Water and Ice/ Thoughts on Katrina

I'd like to announce that MYF, along with JD's Country Connection and our President, Sue Bess have been able to secure 10 loads of ice and water down to Katrina's victims. It is possible for us to get more. We have at least one more truck to fill, and if we are able to get more water and ice, we'll be able to secure more trucks. If you would like to contribute to the Ice/Water campaign, you can do so through MYF. It is tax deductible, and will be greatly appreciated. The address for the office is:

Missing You Foundation
300 Napoleon Road
Michigan Center, Michigan 49254

Checks and money orders should be made out to Missing You Foundation. In the memo line, please write "Katrina Victims". This will earmark your funds to go to specifically that.

If you've never been in a situation like this, you couldn't possibly understand just how much water and ice are needed down there. They have nothing to drink. The SAR people working on the rescue efforts have nothing to drink.

You know...I sit here, writing about stuff that doesn't matter. My headache. My sister's dumbness. And it's hard. Does anything really matter anymore? Does any of our little problems REALLY have ANYTHING to do with the overall picture of our lives? I don't think they do.

The looters are taking over the city. The city isn't in a position to fight back. The talking heads keep saying that NOLA was lucky. Were they lucky?! I don't think they were. We're talking about total devastation. What exactly is our perception of total devastation? Does the entire city have to be quiet, not a sound made, not a building standing to achieve such a classification? Does it? Because if you look at the photos, if you see what's taking place down there it sure as hell looks like total devastation to me. Not just to NOLA, but to Mississippi, to Shreveport, to Biloxi to Gulfport...to any town that is anywhere near that Godforsaken coast.

And...is it over? Or, while all of our SAR teams and environmental teams, and the Coast Guard are down there busting their asses to save the scraps of humanity that are left, is another hurricane going to sweep in and just pummel the hell out of them again?

Normally, NORMALLY I have quite a bit of respect for President Bush. I may not always respect his decisions. I may not always agree with what he does, but today, I saw the picture of him looking out of the window on AirForce One, and I literally wanted to throw up. I had a physical reaction to that photo. He wanted to see it with his own eyes...I get it. But to have that picture taken of him in his cushy little leather recliner on the Presidential aircraft, rubbernecking at what is going on...I found it...distasteful. Open up the floodgates, help be part of the solution. Help come up with some idea of what to do with the dead, figure out how theyr'e going to treat the injured and sick. Order empty apartment complexes finished, and the cruise lines....put our refugees in there.

One moment you're there in your home and you believe that everything is going to be ok. So much so that you kept your small children in your home with you to ride out this storm. You believe in your heart that your home will withstand the elements and you'll be fine. Instead, Katrina made a believer out of you. That's just incredibly sad to me. I read one headline that said "Die Hards will do just that: Die Hard"

One more note...9/11 caught us with our pants down. I would have thought that we as American's would have learned something from that. No one is exempt. No one is safe. Whether it be from Terrorism or Mother Nature...we need to be prepared. We have the technology to beat things like this. We had the technology that told these people to get out. And, thankfully, 80% did. From NOLA, anyway. But, the other places that were also near didn't get quite the same warnings. I'll concede that much. The national syndicates were hell bent on covering NOLA and only NOLA. But, my point is, that if you're told to get the hell out of dodge...DO IT. Your things are replaceable. You are not.

My heart breaks for these people. Just breaks. I want you to know that while I may write about other things in the coming weeks, that Katrina's wrath isn't being slighted, we're working our asses off to help in more ways than one. But...I need to keep sane too. So, if I happen to write about how stupid my sister is or how if the cat poops on the floor one more time he may learn what it's like to sleep in the elements...it's not because I don't care about what Katrina has done. I do, with all my heart. But, I come here to collect my thoughts...whatever they may be.

Uggg. My heart is so heavy. I want to be down there, RIGHT NOW. I know that I can't be and that is even more infuriating. But what counts is we're trying. Now, if we all, as a country would try we'd be able to get it taken care of in no time. Let's think about that...

If you have any more ideas other than sending in our SAR teams (when they can accommodate more people), sending ice and water and sending coordinators to help organize...I'm all ears. I'm looking for that epiphany for what we can do to make a difference. Tell me and I'm all over it. I am resourceful and I have amazing ways to do things with little money. You just tell me what you think needs to be done and we'll try...

sdk

I'm losing my own bet...

For those who are new here, my sister called a few weeks back and announced she was gay. I've been pretty busy lately, and really haven't had the time (or the memory to remember) to continue with the countdown. I didn't think it'd last more than 2 weeks. My sister has been blowing up my phone for the past several days and I've delightfully been avoiding her like the plague (not because she's gay, because she's stupid). She finally nailed me on the phone a bit ago. I'd like to share that conversation.

Amanda: It's about time you answer your damn phone.

Me: Oh. (mutter under my breath damnit) Hey. You still gay?

Amanda: Now, why would you ask me that? Isn't that a little rude?

Me: Uh huh. So...are you?

Amanda: Why do you want to know?

Me: We're doing a countdown on my blog. Some are even wagering bets how long you stay gay.

Amanda: WHAT?! Why would you do that? You are such a bitch.

Me: Look...I enjoy entertainment, and you can't just call me and tell me you're gay after sleeping with half of the continent's men and not have me find that entertaining. If you don't want people to know, don't tell anyone. Go back to your closet. So, are you or not? My readers need to know.

Amanda: God you suck. It's more of a bi-sexual thing. I'm not really gay. I mean, I'm still sleeping with Joe too.

Me: Oh. Well, that's comforting. I'm sure Hilary enjoys the double dipping.

Amanda: Hilary is a cool person. You wouldn't understand.

Me: Oh? Why is that?

Amanda: Because you are narrow minded. You think that gay people are bad.

Me: NO, NO, NO, NO, NO. That's not IT, Amanda. I don't think GAY people are bad. I think YOU are bad. I think that you are so confused as to what you really want, you have no idea which way to turn. You're going to end up hurting that girl, and that's not really fair. The way I see it, you're using her to get by whatever it is that's all screwed up in your life right now.

Amanda: I'm bad? You think I'M bad?

Me: Yep. You're going to end up with therapy bills so high for you AND your children that your KIDS are going to have to remortgage their homes.

Amanda: I hate you.

Me: Really? I love you. And, it's further entertaining to irritate you. This is fun.

Amanda: I don't know how much longer I'm going to be with her anyway.

Me: Oh? Reeeeaaaaally? (heh heh) Why not?

Amanda: She's clingy. She can't handle it when I want to leave the house.

Me: Huh. Is it that, or is she tired of being your built in babysitter so you can go screw Joe on the side?

Amanda: She's great with the kids.

Me: Yeah, I'd be careful with that. I wouldn't push the kids off on her all the time. That may have something to do with why she's balking at you leaving.

Amanda (suddenly enraged): I hate you. All you ever do is bitch at me.

Me: Uh huh. And all YOU ever do is call me when you think I outta be paying attention to you. You don't take into account how I feel at all. So...blow me.

Amanda: What's going on with you?

Me: Oh. How kind of you to ask.

Amanda: I have to have a hysterectomy. It's worse than yours.

Me: Really? I have cancer...how much worse can it get?

Amanda: Oh. I forgot you have cancer.

Me: Interestingly enough, that doesn't surprise me.

Amanda: It's always all about you, you, you.

Me: Oh...look at that my phone's going dead.

Amanda: Fine. I'll call you later.

Me: I'll call you when I have time to deal with your shit. That won't be this week. Probably not next week either.

Amanda: Love you.

Me: You too.

CoughBULLSHITCough

Just FYI...I took this picture about a half hour ago. This is what I call Rifriggindiculous.

While I'd love to believe that we're really this far in the hole when it comes to our fossil fuels, I'm having a hard time understanding how our government expects us to live like this on our current salaries. Just my gripe for the day. BTW...this is the gas station that is within walking distance from my home.

Excrutiating Pain

Yesterday, I woke up with a migraine. I am prone to migraines, but I don't get them often, and when I do, I've learned how to cope so that I can still function to some extent. But, yesterday, it was absolutely horrendous.

I'm not normally the whiney type. I mean, I whine, but not about pain. I whine about things like my computer connection not being fast enough, or that I have to use the company cell phone instead of my own...you know things that I could do something about if I weren't so damn lazy.

But, yesterday the pain I felt in my head caused an excessive amount of whining. I sometimes have blackouts caused by a heart disease called Vasso-Depressor-Discopy. I have no clue what that really means, but for me it means that my heart doesn't pump enough blood to my brain sometimes. So, I blackout, fall down and then my head is on a level playing field with my heart...in other words, the blackout is a safety mechanism that knocks my butt out so that my brain is level with my heart, thus causing my heart to not have to pump so hard to get that blood up there.

Where was I going with this? Oh! I remember. So, sometimes, after a blackout or a near blackout, the back of my head (like where the head connects to the spine - in the neck area, but high on the back of the neck) my head will throb very painful throbs. But, generally after a blackout, it's only a few pulses of that pain and it's over with. Yesterday it just pulsed and pulsed and pulsed and...it never went away.

At 4:00 I took two 500mg Hydrocodone pills that were leftover from my C/Section in March. (I'm not meant to take recreational or prescribed drugs. It's just not in me. I have like 3 refills left on that script, and there are now 5 pills missing from the original prescription). Drugs make me ill. Any drugs. Once, when I was 19, I smoked marijuana with my little brother and passed out in the driveway for 3 hours. See...just not meant to do such things. Anyways...so I took those two pills (vicodin) at 4. It took the edge off it a little and caused me to stop throwing up for a good hour. Not that there was anything left to throw up, I had the dry heaves for hours.

At 6 (a mere two hours later) the pain was back with full force, so I took another one. That didn't even touch the pain at all. I tried and tried to go to sleep. But, with the dry heaves, feeling like your lying in a lava pit, and feeling like if you had a button to spontaneously eject your head from your body, you'd be using all your body weight to heave on that button...it just wasn't happening.

I ended up taking my pillow, my puke-pan and my cold wet washcloth (to drape over my eyes) downstairs with the intent of lying on the floor next to Mr. DK so he could make me feel better. I took my pillow, pushed it up against his legs (he was lying on the floor playing PS2, which by the way now works again after Sam #2, 3 year old, put Febreeze in it last week...and almost got written out of the will over it.) and said "Honey...make me feel better." Do you know what he said to me?

The insensitive ass said, and I quote: "I could punch you in the face, and you'd be knocked out, thus feeling no more pain..."

I then promptly starting puking again, and after I was done hurling, I actually wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, turned, glared at him and wiped my hand on his shirt. And that in my world is pretty good retribution. He's got a vomit phobia. Everytime the kids hurl, he's always nailed, and this makes me smile. Now I have officially contributed to his phobia. ***Warm Fuzzy***

I'm feeling a bit better today. I was able to catch it in time today. I woke up, it started to throb a little so I gave myself a shot of Imitrex in my upper thigh. Imitrex only works for me if you get it before the migraine takes full effect.

On a different note...#1 is in the livingroom playing Spongebob on the PS2. I hear an "Awww Shit" leave his little lips. I then hear Mr. DK say "Excuse me? What did you just say?" "I said Aww shoot." "No you didn't. You said Aww shit. Didn't you?" "Yes. I'm lying. I said what you said." "What word did you say?" "FINE I SAID SHIT."

Guess who's grounded from the PS2 for the next 24 hours?

sdk

Absoluteley Maddening.

We haven't left yet. Actually, if I truly end up going, it's not going to be until the weekend. But the dog teams haven't left yet, and let me tell you why...

There's no where to put them. When we ready for a mission such as this, it's imperative to not go down there and become part of the problem. At minimum, I can't send my teams in if we can't provide them with clean water (heck it doesn't even have to be cold...we're just going for non-toxic), they need a quiet place to rest after their day is done to regroup and debrief...debriefing is a big deal for something like this. With the destruction and the lives lost, and what the teams will see, they need to be able to debrief with the team to expel the images that they'll have in their minds and hearts into words and get them out.

Right now, none of those things exist. There's still live wires down all over the place, there's no water, there's plenty of death and destruction, of which there aren't even estimates of what they're looking at, there are entire families missing, there are parts of families missing, there are entire families dead and there are parts of families dead.

For me, this has been a really hard realization. I'm used to being able to go in, start coordinating, getting people doing something (anything that is part of the solution) and just working down the scale towards the ultimate goal. I don't know how to do that with this. It's so massive, it's so widespread, and it's so completely heartbreaking to me.

And, for just a second while I'm running through the emotions, I'm pissed too. I'm pissed to read things like conversations overheard of college students "Let's find a place to watch it. It'll be cool." I'm pissed about this because it's those people that my friends and fellow SAR people are now frantically, desperately trying to find.

So let me recap: FEMA needs our help. NOLA needs our help. But, we can't get in there. And even if we did get in there, while we'd be useful for a good 8-12 hours, then we're part of the problem, and potentially could be causing more harm than good by putting our teams in danger. The dogs tire. People tire.

We're more than likely going to still go, just not until there's a better idea of what the heck is going on down there. The statistics should start to pour in either sometime today or tomorrow, possibly even Thursday.

From my heart: God Bless the people who are trapped. God Speed to the people who have perished, and God DAMN Katrina.

sdk

May be gone for a bit...

Just in case I'm not able to get back to the computer before we're deployed, I thought I'd let you all know that it looks like we're going to be deployed for search and rescue efforts for Katrina's victims. So, I'm not sure how long I'm going to be gone (or if I'm going to be at this point) or what's going on.

Please keep her victims in your prayers. We're talking about disaster of epic proportions at this point. If you're close, volunteer. If you're not, you can donate to Missing You Foundation www.helpMYf.org or to the Red Cross to assist. We're expecting reports in the thousands of missing persons by late this afternoon.

E-mail me if you can help. My email is on our website.

sdk

HNT...Better Late than Never...

David...it is hereby your responsibility to send me a reminder e-mail telling me to put my pieces parts up for HNT. The said email should be received no later than 3pm on Wednesdays. ~management

Photo taken on Valentines day, 2005. This is me all knocked-up. That would be #3 protruding from my abdomen there, and I must say, he's MUCH cuter in person.

sdk

PS...sorry its so late!!!

Just for Cheryl...

These are the only photos I have of me singing in a digital format. I actually went on a hunt for my old band pictures...LOL All I found were some that there's no way in hell I'm publishing and giving up for potential use on the internet...LOL

So, this is actually, me and my little brother (who sings exceptionally well) doing "Picture" by Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow. You'll see him rocking out...LOL He's always good for entertaining the crowd.

Same night, he did Elvira, and instead sang "Viagra" and made up a whole new set of lyrics. It was the funniest damn thing I think I've ever witnessed.

God, I Wish I Were Making This Up...

While we're on the subject of my fucked up family, I've got a wild story to tell you about Grandpa and my Aunt Robin. This is one that I'm dying to tell my kids and their kids, and their kids, but they aren't old enough to hear it yet, and well...even if they were, I'm not sure I want them to look at their Papa as a son-of-a-bitch. We'll chalk it up to family lore. This is a strong contender for the Nature vs. Nurture debate. Hell, had I not seen it with my own eyes, I'm not sure I'd even believe it.

When Aunt Robin (whom we called Bobby until she had a Bobbye of her own) graduated from high school, she got the hell out of dodge. The first thing she did was buy herself a car and move to Florida.

It was her first visit home after her move that started the family tradition of having a huge fight every, single, flippin' time.

On her second day home, she asked Grandpa if she could borrow the truck. He said, "Bobby, it's loaded down with furniture, I don't want you driving it." Grandma and Grandpa own an antique mall. She said ok, and that she'd be back in a little bit. She went down the road a bit, to Old Mr. Murphy's house and asked him if she could use the truck for the night. Old Mr. Murphy said it wouldn't be a problem. "Anything for you, Bobby!"

Now, right here, we should note that Robin's intention that night was to go out with Chris, one of her oldest friends. Chris, a white girl was dating a black guy. She had already had one child by the said black guy (who might I just add is a freakin' KNOCK-OUT now). This was what Grandpa's deal was. He didn't want Robin going out with Chris, the white girl who dated black guys.

Aunt Robin pulls into the driveway with Old Mr. Murphy's truck and parks. She goes in and into the bathroom to get ready to go out that night. In the mirror, she sees the reflection of what's going on outside the window.

There's Grandpa, with Old Mr. Murphy's truck hood open. He's grabbing wires and pulling them off the motor just as fast as he could. She sat there for a second, looking quite stunned. She said to me, "Ugggh. It's amazing someone hasn't killed that man yet." It was just about then, we heard the screen door slam in the kitchen. One glance out the window told us that Grandpa wasn't "working" on the truck anymore.

Seconds later, Grandpa appears in the doorway of the bathroom. "Bobby, go move that truck. It's in my way." Aunt Robin looks him square in the eye and says "Dad, you know damn well......(pause)... Ok, Dad. I'll go move the truck."

So, Robin heads outside. From the bathroom window, I watch. She goes out, flips up Grandpa's hood on HIS truck, and starts pulling wires just as quickly as she can.

Then I hear the screen door slam again. I prayed "Dear Lord. Please let Aunt Robin run faster than Grandpa."

I go running out into the kitchen, and out the screen door to the porch. I see Aunt Robin slam down the hood of Grandpa's truck and head on a dead run for the lane to the back alphalpha field. Grandpa follows her for a few minutes, also on a dead run, and then he abruptly stops. He walks at a brisk pace over to the barn. It was then that I knew the shit was about to hit the fan.

I hear the Bull Dozer start up. It's a relatively new dozer, and it's freakin' huge. He's now going as fast as its governor will allow, across the hay field, towards Aunt Robin. Meanwhile, my dad is upstairs taking a nap. He didn't feel good, had a bad headache, and he had come over to Gram and Grandpa's to pick me up because they were watching me while he and mom were at work. He ended up laying down in my mom's old room for a while because he felt yucky. So, I went up to tell daddy that Grandpa was trying to kill Aunt Robin and that he should probably go help her.

So, dad springs out of bed, and is on a dead run for outside. There was no "Oh, honey, Grandpa's not going to kill Aunt Robin! What on Earth would make you think that?!" If the bull dozer was running, there's no doubt that Grandpa's up to no good. Especially at 8pm at night.

So, Dad goes running down the lane to try to help grandpa. Over his shoulder he screams "If Grandpa does anything dumb, call 911!" Ok, define DUMB to an 8 year old. What the hell?! So, I sat there watching.

Robin has now circled around and is heading, still sprinting towards the house. Grandpa, not missing a beat, is right behind her, swinging the bucket of the dozer back and forth and swerving all over the place.

I decide that he's for real, and went in to call 911. Then, I went back outside.

They are about, oh...30 yards from the house at this point. Aunt Robin is screaming "You crazy bastard! You're going to KILL ME!" I couldn't hear what Grandpa was yelling. It was muffled by the dozer.

Robin does the smart thing. She makes a B line for the barn. She goes in, climbs the gate and goes on into the paddock. He ain't going to go busting through the electric fence and risk letting all the horses out. So, for the time being she's safe.

In the meantime, Grandpa circles the dozer back out to the driveway. He flips around in his chair, and is now controlling the blade...the big wide plow looking thing on the dozer. At this point, law enforcement is starting to arrive. So far, I see three cars.

Grandpa gets on the other side of Old Mr. Murphy's truck. First he lowers the plow bucket. And slowly moves forward. It was at this point that my dad was able to climb up on the dozer and try to talk him down.

That didn't work. Grandpa punched my dad right in the mouth. Dad jumped off. He came around the side of the house and found a push broom that Gram used for the porch.

Grandpa scooped the bottom of Old Mr. Murphy's truck, and tipped it up on it's side. Now, every cop there has their firearms aimed right at him. But, he's in a metal cage inside there. Even if they would have shot, the chances of ricochet quite good.

Grandpa floors the dozer. He slams Old Mr. Murphy's truck right into the house. (I'm over standing behind the cop cars at this point.) Four different times he slammed that truck into the porch. He put a huge gaping hole in the side of the house.

During slams 3 and 4, my Dad was back up on the dozer, and he's now got that broom, and he's pounding the shit out of Grandpa with it. Finally, Grandpa shuts down the dozer.

About this time, Gram comes pulling into the driveway with my mom in the car. She comes flying out of the car just a bitching. I don't think she even took the time to put the thing in park.

Law enforcement quickly grabs grandpa, and handcuffs him and puts him in the car. After sitting there for a few minutes, he asks the cop if he can apologize to Robin. The cop thinks this is a good idea, so he calls Robin over there. Robin, from a distance says "Dad, what?" He says "Come closer. I want to tell you something. I need to tell you how sorry I am." So, she goes and bends down close to his face and says "Yeah? What do you have to say for trying to kill me?" And then...

He spit right in her face.

Charming, huh? Thank God he's lost most of that spunk with old age, but I shit you not, if he gets pissed and I hear the tractor, I'm OUTTA there.

sdk

For Your Viewing Pleasure...

I have uploaded all the little visual snacks from yesterday's festivities to a Flickr account so that you can see them. There's a new flicker badge on the sidebar, and if you just click on it, it'll take you to my photo album.

Since I will also be sharing these with my family, if you could pretty please leave all smartassed comments (if you should feel so inclined) here on the blog, and not on the photos themselves, it would save me from being ousted from the family Christmas...LOL

I'll post a real post later!

sdk

I thought I was done for the night but...

I wasn't going to turn this blog into a "look how damn cute my kids are" showcase. I mean, I KNOW how damn cute my kids are...but....We ended up getting Alex (#1) a new suit now for the wedding next weekend...and Grandma had him model it tonight to take pictures and just sent me this one. Look how freakin' grown up and just damn adorable that kid is...

F.I.N.E. (Among other things...)

F: Fucked Up
I: Insecure
N: Neurotic
E: Emotional.

That sounds about right. I'm fine. I had the pleasure of hanging out with my family tonight (my mother's side of the family) and this is one of many educational things I learned tonight.

This post will be laden with several things. I've got a great joke I heard tonight planned for you, and I think I'll start with a brief history on the fam for you.

My daddy's side of the family (you know, the one who's blood DOESN'T course through my veins) is normal. Doctors, Teachers, Entrapraneurs, Accountants...the norm. They have good strong morals, they're decent people, they like to control their environment (and those IN their environment) and they are for the most part pleasant to be around.

To explain my mom's side of the family, I can't use any of the above descriptions. There's Grandpa, who's crotchety unless he's got a Miller Light in his hand, and then he's still crotchety, but he's at least funny whilst crotchety. Grandma is a prude. She didn't use to be. I remember one time when Grandpa pissed her off and she came flying out of the old farm house with a fifth of Jim Beam in one hand and she swiped the garden hoe as she was coming out the door with the other. That was an entertaining 20 minutes while we waited for law enforcement to come rescue Grandpa.

Uncle Jimmy, Mom's youngest brother is brilliant. You heard me, IQ in the upper 170's. Uncle Jimmy ran over a police officer, not once, but six times during a routine traffic stop when the cop caught him coming out of a known crack bar. As per usual, when Uncle Jimmy falls into a bucket of shit, he comes out smelling like a rose every damn time. He only got 2 years worth of prison time for that little stunt (the officer is ok, though he doesn't really work the beat anymore, he got an office job after that.). Jimmy got to be on the evening news. As a matter of fact, Mom and I were sitting on the couch when he debuted. He's literally running hells bells from the police helicopter (and several officers on foot) under the spotlight. It only took the State Police Narcotics dogs about two hours to finally tree him. Lemme just say, he's the apple of my Grandpa's eye. He's got all brains in the world, yet lacks the know how to apply it to his own life. I just want to literally place my fingers around his neck when he climbs up on his soapbox and aims his high moral standards speech at me. I know what he's done, and I know what he's capable of too. I'm the only person in our whole entire family who has stood toe to toe with him and didn't back down from him. I'm also the only one of us he's never hit. (If he does, he better do it good and then run like hell...)

Uncle Kenny, the kid between my mom and Aunt Robin died in 1983 at the age of 23. Lance Corporal Uncle Kenny. He was a good guy, with a good heart, and ended up hitting a tree drunk after a party one night. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was 7 years old.

Aunt Robin...my mom's sister. She's a bit eccentric, but I love her to pieces. It's a little eerie looking at your moving, talking, walking, joking dead mother who has accumulated a Texas Accent over the years, and have it be another person. Aunt Robin lives in Texas, and we only see her once a year, if we're lucky. She's married to John, and has a daughter named Bobbye Leigh and a son named Eric. Bobbye is as fucked up as they come, and Eric graduated from Purdue U 1st in his class as an engineer something or other and has been headhunted from corporations and businesses all over the world. He settled in Ohio with his gorgeous girlfriend Casey.

Now that our history is complete and you know the characters, I just have to say that normally, we avoid these meetings when Aunt Robin is home like the plague. Everyone drinks like there's no tomorrow, Grandpa and someone usually gets in a fight, which results in Grandpa climbing on the tractor and trying to run people over, there's all sorts of vocabulary snacks for the kids to pick up (truly...my family has got to be one of the originators of the word fuck. They use it like they own it.) Normally, we prefer to hang out with Aunt Robin on our own and call it good. I like my family. I do...it's just I like them separately, if that makes sense. I can handle Uncle Jimmy. Because when it's just Uncle Jimmy and me, or him and my immediate family, then he's not trying to show the world that he promised my mother's body, while lying in her casket (in prison issue blues with two guards standing behind them with AKA assault rifles strapped to their sides) that he'd take care of me and Cj. When it's just us, he acts like a normal person, and doesn't bother with the bullshit speeches that are meant for everyone else to hear for his benefit, and not mine.

Likewise, I love my Grandparents. But, they're a whole lot less crotchety when it's just them and us and they don't have to compete to hear themselves talk.


The Joke: (As told by Aunt Robin)

A new police officer, new to the department is out looking for his first traffic stop. Sure enough, he sees a female in a Lincoln go flying by doing 80 in a 55. He thinks "Hmmm...I got me a good one."

At the same time, the female in the Lincoln sees him. She thinks to herself "Boy, I've got him pegged." And pulls over to the shoulder.

He approaches the car and says "Maam', may I see your license?"

Lincoln Chick: Um, I'm sorry officer, I don't have a license. They took it away from me after my fourth DUI (Driving Under the Influence).

Officer: Ok. Well, do you have any insurance on this car?

Lincoln Chick: No sir. They cancelled my insurance after my first DUI.

Officer: Well, surely you have the car registered? May I see your registration?

Lincoln Chick: Sir, this car is stolen. I killed the owner, chopped him up in little pieces, and he's in the trunk.

Officer: Lady...you stay RIGHT there. DON'T MOVE.

The green officer backs away from the car and radio's for backup. The closest cop within range is the Chief of Police. He arrives on scene, and stands back, talking to the officer for a few minutes. The Chief of Police approaches the car slowly.

Chief: Maam', do you have ANY identification on you?

Lincoln Chick: Of course. Will my drivers license be sufficient?

Chief (looking a little puzzled): Yes, thank you. Do you have insurance on this car?

Lincoln Chick: It's a 2005 Lincoln. What do you think? Of course I have insurance. (as she hands him the proof.)

Chief (starting to look really confused): Is this car registered to you maam'?

Lincoln Chick: Uh...in order to insure it, it must be registered. You'll see there the insurance is in my name, and here's my registration. Is something wrong officer?!

Chief: Well, Maam', the funny thing is that my officer back there says that you didn't have ID, you didn't have registration, you didn't have insurance, that you stole this car and the owner is dead in the trunk. Do you mind if I have a look in your trunk?

She gets out, shows him the inside of the trunk, and says "God. I bet he'll tell you I was speeding too..."

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Video

There's a video at the bottom of the page....hence the reason you're hearing some mournful crooning. I do love this song (a lot, actually...) but the reason I posted it more than anything is so that you can see his mullet. I mean, that's blatant mullet abuse.

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Freakin' FINALLY.

My husband and my little brother have both decided to do the unthinkable. Both are going back to college this fall. And, might I just add...thank God for that.

Mr. DK went to college on a basketball scholarship for a few years. He didn't finish, and he majored in Basketball. Interestingly enough, there aren't a whole lot of careers that actually look at Basketball as a real major, unless you're talking about the six figure kind, and since I married a big, tall white guy and not LeBron James, the six figure career is a tad out of reach. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's 6'7" and more than able on the court. But, unless you're some sort of backboard breaking God, your chances of actually making a six figure income in a sport career are pretty much nill. And, since he'll probably see his name and decide to read this, I will mention that he did indeed break a backboard, once, during a dunk in high school. There. Now you know, and I won't get bitched at for withholding evidence.

Cj, my little brother on the other hand is pretty far behind. He's 24, and spent 3 of the last 4 Christmas's in a cell, celebrating Christ's birthday with guys with names like G-Money and Blade. We always get fun calls (at like $4.90 for the first minute and 1.99 for each minute there-after) from the county correctional institution, and the collect name that the caller records for us to hear is always "Momhadababyeetsinjail!" That's jackass for "Cj". He's always telling us what great plans he has for when he gets out, and how his law breaking days are over, and how drugs are a thing of the past and how life would be so much simpler if I'd just kick him in the ass once in a while.

This time, he's actually carried through with it. Yesterday, my little boy (brother, LOL) registered for his first semester of college. You know, the most fucked up thing about the whole scenario is the kid always had a 4.0 gpa. He didn't have to study for extended periods, or cram for tests or slave over papers. It all came very easily to him. His senior year, two months before the last semester was over, the moron dropped out of high school. He actually obtained his GED while he was in the clink. I mean, I'm glad he did, but for the love of Christ, two months before graduation, he dropped out. His brain cells were smoked into oblivion, I think.

Cj had a lot of problems. I'm sure you've seen me allude to it here and there throughout my posts, but my mom was murdered in 1997. That would have made Cj 15. Cj is under the delusion that he could have done something to prevent it, or that he should have been there to protect her. During that time, I actually had custody of him, and he was living up in Traverse City with me. That's about 300 miles from where my mom lived. I had custody because she was making bad decisions, she was drinking unfathomable amounts of alcohol and she married the asshat who killed her. Anyways, long story short, Cj has been fucked up every since.

So, I'm happy. So happy, I'm giving him one of my laptops and a printer for school. And, Mr. DK already has most of his credits. He's entering an Electrical Engineer program, and will have a degree sometime within the next two semesters. That's just good stuff.

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Pet Malevolence

It's official. My animals think I'm Satan.

I've about had it with the damn bugs and rodents. So, imagine my glee when I'm sitting here in this very chair, petting my kitty (Oh quit...) and a flea jumps on me. I said "Jas, get the keys, we're going out." So, off to Meijer's we went (local Wal-Martish type store with higher prices). I bought some Flea and Tick spray for the cats, shampoo for both the cats and dogs and home we came.

So, Hagrid (affectionately called Kitten-Shit) went first. He's the most submissive and is by now used to getting all slathered up with soapy goodness. He just lays down and takes it for the most part now. Course, usually he gets Aveda. Today, he got Flea treatment. It doesn't smell anywhere close to as good, but the stuff works. He was my guinea pig of sorts, to see if it was even worth putting on the other animals. It was awesome! They just laid down and died. Just like that. Normally, when you use Salon-bought Aveda, it just lulls them into a scentual fantasy land, and they sleep, all the while LOOKING dead. They come back to life as soon as he dries off and they can actually maneuver through his fur.

Lily happened to be sleeping in the bathroom window during the festivities. Actually, if you want the truth, I think she was pretending to be sleeping, and was really just snorting her approval of the torturing of the kitten. They don't really get along. Hagrid likes Lily just fine. Lily thinks Hagrid is a pimple on the ass of her life. So, she was next. I actually had Lily declawed, all four claws when she was about eight months old. The reason was because she'd freakin' attack me when I was sleeping, and rabbit kick the hell out of my arms. The end result was me looking like I was disgruntled with life and trying to end it all. I was getting calls from psychologists, well meaning friends were saying things like "Honey...if there's anything I can do to take some of the stress off..." and stuff like that. Suicide's for pussies, and if pussies are for makin' it look like suicide, out come their claws in my world.

Anyways...where was I? Oh. Yeah. So, into the bath she goes, and the first thing she does is twists onto her back and rabbit kicks the hell out of my arm. When that didn't cause immediate release, she decided she would reach around and bite me as hard as she could. That worked. So, now it's hot pursuit of a dripping, very long haired animal. It's AMAZING how much water is retained in the fur of a long hair cat. And she's just pissing and moaning at me all through the chase. Finally, I catch her, and back to the bath she goes. I ended up getting all the soap off her, and then wrangling her out of the shower with a towel. I was feeling a little bit like that Crocodile Hunter Bastard by the time we were done.

Next, Murphy blindly follows my command to come upstairs. Interesting how she'll follow voice commands inside, but the moment she steps foot outside she's deaf, dumb and blind to the fact she even HAS a master. So, I lug her 90 pound ass into the claw-foot tub (a feat in and of itself), and start slathering away. Instead of using the cup to rinse, like I did with the cats, I got out the bucket. She loves playing in water. So, I'm trying to slather her up, she wants to jump and splash and play. Oh, great fun! Her bath went great until I accidentally got it in her eyes. Then she howled and cried and whined, and all of a sudden, I'm not her favorite human, and she wouldn't get back to me on when I'd be allowed to resume that position. When she was done, I draped a towel over her back (it happened to have a big hole in it, which was perfect for putting her tail through) and then she had to go have some fun. First she rolled all over the new carpet, then rubbed against every piece of furniture we've got, and then shook off on daddy (daddy LOVES it when she does that).

After all was said and done, I went back upstairs to take a shower of my own. Murphy comes up to observe, sits there for a sec and as I get in under the water looks right in my eyes and barks. I swear to God, I think she was thinking "See, you take showers, I take showers. You eat out of bowls, I eat out of bowls. You wear necklaces, I have a necklace. I'M HUMAN. Quit treating me like a freakin' dog!"

After I got out of the shower, I put baby lotion on my legs. I always do. This time, I also put some on her belly. Not only does she smell phenomenal, but I'm hoping it will diminish that whole itching and licking in that area constantly deal.

Lets hope. They'll forgive me...LOL

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The Struggle.

Well, #1 left today to go with his Grandma. She's keeping him for the last week, then they're leaving for Traverse City (way up north) on Friday for the wedding on Saturday. I'm ok with it, I think.

For those who wrote telling me that I have my head screwed on straight when it comes to his dad and how I'm handling their relationship, I'll tell you why I have this perspective.

Nigh on 29 years ago... (heh heh...just kidding. Who starts a paragraph like that?!)

I'm adopted. I mean, my mother was my mother, but my dad adopted me. They met when I was like 6 months or so, and married when I was 2. My entire life, I knew I was adopted. There were no secrets, no big shocker there, just the blatant truth. The one thing my mom did do was to try to warn me about my biological father. He stuck around until I was six weeks old, and then, I never saw him again until the day I graduated high school. She tried to warn me. She told me stories about him, she tried to cushion that fall that she knew was inevitable.

Instead of helping me understand who and what he was, it caused me to fantasize about him. Like, for instance when my parents would inadvertantly piss me off (as all parents inevitably do), I would dream of the day when my REAL daddy would come whisk me away to a world filled with DisneyLand and Ice Cream, where parents didn't yell, mommies and daddies didn't drink all the time, and mothers didn't hit or beat their children. That day never came.

The day I graduated high school, he showed up. In tote with him were my younger brother, Joe, my younger sister, Amanda (you all know Amanda...she's dating Hilary) and another little girl, introduced to me as my sister Jennifer. He said that he was sorry my mother kept him from me so long, but that day, he deserved to be my dad more than the guy who's been acting like my dad all these years. It wasn't until that very moment that I understood what my mom had been trying to tell me all of those years.

My dad, the man I know as my daddy, CHOSE to be my father. He didn't have to be. He didn't have to treat me like his own child. He didn't have to deal with my crap for all those years. He didn't have to teach me to golf, to change oil in a car, or any lessons in life. But he did. Because he loved me, and he made the choice to be there. My dad never said a bad word about my biological father. He left it up to me to make those decisions on my own. When I had questions, he always said "Someday Princess, you'll have a choice whether you want to meet him and then you'll have all of those questions answered." He didn't think for me, or do anything to influence my opinion of my biological father.

Since Graduation, I've gotten to know him quite well. I've also gotten to know my siblings. The other sister, Jennifer is the same age as Amanda. Twins? Not exactly. Jen was born in February, and Amanda in July. How is this possible, you ask? He knocked up the BABYSITTER. He hasn't held a job since I've known him for longer than 4 months, he did get in trouble for buying drugs from his own son (said brother, Joe), and everytime he sees me on TV with my work, I get oodles and oodles of messages in my voice mail about how proud he is of me and how he called all his friends to tell them that I'm HIS daughter. Every freakin' time.

I don't have an ounce of respect for him. I can't stand talking to him, he's selfish, he hasn't so much as visited my kids, his first "grandkids" in going on two years, which means he hasn't even met #3, he's childish, and he's arrogant. He's even called to ask me to borrow money. When I talk to him, I do it more out of respect for the biological process of life than anything else. He says "I love you" every time we hang up, and I always respond with "Me too."

My parents didn't have to tell me anything about him. Now I know, and I've formed my own opinion. He's a schmuck. My biological father who did indeed give me life and for that has earned the name "Bio-Dad". I call him this to his face. Everyone got a kick out of it. They thought it was just the wittiest, cutest little thing. For me, everytime I get to allow those words to leave my lips aimed at him, it's my faithful little way of telling him, "I already have a real dad, and it isn't you, you self centered son-of-a-bitch."

So, this is why I feel the way I do for my own son. I've been down this road. This is one that I have some experience with, that I understand, and that I've lived in real-time. Ex is just a newer version of Bio-Dad. #1 HAS a real daddy. He may not understand it now, through all the smiles and fun times he'll have out on the boat with his Bio-dad, or dancing at the reception with his Bio-Dad, or going out on the Quads with his Bio-Dad next weekend. But, when he's old enough to form his opinions, he'll remember that his REAL dad cleaned up those scraped knees, and taught him to ride his bike without training wheels, and taught him about life.

It will be self evident.

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Interbreed of Thoughts and Stuff

Interbreed. God I love the thesaurus. What a great new word. You put in mix and you end up with interbreed. That's just good stuff.

On with the day.

We decided to forgo purchasing a new tv. Jas starts a new job (a good PAYING job) in like two weeks, (WHOOOOOHOOO) so we're going to wait until we can afford it. Then, if the Gods should choose to smile upon us, we'll not be getting a 27 inch 300 lb television, we'll be getting a 40 inch 30 lb television. SMILE. Please?!


(Hagrid modeling the carpet...isn't he a sexy bitch?) Instead, I got my way and we are working on the house for the next two weeks. We now have carpet in our livingroom. It is actually hard wood, which in and of itself isn't a bad thing. It's when it crosses someone's mind that it would be a good idea to paint it shit brown that it becomes disturbing. Aside from the fact that Logan (#3) is going to be crawling soon, it was just good common sense to get something down there. So, we did some looking and I actually convinced my landlord to buy me a remnant. It's 12 x 6.3, which of course doesn't cover the entire livingroom floor, but it serves its purpose. It fits just under the edge of each piece of furniture and it's actually nice. It was a fairly expensive carpet at one point. But, after it got all hacked to holy hell...we end up with just enough to take care of my livingroom.

Mr. DK went to the laundry-mat today. (heh heh) Made him take Wierd-Al (#1) with him. I figure if I'm here cleaning, he can take at least one of the kids. So, anywho, I now have clean towels. This is a good thing. I'm a little anal retentive about the towel situation. I need a clean towel to take a shower. And, I'll even reuse my towel, if said towel hasn't been swabbed all over someone else's body. If it has, I'd rather air dry. Whole cupboard full of clean towels now.

I have curtains up in my livingroom...Erika, you'll be happy to hear that they are not black. I like them, I think...but I don't know. I'm not usually the froo-froo type. But, there was a sale...and you know how we chicks do with sales...

Tomorrow, we organize #1's dresser to get him ready for school. I absolutely HATE going through that kids clothes. He has more clothes than all the rest of us put together. It's good that he does, but #2 always gets shafted because he always ends up with #1's cast-offs. I must go through everything to determine what I actually need to buy for school this year. While I would LOVE to go take him for a whole new school wardrobe, I can't. With gas being nearly 3 bucks a gallon, Mr. DK laid off, our tv being a mouse condo and the utility people actually expecting us to pay them...it's just not a possibility this year. But, he does have a lot of nice clothes. What we'll probably end up doing is get him new shoes, some new shirts and of course socks and underwear, and then for Christmas, he will get new jeans and a new suit for this year. (and an assload of toys...I'm not the freakin' Grinch...).

My ex's mom called last night. Ex is getting married next weekend. (For whatever reason, I thought it was this weekend...but it's next weekend. Had I not used the invitation to start my grill last week, I would be able to look at it and know...but it seemed like a good idea at the time...) Anyway, she wanted to know if she could come get #1 and take him to the wedding. There are a couple of issues here. First, EX hasn't seen him in 3 years. Second, he thinks Mr. DK is his dad. I mean, I haven't lied to him. He knows he has 2 daddies. But, he really only knows Mr. DK as his daddy, since he can't really remember EX.

So, anyways I told her that he could go. He needs a break from us anyway. She said "What should I tell him about his dad?" I said "Tell him the truth. We do. I just don't want you to minimalize the impact Jas has had on him in any way, because Jas IS his daddy. Ex hasn't seen him in 3 years, and the only persons at fault for that is Ex." She said "Ok...well, what if he has questions?" I said "Look, what's important here is that we don't think for him on this issue. He'll form his own opinions about his father in his own time, and it's up to Ex what that opinion is." She agreed.

After I got off the phone with her, I called EX and told him that he better not make him any promises that he can't keep. #1 is my sensitive kid. He takes everything quite literally, and he dwells on everything. If EX were to say "Well Bud, you can come up here and stay a weekend with me soon, ok?" #1 will be counting the minutes until that happens. If EX doesn't plan to actually follow through with it, #1 would be heartbroken. So, I told him not to even think about saying anything like that to him unless he 100% means it.

I'm not trying to keep him away from his dad. And, I won't tell him he can't go. It practically rips my heart out when he does this poppin' in and out of his life thing though because I have the aftermath to deal with. Ex's mom is very cool. I love her, she spends time with #1, she has fun with #1 and she's very good to him. But, usually Ex isn't involved in any of those activities. He's far to self centered and egotistical to care.

What kills me even more is the chick he's marrying has 4 kids of her own. So, he's been raising them for the last 2 years, and hasn't so much as visited his own son in 3. But hey...she's getting a winner in him! He asked me if I was coming last night to the wedding because he'd like to have one last quickie with me before he signed his life away.

GREAT guy.

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Bye-Bye Mela...(wimper, sniffle, tear)

Mela went to the shelter. And, I cried like the little bitch that I am. I didn't want to leave her there, but she apparently needed like 400 bucks worth of vet care, and since I'm broke and am seriously thinking about blowing up this house anyway...I knew I couldn't keep her.

My TV is a goner. We went TV shopping today and the best deal we've found so far (that's affordable right now for us without actually financing something) is a 27 inch flat screen Sharp for 200 bucks. We're sitting on it right now trying to decide if we want to go back and get it or not.

The 36 inch that's been upstairs in our room we brought down. It spontaneously shuts itself off, that is if you can watch it long enough for it to do that without getting sea-sick from the bouncing. The picture tube in that is going out, and that's 150 to fix. So...here's our predicament. Either A: be without a tv for up to 2 weeks while the 36 is being fixed or B: buy a new tv and pay 50 bucks more and still have the old tv that we'll still have to fix.

Oh what to do, Oh what to do.

Update later.

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HNT

My second submission for HNT: This is my husband, Mr. DK's leg, with my personal tattoo. The fine print reads: Must submit to random sexual acts upon demand.

Sirens and Floodlights

4:45 am this morning, I hear "Shan! Wake up!!!" I'm all... "Wha.....?" He says "LOOK!"

I look around and all I see is bright, glaring flood lights. However, the window that's to the north in my room is still pitch black. I'm thinkin' "What the hell?!"

So, I put some jeans on and head downstairs. The only thought on my mind is Juanita that lives in the house next door to the south of us. I'm thinking that there has been a fire, and Juanita is in trouble.

I get out there, and there are 5 full size fire trucks, two smaller fire trucks, 2 Fire Dept. SUV's, and 4 cop cars. Flood lights are set up, the whole damn block is looking like daylight.

Yet, I don't see a fire, or even smoke for that matter.

So, there's a firefighter standing right in front of my driveway...I said "Hey...what's going on?" He looks at me, up and then down. Takes a second and says "There's a fire." I said "Where?" He points to the house across the street.

Now, I am quite aware that I am not exactly Martha Perfect at 4:45am. But, for crying out loud, it's not like I have a second human growing from my temple. There's no need to be short.

So, he goes on with his unrolling of the hoses, and the unpacking of all the gear.

Juanita comes out to talk with Jas and I, asking what's going on. So, I stand there and talk with her for a while. We're all a little perplexed because while we see firemen crawling all over this house, we've yet to see even a little bit of smoke, fire or even a spark.

Then, this guy who I swear to God resembles a blonde carrot top comes skipping across the road. The following is an exerp from that conversation:

Dude: I thought I'd come hang out with you guys, maaaan. They're givin' me some funny looks over there man, like it's all my fault.

Me: Is that your house?

Dude: Yeah dude! I was like hungry, so I put a pizza in the oven at like one dude. Then the next thing I knew there were all these like firefighters standing over me going "You gotta get up man, your fuckin' house is on fire dude!"

Me: (trying everything in my power to not laugh, laugh laugh) Huh. So, you left your pizza in the oven and fell asleep?

Dude: Uh-Huh...I was like SO hungry too, dude.

(during this sentence, you see a black disk come flying out of the window of the upstairs apartment and make a thud on the ground)

Me: (losing my composure) Heh...that your pizza?

Dude: Fuck man...I have a bench warrant out for my arrest too, man. I was like "Dude...you can't take me to jail. My boss will kick my ass!" So, I don't even know if I'm going to have to go to jail tonight...

Me: Well...with those four cop cars, I'm betting they're not going to let it slide after your costing the tax payers about 15 grand tonight in resources...

Dude: Aw shit man, I know that guy...I gotta go. (and off he runs to see the fire chief who's standing in front of his house with his hands on his hips.)

I'm SO sorry for not getting pictures of this. Had I been thinking...MAN i should have gotten pictures. This was an a-1 blogging opportunity, and I BLEW it!

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Blah. Really...just blah.

Nothing good to report today, really. So, it's a hodgepodge of events tossed together for your reading enjoyment.

Mela is a pooping-peeing-eating machine. For such a small animal, she is just forever going. I can take her out, and 15 minutes later, she's peeing on the floor. She'll poop in one corner, then go poop in a new one 5 minutes later. This is irritating. REALLY irritating.

I called the humane society and put her on the found list, I called the paper, put an ad in, and I've distributed flyers to most of the stores in the immediate area surrounding where the little boy said he found her. He actually found two of them, but had found a place for the other to go. The more I look at her and the more I get to know her, I swear she's someone's pet. I looked her markings up and have come to the conclusion that she's probably a Miniature Pinscher. Those puppies are going for between 400-700 bucks from breeders right now. Plus her ears are spotless, she minds pretty well, and while she may not be totally house broken, it could be that my house isn't her home and that's why she's pooping in it. I think she belongs to someone.

Either way, the shelter we have here is a no kill facility. So, she's on the list there, and if they have an opening and her owners don't come forward, she'll be adopted out to a good family. They are really strict on who gets animals from there. They do home visits and everything before you can take a pet home. I think that's awesome. She just has to stay here until an opening becomes available. She goes in for her entry test tomorrow. If she can manage to get through that without tearing off any of the administrators limbs, she passes. (Her mouth couldn't fit my pinky...this shouldn't be an issue.)

The mice in this house are starting to piss me off. This WAS my TV. (That's NCAA Football 2005, yes. Is it MY game? No. I'd like to watch it melt and make pretty colored flames as it burns.) Anyways, I say it WAS my tv because a mouse got inside of it and fubared the inside wiring all up. There are these little canister thingies in the bottom of it. Screwed those up. There is a chassis of some sort in there...screwed that all to hell to. I'm PISSED because this TV is only a year old. This is a wide screen 50 inch, HDTV Integrated TV. Now, it's a big piece of shit that won't even turn on.

Would it be unreasonable for me to ask that he exterminate before I pay my rent? Furthermore, should I subtract the cost of this $2000 TV FROM the rent? Maybe subtract the couch from it too? I have patience. A lot of patience, even. But, if he doesn't do something about these fucking mice, I'm going to live trap them and take them to HIS house and let them go. We used to put live traps in the barn, and that is a cool little contraption. They get in, but they can't get out. I used to go and give them little syringes of water and wipe peanut butter on the ceiling of it. LOL I didn't want them to starve while they were in there. Then dad used to put them in a big burlap sac and take them out to the pond and drown them. Thank GOD he didn't tell me that until I was an adult. He'd have been kicking my ass left and right for freeing the prisoners.

Anyways, I took the TV to a repair shop to see if they can fix it. Their total estimate's not done yet, but it's looking like it'd be cheaper to just go buy a new tv. I have a 36 inch TV that I have in my room, but that's screwed too. That's not the mice's fault...that's just a picture tube going out. I get motion sickness from watching it. We brought that downstairs tonight so we could watch "The Closer" on TNT. (Great show btw.) It kept turning itself off. Jas finally had a hissy and went to bed.

Amanda called me today, but I thankfully wasn't here. I also coincidentally forgot to call her back too, so there's no reports today on her gayscale. I'm willing to bet though, from the tone of her voice on my machine that things aren't going so well. We'll see. I'll call her tomorrow.

Talked with my Gynecologist today. They sent me a certified letter. LOL They said that they couldn't get ahold of me since the move, I wasn't returning their calls, and that my health is in grave danger. LOL Hmmm...we scheduled the damn hysterectomy for December...I have Cancer...it's not like it's gonna up and walk off or anything. I know it's there. The first line in the letter states: "Dear Mrs. DK. We hope that this letter finds you well." LOL So...I called them. I have another damn colposcopy scheduled for August 31. 10:45am. Woohoo. They go in and biopsy pieces of the cervix. This is NOT my idea of a good time. For a very short time, he's rooting around up there, you feel this horrible pinchy pain, then for the next several hours you cramp like crazy. The funniest part about all of this is that if you call my old number there's this very polite message "The number you have diald ###-###-#### has changed. The new number is ###-###-####." Had they tried to call me, they'd have had my number. Since there are no calls from them on my caller ID, there's no messages from them on my machine and I've not received any other mail from them excepting the certified one...they're full of it.

On the upside, my uterus is going to be famous. When they do the hysterectomy, they'll be studying my uterus and writing about it in medical journals. Long story short, I have a bi-cornuate uterus. When I get knocked up, I can only carry a baby for so long because there's a wall down the center of it, making it so only half the uterus is used. This makes for less elasticity for the growth of the baby. Sam actually kicked all the way through it when he was born. He was born 3 months early. The technical term is Ruptured Uterine Syndrome. Part of him was actually floating around in my abdominal cavity, not protected for about 2 and a half minutes. That nearly killed us. Then, Logan, baby #3 in March did the same thing, except he didn't make it to my abdominal cavity. I could just feel that coming. I knew. So, I was already in the hospital when he decided to bust out.

Well...enough for tonight, I guess.

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My Landlord's Gonna Have a Moo-Cow.

Do I look like I might have the words "Pet Sanctuary" or "Pound" written anywhere on my forehead? Do I? Sometimes having a heart really sucks. Because, I find myself not wanting to say no. Especially to sobbing 9 year olds.

Here's the story. So, the neighbor kid comes over and knocks on my door tonight. We're in the middle of dinner. So, I go answer the door with a mouthful of food. I'm polite like that. I open the door to a sobbing 9 year old little boy who is talking so fast that he can't catch his breath.

"Hehastafindaplacetoliveormyunclesgonnabreakhisneck!" That translates out to 'He has to find a place to live or my uncle is going to break his neck.' I said "Wait, slow down. What's going on?" and thats when I saw her. Here's this itsy bitsy little dog wagging her tail at his feet. The boy explains that his uncle said that if he didn't find a place for the dog to stay that the said uncle would break the puppy's neck.

I said, "Honey, surely he's not going to break her neck. No one's that mean."

At this point, said uncle comes over to my house, drunk. At the same time, my three year old comes out of the house butt naked. We're potty training him, and clothes seem to severely hinder the process. He won't pee on the floor, but he has no problem doing it in shorts. So, naked he is. Drunk uncle says "You need to make that boy go in and get some clothes on. You'll get a ticket for leud behavior and one for indecent exposure." I said "Uh, bud, he's THREE. We're not going to get any tickets. Especially from the cops around here. I know these guys. So, the boy here says you're going to break this dogs neck if it doesn't have a place to stay."

Drunk uncle says "Yeah, that's right. Mightez well. It'll get hit by a car if I don't." THEN he says "GODDAMNIT. I told you to tell that boy to get in the house and put some fuckin' clothes on!"

I said "You need to get the hell out of my yard. Are you freakin' crazy?! You don't talk in front of children like that! You're lucky my 6'7" husband's not out here or you'd be lying on your drunk butt!"

I told the little boy that we'd take her and find her a home. He stopped crying and said thankyou. I asked him if he was going to be ok going home with that guy. He told me that he's always drunk like that and that he'll just go to sleep. Fine...

So, she's here. I've tentatively named her Mela. I'm pushing for keeping her of course, and Jas is wholeheartedly against it. She's really good. Earlier, outside, (not on a leash) she was in hot pursuit of a cat, and I yelled "Puppy! No! Come here!" and she stopped in her tracks and came back. That, in my world, has the markings of a good dog. Murphy would have had the cat in her mouth and kept running, oblivious to my shrieking screams.

What is she? I think she looks a whole lot like a chihuaua, but if you look at her just right, she sorta looks like she might have some hound in her - like beagle or something. What do you guys think?

If there's anyone here in MI who's in the market for a new pooch that's cuddly, likes kids, likes cats and comes when called, let me know. I'll give her up to a good home, but otherwise, she's staying right here...

That's gonna be a fun fight with the landlord.

I'm a Two Time Loser.

My mother died in 1997. Before she did, she gave me the 60th Anniversary edition of Monopoly for Christmas. Since then, I have never played Monopoly on any other board. It's a little schmoopy, yes, but it's one of my quirks. My brother gave me the Disney Monopoly Board, complete with little peuter Disney characters for Christmas a few years back. I told him thank you, then went home, confiscated all the money and pieces from it, gave the board to the kids and put the pieces with the game my mom gave me. (Cj still bitches about this. "Fine. That's fine. You tear my gift apart and add it to mom's board. See if I ever get you a present again.")

So, today, it's rainy and yucky, and I needed a break from working on the site, and Jas asked me to play. I said sure. I'll play. I'm undefeated. I've NEVER EVER lost on that board. I've got something like a 59 game winning streak. I like it that way. I'm a good sportsman, but if you even almost kick my ass at Monopoly on that board, it gets very tense.

So, at 11:00 this morning, I go to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. I come back and he's got my guy on the board. My guy is Mr. Monopoly himself. Something or other Pennybags, I think his name is. He's MY guy. As in, you toucha-I-breaka-you-face. I said, "Uh, what do you think you're doing. You know he's mine. That's my guy. My game, my guy." He says, "Lets see how you do without him. Humor me. It's a crutch, baby. Don't lean on your crutch."

So, I say, fine. I'll use Dumbo. This, friends, is my idea of antagonism. Jas had big ears when he was a kid. All the little kindergardners called him Dumbo. He's since grown into them, but he still has nightmares, and worries for the sake of our children. Since this was obviously war, I pick Dumbo, the BIG, FLOPPY EARED Elephant. Heh heh.

In game one, I ended up owning all the light blue properties, two railroads (which we fought over quite a bit), the pink properties, the orange properties, the yellow properties and the green properties. So, how the hell did I lose? I landed on Boardwalk. 4 times in a freakin' row. DAMN Dumbo. He's now a retired piece.

I was getting REALLY pissed. Not so much that Jas was winning, but that I was losing, even though I owned 80% of the freakin' board. By all means, I should have won. Yet, I didn't.

I said, "We're playing again." Jas says "Yeah, I don't really want to. It's almost 7:00." I said, "Oh, I'm sorry, were you under the impression you had a choice on the matter?" He said "Frozen pizza for dinner?" I said, "Uh huh. Switch me over to Mountain Dew while you're out there, will ya? I'll set up."

He came back, and found that I had taken Mr. PennyBags back. He says "Oh, I see how it is. You can't stand for someone else to have the winning piece." I said "No, it's not that. Its just that I think my mom wanted me to have that piece. She said it was my game, and that I should pick my special piece. Its special because my dead mother gave it to me. You're not mean enough to take the piece away from me after I already lost my mother, are you?" (This is me being REALLY evil.) Then I said "Hey...my dog got run over by a car when I was seven, why don't you go dig him up and play fetch with his bones. God you're so mean. I hope my mom's watching you right..." He says "FINE. Take the damn piece. If she is looking in, she's gonna kick your ass for using her name to get a damn monopoly piece. But fine. I concede. TAKE IT. I'll use Mogli."

I grin.

So, on to game two. Game two went on for FREAKIN' EVER. It's 2:25am right now. He went to bed about 30 minutes ago. I kept going to jail, and didn't make it all the way around the board past "GO" for like 9 rounds in a row. So, I couldn't buy property. You have to go all the way around the board before you can purchase any property. So, he's buying everything up, and by the time I finally got my butt out of the clink, all that was left was the green properties and the red properties. Everything else he had. Even so, for four straight hours, I kicked his ass. Then, because we were so even, and we were getting so tired of playing, I said "Let's make it interesting. Let's pay double for every bill and rental fee." We agreed since it was obvious that nothing else was going to cause one of us to win it. And what happened? I landed on Boardwalk twice in a row. That's 4 grand every time you land on it at double the price. So, 8 grand later, I'm outta the game.

Now what? I can't very well retire Mr. Pennybags. But, on the otherhand, he's been jinxed and bastardized by being played by another person.

Meteors and More

Since the last oh...four or so have been mindless chitchat of me getting pissed over something I know nothing about, I'll write you a real post.

At the risk of sounding like my Grandma, how nice it is to see everyone popping by! I'm starting to feel all warm and cozy inside getting to know everyone! Help yourself, beer's in the fridge. Erika, you should find some sparkling grape juice in there too. Watch that cork...no holes in my ceiling.

Things have been pretty drab around here. Boring even. The website isn't done, but gee, I sure am getting pissed it's not. Everytime I think I'm close, someone calls with a "Hey...do you think it'd be a good idea if we (they must have a mouse in their pocket) add this too?"

On the upside, J. Hardin, famed tracking expert, border patrol officer of twenty-some-odd years and he who produced primary evidence in both the Green River serial murders and the Ted Bundy case agreed to be on our advisory board today. I'm pretty psyched about that. We fight and struggle for credibility every single day, first because most of us are women, second because none of us are working cops and third because we're volunteers with hearts. (I say working because some have been cops and since retired.) We have a lot of volunteers that are cops, but we who actually run the org aren't. Heck...when would we have TIME to be cops?! Anywho, when someone like Joel Hardin says that he believes in us enough to attach his hard earned reputation to what we're trying to accomplish, it makes me feel like we are making a difference, and to me, that's really cool.

(just so you know...I put Mr. Hardin's name in like that so the search engines wouldn't pick it up. All I need is a bunch of trackers and volunteers in here learning that my mouth can be as bad as any truckers they've ever met....and if y'all do make it here...please try and remember this is my personal site, not my professional site, and therefore I shouldn't be crucified for dropping the F-Bomb here and there...)

In other news, my six year old said to me today "Mommy...you're moody. You're like the psychotic penguins on Madagascar." That always cheers you right up. Thank you bud. Mommy loves you even though you're a mean, mean boy. Is it August 23 yet? Is it EVER going to get here? I keep praying to hear the school bus arrive out front...but aack. Not yet.

Amanda's still blissfully gay. Though, she'll admit it isn't quite the same as a male/female relationship. She said that Hilary acts like she's got PMS every single day. I told her that women are catty, and this is just the way it is. Men let us push them around. Women...know better. They beat us at our own game. This is why most of my friends have penises. (What's the plural for penis. Penii?)

Hmmm. What else. OH! OH!!!

So yesterday, I walk past the couch. (I rarely sit on my ass and watch tv, if I'm on my ass, it's right here servicing you.) I thought to myself...hmmm. Something smells odd. So, I of course bend down to figure it out, andI smell the unmistakeable smell of death. Methane, friends...it's not a pleasent gas. I said "Honey...the couch smells. Find out why." Jas says "Hmmm...no. You do it. I already know it smells, and I've been avoiding you finding out for the last several hours."

ASS.

First, I take off all the cushions. Nothing there. Then, I stand on the springs, so that Alex (6yr old) can see if there's anything under the cushions. Nothing there. Then, I have Jas flip it up on it's back so I can see underneath it. Of course there's fabric covering all of that. Out comes the scissors, there's no more fabric covering that. Still nothing there. Now, I've got great big industrial strength dishwashing gloves on, and I'm digging around with my hands in there, with the collar of my t-shirt over my face so I can smell my perfume, and not the dead whatever that's in the couch.

This went on for a good hour, and I never did find anything in the couch. There is no surface where something could have gone, and me not find it. I'm thinking that the cat mortally wounded a mouse and it somehow managed to hide itself in there and die. I'm a little pissed because I just bought the couch about 8 months ago, and wasn't really budgeting in another who knows how much for a new couch. I know how decomposition works in humans, but there are always variables that you don't and/or can't account for to get to the specifics of the decomposition and its due course.

But on a mouse? Who's studied this?! I mean, will my couch always smell like dead mouse, or is it just best to cut my loss and get it the hell out of here?!

For those interested, the Perseid Meteor Shower will peak for the first time this summer this morning in just a few hours. Nasa's site says that it'll peak between 2am EST and dawn, and other news services I've read tonight say it'll be at its peak around 4isham.

Ok. I'm outta here. I'm going to bed, and I'll see y'all tomorrow.

White Devil...how was the bar?

sdk

I'm Challenged.

Well...it's official. I'm challenged.

First, and foremost, I want to give a big fat honkin' thank you to I AM SMART ALECK, from A & J Programming (see the link over there----->)

I agree with y'all that it's hard to read. And, in my opinion, it's looking a little scrunched, and it seems like it's harder to navigate. So, I decided I'd make one itttsy bitttsy change to the style sheet, right? How the hell was I supposed to know that changing the color of the style sheet wipes out every image IN the template?!

Uggg. The girl (from BlogFrocks again ---->link thatway) is gone until Monday, so I'm not even sure if I can fix it. I might look for something else, perhaps something a little more colorful and less "I'm gonna getcho ass in trouble if your boss walks by when I'm reading sdk's blog".

This day has been very frustrating. I didn't realize just how stupid I was when it comes to html and css until I met this freakin' template. With the org site, I'm using FrontPage 2003. It does everything FOR you.

Anywho...I'm hopelessly behind on all my blogs, and now I'm not even sure if I like this one. I'm gonna keep lookin' I think.

sdk

Ok. So...

So the new template is up, and I'll have you know that this was THE BIGGEST PAIN IN THE ASS I've encountered in quite some time.

For whatever reason, I can't get the comments to come up in a pop-up window. I don't know why this is, but we'll try and get er' figured out.

The other thing I'm going to try to do is to change the font color of the body text to white, so that it's easier on the eyes.

Sara from BlogFrocks is also going to make me a sign that says Green Apples From the Sky to go on the picture at the top, and hopefully...this will all work out.

Let me know what you think...

sdk

GRRRRRRRRRR.

Ok. I have the template I want. I even love the template I want.

However, it's a css and it's royally pissing me off.

If anyone, and I do mean anyone has any clue how to implement the template into a test site, I will be forever grateful to you, and will somehow, someway figure out how you can receive some reciprocation out of the deal.

I got it from blogfrocks.com and I'm SO in need of help. My images aren't showing up, with the exception of a background, and I swear I have it in right, but hell, at this point who knows...

IM/Email me or leave a comment how I can get ahold of you....

Pretty please? I'm begging.

sdk

Cusomblogation

Since it's apparent I've actually made some good friends, had a little fun with this blog, actually look forward to coming to it I think it's safe to say that it's worth putting a little work into cause I actually plan on being here for a while. I've done the blog deal once before and it lasted for all of a week.

So, I'm thinking quite seriously of customizing it with a nice little theme to set me apart from every other blog out there.

So here's some questions for you guys:

1: Is the white on black too hard to read or should I go with a lighter color?
2: Boys...if I go with something girly are you going to quit stopping by?


Those are really all the questions. If I put something up and you think it's icky, tell me. I'll either rip your head off or change it...one or the other.

sdk

Pissed Off Putty-Tat

Remember your introduction to Hagrid, our new kitten?

Well, Hagrid (commonly referred to as little cat) has fleas. We're not talking like 4-5 fleas, we're talking like 4-5 HUNDRED fleas. I gave little cat a bath last night (much to his dismay) and picked off about 100 of the little bastards.

Today, he's still scratching like mad, so I gave him another one. And, this afternoon, after he's dried off completely, and the colonies have built their new condo's on different areas of his little body, he'll likely get another one.

You ask, sdk? Why don't you give him a flea bath, and call it good? My answer? Last time I did that, the kitten in question got pneumonia, racked up a 700 dollar vet bill and died anyway. We'll not be putting flea bath stuff on the kitten until he's old enough to have his nuts whacked off. (And yeah, I'm really going to do that to him.)

So, here is our 6 year old's photo shoot of the incident, with monologue from yours truly.

Hagrid meets bubbles.

Hagrid meets the faucet with a real attitude. He's very, very pissed off about this.

Hagrid gets transferred from the tub to my toweled lap. Again, not happy.

Hagrid calls mommy a bastard nazi. Only bastard nazi's would do this to a kitten, he says.

Mommy squeezes Hagrid's icky little friends, plucks them off, and into the garbage they go.

What IS it with tenants now-a-days?!

Do you remember me telling you that I now get to be in charge of screening new potential tenants for the next door apartment?

Uggh.

So, today, we get an application from a woman named Betty Davis. No, not THE Betty Davis, but A Betty Davis, nonetheless. She is really sweet, somewhat strange, but all in all, I like her, right?

I ask the question. Do you have anything in your criminal or financial past that I need to be aware of. She says "You won't find a thing on me."

Uh huh. She was wrong.

I find that she's got a big, fat, honkin embezzlment case hanging over her head of which she was just released from prison last year. Her ex-husband is doing time for all of the following: Homicide, Assault with intent to do great bodily harm less than murder, grand larceny, larceny over $100, Assault with a deadly weapon, weapons - carrying w/o permit and controlled substance violations.

OOOOH, and the best part, he gets out in September. Why wouldn't we want him hanging around?

We'll be passing on that tenant. NEXT.

This just in, Mr. DK is on strike. Apparently, I didn't read his mind that he wanted nookie for the last two nights, didn't give it up, so when I went to kiss him a little bit ago, he turns his head and says "Uh, I think not. I'm on strike." I said "What? You don't belong to a union. There will be no strikes here." He says "I do too. The preacher said "This Holy Union" when he married us. I'm in a union, and so are you. So there." I sighed. "Yes, but who breaks ties in voting, since we both hold 50 percent of the voting power?" He said "The kids. Only you can only subpoena the ones who can talk."

Note to self...we'll not be kissing Mr. DK anymore. Entirely too much hassle.

I thought we'd do a fun new little countdown for my sister. To give her the benefit of the doubt, we'll go 14 glorious days back from the day she called and came out of the closet full of men where she spent the first 21 years of her life (and let me just say that must be a HUGE freakin' closet). I just want to get a running tally of just how long it takes her to go from gay back to super-tramp. So you will start seeing a glaringly bright number at the bottom of all my posts. I just want you to know, too...that for you I will be suffering. Anything that forces me to speak to my sister every day is just heinous. However, for y'all, I'll bite that proverbial bullet and call just to get the scoop for you every single day.

Hmmm...what else happened today? OH. Gram came over. I love my Gram, don't get me wrong, but why can't she call first?! Why can't she call and say "Honey, I'm coming over to inspect every crevice of your home. If it's not clean, I'll not say anything to you about it, but what I do say will get back to you through all the friends and family I've told it to. By the way, when I say that your home looks nice, what I mean is that I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I'm afraid to sit on your couch for fear that with all the dog hair that it will jump up and bite me."

I mean, wouldn't it be easier than pretending that she's on the up and up?

sdk






GLORIOUS Days since my little sister found out she was gay. (see the Girl on Girl action post for more details.)

Man, I Feel Like A Woman!

Again, this post has nothing to do with the last post. So if that's what you're thinkin...you may want to just go read the last post because you'll be woefully sad after reading this one. I just like to trip you up with such titles.

Ladies, you ever notice how if you're in your pj's, with scary hair, and a bare face, you just don't perform up to your full potential? It's like somehow, your professionality suffers a meltdown if it doesn't peer through mascara coated eyelashes.

I've been suffering the "work from home" blahs. I mean, if I'm not going to the office, what the hell is the point of getting all cute? It's not like I'm trying to impress the kids...they wouldn't care if I had dreadlocks and a peculiar body odor so long as their Cookie crisp makes it to the table by 9, their pb&j makes it to the table by 1 and that I'll keep their watergun refill bucket full and restocked on the back porch.

This damn org website is giving me a run for my money. As previously stated, I hate "under construction" messages on a website. There's little more irritating to me than that. And, I've barely left the house since I started the project.

So, today I went and got my nails did, ermmm...I mean manicured. My make-up is damn near perfect, my hair is cute, and while I may not have on my black power suit, I did discover that a pair of my favorite worn out jeans look even cuter as favorite worn out capris. And they fit just a little better, I think, than before I got all empregnated with #3.

So, hoo-ha for me.

Did I get more done because of my girliness? No. But, I feel good anyway.

sdk

Girl on Girl action.

I swear to GOD the porn post preceeding this one has NOTHING WHATSOEVER to do with this one. Pinky swear.

Now, I just want to say ahead of time before you make judgements regarding my meanness re: my little sister, but I KNOW her. She has a different boyfriend every other week, leaves her fiance every other week, and she loves them all. Whatever she's doing right now, is what she 100% believes in. So, if she's dating Harvey, the grocery stocker today, she's in love with Harvey the Grocery stocker today. And tomorrow, she'll tell you (after she's rocked his world, called me and told me all about it) that it just wasn't working out between them and she had to get away from him.

If I thought for a second that she'd stick with what you're about to read, I'd be all over helping her with everything. Since I know she's a fraud...this is what she got:


So, yesterday, my sister calls me and says

Amanda: I broke up with Joe for good. He's such an asshole. But, hey! Good new...I'm very much in love with Hilary now.

Me: Uh...I'm sorry. Can you hold on while I clean up this coffee you just made me spit all over my keyboard?

Amanda: Dude...you so know you'd do it if you could. Don't be mean, just listen.

Me: I'm not mean, Amanda. If you want to leave the father of your children for a woman, by all means, don't let me interfere with that Springer show.

Amanda: I figured you'd understand.

Me: Oh, I understand completely. You've worn out the male population of the Midwest, and now you're onto the females. You should get an award. So, who's Hilary?

Amanda: My girlfriend. We're thinking of going to California and getting married.

Me: And the girls. How do the girls like Hilary?

Amanda: Well...I knew it was a good sign when Coianna asked for Hilary first and Joe second.

Me: Huh.

Amanda: So...what do you have to say? What do you think?

Me: I say don't call me to tell me you're coming out of the closet before I've had my morning coffee. It's not nice. That aside, I say do what you have to do. And don't even think I'm telling Dad for you.

Amanda: You don't think I'm dumb?

Me: Yes, but it has nothing to do with you dating Hilary.

Amanda: You are SO not a morning person.

Me: You're 21 and just now picking that up heh?

Amanda: When can we come over so you can meet her?

Me: I haven't seen you in six months. Now you're going to show up so I can meet a girl you won't even be with in 2 weeks? Wait. Sorry, I take that back. Anytime. I need to get a picture of this. It'll be handy for the "Hey Amanda, remember the time you were gay?" conversation in a year.

Amanda: Well, if there's any questions you want to have answered?

Me: Riiiiight. Cause you're a gay homosexual now, have travelled all the roads and should be preaching on the subject now? Sweet.

Amanda: You're such a priss. You need to quit or I'm telling that you have been with a woman too.

Me: Yeah. I dare you to tell Dad that. Who's he going to believe, you or me?

Amanda: Sigh. You're such a bitch.

Me: Yep. So, what'd Joe do to turn you Gay?

Amanda: He works too much. It's like 'We have to pay the mortgage, Amaaaanda. We have to pay the car payment Amaaaaanda. We have to feed the kids Amaaaaanda.' So he works like 12 hours a day, and then sleeps for the rest of it. Like I don't ever need to see him or something. And he didn't turn me gay, I've always been like this.

Me: Funny, the Midwest male populations swears differently...

Amanda: Shut up.

Me: So, let me just clarify...he works too much, you won't get a job and he's to blame?

Amanda: Yep. But I love Hilary.

Me: When'd you meet Hilary?

Amanda: 14 glorious days ago.

Me: (audibly laughing hysterically and calling to the livingroom "Jas...Amanda's got a girlfriend.)

Amanda: God I hate you sometimes.

Me: You don't hate me, Amanda. You know I'm right. If I thought for a second you were serious, you know I'd support you in any way, shape or form that I could. But, you're EMBARRASSING the Gay population. They don't like to be made fun of, and that's exactly what you're doing.

Amanda: Am not. I love her.

Me: Mmmmmk.

Amanda: Really.

Me: Then why are you telling me about it? Why aren't you packing up the kids for the trip to Cali?

Amanda: I have to go. Hill wants me, if you know what I mean.

Me: Amanda...go for it. You do what you need to do to make you happy. Lord knows you haven't been satisfied with anything else. If you need anything, call me.

Amanda: I knew you'd understand.

Me: Uh-huh. Talk to you later.

Amanda: K. Buh-bye.