and it's about something that makes me uncomfortable, I hold my thoughts until I can (hah hah) digest them, and then I think about it.

I didn't want to think about this at all, and now only five months later I've decided to face the music....but my insurance company won't pay for it unless there is either a) compelling medical reason or b) family history. There's no family history of ass cancer, so now I've had to phone the nurses at the office and ask them to pull my history. I've left a polite voice mail "please pull my chart and call and let me know if there is a notation after the digital rectal exam that is cause for concern, or ask if the doctor is recommending this test for a REASON, otherwise I will not be having this procedure done".

What finally made me realize that I should stop procrastinating?

I didn't want to take the chance that my epitaph would say:

"Here Lies Eliza. She died of ass cancer."

In fact, I was going to call in to request that song, and I guess I mis dialed the number (who calls in to request songs any more), and I dialed a PORN LINE.

I'm still laughing.

Whole of the Moon

Even though you do hear the same songs (how many times do I really need to hear "She Sells Sanctuary" which I can't even pronounce properly, much less sing) on Sirius, you do occasionally hear things that don't get a hell of a lot of radio play.

So I bring you a song I never heard before I started listening to satellite (too young)...pay attention now, the lyrics are deadly:

"The Whole of the Moon (Mike Scott)

I pictured a rainbow
You held it in your hand
I had flashes
You saw the plan
I wandered out in the world for years
While you just stayed in your room
I saw the crescent
You saw the whole of the moon
The whole of the moon
You were there in the turnstiles
With the wind at your heels
You stretched for the stars
And you know how it feels
To reach too high
Too far
Too soon
You saw the whole of the moon
I was grounded
While you filled the skies
I was dumbfounded by truth
You cut through lies
I saw the rain dirty valley
You saw "Brigadoon"
I saw the crescent
You saw the whole of the moon
I spoke about wings
You just flew
I wondered, I guessed and I tried
You just knew
I sighed
And you swooned
I saw the crescent
You saw the whole of the moon
The whole of the moon
The whole of the moon
The torch in your pocket
And the wind on your heels
You climbed on a ladder
And you know how it feels
To get too high
Too far
Too soon
You saw the whole of the moon
The whole of the moon
Popcorn and cannonballs
All the season's fears
Trumpets, towers, and tenaments
Wide oceans full of tears
Flags, rags, ferryboats
Senators and scars
Every precious dream and vision
Underneath the stars
Yes, you climbed on a ladder
With the wind in your sails
You came like a comet
Blazing your trail
Too high
Too far
Too soon
You saw the whole of the moon
-- The Waterboys, "The Whole of the Moon "

Wikipedia would like to say this is a tribute to C.S. Lewis. Not sure about that - you know wiki is collaboratively written by, well, anyone so the validity of what people written is vouched for by any old asshole with a keyboard and the ability to pretend to be literate. At any rate, I love this song. I'd never heard of them: does anyone have a couple of MP3's they can send me, before I hare off and buy their entire discography only to find that I hate it?

What can I say? it speaks to me.

When it rains on the asphalt, you see steam rising from the blacktop and I see souls escaping from the earth.

Now you know why I like this song.

Can't you people tell me when I have grammar and spelling errors? What's wrong with you?

Forbes had a recent article on women's dress in the business world, and the wide range of fashion choices and the rightness or wrongness available therein. It even had a little Flash/Powerpointy type thing, that had a photos illustrating the variety of things women chose to wear to the office. Some things were so way out there (I think sleeveless combined with a skirt that is five inches above the knee and no stockings is too short unless you are in the field of "personal services"). Some women were way to out there (a face full of metal at a law office?). But by and large, the women over forty wore loose, boxy clothes and looked like crunchy lesbians (dressed like men) and the younger women were either way too trendy, or way too underdressed. A few women hit it just right - dark jeans, for example, with a nice sweater set (not your grandmom's Liz Claibourne but something splashier and fitted) and open toed high heel sandals or ballet flats, and a nice scarf or bag and a flashy belt to top it off. Or a flirty skirt paired with a complimentary military cut coat. A bit of style while being feminine, right? Nothing wrong with that - and it proves you do not necessarily have to dress like a man to be taken seriously.

Yet this causes me to bemoan the loss of what should be a staple of any woman's wardrobe: the tailored dress shirt. You know the one: the one with darts under the breasts, the back. The one that fits as it flares up your rib cage, and flares out where your breasts ride. No floppy collars, no sequins, no zippers, no fuzzy sewn on thingies. Simple, clean lines. Classic colors or prints. Elegant, tailored lines.

I've been searching and searching. Dress shirts exist in abundance. They are all boxy, square, lifeless pieces that hang from your shoulders. Nothing that fits. Everything is so big! I bought a shirt recently that looked adorable, a little faux Western shirt in a cute little plaid, and I truly thought I'd love it (heck it was only $16) and it was the boxiest thing I've ever seen. If I cut four to six inches of material out of it and give it a back dart and two bust darts, it might become something.

So to all you fashion designers: fall 08 leaves me cold. Again, too fussy and meant for children. My wallet will remain closed. How about something that appeals to me, that is affordable? Even my adored Banana Republic is becoming a bit too expensive.

Mae and Mac

I had a full post here for this discussion topic, and as usual Blogger, who really are a POS owned by Google, who are worse than the Borg, blew it away. Did I say something Google didn't like? I wonder.

I am normally a believer in unrestricted trade and free markets, with a tiny bit of protectionism for domestic workers thrown in (please tax domestic companies that offshore non manufacturing labor, pretty please). However, the time has come to make an argument for a federal bail out of Mae and Mac.

And here's why.

Mae and Mac hold a disproportionately large share of the U.S. mortgage market. People who have Mae and Mac mortgages are faced with very few options under current market conditions should an emergency refinance (i.e. if it fails, who will buy their loans) become necessary. Traditional banks have become very reluctant to lend money to anyone with less than 20%, or 20% existing equity, or sterling credit. Essentially, because everyone saw an opportunity for easy money, and failed to remember the first rule of finance...shit, the Golden Rule of Finance, which is playing for profit is a short term fool's game, and playing for growth is for long term very smart cookies (only). Banks saw all this liquidity, or the potential for liquidity, in the market, and began to run ad campaigns to persuade folks to tap the money in their homes as a source of cash; thus the run of false affluence you saw in the late 90's and early 2000's. Not everyone was doing great; we were merely spending that which we had paid for in our housing allowances throughout our lives. A false front, if you will.

So now that they put in a new marina at the yacht club, the banking industry has decided that it doesn't need the support of the bread and butter customer, and it doesn't want to help us anymore. While I applaud Bank of America for making the risky decision to purchase CountryWide; I think they could do more.

When I read about how they are aggressively reworking mortages that are at risk of or are actively in default, I think that maybe the idea of corporate responsibility isn't dead after all. Then I dig further - no, they are merely RESTRUCTURING the debt. Just deferring things until later, you know, until you catch up. Which misses the point. If you borrowed $300K, and your house is now only worth $200K....what on earth keeps you in that house? If the bank won't work with you (the odds of your house suddenly re-rising in value are: Slim, meet your kissin' cousin None), what is to prevent you from walking away? Banks shoot themselves in the foot by refusing to reduce principal in true hardship cases. And prove themselves to be greedy arrogant unfeeling corporate bastards in the process.

G'wan, ask me how I really feel. :-)

Simply, if you let Mae and Mac fail, I guesstimate that 1/4 of the folks in the U.S. who have mortgages through them will suddenly be homeless. The terrorists won't have needed 9/11 to have tanked our economy; we'll have done it to ourselves through greed and negligence.

The highlight of the weekend: swerving to avoid a trio of possums.

I suppose I didn't fancy the Alabama Possum Combo at Bubba's Roadside Cafe.

So somehow I've been drug into a blog war, much like a country that just happens to share a border with another country is drug into violence when the events of one country just happen to spill over into it's territory. Yet another sign that it's time to move on.

Another sign that people have far too much time on their hands, and far too much imagination, and are in need of some serious counseling (please see the post left by an anonymous commenter on the last posting) - this is someone who used to post on Meg's blog. The two of them have fallen out of sorts with each other, and now they are flaming each other around the internet. I thought it was amusing, and was staying out of it, because how really ridiculous is it to start to hate someone you've never met, and to start flinging about insults like two second graders (nanner nanner foo foo).

Pandora was annexed earlier this week; Meg's identity was hacked. This person started leaving comments and posting as Meg. Why BLOGGER let this continue I will never know. Now you can see the person has set up two anti Meg blogs, and insults other readers, myself included. Since the person in question obviously doesn't know anything about me, I chose to let the insult pass.

Certainly, though, it's time to move on. The internet is definitely a home for lunatics and people of all varieties. I've heard it said that the internet removes all social niceties and allows people to show themselves for whom they really are - minus all the constraints of polite society.

Now that I've cleaned the slime off my monitor....

Happy Friday

I think Days and Clouds sounds like a fascinating, albeit depressing, study in how people react to job loss. It's not as though there are loads of movies about job loss (what....three?).

I bet it never comes to Atlanta.

Karl Rove: shame on you, sir. Refusing a subpoena? Who do you think you are? You are not above the laws of this land. Go stand in the corner, and put that dunce cap right on. You certainly do have the right to an attorney, and perhaps it's time you ask one what the penalties are for contempt charges. Or will this be another case of the politically elite escaping punishment for thumbing a nose at American jurisprudence?

Christie Brinkley: thankfully, you decided just to buy that turkey off and be done with it (apologies to the children). Do you ever look at pictures of yourself before your post office discovery and wonder what your life would have been like, if you'd have had all these troubles (four husbands) if your face and body hadn't made you famous and fortunate? Still, I can't help but pity you. It just goes to show that nothing can really buy you love. I hope you at least hit him once where it hurts before you kicked him out. I can't imagine being told your husband was cheating on you (read: one of the most beautiful, elegant, succesful, wealthy women in the world) with an eighteen year old....by the girl's stepfather. The indignity.

I think I'm going in search of a new blog home, a new blog name, everything. Blogger has been good enough to me, but doesn't really offer me enough flexibility to make a girl happy.

The next Tru TV Show, filmed right here in Atlanta, on our cities beautiful and gleaming highways and bi-ways:

"Next!!!!

All New!!!

World's Dumbest Assholes!!!!

narrated by Leif Garrett, Danny Bonaduce and Tonya Harding"

Have you guys seen this show? The latest in entertainment - b list celebrities and has beens offering commentary (once in a while they toss in a fauxlawyer or sludgejudge for credibility) on people committing stupid acts of criminality that happen to be recorded. Like being so drunk you take a swing at the cops and end up spinning around in a circle, tossing yourself to the ground, and hitting your own head on the dirt. Yeah. America's finest. And what's up with Leif's (?) eyeliner and bandana? Is he bald or is that some kind of white dude gangland symbol, eyeliner, headgear and earrings?

I think they should get Nick Nolte and maybe Mike Tyson on for a show or two.

Now THAT would be entertaining.

As you do, I'm out minding my own business, spreading mulch on some undisclosed day last week, with a front window or two cracked a bit so the dogs can see me, and so I can hear the music while I'm working outside. I've already lost the battle against the mosquitos, and am fully kitted up in jeans and a t shirt, sprayed with repellent (although in my case that would probably require going sans deoderant), hair back, sneaks on, gloves on, and am covered in red bark dust from head to toe.

I'm happily jamming to Channel 22 on Sirius Radio (Mr. Manners surely thinks I listen to this station too much; his favorite complaint is that they play the same stuff all the time; I translate this into "you play this station too much" :-)) and weeding the front flower bed prior to mulching when I hear a car in the cul de sac. I think nothing of it. It's early evening - time for folks to be coming home. I still think nothing of it when I hear it idling - it could be my neighbors, it could be a delivery guy....I don't start to get alarmed at cars unless the dogs bark, generally, and since they bark at everyone....

Some friend on the teenager boys who live across the cul de sac was sitting in his burned out Shitvrolet something, red, staring at my ass! Five feet off the edge of my property!

My first thought was, literally: you asshat! You did not just roll up here to pick up your friend and stop to stare at my ass.

Then when I stood up, and stared in the direction of his car, he peeled off (busted) around the cul de sac, flew up the driveway, and yelled "yo, man, open the damn garage door" and ran inside.

I couldn't tell you what he looked like. What can I say? Black people think we all look alike; this was just one of those black teenagers that hangs out across the street.

I was pissed, and unsettled. I packed it up and went inside, and stayed in the rest of the night. I've never felt unsafe in my neighborhood, much less my own front yard.

Now Eliza, you might say, it was just a teenager...your rights end when mine begin, remember?

So what to do: this is a single parent, three teenage (and boy are they large) boys. Mom is a nurse, and works irregular hours, and is not from the states originally (I've heard her speak, some accent but not heard enough to place it). Her youngest child was the one who ran from Zoe, my thirty pound dog. Mr. Manners talked to our neighbors and they have issues with them as well, with their speeding and other bad manners as friendly co residents of our subdivision.

Yesterday, I wrote the president of our (voluntary) HOA and asked for advice. She had not much to say, other than what we'd already thought of (talk to mom and go to the police).

Advice?

After years of laborious research, I have finally uncovered the largest difference between men and women:







Men don't have fat pants.

Tick Tock

I am evidently reproductively on the shelf.

I have most recently been sincerely (I’m not being facetious) informed that no matter what I decide to do with myself, whether or not I have children, or whether or not I wait too late to have children, or if I have none, or adopt, or just have more dogs, everyone is just fine with whatever I decide.

And you know, in a way that I can’t describe to you, that went all the way down to my core, plucked one tiny, low string, and made me very unhappy, because it seems to say….

It seems to measure up in so many words, and yet without saying, the ways that I could have possibly failed each life to cross my path. It seems to say that all I have built, and all I have lived is worth nothing.

And yet a study was released last week that said that couples without children are actually happier than couples with children. Consider the trauma that your kids have put you through and give me the honest selfish answer – are you really happier now than you were before (or are you going to give me some bullshit about being more fulfilled?)? And still more studies are being released that indicate that the population in Europe and Japan and China is actually, finally, in decline. The science of the ebb and flow of life.

It’s funny how we try and manipulate life. We live in houses, drive cars, earn money, go to work – all human concepts. Need for shelter, need for money, need for status, need for affection, for love, for self acceptance – these are all human concepts. We try and bend life around our needs, as it suits us. My dogs don’t need fancy collars; they don’t know the difference between a $5 collar and a $20 collar; people perceive a difference between the two, and assume that the one that is more expensive is better made because of the price. Don’t you assume things that are inexpensive are cheaply made?

I used to take great comfort in the fact that the night sky was like a big blankie, and that under that blankie that covered the whole earth was someone else just like me. The older I become, the more I feel that the blankie was an illusion. The blankie only applies to you when you are a blank slate, and the older you become the less blankie space you have until one day you’re out on your own. Consequently, some days I feel that no one understands me, that no one is like me, and that I am, well….a rock, I am an Isssslaaanddd (thanks, Simon and Garfunkel).

Coming back to it: being married, having a baby and a family of my own and some stability isn’t going to instantly make me into a happy and content person, ya know. I don’t think some rush of post natal hormones is going to make me into a permanent Stepford wife, if that’s what anyone was hoping.

And now for something completely different.

This isn’t quite what I wanted to say. A commenter had chastised me earlier for changing my writing style – I have, I admit the effort was deliberate. I wanted to stop using this as a diary (I whine too much to you guys) and more to practice my writing. However, in doing that, I found the things that made me want to write – all my emotions – all went away, and consequently my writing suffered. I can tell stories, I can write about things….but the joy of the internet is that what feels personal to you when you write it is no longer personal once you hit the “publish now” keys in Blogger. You write things in the heat of the moment, things that are orderly and logical to you at the time but later make no sense, or you find after reflection you wish to recant, but as a society we don’t like folks to change their minds, so it becomes hard to do in a public forum like this.

I’m telling you, as I wander about, that I know my writing has suffered. I’m struggling to find a way to write, that allows me to tap that emotional side of me while still being moderately creative (all I can lay claim to).

Have patience.

Fine, you can have it back.

It's amazing what you can do in this day and age and not get fired.

It reminds me of the Dilbert where Wally comes to the office wearing his underwear, and proceeds to take it off and pull it down over the PHB's head, because the company has such a generous severance package that getting laid off seemed like a better idea to him than staying employed.

Of course, we no longer have such beautiful RIF packages here (a week for a year, if lucky).

But I've come to the conclusion that it is very hard to get fired unless you are rich, white, male, or dead, or embezzling, or looking at Thai kiddie porn while drinking black market Russian Vodka locked in a toilet with two aboriginal midgets smoking cuban cigars while taking a bath in a tub full of the finest Saudi crude.

(I am very fond of that paragraph. It is dazzlingly excessive, isn't it?)

However, some things can get you fired. Especially in a right to work state. Did you know that not showing up or not calling is called job abandonment, and in most states means you can be terminated under state law immediately and without further notification? Most employers don't like to be sued, so they soften this with little things called "action plans".

Here's a conversation from my teenage years, witnessed one Christmas as I worked at a Record Bar between another employee and a manager:

Manager: "So...what happened to you yesterday? You didn't show up for your shift, and SusieBells had to cover for you"

Employee: "Oh, you know, I wasn't feeling too good so I didn't come to work"

Manager: "What about the day before"

Employee: "I wasn't feeling too good either"

Manager: "Well, Bob, I'm afraid I'm going to have to let you go"

Employee: "Yeah, I figured. When do I get my last check?"

Today's dialog is something like:

Rajeev: "Samir, where were you for the last two days? You did not report to work?"

Samir: "I am having some issues, I did not come in to work. This is ok?"

Rajeev: "No, this is not ok. I am going to have to put you on an action plan according to HR. You will have to sign here on this piece of paper saying you will not miss work without calling again. It is called this thing called job abandonment and HR is making me say if you do it one more time you will get written up again and if you do it still one more time you will get written up again and if you do it still one more time we will set alight the grail shaped beacon alight castle anthrax...

Wait,

wrong post.

You get the idea.

Here's a list of things I never want to hear in the office again:

1. Stop the bleeding - do you work in the medical field? are you a vet tech or a paramedic? Then, darlings, STFU. I work in the financial services industry. The only thing bleeding here are the wallets of our collective vampiric CEO's. This is one of the most overused expressions in the office today. Nothing bleeds here, people, except possibly your nose, or some other appendage (or possibly an orifice if I am having a really bad day) if I hear you say this ONE more time.

2. Calendar a meeting - to calendar is not an action. You do not calendar something. You schedule something. You think you sound cool; you sound like Bill Gates has shoved his hand up your ass and is using you as the newest Microsoft Sock Puppet.

3. Dialog with you. You know, I'm so disgusted right now, I can't even tell you what this means. Does this mean you actually want to talk? Honestly?

4. And in closing, my personal all time favorite, mentioned previously, frequently, and with the greatest laughter known to man (this is right up there with the Ass Tick Indians, coined completely by Mr. Manners):

"Please excuse the incontinence"

Any other contributions?

So: let's take a poll...does anyone like this new format?

Family members, read:

http://newoldage.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/07/07/what-i-wish-id-done-differently/index.html

I've been asked why I was simply so frantic over the state of my house last week.

Normally, things like being socially conscious do not bother me. I am normally not ashamed or embarassed by my house, or my clothes, or my car. No, I save all my embarassment for my appearance.

Seriously, though, normally I just don't sweat that stuff. I mean, it's not like my family didn't see my house and the one previous under far worse conditions (and myself under far worse conditions as well). For crying out loud - I lived without kitchen cabinets for two years in the other house; I just thought to myself that it was like living in a Craftsman bungalow and chalked it up to experience.

But I wanted to make an impression. I wanted everything to come off just so - I wanted everything to be perfect - and even though my house is smaller than everyone else's (and god knows I don't really want a bigger house, just one with a better utilization of space). I wanted to be calm and cool when folks showed up, with food already outside and waiting and food on the table, and instead my hair was up in twist tails on top of my head, I'm in a tank top and jeans covered in mud, and I stink, literally stink, of sweat.

So I'm already starting off on the wrong foot: I know my house is a dump compared to everyone else's (I can't even get it as clean as everyone else's). I know that everyone else has nicer stuff (that I don't care about...I mean, it's just stuff. You can't take it with you, nor can you take the house with you). And I was nervous - I mean, this is a first time visit to my place, and with a lot of people, and it's not like I have the best house for entertaining children! Although Maddy was an angel.

What I wanted was for everyone to look at me and think I have my shit together, when I don't.

What a joke.

Oh, ignore the cranky old broad over here in blogland. Someone do something politically stupid or morally reprehensible to piss me off and give me something else to think about.

In fact, here is the offending object:

The "tree neighbor" (as she now introduces herself when she calls on the phone) was quite upset, and all she has been able to say is how grateful she was that none of the children were on that side of the yard when the tree fell. She has admitted that it was her tree, and that is entirely her liability (and you know, you have to respect that utter honesty in this day and age). Ironically, Mr. Manners and I had discussed just having it removed by paying someone to saw the top of it off over the fence....I'd never met this lady in the entire time I've lived here until this weekend, although I know her neighbor. What can I say, I live in a weird neighborhood.

Now we're waiting for her insurance company to give us a call.

Fun.

Last week, a coworker swore to me that if you just added a vowel onto the end of any word, you'd have a rich vocabulary of Spanish. Do you know that one of my employees is on a team that is teaching Spanish lessons in the office? I didn't know this myself until it was pointed out to me. I guess I fail "diversity" training...although I showed Pops a picture of our team, and he said "my, how diverse"...so I must be doing something right.

The festivities went very well;

Smashingly so, in fact - the neighbor's dead pine tree picked that precise windless, stormless moment to dump itself into my back yard.

Joy.

But the good news is that the gutter is fixed!

"I'm just mad about saffron...."

Right, I am calmer now. I swear this week has just stunk.

On a conference call just now, one of my coworkers just said to someone "I think you need to lay off the coffee". She just didn't talk for a long time, and then when she did come back on the line five minutes later she said "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you, I was cleaning my pool".

You know, I do a wide variety of tasks while working at home.

But I don't tell people.

Now I'm really freaking. It's Tuesday and I'm no where near where I want to be. Everyone will think I'm a lazy shit. A lazy good for nothing bum with a house that is a piece of crap that is falling around down her ears, with messed up stairs courtesy of her dogs, and a porch that isn't painted, with no grass, and an unwashed house, and a landing with no carpet, and weeds everywhere, and no paint on the railings inside. And I'm going to be mortified. I'm so mortified now I could cry.