When will mother take over the world? Soon, I hope. Before it's too late for us all.

I haven't had time to write. I haven't had time to think. I haven't really had time to do anything. Why you say? All because of a lie, I respond.

I was lied to. It was a big one. As if there is some hierarchy of lying. But, we've all collectively, subconsciously agreed to this scale of lying. When did this become ok? It had to have started at the beginning. It had to have started with some basis. But, we pretend that we're all not liars, and that there aren't consequences to everything we do.

Aren't we all taught not to lie? Aren't we all taught the farce, the lie, of not lying? However, we live in a society who doesn't learn, and doesn't practice, doesn't care, and I realize that I've brought a life into that world.

Lies grow. Lies spread. What an unproductive waste of human energy. But, it's not the first time we've all seen examples of our wasted efforts. Our world is being built on a mountain of lies. The difference is when one lie sweeps itself into our homes, attacks our very beings...that's when it seems to matter most. Am I right?

Do I sound bitter? Perhaps, I am, on this subject. Yes, I am.

This lie, this time, blindsided me. It hit me in my gut with the force of a tornado throwing a roof chunk. The air and all of its molecules stopped. I was in shock. At first, I was in shock.

Then, the repercussions of this lie, and the far reaching black, slimy, tentacles of this lie began to awaken in me. They began to squeeze my brain, my heart, my lungs. And my brain, my heart, and my lungs began to harden, turning to cold, grey stone, right there in my body. I could feel it. I could actually feel it happening. I could feel and see the spreading of this lie.

And then, the anger. This lie was no ordinary, garden variety, tiny,white lie. No, this was the life threatening, life changing, dark, black kind of lie. And this lie could have a huge effect upon my child. My innocent, unwary, small child.

This anger was a new anger for me. I've not had this type of anger before. I'm not even sure that the word "anger" is the word to use. I'm not really sure that it fits. The word anger does not have enough syllables.

To look at my child, or any child for that matter, and not be able to put your crap aside, whatever the crap is, well, that's just stupid. It's unbelievable. It's stunning to me. I cannot believe people. I can make good healthy decisions about the environment that I want my child to be in, no matter what's going on inside of me. I can do that. And I'm not special. So, if I can do it...well, then, any other stupid mother fucker out there can do the same.

It's when we choose to be selfish, when we choose to be a fuck up...when we choose to be a shitass...then ergo the problems. It is a choice. And none of that: "my parents did blah blah blah" or "this happened to me so blah blah blah". There is a fundamental choice.

There is a fucking fundamental choice. There is no compulsion...there is a choice. Compulsion has become an all to familiar excuse in our society. I can't help it...do you hear the whine? Well, fuck you and your lazy ass compulsion. That's what I say...loudly...fuck you. Compulsions have made therapists so much money, to a tune of the giant whine. I'm sick of it. We've created it. That's how not real it is...we've just created a sickness. It's not like cancer, or migranes, or even manic depressive...it's bullshit. We've created a psychosis around bullshit. Show me a compulsion and I'll show you a person using that compulsion to cover up something else...it's bullshit. The something else may be real but the compulsion is bullshit. Yes, I said it, and I'm sticking to it. (I have examples, but not enough time.) (I site one example: The hoards of men who got to jack shacks to jack off with other strangers who are jacking off. Compulsion?, you say. Bullshit, I say.)

Compulsion is just a lie. Not a sickness, a lie. We should stop making lies a sickness...they are just a lie...a choice.

The anger in me, about this lie, set forth a protective shield around my child. This lie set forth plans in my head. This lie set forth the words from my mouth that were not to be described as a tongue lashing. My words words more than swords, more than knives, more that any weapon ever invented.

My words were final. Non-combative...just final.

There were some excuses. But, these excuses dissipated with my words into the vapor that they came from. Ghosts of human communication, fading, to not be a registared thought, ever. There was nothing left but shame. And I wasn't even buying that. I didn't care about the shame. I didn't care to help anyone out of their shame. I didn't care to listen about the shame. I didn't care to listen to anything. I didn't care. The liars had made a choice. And in the face of my child, there was an unforgivable part of me that solidified.

Once you lie, that's the consequence...the removal of trust. And the lie takes away listening. No one listens to the liar. How soon we forget the little boy that cried wolf. No one listens to the liar.

Now, rationally would I forgive? Don't we all talk about how healthy forgiveness is? Yes, I know about that, too.

This is why I say it's a new emotion for me. When you have a child, I'm not sure that I will ever reach a level of forgiveness about that. I can forgive what people may do to me. During this, I found that I really cared little about any effects this lie would have on me. Maybe, I will get to that later...I don't know...maybe not. But, my child, can there be forgiveness when it's my child? This pile of shit that was given to my child to have to work through? I shielded him from most of it, but not all of it. He is smart, he is aware. Can I forgive anyone that gives anything to my child that's not sheer joy and happiness? Can I forgive anyone that exposes my child to shit, to their shit? I'm not sure. I'm just not sure that I have that in me. And I'm not sure that a mother's physiology permits it. A switch has been turned on.

I can go on. I can pretend. But, that part of me, will now always be turned on, tuned in, my senses aware...that doesn't feel like complete forgiveness to me. I have been changed because of this. As a mother, I am changed.

I was amazed that my focus what so sharp about this incident. I was amazed that it didn't wreck me. As though, having a child, somehow changed this part of me, somewhere. I just went straight to fixing, to moving on, to securing, to comforting, to insuring. As though I was wearing armor of some sort. What an amazing gift.

My advice? Don't fucking tell lies. Just don't fucking do it.

A dear friend once told me: "Your shit affects other people." I have carried that quote for years. No truer words were ever spoken.

Your shit affects other people.

Yes, the ever so convoluted, multi soap box. It's new! Welcome to my hamster wheel.

I was in a terrible mood last night. I do know why. And it was the kind of bad mood where you just don't feel like doing anything about it, and then that just ends up making you mood worse...It's a cycle. However, you do have to be careful not to inflict your bad mood on others...such a struggle. Do, I ever write about the great stuff going on? No, probably not. I suppose that I don't like to share that stuff. That doesn't need to be worked out, and for the most part, I'm very selfish about those things. I just want to keep them to myself. I suppose that's a bit backwards. Whatever. Lots of topics to cover, so this post will be as such...diary of a mad woman.

Oh, but I had dreams last night...lots of dreams. I was running so fast in my own head, hard to say if I truly got any rest.

It was a long week at work. I'm learning so much, very quickly. I'm currently buried under text books. I'm not really much of a text book learner, but, the woman who could train me, is ever so grouchy and resistant to help. For the most part, she seems to go out of her way to make me feel like a dumbass, that I'm inconveniencing her at every possible moment. I don't think she does it on purpose...she's just very unhappy. It's been noticed by others, and I just end up covering for her about that, as she may be one of the smartest people that I know, and she is a value to the company with her vast experience...she's just a lonely, socially inept, pain in the ass.

But, back to me...I'm buried under textbooks and that always makes me grouchy. I will always learn things one way or another. And the funny thing is, we both have the same goals...we're just completely different at arriving at the end. She doesn't like to network, she doesn't like people. Well, to tell you the truth, I don't either. However, I see this as a necessary evil in business, and can be the less painful route to go through in process, and often time involves a lunch..or, at least, a delightful desert and a great cup of coffee. She wants to advance and so do I. And I've come to find out that the field we're in is becoming a woman dominated field (something I've never seen, that's not nursing or cooking, or naked dancing...). We can advance. But, we're not going to just be recognized for our knowledge...that never happens. You have to market yourself.

That's why, she's traded companies and kept her same type job, and I have always continued to move up. I can see this to be a problem later. She's going to get mad, and jealous...and that sucks for me. What she doesn't realize is that I don't really like people anymore than she does, and I don't expect them to like me...but you have to work within the system for greater good. You have to. So, this makes me grouchy. No help and a lot of extra work. Nice, fucking nice.

And one of the guys at work, well, we talk. He finally shared a secret with me this week. It was interesting and I'm not going to publish this because in this case, it's not right. I felt honored that he told me. It was to relate to my own situation. And to tell you the truth, it was team building. If he gets stuck out, I intend to help him. We both share a love for great and different socks, as well. Socks are those little fashion tidbits that can remind you of who you really are when wearing your office monkey suit; without be oppressive to the rest of the group. He has great socks for a man.

One thing that he says though, on a fairly regular basis, is that he already knows my whole life story. I try to remind him that isn't true. Sure, I talk a lot. But,really, he only knows what I want him to know. And I really believe that you can live your whole entire life with someone and never know it all. What are you kidding me? Case in point: The doctor with the big house convicted of being a serial killer after the cops dug up his backyard to find multiple bodies. That must have been a shocker for his family. I'm not saying that I'm that type of person, mind you. I'm just saying that one must never assume they know the whole story. It's just not humanly possible. Perhaps, in time, now that he's shared a secret, I will let him in a bit more. He does have a great wife and kids, and they would be a great addition to the other great people I know. We'll see. I'm not really that fond of mixing business and my personal life. I'm not fond of being found out too much.

And to top it off, I watched a woman's movie last night. I really should have known better. It was well done. And when a movie is well done then that means it has an affect on you...that you can relate. Oh, I related alright. All the struggles this woman went through...I related alright. I related all the way back into my memory bank of stored crap. That dark crevice of shit that I don't really like to go to. Some of those places, all the therapy in the world will never cure. Some of those places. I have the hardest time understanding some of the bleeding hearts of forgiveness out there. Yes, I know what it takes to hate, and I know what it takes to forgive. Hating can take it out of you. And you would like to forgive, but, maybe it should just be alright not to do so, as well.

Sometimes there are violent things that go on in a person's life that changes that person completely and forever. I would like to think that I no longer hate, but I'm not sure that I will ever forgive. And I don't think I should have to or need to. So, I do support locking some people up forever, or getting rid of them entirely by death penalty. I know it's sad and hard to do...but, I'm not feeling like I can't get over my own feelings, when it's rape, molesting, murdering, that's up for the death penalty. Those things rape, molest, murder someone else's life forever and ever, changed. Light sentences, and rehabilitation should not be given out to those that commit these types of crimes. Come on, not really.

There are so many others that I know and love so much, and they, too, have been changed by some act of violence. In our society, we excuse these acts, all to often...and sometimes we hail them as acceptable. Example: Making taking a client to the strip club, tax-deductible.

Would we like to think that those places are just for healthy, light-hearted fun? Sure. But the reality of it, is that their not. And we send our most young, our most impressionable, our newest...to these places to work. I dare you to tell me I'm wrong. I fucking dare you. I've got stories, and more than one.

I worry these days. More than I let on. I know what's out there. And I'd like to think that my life and a few others are just isolated lives in the greater scheme of things. But their not. Hence the crappie mood. I never just have a crap mood about just my own stuff. I have a big brain and there's lots of room for everything.

We have continued to be lead around by our asses, and now the world, and our country, are paying for it. We have made this world a rich person's playground. And our people are suffering. Not just at the tax-deductible nudie bars, but even at the gas pump or the grocery store. Should I buy gas or should I buy milk? Which to buy. And, frankly, we're all working so hard for our scraps, and bombarded by so much information that we only get tiny glimpses of the full on shit machine at work. Example: Trying to read my email etc. by saying that, first it's to prevent terrorism and now it's because there's so many child molesters. Controlling by fear. I don't care. Read my emails, read my blogs...but when you find nothing but general shopping and bill paying, and the grumblings of a mad woman...I want to know what the bill is that we're footing for that luxury, you Nosey Parker? How much does something like that cost? Could it have saved us more money at the grocery store or in health costs or in feeding the hungry? Where exactly is that money going? That's my question.

I sat an watched some of the FEMA/New Orleans trials/committees. I thought to myself, I wondered, how much did that fiasco cost? If I was displaced from my home...if my home was still moldy and jacked up...I don't want a blame game committee being run...I wouldn't want money spent on copying memos and storing files and techs paid to hook up mics so everyone could hear. I would want the help that was promised to fix my city. That's what I would want. Less talk and more action. It's been months for those people and nothing. That's brilliant. We are truly a brilliantly dumbass society! Morons!

But, the thing about people that's funny...is, time and time again, rich people only have this for a bit...then someone somewhere has had enough, and then they move, or there's war. Our country was founded on it. We were out manned and out gunned, and we still kicked some serious ass. Vietnam did the same. They held their own, when invaded. My family still feels the smack of that. And, now that the planet is used up, there's nowhere to move. Statistically that does not bode well. And you can kill some of the rebels...you can kill most of the rebels, but never all of the rebels. If you kill all of the rebels then who's left to mow your lawn or clean your house? And you cannot defeat the rebel mentality. It's impossible. If someone is backed into a corner and feels that there is nothing left to loose, then there is nothing to loose and they will fight, even to their own death. Death does not scare people who have nothing. So, you're again left with...who's going to wash your car and mow your lawn? We must start to make wiser choices. It's not completely too late, I don't think. Wiser choices...that's going to take some textbook reading of course. Boring, I can tell you, but not impossible.

I would hope that people chose compassion over having it all. But, using my own life examples, I'm not sure that's very realistic. We have bred ourselves to be selfish, little snits, without much brains and a bunch of ever so flabby brawn (can you call cellulite brawn). We have become a playground of excess only. Not a community of hard work with great solid production...we take all the short cuts to excess that we can get a hold of. Example: Everything has to be SUPER...Super Kal-Mart...Super sized...everything's just fucking SUPER.

Is it?!? Is it?!? IS IT FUCKING SUPER?!?

Are you feeling SUPER?!? Cause me and my fat ass, who can't afford vegetables that aren't in a can, isn't feeling so fucking SUPER!?!

My only saving grace this week it the Gay/Lesbian family group that I have joined. In their most recent family poll, most of the children are boys being raised by mixed families. My own son, not being raised by Gays or Lesbians, but definitely a mixed family...so there is a common thread. That was my saving grace. In the end, it will be the Gay, Lesbian, Transgender that will save us all from ourselves. They are gaining in numbers and rights, and strengths. This community, being a supposed unwanted community, has taken in all of the unwanted children from the heterosexual community. And people try to stop it...except, up to taking in these children and providing for them, themselves. No, not that. The phrase:"I don't want them but you can't have them either.", well, it's not flying so much these days. These are children...who will grow up to be adults. We should all mind our P's and Q's, because children remember.

This situation is both funny, and fitting, I think. This community raught by violence and disapproval will be the one that takes over. I'm not psychic, but I'm prophetic. And in the end, you find that they're not that different. The only real difference, is the strive for family values, hard work, kindness and compassion. That part is the kicker for all the I'm Right All the Time Wing people. I have found I have more in common with this community, than I ever did at the First Baptist Church I grew up with. And these men and women have great socks, too.

And, the majority of white male America and other's have already begun to tailor their lifestyles to be inclusive of this group, only missing the bigger picture by their us of the male prostitutes, glory holes and jack shacks...but, I'm thinking they'll come along eventually to the goodness and put this all behind them (no pun intended).

And what cracks me up even more, and perhaps makes my mood even harder and edgier...it that I read and what the science channel and magazines and books have to say is going on...and there's so much more out there that we destroy every day without even noticing in all of our excess. Things we will forget before we even learn about them. But, you never see that on the news...never that stuff. We are making ourselves stupider by the nano-second. And sometimes it's lonely not having that many people to talk to about the wonders of the world. And it's sad for me that my time is so short, and I will never learn it all. So much that's so cool.

So, today, I will study, I will take to my textbooks and advance my career, I will play with my child, and I will dream of a better place filled with kind men in dresses and beautiful make-up that lead me to fountains of great food and good knowledge. Isaac and Rosie will be my new Gods for this day.

Hair Scare

Can you can wisdom from a show about a hairdresser? Well, maybe. That is where I found some wisdom this week. There I was, on the couch, in yesterday's, or at least some time this week's, dirty clothes, snacking on chocolate cereal because I'm too lazy to actually make the chocolate cake, without a shower or anything. Yes, there I was.

I'm always so nervous, and I second guess myself to the trillionth degree. And usually come to find out, I am smarter, I do know more, and if I'd only gone with my gut instinct without hesitation whatever it is or was would have been better and stronger in the first place. Instead, I find myself picking up after myself way to often.

I found that I haven't been dying my hair enough lately either. That show sure did teach me a lot. With many things to consider.

I sat at lunch the other day, with three college graduates. I being the only one who did not go to college. I read on my own, and I traveled and had many many many other life experiences.

The three of them all were talking about how college is a real must. How going to college was very important. How you couldn't learn anything, not really, i.e. critical thinking skills, unless you'd been to college.

I really had nothing to say on their experience...except I had the same job as they did, and didn't go to mo' fancy schoolin' like they did. It was only one of them that might have realized a tiny bit what they sounded like. Hard to say. I politely waited until this part of the conversation was over with.

I'm not down on college, mind you. I don't regret not going for the learning part. I sometimes regret that we have a system that makes us have a little tiny signed piece of paper that allows sometimes complete idiots get into power positions just cause they have a signed piece of paper approving them for positions in our society. A comfort zone for jackasses...that's what we've made. I always wanted the idea of college to be the actual collection of knowledge in one place to go. But, most people don't use it for that. It's a means to an end...not the means to a beginning that I thought it would be. So, I didn't go...I took off for Mexico for a couple of years.

These three talked about late night discussions with other college people...and how they all we exposed to new ideas and ways of thinking...just from the late night coffee sessions. I thought about all of the times me and a few others dropped acid and talked until the wee hours of the morning at the local coffee shop. Not so different. And mine cost the price of the hit of acid and a cup of joe.

So my thoughts on this conversation was they did in fact have a real experience, but they were still tooting their own horn a bit about this wonderful institution that had taught them that in this place that they went, it was the only place in the world to get that experience...that was it...critical thinking inside the box.

And me, I sat quietly about it...I was remembering the people that I've had and still have the pleasure of knowing who can draw from experiences that weren't so institutionalized. A paper degree does not make the person. And how sad to hold onto it, that piece of paper so much...to validate oneself with it. History has shown us, that most of our critical thinkers, our inventors, our entrepreneurs...didn't go to college.

If I had said all these things at the lunch...It wouldn't have been very good...so I didn't. I didn't want them to feel like their bubble was being burst, or that I just didn't understand because I was one of "those" people.

So, instead, I sat on the couch today...gaining knowledge from a hairdresser...realizing that I have yet to realize my own dream. I have yet to decide what I want to be when I grow up. I do know that I'm not going to stay very long and hang out with fancy schoolin' people tooting their own horns over a cheap Mexican food work lunch. I'm pretty sure that I'm destined for something cooler than that. And if I'm not, at least I didn't spend a shitload of money to get there.

On another topic entirely...I read that Andrea Yates' ex-husband got remarried, just two days before his ex-wife's retrial was to begin, in the church where his children were buried less that two years ago. My thoughts on that are how sad I am that these children were killed by their mother, and their father knew she was sick...so sick, and he left them there alone with her, and he's off scot free....so these children were abandoned by their father once, and yet again, when he felt comfortable enough to hurry and remarry in their very shadow. I am certainly appalled by the mother's actions, but at least she may really be sick...the father on the other hand is just an asshole. If I were to pray, I would pray for any more children that he chooses to produce, and a society that would feel comfortable letting a man like this continue to walk free and do so.

But, really...I don't exist...so I really shouldn't worry about such things. (for my friend Ric.) I really do hear you when you talk. I am listening. And at some point, I will dye my hair, take a bath, get off the couch, and be my very best non-existant self. But, today I allow my mind to focus on small things to avoid the great cosmos. Sometimes, not so smart, I begin again to pick up after myself.

http://www.unexplained-mysteries.com/column.php?id=63575

It is much, much louder than they care to remember

This week in a nutshell, can I put it in a nutshell...can you do that with yours? It's a hard thing to recap all the tastes and excitement, but I'll try.

My new job wasn't being so good to me at first. The computers wouldn't to as they were told...as it's certainly not because of human error...no it couldn't be that. Then our office moved done the hall into a bigger office suite, because we've grown. There were miscommunications abound, and a flurry of small disasters, etc. I was beginning to think maybe I was over my head. Then when I was complaining out loud to my baby's daddy. He asked it wasn't this something that I had already been taking care of and straightening out at my other job? I replied, yes. Then he said, wasn't this what I was hired to do/take care of/fix at this new job? I sheepishly, cause I knew where is was going with this, replied, yes. Well, then, he said, this is the stuff that you already know about, and where hired to take care of, and already know how to do in your sleep, and your stuck complaining?...does that about sum this conversation up? Yes, I said. Well, you're being a dumb ass.

He was right. I was being a dumb ass. I went to work with a new lease on office life the next morning. I took charge of my destiny. I made folders and made calls, and arranged office supplies....I prepared to do the work. Next week is the big showdown. I will begin to be the master of my own universe...within the office suite. It's all very exciting.

Part of my job is marketing. I was asked to do some research and make some calls. My boss has the confidence in me to set me forth on his public and get us some business. I on the other hand wasn't feeling the confidence vibe. This is a new business for me. I know little about it, actually. I left messages, and I then, did get a call back. The call was transferred to me, the man was on the line, the questions were coming, the panic was starting...what to do. Well, I bullshitted. That's what I did. I explained that I didn't really want to take up too much of his time, as I knew he was busy. And I, myself, had a meeting to attend in about 15 minutes, but I did want to talk to him.

I referred him, while he was on the phone with me, to our website. We pointed and clicked together, through the pages of information, that he was welcome to visit anytime on his own. I recapped bits of information out of each of the paragraphs, highlights, as we call them in the biz, on what we do. And this man loved it!!!! I made it!!!! He immediately emailed me his V-Card, and I emailed him back. We were in!!!! I set up a meeting with my boss, and away we went. I was finally there. I realized that I could bullshit, and it was ok, and it worked, and I could use this power for good instead of evil. (unlike my other job) I got off the phone, with a huge smile on my face.

My co-workers started laughing, big laughing. I, out of all of the office staff, is the least likely to have an actual "meeting in 15 minutes" about anything. And now, this is the office joke, about everything. But, they knew it was good, and they knew that it worked....but it is still very funny. Now I have meeting in 15 minutes about everything: going to the bathroom, going to the supply bin, going for coffee....that's really a code word, that everyone on my level uses.

Listen and you will know that if someone says that to you...they're really just going to grab a snack or perhaps poop...but it's very important snacking and pooping. I am learning it all! The other code word that I learned was "out in the field working". That really means, sitting on the patio of that over priced Mexican food restaurant, or the coffee shop, or maybe even your back porch. I've not really gotten to the level where I can use this phrase yet. I will. I am going to try it out a bit, next week. Test the waters if you will. I have a doctor's appointment, a haircut appointment, and an appointment with the acupuncturist on back to back days. I'm going to gather my papers and cell phone, etc., and explain that I'll be working from the field for a bit, and return after lunch.

I'll have to keep everyone informed on if it works or not...hard to say...I'm still new, so it could fail...OR, I could just be falling into line, and really look like I've always belonged there. I'm up for the office biz challenge. Yes, Pat, I'll take Office Phrases and Actions and What They Really Mean for $2,000. Ding-Ding - I win!

Now, with any good office situation you must observe the other office suite people and surroundings. Our new office suite has widows. Our boss was out of town...and we all took the best spots, over him, facing all of the windows. I think that I may have gotten the #1 spot, right in the corner facing two windows. Someone else wanted it, but she really has to be by all of our office equipment, for her job, and "her control"...so, I did remind her, ever so gently of this, and she knew it to be true (as she had made such a big deal about before), and she is facing one window next to me. It worked. The other office mate, will be "out in the field" most of the time, so he wouldn't REALLY NEED the best window spot, but he's cool, and does need a window...so, he's on my other side. Our boss has a dry erase/black file cabinet wall, and another big white wall...no windows. He's going to be gone most of the time, too. And, he wasn't there to help lug the office equipment during the move....so, naturally, it is quite fair. And really, I don't think he'll care one way or the other actually. He'll be back on Monday, and we'll see. I'm hoping that I don't have to give up my precious corner though. Maybe I can be just as rational about it and he will see it my way like the others did...hard to say.

I do feel special in my double window corner...I do. Maybe the others just let me have it cause they're kind like that, and I have a cane. I don't know...but I really love it. I can see birds and trees and the other smokers, all the stuff I love the most. I might cry if I have to give it up. I will cry on the inside.

I have also, discovered the secret coffee machine. This is not an ordinary coffee machine. And, frankly, I've never, ever seen one like this before. On the right of the actual coffee making part, are rows and rows and rows of little, happy, colorful coffee/tea/cocoa packets to choose from, a bevy of breaktime delights. I am in awe. And, as I've found the combinations, and possibilities are endless. It's magic.

You choose a flavor packet...like, let's see, Sidamo Gold. Then you look at the little maker itself. It has a screen that has buttons that allow you to tell it which drink your having. You push the button, the choosen button that matches your special packet, a special, secretly hidden, drawer opens up, you pop in your special packet and close back the secret drawer. Then the machine tells you that it's preparing the drink, in six, five, four, three, two, one...Your beverage is prepared...And it reminds you that your beverage is hot...so Caution. (www.flavia.net) I did research this on the web, as I think that I want one at home. Your brew time is only 30-35 seconds to wonderful, special, drinking delight.

I go to this machine to pay homage, several times a day. It makes me feel better. It consoles me. We have bonded, and have a relationship based on that caring for me in my time of office need. In my head it talks to me, much like Hal did for that other guy. Good Morning, Miss June. I hope your having a lovely day today. Miss June, On, Thursday mornings, you usually choose Cocoa...would you like me to prepare your Cocoa for you? Miss June, the Peppermint Tea is out...May I be allowed to suggest another selection for you? Etc.

Maybe even further in my head sometimes: Miss June, the bald man in the office next to you is really just after your favorite pen. Here's your Espresso Roast with an extra shot for better alertness.

I love this machine. You can even make your own foamed milk for your Cappuccino. I have taken the foamed milk topping and experimented by putting this with many of the different flavors of coffee, just to keep myself entertained and fresh. I know though, that I have to be careful that no one is watching. I don't want to be the office person that used all of the foamed milk packets, and someone in dire need of one, and finds out that I have used the last one, on one of my crazy coffee experiments....I was the one that put the foamed milk on my Hazelnut Noisettes. Yeah, I don't want to be found out. So, it's just the secret that me and the coffee station share, because, at all, that coffee machine is just for me, makes that coffee, just for me, warns me of the dangers of the hot beverage and the other office fuckers. All the caring.

There is also another gimp on the same wing as us. Hard to say if we were both put in the same wing together for control, or maybe the comfort of the other office people. I don't know. He's, of course, more fucked up than me. He has stubs for arms and I think fake legs...I can't be sure about the legs, because I lost my X-Ray glasses and have yet to find the time to send in my $3.00 to the special place listed on my comic book, but I think it's true about his legs.

I'm not sure that I like us being in the same area. One, we have to compete for sympathy...which I hate. I want to be the Special Needs Person, and I don't want to share. Mental note to discuss with the coffee station. And, Two, he gets all the attention anyway, because he has no arms and all that, and still makes it around. Fucker.

Three, he's very much in shape than I am. You know the kind. You know the kind. Those over achiever handicapped people...who prove that they're the same as everyone else, maybe, even better, all that inspiring load of crap. I've seen the looks when we're walking down the hallway at the same time. Why aren't you more like Stumpy? Look what you could do if you only applied yourself a little.

Yeah, he's a fucker alright.

He walked outside, with a friend one day while I was smoking. I had just eaten an entire, giant, Three Musketeers Chocolate Bar, the King Size version. The tsk-tsk looks were there. I fought hard within myself, not to stick my cane out and trip him up a little to see if he was really a fucking badass, and would catch himself with his stumpy little very tan armish appendages.

We will need to have a chat at some point. Maybe divide that hall and people up a bit. I will promise that nothing will happen to him, as long as he stays on his side. Stumpy, Gimpy Fucker. We are going to have to come to some agreement. My agreement.

Also our office watches the people, from our new windows. The view from my corner is quite spectacular. In and out of the building, the people go.

There are a few of interest that we discuss.

There's an old man. We think he's a Gumba. He's very Italian looking. And there's something fishy about him. Twice a day, he drives up, gets out of his car, walks into the building, gets a cup of coffee, does something that we don't know about, comes out of the building lights a cigarette and then leaves. We don't know what the something that he does it, but it never takes very long and it's twice a day. Exactly twice a day. Maybe his picking up money...we just don't know.

Of course, it has occurred to us that he just drives around to various office spaces and gets free coffee, and he's not really apart of any of the businesses there. We just don't know. But, he's very clockwork about it. I, of course, hope that he's not using any of the foamed milk packages from my precious coffee machine. And he does have expensive shiny shoes...it's all suspicious. We haven't followed him yet, but maybe next week.

There's also, a man/woman who smokes and wears the same black Beret every fucking day with that fucking hat. We can't stand it. We think It might be bald or balding, kind of like the Snickers Commerical.(If you haven't seen it...that will mean nothing to you, but trust, it's fucking funny.)

We have found out that It is a computer programmer, which does lead some credence to the weird garb...they all dress weird and think it's cool, they can't help it, really. But, we can't tell if it's a man or a woman. It has breasts, but it has big ass hands, too. And we haven't heard it talk, on account of the windows and everything. It's a long standing debate in the office. But, the beret...on the beret. I, personally have a thing about ethic hats. Only a few, select, privileged people can really where them and get away with it. I know that I cannot were a Sombrero...I know that. I know that I would look like a complete jack ass. However, I have seen people in Sombreros and they look just fine, quite normal...but I am NOT one of the Sombrero People.

It is not of the Beret People. And IT'S bad. And it's the same favorite Beret everyday...a favorite, sacred, Beret for It. I voted that no matter how silly we thought It looked, that we might caution ourselves about making statements against the wearing of the Beret. We don't really know It, so it's not our place to make the intervention. Or is it? Do, we as a society make the intervention on crack whores and bad hat wearing people alike? Do we have those rights?!? Do we?!? This is obviously a subject that needs much reflection before action.

And last week was the office suites manager's birthday. None of us, really know her that well. But, in the world of officey stuff, that's is not a person that you want to piss off, EVER!!! But, it's not payday yet, and none of us have any money. I said that I would take care of it.

I went home and dug through all of my garage sale jewelry that I never had really used, and it didn't really sell. There it was, right on top...the gift. It was a bracelet. I had bought it, thinking that maybe someday, I would grow up and be an officey person and wear this shiny trinket. I go through this every so often. But, then I realize that I won't ever be that person, and I have to get rid of whatever it is, and the cycle starts all over again.

It did have one very tiny stone missing but that could have happened at the store that I bought it from, that story that was going to be, not the garage sale pile that was the reality. I took it to work. We didn't have wrapping paper or a box or anything. I used my Ginger Tea box, and one of my office ladies helped me wrap it with a magazine ad. As I carried it down to the office party, I began to panic a bit. Everyone was bringing in very expensive, fancy gifts from all of the fancy places that surrounded our office. I gave the gift to one of my office mates to actually carry in and set on the table so that I could blame him later, if it sucked real bad. And our gift did look like shit, sitting on the table with all the other fancy gifts...it did stick out. We all knew it. We hurried to eat our cake, and smile and chatty mcchatty, and bailed before the gift opening happened. Chicken shit?, you say. You betcha'! Fuck that! We were outta' there.

My office mates weren't convinced that I had really done a good job with the "taking care of it". But, then came in the boss lady later. And over the next few days, again and again. She wore that bracelet for three days in a row. She loved it. And loved the wrapping, and really thought that it was special for her. And really, in a way it was. And maybe that bracelet just didn't sell, because it knew it's home was coming soon. I don't know. But, when she thanked us, my office mates were happy to help take the credit for the gift. It did work. Problem solved. I had taken care of it.

I must visit the coffee machine now. It's time. I'm thinking perhaps a coffee/cocoa combo for this afternoon.

The End...or is it?!?

My Almost Fight At Taco Bell

I was hungry. I was at work, and needed something fast and cheap. And sometimes I just want a plain, ordinary, not fancy bean burrito from Taco Bell. So, off I went.

Now everyone knows that there are always at least two driveways one can use to get into the drivethru line. This day, I took the long route, through the parking lot, kind of slow, to avoid people and cars...no real burrito emergency. I was in a good mood. I was happy.

I arrived in the line. Now, I did see the big, giant, oversized, gas guzzling, Cadillac Escalade coming in the short route. But, I was already in the line. And we all know that the long line in the drivethru gets first crack at the line. It's the drivethru protocol.

Well, the woman behind the wheel didn't think so. She was in a big hurry. And she was pissed. She honked at me, not just once, but a bunch. I decided, at this point not to get angry, not yet...I was in a good mood, remember? I went ahead and said that I was sorry through the window. She just looked mad...there was no, "that's ok, then" wave...nothing. Ok, crazy lady, whatever...I shrugged it off, even then, even still.

I finished pulling into line, when the jeep in front moved a bit. The lady got even more angry and began to honk furiously and fast. She honked and honked and honked. Ok, when you're already in the line, who in the hell, is going to pull back out of line cause you think you should get the space. Who is going to do that?!? NO ONE!!!!! "My bad, you go ahead, I insist." Never going to happen.

She continued to honk sooooo much that the man in the jeep in front of me, yelled out his window. "SHUTTTTTT-UPPPPP!!!!!!!!"

The Caddie woman yelled back, pointing at me, saying that she just wanted me to know that I had taken her turn. She just wanted me to know that. Ok, at this point, with the honking we ALL got it. Point made, point taken. Nothing to do about it. We ALL got it.

I have to admit I was a bit taken aback.

I asked her, in a calm, matter of fact voice, if she was starting a fight with me over a burrito. If this was what was going to happen. That we were actually going to have a fight in the Taco Bell drive thru. (The jeep guy started laughing. I'll admit it was funny, but no need to egg Caddie along.)

She replied in honks. She honked some more and some more. And she yelled again, telling me and jeep guy, that I was a bitch, and a horrible driver, but mostly a fucking bitch. Pointing and pointing and honking.

Ok, at this point, I am starting to get angry. But, the whole thing is so completely stupid that I couldn't even really bring myself to fight her. Because, then, I really am involved in a burrito fight. I choke back the anger. I tried to be really Zen about it. I tried to feel sorry for her. Who does this sort of thing? Maybe you're bored in life. OR maybe you're really that fucking crazy. Yes, I felt very sorry for her.

My other thought was, how do you know I'm not crazy? What if I just get out of my Honda Civic and go back there and pop a cap in your ass? That kind of thing does happen. Granted I know that I don't look like I have that much street cred with my Honda, briefcase, and my cane, but you don't know. Why risk it over a burrito?!? Why risk it?!?

So, I didn't responded. But, she just couldn't let go. Every time the line moved up an inch, she would pretend threaten my car with her's, moving right to a millimeter from my bumper. Tapping her well manicured nails on the steering wheel. That whole "I'm gonna' do it...I'm gonna' mess up my big, ass Caddie...I'm gonna' do it. I really am. You better believe it. I'm gonna' do it."

Well, do it already fucker. Most real people with any balls would just do it. So, I was getting mad that she was such a pussy about her infringed upon rights to get a fucking bean burrito ten seconds faster. Stupid Caddie pussy...that's what you are. I did really try, deep in my heart of hearts to let this go. Poor crazy, fucked up, sad Caddie lady.

Well, since I didn't really respond, we went back to honking. And jeep guy yelled shut up again. She called me a bitch again, inching up the Caddie, again.

Finally, I did respond. And it wasn't really as cool as I could have and deeply, at this point, wanted to make it.

I told her that there wasn't much I could do. I asked her if she would like me to place her order for her, right after mine. I could take care of that part for her. I asked her if that would help her. What could I do? She looked at me, angry, and moved up her Caddie. I sighed.

All I could say, in a calm, matter of fact voice; "You're an Asshole." "What?", she said. "You're an asshole. You really are.", I sighed, "There's nothing I can do. You're an asshole." I said.

Jeep Guy started laughing again. (At least someone was being entertained at the expense of my nice lunch and possible car bumper.)

My good mood was now gone. My break in the car was gone. I was just stuck in an asshole in a Caddie, up my butt, in the Taco Bell line. It felt like I would never get my burrito. It felt like, if I made it out of this burrito line alive, I would really have accomplished something for the day. My head began to throb. I just wanted on $ .69 burrito, nothing fancy or complicated, just that. And it was looking like it would just never happen for me.

She honked through me trying to order, but I and the Taco Bell drivethru attendant somehow managed. She placed her order without a honk.(Imagine that.)

Somewhere between the first and second drivethru windows, I think she gave up, or at least, relented a bit. She still looked pissed. I did wonder if she was going to follow me and this would become more drastic. But, really, I didn't think so. Girls like her don't mess up their Caddies and their nails, no matter how much money they have. Plus, she was ever so close to getting her lunch, her own burrito, that perhaps the thought of all that melted cheese by-product and reconstituted bean paste calmed her, lulled her claws back in. Hard to say.

I've been in fights my whole life. Part of the small town creed. But, I have never started a fight in a drivethru line of a fast food restaurant. Is this a sign of our impending demise from their imminent take over? I ate my burrito, but I was not comforted. I was just over stimulated and left without release. Shocked. What was supposed to be a good thing, lay in ruins in the bottom of the take out bag. It had all been for nothing.

Maybe in another time I would have kicked her ass. I still want to. Amidst the soiled napkins and Taco Bell Fire Sauce packets, at the bottom of my Honda Civic floorboard, you will find that longing.

And, if you're reading this Caddie Bell...well...You're Still an Asshole. Fucker.

Life in the Garage Sale Speed Dating Service

It's raining today. I'm attempting to have yet another garage sale. We really need the money. And we really need to not hold onto this big pile of crap we have laying. Garage sale kills two birds with one stone. With regards to the weather for this sale - it's as though God is cursing me, actually cursing me, in my time of need. Perhaps in my last life I was very rich, and now I have to pay for my decadence. Or maybe it's the current economic climate...hard to say. But, I am feeling punished.

I'm not really looking forward to this day, at all. Last weekend we had the sale in the cold. And true to garage sale mania, the diehards were still out. Even though I marked the signs for late morning, even though the newspaper ad said late morning...they still came. I hate early birds. I loathe them in fact. These are the very people that make me never want to get rid of any of my crap. They really are mutha' fuckers.

Right at 7:30 am, before I've even changed pants and my coffee isn't even finished came the first one. She couldn't just buy something and leave...NO!!!...she couldn't do that. Instead she spent an entire 30 minutes talking to me about how she had just gone cold turkey off of all the prescription pain pills that she was on. She continued to tell me how rough this was on her, and how she was barely making it, but she was making it, and we should all be so proud of her. We should all give her a big pat on the back, with a Great Job follow. That Service with a Smile attitude was already being tested. I wanted to give her a better deal on the fifty cent items she had in her hands, just to get her to shut up and on her way....but then I thought that maybe this was her ploy all along...and I wasn't going to fall for it...OR she needed a friend, and I didn't want to sign up for that mess, and if I gave her the discount she would think how nice I was...and I couldn't have that going on either. I was screwed either way, and she was still talking.

Finally she left, finally.

Then came the next guy. Obviously a dealer. The particularly shitty early bird type, that I loathe the most, and will try my personal best to not make any deals with this type, and perhaps I am quite extra crappy to, just to make them leave. This guy...what a piece of work. We were selling a new version of the PS2, slightly broken (cost $30 to fix), for $10. That is quite the bargain, and I don't even play games, and I know this. This man took out his money wad (and I do mean wad), and told me to take the five dollars he was offering me (which he threw done on the desk that I was selling, like it was a done deal). I smiled, and told him no, but thank you. I told him that is was too early in the garage sale for me to be making deals on such things that were obviously such bargaining to begin with, and he could come back Sunday night and see if I still had it, and we could talk then. Man, was he pissed. He began sort of yelling talking that I should have taken the five dollars, and anyway the new XBoxs were out anyway, so he didn't even need it. Okay, I said. Just Okay. I didn't point out that if he could run out and get a new three hundred dollar XBox, than he didn't really need to harass me over my ten dollar, broken, PS2, did he, now?!? He left saying good luck in a mean voice. Fucker. I don't take lightly to being bullied. And I certainly do not take lightly to it before my second cigarette and the finished morning coffee. I'd tell my own mother to fuck off before she could finish her sentence of bothering me before the morning ritual had been complete. So, who did this guy think he was?!?

Then came the third jackass. This one wanted to know if I had any "???", insert whatever item you want, cause this jackass isn't alone in this ploy of asking for stuff that's not in the garage sale. I said no, that I didn't have any "???". Okay, here's what I think. If I had any "???" it would actually be in the fucking garage sale...I'm not Kal-Mart...this is not a store...it a rummage sale...so you need move you cheap ass around in a slight circle completing the round of the actual sale to rummage or leave.

I'm not hiding a secret stash of goods somewhere else...THERE IS NOTHING ELSE BESIDES WHAT'S OUT THERE. So, if you don't see it...I don't have it. I'm never, ever, ever going to say..."Oh, I was waiting for such a special person like yourself, to let into my secret vault of complete shit for sale for a private viewing, Come with me."

How's that for an answer.

And the next guy who asked if this was an Estate Sale. I said no. I said that this was a garage sale. He wanted to argue. He said in a miffed tone of voice that this had been listed as an Estate Sale. I was so tired by this time, I did argue with him. I told him that I had placed the ads, and made the signs myself, and it was, in fact, a garage sale. The sign right in front of my house for extra publicity did state, yet again, that this was a garage sale. He argued back that it was listed as an Estate Sale. How can you combat this? You can't make people read correctly. And the only difference between Garage Sale, and Estate Sale is that an Estate Sale means someone died. I'm sorry that I didn't die for you. I finally just told him to leave...it was just to fucking weird. He said, because he had to have the last dominating word, telling me that if I extra cleaned the fridge that I was selling, that it could sell for $10.00 more. I replied that he could just buy it, clean it himself, and put it in his Estate Sale, and turn a profit.

And there was the fat lady handi-cap. She rolled up in her big ass van, with the handi-cap license plates, right in my driveway - she came allllll the way up the drive way. She squeezed out between the seat and the steering wheel. This is the type that will tell you of their woes, and their aliments, etc., hoping for sympathy and a better deal. But, I wasn't biting. I agreed with her about being poor. I stood up and flashed my current gimp walk, and my recent scare. I countered with my own tales of the losses that we suffered last year while I was on worker's comp. And how I was having to sell some of my most precious items, just to buy my child some food and maybe even pay the light bill. (I tried to keep a straight face. I didn't want the jig to be up.) As she moved her fat ass around the sale, trying to bend to look at things, and running out of breath, she did spend her money. My gimpiness had triumphed over her's. I was the gimp winner. I thanked her for her fat ass kindness as she hobbled away. Us handi-capped people gotta' stick together. We take care of our own.

I did have one, single lady that I liked. Her fanny pack was made for speed. It was three tiered, three pockets long. One pocket contained her big bills, the next pocket had her tens and fives, and the top one had her change and ones. And she was so nice. Maybe the nicest garage sale lady there ever was on the entire planet. I knew she was a dealer, and I didn't care. It was as though she was sent from Heaven to soothe my garage sale laden worries away. Her voice was so pleasant, her deals were reasonable, she asked about my stuff in the most polite, sing-songy voice. I wanted to help her. I was engaged, mesmerized. I cut her a big, fat discount. She was good...I never even saw it coming. Thankfully my first born was inside or I might have lost him as a severely marked down item.

I ended up doing alright. And I got rid of some stuff. But not nearly enough. There is a secret culture of garage sales. These are people that live and breath in our neighborhoods. You have to wonder what they do the rest of the time, when their not being weirdos at garage sales. Today, I'll be doing it all over again. I'm the one with the cup of joe, selling off pieces of our lives (even if it is crap), in the rain...yep, that's me, today.

Lay Down Your Arms and Put Up Your Wiener

My thoughts on the Dick's hunting accident are a few. And what I say here will have no effect on anything, because I have no money, no connections, and no desire to screw anyone who might have the above requirements for a voice that anyone will listen to in this crazy, mixed up world.

The level of decadence of this regime is quite large, extravagant, and have continued to be flaunted without repercussions. Granted this might have gone over a few hundred years ago, but not so much now. Who's with me on this?!?

Now that people realize that you can become a President without any education, savvy, or style (evidently you don't even have to be able to read or write real good)...just a few extra bucks and you either can sleep your way to the top, claim to know Jesus personally, or have a big ole rich daddy...well, you're a shoo in; therefore, Presidents are not ordain by God like royalty; but rather, any smuck can do it. And the VP's that ride their butts to the top are just pennyanny (sp?) sidekicks. My thoughts on the shooting of a friend:

1) Why are you on a vacation when little boy's with bigger guns are killing overseas in your money hungry created war? As a mother, I say that if you want to shoot stuff, then go over seas and get your hands dirty, you coward. You shouldn't get to play Cowboys and Indians with your peashooter while there's a supposed "war" going on. Very bad. And I, Tsk-tsk, you.

2) Why are you on vacation for all the other reasons the country is screwed up?

3) Why are you on vacation when I have not see Halliburton rebuilding the city of New Orleans after all that contract winning? (Oh, that's right, the black people are going to do it for you. Does anyone know the diversity head count of the big H.?)

4) If your job is too stressful, a quick reminder that I didn't pick it for you. And I would like you in your office, doing you damn job, instead of going hunting for other Texans to shoot.

5) Why was the investigation into the "accidental" shooting not done the night of? It has been determined that alcohol was not a factor. Well, sure, by the next morning when the Sheriffs were finally allowed in, you would have pissed it out, it wouldn't be a factor anymore. And don't give me, the I'm the VP crap. You're a public servant, who should have to adhere to the rules of the land, that you've been sworn to uphold, just like the rest of the drunken, aging, shouldn't be shooting cause they might kill someone else, rednecks.

AND, The Dick had to have the story covered up that he didn't even have all of the right documentation to hunt. I can say that the rest of us would have been fined big time. And the repeated phrase that the Dick is very safety conscious. Really?!? My wire tapped ass, my tapped out pocketbook ass, and all of the rest of my fed up ass are not thinking that is very truthie of you. And I guess you couldn't really release any information until you'd seen if you'd killed the man first...then you'd be an animal and man killer. (note: they're the same thing.) And the fact that you were hunting out of sheer decadence really chaps me. You don't need to hunt for food. That means that you think killing is fun. And the killing is fun theme supports all of the other policies and plays that have been put into action during you time in office. I would worry about what I'm saying, but considering you poor shot, I think I may have a good chance of running away.

I would like to know how much of MY MONEY, MY EXACT MONEY IN DOLLARS AND CENTS...went to make sure you got a vacation, got to shoot someone, and had it covered up nicely, etc. I want to know how much we're spending for that crap. And how much the taxidermy bill will be for all the birds you will have stuffed and hung up in the White House for all of us to tour and show our children as your greatest accomplishment...what's the bill on that, too.

And, my last question/point would be...Was Bill Gates with you? I noticed that grants.gov is not Mac user friendly. Something like restricted trade or secret handshaking...or friendly shots fired to insure that somebody gets all the money on that one...Did Halliburtun set that meeting up?

God Bless the one, lone deputy, that I suspect got paid to do it, but did show up to question the Dick , the night of the "shooting", before he passed out from worry, I mean beer. (Invision the mad dash of the Secret Service to hide the Jack Crown Light bottles and cans on the next farm over. I'm sure their suits or whatever are going to have to be dry cleaned. We'll be paying for that, too.)

And all the important stuff I'm missing because you had to shoot a friend, I'm sure is a lot, and that annoys me, too. All the important stories going on that we're missing because you had an "incident".

Nice one, Dick.