You Can't Afford Me

How Much are You Worth?

I'm worth $2,013,090.00. How 'bout you?

Two-Buck Chuck

The people we house-sit for brought us a case of wine from California on their last trip. (I think I mentioned that I wished it wasn't Chardonnay.) I learned a few days later that it's also known as "Two-Buck Chuck," and that it retails for $1.99 per bottle. So I was thinking how it really wasn't that magnanimous a gesture. However, it tastes great. I'm loving every glass.

Turns out there is no Charles Shaw Winery. It went out of business over 20 years ago, and the purchaser of the winery name has simply bought a massive overage of wine grapes and has a master vinter to blend them. How 'bout that. Anyway, if you like wine at all, you totally cannot beat the value. A case of wine for twenty-five bucks?! How much sangria would that make?

Grumble

I'd really like to write a lovely post with lots of links about my brief vacation and all the places I went shopping, as well as the stacks of books I recently have acquired. However, my dial-up connection is being a bitchwhore from hell, and does not really want to operate with another window open.

Long story short (because it's going to have to be), I did hit what I consider the ultimate women's sportswear joint, Title 9 Sports. I drool over the catalog and can pretty much quote you the price of any item in it. Unfortunately, the said prices can be awfully high. I was hoping for a clearance rack (my family motto is "Never Pay Retail"), but I was sorely disappointed. I splurged though, and bought myself the cutest little Horny Toad skirt, and my darling beloved husband (whose butt I am obviously still kissing) bought me a matching shirt for the ridiculous sum of $42. *cough, gag* Ain't he sweet?

Go On, Ask Me!

So here's a little notion I picked up from Erica, who you likely remember from her stint here as a guest blogger. Here's how it works:

1. Leave me a comment asking me three questions. They can be serious or goofy, hypothetical, whatever. Just don't ask me math questions if you want a correct answer.

2. I will answer your questions as best I can, as soon as I can.

3. Now you go back to your own blog and ask the same of your visitors. (Use TrackBack, por favor, provided you have it.)

Okay, go ahead. As Frasier would say, "I'm listening."

Erica's Questions
1. What was the last dream you had about? The last one I remembered was a sad one. My nephew Jordan, who I haven't seen in 7 years after I left the Jehovah's Witnesses, and who now is 14, was a baby again. I was in a department store and I heard him crying for me. I knew that he had locked himself in a dressing room, but I couldn't figure out which one and there were hundreds of dressing rooms. I searched and searched, but I didn't find him before I woke up. I miss Jordan and his sister Morgan very, very much.
2. What's something you should do this week but haven't gotten around to? I should be cleaning my damn house instead of blogging! At least the kitchen is clean...sorta.
3. Rock, paper, scissors. My gut says scissors.

Race for the Cure

I've been meaning to bring you all up to speed on the Race for the Cure, which is coming up on May 8 in Boise. This is the second year in a row that my group has been sponsored by the Treasure Valley Ford dealers. They donate entry fees, and then folks who join the team have the option of making an additional donation. I'm very, very proud to say that we recruited 121 members from folks in the Cascade & McCall area, as well as their family members and friends from all over southern Idaho. The total amount donated (by Ford and by individuals) just for our part of the team comes to $3260! Hooray!

Does This Make Me a Mack Daddy?

I need serious help with my urban slang. I'm five years behind, and I still don't know if I'm slinging the lingo quite right.

Anyhoo, because I use BlogSpot for my blog hosting, I've been invited to start a Google E-mail account. If anyone wants to send me a note, write to caseyoconnell@gmail.com. Be sure to include the words "Dildo," "Felching," and "Peach Preserves," in your note, just so I can see what kind of advertising Google comes up with.

Okey-doke, I'm off. We're Tivo-ing "Deadwood," which is our new favorite show, and I have to find out what Seth Bullock and the gang are up to. Nighty-night!

Home Gurl

Hey, kids! Matt and I made it home late this afternoon. It was a very pleasant vacation visiting his sister in Denver. We even managed to hit both of our favorite chain restaraunts that haven't made it to Boise yet: Buca de Bepa and P.F. Chang's. *swoon* There was good food, good shopping and good relaxing. Still, I'm glad to be home, even though it means I'm returning to work tomorrow.

Mucho thanks to Mel, Malia and Erica for pinch-hitting while I was away. You guys are awesome!

So, I saw The Passion of the Christ.

Casey's already seen it and was less than impressed, so I thought I'd chime in with my thoughts.

In a nutshell, it was ridiculously bloody, and that added no value whatsoever. Is Mel Gibson trying to shame us into truly appreciating Jesus' suffering (if you even believe in this sort of thing)?

I probably wouldn't have picked up on this if it hadn't been pointed out, but it seems blindingly obvious now that if you don't already know how the story goes, you won't have any clue who anyone is in this movie. You'll know Jesus and probably Mary. You'll see there are some priests and a Roman guy, a whole bunch of soldiers, and maybe a vague notion of some Apostles.

I wouldn't say I hated the movie. You can't exactly like a movie this gory. I'll say that I didn't appreciate it. I'll admit I was biased against it by the controversy surrounding it and Mel Gibson, and by my personal opinion on Christianity. But, I didn't get anything out of it. There wasn't even a "now that's an interesting way of looking at it" moment anywhere.

Don't waste your money. I'm glad I didn't spend my money on it, but I would like my time back. I could have had some more beer.

Who makes this kind of man?

A man that would give up so much to go defend his country, when he didn't have to. A professional football player. A professional football player. Think about it.

Seriously, there are just no words for a man like Pat Tillman. No words.

Someone, quick...switch with me

I need something to do today and it might just be getting some coffee and sitting in from of this puter and getting a bunch of work done. Does anyone know how truly difficult that is to do when it's sunny and in the 60's?? Anyone? Yeah I'm sure a bunch of you could sympatize, but none of you would change spots. That's alright, I'll get by :P

Happy Earth Day!

Today's the day the tree huggers of the world get together and, well, um, plant trees. Get out there and join 'em (but make sure it's a native non-invasive species, ok?)!

Okay, so now we know america's on crack

Seriously, Jennifer Hudson?

Come 'on folks! We've got others, who seriously need to be leaving! I was amused that George Huff automatically assumed which was the top group and ended up being completely wrong.

I keep telling myself that this will be the last season I will watch. It's just gotten progressively worse with time and the luster has faded. Maybe it's just me, but my picture of the American Idol isn't any of these kids. Let's just go back to having people with real talent make it!

What's this, blogger?

I've never guest posted on Blogger before. What fun! I'm not really sure what I'm going to post but I'm quite sure something will come to me quickly. Yes, quickly. Like any minute now.

*twiddles thumbs*

Hang tight. It's gonna be a doozy and you'll be sorry when you miss it. neenerneener

Just So You Know....

I have had more than one occasion where one of these would come in handy: The Urban Asshole Notification Card. I'm a sucka for snark and sometimes The Truth just cannot be avoided. Wouldn't you rather know?

"You have spinach in your teeth. Oh, and you're an asshole. You might want to do something about that."

Leavin' On a Jet Plane

Okay, not a jet plane, but a Toyota Matrix with husband and dogs in tow. We're heading to Denver for a few days. For your continued amusement, I'm turning it over to the guest bloggers from here on out.

Thanks to Mel, Malia, and Erica for keeping an eye on the place for me!

Lookee Here

The Top Ten Worst Album Covers of All Time!

Via Dee.

Guest Posters

I'm going out of town for a few days, and I'm pleased to let you all know that there will be a couple of guest posters keeping things interesting around here. If you don't already know Malia or Mel, feel free to swing by their sites to get acquainted, or just hang out until Wednesday or so and let the games begin!

Who Do You Look Like?

I'm not standing by the veracity of this site. I put in the photo on the left of this page, and the Star Estimator said I look like Cher, Julia Roberts, and/or Yasmeen Ghauri.

Who do you look like? Via Dee.

Gutter Mouth

Melissa's future mother-in-law was shown my blog over the weekend so that she could see some examples of Mel's web design. This was what she had to say:

"She uses those dirty words."

So much for meeting the needs of my target demographic--peoples' mothers-in-law. Damn. I mean, drat!

Grover is Freaking Out

I wish you all could see this. I'm over on Bearskinrug and I'm feeding the little cartoon bear at the top of the page. You can feed it a rabbit, a chicken, and various other things. Anyhoo, there are sound effects, and they're totally wigging out Grover, our youngest dog. It's a crack up.

Via Oh No, the Blog!

Not So Funny Family Crap

As I was talking to Dad yesterday, he mentioned that my mother thinks my aunt has a gambling addiction. To give you a little history, my aunt is the trustee for my grandparents' estate. My grandmother is still alive, but is vegetative in an Alzheimer's care facility. The trust keeps her in a very comfortable place. The second part of a trust is a substantial sum of money that will pay income to my mother and two aunts for the rest of their lives via the profits from stocks and bonds. Upon the demise of the mother and aunts, the body of the trust will be dispersed among my cousins, brother, sister and I equally. So since my aunt is the trustee, she sends a monthly account statement on the first part of the trust to my mother and other aunt. There were two transactions for $200 each made to a Native American casino near where my aunt lives. My mother (who is a barking moonbat anyway) has interpreted this as a gambling addiction. And it sure sounds like she's pissed.

I have no idea what, if anything, to do about it. It's really none of my business because my mother and I don't speak anyway, and it really doesn't seem appropriate to call my aunt and say, "Hey, do you have a gambling addiction?" Additionally, it's not my money. I don't care if it ever becomes my money. If the estate is bankrupt by the time it gets to the grandkids, that's fine. My life won't change. But my mother has managed to alienate quite a few people in her life over the years, and I'd really hate to see her relationship with my aunt get destroyed because of this.

I think I'm just going to forget about the whole conversation.

Sayings I Learned from my Dad

My father is something of a colorful speaker. I think it sort of runs in the family, but I do pick up some good sayings from him now and then. Here are a few:

You fuck with the bull, you fuck with the horns. I especially like this one when someone gives my husband any crap. Nobody, but nobody better get in his way if I have anything to say about it. Sure, he's a game warden, he carries a gun, he is a defensive tactics instructor. I can't really add much to the mix, except for a really bad attitude. But I'm there.

He couldn't pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were printed on the heel. Ol' Dad applied this phrase to many of the people in the small town I grew up in.

She's uglier than a hat fulla assholes. Usually applied to the wives of those who had the difficulties with the pee-filled boot.

I know there are many more phrases that often make for lively conversations with my pop. I'll try to remember more and post them later.

Polly Pissy Pants

I think I may be getting intolerant in my old age. But one thing has been bugging the living crap out of me lately: people who wait for life to come to them. I hear people say how they're going to do this or that--that they want to achieve a goal. And then they just sit there. Folks, life does not come to you and drop your fondest wish in your lap. We all get lucky sometimes, but even luck can't help you when you won't get off your ass and work for what you want. You want to buy a house? Great, call the mortgage company and start working on it. You want to go to Europe? Super, start saving your money and stop blowing it on silly shit like a new pair of shoes or a cheesy dinner at some slum restaraunt. You wish you made more money so that you could have nicer things? Then work harder, stop blowing your money on crap, and put an effort into getting a better damn job.

If there is something in a person's life that is so important to them that they can't stop running their mouths about it, then they better by God be working to get it. And I hear about it all over the place: the grocery store, the internet, from family members. It's great to have dreams, but don't yap my ear off about it if that's all you're going to do.

Feh. I'm just sick of hearing it.

Ewww, Vile!

I just got back from house-sitting and Matt is working until probably 8:00 tonight. That leaves me (checking watch) around nine and a half hours to sit and think about the furry blob that is, well, not living but maybe "deading" in the lazy susan. I decided to be brave and take a peek in there and yup, there is at least one rodent that won't be taking a shit amongst my orzo and rice anymore. There may be another filling the second trap, but I lost my chutzpah and won't look to confirm it.

Is it bad that I'm thinking of calling someone to come over and take the trap to the trash? I'll pay...

UPDATE
I couldn't take it. I called my buddy Sterling on his cell phone and he came over and disposed of the furry McNasty. I baked him a cinnamon crumb cake out of gratitude.

Coupla Things

One, it's snowing right now. Peachy. It is literally coming down like a blizzard. So much for walking to work.

Two, we're house-sitting for a few days starting tonight, so I likely won't be updating much through the weekend.

Have a lovely day, kids, and I hope it isn't snowing in your neck o' the woods.

The Rules

If you were All Powerful Diety for the day, what rules would you instate? Here are mine:

1. Turn your radio down you little cocksucker. You drive a beat to shit Mazda pickup. You are not cool, and no amount of volume is going to turn you cool. It might, however, cause me to smite you with a 12-gauge. (This All Powerful Diety has a headache.)

2. The All Powerful Diety requires sacrifices, and wishes to be provided with seasons 3 and 4 of Xena on DVD, as well as seasons 2 through 7 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

3. It is not the All Powerful Diety's night to fix dessert.

4. The All Powerful Diety could really go for some tiramisu tonight.

5. Finally, the All Powerful Diety would like to ask that her alarm clock will work in the morning so that shes doesn't wake up 50 minutes late and miss that very important first cup of coffee, without which the entire day is a total ruin.

Your turn.

Fun With Rodents

I could gag. I was twirling the lazy susan in the kitchen earlier this evening, when I saw what looked like a small, brown Rice Krispie on the shelf. And then I saw another. And another. It would appear we have mice. Just thinking about it makes the back of my throat tickle. I pulled everything off the shelves and those little fuckers have eaten through pretty much every bag of pasta we owned, in addition to a bag of Hershey's Kisses left over from Christmas.

Matt has set traps, which I absolutely refuse to have anything to do with. I can't imagine emptying a mouse trap with a victim inside it. *shudder* Are you even supposed to use D-Con near food? And no one suggest that we get a cat. Not only am I allergic, but (I know I'm going to alienate people here) I can't stand them. I'd rather have mice. I think.

These People Suck

I was so eagerly anticipating Bravo's new show, "Showbiz Moms & Dads. It's reality tv, and it's about parents who put their young kids into things like beauty pageants, tv commercials, etc. I'd long suspected that the average beauty pageant parent was totally fucked up, and well, I was right. This crazy cracker lady has her poor little four year old in all kinds of Little Miss crap and while she swears she only does it because it makes her daughter so happy, you can totally tell that it is all about her--her unfulfilled dreams and her belief that she could have been so much better than she turned out to be. So what does she do? She tarts her pre-schooler up in wigs and more make-up than Tammy Faye and makes her sing and dance like a trained dog.

A pox on those people. I can't believe the hell people will put their children through.

You Know What This Means, Right?

I was at my workout/bullshit session with some of the local womenfolk tonight and we were slagging on life in general, which is not unusual. J had started her period and was cramping, and she turned to me and said, "Do you have any idea how emotional you're going to get when you're on fertility drugs?" I looked behind me to see who she was talking to, and then it hit me. How emotional I'm going to get?!

J said that she had a friend who went on the drugs and the friend would just break down bawling anytime she saw a baby. This lady cried for 5 months until she finally got knocked up. I only cry when I am so pissed off that I simply cannot express my rage in any other way. Most of my co-workers know this about me, and I'm a little concerned what might happen in a few months, say if I happen to cross paths with an Anne Geddes calendar. Here's what certain rooms of the office would sound like:

Person A: "Why are you under the desk?"
Person B: "What'd you do to piss her off this time?"
Person A: "Piss who...wait, I didn't do anything. She's pissed?"
Person B: "She's crying."
Person A: "Oh God. Do you have anything that can stop her?"
Person B: "I'm all outta bullets in the elephant gun, and we're 85 miles from Krispy Kreme."
Person A: "Let's bow our heads and pray."

More emotional. Great.

Drawing Such a Blank

Erica is having a bit of an interesting discussion on her blog. The main thread actually comes from Dooce. The gist of the whole thing boils down to what you called your naughty bits when you were a kid. You know, your wedding tackle? Your wazoo? Your hooha? The junk?

I am drawing such a damn blank here. I seriously cannot remember having any conscious realization of my bidness until I was in my late elementary school years. I'm not coming up with any cutesy euphemisms at all, but I do know that my little brother sported a wee-wee. My nether bits (which I now falsely call "Virginia") appear to have gone unnamed and unnoticed.

And you? What did you call it then, and what did you call it now?

Reproduction Update

Our doctors appointments Friday went well. My gynecologist basically said we need to wait another 3 months before the Depo-Provera will have left my body enough that I could conceivably...well...conceive. In the meantime, he wants me to have a hysterosalipsodophiclapatupus, or something like that. Some test to make sure my Fallopian tubes are open and ready for business.

With any luck, we can start the business of trying by about July. Yay!

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

Let's chat about my neighbors, shall we? Our neighbor to the north is the owner of the local towing company. I can look out my dining room window and see every car wrecked in this county for the last six months. Additionally, I can see a large Rottweiler that has been chained to a wrecked car ever since we moved in a year and a half ago. This poor dog doesn't get to come in at night, no one ever plays with it, and it has not been off that chain once. These people have at least 3 other dogs besides the Rottweiler: Toby, the idiot Boston Terror...Terrier, I mean; a German Shephard that evidently gets to live inside, and something we call "The Chicken Dog." Neither of us has actually seen the chicken dog, but it makes its existence known by bouts of frenzied yapping that sound a lot like a coop full of hens in full cry. There are several teen-aged boys in this family, and they make themselves known by riding dirtbikes up and down the driveway for hours on end. They never go anywhere but the driveway.

To the south are the Crackers from Hell. They've wandered over several times when they've seen us in our yard. It sounds awful, but I'm sorry: if you don't care about yourself enough to put your damn teeth in when you go visiting, I don't care about you either. Stay home. These people are the reason I planted three hawthorne bushes along that side of our property line this weekend. Nothing says "Back Off" like several prickly shrubs, don't you think?

Random Shtuff

"Jo-anna, I love you, You're the one, The one for me..." I'm listening to Kool & the Gang's Greatest Hits right now. I'm pretty sure OutKast is the 21st century's answer to Kool & the Gang.

Tomorrow is our big day of doctors appointments. We're going to my OB-GYN to hopefully put me on fertility drugs, and then on to the urologist to discuss artificial insemination options. I've got big plans with a speculum and a turkey baster in my future. (Speculums look like evil chrome ducks to me. Ladies, yes?)

We're going to Denver in a couple of weeks to visit my husband's sister and her husband. I warned them that I'll be on fertility drugs and could be a raging bitch. My brother-in-law replied, "Well, or you'll be a total nympho." There was an angle I hadn't thought of, but trust David to come up with it.

Tough Call

My husband is a game warden, and is in the middle of teaching a hunter education class. The minimum age of licensed hunters in Idaho recently changed to allow 10 year-olds to hunt upland game birds (pheasant, grouse, etc.). So he's got some pretty young kids in his class.

Additionally, he has a boy in his class with a learning disability. My husband volunteered at the local elementary school last year and tutored this boy in reading. The little guy really is not comprehending very well, and right now he is not doing well at all in this class. So my husband is faced with a tough decision: does he call this boy's guardians and let them know that the little guy is not going to pass the class and that it might be kindest to pull him out before the kid fails the final exam in front of all his friends (this is very rare and extremely disappointing for Idaho kids), or does he go ahead and let the boy finish the class and then not pass him at the end? It's not like he can safely let the boy slide and just go ahead and give him a hunting license. I'm sure you understand the implications there.

What would you do?

Domestic Goddess

Move over, Martha. Here's my evening so far:

Thaw a package of home-made, pre-frozen macaroni & cheese,
Put dinner in oven,
Go to work-out while husband pulls dinner out of oven, eats, and leaves,
Return home, heat and eat own portion of dinner,
Watch a Xena Season One episode and drink a glass of wine,
Get up and bake glazed spice cookies,
Blog.

I rock, but this is all going to change if we have any kids.

Hi, Is This (Insert Name Here)?

Cascade is an eensy-wee community, I know I've mentioned that before. I usually take at least three-quarters of the books I buy and read over to the library and donate them. Sooner or later, there will be a Casey Wing, because I can find at least three books that were formerly in my posession on every shelf. So I consider myself a friend of the library. Well, the library is trying to take our relationship up a few notches.

I was picking up our mail at the post office a few weeks back and the librarian cornered me at the door. They're in the middle of campaigning for an assessed property tax increase to get more funds for the library, which is hunky dory by me. However, when the librarian asked me for a favor and I agreed, I didn't realize that I would be sitting at a desk last night--TELEMARKETING for them! Oh God, I haven't felt this bad since I was a Jehovah's Witless. I mean, how obnoxious do you think it is to get a call at home when you're trying to relax and the damn fool on the other hand makes you feel so guilty that you spend 10 minutes of your precious time talking to them? I spent about an hour and a half dialing up the unsuspecting public and harassing them. I cannot tell you how bad it made me feel.

I'm sure I've lost about a year's worth of hard karma improvement. Hey, can I give you a kidney to make up for it?

Feed Me, Seymour!

I had to have a physical exam today (work thing). Part of the exam is a blood draw to check my cholesterol, lipids, and probably just an extraction of DNA to get a sample into some database in the Homeland Security Department. I hate blood draws for several reasons.

One: You have to fast. No coffee, no food, nada after about 11:00 p.m. the night before. It's a good thing it's not a psych test, because I am a raging fucking bitch without food or coffee in the morning. It's an understatement to say I am a breakfast person. I'm very lucky to have a kind, understanding husband, because he usually has a cup of coffee on the bathroom counter for me when I get out of the shower. This allows me to peel open my other eye. One thing leads to another, and I sit down to breakfast, which provides me enough fuel to get out the door with my pants on. Going without either of these things is borderline suicidal for all parties involved.

Two: My veins are either really small, or they have minds of their own. No matter how much water I drink leading up to a blood draw, as soon as my veins see that needle coming at them they say, "Fuck you, asshole," and they start clutching my bone structure as tightly as possible. No one ever gets blood out of me on the first try. I've offered to cut myself wide open if the lab tech will Just. Stop. Stabbing Me.

Anyway, all is well that ends well. I'm neither diabetic, on the verge of congestive heart failure, nor hard of hearing. Woo hoo.

Pushing My Buttons

I was talking to my crazy father today and I asked him how long he'd been dealing with his own neck and back pain. He said it had been about 35 years; he was evidently in a car accident and the rest is history. I was in a wreck in 1997, and I suspect that is the root of all my problems. (For those in the Boise area, I was leaving my apartment in Eagle and blew a stop sign at the intersection of the apartment road and State Street. I was T-boned by a full-size Chevy. Entirely my fault.)

Anyway, I was talking to Dad and he offered to make me an appointment at his acupressurist. Evidently, (and these are pertinent details in my father's eyes) the guy is full-blooded Cherokee, he's 6'7, and weighs all of about 170 pounds. I know that I will not be able to come up with an adequate mental picture of this guy, but I will definitely be more in-the-know a week from Saturday. I'm willing to try anything. I guess he has you lay down on a rug on your back, then he reaches underneath your shoulders and starts resting your body weight on certain pressure points. Interesting, wot? If this doesn't work, I'm going to a voodoo priestess.

Let's Bitch, Shall We?

I got my whine out about my neck--how about you? Anything in particular that's bugging you lately that you want to get out in a semi-public forum? How about a pet peeve? Go 'head on wit' yo bad self and let me know what's got your goat lately.

Oh Boy, More Pain

So I've been riding the new bike lately. My plan has been to ride it to work several days a week, and then maybe do some longer rides every now and then.

I started getting a neck ache yesterday. I got home from work and sat in the recliner for a while with a hot rice bag on it. By about 6:00, I couldn't move my neck more than a degree or two to the left. I made an emergency call to the chiropractor this morning and he got me in at 10:15. Turns out I'm not properly evolved for bike riding or something. According to him, my chin raises at an improper angle due to the low position the handlebar placement puts my shoulders in.

I suggested to Matt that we put ape-hanger handlebars on his new mountain bike. That went over like a fart in a space suit. Looks like I'm outta commission for bike riding.

So do any of you have opinons about chiropractic care? Seems to me like I'm in more pain nowadays than I was when I first started getting treatment. Thoughts?

That's Just Great...

J.Lo's Mom Hits $2.4 Million Atlantic City Jackpot

NEW YORK (Reuters) - Jennifer Lopez's mother, a retired New York kindergarten teacher, scooped up a $2.4 million jackpot playing slot machines in Atlantic City. Guadalupe Lopez, 58, hit it big off a $3 bet on a "Wheel of Fortune" slot machine at the swanky Borgata Hotel Casino & Spa on Saturday night, a representative of her singer/actress daughter confirmed on Tuesday.

The haul represented a record slots payout at the Borgata, which opened last July.

Yeah, because I can't think of a family that needs more money...

How I Got This Way

After my tirade against "The Passion," I thought I'd better explain why I'm slagging on Christianity, and at the same time thumping the Bible (sorta). I was raised a Jehovah's Witless (spelling intended). For 21 years, I sat in church an average of 7 hours every week, plus an additional 2 hours on Saturdays of door-knocking. Two of those hours were spent in "Theocratic Ministry School," an exhaustive look at the Bible with a unique helping of JW dogma thrown in. Over the years, I think we went cover-to-cover at least five times that I can recall.

I spent my last two years with the Jay-Dubs doing some seriously introspective thinking. I came to a couple of conclusions: they don't know, and I don't either. Personally, I don't feel like I owe any worship to a god who would not only allow the atrocities committed in the name of religion, but who would also demand a human sacrifice via Jesus ("My Father So Loved Me That He Hung Me On a Cross") for the sins committed by Adam ("I Was Framed") and all of his offspring.

Okey-doke. So that's me. Because I spent all those years trying to sway people to the particular form of brainwashing I'd been subjected to, I'm pretty sensitive about now telling people what they should believe. I don't want to make people feel bad or stupid because I find Christianity silly. But I figured it might be good for you all to hear...well, how I got this way.

Please DISH Network, Grant Me This Channel

Whitney & Bobby Do Reality?

(Sounds like an oxymoron, doesn't it?)

Troubled showbiz couple Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown are reportedly filming a reality TV series tracking their recent tumultuous lives.

R&B singer Brown, who was recently released from jail, is hoping to sell the footage to a network in the US.

It will feature Whitney, who recently left a rehabilitation clinic, and the couple's 11-year-old daughter Bobbi Kristina.

A spokeswoman for Whitney said the venture was "Bobby's project", but added that Whitney was
happy to take part.

A film crew with Brown's Atlanta-based company, B2 Entertainment, were seen filming the family while they were dining out last week.

Whitney, 40, checked into rehab last month. She later left the clinic, saying she was still under the terms of a treatment programme.

According to her spokesman she is allowed "approved outings" under her programme.

Grammy-winning Houston admitted in December 2002 that she abused cocaine, pills, and marijuana. But she claimed to have beaten her "demons" with the help of a spiritual adviser.

Brown, meanwhile, was locked up last month for violating the terms of his probation. Among those violations were an alleged attack on Houston which left her with a bruised cheek and a cut inside her lip.

Brown, 35, is due in court on May 5 on battery charges related to the alleged attack.

"Alleged attack." Hah. My alleged left ear! You know it'll be quality programming.

A Little Good News

I can hardly believe it, but something good has come out of the White House. Several weeks ago, Scott Bloch, the head of the OSC (Office of the Special Counsel) reinterpreted protections of federal employees. He said that gay and lesbian employees could still not be fired for attending things like gay pride rallies and things, but that gays and lesbians had no protection if their supervisors took personnel action against them simply for being gay. Well, sounds like he's going to have to re-reinterpret:

White House Rebukes OSC Director--Hill Democrats Asked Bush to Respond to Removal of Gay Protections

The White House issued a statement on March 31 declaring that federal government policy “prohibits discrimination against federal employees based on sexual orientation” and President Bush “expects federal agencies to enforce this policy.”

The White House statement appears to be a clear rebuke of Scott Bloch, Bush’s recent appointee to head the U.S. Office of Special Counsel. Bloch startled gay activists and members of Congress in February, when he said existing federal law does not protect gay federal workers from sexual orientation discrimination on the job.

The White House statement came just hours after Democratic members of Congress called for Bloch’s resignation or removal from office unless he reversed his decision to end non-discrimination protections for gay federal workers.

So that's some good news, anyway. Thanks to Mac for the details.

We Saw "The Passion"

We went to see "The Passion" at the movie theatre in town last night. Yes, the same movie theatre that doubles as a Catholic church, at least while the new church is getting built on the north end of town.

I thought it was apalling. I'd heard that this movie was such a literal interpretation of the events that took place in the Bible, and I'm sorry to say that Mel Gibson totally, totally over-did the dramatization. I'm not just talking about the gore, though I do think that was overdone. I'm talking about some of the symbolism--things that never were recorded as having happened in the Bible. A crow lands on the cross of one of the thieves Jesus was crucified next to and picks out the thief's eyeballs. The devil stalks through the crowd, suckling a mutant baby. An earthquake knocks down the temple of the Jews. Children turn into demons and chase Judas Iscariot into the mountains, which causes him to hang himself.

I just think Gibson took way too much artistic license, and the problem that I have is that I don't think people are looking at the movie with any kind of skepticism whatsoever. They might as well just add the Book of Mel right somewhere between Matthew and Mark.

Oh, and we were invited to attend a Bible study afterwards. I gave the lady the same look I would give a person who showed up on my doorstep and said, "I made you a jello salad! Its got shredded carrots and raisins in it!" It sort of was an "Aren't you just precious, but I'd rather jam a fork in my eye and twist it, thank you anyway," kind of look.

Senator Larry Craig, R--In a Big Way

A few months back, my brother-in-law sent me a link to go to a website called "BioGems" that Robert Redford started in order to get people to send letters to their elected officials regarding how our country's energy resources are managed. This is an excerpt from the website:

Actor, director and conservationist Robert Redford has been a member of NRDC's board of trustees for three decades. Recently, he sent out the email message below urging concerned Americans to unite in opposition to the Bush-Cheney energy bill, which would ravage our public lands, threaten our health and keep us dangerously addicted to fossil fuels. He urges you to contact your U.S. senators, via this website, and call on them to defeat this disastrous legislation. He also asks BioGems Defenders to help mobilize millions of Americans in protest by forwarding his message to at least four of your friends, family members and colleagues.

So I sent a letter to Senator Craig, telling him that I do not support the Bush-Cheney energy bill. I got a letter back in the mail from the esteemed Senator yesterday. Here's an excerpt:

"Disagreement over how our nation precisely formulates these components into an effective energy policy is to be expected and can be healthy and constructive. However, our nation's energy supply cannot be dependent solely on renewable and alternative sources of energy. It is simply neither technologically feasible, nor commercially possible to meet current demand for energy realities. For this reason, pressuring legislators and regulators to completely abandon fossil fuel use seriously undermines efforts to rationally address energy supply and demand realities. As a result of efforts to abandon or significantly limit fossil fuel use, needed high-capital investments in producing cheap and reliable fossil fuels are reduced. This threatens our economy, which is dependent on cheap and reliable energy from fossil fuels and compromises our nation's ability to compete effectively in the global markets."

Beg pardon? So we're going to sacrifice the future of the planet by allowing rampant and irresponsible use of fossil fuels because it will ruin the economy? Senator, there are just so many things wrong with your line of thinking. It's a typical attitude for a short-sighted Republican conservative from Idaho, I must admit. It's also interesting to note how obviously in the pocket of special interests Senator Craig is.

I should mention that I have something of a history with the esteemed senior Senator from Idaho. When I was 15, my parents bought a small ranch from his parents. You couldn't meet nicer, harder working people than Elvin Craig and his wife. Their son Larry, however, is evidently something of an embarassment to the family. I used to date the Senator's cousin, Walker. Walker noted that despite the fact that ol' Larry runs on a platform of being a good old Idaho rancher, the man never did a lick of work on his family's ranch. He appeared to be allergic to anything remotely resembling manual labor. Perhaps that's why he became a politician. Additionally, I have "met" this pompous ass at least 10 times, sometimes being introduced by members of his own family, and sometimes by members of the Senator's own staff. Each and every time, he has looked at me like I was transparent and said, "Nice to meet you, Cassie." I have entirely given up on reminding him that his parents have introduced me, his cousin has introduced me, and numerous others have introduced me. I think he pretends that he just meets so many people that he can't possibly remember each and every one, but in reality he's just a boor who is in love with himself and likes to feel good by reminding everyone else that they're "the little people."

But I digress, and this post is getting awfully long. This isn't my first experience with writing a letter to an elected official in the state of Idaho and getting a response basically telling me that I am wrong to believe what I do. However, I think it is an egregious breach of the public faith for an elected official, who is there by the will of the voters, to send a voter a response that says, "I'm not going to do what you ask, because you're just plain wrong." Has anyone else ever had this experience? I'm really curious if it's just an Idaho thing, or what.

Damn My Efficiency!

I cannot believe what I just did. I should first explain that I am something of a neatnik, and Matt is...well, he's not such a neatnik. So I tend to be a little sensitive to clutter and to things that are not in the right places. This drives him nuts because he thinks I'm totally anal retentive.

We came home from Boise and all of Matt's bike information, a shirt I bought, and the receipts and paperwork on his new bike were all in one bag. It was a paper bag, and according to my particular system of filing, plastic bags go in the pantry for later use, paper handle-bags get put in a pile to give to the lady who runs my favorite produce stand, and paper bags without handles go in the fiery inferno of our wood-burning fireplace.

Matt just came in a minute ago and said, "Hey, where's the bag with the receipt for the bike?" That would be the receipt he needs to get that $150 fitness reimbursment I mentioned just moments ago. Yeah...fiery inferno. I hope Idaho Mountain Touring can give us another, elsewise I just out-efficiencied myself from a hundred and fifty bucks. Damn my eyes!

Read This Blog

I want everyone to click on this link and read about 'Ze, a grave digger in Portugal. I'm fascinated, because his voice is probably 180 degrees away from mine. Here's an excerpt:


I am the grave digger
Portugal. Probably you have heard about my country before. We are about ten milion souls wondering in south west Europe. Our ancestors have done big things in the past. But that's the past. That was centuries ago. Today, we are just a sad, small piece of land by the Atlantic ocean.

I would never write words like "Королёв", "jaan kaplinski", "signelia häggblom", "yoshimoto" or any of the kind, just to get more visitors to this website.

I live in a small village in the south interior of Portugal. No Atlantic ocean can be seen from my window. I left highschool about ten years ago. My name is Jose, but people call me by the shortened form "Ze". For a while, I tried that my friends called me "Corvo" (Crow). It didn't catch. Just Ze. Maybe I should be grateful that people don't call me anything worse.

I would never write words like "sex", "dildo", "naked courtney love", "drunken pope" or other of the kind, just to get more visitors to this web site.

I have been a goth since I was sixteen. It didn't happen from one day to the other. As I was discovering Sisters of Mercy and all kinds of goth bands, I started to give up on all coloured clothing. Today, I fail to remember the last time that I wore other than black clothing.

Another Big Day

Matt and I headed down to Boise today. As I mentioned several days ago, I need to get my granola from the Boise Co-Op so that I can be regular. I also "had" to get the old dog a new bowl, several different kinds of hand-wash, lunch stuff, produce, yadda yadda. On the way home I told Matt we should stop at Idaho Mountain Touring so that he could check out the mountain bikes, as he's been drooling over a new bike since sometime after 1987, which is when he bought his old Raleigh. I'm still not sure if that was a mistake or not. After about 15 minutes and a quick discussion of the tax refund, a $150 fitness equipment reimbursment he'll receive from work, and a little grovelling, he's the proud owner of a new Trex 4500 mountain bike. It has 21 speeds. I mean, I am energy deficient, and I totally rode this bad boy (the bike, not Matt) up our driveway, which is well-known around town for being "a steep sumbitch." I'm calling it my new commuter car. Matt can ride it sometimes...

Oh Look, A Friend for the Banana!

Take the quiz: "What kind of chicken are you???"

You are the dancing chicken.
You just wanna shake your tail feathers. You tend to dance around questions and not answer them directly, but you're oh so damn fun!

I Gotta Get My Own Blog

I can't keep stealing stuff from Cupie. But she's got such good stuff...like this:

Take the quiz: "Which American City Are You?"

San Francisco
Liberal and proud, you'll live your lifestyle however you choose in the face of all that would supress you.

Erica needs to take this for the influence it might hold in her job hunting. (Hey Irk, I'll give you my answers.) Everybody take the quiz and let me know what you end up with.

Ain't They Precious?

I walked into the office tonight and found an advertisement for a simply *adorable* little figurine on the desk. Yes, my husband claims that it came in the Columbia House statement and was simply filler, but I suspect he wants to start a collection of Lenox porcelain. The piece is called "Kitty Sweethearts" and depicts two simply scrumptious kittens in a sweet embrace.

Pardon me while I go vomit my pork chops and chocolate pudding dinner. (He doesn't really want to order it, I promise. But check out the link. *hork*)

I'm Pretty Excited About This

Google has announced that it's going to start it's own free e-mail service.


Google, the company that emerged from nowhere to become the dominant internet search engine, yesterday turned up the heat further on rivals Yahoo! and Microsoft by announcing plans to launch a free email service.
The service, Gmail, will provide far greater capacity than the existing services from Yahoo! and Microsoft's MSN Hotmail as well as a series of additional features. The company is in the course of testing the service with a handful of users.

A user account will have one gigabyte of space, roughly 500,000 pages of email. Gmail users will be able to receive up to 10 megabytes in a single e-mail - more than the free services of Yahoo! and Microsoft's Hotmail allow for storage in an entire mailbox.

Google said Gmail users would be able to search emails by sender, topic or other keywords and organise them according to conversational threads. Google claimed it would have better anti-spam filters than its rivals, a key selling point for all providers.

But there will be a drawback. Google hopes to make money from the service by programming its servers to pick up key words in emails and deliver related advertising in the messages. An email about a concert might include a link from a ticketing agency, for instance.

I've been yearning for a free e-mail service that would actually provide some service. My current e-mail provider throws at least 5 pop-up ads at me every session, plus has an advertisement page that you have to click through two to three times as you're checking your mail. It's high time.

Right You Are, Ken!

We have a new TV addiction: Most Extreme Elimination Challenge. It's taken from a Japanese game show in which contestants go through the most absurd physical challenges, including The Rotating Surfboard of Death and The Log Drop. It's unbelievable the things people will do to get on television. The best part of the show is the commentary. Two guys dressed up as samurais have a running dialogue throughout the challenges. The contestants are also given goofy names like Billy Bob and Angelina Menendez or Rusty Shunt.

Trust me, you'll enjoy it.

His Whereabouts

I think men are congenitally (is that the right word?) unable to tell time. So yes, the meeting went until 7:15 last night, and then the pitchers of Fat Tire lasted until about 9:00. When my husband arrived home around ten o'clock, my communication style had been reduced to a series of grunts and eyerolls. We had a little chat this morning in which he came to understand what happens when Mickey's little hand is on the eight and it's time to come home.

I know he was sorry. Why? Because he brought home t-bones and Ben & Jerry's Makin' Whoopee Pie for dinner. We should fight like this more often.