Random Flickr Blogging: IMG_8485

Do not cross the streams

Women's Hockey

Lazyass Hockey

Sanity regained

Well, last week was interesting, wasn't it? For me, I did two things I've never done before: made a transexual joke, and announced my intention to leave a website. I'm mortified by both.

The first one...well, I think anyone involved is probably tired of the subject, so I'll move on to the second one. I always rolled my eyes when I read a post or comment by someone saying their farewells over some slight or other. I vowed that if I ever felt I wanted to leave a site, I would just leave; no good-byes. I always thought people posted their goodbye in the hope that other posters would urge them to stay. But that wasn't in my head on Friday.

And my mortification increased as people urged me to stay. I think I was just feeling particularly vulnerable on Friday, I'm not sure why. I'll blame George W. Bush, just because. So if you are a regular Shakespeare's Sister reader, and you see my name pop up in the comments, please don't make a big deal out of it. I was silly to say I would leave, because I couldn't leave, and I don't want to leave.

So let's just say everything is back to normal.


I suck

I just don't think there's anything else I need to say.'

No, I guess there is.

I feel like absolute shit for my stupid Ann Coulter comment over at Shakespeare's Sister yesterday. I was a little taken aback by the reaction, because pretty much as soon as I hit Post I apologized, but I still got reamed. As did the people who defended me. But I understand why people are upset. I made other people feel bad, and I feel bad, and I'm just going to take a break for a while.


Weekend Plans

This weekend, I'm getting together with my dear friend Leslie, and we are going to work on a book based on a card game she created to help kids learn how to organize. I agreed to help, if only for the delicious irony of having my name on a book about organizing. In addition, I'm taking my niece to the casino to see the women's basketball team, The Sun, play. (Thanks to Fridge and Toast)

Saturday afternoon, the whole clan is going to the Greater Hartford Irish Music Festival at the Irish American Home Society (where I spent every Sunday of my childhood - Sundays meant Mass (zzzzz), tablespoon of cod liver oil (ewwwww), the Colchester bakery (rye bread, hard rolls, maybe doughnuts), big Irish breakfast (Irish sausage, blood pudding, eggs, heart attack optional), and then the IAHS, or as we called it, The Club) in Glastonbury, CT. We go pretty much every year, and this year, I'm looking forward to it not just for the music, but because Ned Lamont is going to be there. I'm sure a great many people who look vaguely familiar will stop me to ask if I'm Billy Howley's daughter, and I will have to try and remember who they are, since they've known me since I was a baby.

And Sunday, I have nothing planned.


I'm looking forward to this movie

It's slightly disconcerting when someone not only outweirds your weird childhood, but seems to handle all the resulting mental trauma better than you do. And when I say better, I mean in a way that helps them make money and become a famous, best-selling author. Yes, I didn't become an alcoholic. But being an alcoholic while still maintaining a financially rewarding career is much more glamorous, or at least socially acceptable, than self-sabotaging any forward progress you make in your life by getting pregnant unexpectedly, and then spending your nights raiding the cabinet for Little Debbie Snack Cakes*.

All my resentment aside, I love Augusten Burroughs. I love that he is totally upfront about his worst qualities - his selfishness, self-centeredness, materialism...all qualities that I share, although I do try to squelch them.

His first book is being made into a movie that looks excellent - Running With Scissors - click on the Film/TV link to see a preview.

*Little Debbie Snack Cakes are not actually my weapon of choice when it comes to compulsively eating something bad for me. I have eaten them, but would prefer to not, because they are gross. I'm more likely to make some homemade pudding and then eat the whole pot. Or have 3 cheeseburgers, or an entire sleeve of Ritz crackers with cheese. I'm working on the problem.

I prefer to think of myself as a fertility goddess

and not as merely fat.

Well, here's a pic of me and the Monkey at Niagara Falls. You can't really see my crowning glory, aka my hair, because it was hotter than Daniel Day-Lewis and the hair had to be put away so it would stop keeping my barely existent neck warm.

Random Flickr blogging: IMG_4416

Luckily, we were able to get the big sister breathing again after the giant baby collapsed on her.

Katelyn glanced over at her Aunt Karen's cleavage, then glanced down at her own chest. "Nothing yet," she thought, before she went back to eating her chips.

From the left, we have guy from Newsies, guy from 1982, guy from Deadwood, and unidentified guy.

Jeff looked at Aunt Karen's cleavage, then grabbed his own chest. "Thank goodness, nothing there," he thought.


I hate public restrooms

I found myself in need of a restroom while in public today, so I was forced to make a foray into the surprisingly clean bathroom of a Target store.

Men might not know this, but women are pigs when it comes to public restrooms. There is usually a lot of toilet paper on the floor, often toilets go unflushed, and today I saw a urine splattered seat in the first stall I opened. Blech.

Women either cover or hover when it comes to using a public restroom. The coverers sometimes get lucky and find the public restroom provider has some paper toilet cover seats available. But more often, they place strips of toilet paper along the seat before they sit down. Sometimes, they do not bother flushing those strips down the toilet, and so paper ends up on the floor, making a mess.

Hoverers are worse. The hoverers keep their posteriors raised over the seat lest they contract some horrible illness from allowing their delicate flesh to sit on a toilet seat. Unfortunately, hoverers are also the ones responsible for leaving behind urine splattered seats, which is why people like me have to constantly Kegel to make sure we don't have to enter a public restroom.

Ultimately, the people who are most adament about protecting their booties from bacteria are the ones who increase the likelihood that there *will* be bacteria to contact. If I could ask a favor of my fellow women's room users, it would be to clean up after yourself! Double check that everything's flushed, pick up any toilet paper you drop, and wash your hands!


quick update

Item 1: the background story for my previous post

Loki works nights, and rather than parking his car in the driveway, which is sunny, he prefers to park his car under a big tree around the corner, so it's nice and cool when he climbs into it.

A neighbor who lives near where Loki parks his car saw the car there every day, and notified the police that a car had been sitting there for a week without being moved (not true, since Loki was taking it to work every night, but the neighbor only knew he saw it every evening before he went to bed and every morning when he woke up.) So the police came by to see if it was our car, since it's registered to us. Except they came by at 11:30 p.m., and it was hot as blazes, and therefore, I was tooling around the house wearing only panties. I did answer the door when I realized it was the police (although I stayed behind the door and just peeked my head around), and we cleared everything up easily, Loki is free to park there, so there's no problem.

Item 2: why its so darn quiet around here

We had a brief but terrific vacation to Niagara Falls over the weekend. It was our first visit there, so I was surprised that NF reminded me of no place so much as Las Vegas. We went up there for the 10th anniversary of my Moms online group. I drank a lot of summer beer (can frozen lemonade, can of vodka, 8 beers - goes down very easily and sneaks up on you fast), and had a great time with some people I love.

Item 3: miscellaneous

Project Runway 2 is on - yay! It's early days yet, but so far I like the designs by Kayne, Robert, Laura, Keith & Uli, and I like Alison and Katie. The CT Senate primary is creeping up on us, and I just gave Ned Lamont another $50 because he's matching contributions. It seems more and more likely that he's going to win. Monkey is still taking antibiotics for Lyme disease, but her rash is gone and she seems to be totally fine except for some photosensitivity and occasional nausea.


There's never a good time for a cop to knock on your front door

...but I can now verify that having a cop knock on your door while you are topless is both mortifying and survivable.


Random Flickr Blogging: IMG_2816

Leslie knew she had her work cut out for her if she expected her Balloon Terrier, Blue, to make it to the National Agility Finals.

I liked Lamont

Until I saw this ad...now I love him.

Safe and mostly sound

The dog is home! He was picked up by the pound. Poor bub must have gotten caught in something, because his neck is pretty raw, but overall, he's none the worse for wear. Although he REEKS to high heaven. Two baths and a baby wipe wipedown, and he still stinks. It's not skunk, but maybe I should try tomato sauce.

I think he was fairly traumatized by his experience at the dog pound, he was pretty anxious for the first hour or so he was home. His inner Basset has taken over, though, and he's sleeping on my feet, which will now have to be soaked in lye to take the stench off of them.


Monkey's home from camp

and she brought something unexpected with her: Lyme Disease!

When we got there to pick up Monkey, the nurse notified me that she had noticed some rings on Monkey's arms, and they looked like the rash associated with Lyme Disease, erythema migrans:

When we got home, I looked up the CDC website, and I realized that the fever that got Monkey sent home overnight last week was the first symptom. And then I remembered that she had a ring around her bellybutton when she came home last Saturday, which Monkey said was because of a mosquito bite that got irritated.

I didn't want to wait until Monday to start her treatment, since the symptoms are still in very early stages, and the doctor agreed, so she started on antibiotics today, which she will take for 3 weeks. We'll take her into the office on Monday to confirm the diagnosis, but she's basically got a textbook case.

She has a slight fever, and she's complaining of achiness in her neck, but her temp has been moving downward and she can still touch her chin to her chest. Meningitis is a symptom of Lyme, so I'm monitoring her for that.

Then, to just put that bitter, rotten cherry on top of the day, I put the dog out on the line while Monkey was getting ready for bed. Unfortunately, Loki mowed the lawn earlier today so the line wasn't connected to its base, so the dog has disappeared. Monkey went to bed with tears in her eyes because she's so worried about him. I'm hoping the dope will remember us and come back. We went around the neighborhood for a while once we realized he was missing, but we couldn't find him.

I'm so hoping tomorrow is a better day.


Debate tonight

Tonight's Lamont-Lieberman debate will be carried live on C-SPAN, at 7pm EST. I'm pulling for Lieberman to be his arrogant self. I haven't seen Lamont speak in person, but when I've seen him on TV, he comes across as sincere and honest and down to earth.



Pay no attention to that woman behind the monitor.


Independence Day

I spent my Independence Day running from my personal independence by visiting the first relative I called who was home, my sister-in-law, which is fine because she's awesome. So I hung out with SIL, nieces and nephew, and got to meet the new puppy, and tried to convince the old dog that she was still my favorite (she was not convinced...she usually snuggles with me, but she wouldn't do it today.)

Some of my fellow Americans were doing fine work today, though, and you should visit them:



Toast has a Question of the Week


slowest swimmer in the east

I went to work today because I took a big chunk of vacation in February and we're going to Niagara Falls in 2 weeks so I don't have much time-off left; plus I like being in the office when no one else is there, because no one asks me to do things for them, and I can move at my own pace (which was surprisingly fast at work today - I surfed the net a little bit when the network went down, but got right back to work when it came right up.)

Our executive director called a little before lunch to let everyone know they could leave an hour before their shift ended, which for me meant I could leave at 3pm. I had already planned to go directly from work to the pool, so when I got out of work, I went to the bathroom, changed into my suit, and drove to the pool. The lap lanes were all full when I got there, but I was hot, so I swam in the general swim area of the pool, where kids play Marco Polo and teenage boys try to impress teenage girls by dunking them under the water (which, seriously? I didn't know how to swim when I was teenager, I might have pressed attempted murder charges if some horny dick tried to impress me in that manner). Not a whole lot of fun.

Finally, a lane opened up, and I did the crawl stroke out, and the backstroke back in. 100 yards. Went back out again this time doing the crawl stroke until I gasped, and then switching to the side stroke. I got out to the far end, and then I heard all the lifeguards whistles blowing.

"Out of the pool! Thunderstorm coming!" were the words I could make out.

I was as far away from the shore as one could be, I had already done 100 yards, and I'm hopelessly out of shape. And now I had to swim back with Every. Single. Person looking at me. I normally like having strangers look at me, but that's when I'm on stage and prepared. 50 yards away from shore, and I was only prepared to do a leisurely breast stroke.

I think it took me 5-7 minutes to swim in. All the while, I could see the stormclouds rolling in, and the thunder sounding closer. I could see children pointing at me, all the serious swimmers drying off, watching to see if I would need one of them to save me; the lifeguards standing there with their red spongy rescue tube things they carry around...but I made it.

Unfortunately, my humiliation was not yet over.

The place where I swim is a combination pool/lake. It's shaped sort of like a quarter of a circle - there is a 90 degree angle on the left hand side, and a curve joins the two line segments together. The curved part has a cement bottom, and is pool-like, but also has a gradual slope as you enter - sort of like a cement beach with no waves. The lap lanes are towards the angle, and there is no gradual slope - it starts with a 4 foot depth and a cement bottom, and gradually gives way to about 15-20 feet with a natural bottom.

So I get to the shore, and I try to get out of the lane...and I can't. First try: I'm too short, I can't get enough of my body out; second try: I have no upper body strength and I can't pull myself up any further; third try: my legs aren't flexible enough to reach the cement edge. So I have to then cross under 4 other lanes to go back to the general swim area, all while every single eye was watching me.

I'm just glad that no one offered to help pull me out of the pool. I would have felt like a beached whale.

Random Flickr Blogging: IMG_8883

The slippery slope

Just as the Rev. Jerry Falwell warned, Teletubby Tinky Winky has actively been recruiting other fictional characters into the homosexual lifestyle. Some people have stated that legalizing homosexuality and allowing homosexuals to appear in the public eye would lead to a slippery slope of behavior, and as we can see in the above picture, Tinky Winky has seduced Snoopy into engaging in homosexual acts. Truly, can anything be more depraved then Teletubby/animated beagle coupling?


I love YouTube

Ever want to see Dr. House rap?

Temper temper

On Wednesday, Sio had a half day off from work (camp counselor), and in the afternoon, we got my pool pass renewed and headed over to the pool to swim.

I swim at a pool that is actually a combination pond/pool. There are 50 yard lap lanes there, which is great for serious swimmers, but good for me, too, because I work harder than I would if I had short lanes. On Wednesday evening, my former swim teacher, Lori, was there. Lori is quite possible the nicest, most positive, upbeat person I've ever met in my life. 8 years ago, she was terrified to go into the water, now she's a lifeguard and swimming teacher. I just love her.

Anyway, she mentioned that she had an advanced swim class starting in about 15 minutes, and since this was my first time swimming in several months, I figured I would just go in, swim halfway down and back, and leave it at that, which is what I did. There are steps right next to the lap lanes, so I pulled out my current book (Magical Thinking by Augusten Burroughs) and sat and read while I dried off.

Lori's class showed up, and they had just enough lanes for each of her students. They were just warming up when this very fit looking man showed up. He looked like a Man of Industry and Importance, with his straight back, long legs, well muscled abdomen, and serious face.

And then he opened his mouth and had a temper tantrum.

"You are taking up all the lanes!"

Lori said "I'm sorry, sir, we'll be here until 7pm; in the meantime, there are several pools that have adult lap swim right now."

"But this is the only pool with 50 yard laplanes! IT'S NOT FAIR!"

"Sir, I'm sorry, this is the pool our class was assigned to use."

"Look at your class - I'll bet half of them can't even make it to the other end. This is totally unfair. Who can I talk to to get your class removed from this pool?"

"You can call the waterfront director tomorrow morning, sir, if you have a complaint."

"No, I want his cell phone number. I demand to speak with him now. This is ridiculous. These lanes are for serious athletes!"

I looked at one of the class members, who looked absolutely mortified. "He's pretty whiney for a serious athlete, don't you think?" I said.

I so wanted to get involved, but Lori was able to diffuse his temper.

Anyway, I went to the pool today, and I swam 200 yards (I work my way up slowly), and as I was drying off, the big baby showed up. I wanted to ask him how much he paid for his pool pass, because then I could tell him I paid the same amount, and so I was just as entitled to use the lap lanes as a serious athlete like himself. But my blood was boiling just at the sight of him.

He parked his car (an Audi, in case you hadn't already guessed) right next to mine in the parking lot, and I was sorely tempted to let my car door slam right into his, but I didn't.