MySpace

Ah, the virtual haunt of millions of horny teenagers and other adolescents everywhere. Playground of sexual predators, and just plain old assholes. Spawner of other sites like...Facebook. Adding a new layer of the popularity contest to teenagers across the world.

I know the end is near now.

John McCain has a MySpace page.

Monday

Well, amongst other general housecleaning tasks I have finally removed my ex husband as the beneficiary of my various life insurance and retirement plans at work. Only three years later!

Two people I know got engaged this weekend – hooray for them! Judging by the announcements section in our local rag yesterday, it must be the season for engagements and weddings. I myself got engaged (the first time) in February, near Valentine’s Day, and the second time on my back porch sometime in the summer.

I am thinking too much today and working myself into a state of twitterpation. It’s quite silly too – but then again I’ve never been one to rule my emotions with an iron hand. Or at all.

As you can see, I’ve nothing to say to you today. I was going to yammer on about the excellent article I read about Edward Hopper in The New Yorker, but I won’t. I was going to tell you about this book I read yesterday about a journalist whose sister is murdered, but I won’t. I’m sitting here dreaming of my hammock, and of my upcoming trip to the beach.

Tonight's Words of Wisdom Are

Don't drink an entire bottle of Chianti Riserva by yourself.

It's been 24 hours since I finished it and I STILL feel like shit. Go figure.

Well, I'm back. Largely in one piece and FUCKING TIRED!

It was a great conference, and I met loads of women from our businesses across the globe. I made a bunch of great networking connections. My one complaint, and it is a big one, is that your only personal time was when you were asleep. Yesterday's agenda started at seven thirty in the morning and ran until six. You had thirty minutes at the hotel before the bus picked you up to take you to the team building dinner thingie and we didn't get back until eleven. Again this morning up on the bus at seven fifteen through until two. Tuesday was the same as yesterday. Tiring. No time to run, or to work, or anything.

Some of the speakers I could have cared less about, but a few were really interesting. We had the Director of Engineering at Google come and speak to us, and some ladies from MasterCard, and a bunch of internal folks.

I did have a major realization - the only person standing in the way of me is....me. This has motivated me to get my ass back in gear, and reminded me that I am actually ambitious. Those of you who know me IRL know that I am pretty well financially screwed as a result of a divorce and my bad habit of remodeling my house constantly. I'm digging my way out, but I had decided to stop going to school for a while until I got out from under some debt. Well, screw that. If I really really load up, I can be done in a little over a year...and I figured the difference between tuition reimbursement and my own pocket with my projected hour rate comes out to be 3900. I think I can take out a school loan for 3900. It won't kill me. And I have to finish school.

I also think I'm going to take a language class or two, because those are things I enjoy. I'm going to go back to the gym and pay for a personal trainer - I'm more inclined to go and use something if NOT using it makes me feel like I'm losing money. Shit, I spent all week with skinny Eastern European women (did I mention beautiful as well?), I need to get my ass back in there.

So the house can stay on hold for a while. I can live with it. I think I can take six classes a semester - it will be tight, but I can do it. I pretty much have to...I've finally figured that I can't make it any higher in the organization without freaking finishing school.

The one great thing? I changed my flight coming home and got upgraded to first class!!!!

The Wilde Blye Yonder

Ah, the joys of air travel.

Hartsfield Jackson has the dubious distinction of being the world's busiest airport. One can certainly tell. With the loss of 100 plus uniforms and security badges, security was extra tight on Monday. It took me about forty five minutes to get through security, which was queued up back through the atrium in four separate lines. Of course, once I GOT to the screening thingie, my belt set it off.....

Got to the plane. Harbinger of bad things to come, much like LG the man seated in the middle seat refused to get up to let me get into my seat, forcing me to climb over him. He was, I think, masquerading as a superhero of some sort (the Antithesis of Mr. Emily Post!).

Instead, he turned out to be a man of the stealthy sort. He turned out to be Indeterminate Asain Farting Man. Ah, now, he was asleep most of the flight. He smelt of rotten cabbage. It actually burnt my nose hairs!!!!!!

Why me?

You know you are rapidly approaching middle age when you start to find romantic comedies enjoyable (esp those starring Hugh Grant).

Mothers and Monsters

Every year (tomorrow) millions of families across the United States will celebrate Mother’s Day. Lunches have been arranged, spa certificates purchased, jewelry is purchased, flowers will be delivered; children will make hand made cards and bring their mothers breakfast in bed. The day is a wonderful celebration of one of nature’s most natural events, and should indeed be celebrated.

This post is not for those happy families.

This post is for the parent’s of Maddy McCann. Mrs. McCann – please do not listen to the critical voices claiming you made a mistake in leaving your child in your home. The distance between the place where you were having dinner and where your children lay sleeping is the distance between my backyard and the street. Many, many other parents have lost children to abduction when the parents were physically present (Klaas, Smart, Walsh). The devil is everywhere.

While I myself do not have two footed children, I find myself thinking of the mothers in the world who have lost their children. I find myself thinking of Maddy’s mother, and her grief and uncertainty and (surely) self doubt she finds herself dwelling in since Maddy’s abduction. I think of the other British woman who lost her son to abduction years ago in Greece. I think of the mothers married to foreign nationals whom upon divorce whisk their children back to their native countries, never to be heard from again. I think of the mother of Polly Klaas, abducted, molested and killed during a slumber party at her own home. I think of the mothers of the children killed in Amish country earlier this year. I think of the mother of Cho Seung Hi, and how desperate she felt during her son’s entire life, and how she must feel now. Perhaps she is thinking to herself that she failed as a parent. I think of the mother whose three year old son has finally been declared cancer free. I think of the mothers of the children who go missing, never to be heard from again. I think of the mother of a newborn found in a gym bag on a roadside recently in Atlanta. I think of the mother of the child who died because the parents were vegan and didn’t understand that you can’t raise a child well on a vegan diet. The mother of an adolescent child, abducted and held as a crazy man’s second “bride” for years. The mother of Senate intern Chandra Levy. The mother of Lacy Peterson, and poor Lacy herself.

These are mothers who will never see their child again, never kiss their child good night or tuck them into bed. Mothers who will never see their children grow, and mothers for whom those children are forever suspended in time. Mothers who will never see the loss of baby teeth, mothers who will never suffer through Chicken Pox, or the agonies of their child’s first love, or see their children grow to have children of their own. Even the thought breaks my heart; I do not see how one could suffer such a loss and not go mad with grief. How can you bear to think of your lost child without wondering endlessly what you could have done to prevent it? What decisions could you have made differently that would have impacted the outcome? What a vicious (and dangerous) circle that could be!

Ladies, this is for you. Please know that on this day you are not forgotten. Your children are not forgotten. They continue to live through you, and your actions and even the continuity of your daily life are a testament to your love of your child. Even with the loss of a child, you are still a mother. You deserve to celebrate too, and we celebrate with you in remembrance of all you have lost.

As for the monsters who took these children for their own evil purposes; you know who you are. Your day or reckoning too will come.

InfoTainmentMmercials

Let's see...from last night's insomnia....

"Do you know that the average person carries up to 15 pounds of toxic fecal matter in their colon?" This would be at...five thirty seven am.

"Riding 'The Horse' was the best ab workout I've ever had! The rocking motion really stimulates my (ummm????) abs!"

"Only twenty cents a day can save a child from poverty".

I'm still stuck on caked on fecal matter...sorry....why is this even on TV? What a bunch of hooey. The miracle cleanse isn't anything but a bunch of herbs and FIBER...and they want a couple hundred for it. Who calls in to these things? Is this all fake, and the callers are all scripted? Now we're onto a lady who has always had bad skin but is on the cleanse program and now has good skin and lost fifteen pounds!!!!

Recently on another blog, an discussion arose (albeit indirectly) about whether or not men are fundamentally more violent than women. A comment was made that a woman would never walk into a college campus and start shooting people. A number of people on the blog wondered why…so I gave it some thought….

Women don’t snap. Yes, we do. Instead of snapping in an alienated, I hate the whole freaking world way and walking around with a gun or a pipe bomb, women snap in quiet, more deadly ways. If a man loses his job, he might walk into his workplace and shoot his former boss. A woman who loses her job first internalizes the loss – why did this happen to me? What did I do to deserve this? – and then finds an external locus – maybe if my husband were more supportive I’d be able to give more at work. Maybe if the kids weren’t driving me freaking crazy I’d be able to get more done. Women don’t shoot – no, that’s not subtle enough for us – we poison, drown, smother. Rather than allow our anger to remain undirected and at the world at large…we focus on smaller, more intimate targets.

Examples of women who snapped: Susan Smith, Andrea Yates, Aileen Wournos, Atlanta’s Own Runaway Bride, Lizzie Borden, Susan Eubanks, Darlie Lynn Routier, Elizabeth Bathory, Mary Winkler. Honorable mentions also go to Mary Kay LaTourneau and Debra Lafave, and that other nutty lady here in GA who had sex with an underage boy and then had his baby in prison. If that’s not Jerry Springer material, I don’t know what is. So women kill or injure those they are closest to, and that’s how they snap. Of course that comes after the inner “I hate everything” dialog….

And while I’m on the subject….What adult woman looks at a twelve year old boy and thinks “this is my soul mate” or creepier still finds him sexually attractive? How out of your ever loving mind do you have to be to let a thirteen year old boy knock you up?????

Women are just as violent as men, it just manifests itself in different ways. Whereas a man that abuses his spouse and child might knock them around, a woman doing the same might poison her husband or put her kids hand on the lit stove. Point is, it's ALL violence, it's a question of whether or not it swims under the surface forever or eventually rises.

This sounded much more compelling in my head.

Poor Maddie McCann. I hope you are found soon, sweetheart. All our thoughts and wishes are with you and your parents.

The Lawnmower Saga

In case you haven't noticed by now, I'm a horridly moody person.

So horridly moody that I should really be allowed to be around other people most of the time. Say....I should only be allowed to be around people 1% of the time.

I don't know why, but I've always been this way. As a teenager, Friday night's were the worst. That was "let's take the family out to dinner" night. And every Friday I would be drug along (at this stage I hated Mexican and ONLY liked Chinese) and forced into the family fold. Being the petulant teenager that I was, and being quite snarky, my parents quickly devised a rule for everyone else - pretend Eliza is not there. So I could pout, or read my book, or make nasty comments, and no one would respond to me. To this day, Friday is a night where I do nothing. I won't go out, or have a drink, or go to the movies. Friday night is the night I decompress from the work week, from the rest of life. Friday night is mine and mine alone.

Today I'm just cranky. Insomnia struck again last night. And somehow I was cold, and the dogs stole all the covers. I got up at five and put on my bathrobe and went back to sleep. Ish. And when the alarm went off at six, I turned it off and tried to reset it for seven, but instead I managed to completely F it up and set my clock ahead two hours and turn my alarm off. So I was a bit late this morning. And that stupid cat broke in the front door and Harriett Houdini escaped. And Maddy got in the shower with me - how weird is that? I've never had a dog who liked water so much she'd get in the shower....if I hadn't already washed myself I'd have shampooed her too...but since I was running late the smelly pup had to wait.

Oh!

Word of warning: as much as you love Ryobi for their drills and saws and sanders...do NOT buy one of their lawnmowers. I bought one last October, and used it twice before all my weeds died. Like most homeowners, I stuck it in the garage and forgot about it until March, when my weeds came back with a vengance. I can't crank it. No one can crank it. Oil, gas, spark plug...all cool but no roar of the engine. Not even a sputter! Off to the repair place it goes....for six weeks until they finally finish working on it. Cousin goes to pick it up and test cranks it a few times at the repair shop before loading it into the car and bringing it home.

What happens?

I go to mow the lawn on Sunday and the frickinfrackindumblebumblestupidthingamajigbuffalo thing won't start! For anyone! And no, I did not flood the engine. Cousin tried again yesterday and no dice.

So...I spent $250 on this lawnmower last October. I spent $65 on repair work two weeks ago. I give up. If anyone wants a barely used lawnmower, and is even slightly mechanically inclined (sadly, I am not), please email me and let me know when you want to come get it.

I'm going to spring for the $400 Toro with the electric starter (no more pull cords).

All Your Eggs in One Basket

Damn blogspot. If you shift arrow to select, and release your fingers in just the wrong order, it deletes your freaking post.

So I’m catching up with my reading, and reading an article in Marie Claire magazine about the fertility industry, and it’s ability now to extract and freeze eggs. Or extract, fertilize and freeze eggs. The author, a 36 year old woman in a committed relationship (albeit not married) is freaking out about her dwindling fertility. She writes about her experience attending an industry sponsored seminar, and her other conversations with doctors and other specialists. The fertility industry, being the big money maker that it is, has made leaps and bounds in their “success rates” in the last ten years. The cost of an average procedure? Hormone shots, extraction, fertilization (if you chose) and the initial freeze? Pretty pricey – between 13 and 14K. Plus a monthly storage fee that averages about $400. Hm. Who can afford this? Only affluent women…just like only affluent women can afford IVF.

So the author is whining about how she frets about her clock and her dwindling fertility. She’s thinking about “us”, she and her partner, and spending some time together and actually making an “us”. I understand and sympathize, really I do.

Modern medicine makes it possible for a woman to extend her child bearing years well into her mid forties, and eventually into her fifties. So…a woman can have a child at 45. When the child is 20, mom will be sixty five. And what about dad? So…the mother might be in menopause by the time the child is five. And when the child is ten, or twelve, and still wants to play...what happens when the parents can’t? Does mom say “sweetie, I can’t play with you because now I’m too old. And when I was younger I spent my days “figuring out who I was” and traveling to Thailand or Sydney or wherethefuckever to do so?”

Perhaps the author is not whining. Perhaps this choice is right for her. I hear this constantly from other people “I’m/We’re not ready to have kids” year after year, until they are staring down the barrel of their late thirties and trying desperately to conceive. There will never be a right time. You could spend a lifetime with someone and never have an “us”. You could spend years with someone and never know them, or they you. So why not seize the moment? Have a child. Everything will work itself out. You’ll never have enough money, or a reduced amount of debt, or finish that degree, or get that awesome job.

Our youth obsessed culture promotes selfishness, I think. While we strive and strive to stay young “Sixty is the new Twenty Five”!!!! What legacy are we leaving for our children? Nothing you do will ever be good enough unless you remain youthful looking until you die? Will one day it be acceptable for our bodies, upon death, to rapidly age to our true age? What does our quest for perfection tell our sons and daughters? You are nothing unless you are beautiful, or handsome, or the best, or the brightest or the fastest. What does waiting until you are…well, old, to have a child say to your children? It says that your life was more important than theirs, I think. That you loved yourself more, loved yourself so much that you put off a major event in life. How would you feel as that eleven year old girl whose parents couldn’t play with her in the yard?

People Eating Tasty Animals

You know, I really have an issue with PETA (that's People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals). PETA's latest stunt is to have members of their group protest at Princeton - by painting themselves with a blood like substance, mostly naked, laying on things meant to resemble serving trays.

Now, I've nothing against encouraging humane slaughter practices. Pulling cattle out of a truck and running them through a machine that cuts their heads off isn't exactly what I would call humane (it definitely isn't kosher). I agree that there has to be a better way - but I don't agree that we should all quit eating meat. We're meant to be carnivores. Think about it - have you ever met a true vegan who looked even remotely healthy? Man cannot live on salad alone.

But their shock tactics are disturbing and, I think, alienate more people than they change minds. I find their tactics similar to the tactics of the anti abortion folks - they think they can change minds by showing pictures of aborted fetuses, or screaming at women about murder, death and sin.

Does displaying naked people covered in fake blood and saran wrap change anyone's mind? Does throwing vials of blood on someone's fur coat really make a point?

It's all a cheap publicity stunt.

I've not a catchy title for tonight's post forthcoming, I'm afraid to say.

I'm sitting here screwing around with internet radio and wishing I had something unhealthy to eat. Like...dark chocolate m&ms or a milk shake from Steak and Shake. Mmmm....milkshake.

Jeez...no profound revelations, no scorching comment or witty banter. Bit of a dead weight tonight, eh?

Ah, I know! I'll fuck off onto the rest of the internet and see what the other poor bastards of the world are doing....and screw this ambient trance shit I just found on internet radio. Maybe I'll go listen to the World Arabic Rap Station...or...better yet....or the Polka Channel. Hey, I can listen to the soundtrack from some anime movie about a nurse! I've settled on UK Hard House Party. Now all I need are a few glow sticks, some illegal substances, and some baggy ass clothes.

Great Expectations

We all start out each day with great expectations, don’t we? You hop out of bed and immediately start thinking of all the things you need to do or say, and start planning your day. Maybe you feel ambitious and think you can drop the kids off at school, finish that project at work, and finish laundry while you cook dinner for the family. Maybe today is the day you think that you’ll finally win the Lotto, and you can quit your job and go buy a small island somewhere in the Caribbean. Maybe your only expectation of today is that you are going to wake up alive and possibly go fishing if the weather holds. Point being – everyone has expectations.

You have expectations in relationships too. Every person has an…inner Charter of Fairness that details what is ok and what is not. Someone’s charter might read “it is never acceptable to be at home alone on a Friday night” while another persons might read “Someone who stands me up doesn’t get a second chance” or yet another’s might read “I don’t care if my girlfriend hangs out with her ex’s sister” or even “Anyone who eats the last ice cream bar and doesn’t replace it doesn’t get to come to the house again”.

So what are your relationship expectations? Do you have your own charter? Or…mate criteria? Do Tell!

How about....

park on a driveway
and
drive on a parkway?

I'm going to start a list of the funny things I either read or hear someone misspeak...

Things like

"He's a hot tomato!" (LG)

"She was drawling while drunk!"

"Walmart...uses an anti unicorn apparatus" (rather than union, thanks BWOL)

a personal and oft posted "midgetating"

"Bitch of a Bitch"

Any other suggestions? Sorry folks, I'm drain bead this morning!

Maybe someone who works in public health can explain to me how one uses a condom incorrectly?

You putting it on your ear by mistake?

Thanks to my anonymous (am I the only one who can spell that by going anon y mouse? and dropping the e?) poster of the FWB thread; I now have a new topic.

Coupledom. Coupling (good show, that). Boyfriend/Girlfriend. Significant Other. Honey Bunches.

You get the idea. At what point do two people become a couple? Is there a set length of time, like some sort of gestation period, and at the conclusion of said period are you now a couple? Is it a major milestone in your dating career?

Hm. Let me give this some thought....

Right. I know a few people (really, I do) who have different ideas on the subject so I'll see if I can recap them for you succinctly.

Dating - Dating is the "let's get to know each other phase" frequently followed by the "let's get it on" phase. Dating is where you are on your best manners, properly groomed, coiffed (the word of the week, I guess), manicured/pedicured, elegant, mannerly best. If you are just dating you avoid discussions about the big three - religion, politics and sex - as well as their third cousin twice removed - family. You ask insipid questions.

"Gee, Jim, what do you do for a living?"

"Well, Betsy, I'm a thermonuclear submarine superhero transcendental specialist".

"Oh".

You twiddle around something that might pass for conversation. You have a nice meal, see a movie, maybe go meet up with some friends for a beer or a friendly game of pool.

I feel compelled to add that the aforementioned date descriptions are NOT my idea of a good time. Just in case you wanted to know.

But you get the picture. Dating is the selection process by which we decide whom we are going to bed with. Jim probably doesn't have a shot with Betsy...because, let's just face right up to it here, he makes Betsy feel dumb. And women do not go to bed with men that make them feel inferior. But he probably has a shot with Erica, the sky diving monkey assassin from Elbonia. Hey, it could happen! Actually, dating also resembles one of those Law and Order style police lineups - "yeah, the guy in the grey pin striped suit third from the left! He's the one that stole my heart!"

So I don't think you're a couple when you date.

Coupledom implies a few things to me. Things like: you actually sleep in someone else's bed, and use someone else's household goods. You aren't creeped out by the potential of sharing toothpaste. You can pee in front of each other (really, try peeing in front of someone you DON'T like or think of that way). You aren't lying awake at night wondering how quietly you can gnaw off your arm to escape whenever you are. You have meals together. You exchange horror stories about ex's (and become completely indignant on your partner's behalf!). You shop together. You take trips together. You talk about the future. You meet each others families. Oh, and yeah, you have sex and pencil little pink hearts on each others car windows in the morning and starlight emanates from your eyes when you smile and you both fart daisies...that kinda thing.

FWB...you guys hang out. You go for a beer once in a while. You have sex once in a while. You talk an enormous amount about everything. You hear all the other things going on in the person's life outside of yourself. It's humanly possible to get angry at your "friend" and not talk to them for two weeks, only to have them confess that they didn't realize you were angry. You can have...burping contests and not gross each other out. Family and friend stuff is all separate. You do argue, sometimes violently, about politics, religion and family. You disagree on all the major subjects, but you still hang out. That’s why it’s called FWB.

There’s not a milestone either at which an FWB crosses into the other half of a couple. That implies a serious, mature discussion about the “future” of the relationship which must occur prior to the late night visit to the bar and ensuing drunken phone call. When you’re younger, you say cute things like “let’s go steady” or swap rings or letter jackets (or whatever those whippersnappers do these days – tattoos? Swapping body piercings?). As an adult, coupledom becomes “let’s be monogamous” or “you aren’t seeing anyone else, are you?” or “honey, why is there a uhaul in my driveway?”. Of course, as a teenager the ultimate experience is sex, and as an adult it’s marriage (or whatever version of a long term partnership you prefer or have available).

Ah, I lost the plot here obviously.

What’s a good date for Eliza? There are three kinds. There is the “Eliza is a fairy tale princess” date – early light dinner, opera (I really do like it, honestly) or symphony (ditto), and then a late drink. And there is the casual date “Eliza wearing shorts in the woods hiking with her dogs and having a picnic with her new friend”. Lastly, there’s the “let’s go somewhere” date. Like…let’s pack and head off to the beach just for a day. That’s the way to my heart! A six pack of Corona, a pound of peel and eat, and a beachtowel!

So what do YOU think?

Stealing a Page

From Bella's blog on the AJC...I want to ask a question (well, several, actually).

Ok, so you meet someone and you are so in lllluuuuuvvvv that you pop the question after three weeks of dating.

Wow. Three weeks. Normal people are at this point deciding if there will indeed be week number four. Women are trying to figure out if they should start taking a toothbrush with them when they leave the house (in some desperate cases we even pack toothpaste...cause ya just never know). Men have checked and rechecked their ever present package of condoms...just to make sure they haven't expired, or gone missing, or been eaten by the sock monster. Or the man or the woman is contemplating how to deliver the "it's not you it's me" message. Either way, three weeks is waaaayyy early in a relationship for such a life altering decision.

I suppose it's like....couples under 22 getting married. On one hand, you grow up together. On the other hand, you HAVE to grow up. It can be great, you know, if you age with someone...you end up knowing them really really well. Or it can suck, if one person grows up while the other remains mired in late adolescence. I've seen both sides of the coin...you know, the super happy 80 year old couple who married at age 17, or the bitterly unhappy couple entering their late fifties whose actions towards each other are so horrible you feel like handing them the business card of a local divorce lawyer? Those guys.

Anyway....so...what do you think happens to the couple who gets engaged at week three of the relationship? Out of relationship milestones...that's usually the SOGOTP moment, not the "you fill up my senses like a night in the forest will you marry me" moment?

And just because this is me today:

What do you call a woman with pms and esp?

The bitch who knows everything.