Finding center and strength

I have been blessed with a life in which those I love are always close. My parents are still married to each other. Throughout my childhood, they were both there at every special occasion. I was never that child who had to shuttle back and forth on the holidays or who felt alone as I looked out at a school play or dance performance or graduation. I have been surrounded by a large extended family. I have grown up surrounded by that mantle of security, knowing that, in this world, I am not alone.

I realized this year that I have never experienced a Christmas where someone was missing. When I was a child, I and my sister and my parents were always there. As a young adult, I went home for Christmas or spent it with extended family. When I was married and had children, we were always all together at Christmas. And even after my divorce, which was a long time coming, Christmases were complete, with my children always there along with, oftentimes, my parents. I have never known that hole in my heart when I look around at the holiday festivities and know that someone I love is not there ... until this year. It doesn't really matter why--circumstances or choices, deployment or delayed flights--that bring-you-to-your-knees, yawning emptiness that so many people feel every year was a new experience for me.

He assured me that we would all be together next year. He told me to focus on the kids, to find comfort in their joy. And I did that. I donned my Santa hat and listened to music and wrapped presents. I cleaned house like a mad woman. I took pictures of the mounds of paper and ribbon and a friend took pictures of me. I documented the whole thing on film so I can share it with him. I cried once, early on Christmas Eve, and refused to cry again. He wouldn't want me to be sad. I was proud of myself for holding it together. I thought that he would have been proud of me too. I had a good Christmas, despite his absence. I surrounded myself with my children and my parents and my sister's family and I found center and strength in that security that has been a baseline in my life since I drew my first breath. Without it, I'm not sure I would have been able to cope half as well.

So I sign off tonight on a day that was a first for me, that showed me that perhaps I am stronger than I thought. Tonight I feel thankful for the foundation that my family gives me. I feel thankful for strength he and I find in each other and ourselves. I feel hopeful that this will be the last year that either of us know anything other than the completeness of being with all of the people we love on Christmas.

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Damn, my kid rocks

My middle child, commenting on the Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus phenomenon:
"Her father raised someone even more annoying than he is."

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Climbing the ladder

An acquaintance on Facebook wrote the other day about, among other things, how she is enduring her boyfriend's deployment to Iraq. She likened it to a ladder, with his departure being the bottom rung and his return the top. In between, each major event in her life--holidays, big work assignments, his leave--were another rung. And she noted that the best way to make it to the top was not to keep her eyes on the top of the ladder, but rather to focus simply on the next rung up.

I think her words show great wisdom and I hope to work harder to adopt that mentality in my own life. I always have believed that as long as I have a target in sight, a light at the end of the tunnel, that I can endure almost any hardship. I have always been confused and troubled when, even though I have that target, I continue to feel stress along the way, that having that focal point is still not enough to calm my anxiety, that the obvious progress brought by the simple passage of time does not reassure me.

I have been focusing on the top of the ladder. And at times in my life when the ladder is a tall one, that's often enough to make me dizzy and nearly fall off. I think, perhaps, that the wisest thing lies in finding the courage to take your eyes off that beautiful light, that shining reward at the end of the tunnel, or top of the ladder, pick your metaphor. If you can simply lower your eyes to the next task, the next hurdle, the next joyous occasion or the next milestone, then perhaps you might look up and realize the top of the ladder is right in front of you.

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The herd has been culled

Overheard in regards to dating in your 30s:

"It's like going through the reduced-for-quick-sale meat bin and all that's left is cow tongue. It tastes OK if you can get past those funny little bumps on the surface."

Followed by: "I must be cow tongue too. I'm what's left. Dammit!"

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Giant meat

Holy carp! I just bought 17 pounds of ham. 'Nuff said.

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It's my fault, I just know it

I didn't grow up in the ___________ (pick your religion) church. I didn't do it. I didn't cause it to happen. I didn't even wish it to happen. Why do I feel guilty about it, then? My mother is Catholic. Can guilt be carried in your DNA?

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1+1=357

I just don't understand how other people think, I guess. Today someone said something to me that was so far outside the realm of logical that I was nearly left speechless. I suppose it would be more accurate to say this person reacted to something I said in a such a way to paralyze my vocal abilities, actually. Let me grasp for an appropriate parallel to protect the innocent.

Say, for example, I have a favorite food, some exotic type of food that most people have never gotten the chance to try. I cook this fabulous food for you, because I want you to get a chance to try this food. I think you will like the food. You try the food. You like the food. The next time I talk to you, you tell me that you liked the food so much you got the ingredients and made some at home for yourself.

My response? Is it, "Great. I am glad you liked it so much." Nope. Instead, I am obviously bothered and say, "Wow, I am surprised that you would make it without me."

What the ...? I think I have stepped into a parallel universe where one plus one equals something ... else.

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The cure

Something about strapping a couple of sticks of fiberglass to my feet and heading into the woods for an hour does wonders for the psyche. Skiing as Prozac. Maybe so. This is the beginning of one of my favorite sections of trail. Bad cell phone picture. Maybe I'll shoot some nicer ones tomorrow. Today, the snow was fresh enough to make skiing almost noiseless and warm enough to make it nearly effortless. I know I'll never be able to live in the big city. Without the quiet of a day so still that the branches still hold more than an inch of fresh snow, I think I might simply blink out.

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A moment of clarity?

This from a teen I know, if I recall, as an explanation for some truly irritating behavior:

"I can't change the fact that I have my head up my ass most of the time."

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Past blast

I just went to a hockey game in an arena I haven't been in since high school. Talk about flashback. I remember countless Friday and Saturday nights spent meandering aimlessly around in circles with my friends. I don't recall much about the hockey games. It was much more an exercise in flirting with the herds of guys and finding out where the good parties were that night. Life was simpler then. I just didn't know it at the time.

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We're not gonna

I can't believe it. Stevens is leading. I don't know what to say. Does anyone else know whether another state has elected a recently convicted felon?

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Stevens convicted

Just moved across the Anchorage Daily News alerts:
Jury finds Stevens guilty of lying about gifts

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A few trust issues?

"If I'm drowning in two feet of water, I don't know whether the rope that's thrown at me will be one that pulls me out or pulls me under."

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Back in track

Hallelujah! Two snows and several inches means they were able to roll the trails. It was ski swap at 10 a.m., errands all day and then five miles on my favorite loop. I can feel my stress levels diminishing already. No track yet, but it still felt great to be back in my ski boots, listening to the sound of my poles squeak in the snow. I even saw a fox on the back side of the hill. It peeked over its shoulder at me before bounding off into the bushes. A few strands of bushes and grass still poked through the snow, but it wasn't enough to cause any real problems. I don't seem to have lost any time over the summer. Mind you, I am slow as all get out anyway, but even without track, I was able to complete the loop in an hour. With track, I suspect it'll come down to 45-50 minutes.

Task one: Teach my walking buddy to ski. She has one rather bad experience with skiing. Still, she bought a passable set of skis at ski swap and is ready to give it a shot.

Task two: Teach the man to ski. He's much more fond of downhill, so this will be tame to him. There's also a distinct possibility that he already knows how to cross-country ski and is just screwing with me because apparently it is hilarious when I explain things to other people. Strike teaching. Maybe I'll steal his poles and shove him in a snowbank.

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Throwing the life ring

What do you do when someone you love is drowning in the life they have created for themselves? What do you do when you watch them, day in and day out, struggle and gasp, barely staying above the waterline and growing weaker by the second?

People make bad choices, I understand that. Many times, when we find ourselves drowning, it is because of those bad choices. I also understand the value of learning from those choices, of finding a way to solve your own problems. Still, it's hard to be the one on the shore, watching, when the solutions are so obvious, it's akin to wanting to shout, "Stand up, dammit! The water's only four feet deep."

At what point do you finally accept that the one you love simply will not put their feet down and wade out and haul them out of the water, despite the fact that they are so panicked that they might just try to drown you in the process? Walking away simply isn't an option, is it, if you truly love someone?

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Me-0, hose clamp-1

I think a little piece of me now lives in the basement next to the water pump. I mean that quite literally. I suspect a piece of what's left of my knuckle is now spending quality time with the hose clamp on the well hose. The damn water filter housing was being a bit more stubborn than usual, and I reefed on it a little harder than usual. 'Twas the perfect storm of force, resulting in me saying "fuck" a lot when I looked down and glimpsed the white of my knuckle bone. Enter teenage son, who helps me put the filter back together so that I can turn the water back on and stand sobbing hysterically over the bathroom sink, fighting nausea as I unsuccessfully try to sluice god-knows-what out of the ragged wound, all the while thinking, "This is utter bullshit. Why the hell wasn't Prince Charming down in the basement fixing the water? And where the hell is that guy anyway?"

Screw fairy tales. Screw hose clamps. Stupid stainless steel bastards. Long live narcotic painkillers.

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Matrimonial moments

Overheard: "F--K! I have a month until I get married. Do I have everything?"

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Oh, to be weak

I was in the midst of yet another home improvement crisis that I did not know how to handle and was declaring that I felt incredibly weak. And he said to me, "It's OK to feel weak, you're a girl." Now before you go bashing him as a thoroughly unenlightened clod, I assure you, he is not.

All that said, however, the truth is that when you are single, a mother and a homeowner, it really isn't OK to be weak. It's not a luxury afforded those of us who waded into the shallow end of the gene pool. There is no moral support. There is no shoulder to lean on. There is no financial support. There is no room for weakness. You are the mother and the father and the cook and the electrician and the laundress and the plumber and the mechanic and the nurse. You are the nurturer and the disciplinarian. You must keep a job and keep the house. When all goes to hell in a handbasket, guess who has to deal with it? Bingo! You. Don't waste your time looking for someone else to step up and do it for you, 'cause honey, there ain't nobody there.

It's the thing they don't tell you about single parenthood. It sucks, and it sucks at least half of the time. It's lucky that most have so little time, they don't notice how much it sucks. But make no mistake, weakness is not an option available to us. You stumble, and the fall can be catastrophic and impossible to recover from.

It is no mystery to me why so many single parents seek to get remarried as soon as they can, even if the relationship is less than perfect or the odds say it won't succeed. I can almost taste the sweetness of those six words, "Honey, you take care of that."

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Meh

Not sure what the heck is up. Maybe it's the change in seasons. Maybe it's the mountains of things I never did or got to do this summer. Maybe I'm just tired. Whatever it is, I have been struck with a terrible case of indifference as of late. I'm a country song. My give a damn's busted.

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Sometimes it actually works

Apparently, an Internet slide show, a screwdriver and a cheapo socket set really are enough to qualify me as an appliance repairwoman. Go figure.

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Praying to the porcelain

In this case, it was porcelain on steel, in the form of my immobile washing machine tub. You see, normally, they fill with warm water and do useful things like agitate, spin and drain. Mine? Not so much. I was clued into the problem when I tried to push down the lid switch and parts of it started falling off. This is bad because without the lid switch, there will be no agitating of the clothes, no spinning of the clothes and no draining of the water. None. Nada. So, I was left crying and swearing last night at the foot of my full-of-clothes-and-water washing machine--now reduced to little more than a bloated paperweight with the potential for serious swamp syndrome--wondering why the hell things have to be so bloody difficult 99 percent of the time.

Tonight I'll use my considerable appliance repair expertise, gleaned from a slideshow on some fix-it site online, to tear apart the damn thing and put a new switch in. Oh yeah, this ought to be interesting. I wonder how hard you have to pitch a screwdriver to get it to stick like a dart in a sheetrock wall?

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Put a rock on my ...

I came home from work today and was greeted by a lovely sight. That's right: a whole dump truck load of D-1 nicely spread the length of my driveway. If I ever doubted his devotion, those doubts are long gone. Keep the chocolates, honey. You wanna show me you love me? Bring me a nice blend of rock and fines, you know, the good stuff that packs down really hard.

Now that's true love, baby.

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Got wood?

Oh stop. Not that kind. My friend and I spent the day loading up two pickups with firewood for the winter. I suspect we will both pay dearly in the morning, but we were quite proud of ourselves for our efforts. We did really well at pretending that we knew what we were doing. Alas, we were so hard at work that we did not take the time to document our in-the-field efforts, but is suffices to say that we discovered that cutting notches in trees actually works, as does gravity, and that when you push really hard on a tree, it seems to fall away from you, which is a good thing, because there were a lot of rose bushes and roots on our "oh-carp-the-tree-is-falling-toward-us" escape path. Oh yeah, and I didn't cut anything but wood with the chainsaw, which is always the marker of a successful adventure with power tools. Yep. We are certified. Rugged Alaska divas. Training complete. No boys allowed (though the diva in both of us probably wouldn't argue too terribly hard if said boys were to say, "Honey, it's OK, you go shopping, we'll cut the wood.") But we'd probably go to Home Depot.



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Flabbergasted

Nearly 60,000 people in my state primary elections yesterday voted for a longtime senator who happens to be under federal indictment. His trial will take place during the general election campaign. I really have to wonder: Why is that OK with people?

This guy has been caught up in the same net that has sent several state legislators packing on a rail, the public howling in indignation, even before they were convicted of anything.

Is it fear? Yes, the guy brings a lot of cash to the state, but really, who's to say our next senator won't be just as effective, or even more so. And rest assured, frightened sheeple, there will be a "next senator." Nobody lives forever. Like all of us, our senior senator will eventually succumb to time and then someone new will take his place.

Is the electorate taking the "innocent unless proven guilty" high road? I doubt it, as masses of human beings rarely seem to take the high road on anything. That said, certainly that facet of our justice system is an admirable one. Here's the thing, though: Being innocent and entitled to your liberty, prior to conviction, is one thing. Nobody is entitled to be an elected official. That happens with the consent of the people. That is a privilege. And I fail to see the wisdom in choosing to be represented by someone who, at the very least, has lost a great deal of credibility.

Best case scenario: He's acquitted and serves the remainder of his term with a cloud of doubt over his head.

Worst: He's elected. He's convicted. And the people gave away their right to choose someone to replace him. (Yes, there will always be the next election, but the power of incumbency, even after an appointment, is not to be dismissed.)

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Whatever shall we do?

Overheard:

Woman 1: "If Parnell wins, who's going to be our light gov?"

Woman 2: "Maybe they can have Don Young."

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O Canada!

So, how many of you out there will be moving to Canada if our wise electorate decides to send our esteemed--and under federal indictment--senior senator back to Washington. C'mon, don't be shy.

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Old habits

I can't help myself. It's 7:55 p.m. The polls close in five. And I've already got the Division of Elections results page up in the other tab.

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Noooooooo

I couldn't believe my ears this morning, at least until I looked out my office window and saw the perfect vee of geese flying overhead. I guess that shiver as I stepped outside today wasn't my imagination.

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Need some assistance with that?

This from the Fail Blog:



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I'm in a committed ...

“Sometimes you meet somebody and you have what is known as a ‘relationship,’ and things can go great and if it goes great then you have a great ‘relationship.' Sometimes it doesn’t go so great and I call that a ‘relationshit.’”
--Dane Cook

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Doh! Doh! Doh!

Somebody call the design police. I had someone tell me that they decided they liked the trapped white space in a particular page design. *banging head against wall* My designer soul is shriveling, dying and suffering as it expires.

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Big bang

Ever feel like you want to toss a grenade into life and just cross your fingers that the shrapnel will fall where it should? As of late, things have felt a bit ... directionless.

Work seems pretty meaningless, full of endless meetings and discussions and lists and plans about, well, nothing, really.

I am not exactly fighting with my significant other, but things are certainly strained, but really for no reason other than the world is a pain in the ass, circumstances are a bitch and we are taking it out on each other. We like each other, the world just doesn't seem to like us much lately. So again, misery over ... nothing.

The list of things I really ought to get completely is so large and undoable that I am unable to tackle even the smallest thing, hence NOTHING happens.

Hell, time to blow it all up. It can't get any worse than nothing.

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Flipped out

It only takes four hours, once a year, along with dozens of pretzels with cheese, cases of soda, hundreds of meat patties and hordes of hot dogs to remind me why I got a college degree. That's right folks, it's alumni burger booth time. Now don't get me wrong, it's a blast, but by the end, my brain is mush and so are my feet. I can't fathom doing it 40 hours a week for $8 an hour.

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Solitary hand-wringing meeting

It's midnight.
He's where the flooding is.
I am at home.
I am awake.
I hope he is sleeping and not on his 16th hour of running gravel to repair the flood damage.
I suspect the latter is true.
I hope he is being careful.

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Awash

The world around me is a perfect metaphor for life this week. You see, the sky really has been falling here in my neck of the woods, so much so that the rivers are over their banks in many places and lapping dangerously close in others. My basement is flooding right now. Thanks to a little pump, it's not doing any damage. The tiny motor and several yards of black hose seems to bail fast enough to keep the waters at bay. I am one of the lucky ones. I have a friend whose vehicle is nearly submerged. The floodwaters are inches from the deck of her house on stilts.

A friend and I took off in my truck the other day to take a peek at the area rivers. We settled on a dike that pokes out into one of largest area rivers. And we watched the muddy water swirl angrily past, churning up the trees and sticks and other pieces of the world it had devoured on its breakneck journey downstream. This wasn't a clear, rushing rapid. It was ugly and savage, beautiful and frightening. It made my heart quicken as I watched.

There are times, when life makes one feel like a tree on one of those eroding riverbanks, struggling to hang on and avoid being swept away in the savage waters. There are times when all of those normal demands and disappointments that come in life somehow swell. Alone, they are just runoff rushing down the mountains. Get them together and they become a beast that rips you from what roots you, beats you silly and deposits you, bewildered and bruised, on some sandbar 500 miles away. And even once the flood subsides, it can sometimes be nigh impossible to feel rooted again.

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Indictment

Never thought I'd see the day, but Reuters just moved an alert "Senator Ted Stevens of Alaska Reportedly Indicted."

Wow.

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Nobody loves me like me

Conversation at the bar:

Man: It's getting late, I think I'll head home and not get laid.
Man's friend: I wish you luck with that.
Man: I think I can pull it off.
Man's friend: Don't pull it off!

Just to ease your mind, I have been assured that it is still, indeed, attached.

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What IS that?

OK, I'll offer my eternal gratitude to the person who can tell me what the hell that little doohickey is on the upper right hand section of Ted Stevens' campaign logo. Is it a flag? Is it a bird? Is it a globe? Maybe it's just a bastardization of the Banner Health logo.

I don't know what the heck it is, but should go on some wall of shame somewhere for failed graphic design. Unless, perhaps, they were going for the "WTF?" effect: "WTF is that? They must be so brilliant that my simple mind cannot wrap itself around the glory that is Ted. Maybe I should vote for him. Oh yes, I should."

Errr... Yeah, that must be it.

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A religious experience in the cheese aisle

A friend of mine, who really needs to blog, had a rather profound epiphany in the cheese aisle of the local grocery store the other day.

Now, apparently, she was innocently doing her shopping and passed safely by this guy, who was wearing a helmet and passing out bible fliers in a rather vigorous way. She watched this guy stop someone else and hand them one of those great leaflets, you know, the kind with dancing devils or some equally devilish sort rubbing his hands in glee as he leads someone down the path to eternal damnation. The man asked passers-by, in a very loud voice, whether they had accepted Je-sus as their personal savior.

My friend was about to roll her eyes, when that little voice inside her, you know the one we all have that often sounds like our mothers, said, "Come on, give the man a break. He probably truly believes he is ministering to the masses, doing the right thing, walking in the path of Jesus."

Then, like a beam of light from heaven, it struck her. That annoying guy probably was following in the path of Jesus. And if that is true, then ... Oh my God, Jesus was annoying. Jesus was one of those guys handing out Bible tracts in front of the grocery store. He was the guy who gives trick-or-treaters little pamphlets about the evils of Halloween, along with their candy. People probably rolled their eyes at him all the time. They probably pretended they weren't home when he knocked on their doors and went out of their way to avoid him in the open-air market. And you know, that's actually a pretty heartening thought, whether you believe the whole son-of-god thing or not. If I were to going to believe in a deity, I'd certainly like him or her to be just like the rest of us, which includes being annoying as hell sometimes.

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How to get sent to a class

Acronyms have gotten out of control. I offer this from a professional development flier about how to cultivate good listening skills:

"CARESS to Listen Effectively"

In this case, "CARESS" stands for concentrate, acknowledge, research, exercise emotional control, sense the nonverbal message and structure.

But really, if you start caressing your officemates and telling them that you are just trying to listen to them more effectively, you are more likely to get sent to those classes where they try to make it very clear that you are NOT supposed to caress, grope, grab, stroke or otherwise invade the intimate space of your colleagues. I wonder how the HR folks would take it if you tried the "but this pamphlet TOLD me to caress people" tactic.

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Directionless signage

It's really important, when you are having events, to make sure that you have signs telling people where to go. Doing so helps eliminate confusion and makes the event a more enjoyable and meaningful experience for all involved.

But ...

It's waaay more fun to put up signs that cause those puzzled expressions while people ponder that universal question: Where am I? A sure way to ensure your event has lots of this merriment is to post conflicting signs on every building. In doing so, you are guaranteed hours and hours of by-yourself enjoyment as you stand in a corner and observe the bafflement.

Ah, good times.




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First random caps, now this

I'm pretty sure the apocalypse is upon us, folks. Apparently a mutation among those in the population who favor the serial comma has caused a rapidly spreading epidemic of comma usage. These are dark days, indeed.

Commas, Turning Up, Everywhere
From The Onion

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Makin' whoopie

I like to bake, but sometimes even I get carried away. My friend and the basketball team he coaches were heading down the highway this weekend for the state Special Olympics summer games and I decided that a road trip isn't complete without provisions. In this case, "provisions" meant whoopie pies, a heavenly concoction of cakey, frosted goodness. So, 24 cups of flour, several pounds of butter and two nights of baking until midnight later, we had the following:



That's right, friends, two full fridge shelves of whoopie heaven. Alas, I was only able to stuff about two or three dozen, give or take a few, into the cooler I sent on the bus (whoopie pies like to be cold) so I was left to distribute the rest to the office and the neighborhood kids. Meanwhile, the local basketball team must've had a seriously nauseated coach, as apparently he took it upon himself to consume six of the things in a single day. The man deserves a medal for that, alone.

For those of you who want to try making these, here are the links for them:

Chocolate whoopie pies

Lemon whoopie pies

Pumpkin whoopie pies

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Sauce ain’t all that

A while back, I was visiting my niece and nephew and they had a bit of an argument that is a perfect analogy to so many things in life. They were making lunch for themselves, leftover spaghetti. My sister and I were sitting outside and my nephew came out crying, “Sister took all the noodles and is only giving me sauce.”

Of course, my sister called her daughter outside to see what was going on. My niece, a very expressive and intelligent child, crossed her arms, sighed and rolled her eyes and said, “I am really hungry. I want all the noodles. I don’t see what he is complaining about. I gave him sauce. Why can’t he just be happy that he gets something?”

In children, such behavior is age-appropriate. Problem is, a lot of adults seem to be that way too.

I am blessed or cursed with the tendency to speak my mind. When something sucks, I’m usually pretty vocal about pointing it out, a la “umm, there are no noodles in this spaghetti.” This tendency seems to earn me, in certain circumstances, the label of negativity. I find this irritating, given I am often pointing out something as obvious as “gravity exists on Earth.” Folks, eating sauce alone won’t kill you. But that doesn’t make it wonderful. It doesn’t make it satisfying. It just sucks.

And in case you were wondering, my nephew got some noodles, in the end.

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You could call it a holiday

Apparently, my employer's timesheet code for a personal holiday is "420." Could this possibly be a coincidence?

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Economic angst

"If the Fed cuts the interest rate again, I'll be glad I have that 21 pounds of hamburger."

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Who needs spam when you have medical pamphlets?

What can I say? We have T&A and a title that sounds like amateur porn. We have a vaguely blow-up-doll-esque mouth opening wide for the "rocket." I don't even have to try here. The only thing missing is a scantily clad pilot with a spandex uniform that's cut just a little too low to be practical.

Folks, this is the reason why you want your copy editors to have their minds in the gutter. People like me walk into places and see pamphlets like this and are forced to take pictures of them and post them on blogs.

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Collective IQ of 80

Hmmm. Let me see. This was in my inbox at work. Do you think I should click on the attachment? Hmmm. I just don't know what to do.

"Dear user,

We have received reports that your email account has been used to send a huge amount of spam messages during this week.
Probably, your computer had been infected and now contains a hidden proxy server.

We recommend you to follow our instruction in order to keep your computer safe.

Sincerely yours,
The egroups.com team.

document.scr"

Who writes these things? And who is dense enough to actually open something written this poorly?

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Post-travel woes

Overheard:
"I've got to go to the grocery store. I'm out of Alaska Airlines pretzels."

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Facebook wisdom

Borrowing from a friend here, because I have to acknowledge a kindred spirit who comes up with an explanation that pegs me so succinctly.

"(Your name here) will overthink things, ruin them and overthink that too."

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Spam o'the day

Because I care, I offer an assortment of the best spam subject lines of the day:

Change from dagger to BROADSWORD!
Capitalizing things make them seem more manly.


Why do you fall so weak and slow?
Because falling strong and fast hurts too much?

Yank off her skirt!
Get a high heel in your nether regions! This is why you should never take advice from your spam box.

15 Ways to act Longer in bed!
10 ways to act in bed longer
Note that they only promise you will act longer. Or that you will act in bed. Buyer beware. What if you're a bad actor? Perhaps they are offering acting lessons?

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How to get ahead

I've decided I need to work on being more clueless and ignorant so someone will let me be in charge of something.

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We'd better come up with some edgy punctuation

Me: Why would they hyphenate "spice up?"
Friend: Because they wanted to put quotes around it but it didn't feel right.

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Monday morning mantra

rocking back and forth
"Homocide's against the law. Homocide's against the law."

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Hirsute creature spotted in bulkhead row

This image was captured by a passenger on an American Airlines flight flying from the East Coast. Scientists are unable to identify the creature, but eyewitnesses describe it as unusually pale in complexion with what appears to be makeup applied with a trowel. Its hair was estimated at roughly four times the width of its head, and extended in equal directions up and back from the cranium. Eyewitnesses guess that perhaps the creature hailed somewhere from the West Coast, perhaps the Los Angeles area. One passenger claimed to have seen three small children emerge from its hair and proceed to the rear of the airplane. The same passenger also surmised that the creature likely had an assortment of luncheon items hidden in the coiffure. Neither claim can be evaluated for veracity.

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Somebody find me a Payless

So, I'm in an unnamed East Coast city, staying in a part of the city that one brochure referred to as "The Rodeo Drive of the East." Needless to say, it's a bit hard for this chainsaw-hefting, pickup-driving Alaska diva to blend in. And I have to say, the whole shopping this is more than a little disturbing.

Pretentious doesn't even begin to touch the two nearby malls. Most of the stores are what I would call understocked. That means they are very brightly lit, staffed by snooty-looking women and adorned with wall-sized images of emaciated women sucking in their cheeks so they look even more skeletal than they are. And that's about it. If you look really, really close, you'll spot the merchandise hidden among the mirrored shelves and techno mannequins. By merchandise, I mean 12 purses, four pairs of shoes and 10 shirts. Oh, and did I mention that the price tag on those four pairs of shoes would feed a family in Guatemala for three years, at least?

I want to shop. I am a diva, after all. But, damn, this place is like some sort of museum of modern pretention. I need to get on a subway, stat.

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He was a little too ostentatious to be a spy

This just in from one of my workshops today:

The Central Intelligence Agency, fondly known as the CIA, apparently has a person who serves a very vital role to the safety and security of our American way of life. Folks, I feel so much better knowing that the CIA's entertainment liaison is on the job.

Yep. You read that correctly. The spooks are advising the kooks. Woo Hoo!

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Ummm, is this wise?

I'm sitting in the Seattle airport putting the finishing touches on my homework and getting ready to send it to my professor. The thing is, half the assignment involves an article on suicide bombers. And it does give me a bit of pause that I am Googling "suicide bombers" in an airport. Wonder if the TSA is going to come get me. Hope not.

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Waiting for the other shoe...

In both my personal and professional life, as of late, I have come across situations where I begin to glimpse at least a temporary light at the end of the tunnel. When I first realize it is there, I am, of course, happy and excited at the prospect of something positive in the near future. Shortly thereafter, the nerves set in, and I find myself more-than-slightly stressed at yet another prospect: that somehow, something will come along and muck up the entire thing, that all of the sudden, that light will disappear.

I have heard others voice similar concerns. But some folks just seem to be able to look optimistically into the future and not become distracted by the "what-ifs." And at times, I really wish I were more like them. Instead, I am afflicted with a terrible case of cynicism and an outlook that is akin to "I'll believe it when I see it."

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I'm a schoolgirl again

Braid my hair and find me some knee socks and a plaid skirt, 'cause I'm officially a student. I have a textbook. I have a notebook. I have homework. I proclaimed all of these things to my kids when I got home yesterday, and they just rolled their eyes. Killjoys!

I'll have to be careful that I don't get carried away with this whole thing, though. I'm learning how to properly do social science research. Aside from the frameworks of the thing, scientific method and such, it appears the basic premise involves spending a great deal of time peering at people and things. And that, folks, is always big fun, especially for a people-watcher like me. As a journalist, I got paid to be nosy and then write about it. Near as I can tell, this whole research gig is about the same thing:

Man on bus: Lady, why the heck are you staring at me and scribbling in that notebook?
Me: (all official sounding) Do not worry, sir. It's for science.

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Germophobe's nightmare

So, if bacteria, by their nature, multiply very quickly, and antibacterial cleaners kill 99.99 percent of bacteria, I have to wonder: What's the point? That .01 percent of bacteria will just multiply again and we'll all be back to our creepy-crawly baseline in no time. C'mon folks, find me a disinfectant, aside from napalm and a match, that'll kill 100 percent and then maybe I'll be impressed. Touting 99.99 percent is just pointless.

I'm just sayin'.

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WOW! THIS IS EXCITING!

I know the message in my e-mail inbox is exciting because the person tells me, in the very first sentence that it is exciting. I also know it is exciting because the entire rest of the message is in
LARGE, BOLD, ALL CAPS.
That or this person is really, really irritated with me. Hmm ...

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Close eyes, plug nose, jump

I am either highly motivated or completely out of my mind. Seems I have talked myself into signing up for the first class in a master's program. Let's see:

High-stress job that pays the bills and little else?
Check

Three kids at home?
Check

Deadbeat ex who hasn't worked in years and who thinks child support is something you do to keep them from falling over?
Check

Voluteer board work that can sometimes be a giant sucking sound?
Check

Neglected friendships?
Check

Well, hell, I suppose I ought to add a little coursework to the mix.

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New heights of high maintenance

Man: I'm heading home from work now after a long, long day.
Woman: I didn't feel like driving today. Come pick me up and run me on my errands.
Man: Yes, dear.

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If you've gotta end it ...

I have two very dear friends who have been in a serious relationship for several years now. They recently decided, mutually, to end the romantic side of their relationship. Apparently, they are both fine with it, which is really my chief concern. However, I have to say that their manner of calling it ranks up there in the top 10 best of all time and proves, once and for all, that they are two of the most awesome people on Earth.

Some people break up over the phone.
Some people break up in a fancy restaurant.
And some, well, they go to New Zealand and break up in the shadow of Mount Doom. "...only there can it be unmade."

Perhaps I should have said that they are the most awesome people in Middle Earth.

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Rugged Alaska woman-in-training

After inches and inches of snow last week, my skiing partner and I had only one thought on our minds: Time for the first crack at the longer trails. 'Course, things are a bit different this year, namely that said partner now has a tiny baby. The solution? Strap her in the backpack, clip the boots in the bindings and shove off. Nearly four miles and only a single butt plant later, the little one had survived some cold toes and was well entrenched in learning what it takes to be a true Alaska girl. And Mom? She officially earned the right to call herself "The Machine."

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Darwinian destiny

The story: A woman looks outside the house on a snowy morning as she prepares to step into her SUV and go to work. It snowed six inches the night before. What does she do? Does she put it in four-wheel-drive and punch it? Does she grab a snow shovel? Does she call a plow company? Nope. She cries. And cries and cries and calls her spouse in the middle of his work day, sobbing, to come save her.

Astute observation: In nature, there is something called survival of the fittest. It's a good thing some of us are human beings and not gazelles.

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Preschool politico

A friend's 3-year-old son was listening to candidate Clinton speak on the radio after losing in Iowa. At the moment she started to sniffle, he burst into song:

"I want you to want me.
I need you to need me.
I'd love you to love me.
I beg you to beg me.
Didn't I, didn't I, didn't I ... see you cryin'?"

Kid has a future in campaign management. I think that's much more apropos than any other campaign theme song I have ever heard.

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My confession

Yes, folks, it's true. Up until just about a week ago, I was still *sob* on dial-up. I am working through the steps to reform and concentrating on those green, blinking lights on my new cable modem.

What? You were looking for something more sordid?

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