A New Kind of Shock and Awe

Sorry about the posting delay. Between my computer woes and both dogs puking, it's put me behind schedule. I must have been booted off my computer at least thirty times last night. I finally waved the white flag and did something more productive: I watched the semi-finals of Dancing with the Stars.

Here is a warning, a LOUD warning to all you readers who happen to align with Democrats, the ones who tend to be liberal or at least somewhat left-leaning in their political thinking:

The Republicans have a new kind of shock and awe: Bristol Palin.

This is a two-fold smarty pants use of the phrase so deliciously tied to Dubya: One, it is shocking and leaves me in awe that a mediocre dancer is in the finals of DWTS....a non-star whose claim to fame isn't really that she is an unwed mother professing the merits of abstinence, but rather that she has a conservative, Republican-darling of a mother who has captivated more people than I would like to admit; secondly, Democrats are about to get a whole 'nother level of shock and awe come 2012 if things don't change.

People, THIS IS YOUR WAKE UP CALL.

The Republicans have taken over the House and they have taken over Dancing with the Stars.

There is power in voting.

If you didn't believe that before, maybe this will slap you in the head.

Bristol obviously didn't win because of her dancing; she won because the "Right" has been voting like there is no tomorrow. And, there won't be a tomorrow if the "Left" doesn't get off its sorry ass and do something.

I am not here to trash a young women. I am not here to trash "She-who-must-not-be-named." I am here to trash us. If you are a Republican who voted for Bristol BECAUSE she is Sarah's daughter and because you want to send a message, I applaud you.

Of course, the thought that I am writing about a reality TV show as related to politics scares me, but it's true. We are a shallow bunch of people. We sit around and are consumed by TV, especially the reality time. I am guilty as the rest. We have become a cartoon of ourselves. Like it or not, the Tea Party is mighty smart. They may be divisive, they might be way out there, they may be scaring even their own party, but they have mobilized and they know how to vote. The "Right" is rising up and they have the power, the momentum.

Why do I care? Why do the results of a TV show have me all befuckled?

Because I like my civil rights. I like not having to worry I am going to be fired or denied my housing because whom I love. I may not be able to get married or have a civil union, but at least I can keep my job in the state of Illinois.

Don't be rolling your eyes at me. There are plenty of States where it is perfectly legal to fire someone if they are gay. It wasn't that long ago that employers in the Illinois could do the same thing. Remember me being told I was "too gay" at a previous job (whatever the hell that means)? That was perfectly legal. I don't want to go back to those days. I don't want to go backwards at all. I like basic, human rights. The Tea Party has a whole different view on this.

And so, we have a new kind of shock and awe: shock that someone who can't dance and who isn't a star is in the finals of a TV show; awe at the prospect that a group of people has such power to accomplish this.

Come 2012, don't make me say, "I told you so." Take heed. The future is now and the future is speaking.

Wild Blue Yonder

The airfest is in town and this year--for the very first time--we are going. This may not seem like a very exciting thing to report (or, perhaps to many of you, a very exciting thing to attend), but as someone who grew up in the landing pattern of O'Hare, whose father worked at O'Hare, whose parents lived in the flight pattern of the Goodyear Blimp (seriously!) and who has enjoyed air travel more than a time or two (well, besides that horrific flight to Tampa--did NOT enjoy that), this is indeed an exciting adventure.

Three Hawk and Argo Warrior Princess inquired if we would like to go to the airfest. Argo knows of my love of planes because we sat directly under the planes as they landed at O'Hare while in attendance at the Xena Convention. That's a true friend--someone who is willing to eat her sub sandwich while planes are only a few hundred feet over head, rattling ear drums and sputtering airplane soot on our heads. Anyways, they thought I might enjoy attending the show; I agreed that I would indeed like to check out the birds and so we have big plans today.

The Addiverse's location is not exactly teeming with airplanes. Oh sure, there is a big enough airport (who found it necessary to put the word "Chicago" in its title, even though we don't live in Chicago, are not exactly near Chicago and have nothing to do with Chicago), but the majority of planes that go in and out of there are "Big Brown" planes that fly in the middle of the night or unidentified armed forces planes with practicing pilots making giant circles. There are a few other planes (which stop me in my tracks when they fly over--that's how weird it is to see planes in the area), such as a daily 737 ish commercial flight going to Vegas or Florida, but that's about it for the big boys. We have the run of the mill private planes zipping around but they are more like mosquitoes instead of real planes. (I always say, "be careful for what you ask" when people in town lament that there is not enough air traffic in town....those people obviously didn't live anywhere near a runway in their lives. Those who have--including the people who live by the runway in the Addiverse-understand why I say this. A busy airport comes with a price.)

Yesterday, while driving & eating some form of grease product from Taco Hell (no offense to Taco Juan), I heard the rumble. (No, not my belly from the food.) Most people wouldn't have thought twice about it, but it wasn't lost on me. It was the sound of a jet taking off. Not a commercial jet--an armed forces, serious business jet. Note that I was nowhere near the airport. It's just that the plane is that loud and that I am that attuned to hearing planes. I watched the sky (while eating and drinking, which should be illegal as it is more distracting than texting & driving in my world) and sure enough, there it was. ZOOOOOM! Overhead it went. I practically dropped my entire chalupa into my lap it was so exciting. It was some form of military jet. (I apologize to those who serve in the armed forces for not knowing what branch of the military. I'll get back to you on that after I attend the airfest and learn more.)

While seated at my desk yesterday, I heard many a plane practicing for today's event. I couldn't exactly run outside every time I heard one, so I was left to imagine what was flying overhead. I missed the entrance of the blimp to our community, but one of our friends dog did not miss it--I guess the Snoopy blimp scared the piddle right out of him. (If you haven't ever heard a blimp fly overhead, I suggest you try and do that some day. It has it's own very specific sound. I could hear it coming when visiting my parents in California. Hard to describe, but very distinct.)

This morning, it is raining....but I am confident the weather will clear up before it's time for the planes to take to the sky. The good thing is that there are plenty of planes and exhibits on the ground to enjoy while the skies remain cloudy, lots of grease-soaked food to eat (I imagine a funnel cake is in my future, most likely fried in some non-vegetarian beef fat) and the blimp will most assuredly be parked on the ground (close up viewing!). We can talk about air flight horror stories (only if Cool Mama and Lady Di were there to join in the discussion about the Tampa flight), air flight cool stories (flying on a 747 is cool), can't-believe-I-flew-on-it stories (did I really get in that four seater plane and fly to Vieques with Dos Marias...with a pilot who looked like he was 12 years old and was wearing a shirt that wasn't buttoned?), lost luggage stories, favorite airplane movies. (Airplane? Airport? Airport 77? Top Gun? Con Air? Flight Plan?). I'll try to take lots of photos (don't you just love the age of the digital camera--take a billion photos, keep three or four of them), try to stand in some form of jet wash, try not to get a strained neck from looking up--in other words, it will be an awesome time. I'll reminisce while standing in the landing pattern and I will admit never wanting to parachute while stunt people throw themselves out of planes. Most importantly, I'll be with my nerdy peeps who love airplanes. Off we go--kinda sorta--into the wild blue yonder....

Daytona D's Diaries

Happy 6th anniversary, Appendix! As always, I tie the Fourth of July with my appendectomy in 2003. What an event it was! As it's now been six years, you are so on your own to go back and read previous appendix blog entries in all those July entries over the years. New blog readers: it is up to you to go back and read all those entries. If you don't, I'll cry. Sniff.

Lucy is here to say "Happy Independence Day!" Man, I hate it when dogs have those scary eyes in photos. What IS up with that? She is ready to party, despite the scary eyes.

By the way, what's up with "She Who Must Not be Named" resigning as Governor of Alaska? Just saw that on TV. Does this mean I should resign as president of her fan club? Or, should I gear up for that run at 2012? I've heard the world is ending in 2012--this might be a harbinger of that actual event.....

Damn, I didn't get a lottery ticket for MJ's funeral. I'll have to moonwalk in my own living room in his honor instead of moon walking surrounded by 11, 000 other moon walkers.

We spent today gardening. We had toyed with the idea of going to Summerfest in the Land of Cheddar but somehow ended up gardening. The wife would like it to be known that it was not her idea to take up such a project and thus I do take full responsibility for the new area of the garden. It wasn't exactly Summerfest but I did manage to get both Dunkin' Donuts AND Starbucks today, so all is well in the world.

My sister, whom I shall call "Daytona D" for this entry, is on the road with her family. They are headed to--you can guess--Daytona. Now, I'd like to think I'm the only writer in the family, but I'd be sadly mistaken if I said that. Wild Mama and Daytona D can both hold their own in the creative writing department. Because many of you might be having thoughts of taking a road trip this summer, I feel it's my moral obligation to I post some of what my sister has written...it is imperative to remind people that road trips are not for the feint of heart.

You have to understand that this driving trip is comprised of my sister, her three Nascar-loving teenage girls and one Nascar-loving husband. That's a lot of Nascar love.

I must've missed the Nascar-loving gene.

If you are considering a road trip this summer, remember things like speeding tickets, construction and traffic. For those of you who scoff at this, here's Daytona D's report from the road to remind you. Hope you have a great holiday and remember to honor my appendix.....

"We have made it to Atlanta, Georgia. What was an 11.5 hour drive was an 18 hour adventure. We left the house at 5:00am to miss the Chicago traffic. And might I say, we pulled out of the driveway at 5:01am. Hubby Captain Morgan drove and we dozed. Just outside Indy, Captain said something and I looked up out the front window and there is this guy on the left hand shoulder pointing at us. Now we are doing 65+ and this guy is pointing at us and at the side of the road. I realized it was Mr. Police officer. I thought maybe it was a safety check or something…it was just weird how he pointed at Captain and then the side of the road.So we pull over and lo and behold Captain Morgan had been doing 71 in a 55 mph zone. Mr. Officer was giving him a ticket. So, this trip his ticket was in Indy.

We stopped for breakfast shortly after and he declared he was done driving.

After breakfast, Eldest Daughter drove and Captain Morgan went in the back seat next to Middle Daughter- not her preference of seat mates.

So we are be bopping along and there is a sign that says - watch for back up, road construction 60 miles. Who pays attention to something 60 miles away????? So we get closer and it says 71 detour, but there is nothing in sight and we proceed onward and lo and behold about 2 miles later, we stop. And crawl a few feet….wait….crawl…wait…crawl, and finally stop.

People are actually walking around because our cars were parked and off. Yes we sat on the highway for over 2.5 hours No air conditioning and No bathroom!!!! Captain went wandering down the road to see what happened and never returned. No phone, no water, just walked off leaving his wife and children to fend for themselves.

When we started moving, we found him sitting on the guard rail. Yes, we stopped and picked him up. There had been an accident with three semi trucks over an hour before we got there and the highway was still closed down. So off we go, first exit to a bathroom. Never tell a woman she can't go to the bathroom, because then she needs to go!

We continued on the road, three hours behind schedule, which of course made us hit Nashville at rush hour. So, we crawled another 20 or 30 miles at 10 miles an hour before getting through that mess. We ended up arriving at 10:30pm Chicago time, only four or so hours later than anticipated.

Amazingly, we are all still alive."

I See Dead People

Okay, this is a rather maudlin blog entry, but I really can't help it as we are going to a funeral today. Being out of town for a funeral was one of the reasons I thought I'd not be able to blog until tomorrow; however, the hazelnut coffee & bagel from Pan-o-rama have been consumed, the dogs have been walked, the poop has been pooped....and, I find myself with a few moments to write about seeing dead people.

Literally seeing dead people.

(Side note: wasn't "The Six Sense" a great movie? Seeing dead people like Bruce Willis also counts in the I See Dead People Department.)

(Side side note: Grover is featured here as I am told a guy named Grover is my spirit guide and thus he is technically a dead person so the Muppet gets to represent the dead people of the worlds of which you believe.)

BTW, please know that I mean no disrespect to the dead or to those of you who have suffered a recent loss despite my snarky comments in this blog entry. If you've suffered a recent loss, this might be a good time to stop reading this blog (I can't believe I just wrote that--I never want to "turn away" a reader) and go get some chocolate.

We went to the wake last night. When I think about it, I find wakes to be a really weird thing--you get dressed up, travel to where ever you need to travel, meet a bunch of people in some musty, tacky funeral home and stand in front of a dead person, who is dead and usually wearing something they probably wouldn't be wearing if they were alive and are holding some religious paraphernalia whether or not they were religious as an upright human being. You then stand around and socialize with people (who are in their Sunday best) that you haven't seen in years and/or who you don't know. You never know exactly what to say to the family and you know nothing you say will really help, anyways and so you say something lame like, "I'm so sorry for your loss." In the mean time, the person is still dead and usually not looking so good at all.

We won't even talk about the whole embalming thing.

Wakes are a staple of the communities of which I was born into--they are a rather normal part of the culture to which we know. I suppose it's a nice thing to give people a chance to pay their respects. I suppose it's good for closure and that it is another step in the grieving process. It certainly gives family a chance to connect and to support each other. I have to admit I was very thankful for the wake when Harvey (my client with schizophrenia and cancer) died; it gave me a moment of relief to know she was finally done with all that horrible suffering and she actually looked awesome, despite being quite dead.

As good wake attendees, we gave our condolences to the family and then waddled up to the casket. I embarrassingly confess that my first thought (of which I feel really bad), is "woof! She doesn't even look like herself," but then I remember I haven't seen her in years and she might actually look as she looked just a few short days ago. We then went on and socialized and generally had a good time. It was not a direct relative, so I think that made it even easier to have a good time while surrounded by familiar and not so familiar faces.

I assume today's funeral will NOT be such a good time, as funerals seem to be much more emotional, painful, draining and final. It's one thing to be in the room with the beloved dead person--it's another to see that casket top close and know that's the last time you will see that person (well, on Earth--depending on your views of the after life).

Me? Fry me up and toss me on a softball field. I don't want people staring at my dead body. I don't want people thinking, "man, she looks like shit!" I don't want to be embalmed (which is not required at all in the state of which I reside) because I want to be fried to ashes before I even get close to be in need of being embalmed and it's just a total waste of money to embalm someone who is being cremated. I don't want to get stuck in some dress and make-up. Cremate me and skip the wake. Go out and party. Go eat some ice cream. Say nice things if you'd like. Say not-so-nice things if it will help you. Go out to the softball field and sprinkle me around third base. Make fun of how slow a base runner I was or how I couldn't catch a pop-up. Don't waste your money on some fancy casket--get me a disposable one made for cremation. Use the money you save to buy a new car or some other fabulous parting gift.

In other words: Remember me alive, not dead.

(Of course, I am putting out the thought that you won't have to worry about any of this in regards to me for at least 50 more years. I am certainly in NO hurry to get to this point of my life. Keep remembering me alive because I am alive and blogging about morose topics like funerals.)

And so, we are off to the funeral. We'll be respectful, we'll be supportive and we'll stand with with our family members. (Side note: I will think of Harvey. You really should go back and read my blog entries about Harvey as she deserves much respect, credit, compassion and love.) Catholic mass (yum!), followed by a procession to the cemetery. After the grief and pain of those whose loved one is "moving on," we'll go out to eat with all the other mourners and things will return just a bit to normal. And, we will no longer see dead people for this particular moment.

Unless you are Grover or Moriah, who sees dead people for a living. That's a whole 'nother ball game. Remember--you put me in a casket and have a wake, Moriah the Medium is gonna tell you I am one pissed off bitch.

Godspeed, Mama Mack. Please give my love to Harvey.

This and That Thursday

Today's triumphant house-hold virginal experience: sweeping the garage floor. Now, I have to say I see no point in doing this in the dead of winter (or, ever at all, I suppose), but the wife asked and I complied. I have to say I did not enjoy this experience; in fact, I rate it right up there with washing the floor on my hands and knees. I don't know why I found it so unappealing as it really wasn't labor intensive or time consuming...it was just a pain in the patooty. I'm sure I did not do half as a good a job as the wife does but hey, I'm a rookie--cut me a break.

Today's non-virginal experience: Returning to my Beloved Lady Chiropractor to address the issue of knee pain. She was yipping and yapping away, obviously had a great holiday, lots of funny stories. Who cares about your knee when your beloved Lady Chiropractor is talking non-stop to you? When she asked about the knee (which she eventually did), I confessed that as long as I don't do Jillian Michael's 30 day shred, I'm all good. That made her laugh. (I didn't mention the washing the floor on my hands and knees, as the wife says I only did that once and that could NOT be the source of my knee pain.) I get to go back in three weeks unless the pain intensifies. I think that should qualify for non-washing-the floor duties (unless I WANT to go back sooner than three weeks).

JILLIAN AGAIN...NATURALLY I did Jillian's 30 day shred three days in a row, realized how much it made my knee hurt, thought about doing it one last time.....and, instead went to bed and called it a week. Let's face it: my insides do not match my outsides. Meaning? Looking out from my brain out my little eyeballs, I think I'm still 30 years old. Looking in the mirror and feeling the knee pain and noticing that everything has gone south reminds me I am actually 46. Brutal, brutal, brutal. I don't think Jillian was made for 46 year olds, although I am sure she would disagree.

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of putting on one of my new business suits (yeah, one of the ones I purchased at the end of summer) didn't fit very well. Why? Because my hips and thighs have gone on strike and refuse to fit into those new pants. I squeezed myself in there and didn't bend down once as I knew I'd blow out the back of those trousers. The hell if I'm gonna let that suit go to waste....I am SO gonna go buy myself Spanx!

BOOK de la FACE FIFTY!!! Break out the champagne! I made my goal of fifty friends on Book de la Face. I had wanted to reach this goal by New Year's Day, so I am 7 days late, but I'm still so stoked I don't really care. Fifty friends! I would have had 51 but that Christian guy dumped me before I could dump him. I am proud to say that I know all of my friends and that I haven't slept with any of my Book de la Face friends.

Yet.

You remind me of.......... You know my job that must not be named? Well, my boss and I were chatting in his office chatting (not as much as me and my Beloved Lady Chiropractor were chatting this morning) and he says he FINALLY figured out who I remind him of: Ellen DeGeneres. This made me laugh out loud. He has no idea how right he is (no offense to Ellen). I have heard this comment repeatedly at this job that must not be named. (That's because all lesbians look alike, don't you know? And, none of us have last names, but that's a whole 'nother story.) He then quickly assured me this was a compliment (hello! I thought it was a great compliment.)

I did alert him that I am a better dancer than Ellen.

And, I am.

I end This and That Thursday adding only one last thing: the wife says I forgot to list "Wife Swap" and "The Real Housewives of Orange County" as reality shows she is digesting these days. How I forgot those two, I do not know............

The Year in Review

Indulge me in some self-centered reminiscing, won't you? It's rather impossible to be anything but sentimental & reflective on New Year's eve.

What a busy year it was, as I am sure it was for you, too. There was the retiring of Brett Favre and the subsequent un-retiring of Brett Favre, the favre-o-roids and the pants that no longer fit. A new job came to the addiverse (of which we do not speak) and a new face on the political horizon (of She Who Must Not be Named). The mold mobile kept rolling, Madonna kept on strutting, prestigious awards were bestowed upon the wife and our first cruise was enjoyed (unexpectedly freezingly cold). I learned to believe in the power of chiropractic treatment, joined Book de la Face and got my first cell phone. Addiction to text messaging followed. Dos Marias got married, niece number six arrived, Freckles Warrior Princess spent oodles of hours at the vet and I learned the merits of doing housework.

My gratitude for the wife factor multiplied by a million.

Lucy Bark of Poteidaia continued to hate all dogs in the neighborhood. The Brewers and the Cubs both choked, quite to the horror of our household. Master Reiki had a horrible accident and bravely faced the trials of healing. I fell in love with Jillian, broke up with Jillian, got back together with Jillian, despised Jillian, relapsed back to Jillian. My beloved lady chiropractor healed my knee (or was it the breakup with Jillian that led to the knee improvement?). Wild Mama became Cool Mama, Taco Juan lost two feet of his intestines and Sister Lady Di ruled the school board. Not enough time was spent with the Chicago Nieces. I fell three people short of my goal of 50 people by 12/31/08 on Book de la Face (well, I have a few more hours to make that goal). I re-pierced my ears in the bathroom (bad idea) while the wife made sure a new roof and a new wood floor came to our life. I lost money on the Madonna concert but in the end decided that going to the concert and keeping a friendship is always more important than money.

Did I mention my pants no longer fit?

As usual, the year went too quickly. How unfair is it that the older you get, the faster the years go by?

I don't make resolutions because it just sets you up to fail. After all, why say you're going to do something because it's a certain day of the year? If I did make resolutions, I'd probably resolve to get back into my pants; never take for granted family, friends, life, work and all the things that truly matter; walk the dogs more often; work on the garden daily; eat less white sugary products; eat more vegetables; make more art; save money; go on a super-great vacation to some fabulous island; visit family more often; meditate; get my pap on time; get a white tattoo (so much for saving money); lower my cholesterol via diet to below 200; resolve my issues with Jillian; cut my addiction to the Internet and text messaging by half; not make fun of the Baby Jesus; curb my stalking of my Beloved Lady Chiropractor; and, get new license plates.

Shallow? Maybe. But, you already know that I can be a tacky, shallow person. Maybe I'll work on that, too. Less shallow, more content, more veggies, more gratitude. Integrity, serenity, humility. It doesn't get much better than that.

A new, blank slate. A new year. Same old me. And, in the big picture, that really is okay. Happy New Year to you!
--
and remember: "If you want it, you already got it; If you thought it, It better be what you want." (Madonna, "4 Minutes")

Happy Holidays

Rudolph the red nose reindeer, had a very shiny.....

.....oh! I am glad to see that this Christmas will not be She Who Must Not be Named free.

Ah, Christmas Eve. I was trying to remember if I ever experienced a "bad" Christmas Eve and I must say, off the top of my head, I am not able to recall any of which would fulfill this description. I've had the "fourth grade ear-ache-go-to-the-doctor on Christmas Eve," I've enjoyed the "OUCH! I-JUST-ZIPPED-MY-CHIN IN-MY COAT ZIPPER! Christmas Eve moment," I've had the "I've-got-mono-and-I'm-too-sick-to-function Christmas Eve," and the wife astutely reminded me I've had the "I-hate-the-holidays-I'm-going to be a big whiny-baby-cause-we-can't-be-together melodrama Christmas Eve," followed by the "take turns going to each other's families" Christmas Eves.....

Well, wait a minute--there WAS that night we spent in a hotel by O'Hare on Christmas Eve where we had NO heat in the room and they didn't have anything else to offer us and we fr-fr-froze all night (at least we were heading to the Virgin Islands the next day, where we certainly did not have to worry about freezing any further); that was an adventurous, miserably cold holiday and might qualify for a lousy holiday beginning, but since it was followed by St. Thomas and St. John's and since it was the first Christmas Eve I can remember that we were together for the blessed holiday, I think that negates anything yucky about it.

(I can easily remember a horrible Christmas Day but I won't say more as the wife and I are probably still in need of therapy over it. Suffice it to say, three hours of screaming at each other in a car is a rotten way to spread Christmas cheer.)

When I think of Christmas Eve, I think of my grandmother. I think of sitting at a kiddie table in the basement of a small house, eating lasagna. I think of my cousins, of everyone smashing into the living room and everyone opening presents at the same time. I think of the smell of my grandfather's pipe. I think of the old kind of flashbulbs--the square ones that "blew up" when taking the photo--and, of movie cameras with the blinding bright light. I think of an olive green davenport. I remember "Santa Buzzy" showing up to hand out presents. It doesn't matter that those memories are over 35 or 40 years old; it is always my first thought when I am asked to truly think about Christmas Eve. Maybe that's why I can't think of any "bad" Christmas Eves; nothing will ever "top" or "ruin" those Christmas Eves at my grandparents' house. Those yucky ones just melt into the background and are happily replaced by the warm, glowing memories of grandma in an apron, cooking and baking and organizing.

This year, we are just trying to get the wife to and from the celebration without bursting her steri-strips from here to Cheese Curd City. I'd put money on it that we'll make it, pillow seat- belted into place, pain pills in hand. We'll blow into town, stuff our faces, open a few presents and blow back out of town. It won't be quantity focused; it will be quality focused....and, there is nothing wrong with that.

Here's wishing you have a very qaulity-filled Merry Christmas Eve and an even more fabulous Christmas Day. Here's one for Grandma--ho ho ho!

Tangential Tuesday

I know it will not come as a surprise to any regular reader that I have terminal tangential thinking. I start one place and end up somewhere else. It's like a sport or adventure. Here's what thirty seconds in my brain is really like.

(By the way, the photo to the left has nothing to do with anything except it is a man with a bowl and I took the picture and I like it but that's about all it has to do with anything.)

I'm driving home and I see gas prices.....as it's now at an incredibly cheap $2.29 a gallon, it costs half as much as it did just a few months ago and that makes me want to stop and get gas even though I don't need gas. How is that possible? How can a barrel of oil be at an all time low when just weeks ago it was at an all time high? And, why does Exxon get to make a gazillion dollars profit while consumers get smoked? I'll bet Dick Cheney's been doing a happy oil dance with all that profit. That man is naughty. Way naughty. Maybe the "First Dude" is doing an oil dance along with Dick and "She Who Must Not Be Named," who is busy not banning Harry Potter books. Let's think about that. Wait, let's not. Let's think why am I still hearing so much about "She Who Must not be Named?" Why is anyone talking about her in 2012? We haven't even got W out of the White House yet and people are talking about 2012. Isn't the world supposed to end in 2012? NOW I understand.

This gets me thinking: Why do all these greedy bastards and greedy companies get to be bailed out while I have to all my bills on time and I have to cough up money to pay for their greediness? I know I'm a financial moron when it comes to the big picture, but it doesn't take a financial wizard to see that greed caused the problem and maybe those greedy nimrods should feel a little--no, a lot--of pain. This makes me question bailing out the car industry but Obama is all about that and the government has done that before so even though it pisses me off that all these companies are getting bailed out, there must be something more there than I can even begin to comprehend...kind of like the wife can't comprehend what happened to her retirement fund.

That leads me to ask: What's up with Starbucks? I hear they got pounded by financial losses this quarter. Oh, wait--I know! It's called McDonald's! I love a frappaccino almost more than anyone, but I have to tell you, when a Iced Coffee at the Golden Arches is half the cost of the Starbucks iced mocha and there are a lot more McD's around my neck of the woods that Buck de la Stars, I know where I'm going to go. Of course, I'd really prefer to go to Dunkin' Donuts but that's nowhere near my Beloved Lady Chiropractor's office and I'm not driving out of my way to get something that I can get within one block of where I am, especially after paying for another office visit. Well, unless it's Sunday. Then, I will drive to any Dunkin' Donuts as a Sunday is not complete without DD coffee.

Which gets me to thinking, because I get a Iced Coffee after visiting my beloved lady chiroprator: Why DO I literally put my head in the hands of someone who has only been a chiropractor for 11 months? Oh, wait--I know! Because getting your neck cracked is almost as good as having a frappaccino while filling up your gas tank at $2.29 a gallon.

I'm back to gas prices, so that's not tangential--that's circumstantial thinking. I stand corrected. Well, I'm sitting down, so I sit corrected. Which reminds me--I need to go sit in front of the TV and see who gets booted off of Dancing with the Stars. That is, if I can turn on the TV and manage NOT to see any She Who Must Not be Named on every channel. Hey, there's an idea: Let Sarah be on the next edition of Dancing with the Stars! I'm having all sorts of thoughts about THAT! Come on, you can picture it, too. Sarah Samba, here we come.

You might be a stalker if.....

 Okay, my stalker-ness has NOTHING to do with the President-elect, so don't get all secret service on me. I just loved this photo, as passed my way by China Mama Grrrrl, and wanted to immediately share it with you. I would have saved the photo for a more appropriate moment, but I liked it so much I couldn't wait. Yo go, 'Bama family! Side note to "She Who Must Not Be Named:" Don't let your advisers get your down. I don't care if you know where Africa is or not. They are being very naughty and should be spanked. I don't care if you are a terminally right winged republican...they need to stop it. BTW, don't really get serious about 2012, cuz then you are on your own. 

No, my stalking has to do with--oh, here's a surprise!-- my beloved lady chiropractor. 

I think I may qualify as a stalker as I most recently found myself studying her Book de la Face page. 

It all started with my quest to make 5o Book de la Face friends by Christmas. I'm pretty weinee when it comes to internet site friends and a goal of 50 friends is really lame but I'm old and probably shouldn't even have the 28 friends that I do have so I don't want to set my goal too high. I mean, what the hell are all of us old people doing on Book de la Face? (Shout out to band nerds from 1980. Love that we've found each other!) So, I started entering names of people that I thought might be on Book de la Face. This is hard because when you are from an era where typerwriters were the way of the day, it takes some time to think of people of the same era who might actually have made the leap from typewriter to computer and then you type in their name and...sigh. I know my niece is on there and she has like three million friends but I am not going to ask her to be my friend--some things need to be private and she deserves not to have her old, crusty aunt reading her page. I have some scruples. I tried co-worker names, I tried friends' names, I tried college-peer names.....

....and then, for some reason, I typed in my beloved lady chiropractor's name.... .......and, her profile popped up! 

I gasped. 

It felt wrong but I didn't let it deter me. After all, if one makes his/her page public, all bets are off. I took a gander, was disgusted that she has over 300 friends (I'm such a pathetic loser!) and then....I enjoyed her wedding photos. 

THAT is definitely when I crossed the stalker line. One should not be looking at profile pages of those who have the potential to rip one's head right off the neck. I wanted to turn away, click a button, go back to my own profile page. But, I didn't. I stayed until I digested the wedding photos, THEN I turned away. May I add that she did indeed make a beautiful, blushing bride? Of course I can. I promise to stay away from her Book de la Face pages as it really is no place for me to be, so my stalker-dom is short-lived. 

Speaking of my beloved lady chiropractor, my knee has been hurting again. It was my shoes. I love my shoes but I can't wear certain pairs any more--the heel are too high and make my knee ache. That so sucks. (I guess this gives me more reason to go out and buy more shoes, so that's good but still--it sucks when the shoes you like and that are comfortable are no longer part of the wardrobe options due to pain issues.) So, there I am on that funky chiropractor table and I'm all about my knee and I'm all ready to have my hips cracked from here to Atlanta.....but after adjusting my pretty perky patella, MBLC adjusted my neck. 

If you have never had your neck "adjusted," you have no idea what this is like. Basically, it is like putting your head in someone's hands and letting that person RIP your head off its base. Picture a trained killer snapping someone's neck. NOW you get it. I have never had my neck adjusted until today. I am here to tell you that when she ripped that neck to the right, the cracking of the bones (or whatever cracks when one is adjusted) was so loud that I'm thinking people in the parking lot heard it. 

Holy smokes! And, I thought my hips made a lot of noise when they cracked. The only thing better than getting one side of your neck adjusted is to get the other side of your neck adjusted. It was just as good--and as loud--as the first time. The heavens parted, the angels sang and I was in chiropractic glory. My neck felt like butta! I am one with chiropractic treatment, waiting for the next adjustment..... 

Not only do I qualify as a stalker, I qualify as a crack addict. Great. Not only am I a stalker, I'm a crack addict. Think that will help me make more friends on Book de la Face???

This and That

Happy Election Day! I shall not speak of the election but instead whine about my need to buy new underwear. 

Bigger underwear. I know, I know. The wife says I have body image problems. There's no news flash! Of course I have body image concerns. But(t), there is NOTHING that will feed those neuroses faster than needing new--read: bigger--underwear. God danged bigger underwear! (I wanted to say swear words but I am really trying not to swear, in honor of those I work with and in honor of the Baby Jesus, who continues to hound me.) 

I have realized for a week or two that the current undies just aren't making the grade. For instance, today while visiting my beloved lady chiropractor, I noticed my undies were basically in my butt crack. As they are not thong undies, they are certainly not supposed to be there in that ol' butt crack, but there they were. I tried to inconspicuously pull them out but those puppies were WEDGED in there. As I lay there, bones cracking in sheer delight as my beloved lady chiropractor is jumping on me, I'm thinking "dear god, I hope she can't see my underwear lines showing my undies are in my butt crack." Because I was so concerned about this underwear thing, I forget to monitor myself and instead of remaining calm and quiet, a big ol OOOOOOOHHHHHH! moan-sound fell out of my mouth as she cracked my hips/back. I apologized, meekly indicating it felt good. She didn't look too mortified but then again I can't see her because she takes away my glasses and for all I know, it might be Dr. Jesus jumping on me, so I am not totally sure she wasn't make grossed out faces. She gave me another appointment, so she must be used to stupid sounds coming out of her clients. 

So, I go to work (not that I ever talk about work) and I am pulling my undies out of my ass AGAIN because they have creeped back where they do not belong....and, then I realize I am standing in front of the building security cameras. Since they monitor the activities outside the building quite closely, I am pretty sure the receptionist is having a good laugh at my expense. 

When you are pulling your underwear out of your butt in front of security cameras, it is time to give in and admit bigger underwear is paramount to survival. I won't be going out tonight for undie shopping--I'll save that for the weekend. Tonight, I will do a Leslie Sansone walking tape and pull my undies out every half mile or so. I take Jillian's name in vain, I'll curse that third cookie I ate at lunch, I lament about projections from the media about who is winning the presidency. I'll tell the wife to turn off the TV so I don't have to listen to the political nonsense and I'll indeed whine about my butt and my too-small underwear..... 

In closing, I would like to say one election-related thing: If Obama loses, I will NEVER vote for a presidential candidate again. Loyal readers understand that I have a 0% winning rate with voting for presidential candidates. President Clinton should send me a thank you note for being out of town when he was running. Senator Obama, I am so sorry. I did indeed vote for you, so if you lose, I am to blame. With love and underwear lines, addi warrior princess, bleeding liberal.

Express Yourself

I am almost embarrassed to admit that I am having a hard time focusing on the Madonna post show glow due to the pending presidential election. I think this is a sign of old age or delirium or latent patriotism. Whatever it is, I am distracted by election-related emails, commercials, discussions, photo-shopped images, bumper stickers and lively banter. I want to talk about Madonna's wardrobe and the band-aid on her right thigh but I can't help but find myself laughing, fretting, hoping, contemplating the pending vote. Madonna herself was part of the presidential frenzy, with Obama (along with Nelson Mandela and the Dali Lama) receiving much support and Ol' Bush and McCain being in the same league as Hitler. One of the concert t-shirts featured a rainbow colored portrait of Obama with "Express Yourself" under the image. The crowd loved it. Of course, I'm guessing most of the rich Republicans were at some fancy pants fundraiser and not hanging out with the gay boys at a Madonna Concert.

So little time, so much political email fodder to share. Some are funny, some are serious, some are from YouTube, some are not real, some are scary because they ARE real. As we are approaching the finish line, I thought Id add a few of the email blurbs after the Madonna talk. How can I focus on Madonna, my Beloved Lady Chiropractor (who, by the way, was busy cracking my vertabrae this morning), the dogs, the wife, my job when there are political pundits busy 24 hours a day? (Um, I am wondering about why John Travolta is singing a song with Mylee Cyrus but that's only a moment of distraction from the campaigning.) How can I ever thank people like China Grrrrl and Grand Canyon Black Toes and EPA Guy for the photos, jokes, emails, links, videos?

I'll be honest. I'm worried. People lie. I'm concerned those polls are not even close to representing what will happen. People like to "look" progressive and as if they are against racial discrimination. Problem is, those people get in the voting booth and can't vote for the "black guy." Sigh. Madonna may have come far but the American public has not.

If you are Joe the Plumber, be brave. You can do it. You can get beyond race. You can go beyond the fear. You can vote the way you said you were going to vote......

Back to Madonna. I have GOT to talk about Madonna. I am still about Madonna. Let's see: the wardrobe choices. I did not like the dancers' costumes as much as I have liked them in previous performances. Maybe it's impossible to "top" the rollerskating outfits of the "Confession" tour. Maybe the costumes pale in comparison to the outfits being worn by "She Who Must Not be Named" during campaigning. Now, don't get me wrong, I was all a-titter with what was going on during Sticky and Sweet. I just wasn't as blown away with the wardrobe choices. Below: an example of costume choices that I DID like:
For those in attendance that needed an "old" madonna fix, there was quite the display of "old" madonnas via the dancers: one virgin bride, one Material Girl Marilyn, one from "Express Yourself," and one from "Open Your heart." A little something for everyone, just like the music!

Ah, the music. I already said it was loud. May I add that the arrangements were creatively awesome. Very creative, cutting edge. Love the way Madonna, the live band and live singers blended seamlessly with the recorded music and pre-programmed everything. You would think it a bad thing that Madonna is not singing all the words all the time, when in reality, it is a great thing. Gives great, consistent sound while maintaining the best parts of live performances and it's not like she's lip-syncing. She's singing 'with' herself, layered on top of herself. For $350, I don't want to watch someone stand on a stage and sing to me. I want a SHOW. I want to be ENTERTAINED. I want to see Madonna HOPPING up and down and challenging the crowd to do the same. So, pre-programming and pre-recording is all good with me.

Yes, Mrs. Soon-to-be-Ex-Richie was political, mostly via videos. She didn't say anything overtly political but a picture is worth 1000 words, so she really didn't need to say anything except "IT'S TIME" and that it's "YOUR WORLD." Her lyrics reminded the crowd that it's now or never and sitting around is NOT the way to get to a better place for all. No hanging on crosses, no calling the president naughty names, no fun-making of She Who Must Not be Named, no comments about emotionally retarded husbands....surprising. I guess she decided the video images would do the talking for this night in Chicago.

At the end of the concert, lots of the crowd remained, dancing in the stands to the Madonna music that was playing after the lights went on. It was fun to look up from the floor and see people dancing on all the various levels of the United Center. Madonna does not have an opening act and she does not have encores....so, dancing to her music is a good encore option for ending the evening.

For the record, I did not see Joe the Plumber on stage or in the crowd.

What's next for Madonna? I don't know....but, I do know I'll be waiting......charge card in hand.

Here's my encore....some email fodder.....

Dear Red States:

We've decided we're leaving. We intend to form our own country, and we're taking the other Blue States with us. In case you aren't aware, that includes California , Hawaii , Oregon , Washington , Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan , Illinois and all the Northeast. We believe this split will be beneficial to the nation, and especially to the people of the new country of New California.

To sum up briefly: You get Texas, Oklahoma and all the slave states. We get stem cell research and the best beaches. We get the Statue of Liberty. We get Intel and Microsoft. You get WorldCom. We get Harvard. You get Ole' Miss. We get 85 percent of America's venture capital and entrepreneurs. You get Alabama. We get two-thirds of the tax revenue, you get to make the red states pay their fair share.

Since our aggregate divorce rate is 22 percent lower than the Christian Coalition's, we get a bunch of happy families. Please be aware that Nuevo California will be pro-choice and anti-war, and we're going to want all our citizens back from Iraq at once. If you need people to fight, ask your evangelicals.

With the Blue States in hand, we will have firm control of 80 percent of the country's fresh water, more than 90 percent of the pineapple and lettuce, 92 percent of the nation's fresh fruit, 95 percent of America's quality wines (you can serve French wines at state dinners) 90 percent of all cheese, 90 percent of the high tech industry, most of the U.S. low-sulfur coal, all living redwoods, sequoias and condors, all the Ivy and Seven Sister schools plus Stanford, Cal Tech and MIT.

With the Red States, on the other hand, you will have to cope with 88 percent of all obese Americans (and their projected health care costs), 92 percent of all U.S. mosquitoes, nearly 100 percent of the tornadoes, 90 percent of the hurricanes, 99 percent of all Southern Baptists, virtually 100 percent of all televangelists, Rush Limbaugh, Bob Jones University, Clemson and the University of Georgia. We get Hollywood and Yosemite!

Additionally, 38 percent of those in the Red states believe Jonah was actually swallowed by a whale, 62 percent believe life is sacred unless we're discussing the death penalty or gun laws, 44 percent say that evolution is only a theory, 53 percent believe Saddam was involved in 9/11 and 61 percent believe you are people with higher morals then we lefties.

Peace out,

Blue States

Please take a moment to ponder the following:

· What if the Obamas had paraded five children across the stage, including a three month old infant and an unwed, pregnant teenage daughter?

· What if John McCain was a former president of the Harvard Law Review?

· What if Barack Obama finished fifth from the bottom of his graduating class?

· What if McCain had only married once, and Obama was a divorcee?

· What if Obama was the candidate who left his first wife after a severe disfiguring car accident?

· What if Obama had met his second wife in a bar and had a long affair while he was still married?

· What if Michelle Obama was the wife who not only became addicted to pain killers but also acquired them illegally through her charitable organization?

· What if Cindy McCain graduated from Harvard?

· What if McCain was a charismatic, eloquent speaker?

· What if Obama was the one who was known to display publicly, on many occasions, a serious anger management problem?

You could easily add to this list. If these questions reflected reality, do you really believe Obama would be in front? Or even a candidate????? This is what racism does. It covers up, rationalizes and minimizes positive qualities in one candidate and emphasizes negative qualities in another when there is a color difference.

Educational Background:

BARACK OBAMA:

Columbia University - B.A. Political Science with a

Specialization in International Relations.

Harvard - Juris Doctor (J.D.) Magna Cum Laude, first African American President of the Harvard Law Review

JOSEPH BIDEN:

University of Delaware - B.A. i n History and B.A. in Political Science.

Syracuse University College of Law - Juris Doctor (J.D.)

vs.

JOHM MCCAIN:

United States Naval Academy - Class rank: 894 of 899

SARAH PALIN:

Hawaii Pacific University - 1 semester

North Idaho College - 2 semesters - general study

University of Idaho - 2 semesters - journalism

Matanuska-Susitna College - 1 semester

University of Idaho - 3 semesters - B.A. in Journalism

Education isn't everything, but this is about the two highest offices in the land as well as our standing in the world. You make the call.

Crack goes the Hip, Bring on the Whip
Okay, how can I NOT post all the "She Who Must Not Be Named" fodder that's going around the Internet right now? It's like she was BORN to be the politician of my dreams. Thanks to Harmony China Grrrl for the continued email forwards. I am loving every minute of it. (If you are S-W-M-N-B-N fan/supporter/fellow hunter, I am sorry....not for posting this stuff, but for you. I know that most politicians are pretty much the same, but this lady takes it to a whole 'nother level. At least she's cute. Maybe she'd be my friend despite my chosen sexuality....although, I don't S-W-M-N-B-N is exactly looking for a bleeding-liberal- vegetarian- lesbian-tree-hugger-who's never shot a child out of her womb and who can certainly NOT see Russia from the Addiverse on her friendship list. ) 

One: Monday is Madonna. Woo Woo! Let's see: If today is Thursday evening, that means I only have to wait through Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Whatever will I wear? Will my knee hold out through all that dancing? Will I be able to sneak up closer to the stage? Will I get my period? (TMI) I AM READY, MATERIAL GRRRL! 

Two: Dos Marias are getting married!!! I am very excited to alert Addiverse readers that our Californian friends Dos Marias will be getting married right before election day. Why then, you ask? Because on November 4th the great State of California may vote to get rid of that nasty gay marriage thing, so they "have" to get married before November 4, 2008. That doesn't give them much time to do anything but slap on a few nice close, jog to the courthouse and say "I do" but it's a huge, wonderful, amazing thing that they can actually legally get married. I hope there is time to clink some glasses and smooch along the way. Good luck and congrats, grrrls! Three: I had a delicious appointment with My Beloved Lady Chiropractor (MBLC) this morning. When I woke up today, I was indeed a wee, wee, wee bit sad because I had no knee pain but happy I had no knee pain. (No pain equals less visits equals less face-to-face time with MBLC but it does equate to more money in my checking & savings account). I did notice an incredibly ridiculous tightness in my hamstrings, so I figured that had to be good for something. I waddled my tight leg muscles to the office, Dr. Jesus nowhere in sight. (I have since learned he comes in later during the day, so if I play my cards right, I won't have many Dr. Jesus sightings over the next few weeks, although I do owe him because his business partner is fabulous. Praise the baby Jesus for that. I am all about the Baby Jesus.) 

MBLC is all a-glow that I am still pain free. I feel like I've won an award or something-- maybe an Olympic gold medal--as she seems so pleased by my progress. I mutter about my hamstrings and so, after shooting my knees with the activator thingy, she takes a look (or, a feel I guess) at the hammies and agrees quite strongly that they are indeed very tight. She assures me she can fix this. I am sure she can. 

  I am proud to say that she stretched those puppies just about over my head and into the next county. She is leaning into it and proclaims, "this is incredible!" It is incredible, I decide. I am the new poster child for Chiropractic treatment. I am ready to testify. She assures me not many people are this flexible, adding that she is very flexible but many people aren't. 

I am smitten with my flexibility. Now, for the best part. You know, I like that little electrode thing that makes my knees buzz and I don't mind the whole activator part and I'm good with the stretching thing but there is nothing.......NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING.... nothing better than a chiropractor CRACKING your parts. (Well, besides ice cream and chocolate. I mean nothing better in the medical world.) Orgasmic! I can't exactly recall the position MBLC had me strike for the move of the century but I do know it involved my hips being in one place and suddenly being SLAMMED into another place. As I don't have my glasses on during any of this (and as I am so damned blind I can't even see the table without them), it is difficult to comprehend what is totally going on. One minute, I'm in this weird contorted position, the next, every vertebrae in the nation CRACKS-SCREAMS-FIRES with gluttonous delight. CRACK CRACK CRACK! It sounds like a damn machine gun is being fired in the room. I'm not kidding--I'd bet ten things cracked during that one delightful maneuver. Heaven. Heaven. Heaven. (If this is what the Baby Jesus had in mind when he brought me to this office, I am all good with it. Put your hand on the TV screen and be SAVED!) I am impressed with the move not only because it worked and because it feels so good but because it requires the chiropractor to basically THROW themselves on top of you while adjusting the targeted area. Talk about coordination and brute strength and a strong knowledge of bio-mechanics. One wrong move and I'm peeing in a catheter. 

How does one follow up with such a fabulous move? Why, you do the OTHER side. Ready... set.....SLAM! CRACK CRACK CRACK. I want to weep! Why have I waited so long to do this??? This is followed by more stretching/cracking/activating of my legs/hips/knees/lower back. By the time I left that office, I could have won a triathlon. I could have raced She-Who-Must-Not-be-Named up the Washington Monument and back. I could have wrapped my leg around my head twice. I could have danced circles around Jillian Michael's abs. I could have danced all night at a Madonna concert..... .....hey, now THERE'S an idea! 

  Get ready, Madonna & Baby Jesus--I'm ready to get into the groove!