tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27858233797505980802024-03-04T23:21:23.658-08:00Smoking Simian ScribblesWild meanderings through the mind of the smoking monkey, Foinah JamesonFoinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-43737345994057277262020-11-20T16:17:00.002-08:002020-11-22T12:23:30.703-08:00<div class="kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Hey! I'm back. Five years seems like a long time to be away, but if you are a tree then it's equivalent to maybe three nano seconds.
Hi. I've just returned from my internship as a tree. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sure. Yup. I was barely gone. Only three cosmic nano seconds.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This first post after my cosmic three nano second break will be mostly monkey pic free. </span><span style="font-size: 15px;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheLaMvuI6zOnbejRq12LTNIgs8m9a4T05xQAk_gZBholvxGcrN-4XtpcpDWURWbISvFBazg99Pj25Kj54Qz82JC-UOqdj2BRVKHR8td7UwVzL-W1GBowkvN3DrxF_t_RGX7Rw6JCtv33xt/s356/tenor.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheLaMvuI6zOnbejRq12LTNIgs8m9a4T05xQAk_gZBholvxGcrN-4XtpcpDWURWbISvFBazg99Pj25Kj54Qz82JC-UOqdj2BRVKHR8td7UwVzL-W1GBowkvN3DrxF_t_RGX7Rw6JCtv33xt/s320/tenor.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Supernatural, one of my favorite shows on the telly box, ended last night.
This is my thank you to the show. It's long and personal and mushy as feck.
<br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The show meant a lot to me.
Here's a monkey pic to lure you in.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 15px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEAYWYqiKyAYWWLxVBwm-VidEDSIyCNRfFi3B3KsUEQkcTrglMnAi3uJPiFGwhrUbkX3A0pfGn47-B_33r-2XQfk2EsZ_kv8HmLpshTjlJLwXWNw4mt3HOJWg4MmKWIYkaJUewGZ9GXwST/s636/monkey-computer-636x397.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="636" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEAYWYqiKyAYWWLxVBwm-VidEDSIyCNRfFi3B3KsUEQkcTrglMnAi3uJPiFGwhrUbkX3A0pfGn47-B_33r-2XQfk2EsZ_kv8HmLpshTjlJLwXWNw4mt3HOJWg4MmKWIYkaJUewGZ9GXwST/s320/monkey-computer-636x397.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: 15px;"><div class="kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></div>Did it work? Hmmm?
Keep scrolling!<br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 15px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVmZC0_FspxfIWoJdzdRdxFc9XLQbxAUzw_9qugkBiwOb6LjqDYQn0wruUsYDTrE00j-brNJPbJACLATVmvybwW5K0JKeOgwrpM1_zIwAkc2QhBXQttjOHQ-Nzmr4R3C1b0nC2xh4-NfTk/s960/308f4d4f1418af46fddb74e17b613e8a.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="712" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVmZC0_FspxfIWoJdzdRdxFc9XLQbxAUzw_9qugkBiwOb6LjqDYQn0wruUsYDTrE00j-brNJPbJACLATVmvybwW5K0JKeOgwrpM1_zIwAkc2QhBXQttjOHQ-Nzmr4R3C1b0nC2xh4-NfTk/s320/308f4d4f1418af46fddb74e17b613e8a.png" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: 15px;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 15px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJa1BAB8c13swUKIHehVk2Lc1SQr8EfhOZXgfSl3sof_xRff8hUtFcsgrbX4pMAaI3donEFPmRmIuSqShfmQIEJe1U7Wf-W-N5dk5118-Y-jAdMfNfnvsrVaXzoT2lzYkpt7xt1HiLkzCJ/s313/Supernatural_Season_15.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="313" data-original-width="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJa1BAB8c13swUKIHehVk2Lc1SQr8EfhOZXgfSl3sof_xRff8hUtFcsgrbX4pMAaI3donEFPmRmIuSqShfmQIEJe1U7Wf-W-N5dk5118-Y-jAdMfNfnvsrVaXzoT2lzYkpt7xt1HiLkzCJ/s0/Supernatural_Season_15.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-size: 15px;"><br /></span><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Road So Far </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Supernatural has come to its inevitable conclusion after 15 seasons, and I'm not ready for it, inertia and entropy be damned! </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It's the morning after the finale and I admit that I was up past midnight, ugly crying, giving in to the sadness and finality of the end. I started this piece months ago, intending to watch the finale, add my last thoughts, and then write the final two words: The End. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I don't want to. In fact I'm tearing up again as I type. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm no Carver Edlund, Chuck Shurley, Metatron, or God (or Ben Edlund, Andrew Dabb, Erick Kripke, or Robert Singer for that matter), but I am just a writer who loved a show about two brothers and redemption. Unlike Chuck/God, I never wanted it to end.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It did end last night, beautifully in my opinion, and just the way it was meant to.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The hardest part about loving something is when it's time for that something to end. It's a piece of the cosmic design that the culmination of significant moments give way to the next thing, that it evolve and rise from the ashes as something new. We move on. We begin again. However, I need time to lovingly wrap Supernatural in its shroud, raise the pyre, and give it the Hunter's funeral that it deserves. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I ask what will rise from the ashes? </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Me? </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I've been a fan of the show since the first episode, "Pilot" on September 13, 2005. I was a new mother, my eldest was born July 13, 2005, and it was an arduous start to my role. Besides a pregnancy fraught with one difficulty after the next, I had postpartum preeclampsia that kept me bedridden for an extra two plus weeks after delivery. I had this life, outside of my body now, a whole, entirely new, little human with me 24/7, and I was sick pretty much around the clock. Sleep wasn't an option because my little human had vicious acid reflux and wanted to nurse every moment of our shared existence. It was a cycle of scream, vomit, nurse, vomit, scream, nurse, nap, scream, nurse...you get the picture. All I could do was try to soothe his wee tummy and ride out the acclimation period to his new reflux meds, all while confined to my bed.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lots of emotions and fears rattled around in my brain hole during that recovery. Would I break the cycle or repeat the mistakes made in my own childhood? The pregnancy was a gift after miscarriages and other twists and turns on an emotional rollercoaster. To put it bluntly, I was freaking out. Vivid nightmares, crippling self-doubt, and an overactive horror writer's brain trapped in my sleep deprived skull.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I started writing again and in three weeks I put 35,000 handwritten words into a notebook; those were the bones of Marker of Faith. Horror was finding its way from my subconscious to the living, breathing world. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">By the end of August I was off bed rest but restless nonetheless. I read about this new show coming to the WB, Supernatural, and for me it checked all of the boxes. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Growing up I used to escape into books and tv shows as a way to partition off sections of my brain, silence the real world around me, find a moment of light that would carry me when the darkness closed in. Pretty deep, eh? TV would surely save me now.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There I was, nestled in with my husband on the couch to watch the new show, my two month old baby in the neglect-o-matic -- an hilarious nickname for the Papasan rocking chair where I would lay down my precious bundle so I could have a bit of time away from being a milk cow. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">D, that husband I mentioned, does not like horror. The moment Mary Winchester was pinned to the ceiling and she burst into flame, D stood up and said, "I'm out!" </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was hooked. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Dad's on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home in a few days."</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Two brothers fighting the monster of the week, just the Winchesters against the world, road tripping their way through dysfunctional family and things that go bump in the night. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Saving people, hunting things...the family business."</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The chemistry between Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki was perfect; Hope and Crosby, Martin and Lewis, Riggs and Murtaugh...Kolchak of Night Stalker and The Hardy Boys. Hahaha. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I never missed an episode; if I didn't watch it live I always caught it on my DVR the next morning or hijacked wifi in a random parking lot while on holiday so I could see the episode on the website. I literally planned trips/parties/labor and delivery around finales and episode arcs so I could watch or have immediate access to a decent telly for the show. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Priorities.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Driver picks the music, Shotgun shuts his cake hole."</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In 2007 I started writing my second novel, Mostly Dead Melvin, during the break between the season two finale, All Hell Breaks Loose part 2 on May 17, 2007, and the season three premiere, The Magnificent Seven on October 4, 2007.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fifteen years is a long time to follow a show. The characters became as familiar as family. We met and loved, or loved to hate Dean, Sam, their father John, Bobby, Ellen and Jo, then Castiel, and Crowley. I loved Bella, Rowena, Rufus, Garth, the wonderful menagerie of angels and demons like Zachariah, Abadon, Ruby, Lilith, Meg and her eventual redemption, Cain, Lucifer, Death, the reapers, and of course Chuck, Metatron, and Loki/Gabriel. Mary and Jack. Missouri Mosely. We also can't forget the Ghostfacers, nor Kevin and Kevin's mom, Leonardo, and finally The Girl with the Dungeons and Dragons Tattoo - Charlie. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I love Dean Winchester. Of course he's very easy on the eyes, but his character and character development aged very well over the 15 seasons. It resonates within me: the hero complex, the self-sacrifice, the blind loyalty to a parent who doesn't love you back. I always saw a little of myself in Dean, and maybe a little of Dean in me (heh! That's what she said.). Sorry, not sorry. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I know it's arrogant to automatically identify with the hero of the story, but his character arc in many ways mirrors that secret self I see when I close my eyes. That feeling of no matter how cool people may think you are, you know deep inside that you aren't good enough, that you'll never live up to parental expectations, that your humor, your habits, your impulses are all tools in your toolbox you used to get through your childhood and still use in adulthood. When you find a friend, a true friend, you make them family and are loyal beyond reason, and betrayal cuts deeper than any knife. You are used to betrayal so you pick yourself up and keep going, no matter what. You love deeply, you hurt deeply, you will do whatever you must to keep your family safe and happy, even sacrifice yourself if need be. Because that's what you do. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That went dark quickly! </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Supernatural became my weekly escape, my happy place, a mirror in which I could face my very own monster of the week. I was part of something special with my love of this show that not many other people watched for the first few seasons. I'd mention it to friends and acquaintances, but no one knew about it. Of course that changed around season four, but it just meant that I had more people with whom I could chat about Supernatural. I brought a lot of my friends to the show.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My second child was born on January 26, 2010. I remember being so happy that the birthing suite had a nice television so that I could watch Season 5, episode 12, Swap Meat on January 28, 2010, two days after she was born. It was an amusing episode about a body switch with nerdy 17-year-old Gary and Sam.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"I lost my shoe."</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There was so much humor threaded throughout the seasons, little inside jokes, nods to the fans, and genuine dark comedy that fit so well. Episodes like Yellow Fever, Bad day at Black Rock, Mystery Spot, The French Mistake, Changing Channels, and all of the episodes featuring The Ghostfacers are some of my absolute favorites. Every season had a gem! Dean's love of pie, Sam's fear of clowns, Sam's childhood imaginary friend Sully, so many details built into the entire arc of the series. I'm sure that I could have a complete conversation with another Supernatural fan using only quotes from the show. Pudding! That still makes me smile.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Out of 327 episodes and the one-hour retrospective, there was only one that got a bit of a serious sneer from me. Season 4, episode 67, It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester. The villain was a god named Samhain, pronounced Sam Hain. Really? REALLY? I forgave them.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In season 10 on November 11, 2014, the 200th episode, Fan Fiction, showed us how much the writers and actors really loved the show. The musical Supernatural production was about as good as it gets.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Bitch."</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Jerk."</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">With every season, with every new arc of world building and mythos, my love for the show deepened. Sure, Kripke borrowed quite a lot from Constantine, Good Omens, Wynona Earp, Milton, but it felt more like an homage rather than theft. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As a witch myself I should have been offended by the portrayal of witches in the series, but Rowena Macleod made everything wonderful. Ruth Connell made that character have a soul.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"I don't understand that reference."</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Castiel will always have a place in my heart. Misha Collins absolutely imbued the character with depth and soul and dry humor. The Angel of Thursday's story had a happy ending.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Meg, your Clarence got his wings.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I absolutely adore Fergus Macleod aka Crowley and how he became such an integral member of the cast and story lines. I cried when he sacrificed himself for the boys. Mark Sheppard is Crowley and always will be.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mark Pellegrino's Lucifer was some of the best casting on the show. He was perfect, absolutely perfect. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was ambivalent about bringing Mary's character back from the dead, but I realized it was necessary for Dean's character development.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I always hoped that they would find a way to bring back Loki/Gabriel. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Family don't end with blood, boy."</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Bobby Singer was the heart of the show. Jim Beaver's curmudgeonly, "Balls!" and "Idjit," are now permanently etched in pop culture.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I must give a nod to the most important character in the show: Baby. She was always there for the boys. I absolutely love it that Jensen Ackles got to keep her. Here's to that beautiful car, a 1967 Chevrolet Impala. Chuck says the Impala rolled off the assembly line in Janesville, Wisconsin, on April 24, 1967, and would turn out to be the most important car – no, the most important object – in pretty much the whole universe.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Baby was the real Winchester home. Baby was Dean's safe place, his avatar when he was gone. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Always keep fighting."</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Besides being entertaining, the show was a crutch during some of my most difficult times, and acted as a sidekick when I needed one. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The season 5 finale, Swan Song on May 13, 2010, really stuck with me. It was the final battle between Michael and Lucifer, and Sam ended up in the pit. This episode also brought us Castiel's glorious, "Hey, Assbutt!"</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">No one ever really dies on Supernatural (except when they really do), so at the end, Sam was there under the flickering lamplight, staring at the house of Dean and Lisa. Ominous, but still sad.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This finale affected me deeply because of the story arc of the sacrifice, the love from blood family and chosen family...of dying alone. Hoo. Powerful. My sister died June 10, 2010, a month after this episode. She died alone, thousands of miles away. I couldn't be with her but a kind nurse held the phone to her ear while I said goodbye as they shut off her life support. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The season 6 premiere, Exile on Main Street was on September 24, 2010. Sam was back from the dead, trying to pull Dean into hunting again. I was still dealing with Sunni's death (she did not come back, by the way), and unfortunately my mom was now entering her own descent into the darkness.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I have a love/hate relationship with Season 7. The show delivered humor and heartbreak in the 23 episodes with the big bad yet entirely lame Leviathans, a wonky Lucifer, the redemption of Meg, Charlie, super fan Becky, and the death of Bobby singer. Bobby Singer will always be one of my most favorite characters on the show, and when he died, the first time (wink) I was devastated.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was at hospice with my mom starting on November 8, 2011. She passed away in my arms on November 11, 2011. The Supernatural episode that night was Season Seven - Time for a Wedding. It was one of the few episodes I didn't watch within 12 hours of its airing. I watched this on DVR after a few days of dealing with my mom's dying in hospice. In life our relationship was complicated and I didn't cry when she died. I had too much to do and no time to grieve. I felt like a monster, but as the days passed the need to cry faded. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">December 2, 2011, was my Mom's birthday and also the airdate for Death’s Door, the episode where Bobby Singer died.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I sobbed. I ugly cried. I felt like even more of a monster and hypocrite because there I was...weeping for a fictional character, although a beloved and cherished character to me, but I had yet to shed one tear for my own mother. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I realized that Bobby's death had finally allowed me to feel loss, to grieve, to start to heal. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Season 8's Finale, SACRIFICE aired on May 15, 2013. The season revolved around the trials to close the gates of hell, the need to turn Crowley human to achieve it, and the toll it took on the Winchesters. It was always about sacrifice. Metatron cast the angels out of heaven by stealing Castiel's grace. Sam would die if he completed the trials and Dean begged him to stop. "Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you!"</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Family. Powerful stuff.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My best friend, my chosen brother was coming home to me to get his life together on June 19th. A new start. He'd gone through his own trials and come out stronger on the other side. Almost. His heart was just too full and it cracked open. Jason died on May 31, 2013. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That was a long, painful summer. The premiere of season 9, I Think I'm Gonna Like it Here on October 8, 2013, both hurt my heart and helped me. Sam was dying after the trials. I was still coping with Jason's untimely passing, internalizing all of the death over the last two years. Their fictional loss resonated with my own too real losses.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Between 2013 and 2018, seasons 9 - 14, family and friends stopped dying, but some close friendships, friends that I had considered family, well those relationships withered away and outright died. There was so much turmoil for the family. I also survived a psychotic neighbor, house vandalisms and a fire-bombing of my house, a health decline from rampant autoimmune disease, emotional and depressive trauma in my kids' worlds, and the election of a fascist demagogue as President of the United States.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The one constant comfort was Supernatural. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Was every episode perfect? No. Was every episode great? Again, no but I loved it anyway.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I think the fans who started watching during season 5 or even later missed out on the nuances and easter eggs from the beginning that were peppered through the later seasons. Watchers who complained that the show had jumped the shark missed the fact that there was still so much ocean left to explore. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I kept watching. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Hopped up on dilaudid and oxycontin from a splenic infarct on Mother's day, I insisted on watching the season 13 finale, Let the Good Times Roll on May 17, 2018, from my hospital bed. I still have no idea how I got my laptop to work and access my DVR, but I definitely viewed the episode as the other dimension Archangel Michael possessed Dean. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I admit that I re-watched it a number of times in the following days, but I didn't truly follow the story thread until I was home ten days later and not fogged with opiates. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Covid-19 delayed the finale of Supernatural. Originally it was to end in May of 2020. Coupled with the quarantine lockdown starting in March, I think that would have broken me. Having this extra six months to revisit my favorite episodes, to make peace with the end, it was still hard but I was almost ready. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Last night's finale was perfect. The fans that hated this finale were most likely not there from the beginning. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It ended how it started. Two brothers fighting the monster of the week, just the Winchesters against the world, road tripping their way through dysfunctional family and things that go bump in the night. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Saving people, hunting things...the family business."</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After the battle against God and the subsequent reset, the Winchester brothers were no longer fate's puppets, they were instead the champions on Team Free Will. They were no longer super heroes. I mean they were super and still heroes, but in the end just mortal men with no side deals, reprieves, or forced destiny. Dean got his peace when he was done, and Sam got his happy normal life. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Damn it. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm crying again.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I said it before, 15 years is a long time to love a show. I left out favorite characters and episodes in favor of brevity for this piece. I could have gone down the rabbit hole, trust me, and maybe I will someday. For now this is my thank you to the creators, the writers, the crew, and the actors who made Supernatural -- the characters and episodes, for me a distraction, a therapist, a crutch, beloved family members, and a source for joyous entertainment. Supernatural made me laugh, made me cry, made me think and look inward.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My eldest born two months before the pilot? He's 15 now. He watched the finale with me last night, sneaking glances at the tears streaking down my cheeks. He grew up with the Winchester brothers. He's as smart and kind as Sammy, and as brave and empathetic as Dean. He's a member of Team Free Will. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My youngest? Oh my. She's a mix of Rowena and Crowley...the best parts of course. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Road So Far? </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Season 16 is my life adventure now.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Goodbye, boys.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I will close with Chuck's narration over the ending in Swan Song (Season 5 finale):</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So, what's it all add up to? It's hard to say. But me, I'd say this was a test... for Sam and Dean. And I think they did all right. Up against good, evil, angels, devils, destiny, and God himself, they made their own choice. They chose family. And, well... isn't that kinda the whole point?</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">No doubt – endings are hard. But then again... nothing ever really ends, does it?</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 15px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihzJR2K_NA1IvBqD5kQMZzdv7-7YRgLWO1pMuq3hFSjz7jztWy5mzBDNSyXiRer3pu9ovz3EniEDzPRTq-4e1kEivYRaKhgkSGzSoeq1XpwqYDuCxE0MsR68cMs3YARYo5leIN7Eg9IVt/s677/Jared-and-Jensen-in-Supernatural-Season-15-Episode-20.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="677" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihzJR2K_NA1IvBqD5kQMZzdv7-7YRgLWO1pMuq3hFSjz7jztWy5mzBDNSyXiRer3pu9ovz3EniEDzPRTq-4e1kEivYRaKhgkSGzSoeq1XpwqYDuCxE0MsR68cMs3YARYo5leIN7Eg9IVt/s320/Jared-and-Jensen-in-Supernatural-Season-15-Episode-20.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: 15px;"><br /></span><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px;"><br /></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">***</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Risin' up, back on the street</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Did my time, took my chances</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Just a man and his will to survive</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Risin' up to the challenge of our rival</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And he's watchin' us all with the eye of the tiger
-- Eye of the Tiger </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Survivor</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 15px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFAAi2AdRNDM5RV9ifK7L820aCjvEGHH39SQMNK6uIkcCcU_fofy5tWY65NuKrzzEwyqwvyLQgkhVrlV76C6vasB7sWbW7HtJxDk-19dxg80vLYYbzWCQd6wrMLzvAf9jfO1ZQY6aT8uqs/s500/Jensen-Ackles-Eye-Of-The-Tiger-jensen-ackles-31680899-500-374.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="374" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFAAi2AdRNDM5RV9ifK7L820aCjvEGHH39SQMNK6uIkcCcU_fofy5tWY65NuKrzzEwyqwvyLQgkhVrlV76C6vasB7sWbW7HtJxDk-19dxg80vLYYbzWCQd6wrMLzvAf9jfO1ZQY6aT8uqs/s320/Jensen-Ackles-Eye-Of-The-Tiger-jensen-ackles-31680899-500-374.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: 15px;"><br /></span><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px;"><br /></div><div style="font-size: 15px;"><br /></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
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There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-8679809675254491882015-04-27T20:34:00.000-07:002015-07-04T21:32:12.602-07:00 Pro tips on how NOT to bury a 20 pound, dead feral catOkayyyyyy....are you all ready for your daily dose of gallows humor?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCs7sqwB6XEHRzVBJNkQDUOGpsiFUSdJ0fhP05HVkZ0xTHTCcipxXVsQxfh0Lt2bo-vBd6P0WRNiH7UeOY1ISCjmvTulWWeB_4rfI9x52n7f-ZZlcimUn3h0hI49NywvGpO0_JEqkmrMeh/s1600/Monkey_Zombie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCs7sqwB6XEHRzVBJNkQDUOGpsiFUSdJ0fhP05HVkZ0xTHTCcipxXVsQxfh0Lt2bo-vBd6P0WRNiH7UeOY1ISCjmvTulWWeB_4rfI9x52n7f-ZZlcimUn3h0hI49NywvGpO0_JEqkmrMeh/s1600/Monkey_Zombie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Hmmm?<br />
Pro tips on how NOT to bury a 20 pound, dead feral cat. Burying live ones is another post....<br />
<br />
But back to the tips.<br />
Supply list:<br />
<ul>
<li>Kitchen bag of car squished, 20 pound, dead feral cat who has been terrorizing your own cats and has now let go of this mortal coil via random F=MA urban assault vehicle. </li>
<li>A comfortably sized spade or squared off shovel. </li>
<li>Wellingtons or other mud boot attire </li>
<li>Antibiotic ointment </li>
<li>Bandages </li>
<li>An appreciation of gallows humor. </li>
</ul>
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1. Find a nice bit of soft earth, not too muddy, not too hard, and commence with the hole making. Cheer that your body is cooperating, excelling even, and be pleased that you are able to do this for the 20 pound, dead feral cat.
If you live in an area where there are scavengers -- coyotes, raccoons, velociraptors -- be sure to dig a deep hole.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTpCCGh4RNkR-wK5WQjZrGlHv_MWm9Uac8h-UxLvpKke36n3ja25bFl3MK-BcudTrckxJbRl3sReapwZft8chbqhzdT6Tn5h0yNvdGl7LUDr6AA26HWz_WXnHLbNNnQTIxtClWKJh6NZxe/s1600/jackie-sand-shoveling-poring-20100727-01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTpCCGh4RNkR-wK5WQjZrGlHv_MWm9Uac8h-UxLvpKke36n3ja25bFl3MK-BcudTrckxJbRl3sReapwZft8chbqhzdT6Tn5h0yNvdGl7LUDr6AA26HWz_WXnHLbNNnQTIxtClWKJh6NZxe/s1600/jackie-sand-shoveling-poring-20100727-01.jpg" /></a></div>
I chose about four feet down.
Perfect. Stand and admire your handy work and imbue the area with a sense of calm and solemnity befitting the sad situation of feral kitty getting some compassion in death, although in life he was a raging asshole who plagued your existence by beating up your pets, stealing their food, and massacring (yes, that is the correct spelling) baby wild bunnies and squirrels and leaving their heads for you to find as a warning.<br />
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<br />
<br />
2. Retrieve from the front yard the 20 pound, dead feral cat stuffed into a scented kitchen garbage bag and place it next to the area where you will be planting it.
Make a speech about how bad you feel that he didn't have a forever home, and that he had a hard life, but now he is at peace and will feast in Kitty Valhalla with Freya and Odin.<br />
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<br />
Let him know that even though you despised him for his assholedness, you respect his tenacity and wildness...even though his aggression cost you many hundreds of dollars in vet bills, and then apologize for digressing. Wish him well on his journey with no ill will. Reflect on society and all of the animals in need of forever homes.<br />
Take a moment.<br />
Remember all of the dead bunny, squirrel, bird carcasses, Beauty Cat's expensive torn up face, and other shenanigans...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDtkRzCK8nAtGksquVBaBIrBVbfvixtX7Uj_WspnARRiymliVoP5jTlSPoJ7AoxW6CXtcZJVOsBd99kDXpjCZZjXP1lbpUq9t48rpn9i7MvIMOvUcU9GSSggRif8eCex_RGdEKbbAkl82/s1600/little_cat_1053625.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDtkRzCK8nAtGksquVBaBIrBVbfvixtX7Uj_WspnARRiymliVoP5jTlSPoJ7AoxW6CXtcZJVOsBd99kDXpjCZZjXP1lbpUq9t48rpn9i7MvIMOvUcU9GSSggRif8eCex_RGdEKbbAkl82/s1600/little_cat_1053625.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Find that center of compassion again, give a nod, move to step three.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBeFNIav7wh3_Abj7V7Vr5GeGh-c7pZnYF3YX0YQaV0P6gBRbUxuw1IbDXZmD4cbE3Dqc6zqUm14UScPuPe_b3ytKPur-N_9-r08RfhJykx3CV8N9DuFTk1KWbLtDTPBjwM-ltgku2OIAq/s1600/o-MONKEY-MASSAGES-CAT-900.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBeFNIav7wh3_Abj7V7Vr5GeGh-c7pZnYF3YX0YQaV0P6gBRbUxuw1IbDXZmD4cbE3Dqc6zqUm14UScPuPe_b3ytKPur-N_9-r08RfhJykx3CV8N9DuFTk1KWbLtDTPBjwM-ltgku2OIAq/s1600/o-MONKEY-MASSAGES-CAT-900.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
3. Open garbage bag and dump kitty into hole.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKmvCOJOCQunxBGDvjUCHv953rJawldPV_RR5wFr7iQbHHQ348l0D2xSJ6jOp-GWsS_qDPWOilNZ4hXP7cWrdkX0lS0M9ekD8M5CuwjEMx2d1SJ1fuzyh3lQujWudFKTCr3TMDnI7n3gYc/s1600/monkey-main.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKmvCOJOCQunxBGDvjUCHv953rJawldPV_RR5wFr7iQbHHQ348l0D2xSJ6jOp-GWsS_qDPWOilNZ4hXP7cWrdkX0lS0M9ekD8M5CuwjEMx2d1SJ1fuzyh3lQujWudFKTCr3TMDnI7n3gYc/s1600/monkey-main.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
4. Stand in mute amazement at the size of the 20 pound, dead feral cat ensconced askew in what you thought was a perfect hole. However, cringe at the fact that you did not take rigor mortis into account when determining the width of the hole. Dead kitty is on his back with stiff little dead kitty legs sticking straight up.
yes.
Let that image sink in. Yeahhhhh.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqIEQSrma-HcTCiEdnY2sNlbVmOdpCQ5_N3HdFQpUoc1cQyTQdM4VH1L4BBWm4RNP1CxFDsP0zfpmS1aSYxaFhc2lVBZNTBaMJ2dKGpRbxGJNF4oD6BHgKp6uzobYuXNhhO6R9wV_aknAy/s1600/fainting_goats_640_04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqIEQSrma-HcTCiEdnY2sNlbVmOdpCQ5_N3HdFQpUoc1cQyTQdM4VH1L4BBWm4RNP1CxFDsP0zfpmS1aSYxaFhc2lVBZNTBaMJ2dKGpRbxGJNF4oD6BHgKp6uzobYuXNhhO6R9wV_aknAy/s1600/fainting_goats_640_04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">yes...I know this is a goat. But simply imagine it is a rather large cat. Tahdah.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
5. To avoid skeletal Kitty Leg Plants from poking up out of the earth as the grave settles over the next few weeks, always be sure to account for rigor mortis and make the hole wide enough.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv-0Ldm5AkhS4Ugl_704b39GYPg-bI1GjNRJp9HV4ChIoxwTpv21HQieIevfWxCAwIHV2pxIKt-7876dbbcEVZPzHUzlF5-EoEHNxTHrxIYS5Bv3WpLXzEJAnVW90DnaUpo4Z-K6k3gxL6/s1600/961d318fe90e51c3f3e72c2a9446e24d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv-0Ldm5AkhS4Ugl_704b39GYPg-bI1GjNRJp9HV4ChIoxwTpv21HQieIevfWxCAwIHV2pxIKt-7876dbbcEVZPzHUzlF5-EoEHNxTHrxIYS5Bv3WpLXzEJAnVW90DnaUpo4Z-K6k3gxL6/s1600/961d318fe90e51c3f3e72c2a9446e24d.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpV-SigeMqqhvTJJ_1Xx2PkvR91gnF9nK9VUHkV1plROd__OWCDkdi1JMGcOzAy0dK-ZCm15EphSvbapnvSs6uUatxWkAEKxOmDop3oBn9BjjOmnKphZoCIWx7hsKPGUQlA-O6Ncox76ID/s1600/very-shallow-grave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpV-SigeMqqhvTJJ_1Xx2PkvR91gnF9nK9VUHkV1plROd__OWCDkdi1JMGcOzAy0dK-ZCm15EphSvbapnvSs6uUatxWkAEKxOmDop3oBn9BjjOmnKphZoCIWx7hsKPGUQlA-O6Ncox76ID/s1600/very-shallow-grave.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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6. Decide whether or not it's worth it A) to take large 20 pound, dead feral cat out of said hole to widen the final resting place, or B) attempt to manipulate the legs so dead feral asshole cat can rest eternally on his side.<br />
Hmmmmmm.<br />
Option B.<br />
<br />
Half way through, regret not choosing Option A.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: red;">Use your imagination, folks.
The back legs cooperated. The front legs....
Oh dear.</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNiR8ZzzJ4N3uW2Dzd_VePvqpEqW4ZEY8y0PSzmRMOAxiKeY3LlPZ6KBo_hiF_WWtz01HGP7jU5apOqas8GQzURZdygwaLdasys3phTU1bXuL99QqPRwd6yyda1NyS56YDyp_TD1j3dyZd/s1600/getty_rm_photo_of_cat_falling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNiR8ZzzJ4N3uW2Dzd_VePvqpEqW4ZEY8y0PSzmRMOAxiKeY3LlPZ6KBo_hiF_WWtz01HGP7jU5apOqas8GQzURZdygwaLdasys3phTU1bXuL99QqPRwd6yyda1NyS56YDyp_TD1j3dyZd/s1600/getty_rm_photo_of_cat_falling.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Ten minutes of nightmare-inducing leg folding later, try and extricate your arm from the hole.<br />
Those awful tearing sensations are the 20 pound, dead feral cat claws that somehow magically extended and are now firmly entrenched in the back of your right arm and hand.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7L_1-mJHevG9g9JWWHT8jLVZkrSoBbc6nn1dklZSvNiwkOgn3v_1UjXS-eg16fPZKiQJKQqCMRnOzBk9aqVf1FJWizQ8YPO1H3uOMyNirG3SSgZBOjJWyOho0w6AruTJlhem2Lq3dvyqk/s1600/502902619_581cd2e022_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7L_1-mJHevG9g9JWWHT8jLVZkrSoBbc6nn1dklZSvNiwkOgn3v_1UjXS-eg16fPZKiQJKQqCMRnOzBk9aqVf1FJWizQ8YPO1H3uOMyNirG3SSgZBOjJWyOho0w6AruTJlhem2Lq3dvyqk/s1600/502902619_581cd2e022_z.jpg" width="243" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9hyQbpws6_z1IpaNWJOYAfr-0OSLkKBzrxXzCpej3yizNbdPyGmDiwf0GGSset8pSzUzu0Q-3ewkH4dVyTUi7o7DPmPsQi09veyL1a-_YkzCsszDTq2AnDxuOJgSPW5BZaTrhzqbggLqG/s1600/embarrassed-monkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9hyQbpws6_z1IpaNWJOYAfr-0OSLkKBzrxXzCpej3yizNbdPyGmDiwf0GGSset8pSzUzu0Q-3ewkH4dVyTUi7o7DPmPsQi09veyL1a-_YkzCsszDTq2AnDxuOJgSPW5BZaTrhzqbggLqG/s1600/embarrassed-monkey.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
WTF. Double check to see if kitty is really dead.
Yup.
Dead. gah.
Realize that 20 pound, dead feral cat is an asshole even in death. <br />
<br />
7. Fill in hole.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCOXVwbJOlxP7u60Drp1QAzUOnOBRKOjvcwna8sgUI5MX3PAb2UIYsvSzYuQ1T6Q_FtJ8ydgEVMCy76bM-4rqb8xxDHhn6_F4gPhZvrugKdvSjRkUshLSXQmJsgkVZ3NcPxQky75-v3aHt/s1600/monkey.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCOXVwbJOlxP7u60Drp1QAzUOnOBRKOjvcwna8sgUI5MX3PAb2UIYsvSzYuQ1T6Q_FtJ8ydgEVMCy76bM-4rqb8xxDHhn6_F4gPhZvrugKdvSjRkUshLSXQmJsgkVZ3NcPxQky75-v3aHt/s1600/monkey.JPG" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
8. Clean wounds and bandage.<br />
<br />
9. Call for therapy.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYezuhhw4cqWCOGntty9umCbEZb96uiTIXG_Wwz4Mw0r9MpBsPDKyEzWGgm57HQ-uMePBahTBZNhNuxgYv8WaqUWYlZUqTPvNrq0VBrZdBfQe6CbMKUrePPxKfZ1OClvVZT73Pvq1KJ50x/s1600/sad-monkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYezuhhw4cqWCOGntty9umCbEZb96uiTIXG_Wwz4Mw0r9MpBsPDKyEzWGgm57HQ-uMePBahTBZNhNuxgYv8WaqUWYlZUqTPvNrq0VBrZdBfQe6CbMKUrePPxKfZ1OClvVZT73Pvq1KJ50x/s1600/sad-monkey.jpg" width="274" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>UPDATE 1 </b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Oh dear.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The owner of the 20 pound, dead feral cat knocked on my door today. She's a neighbor from a few streets over.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
She asked if I had seen her cat....the apparently non-feral 20 pound, dead cat.<br />
I made that little tsk sound accompanied by the sharp intake of breath through clenched teeth. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Was he black with soft grey spots?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Was?" she asked, somewhat taken aback by my use of the past tense. "Yes. He's black with grey on him. Have you seen him?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Big guy?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
She nodded.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I nervously scratched at the healing puncture marks on my arm.<br />
<br />
"Why yes, yes I have. I am sad to report that he is, unfortunately,
erm, um, respectfully ensconced in a nearly, somewhat, mostly perfect
grave in my back yard. He was hit by a car on the main road."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
She blinked a few times. And then the tears started.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Um....I'm sorry for your loss. It was very quick...he didn't appear to have suffered if that's any consolation." </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
She just stood there staring at me, which of course made me start rambling.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"I honestly thought he was feral. He was always sneaking into my house
and eating my food, and beating up my cats, and generally acting like an
assho--"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I cringed. (Oh, Venkman, I'm sooory. I'm sorry, Venkman.) yeaaaahhhhh.<br />
She said, "He was kind of an asshole. I'm sorry about that, but he was also really cool."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Blerg. yarg. blaaaaaaah.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I offered to show her his grave. I suppose that's rather morbid, but I
thought she'd get closure. She followed me silently down to his resting
place. I sincerely hoped there weren't any bits poking up through the
dirt. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Nope. Job well done, me!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
She said thank you and just stared at his "area".</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"He was treated with the utmost respect." I didn't go into detail about
rigor mortis, or hole depth and width, leg folding, and all ensuing
trauma. I probably should have just stopped babbling, but I couldn't
help myself. "Um...do you want me to dig him up so you can cremate him or something? Take him with you?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Yes. I shocked even myself with that one. I knew I could pass off the tweaked legs as car damage if need be. ha! sigh. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Thankfully she declined. She said that I was very kind and thanked me again, and then left quickly. <br />
Good Jayzuss I hope she doesn't find my blog. snerk.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">UPDATE 1.5:</span></span><br />
<br />
Shortly after Mother's Day I came home to flowers on my front porch. There was a card attached:<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Thanks for being kind to my asshole cat.</span></i></b><br />
<br />
I can neither confirm nor deny that there were monkey sniffles.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixXeGnoVq5YESYvhiyZFlvKW5_I_tgx6NES5sYKKQrY5KE_VDd7LhizQgD45Exof37M5rgHc7nmvl8xNfUZtxsPHkBav2wmZNP7uZhrcdt00C-Y1Q-5IdPjlOw75jeLy49h8AFG2OIUM-M/s1600/20140916_111601-MOTION.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixXeGnoVq5YESYvhiyZFlvKW5_I_tgx6NES5sYKKQrY5KE_VDd7LhizQgD45Exof37M5rgHc7nmvl8xNfUZtxsPHkBav2wmZNP7uZhrcdt00C-Y1Q-5IdPjlOw75jeLy49h8AFG2OIUM-M/s320/20140916_111601-MOTION.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I put this here because it amuses me so</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">UPDATE 2</span> : FFS, people.
Please...I do not advocate animal cruelty in any way. I do not condone
lethal measures to control feral cat populations. I do not advocate
killing, shooting, maiming, torturing feral/stray cats. I had hoped
that the tone of this post was taken with the implied humor regarding
the situation.<br />
There are thousands upon thousands of feral and stray pets that need forever homes. It's sad.<br />
The
feline in this post was killed on the road by a random car...not on purpose,
not maliciously, not with any long-term plan of eradication in mind. I
did not smoosh this cat. I did in fact cry over said smooshed cat.<br />
I do not want to hear your stories of how you "eradicated" your own feral cats.<br />
I do not need tips on how to kill cats.<br />
I do not want tips or advice on how to kill cats.<br />
MMMM'Kay?<br />
And
it's not censorship if I don't approve your overly detailed comment
regarding ways to kill feral cats. I am not the government. Well, I am
my own boss, but you know what I mean. This is a private blog. My
sandbox. My shovel.<br />
<br />
Now if you want to laugh
hysterically from a dose of pure gallows humor then read my blog. If you also
have an amusing tale of burying woe from an unintended, impersonal,
amusingly tragic pet hole deposit, by all means share away in the
comments.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"></span><br /></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-51240479088943889802014-10-29T23:26:00.002-07:002022-08-27T12:40:56.980-07:00Goodreads Giveaway!Hey! Monkey pic seekers!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
I'm giving away five copies of Mostly Dead Melvin between 10/29/2014 and 11/30/2014 at Goodreads!
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKhwuBLeGIeybpBlgW4PgJ5qzcpaRaz7GZh0PjCCqO0TF5WcUoSvypRYJfNNqG6jBi5JcNBh-a4a6ZiJFMnYUXf3qZ4lLqR81c_9uxNWK7a6a8vRbuDU-CrIYSvdUyKogKRFnuN1QOm93z/s1600/drinking_monkey.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKhwuBLeGIeybpBlgW4PgJ5qzcpaRaz7GZh0PjCCqO0TF5WcUoSvypRYJfNNqG6jBi5JcNBh-a4a6ZiJFMnYUXf3qZ4lLqR81c_9uxNWK7a6a8vRbuDU-CrIYSvdUyKogKRFnuN1QOm93z/s320/drinking_monkey.gif" /></a></div>
Enter today for your chance to win this book!
<div id="goodreadsGiveawayWidget113775"><!--Show static html as a placeholder in case js is not enabled-->
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<h2 style="color: #555555; font-size: 20px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com" target="_new">Goodreads</a> Book Giveaway
</h2>
<div style="float: left;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23451254"><img alt="Mostly Dead Melvin by Foinah Jameson" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1414606222l/23451254.jpg" title="Mostly Dead Melvin by Foinah Jameson" width="100" /></a>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 110px; padding: 0px;">
<h3 style="font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23451254">Mostly Dead Melvin</a>
</h3>
<h4 style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px;">
by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6426412.Foinah_Jameson" style="text-decoration: none;">Foinah Jameson</a>
</h4>
<div class="giveaway_details">
<p>
Giveaway ends November 30, 2014.
</p>
<p>
See the <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/113775" style="text-decoration: none;">giveaway details</a>
at Goodreads.
</p>
</div>
</div>
<div style="clear: both;"></div>
<a class="goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink" href="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/enter_choose_address/113775">Enter to win</a>
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Sweet! <div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-88971618939554590802014-10-29T17:43:00.000-07:002014-10-29T17:43:11.736-07:00What to do with true love spam....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwIzvpai6_SHP_iIRtVZW1jdrNSWBOhOl9XS-wj-fmqFvTNh1nrb-q6MihlKZLgldyWh1easyxNh9a2P2PvpB6ruwzOXk0Jtn5CTaM-smPUq70HMYxTeqS_e0wqtUtmTweKXyh28QpTB-t/s1600/Monkey-Computer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwIzvpai6_SHP_iIRtVZW1jdrNSWBOhOl9XS-wj-fmqFvTNh1nrb-q6MihlKZLgldyWh1easyxNh9a2P2PvpB6ruwzOXk0Jtn5CTaM-smPUq70HMYxTeqS_e0wqtUtmTweKXyh28QpTB-t/s1600/Monkey-Computer.jpg" height="269" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I recently received an email at my author page on Goodreads.<br />
Being a freshly published author I got all excited about the "fan" who was writing to me.<br />
Giddy with author pride I clicked the link and VOILA...<br />
Sigh.<br />
Eye roll. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheEL1e4Pcx0e6yvYSxJsT2fKH5NS7RV0-D2zHXmCjtF6xEdwBkhKAI1OUHwp8wixUp5SVxwIzbaTbU1x0R5Up36MYQ1gwPokbTa8bNOBjYGWrhb17TDhSmXzrs1S95Y-1OQtR8NZ7u41bk/s1600/images-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheEL1e4Pcx0e6yvYSxJsT2fKH5NS7RV0-D2zHXmCjtF6xEdwBkhKAI1OUHwp8wixUp5SVxwIzbaTbU1x0R5Up36MYQ1gwPokbTa8bNOBjYGWrhb17TDhSmXzrs1S95Y-1OQtR8NZ7u41bk/s1600/images-6.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Spam.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwkwfobAHV7p9X-8_DkCwPNJblRE3JEWfn65uxx29UXulw9TwcY9vfjoS2Nf8B2OunxHmPPY_VafsMpFTMZBQSaly5CG1FkPVgLKVQCDzFwPKffH9NPuVO_9JvBRNU5SbbqcqBbqLyuwvV/s1600/spam-mail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwkwfobAHV7p9X-8_DkCwPNJblRE3JEWfn65uxx29UXulw9TwcY9vfjoS2Nf8B2OunxHmPPY_VafsMpFTMZBQSaly5CG1FkPVgLKVQCDzFwPKffH9NPuVO_9JvBRNU5SbbqcqBbqLyuwvV/s1600/spam-mail.jpg" height="260" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
But golden, sexy spam, ripe for the frying. <br />
<br />
<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
I redacted his name because it's the polite thing to do. And no...sadly the initials J.A. do not stand for Jensen Ackles (my alternate reality super boyfriend)<br />
Behold: <br />
<b><i>to: 8098414 Foinah Jameson <br /> subject: I want a relationship with you<br /> message: I am J(redacted) A(redacted),</i></b><br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
<b><i> Am a Petroleum Engineer,an Honduran based in United Kingdom.<br /> As i was reading,i saw your beautiful face </i></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN11fIXI4WcE2Ncz6BfFCYxopOgTuuLYaaczmbUisRJk7593zk-DRRTzQMZzo7EeczBaqC6kimoEraH1sHab8Q9nuJroTI2zp54gNMP93LkETs2uOqukOuLv9GZxhVV5zPjug_iDvuMZtG/s1600/8098414.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN11fIXI4WcE2Ncz6BfFCYxopOgTuuLYaaczmbUisRJk7593zk-DRRTzQMZzo7EeczBaqC6kimoEraH1sHab8Q9nuJroTI2zp54gNMP93LkETs2uOqukOuLv9GZxhVV5zPjug_iDvuMZtG/s1600/8098414.jpg" /></a> <span style="font-size: large;"><u><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">(THIS PIC IS MY AVATAR THERE!)</span></b></u></span><br />
<i><b>and i can't hide my feelings to contact you.I don't<br /> know how to love again since my last heart break.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b> But i believe distance between us doesn't matter<br /> because am having the feelings that you are<br /> the special woman to love,trust and cherish if<br /> you can give me a chance to have a relationship<br /> with you.</b></i><br />
<i><b> It is A mighty pain to love it is,<br /> And Love is a pain that pain to miss;<br /> But, of all pains, the greatest pain,<br /> Is to love, but love in vain.<br /> I am very interested to know you"</b></i><br />
<i><b> Please send relationship accepted via email to<br /> (blahblahblah1sl@gmail.com ) or<br /> ( blahblahblah1sl@yahoo.dk )<br /> so i can send my photos to you.</b></i><br />
<i><b> Yours Love,<br /> J(redacted) A(redacted).</b></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimfooPjCoKEtMHPLpD8x_hrLsxPzk3tGZaENoQyYlmvK7av6MWg7l_Vn2ZtfX8P5B_gGMKGYBDyguE9zU8vQahw2Q6h-z5CDpV3MamqsCv4rk7aVobiFgIZgexBk3sC3vGuRtwPB5Qjo_f/s1600/monkeySee.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimfooPjCoKEtMHPLpD8x_hrLsxPzk3tGZaENoQyYlmvK7av6MWg7l_Vn2ZtfX8P5B_gGMKGYBDyguE9zU8vQahw2Q6h-z5CDpV3MamqsCv4rk7aVobiFgIZgexBk3sC3vGuRtwPB5Qjo_f/s1600/monkeySee.png" height="290" width="320" /></a></div>
Well...that was interesting. </div>
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I'm not a mean person by nature, but I do love an opportunity to amuse myself so I answered his little love note.<br />
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How could I not?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd1x8aaxjxomhrxMW9swlRvuU_6g8W1yZ1vQTRT5kI-O8isciFpXBMGME-oXdNnRfy_Kh0iHASuhVn1QTwyQRmU8NwNbCUR6PhA261S6Yk5GbINU1yBlyBH09I8xztr3wMKoLz0ffN5SPA/s1600/monkey1_1547790c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd1x8aaxjxomhrxMW9swlRvuU_6g8W1yZ1vQTRT5kI-O8isciFpXBMGME-oXdNnRfy_Kh0iHASuhVn1QTwyQRmU8NwNbCUR6PhA261S6Yk5GbINU1yBlyBH09I8xztr3wMKoLz0ffN5SPA/s1600/monkey1_1547790c.jpg" /></a></div>
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How could I not respond to such a moving plea from a paramour of his standing? Hmmmmm? <br /><br />
My response:<br />
<br />
<i><b><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$2:0">Dear Love,</span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$3:0" /><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$5:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$6:0">It
is rare that such moving words can wake me from my slumber. But you
have valiantly taken sword to thorn walls to free me, scaled the highest
tree to procure the sweetest fruit, groomed me, cleansed me of mites
that burrow and chew....</span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$7:0" /><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$9:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$10:0">But
my family must come with me, we dine, we sleep, we run en mass. You
will grow accustomed to their hoots and hollers of joyous abandon. You
will have the highest perch and watch over us in the night. </span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$11:0" /><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$13:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$14:0">"It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you</span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$15:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$16:0">There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do</span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$17:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$18:0">I bless the rains down in <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTQbiNvZqaY" target="_blank">Africa</a></span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$19:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$20:0">Gonna take some time to do the things we never had"</span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$21:0" /><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$23:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$24:0">I will share my fruit with you, teach you the secrets of the stick in the log for the sweetest treats.</span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$25:0" /><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$27:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$28:0">Do you smoke? </span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$29:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$30:0">I
must rely on this platform for our burgeoning love. I have no access to
an email...just this battered research laptop I may borrow while the
doctor is away.</span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$31:0" /><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$33:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$34:0">Let me know when I may look for you. I will lower a branch so that you may join me and rule by my side.</span></span></span></b></i><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqP58GRLzPFYdPOQN_vBVtMlJDda-PZvTpHBd3hyphenhyphenGU5_xl1jS3eHha3Wyt_Sk0EOoFISkMdtW29VQfSmJCLrv7L2L-FOAMdwe3XdfBo5NWi2BGRgpM8DShcOqaEfm1vLiWrT0fMyG3g1rN/s1600/images-50000000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqP58GRLzPFYdPOQN_vBVtMlJDda-PZvTpHBd3hyphenhyphenGU5_xl1jS3eHha3Wyt_Sk0EOoFISkMdtW29VQfSmJCLrv7L2L-FOAMdwe3XdfBo5NWi2BGRgpM8DShcOqaEfm1vLiWrT0fMyG3g1rN/s1600/images-50000000.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$34:0">I think I blew his mind!!!</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDe599xJkVvziILuTw-ZzgFdlb5IAWyubFToB3QroCO2_4o9A6KpAQqhofThKDVhcCmNTP0aGuTox3KyfUAvTBWaDbkZ6OrOirQUsHXRQddhMp80tFTFwxHMf_iG6Cd_H63m1ELcaa1Nk0/s1600/MonkeyHead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDe599xJkVvziILuTw-ZzgFdlb5IAWyubFToB3QroCO2_4o9A6KpAQqhofThKDVhcCmNTP0aGuTox3KyfUAvTBWaDbkZ6OrOirQUsHXRQddhMp80tFTFwxHMf_iG6Cd_H63m1ELcaa1Nk0/s1600/MonkeyHead.jpg" height="276" width="320" /></a></div>
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$34:0"> </span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$34:0">I waited a few hours and, after no response, I then sent this gem: </span></span></span><br />
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<i><b><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$34:0"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$2:0">My love,</span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$3:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$4:0">Why have you not yet responded?</span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$5:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$6:0">Is it unexpected that you could tame my wild nature so very quickly?</span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$7:0" /><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$9:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$10:0">How can I explain?</span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$11:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$12:0">When there are few words I can choose, how can I explain when words get broken?</span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$13:0" /><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$15:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$16:0">This world moves quickly for two lost souls in love’s fishbowl.</span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$17:0" /><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$19:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$20:0">Do you remember there was a time a when people on the street</span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$21:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$22:0">were walking hand in hand in hand? They used to talk about the weather, </span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$23:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$24:0">making plans together, days would last forever....</span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$25:0" /><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$27:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$28:0">Let not the distance chain our love! </span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$29:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$30:0">Come to me, cover me, hold me! Together we'll break these <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6J2OlIpQgF8" target="_blank">chains of love</a>!</span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$31:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$32:0">Don't give up, just don't give up (Don't)!!!!</span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$33:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$34:0">Together with me, you, my baby, we can break the chains of love. </span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$35:0" /><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$37:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$38:0">Is
there an impediment? What is the delay? Remember...I have limited
access to this laptop so time is of the essence because am having the
feelings! </span><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$39:0" /><br data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$41:0" /><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$42:0">I eagerly await your response.</span></span></span></span></span></span></b></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEw8IuCyHgAoPDW92l1QfqF6GLDcptptTjnni1GO7Xzz6xUqH63IVkrNhoXouWwKJAsmsmaB-7oLWVZiW6T_E92WyjtO76LKFMt0SLQHc7p_oBF61WONdKEriXzLDqHHo916LW8Pexhh1N/s1600/images-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEw8IuCyHgAoPDW92l1QfqF6GLDcptptTjnni1GO7Xzz6xUqH63IVkrNhoXouWwKJAsmsmaB-7oLWVZiW6T_E92WyjtO76LKFMt0SLQHc7p_oBF61WONdKEriXzLDqHHo916LW8Pexhh1N/s1600/images-6.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$34:0"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$42:0">My plan was to become progressively more unstable and needy, and to finally ask him to send me money because he was obviously a wealthy oil engineer and could afford to support me during my transition back to society.</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$34:0"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$42:0">Unfortunately Goodreads nuked the emails. I was so sad. I didn't think to actually save his gmail or yahoo addresses when I cut and pasted the originals to my facebook wall. </span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$34:0"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$42:0">Now I'll never know if JA was the one.</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$34:0"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$42:0">Teehee. </span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$34:0"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$42:0"> </span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$34:0"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578754167699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$42:0"> </span></span></span> </span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$34:0"> -- Foinah</span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".53.1:3:1:$comment10153577282642699_10153578418797699:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$34:0"> </span></span></span> </div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
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There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-22838013187256388152014-10-12T12:04:00.001-07:002014-10-12T12:05:41.990-07:00The psychology of smokey dokes. Or how I learned to be a pariah and start loving the shunning. Greetings!<br />
<br />
Welcome to the road less traveled where all of your monkey pic needs are satisfied.<br />
I do enjoy being a resource, a clearing house, a repository of the inane.<br />
Sometimes I even have something to say!<br />
<br />
Today I would like to discuss smoking.<br />
I'm a smoking monkey. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZrP1d6lQFe9ydFboQDMh9xUbCVeIVwJaHgAZZ2hsFXFTJpuweFWpxOzh5JjnUxmdxMZNRKko7UcpYUyrQPpf1QJJb7FTAVQ_3XDQ5yxgf4MQDbcMnviAOh51itX2Lo5lHIcCBhyoGSAq1/s1600/smoking-chimp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZrP1d6lQFe9ydFboQDMh9xUbCVeIVwJaHgAZZ2hsFXFTJpuweFWpxOzh5JjnUxmdxMZNRKko7UcpYUyrQPpf1QJJb7FTAVQ_3XDQ5yxgf4MQDbcMnviAOh51itX2Lo5lHIcCBhyoGSAq1/s1600/smoking-chimp.jpg" /></a></div>
Yes, yes I am.<br />
I'm a monkey with a monkey on my back. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ME6VEg9_AmajPzfNThm21wxv3bwtjIAROsdeLcpUN_6Mbe4tNiVodRNU9joivFvdA24JYeObU2Zmx6GFw0kq0Pmc1J13jCiRi0phlCFcxqnz1Tuln_pqlohu3E6BUx2ESh1SLf0Kv9j3/s1600/monkey-on-my-back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ME6VEg9_AmajPzfNThm21wxv3bwtjIAROsdeLcpUN_6Mbe4tNiVodRNU9joivFvdA24JYeObU2Zmx6GFw0kq0Pmc1J13jCiRi0phlCFcxqnz1Tuln_pqlohu3E6BUx2ESh1SLf0Kv9j3/s1600/monkey-on-my-back.jpg" height="320" width="211" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSm-7Fdc4FKc0YUuSM0cjrp0MPxeI4DRUVch7_3E0DjmcooABmxPeqxUEPr2yfaiFL1MwIdxhlubyKjs8Nnua1n2GLCfrO-PVOZlqMfHF5ylSPKpzHiKOFXyEwcsk8Ozc2KL7bFkjuvYap/s1600/1329254525-monkeysbackrub.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSm-7Fdc4FKc0YUuSM0cjrp0MPxeI4DRUVch7_3E0DjmcooABmxPeqxUEPr2yfaiFL1MwIdxhlubyKjs8Nnua1n2GLCfrO-PVOZlqMfHF5ylSPKpzHiKOFXyEwcsk8Ozc2KL7bFkjuvYap/s1600/1329254525-monkeysbackrub.jpg" height="166" width="200" /></a> But my monkey is a Masseuse. Clever little fellow, my monkey knows how to banish my stress, keep me calm, and ease the urge to fling poo.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXnaK61J2xFY5V0D4oClGqkzRDFWkNK4Prm-4LEdToWyQZPRGgiA_0zG7vg0VyWdpxhWctHMoW2j7kAl2QHXVkzh0dsckosYXv3AWIGjwL9lIP_9HrF3Ti3FBMO9CeqPrUhGM8-kKtMpKL/s1600/hqdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXnaK61J2xFY5V0D4oClGqkzRDFWkNK4Prm-4LEdToWyQZPRGgiA_0zG7vg0VyWdpxhWctHMoW2j7kAl2QHXVkzh0dsckosYXv3AWIGjwL9lIP_9HrF3Ti3FBMO9CeqPrUhGM8-kKtMpKL/s1600/hqdefault.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Not actual poo. That's disgusting.<br />
Metaphorical poo.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjxnFGM-biAKmPj2Q3r3WX1Kh0oMu4s_1BJN44SztiQs2624l1poZShG3uVo6xXrjxJ72dCqTCJw4CSnv4af7Yr0qB_vzl_r7h9zAyDemujfKU2VIqTonTcopcEOihluTjmC9wuw-vB_ns/s1600/monkeys_fling_poo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjxnFGM-biAKmPj2Q3r3WX1Kh0oMu4s_1BJN44SztiQs2624l1poZShG3uVo6xXrjxJ72dCqTCJw4CSnv4af7Yr0qB_vzl_r7h9zAyDemujfKU2VIqTonTcopcEOihluTjmC9wuw-vB_ns/s1600/monkeys_fling_poo.jpg" height="198" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I love my monkey. Who cares if his weight is slowly pushing my lungs out the front of my body!<br />
<br />
I smoke clove cigars.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTGFNDg9rhSgF1vCQZi3Ap4VwFbdK6ohnTiEgr_K-cZN8tP-RnA0Ex5CyBF9Jv4u1VbeerNcAWnHwxkNP9ESYDUd3XmC7A1CpkYzTSgmfncelAKBMZPKr7Lmz6poNvyseoYNVouVGDnvH3/s1600/djarum-blacks-kretek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTGFNDg9rhSgF1vCQZi3Ap4VwFbdK6ohnTiEgr_K-cZN8tP-RnA0Ex5CyBF9Jv4u1VbeerNcAWnHwxkNP9ESYDUd3XmC7A1CpkYzTSgmfncelAKBMZPKr7Lmz6poNvyseoYNVouVGDnvH3/s1600/djarum-blacks-kretek.jpg" height="289" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ1uI7lgHIpavsaHR5E-kuulvZ3fgFZNQTfebbY6Q3YRU4Y55BXFWYXk0uvqfESrMn-aX9YWINgO60zPXIL0uHxA9Pw1WVO6Ic7ZK-iji8mDHN1XGF1eVkR_G4x3G3dOMSfbmqHaHROI_n/s1600/Kretek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ1uI7lgHIpavsaHR5E-kuulvZ3fgFZNQTfebbY6Q3YRU4Y55BXFWYXk0uvqfESrMn-aX9YWINgO60zPXIL0uHxA9Pw1WVO6Ic7ZK-iji8mDHN1XGF1eVkR_G4x3G3dOMSfbmqHaHROI_n/s1600/Kretek.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
How 80's anachronistic am I?! Eh?<br />
<br />
<br />
Regular smokes are disgusting. They stink. At least my clothes smell of spice.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmKPjNC4bmNWSwwsboHnWOoQ2qLEJmBu8bceOUeCJ_eDDuzzzjo_wpaPbZSU_GwQvOY16jOK0cd6wgTBZI3nYPw-Z8X9SsjQrJw277W3wJoYbaaRS62fFJtzNn7Dn_9j_sGePiXFJZsGB/s1600/bene-gs-e1393218980262.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmKPjNC4bmNWSwwsboHnWOoQ2qLEJmBu8bceOUeCJ_eDDuzzzjo_wpaPbZSU_GwQvOY16jOK0cd6wgTBZI3nYPw-Z8X9SsjQrJw277W3wJoYbaaRS62fFJtzNn7Dn_9j_sGePiXFJZsGB/s1600/bene-gs-e1393218980262.png" height="172" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Yes...I can bend space and time with the amount of spice I ingest.<br />
<br />
I'm a polite smoker. I do not smoke near children, I always ask if the smoke will bother someone before I light up, and I do not litter; those butts are put safely in a bin. My adoration of my vice makes me an outcast in today's health conscious society. Whatevs, man. You say pariah, I say quiet contemplation/creative time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizvD9Sumsl-YEzHDn288k-_B4rJLkJeDJVKpcUrS4EBuTNvfPjyXQvW_J7jFS8zR_120kGR1YaHZCLCKY-29UJQibtzKk45eu2HVoVNdcvG9GfXvaVzEfhdxd70PPjHiFthhahEANklUEi/s1600/article-2036412-0DD4636100000578-823_468x323.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizvD9Sumsl-YEzHDn288k-_B4rJLkJeDJVKpcUrS4EBuTNvfPjyXQvW_J7jFS8zR_120kGR1YaHZCLCKY-29UJQibtzKk45eu2HVoVNdcvG9GfXvaVzEfhdxd70PPjHiFthhahEANklUEi/s1600/article-2036412-0DD4636100000578-823_468x323.jpg" height="220" width="320" /></a></div>
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I abhor rude smokers. You know the type: Lights up in closed spaces, waves the cig around like a laser pointer, dumps ashes everywhere, with the sick stick clenched between their teeth rude smoker approaches children, puffing madly and crop dusting carcinogens over tender pure-lunged youngins.<br />
People who smoke around kids are complete and total ASS CLOWNS. Seriously. It's just not okay. <br />
Eejits. The lot of them.<br />
Have I just described you, rude smoker? Sorry.<br />
(Not really)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNffUKpRPqxJXXZoEQgrYal71SDkP20wBAZWEDWEet4Ilt6SLbsqEdhDiJiMg94ct4CuD5aPztZbNcs9oD7jgBHTZrvaat_CGOHaibYSE1PoBsxvyNLPvFHXso0STVlbT37AHzQ5Bvf_n5/s1600/monkey-smoking-cigarette-india-funny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNffUKpRPqxJXXZoEQgrYal71SDkP20wBAZWEDWEet4Ilt6SLbsqEdhDiJiMg94ct4CuD5aPztZbNcs9oD7jgBHTZrvaat_CGOHaibYSE1PoBsxvyNLPvFHXso0STVlbT37AHzQ5Bvf_n5/s1600/monkey-smoking-cigarette-india-funny.jpg" height="320" width="304" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
OH MY GOD!!! YOU HATE SMOKERS!<br />
I do, too. Let's be pals.<br />
No?<br />
It's bad for me you say?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxTiIN448qWSBeeuHgZOZCm8BolXoLtjzSr628MfGZFStARZmVDjORepqMVY0Excj77y9-o_fnm6FafrgIl0zt77Jo2NM5LIGBYQhVc551upq6FVaTIDRN5jIl0_eK8QPpqAFzOU93lHwC/s1600/BadMonkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxTiIN448qWSBeeuHgZOZCm8BolXoLtjzSr628MfGZFStARZmVDjORepqMVY0Excj77y9-o_fnm6FafrgIl0zt77Jo2NM5LIGBYQhVc551upq6FVaTIDRN5jIl0_eK8QPpqAFzOU93lHwC/s1600/BadMonkey.jpg" /></a></div>
It's a disgusting habit? I'm a horrible person? It's what killed the dinosaurs? You have graphic photos of smokers' lungs to show me?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvZYHIgGNowqcaeAwGqLX8IPjqS9BvVHBWdRpKn0R8XRLcO1m7Arsmo5ieRl58K2564PWQZL-x-hDr0R1ZHv3Y5HoABi3SgD_xpMWyjgzqBEGbP66VzwFVdUtf8hIyKwsvgcIjGW4HbBJ/s1600/fluttershy_why_would_you_post_that_by_michaelrd777-d76wcvi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvZYHIgGNowqcaeAwGqLX8IPjqS9BvVHBWdRpKn0R8XRLcO1m7Arsmo5ieRl58K2564PWQZL-x-hDr0R1ZHv3Y5HoABi3SgD_xpMWyjgzqBEGbP66VzwFVdUtf8hIyKwsvgcIjGW4HbBJ/s1600/fluttershy_why_would_you_post_that_by_michaelrd777-d76wcvi.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I'm going to die???????<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTlYMn3z7A2W9lITqXibdjIuRPYtNL0n_fijVlWwGBP8dGJZ3ZAATOdH_9ShNq0Zovs7Y3i0tRfnU7M8uV5j7BdCmivjzDfG8Z8aMJ8Q9K7qJM42CkB8jrMjXtykVwfWOaKaYCwQ28uQ3/s1600/skull_flat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTlYMn3z7A2W9lITqXibdjIuRPYtNL0n_fijVlWwGBP8dGJZ3ZAATOdH_9ShNq0Zovs7Y3i0tRfnU7M8uV5j7BdCmivjzDfG8Z8aMJ8Q9K7qJM42CkB8jrMjXtykVwfWOaKaYCwQ28uQ3/s1600/skull_flat.jpg" height="234" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everything dies eventually. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I'm a horror writer. Nothing scares me.<br />
(That's a total lie. Lots of things scare me.)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDMqFKXO6C348qjpxwIFgy-r6-tau8Z2yC9L_UPEHquFNGXcUt6Y120s672r3D7olkxSxM7h0jRRGIrdIEV2I5yaVRA3vnXxRalTi4k0_p4aL4gs6xbufoGFIzC9bGHfuFb6UjnAznrJP7/s1600/evil-monkey-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDMqFKXO6C348qjpxwIFgy-r6-tau8Z2yC9L_UPEHquFNGXcUt6Y120s672r3D7olkxSxM7h0jRRGIrdIEV2I5yaVRA3vnXxRalTi4k0_p4aL4gs6xbufoGFIzC9bGHfuFb6UjnAznrJP7/s1600/evil-monkey-2.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">clowns...why did it have to be clowns? Very dangerous...you go first. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Let's get back to the discussion, shall we? This blog goes out to the smokers ~ the proud, the few, the sneaky-outside-breathmint-'no I wasn't smoking'-weather resistant- brethren. Oh we happy few (deedeedeeeeeeedadoooooo). Smokers like me, join and rejoice in our filthy vice!<br />
<br />
I smoke when I write. I have an outside office. <br />
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<br />
I've said before that I channel good old Gonzo himself (Hunter S. in the brain!) without the bats or drugs. Instead I have stinkbugs, hummingbirds (I get dive-bombed all of the time due to my glorious mane of RED hair), cloves, and copious amounts of caffeine.<br />
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<br />
<br />
I have certain rituals regarding smoking: the tap on the new pack, the careful removal of the cellowrap and foil, the first smoke acknowledgement.<br />
<br />
This is important.<br />
I channel John Lovitz from News Radio, and in his voice I say, "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXRt5AC_PCI" target="_blank">Cigarette, prepare to be smoked!</a>"<br />
<br />
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<br />
In my mind it makes the smokey doke less inclined to do damage to the lungs.<br />
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<br />
It's a quirk. What can I say?<br />
But it works for me.<br />
<br />
Phase I<br />
<br />
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Happy smoke, smoke, smoke....type, smoke, read a bit, smoke. Sip coffee. Smoke half a one and put it out. Toss it in the butt can; I have a whole pack. I can be decadent. Chain smoking my way to creative incandescence. <br />
<br />
Ahhhh. Blessed silence. No one bothers me in the sacred smoke bubble.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVMI4Cr4CecFJR-oiRrEx8n-FJJtfVWV1hTExP2SPg5zRP6ZOWu1-RoO83Sh8ltaxzDiULFOha8lvz9F9JDcVLTKuDjlvyZJ7dXIBGu-plPaQ4aBuVr-v1kiHgJS30F0HcdMKxcEvwPI36/s1600/monkeys+acting+like+humans+(8).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVMI4Cr4CecFJR-oiRrEx8n-FJJtfVWV1hTExP2SPg5zRP6ZOWu1-RoO83Sh8ltaxzDiULFOha8lvz9F9JDcVLTKuDjlvyZJ7dXIBGu-plPaQ4aBuVr-v1kiHgJS30F0HcdMKxcEvwPI36/s1600/monkeys+acting+like+humans+(8).jpg" height="246" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Phase II<br />
<br />
Hours later -- uh-oh. I only have four smokes left. Just let me get this chapter finished.<br />
{looks at accumulated halfsies and poorly stubbed remnants of the sacred inspiration flaming stick}<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
Phase III (usually at 3:00 am or when it's impossible to leave the house for another haul of clovey goodness because the kids are NOT going to be left at home alone. Ooof. Another pet peeve: kids who are neglected! Sack up parents!)<br />
<i>Back to the regularly scheduled whingeing</i><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: red;">Damnit. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: red;">I'm out!</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: red;">Why did I just crush those half smoked ones?! Why was I not more careful????</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: red;">I don't want to put on pants and go up the way to the minimart!</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfLIKZLPPuGlLddjv3hVroIVbu22B4rfCUf4_ssxdKbGU4tikWT1dciLN1fa-EHpJHOKhmT7M_Elk8H82OClTZkCSUXfe4jjI8jgPrVva8RHu6ZuOL1gta41YYydXIBoWSSMdYt_aexebp/s1600/Unhappy+Ape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfLIKZLPPuGlLddjv3hVroIVbu22B4rfCUf4_ssxdKbGU4tikWT1dciLN1fa-EHpJHOKhmT7M_Elk8H82OClTZkCSUXfe4jjI8jgPrVva8RHu6ZuOL1gta41YYydXIBoWSSMdYt_aexebp/s1600/Unhappy+Ape.jpg" /></a></b></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I sit and remember each puff on that first smoke, the negligent and wasteful tossing away....<br />
The horror...the horror. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP5U7k1nrqUmiSCCFgP3_z-_MTo3lWJyeAX48JN6mZtX6-OxfEkGb8XFUG82_nUWiH9QGPv_qo2CJtLFjFvimVtigMloAqSlK_qAU-s2uigvaSg26O9PG8K4rCxld0-a60YmENh9SUPO9H/s1600/f1b3726d7b9ff60f5e7f29d17d795ac318503756.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP5U7k1nrqUmiSCCFgP3_z-_MTo3lWJyeAX48JN6mZtX6-OxfEkGb8XFUG82_nUWiH9QGPv_qo2CJtLFjFvimVtigMloAqSlK_qAU-s2uigvaSg26O9PG8K4rCxld0-a60YmENh9SUPO9H/s1600/f1b3726d7b9ff60f5e7f29d17d795ac318503756.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Phase IV: THE HOBO FACTOR<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29RjcHzI_YMTRmjFZIZhWCHZTHiJe4fvV2PaKzs8hJtwVlc0Zo0Dxf2Kr2bNNsbCtuhV9Whyphenhypheni2JR5wXPjY8ar8204tDswkjOx3CALItAaqRONVSSicYQOzHXBctxhI9tvbhnf8JPx3gcA/s1600/ShoppingCart1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29RjcHzI_YMTRmjFZIZhWCHZTHiJe4fvV2PaKzs8hJtwVlc0Zo0Dxf2Kr2bNNsbCtuhV9Whyphenhypheni2JR5wXPjY8ar8204tDswkjOx3CALItAaqRONVSSicYQOzHXBctxhI9tvbhnf8JPx3gcA/s1600/ShoppingCart1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
This consists of rummaging in the butt bin for salvageable smokes. <br />
Come on....we've all done it.<br />
When I'm out in my office I tend to channel my inner bag lady. Multiple layers of jackets, fingerless gloves, uncombed hair.... It's frightening.<br />
The smokes are stale or dewy, and I say outloud, "This is disgusting. You should just quit."<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhHPMRDbh5I3ZQzul90nH2RXTDpybuF3wHl4h-TtkdZ_CX31POBdUnaUmog6Gf2D1GT2NVbvA92kWqw7kqJLv9Tn4IoR4zQJHKE6g1wzgiYt_bz70uqW6hp-fceFFUSzeEASHuywSNsOAf/s1600/monkey-smoking3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhHPMRDbh5I3ZQzul90nH2RXTDpybuF3wHl4h-TtkdZ_CX31POBdUnaUmog6Gf2D1GT2NVbvA92kWqw7kqJLv9Tn4IoR4zQJHKE6g1wzgiYt_bz70uqW6hp-fceFFUSzeEASHuywSNsOAf/s1600/monkey-smoking3.jpg" height="142" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quit!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSZH2_0zboxbFQr4Gfe6JpMcE2VjD0-l8MeH29Q3TlcKVrtgNeaai66C-sh8laRUf_eXDLKYyTLuqMEjfrDq1cOjzob7TSsmQv4j0a_Q5fvkNystq_hASmW_9ATX5AHdD_b7s5sUCc1mXf/s1600/Funny+monkey+sticks+out+tongue+and+gives+the+thumbs+up.jpg" height="200" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="135" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who? Me? </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bwahahahaha</td></tr>
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So I go buy a new pack and start the whole process over again!!!!!!<br />
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See you all at 3:00 am for a smokey doke run!<br />
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-- Foinah<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-3942527342092809162014-10-09T19:03:00.001-07:002014-10-09T19:03:54.443-07:00My living guy spirit guide is back!!!! Oh how I've missed you ED ASNER!I have a weird connection with Ed Asner.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5pT1X5pqxXZF5Uu2kfhIWOYACapELqDRvFvXNIXvtDy7AU5idnpt3GsRb2SHtKm4enb8eROiVn57po7MMcPYI7VzPZ-jtPwS_vyO_TESSETxldYhKFy7JI6r09qtYsOuiqr71Pr75wok2/s1600/502_1r23_portrait_of_ed_asner_by_celebrity_photographer_michael_grecco.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5pT1X5pqxXZF5Uu2kfhIWOYACapELqDRvFvXNIXvtDy7AU5idnpt3GsRb2SHtKm4enb8eROiVn57po7MMcPYI7VzPZ-jtPwS_vyO_TESSETxldYhKFy7JI6r09qtYsOuiqr71Pr75wok2/s1600/502_1r23_portrait_of_ed_asner_by_celebrity_photographer_michael_grecco.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
I adore him. I really do. Everything about him: hirsute glory, dry-wit, gravelly voice, aged perfection....<br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOWb_P9U3XN0_JWp6k2ImGeUJwDtk4jokGI-P8URuiKimh_3Eb_voS6xx_EHHoIFJBWikSqe7dgEtxT_2p_Aj3jbIc4iryd4HSxb6iqlOkqQC4KquOJVKxKYdxVpXWj2o6Z6fS1TB0hsPt/s1600/7221487852_7d14bb4194.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOWb_P9U3XN0_JWp6k2ImGeUJwDtk4jokGI-P8URuiKimh_3Eb_voS6xx_EHHoIFJBWikSqe7dgEtxT_2p_Aj3jbIc4iryd4HSxb6iqlOkqQC4KquOJVKxKYdxVpXWj2o6Z6fS1TB0hsPt/s1600/7221487852_7d14bb4194.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I've never met the man, but a few years ago he started visiting me in my dreams.<br />
<br />
I know that I've blogged about it before. <br />
<br />
Mr. Asner always has some bizarre message for me encoded in a surreal Lynchesque dreamscape. Wacky stuff. Sometimes I have absolutely no idea what he's trying to tell me, but I awaken refreshed and somewhat wiser.<br />
Ayup.<br />
Sadly I haven't had any guru visits in a long while. Bummer. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI-prmixXqiawIjzQi0MOYf8lJC7sff_mETj3qthiyJiMomRp5IMd-bj2bO7fbHi3V_-N6fWaebAGW9iv0g4J_g4yFZ0YadYUMfH8dXVacF5Vi1AgUu79acmKwBsMwC5hkE6MfwhauyXcY/s1600/sad-monkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI-prmixXqiawIjzQi0MOYf8lJC7sff_mETj3qthiyJiMomRp5IMd-bj2bO7fbHi3V_-N6fWaebAGW9iv0g4J_g4yFZ0YadYUMfH8dXVacF5Vi1AgUu79acmKwBsMwC5hkE6MfwhauyXcY/s1600/sad-monkey.jpg" height="320" width="274" /></a></div>
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Then, about two weeks ago, my darling hubby saw ED ASNER in the airport.<br />
<br />
I was stunned. DH did not run up to him for an autograph, get a pic, talk to my spirit guide, nor tell Mr. Asner about me and ask for any bizarre dream elucidation. Nope.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp_9u8cOgFf478P8loEyXDCo6zAW6lWV5irwdyR029weTn35lk6uGURj4M5_1IaabtZxaKSMbEtElO_8xq2cFTtcCyjrqEM48YbMqcRnBmLntWiuDp7VZAwGXHPNR8l_zTNGADaX7-NufK/s1600/1339098373_Monkey-Cigarette-Smoking2_copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp_9u8cOgFf478P8loEyXDCo6zAW6lWV5irwdyR029weTn35lk6uGURj4M5_1IaabtZxaKSMbEtElO_8xq2cFTtcCyjrqEM48YbMqcRnBmLntWiuDp7VZAwGXHPNR8l_zTNGADaX7-NufK/s1600/1339098373_Monkey-Cigarette-Smoking2_copy.jpg" height="259" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously? Not even a hello?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
He did, however, call me to tell me that he saw him. <br />
That's cool. DH might have broken the magic if he talked to Mr. Asner. Or....had a 5150 hold issued for me from Ed's people. Cackle™ heh. ha. Um...sigh.<br />
<br />
Guess what????<br />
<br />
That encounter sparked another Guru dream! Yay.<br />
<br />
It's a weird one.<br />
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<br />
I was in Walgreen's shopping for latex gloves to wear for protection against Ebola. Everyone around me had face masks and body suits on; it was nuts. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUcd9S_xcchHhcDL6rluPWT9bMonQu9kX5n__bK9G4KX4-zum0UbL-WnU_ICElYL34Px1J_gnLgHJSRgKrjuTeZsSMd3vQvBNECF2UTcMBX7IM98jLQaQp5IHwYaBE0aW3WKJbAax2l3DC/s1600/Monkey-in-a-Gas-Mask--37448.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUcd9S_xcchHhcDL6rluPWT9bMonQu9kX5n__bK9G4KX4-zum0UbL-WnU_ICElYL34Px1J_gnLgHJSRgKrjuTeZsSMd3vQvBNECF2UTcMBX7IM98jLQaQp5IHwYaBE0aW3WKJbAax2l3DC/s1600/Monkey-in-a-Gas-Mask--37448.jpg" height="320" width="310" /></a></div>
We had to pass through this scanner to get into the store -- if you were clear it played Milli Vanilli's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NwrL9MV6jSk" target="_blank">Blame It on the Rain</a> over the store's speakers. If you were infected a trap door opened up underneath and you dropped into this super big, industrial Food Saver vacuum seal thingy. Oh...and the music was <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6cQiLnjg4LU" target="_blank">Wait</a> by White Lion.<br />
(I don't know why...my brain is a scary place).<br />
<br />
Anyway, I made it through just fine, humming along with Milli Vanilli as I wandered the aisles. The further into the store I went the louder the muzak got -- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sT1m_p7snws" target="_blank">Pointer Sisters</a> (that link takes you to Pointer Sisters Live 1975).<br />
<br />
<br />
I'm looking for fingerless rubber gloves so I can still smoke outside and use a laptop during the plague apocalypse.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZOs3R3yt632yoakoAa4U24Cqv7tWdTZxQMsV96nj1yuNJ-etM5w0ybwaay38E5uytNnxvtsK7KvlTDRAIVB6T1Dy65IDXbjLOKwPKdoLBPaIDhyDCFN7rHzAv_EjSW9BNmc_P4cXx8Vy/s1600/Asner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZOs3R3yt632yoakoAa4U24Cqv7tWdTZxQMsV96nj1yuNJ-etM5w0ybwaay38E5uytNnxvtsK7KvlTDRAIVB6T1Dy65IDXbjLOKwPKdoLBPaIDhyDCFN7rHzAv_EjSW9BNmc_P4cXx8Vy/s1600/Asner.jpg" /></a>Yeah.<br />
Fingerless gloves. Fingerless rubber gloves. Fingerless. <br />
Lo and behold I find a box of them.<br />
There's a tap on my shoulder and I turn to see Ed Asner standing there in a wife beater tank top and bermuda shorts. <br />
He's wearing a tie with little monkeys all over it. The hair on the sides of his head is dyed in a leopard skin pattern and the hair on his chest and shoulders is dyed neon yellow.<br />
(WTF, Mate?) <br />
Ed says, "Why are you even bothering?" as he hands me a bottle of Jean Nate.<br />
<br />
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<br />
"Pour this in a circle around your desk. Ebola don't like lemons none."<br />
I just sort of stand there, not quite sure what to do.<br />
Ed slaps the box of gloves out of my hand and points at the reading glasses.<br />
"Get a pair of those. Ebola hates hipsters, too. Pretentious douchebags."<br />
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I hand him a gumball (I don't know why). <br />He high fives me and hops on to one of those mobile scooter cart things, pops a wheelie, and starts singing opera at the top of his lungs as he tears down the aisle and crashes through the front door glass. <br />
<br />
Whoa.<br />
<br />
I have no idea what he was trying to tell me. <br />
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The takeaway? Hipsters are kind of dinkbubbles. Ebola scares the crap out of me but if I smell like the 70's/80's I'll be fine. I'll just need to adjust the 8-track soundtrack in my head accordingly.<br />
<br />
Oh...by the way...<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>MOSTLY DEAD MELVIN</b></span></span> comes out on 10/31/2014. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Paperback and ebook. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I has done promo now. Yeehaw!!!!!!!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Available everywhere except Mars. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Pre-order ebook <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mostly-Dead-Melvin-Foinah-Jameson-ebook/dp/B00NZQBJJW/ref=la_B006QURKQK_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1412905793&sr=1-1" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/480517" target="_blank">here </a></div>
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<br />Print copy available in most book shops after Halloween. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxGYgLYTZ5zH06Kjl1kkeaUIleyF7Q7ICWRbMBtS6qrtpK4CAn0gnjq9ezLO8mtJtDZ_Wn85LT_2wuJ7yZX-8OENWtSEPTb6O9RFuLiHS_NOw026Ro0iWRlXLU6nQPerVtOKpOJLEG93Q6/s1600/funny-old-man-monkey-love-stay-chat-really-mustache-pun-pics.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxGYgLYTZ5zH06Kjl1kkeaUIleyF7Q7ICWRbMBtS6qrtpK4CAn0gnjq9ezLO8mtJtDZ_Wn85LT_2wuJ7yZX-8OENWtSEPTb6O9RFuLiHS_NOw026Ro0iWRlXLU6nQPerVtOKpOJLEG93Q6/s1600/funny-old-man-monkey-love-stay-chat-really-mustache-pun-pics.jpg" height="222" width="320" /></a></div>
-- Foinah<br /><br />
<br />
<br />
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There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-12119604631382058172014-04-24T21:08:00.000-07:002014-10-29T16:37:27.491-07:00Tap-tap -- is this thing on????Well hello random stranger who came seeking funny monkey pictures. Here you are. Welcome to my blog. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Qd8K6YlpHaumvatdI06B4Ng9U7J0qtiLhG6KFYKqolH2dCwLkJnSPkNjDo6ggrc3IS8zReYioiV3nqvo0MJegGfjz51A6tYYOzbrlkNObwjQhxSv4C3fUHcaAQriOy4u84oJSrBpvF-n/s1600/images-100000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Qd8K6YlpHaumvatdI06B4Ng9U7J0qtiLhG6KFYKqolH2dCwLkJnSPkNjDo6ggrc3IS8zReYioiV3nqvo0MJegGfjz51A6tYYOzbrlkNObwjQhxSv4C3fUHcaAQriOy4u84oJSrBpvF-n/s1600/images-100000.jpg" /></a></div>
If you are a regular reader then this probably won't be as funny as my previous gems. It's confession time. They say confession is good for the sole.<br />
Not a typo.<br />
The sole of the boot that's been up me arse.<br />
I've been pulling a Garbo. <br />
<br />
But I'm here now. Ayup. Sorry it's been a while since I posted something new. I've been otherwise occupied. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everyone gets busy. Sure. <br />
You see, well...I got sick.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEWuhkY3RRnHHojeDQrdrvEiKdFbttfMov7QyRUxF9YxLZeznQnv7WWHQ-3mH3G1zZfqj1YAVrjDCypPAH1YTTJJxfa9lkxOh0G-xPVS0QCSrwWOfLqTSRbr_CUk0xg7NhgtDlJa2tcwIy/s1600/whoop-dee-do.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEWuhkY3RRnHHojeDQrdrvEiKdFbttfMov7QyRUxF9YxLZeznQnv7WWHQ-3mH3G1zZfqj1YAVrjDCypPAH1YTTJJxfa9lkxOh0G-xPVS0QCSrwWOfLqTSRbr_CUk0xg7NhgtDlJa2tcwIy/s1600/whoop-dee-do.jpg" height="210" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Yes, I know, I write about the flu a lot. I'm a mom. It happens. Kids are little petri dishes of woe. Whoa, man.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4DmVeGProAlCFD3JprMq6vJwr0JrQ-48q2SIapLkTAQjEzbN7ojSt9nPiqB5LMdAEOJt23q51qLItgKzGxiM3W2fgSinsYYwYHuV0o6RnFH_p5lEImmI3hAMkc3bNOOVP6RuPYyj4aJ9F/s1600/capture-d_c3a9cran-2013-01-04-c3a0-23-29-43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4DmVeGProAlCFD3JprMq6vJwr0JrQ-48q2SIapLkTAQjEzbN7ojSt9nPiqB5LMdAEOJt23q51qLItgKzGxiM3W2fgSinsYYwYHuV0o6RnFH_p5lEImmI3hAMkc3bNOOVP6RuPYyj4aJ9F/s1600/capture-d_c3a9cran-2013-01-04-c3a0-23-29-43.jpg" height="206" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WHOA!!!!!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
But this isn't the flu.<br />
<br />
Oh! Hey! Where are you going? Fine. Here's another monkey pic:<br />
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A fabboooooooo drunk monkey. Wasted. <br />
<br />
<br />
Happy? Cool. I'm just gonna keep typing so feel free to browse through the other pics. It's easier to open up to strangers about this stuff. You know what I mean? And it's kind of startling and a wake up call/reality check of how small my world really is.<br />
So, here goes.<br />
It's quite the tale. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...wait...that sounds familiar. Snerk.<br />
<br />
Don't worry. I'm not dying. It's nothing as morbid as that, but it's been a suck-ass life changer for sure.<br />
And the pisser? The docs are still juggling diagnoses. Of course they are.<br />
They drop a bomb and then change their minds. Oh...wait...it's another bomb!<br />
First it's this.<br />
And then it's that.<br />
Then it's definitely not this. But wait...it could still be that. Tests show this, but that part looks good. We'll have to watch that -- check back in a year with another MRI. Weeeeeeeeeeee<br />
<br />
It started with the not sleeping so well. Insomnia. It's plagued me for years. A writer's best friend...right? Ummm, no. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4jD_Q1HZ-HWgGiKeppNCi7wWmdRdGLay01BkIzxtZ0GbceMUALM7ATgfRMr7jV6t9W09JxY1jH-dx9rl67cFTBpFO5FwvFr4bmfDQg6IkiABiVzLQtKLtPK0WPnsHsjFiiJc4tzpBY5F/s1600/20595-Funny-monkey-didnt-slept-well.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4jD_Q1HZ-HWgGiKeppNCi7wWmdRdGLay01BkIzxtZ0GbceMUALM7ATgfRMr7jV6t9W09JxY1jH-dx9rl67cFTBpFO5FwvFr4bmfDQg6IkiABiVzLQtKLtPK0WPnsHsjFiiJc4tzpBY5F/s1600/20595-Funny-monkey-didnt-slept-well.jpg" height="320" width="298" /></a></div>
<br />
But it got worse. See pain was waking me up and keeping me up all night. Pain...all over my body. Random spots just deciding they'd be on fire for a few days (or weeks or months). I may have mentioned my hellbow once or twice here. Maybe not. I may have saved that public whining for my Facewall. Cackle™<br />
Anyhoo the pain started becoming a 24/7 thing. Yes. It does make you grumpy when your body hurts. Everywhere. For no reason. I didn't even get to claim an awesome drunk wipeout story for it either.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37f4n83Ox9Pv7o2hr_bFhpw4MGX64OIWl4cT7mS4lttVvF-vEZkLixrWkCN7Vn2ifZ3LzfXhz1TsQisSkqUFmF-WfazKzD3Z9GKewSPKW2pkpCPKno4TYaGLPx1Zri0bPhQ1rcEE0NeW8/s1600/kegmonkey.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37f4n83Ox9Pv7o2hr_bFhpw4MGX64OIWl4cT7mS4lttVvF-vEZkLixrWkCN7Vn2ifZ3LzfXhz1TsQisSkqUFmF-WfazKzD3Z9GKewSPKW2pkpCPKno4TYaGLPx1Zri0bPhQ1rcEE0NeW8/s1600/kegmonkey.png" height="255" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
When I was in my late teens to mid twenties I had migraines. Bad ones. Hooooo.<br />
They went away as I got older. yay! Maturity. <br />
<br />
I got regular headaches every once in a while in my thirties -- I could tell the difference. It's easy. You could, too. Do you have a headache? Do you wish you were dead? hahaha. sigh. No? Not a migraine. <br />
<br />
Anyway....minor headaches started coming back about a year ago. Pretty much every day I'd have one. Little tension headaches, but always there. Pop a tylenol, see the chiro, it would fade for a day. Sweet! <br />
<br />
About twelve weeks (maybe more) ago stuff started getting odd. <br />
<br />
Ever have one of those weird muscle cramps? You know the kind where you think perhaps something has found its way up your pant leg and is making its way not-so-stealthily towards your whatevers?<br />
Or the kind of muscle spasm that feels like invisible fingers are just repeatedly poking/shoving/poking/shoving/po---<br />
okay, you get the picture.<br />
The other fun one is the zingy tingles down my arms and legs, and then all of a sudden my legs feel like I've just done a gazillionty-jillion (yes...that is a number) squats. My legs shake when I walk. Sometimes even give out. <br />
Falling sucks.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR5TQ3bC8kICBGPQSYriUV_otXUa-vudc4CLUHpEOaRIg_KzlVVHgu3o4Ane5-l_MAB9FfQwfqAeQnYmkmp6cWoCgKhx_WMGBsvWuC4iBIGumfJJ5FY9iujLGuanRGKNS8GE4JkgH9kfpa/s1600/FtdLKpgbKq-6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR5TQ3bC8kICBGPQSYriUV_otXUa-vudc4CLUHpEOaRIg_KzlVVHgu3o4Ane5-l_MAB9FfQwfqAeQnYmkmp6cWoCgKhx_WMGBsvWuC4iBIGumfJJ5FY9iujLGuanRGKNS8GE4JkgH9kfpa/s1600/FtdLKpgbKq-6.png" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Here's a fun one: Gravity wells. What's a gravity well?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQIhgL14n4CGraQl3qE7hxtskRsCPHZQ4tGDBw8Gm2M_jfA9LIIqhwWT0YuATzVc8_lSMVhAAYBcTkZ1MhI59euOeprCO3WA_oOECZsj7YpL4ql2pQdFG-atwm1-jblovTraBY42u24bkM/s1600/dizzy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQIhgL14n4CGraQl3qE7hxtskRsCPHZQ4tGDBw8Gm2M_jfA9LIIqhwWT0YuATzVc8_lSMVhAAYBcTkZ1MhI59euOeprCO3WA_oOECZsj7YpL4ql2pQdFG-atwm1-jblovTraBY42u24bkM/s1600/dizzy.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
<br />
These are gravity wells. Little dips and spacial anomalies that trip up your feet, carry your forward progress to the nth degree, tip you sideways if you list even slightly in that direction. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX5c5ud_Csgr5bn_ePuCWjUsyrBa_Ako_X5rzPys-Mx5heQntTO3PyZxzwCEggIXOykpoMdnq4wIrf9bADMpi6nqqJehQDUbZzrC8hftJ6Ai1QfI7uwX8crxgAluR_sfxXFAuRQAMQr40H/s1600/gravity-well.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX5c5ud_Csgr5bn_ePuCWjUsyrBa_Ako_X5rzPys-Mx5heQntTO3PyZxzwCEggIXOykpoMdnq4wIrf9bADMpi6nqqJehQDUbZzrC8hftJ6Ai1QfI7uwX8crxgAluR_sfxXFAuRQAMQr40H/s1600/gravity-well.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOxd5BuiGrLlLT_Am5IXtKxFemUfLa50H-lIsLVl9oIs6VuWHqF61plriFw4GZZbT-AwJT8zKPLhUYl6a3wExRhtxGI1EsdRyrngfIQ9XWCcOzigtSmjDKWK_CTgOrqNwrGeQCdpWpnGy1/s1600/1908438vmf6j66oy3.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOxd5BuiGrLlLT_Am5IXtKxFemUfLa50H-lIsLVl9oIs6VuWHqF61plriFw4GZZbT-AwJT8zKPLhUYl6a3wExRhtxGI1EsdRyrngfIQ9XWCcOzigtSmjDKWK_CTgOrqNwrGeQCdpWpnGy1/s1600/1908438vmf6j66oy3.gif" /></a></div>
<h2>
They leave you sprawled on the floor in the thrall of the <span style="color: red;">WTF DIZZIES! OH GOD MAKE IT STOP!!!!!!!</span></h2>
<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;">It's time I defied gravity...</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkJaWDvRBo8_IeYAoS_D08LjWiwqT722Fj-rlBTRCOpRfO7W9ViXImQaEluU58wv47JM7HE_81LHmOB621AMoI9oOX7sZe2KDjopW-L9vYmnsIGBIoU8Ty-dLiOggsfCrh19pQtO-GUbvd/s1600/Alison%252BLuff_2013%252B%2528Photo%252Bby%252BJoan%252BMarcus%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkJaWDvRBo8_IeYAoS_D08LjWiwqT722Fj-rlBTRCOpRfO7W9ViXImQaEluU58wv47JM7HE_81LHmOB621AMoI9oOX7sZe2KDjopW-L9vYmnsIGBIoU8Ty-dLiOggsfCrh19pQtO-GUbvd/s1600/Alison%252BLuff_2013%252B%2528Photo%252Bby%252BJoan%252BMarcus%2529.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Of course you knew I'd go here. I'm in Broadway asshole mode. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> </span> </span><br />
I feel wicked spacey all of the time. The dizzies are one with my wah. Space, man. The final frontier. <br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkP0Ycag56MLXgu_a2nlAN70n-9AbsSUllYVmTPsfIcJtfssgl0-eF3rQuB0QwG1n3AVBkgJ7EYKIp_tPd7vJM1Bg4GjsQXzNrANXH6jEP0IOvsq3Z9_ABxrvpjKoPtyg8vqzZ_eIHHX_s/s1600/SpaceMonkey1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkP0Ycag56MLXgu_a2nlAN70n-9AbsSUllYVmTPsfIcJtfssgl0-eF3rQuB0QwG1n3AVBkgJ7EYKIp_tPd7vJM1Bg4GjsQXzNrANXH6jEP0IOvsq3Z9_ABxrvpjKoPtyg8vqzZ_eIHHX_s/s1600/SpaceMonkey1.jpg" height="320" width="306" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Hey! I'm just like Sandra Bullock now. Whatevs.<br />
<br />
And the mind numbing fatigue??? Oh. damn.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUmsf8UnvBcwmVnsRAQzgNitY5DL03qCHOxiKzPRl7m7Bm1fo-EFVrrRVycmDbc4Zgr_l551_cqSZz4-4qfT9Yv9PYEy7BskbaDIr43Nt-APoq7rjkvhWRAQP1d5TV2UknBkkFGQnkNoA/s1600/gorilla-wants-his-coffee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUmsf8UnvBcwmVnsRAQzgNitY5DL03qCHOxiKzPRl7m7Bm1fo-EFVrrRVycmDbc4Zgr_l551_cqSZz4-4qfT9Yv9PYEy7BskbaDIr43Nt-APoq7rjkvhWRAQP1d5TV2UknBkkFGQnkNoA/s1600/gorilla-wants-his-coffee.jpg" height="320" width="307" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
So I think I'm painting a clear picture -- my muscles are rebelling. That includes my eyeball muscles (you need to say it with a weird speech impediment -- MUSHULLLLSHHH)<br />
<br />
The left side of my face will just randomly start twitching, and then it goes numb. Here comes the fun part....my eye goes on a walk about. wah wah wah wahhhhhh....just gives up and points at the floor.<br />
I call it my Colin Hay eye. It's a wonky fucker. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtnATFZFQd3x8QxNHSbBX51yF5vRjIs5sIcfQwCrGueoN2HUPwHmKZxTludT8GFzxzN7PsB3cxzoc1iJb7lHppygWhX-CY-fjMxs0jpHUzHJjGurOHO8eu1ZzJZylD88HgF_QvSoNmGwrg/s1600/Colin-Hays-Eye-300x234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtnATFZFQd3x8QxNHSbBX51yF5vRjIs5sIcfQwCrGueoN2HUPwHmKZxTludT8GFzxzN7PsB3cxzoc1iJb7lHppygWhX-CY-fjMxs0jpHUzHJjGurOHO8eu1ZzJZylD88HgF_QvSoNmGwrg/s1600/Colin-Hays-Eye-300x234.jpg" height="312" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SEE???? Look at that wanderer!!!! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It goes back to normal after about twenty minutes, but I see four of everything while I'm waiting (pssssst...and I'm dizzy as feck).<br />
My right eye has retinal migraines. No pain. None. Just bizarre twisty colour shows for twenty minutes out of that eye.<br />
Lately, if I look at something even slightly bright, the edges have the rainbows. Other things are a bit bleary, but also with rainbows. <span style="color: red;"><u>All of the time</u></span>. <br />
<br />
And I'm wicked dizzy 24/7.<br />
<br />
AWESOME.<br />
My voice is gravelly. Sometimes it's an adventure swallowing. Sometimes I have this strange tremor so my head looks like a bobble head.<br />
<br />
Bounce. twitch. Shimmy.<br />
<br />
Looks like I'm constantly nodding yes when in fact inside my head I'm screaming no, no, NO!!!!! <br />
<br />
Don't get me started on the brain fog/word salad.<br />
I am slow. Sometimes I can't even do simple math -- that's humbling. Sometimes I'm quick as whip.<br />
The writing of this blog post occurred over a two day span. Lots of typo editing. Lots of bad grammar editing. LOTS of "WTF was I trying to say there?" editing.<br />
I mix up words very easily. I speak very slowly. Sometimes I slur my words.<br />
You get it. I'm slow. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3MaxSTMnArCn8b3Y8HUZhu2LebZUpRZIKhYrNa3vO9-RFjuqwGnNkK6TPE5YfrKUBDldmd_no7rL_oUIko7o1vFkHyiVQn3ZFQkp6RNvIj2f17AjTnIg6ftJ9AO7Pi0oKLVyzs8s1IZ3o/s1600/1326922768_Turtle-Monkey--31725.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3MaxSTMnArCn8b3Y8HUZhu2LebZUpRZIKhYrNa3vO9-RFjuqwGnNkK6TPE5YfrKUBDldmd_no7rL_oUIko7o1vFkHyiVQn3ZFQkp6RNvIj2f17AjTnIg6ftJ9AO7Pi0oKLVyzs8s1IZ3o/s1600/1326922768_Turtle-Monkey--31725.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Before all the eyeball BS started happening, one doc thought it might be fibromyalgia.<br />
Hmmm. Could be. <br />
I'm going to make some enemies now.<br />
I apologize. I want you to know that I do recognize that Fibro is a real syndrome with real issues and real sufferers. I do. Honestly I do.<br />
<br />
But *almost every person I know with fibro is such a fuc&#**@ Pus&*$$y about it.<br />
<br />
*almost. There are a few friends who have it but don't blame it for the hole in the ozone layer or the invasion of Ukraine.<br />
The others????? <br />
OH MY GOD!!!!!! Gah!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FUciu2zuwCRQyJPDvm_nzYBd7UB4Z3Wsb76tVdaUy3uyOOdu8MqZKuenoMqZKaCV1GEesudEhns55ShQHYBcUkpOdkkzpN_qD4YtDhWef-cDERKbm0iyygEymjbki9gKoeXb9JBAHO-5/s1600/6ad93-i-sure-hope-you-recover-from-your-illness-faster-t-ecard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FUciu2zuwCRQyJPDvm_nzYBd7UB4Z3Wsb76tVdaUy3uyOOdu8MqZKuenoMqZKaCV1GEesudEhns55ShQHYBcUkpOdkkzpN_qD4YtDhWef-cDERKbm0iyygEymjbki9gKoeXb9JBAHO-5/s1600/6ad93-i-sure-hope-you-recover-from-your-illness-faster-t-ecard.jpg" height="218" width="320" /></a></div>
And that's what I said to the doc. I laughed. He laughed. And then a few days later my eyeball stopped playing nice.<br />
Uh-oh. That took everything to a new level. The MS level. And transfer to a <u>new</u> MS specialist. <br />
I'm getting ahead of myself. Here's a catch up -- Hop in the way back machine:<br />
<br />
Five years ago I had an MRI because I was having some slightly similar issues (that went into remission when I got knocked up! Oh! Hey!).<br />
The scan showed two areas of lesions that were in the right area for MS. Dun, dun, dun, dunnnnnnnnnnnnnn.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdu_kE39zGQg1pUbapRojghlNbRvGmvAam0xI5jgNBrgaWL0GqL7vnM-nK4kszlMLNwlbrX2BxEQeCInZfOYZ7E_twBCBZxx27HK6JKYV2qx-OikquzwwNurKnPG7sdZQoOIWbZyEdvnzk/s1600/monkey2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdu_kE39zGQg1pUbapRojghlNbRvGmvAam0xI5jgNBrgaWL0GqL7vnM-nK4kszlMLNwlbrX2BxEQeCInZfOYZ7E_twBCBZxx27HK6JKYV2qx-OikquzwwNurKnPG7sdZQoOIWbZyEdvnzk/s1600/monkey2.jpg" height="306" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
YUP.<br />
My MRI was submitted to an MS clinic for review and just like a posh Ivy League College hoop jumping extravaganza, I was accepted! Oh goodie!<br />
There's that gallows humour to cover the butt pucker terrified. <br />
Symptoms weren't definitive then for a diagnosis of MS, but it was on the radar. They told me to keep an eye on things.<br />
Foreboding much????<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP1h8lJqK1U4m59SbysfG-pqet0AJYA6Jqk0iT_DwSyNdzP2-l5bmHUtY8gXHfOpY1-uLfjMbVEdS_mpzqMHdiySp-0dW82C3itUemkNWT9UIUVdZgtJUt-TXVWpXUZUowqj-a5d0z1ig8/s1600/medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP1h8lJqK1U4m59SbysfG-pqet0AJYA6Jqk0iT_DwSyNdzP2-l5bmHUtY8gXHfOpY1-uLfjMbVEdS_mpzqMHdiySp-0dW82C3itUemkNWT9UIUVdZgtJUt-TXVWpXUZUowqj-a5d0z1ig8/s1600/medium.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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<br />
NOW HOP OUT OF THE WAY BACK MACHINE.<br />
Welcome to 2014.<br />
(We now rejoin this blog in progress)<br />
<br />
So...when Wonkyfuck eyeball went south...MRI time. Again. <br />
I would have had to go through the whole review process again. Because I was in the middle of a current symptom storm/symptom cluster, I was accepted into a different MS clinic with a shorter waiting list. Instead of six months it was three. But they actually worked me in a month early.<br />
The doc is amazing. I love her. <br />
The good news is that the lesions have "NOT SIGNIFICANTLY GROWN" which is an excellent thing. The new neurologist said that that was good and that it made whatever was going on <i>most likely perhaps</i> not MS. Not definitive. Have to wait a year. There are certain cases of MS that do not have lesion growth but the patient does exhibit significant relapse/remission episodes.<br />
The doc did put that out there.<br />
<br />
That's a collective sigh of relief from the peanut gallery. It's been a very scary twelve weeks.<br />
<br />
Back to the Doc and her wisdom making. <br />
She said the brain leeeeeesssssiiioooonnnssss <u>could</u> be caused by (use science voice now) ACEPHALGIC MIGRAINES. Basically no-pain migraines that swell up the head noodle, electric storms, mimic TIA's and strokes, and can cause the crazy eyeball wander, face numbness/droop/aphasia/dizziness. Cool. Kind of.<br />
So that's what she's aiming at fixing. It's tangible. Mostly. <br />
She put me on an anti seizure medication. It's hard core and supposed to help with the brain stuff. Maybe. Hopefully.<br />
It hasn't yet.<br />
Side effects?<br />
Of course. Dizziness. yeah.<br />
<br />
I'm on other meds for pain and possible Fibro. They've done fuck all.<br />
Because pain??? Oh yes. It's there. A lot. <br />
<br />
No definitive reason for the muscle shite yet. Well there is, but MS has been tabled until next year.<br />
<br />
As of this week, my left side is on twitch/spasm patrol. The head bobble <u>had</u> mellowed a bit, but it's back with a vengeance. My hands shake like I'm mainlining triple espressos. GRAVITY WELLS!!!!!!<br />
When I have to interact with folks I keep the time to a minimum. I can maintain for about 15 minutes. After that.......oooof. I'm the poster child of drain bamage. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimcUtx5zkyAHNgHHuOcK0Jlumcq1qZTFqFdNSD9y5qHr8FRCqrYeLzKBJ2lmW3hvdO3A2yYbPLBeuN2xBieV5RNGtdeHB2O6iFxDSxuO7BDaakWoXtkdUtfLsh6CdHd1gb8hOXalaXyeos/s1600/dropr_fhTPYtSZJPTKlAWx3boIxWjnWK0ehdY3_r1_920x1840.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimcUtx5zkyAHNgHHuOcK0Jlumcq1qZTFqFdNSD9y5qHr8FRCqrYeLzKBJ2lmW3hvdO3A2yYbPLBeuN2xBieV5RNGtdeHB2O6iFxDSxuO7BDaakWoXtkdUtfLsh6CdHd1gb8hOXalaXyeos/s1600/dropr_fhTPYtSZJPTKlAWx3boIxWjnWK0ehdY3_r1_920x1840.jpg" height="320" width="309" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">see? Another funny, distracting monkey pic. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
The longer this goes, the more I think it is MS and I'm just wasting time with other meds. At least the lesions aren't progressing. That's something.<br />
I'm not a doctor. I just play one on TV. <br />
<br />
Who knows. I do know that I'm scared. I'm scared for my kids. The last thing I want is for them to have a sick/twitching/addle-brained mom. As it stands I try and hide as much of the major episodes from them as I can.<br />
Needless to say I've been kind of a shut in. I don't want to talk about this and explain this. Fuck that.<br />
It's
been hard on darling hubby. Yup. He's a bundle of stress. I feel so
bad. But he's been my rock. The kids know something is going on...eldest
sproggling is starting to stress. Damn it. <br />
We don't have family
close, either. His mom lives back east. His dad in TPRT. My family is
gone, gone, gone, baby, oh-so-gone to the great hereafter. My chosen
family is close, but brother's got a heaping pile of universe eff
uuuuuuu on his plate. Shout out to SIL. Hugs, babe. You're strong. But
bro, I'm here for you. Hugs and love and smooshes. Wonder Twin link
bingo. Don't channel my twitches anymore!!!!!<br />
<br />
I've got FB peeps...but they live elsewhere.<br />
I
sound pathetic. And I suppose I'm lashing out at the universe. One
friend said, "I know you. You can't hide shit from me. What's going on?"
ha. Sermon received, Preacher Dick. <br />
<br />
I hang out in my
deck office, not-smoking smoking (shhhhhh....I'm quitting), mulling
over the scary shit going on in my body and not writing/creating/doing
what I'm supposed to be doing. I just can't right now.<br />
<br />
So yeah. I'm gonna share with you....my random monkey pic seekers. We're havin' ourselves a LION KING moment. <br />
Can you feel the love tonight???<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwJDCqouFQ23vViG2tSzlpQJmkEqp_yweSnmibS95_m97DvrfwKVe-uG43xhbwy_uP1rTYVok81nE501_P3I4_tE497YncagDV7b8uehCcBUMxh5a5SSsP7GZJ47SBAPYoDxu2GxrlYW80/s1600/10150648_10201255028608711_2244404291666530046_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwJDCqouFQ23vViG2tSzlpQJmkEqp_yweSnmibS95_m97DvrfwKVe-uG43xhbwy_uP1rTYVok81nE501_P3I4_tE497YncagDV7b8uehCcBUMxh5a5SSsP7GZJ47SBAPYoDxu2GxrlYW80/s1600/10150648_10201255028608711_2244404291666530046_n.jpg" height="320" width="216" /></a></div>
Me, too.<br />
<br />
I'm tired. I'm tired of hurting. And between you and me, oh wonderful random stranger, I'm kind of sad that hubs and I are going through this alone. I've always been tough. I had to depend on only myself growing up, so I got used to being alone, being the outsider, not having a lot of friends. But he needs someone right now that he can vent to.<br />
I have told a few people. It's amazing how friends that you make on the internet can become such a big, important, valued part of your life. But I don't talk about this that much. Everyone has their own stress.<br />
Locally I've told a few folks. But really, what can anyone do? I'm not touchy-feely. I told one person, who I thought was a dear friend when she asked what was going on, and I also told her I'm not making a big deal out of it. I'm not. I'm a private person (except for this blog...but you are all wonderful strangers!). <br />
But this shit is scary.<br />
That friend turned out out to be, well...not a friend.<br />
In fact the folks who I had considered close friends for the last few years, and our other friends for over sixteen years turned out to be total wankers. It was apparently inconvenient to be friends with a sick person. It didn't fit their lifestyle. I learned a very valuable lesson: Friends aren't supposed to make you feel bad. <br />
So I simply shut down and circled the wagons. It's easier than constantly filling out a butthurt report form.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq41v8EiFnqIQVSzqYX2KRpxpqnTeJD7N8BitbjpKi8QXiGXwVRnV9u26YIA0nmTmNNix6XISw4M4S_kWc6Z7R5jzu4XCGKFoBaP8DPCNVmOQztrP6xJL0D-7rZSfPhE8zpnc3dIdNw1g9/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq41v8EiFnqIQVSzqYX2KRpxpqnTeJD7N8BitbjpKi8QXiGXwVRnV9u26YIA0nmTmNNix6XISw4M4S_kWc6Z7R5jzu4XCGKFoBaP8DPCNVmOQztrP6xJL0D-7rZSfPhE8zpnc3dIdNw1g9/s1600/1.jpg" height="320" width="256" /></a></div>
<br />
Oh well. If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, we'd all have good christmas now wouldn't we.<br />
Fuck it. <br />
<br />
So...yeah. There it is. That's why I haven't blogged and supplied you with new pics.<br />
<br />
Here: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2FNPo0ZCpbYxyYPCW_IynkM5AmBVa-yKPTJ5dOK3zcTS5u7RIh5ywnT14nw82hM-e5DhuqhyNsxt3JN1yKos_tcJ3b1KOZGOJOQicI2lFsOevPHfOmEsNELSmqvKX19hH4u2GTJW_RVT/s1600/funny-monkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2FNPo0ZCpbYxyYPCW_IynkM5AmBVa-yKPTJ5dOK3zcTS5u7RIh5ywnT14nw82hM-e5DhuqhyNsxt3JN1yKos_tcJ3b1KOZGOJOQicI2lFsOevPHfOmEsNELSmqvKX19hH4u2GTJW_RVT/s1600/funny-monkey.jpg" height="254" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm not complaining and this is the last you'll hear about what's going on in twitching monkey land. I'm not going to whine about the hole in the ozone layer, the invasion of Ukraine, or speak again about brain lesions. Well...unless brain lesions are in a horror story context.<br />
Not in my brain. In something else's brain. <br />
<br />
Peace out.<br />
The next post will be funnier. I'll write it hopped up on one of my pain meds.<br />
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Stay sideways.<br />
Foinah<br />
<br />
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There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-88013759506511113492013-07-11T11:51:00.000-07:002015-06-27T21:38:56.056-07:00Larry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6tUfK5lqPPedx_WizPL03vDWWkuufFmH3LE_JzkslJjsFknmNfFEnHqtDJonJc0ZF13vG7z74KCr7lt8qXYl9T8_ERCGSxZ1uxLOWSHECMn5hzb0xnTpCuQvs-4RpBHtRZrbTFYw_p3sc/s1600/images-700000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6tUfK5lqPPedx_WizPL03vDWWkuufFmH3LE_JzkslJjsFknmNfFEnHqtDJonJc0ZF13vG7z74KCr7lt8qXYl9T8_ERCGSxZ1uxLOWSHECMn5hzb0xnTpCuQvs-4RpBHtRZrbTFYw_p3sc/s400/images-700000.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Death. It's such a final word. The end. No more. Game's up, no more time outs or do-overs. Inertia undone.</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Hmmmm.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The law of inertia states that it is the tendency of an object to resist
a change in motion. Newton's first law of motion: an object not subject to any net external force moves at a constant
velocity. Thus an object will continue moving at its current velocity until some force causes its speed or direction to change. Gravity, friction, contact, or some other source. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Death? Bingo.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But perhaps death is just another form of inertia. It has a constant velocity. Once something is dead...it's dead.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Unless it's a zombie.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDPJvSL1aYHg3zwjYTm8EvbgbdTN56bsFWxN5tFGrEVSgj6w_jmCYgyxsmIxXFxZKWs-p_E2R-Vf0XXK4PUrzFQCLhUuQnEw4fjg0C_ySAeLba5Kd-XI4lBdK-6efUWtN0INWDI7w9fkr8/s1600/206666_15878454_lz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDPJvSL1aYHg3zwjYTm8EvbgbdTN56bsFWxN5tFGrEVSgj6w_jmCYgyxsmIxXFxZKWs-p_E2R-Vf0XXK4PUrzFQCLhUuQnEw4fjg0C_ySAeLba5Kd-XI4lBdK-6efUWtN0INWDI7w9fkr8/s320/206666_15878454_lz.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span id="goog_14018193"></span><span id="goog_14018194"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But I digress.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Death as an object. An obstacle. It's an obstacle of life, certainly, with its own character and meaning. A vehicle to what lies beyond the physical state -- a blueshift of consciousness towards the hereafter, a red shift of life to un-life. Matter and energy.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Entropy. </span></span><br />
<br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Energy cannot be created or destroyed, but it can be saved in various forms. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In all
energy exchanges, if no energy enters or leaves the system, the
potential energy of the state will always be less than that of the
initial state. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Uh-oh...Thermodynamics, and I'm not sure I want to open that can of worms. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Yeah. I'm using that damned physics degree to get all metaphysical and whatevs. Money well spent, eh?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'd like to talk about Larry. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Who is Larry? </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Both of us. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It's complicated, but that's our name. A title bestowed upon both of us during a warm summer day and a drunken quest to find our guru. We found the guru, a tiki bar owner suitable as a stand-in, but realized that we (Larry and I, Larryx2) each were a guru to the other. We were Larry. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Who was my Larry? </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My friend. My brother (chosen family). Part of my heart. He is (technically was) my best friend. He knew what I was thinking from just the look on my face. He knew when I was sad, he knew when I was feeling evil and rallied to help me purge the wicked -- a great provider of alibis and assistance. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">A musical sounding board. A brilliant musician and purveyor of all things awesome. He was there when I met my husband. He approved...mostly. Me falling in love meant that the inseparable Larry Duo of Legend would change. But he loved my DH because I loved my DH, and because Darling Hubby is awesome. He'd have to be. And he is. So Larry loved him as much as I did.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And yes, as you've probably surmised from the first part of this blog, my Larry died.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Suddenly. Unexpectedly. He had his very own singularity. His aorta went super nova and now I'm dwelling in the event horizon of the burgeoning black hole of loss. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Deep, eh?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I don't do death well. Nope. Not at all. Shite, who does? Dying people do. But they kind of don't have a say in it really. They just clock in to the new job, heads down, backs bent, and head on in. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Gallows humour is my constant sidekick. My comfort zone. Unfortunately I've been living in that comfort zone a little too much lately -- my sister, then my mom...now my beloved Larry. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But please don't stop reading. This isn't a sad blog. I won't EMO you away from your day. (hhhmmm...that rhymed) </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But it's my humour that keeps me moving. Keeps me upright when all I want to do is collapse in a bundle of tears and loss and sadness.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Damn it...I wandered again. This post is about Larry and saying goodbye. I'm still working on that. In HE MAN world they never say goodbye, they say GOOD JOURNEY.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3a0NnCmod0ZZ70MvTXr0WOLdV-pYiF3LX4-k-XLWrQLoDsW6h23nOVVAsf46dK17x7Hm9vcquO-md7YbL4Vz4Nldj1KjVCho8rVHV-Jm6QoFfQpiw_6C8_JOOPGFF5H001ofJpXp0FI3a/s1600/images-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3a0NnCmod0ZZ70MvTXr0WOLdV-pYiF3LX4-k-XLWrQLoDsW6h23nOVVAsf46dK17x7Hm9vcquO-md7YbL4Vz4Nldj1KjVCho8rVHV-Jm6QoFfQpiw_6C8_JOOPGFF5H001ofJpXp0FI3a/s400/images-5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">yeah, baby. Track 5.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Where the feck did that come from? </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I got the call that Larry had suffered an aortic aneurysm and that he was in surgery. But I knew...too much damned edjumacayshun for my own good...that he was gone. I steadied myself for what was coming. Others begged and pleaded with the universe, buoyed themselves with hope, and I just sat quietly knowing what was coming. I hated myself for that. I wished that I could be the friend who was optimistic. The one who had faith. In truth I was numb. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It wasn't fair. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In three weeks he was coming home to me here, leaving Georgia behind to start a new life. I had his one way ticket. It was a done deal. This wasn't supposed to happen. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Memorial tattoo. Twelve hours after he died.</span></span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN9s1SsGdy4OkSduBa7lKsQs55gp9xMS-D1h94sPxkg7TKBgO2DSUsL0-OC-wx9s9dbanH8StluON85HjtnZBJJZUvRCiw5sfZx6BfgvUTEZW9tuEZIU7aiTOH_eEizQsLCt1899dDkByT/s1600/934622_10152402691682699_1084614017_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN9s1SsGdy4OkSduBa7lKsQs55gp9xMS-D1h94sPxkg7TKBgO2DSUsL0-OC-wx9s9dbanH8StluON85HjtnZBJJZUvRCiw5sfZx6BfgvUTEZW9tuEZIU7aiTOH_eEizQsLCt1899dDkByT/s320/934622_10152402691682699_1084614017_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It was a quick funeral. He died on a Saturday and was to be buried on a Tuesday. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Gallows slip: I commented that things don't keep in the heat of the summer in the south. Too soon? Probably. But Larry would have laughed. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I made the journey alone to his funeral. I had to. It wasn't a journey for my children to take even though they loved Uncle Larry. And DH's heart was breaking for Larry loss as well. But he stayed with the wee babes so I could make the good journey. Not a goodbye, but a good journey.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I kept updating my FB page...just to feel connected:</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;">So far an interesting day: wasn't paying attention and sat down next to a Little Person and asked for a light. Be proud of me. I didn't scream. And then
I chipped a tooth trying to close my purse zipper with my teeth.
Lovely. Larry...this is how much I love you going through all this for
you.<span class="userContentSecondary fcg"> — at <a data-ft="{"tn":"P"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=139498649455347&extragetparams=%7B%22directed_target_id%22%3Anull%2C%22viewer_id%22%3A559482698%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Portland-International-Airport/139498649455347?ref=stream&viewer_id=559482698" id="js_137">Portland International Airport</a>.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><span class="userContentSecondary fcg"><span style="color: black;">In my grief, I was distracted. I can't believe it. The horror, the horror. And she kept chatting at me as I sat there, unable to move. I'm a terrible person.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><span class="userContentSecondary fcg"><span style="color: black;"> </span> </span><br /><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">So I'm in the hotel in Atlanta. Oh boy.<br /> The one prerequisite I gave the agent was NO HAIR IN THE BATHTUB.<br /> She assured me this was a newer hotel and clean.<br /> Checked in. <br /> Oh my.<br /> The fabulous desk clerk is a ray of sunshine. Just a doll. Needs to move to Portland, though.<br /> The hotel? Oh dear.<br />
Two hairs in the bathtub and I'm afraid to look under the bed. And I
think the ice machine moved when I walked by...I know it growled.<br /> I've become such a spoiled, pampered princess. <br /> whimper</span></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">This place was disgusting. Dirt caked everywhere, a strange dripping noise coming from my closet, and odd smudged fingerprints on the door jambs and light covers. Made me think it was recent crime scene. I slept in my clothes on top of the covers, with a towel on the pillow case to avoid head lice. Yeah...it was that bad. The night clerk was a preop male to female -- she was beautiful, but had a deep masculine voice. Made me instantly homesick for Portland. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><br /><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Good morning.<br />
In the light of day this hotel has a different face. Still slightly
grubby and worn, but not as horror inducing as in the wee hours of the
morning. The staff are kind and warm, and the sun is shining.<br /> Today is going to be very difficult, so it's the accumulation of the little kindnesses that will help me get through the day.<br />
It's a two hour, twenty-one minute drive to Tennille. I'm dreading
every second of it because with each passing mile and each passing
second I come closer to saying goodbye. <br /> Trips like this serve more
purpose than just closure -- self reflection and prioritization of the
important things. That's the crux. Life is for the living.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">The staff helped me get ready for the funeral. Every terror from the night before disappeared with the kindnesses offered. Hugs from perfect strangers go a long way to reviving a fire in your heart.</span></span><br />
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<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">When I was driving through rural Georgia I had a few oooooh moments where I recognized scenery from The Walking Dead. Disconcerting to say the least. <br />
I was quite sure I was going to run into Rick or Michonne at any moment
and worried how much of a damage deposit I'd have to pay on the rental
car if I rammed a zombie. <br /> Deep thoughts. You can imagine what was going through my head at the cemetery. </span></span></span><br />
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<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">My poor Larry is lying in a box and all I can think is, "Please don't wake up...don't make me shoot you in the brain."</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Not one of my finer moments. </span></span></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">But I probably wouldn't shoot him in the brain. It would suck to lose him twice.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Through this trip</span><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"> I got closure. Mostly. I recently told a friend that there is no time limit on grief. I should listen to my own advice. I'm still hurting. I'm still raw in places. My heart has a hard time beating sometimes. Motivation is idle. But I need to get moving again. I have to. Life is for the living. </span></span></span><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><br /></span></span></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">That's life. And death. Inertia and entropy. Thermodynamics and religious gobbledygook. </span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyAOwV5Pls_gT6eYo-WbJ4vsz-dVG2sj_gGg2mQbdqr_Do6uCAtdTnCAyHrlasFDOyQDRsL5k8YKCzQx6DiPFSWXFU4zZEqxQrIU3Ht_gJcMDne_i5ihMSoReZu2v_XWtvMJEwJlvCw0fE/s1600/-The-Universe-Journey-Fresh-New-Hd-Wallpaper--.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyAOwV5Pls_gT6eYo-WbJ4vsz-dVG2sj_gGg2mQbdqr_Do6uCAtdTnCAyHrlasFDOyQDRsL5k8YKCzQx6DiPFSWXFU4zZEqxQrIU3Ht_gJcMDne_i5ihMSoReZu2v_XWtvMJEwJlvCw0fE/s320/-The-Universe-Journey-Fresh-New-Hd-Wallpaper--.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><br /></span></span></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Jason McNally Smith, my beautiful Larry, I love you. I've got to start being me again, though. </span></span></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Save a seat for me in Valhalla. It will be a while, but I'll get there eventually.</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQCGOAy7DYAQRnb-u3vxHCCpubmSEmh0iWZnng54z7AQ9OEpLME2SbabrrZqQWSFh7beLbh63HJvkpQ_HSqGsKw6XsQpSaVKuIEeLdFeQqVEhJVbIYpJpKvkX2IDN_IfP15AH8554KGi8K/s1600/977069_10152401347787699_398591004_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQCGOAy7DYAQRnb-u3vxHCCpubmSEmh0iWZnng54z7AQ9OEpLME2SbabrrZqQWSFh7beLbh63HJvkpQ_HSqGsKw6XsQpSaVKuIEeLdFeQqVEhJVbIYpJpKvkX2IDN_IfP15AH8554KGi8K/s320/977069_10152401347787699_398591004_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
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There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-58442964808399932792013-07-09T00:36:00.000-07:002013-07-09T10:38:13.820-07:00<br />
Today was a refresher course on parental sleep deprivation. Therefore I am not bringing my "A" game to this post....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioyq6i0SpuCIezk5E9X9-lZaXnKh3Zsq5hI6N98VJZWmeCQqKIuHbIpmI0eFirjkGlbQMn28GP0y9cGF-WxZIXrLXCsLxXAIT7ICj2ZrFaEITzi0UfuiYVtyaNtArL74Z9j8jACSy66A3U/s1600/blogging_monkeys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioyq6i0SpuCIezk5E9X9-lZaXnKh3Zsq5hI6N98VJZWmeCQqKIuHbIpmI0eFirjkGlbQMn28GP0y9cGF-WxZIXrLXCsLxXAIT7ICj2ZrFaEITzi0UfuiYVtyaNtArL74Z9j8jACSy66A3U/s320/blogging_monkeys.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I'm in a bit of a time crunch because of my self-imposed writing deadline of July 10 for Ariana Burns. What the bloody hell was I thinking? Hmmm? Huh? I let my procrastinator's guilt do the typing when I made that pledge. Remember: I'm not a writer, I'm a mommy who plays a writer on TV. <br />
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I didn't sleep well on Saturday night because of the child sprawl in the bed. You've seen the memes. If not, look upon the madness!<br />
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<a data-ved="0CAUQjRw" href="http://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&docid=okz9hGFSNywItM&tbnid=0RKXFyUDdcYXwM:&ved=0CAUQjRw&url=http%3A%2F%2Fmommylife.net%2Farchives%2F2012%2F01%2Fco-sleeping_car.html&ei=Hq7bUYG_LsSiiQLPp4DwBA&bvm=bv.48705608,d.cGE&psig=AFQjCNFc5ERniw5-aXoX0YTOQ690Du1vGQ&ust=1373437836005390" id="irc_mil" style="border: 0px none; clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img height="284" id="irc_mi" src="http://mommylife.net/archives/2012/01/19/cosleeping.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="320" /></a> We have myself, then Luna (3.5), then Solas (8), and then my darling hubby. That's four attempted sleepers in a deluxe hippie monkey bed -- A magnificent California king with an added twin extra long. <br />
Solas has her own room...her own bed...and her own plan on sleepy time domination. This attachment parenting is %^%%&^&$%#*((*&.<br />
I mean it's <i>great</i>. <br />
<br />
Plus, we've hit a milestone, folks. Youngest monkette is now AFRAID OF THE DARK.<br />
Even though my house is lit up rather like an airfield because of the millionty-fifty night lights (dream lights x 2, an overhead on low dim in the reading nook, the bathroom light, the AC green light, the clock radio, and of course the MOTHER SHIP) already blazing, <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtj7MV7ByDRNlXpmjNdvhsIpQU6LkRpeJIRoEU3XvoAtF7Q4vgFAh7YO0O1dC_zWlEDaj41jt3ZKePVsWA4GtuBYyVja-T1ivuDL31SgdLObL9QojoZ0qhEZiGdAkP6c3sKTeLsOjYHgm8/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtj7MV7ByDRNlXpmjNdvhsIpQU6LkRpeJIRoEU3XvoAtF7Q4vgFAh7YO0O1dC_zWlEDaj41jt3ZKePVsWA4GtuBYyVja-T1ivuDL31SgdLObL9QojoZ0qhEZiGdAkP6c3sKTeLsOjYHgm8/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />
my little Luna will not, I REPEAT <span style="font-size: large;"><b>WILL NOT</b></span>, cooperate and close her eyes for sleepy-time-night-night. So last night after 45 minutes of cajoling, begging, threatening, repeated spotlight searches and reassurances that the room was monster free (<span style="color: blue;">which is rather hard for me because I am a horror writer! I always want to quiz her: what kind of monster do you think it is? Hmmm?</span>), she finally passed out.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPuz3zK1Wyu56VFjc9PVLulmwWpbJYG9y2zb3jBjKwoU8gR0COWi11gDgvcP5h8vm2FBt18ZNSE9Z0E3xD1nj55dDD-ZKfczxxCvTJ9WP8dCyGqpP2briOmh-cKxqhOfARnYCU79a0U5Id/s1600/images-15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPuz3zK1Wyu56VFjc9PVLulmwWpbJYG9y2zb3jBjKwoU8gR0COWi11gDgvcP5h8vm2FBt18ZNSE9Z0E3xD1nj55dDD-ZKfczxxCvTJ9WP8dCyGqpP2briOmh-cKxqhOfARnYCU79a0U5Id/s1600/images-15.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">ummm, could you please go back into the closet until Luna goes to sleep? Your bones are rattling too much underneath the bed. And stop playing nick-nack-paddy-wack/take-five on your ribs. It's disconcerting.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That's when I made a break for it. I stayed up until 3:30 am, madly typing away, out on the back deck. Yay for me!!!!<br />
Okay. I'll come clean. I also watched Drop Dead Diva. Don't judge me. I like that show. I also watched Dexter. And then a documentary on Monty Python. But I did also write!<br />
<br />
I decided it was time for bed and made the trek up to the confines of our airfield ablaze bedroom only to find that Luna had crossed the bed and had my darling hubby pinned against the wall.<br />
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Dilemma time. Should I wake him? Or skulk into bed and revel in the space and freedom of my side?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhor3zDI0AV33P6eaqRAVySv_6UHZGr8PHbE2z7HfEZw3YrJx1H4UyrfRenR3RlAfk_605m1rqUQiZTE9ppBN304DaEpo-_yf30G-BvxlbMe74Wu4iEC7xF9v8eA51hyiVvLgdRTo0T0Wax/s1600/monkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhor3zDI0AV33P6eaqRAVySv_6UHZGr8PHbE2z7HfEZw3YrJx1H4UyrfRenR3RlAfk_605m1rqUQiZTE9ppBN304DaEpo-_yf30G-BvxlbMe74Wu4iEC7xF9v8eA51hyiVvLgdRTo0T0Wax/s320/monkey.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
I'm a bad person. I just got into bed. cackle™ I knew Monday would be an evil bitch, and I knew I needed sleep. Desperate times, my friends. <br />
But DH woke up and proceeded to sigh and fidget and make all kinds of uncomfortable/why-is-this-happening-to-me?/someone-help-me! noises, through which I couldn't sleep!!!! Sheesh. Argh! COME ON!!!!! At 4:15 he got out of bed and went downstairs. Ha!<br />
Oops. I mean: Sorry, babe.<br />
But I passed out within seconds.<br />
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Now because it's summer vacay, the kids have started sleeping in. GLORIOUS! I counted on that to save my bacon and let me get at least five hours of sleep.<br />
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Did that happen? DID IT?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-fUtSGAaj0zbuLCTJjdBp9Y4bDH8Pp8fPJnOE58GkOxvedgqSr9abDmp9rgFo1sk78TP86vWlYR5h4upSSZJZCtI-fUX_tr9SlYlbaSa1lRb7n4B3srS9LQA9H_yQvdzzRjOsM2R9CPP/s1600/SadMOnkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-fUtSGAaj0zbuLCTJjdBp9Y4bDH8Pp8fPJnOE58GkOxvedgqSr9abDmp9rgFo1sk78TP86vWlYR5h4upSSZJZCtI-fUX_tr9SlYlbaSa1lRb7n4B3srS9LQA9H_yQvdzzRjOsM2R9CPP/s320/SadMOnkey.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sad monkey. Look at those tears. This photo was Kevi's idea. Thanks, Kevi.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">OF COURSE NOT.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfBHYgoIrnxLWjN1hLrSYsBLu6OV5sslTEwQ7O0lhizggPinJ__Dq8ir_MP2ZZnBc1iIvbm7NgK8pCKKxt6T6xRr02IK6RS_0XR-_SCdkNBXfI8SaAOAaNnRPKhkjHQg3fF56JJVWGBjVW/s1600/images-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfBHYgoIrnxLWjN1hLrSYsBLu6OV5sslTEwQ7O0lhizggPinJ__Dq8ir_MP2ZZnBc1iIvbm7NgK8pCKKxt6T6xRr02IK6RS_0XR-_SCdkNBXfI8SaAOAaNnRPKhkjHQg3fF56JJVWGBjVW/s320/images-4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Luna woke up at 6:15. Six. Fifteen. AND WOULD NOT GO BACK TO SLEEP!!!!!!!!<br />
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But that's what happens when I write. The second I get the bug, a little ripple starts in the aether, the universe cackles madly, and then sets out with the crazy making waves!!!!<br />
<br />
I used this analogy today:<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0].[4:0:0]">The
universe seems to do this when I take a dip in the writing pool. The
universe steals my clothes, throws my shoes in the water, and makes sure
everyone comes to watch me stroll down the street with a tree branch
shielding my naughty bits in the front and a bin lid over me arse as I
make my way home.</span></span></span></i></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0].[4:0:0]"><span style="font-size: small;">Today was not a good day. Nope. Not at all. It's days like this that earn your stripes in the battle. It's also days like this where you sit and question every parenting moment you have. Was I a good parent today? Well, the kids got fed. Yes! Powdered donuts and Gatorade count. And so do popsicles. And chocolate milk. And sun chips. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0].[4:0:0]"><span style="font-size: small;">And I had coffee. So much coffee. That's probably why now, cruising on only two hours sleep, I'm up writing this fecking blog. I tried to sleep. I really did. Luna even pulled the same routine as the last two nights! But she was so tired she passed out! </span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0].[4:0:0]"><span style="font-size: small;">I dozed. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0].[4:0:0]"><span style="font-size: small;">But then Solas started fidgeting. I may have to apologize to her in the morning (today). I was less-than-kind. But then she passed out.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0].[4:0:0]"><span style="font-size: small;">And then Darling Hubby, my soul mate, the LOVE OF MY LIFE, started snoring. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0].[4:0:0]"><span style="font-size: small;">Yes, honey. I'm outing you. But really only monkey pic seekers, Russian bloggers, and friends who already know that you snore read this blog. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnbY0FQSun2mXI2Y0kmqZRecJvgqzFEV3MCztX0jrE-a8GP6-7tCbxXcgO7_0WvmVo0B2pOZ_btLIdY5eFrOSkSbtPh7DG9-eHEd7wgug8SY3g4oyr2VGJp4ziKIIZWmGBQqK3qbZhNvbn/s1600/images000000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnbY0FQSun2mXI2Y0kmqZRecJvgqzFEV3MCztX0jrE-a8GP6-7tCbxXcgO7_0WvmVo0B2pOZ_btLIdY5eFrOSkSbtPh7DG9-eHEd7wgug8SY3g4oyr2VGJp4ziKIIZWmGBQqK3qbZhNvbn/s1600/images000000.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0].[4:0:0]"><span style="font-size: small;">So here I am. Back in the car again. Yay me. In this exhaustion twilight I'm doing a little introspection, self-analysis, coffee stain rorschach. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPuuCcJAGIroeXZlN-0UFmn2ndry5OILY7pBLRGPX0Dan90qxqdz8enV5Ken5jsjMTVRz9NWPDAr5O8QppsTJpOpQ0eBLDQMpu3KxCeBV6EA_rDYqFONtsv2v3OJDILp6N9bsA1D8Pspi_/s1600/images-100000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPuuCcJAGIroeXZlN-0UFmn2ndry5OILY7pBLRGPX0Dan90qxqdz8enV5Ken5jsjMTVRz9NWPDAr5O8QppsTJpOpQ0eBLDQMpu3KxCeBV6EA_rDYqFONtsv2v3OJDILp6N9bsA1D8Pspi_/s1600/images-100000.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0].[4:0:0]"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span><b><i><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4baa3].[2]{comment10152473390082699_322983180}.[2:0].[5:0:right].[4:1].[5:0:left].[2:1].[2:0].[2:0:2].[3:0].[4:0:0]"> </span></span></span></i></b></span><br />
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It has been pointed out, on one more than one occasion, that I am quite sarcastic.<br />
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<b><i>Really? </i></b><br />
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Hmmmmmmm. </div>
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I dispense nuggets of witty, gallows observations, general amusing bitchery, and tids and tads of snark without even a second thought.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7T0H-KzseytKS3h5vuYdn-0mXOcLKvkVzH-oTxl9iibU6foW0dZ8tpvt1bA08YUAP71exyg9eYgm-7Y1vTR2BWxTYt1_cc74KL6XM_fCaxvtWo0Cc2lIebgfvSwNugLMYgh-Tg5-6Ea0S/s1600/images-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7T0H-KzseytKS3h5vuYdn-0mXOcLKvkVzH-oTxl9iibU6foW0dZ8tpvt1bA08YUAP71exyg9eYgm-7Y1vTR2BWxTYt1_cc74KL6XM_fCaxvtWo0Cc2lIebgfvSwNugLMYgh-Tg5-6Ea0S/s1600/images-3.jpg" /></a></div>
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Personally I find that my particular brand of sunshine and kisses is the pot of gold, balm-for-the-soul at the bottom of the lucky charms rainbow. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmWEyu2lcBhWJPweDpOFavb-DVLXOGOJmKtXHbY8S3iPPaIVcYAzaQWkoFjxJkwkjJsNvXeTWdOpmVC4g8FpS4Xgj457TSHYC3Vl6iX7XlHZ6E2AqL91_jtACMToT0_RZCr5g99iV4hO7A/s1600/images-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmWEyu2lcBhWJPweDpOFavb-DVLXOGOJmKtXHbY8S3iPPaIVcYAzaQWkoFjxJkwkjJsNvXeTWdOpmVC4g8FpS4Xgj457TSHYC3Vl6iX7XlHZ6E2AqL91_jtACMToT0_RZCr5g99iV4hO7A/s1600/images-2.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisqO5uVIRpw-F9hRG7txmkmq02KrMrk_JywddCVe6qKD8voNBmNFPMbRKVpxjikkw3TryhN6ShI8y9FBdGn6lIri_SVdGrowMhnfUd_hlgEt6w0ht4lE_NgjXWcpqSCS2TDf2NqJm6XUQH/s1600/images-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisqO5uVIRpw-F9hRG7txmkmq02KrMrk_JywddCVe6qKD8voNBmNFPMbRKVpxjikkw3TryhN6ShI8y9FBdGn6lIri_SVdGrowMhnfUd_hlgEt6w0ht4lE_NgjXWcpqSCS2TDf2NqJm6XUQH/s320/images-1.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Maybe it's just for the chorus of weirdos residing inside my head. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOrARHCj-Ds_GtM9nClvjTJFZaPh1ymKT7H1Om4EuILCnYxlUyjrb4XIJW17Dj0Gruu3zdlEW42gG6ziugzori3XJF9ORrkVAxQx9VGCK6BZBqedOyuAZwC9BVWSfKCRMDpQ9VdOwLIqXo/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOrARHCj-Ds_GtM9nClvjTJFZaPh1ymKT7H1Om4EuILCnYxlUyjrb4XIJW17Dj0Gruu3zdlEW42gG6ziugzori3XJF9ORrkVAxQx9VGCK6BZBqedOyuAZwC9BVWSfKCRMDpQ9VdOwLIqXo/s400/images.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Classy.</div>
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Is it my fault that there are sooooo many golden opportunities presented by life in general to make my observations? I'm tired. I'm a mom. I have no filter. </div>
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To the woman in the queue at the supermarket who wasn't amused by my comment about the correlation between soy milk consumption, naturally occurring estrogen, and moustached women -- You shouldn't have put that face waxing kit next to your soy milk and then glared at my pile of meat products and filthy children in my cart.</div>
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To the toque wearing, Life-Aquatic-Steve-Zissou-wannabe, recycling logo t-shirt-clad hispter-D-bag who tripped on the curb while flicking your cigarette butt into the gutter -- yeah...I got nothin'. Yes, I did laugh at you. Laughed and even rolled down the window so you could hear. You just had yerself an irony moment there. </div>
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If only folks knew how often I BITE MY TONGUE. Perhaps I just suffer from Bitchy resting face. </div>
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3v98CPXNiSk" target="_blank">Join this cause!</a></div>
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(That's a link! A link! A LINK! Go there, Now! Click the link!) le sigh. </div>
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But at least I'm writing again.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCvmM33zJbbTayr2dSby685rfVcE2lJeYy46Kj7V8DY8rLRQ5pROrC0fsOIWWppsBlxugXPkf98ShQ6Mcxphz40sCskU618jzqkEA9yEDyKEe4CeugVat9o2gbLVFYp317KFUkUvAR37K/s1600/images-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCvmM33zJbbTayr2dSby685rfVcE2lJeYy46Kj7V8DY8rLRQ5pROrC0fsOIWWppsBlxugXPkf98ShQ6Mcxphz40sCskU618jzqkEA9yEDyKEe4CeugVat9o2gbLVFYp317KFUkUvAR37K/s1600/images-10.jpg" /></a></div>
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UPDATE: The monkettes slept until 9 today. Of course they did. <div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-25045711064314329142013-05-18T10:55:00.002-07:002013-05-18T10:57:17.512-07:00RECAP. So I've been silently working away...bereft of an agent...bereft of literary love...to finish a couple of writing projects.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKMAyUKbjqhHbmMni1OD72ioul3muUWd4bH50C8Tb08T2Ftx4OsEGCZk2A9gl20irBe_Xe_N6nfQOo4cIeT2e0VHi5MWOqIBO7DSHRR0VsqUEdtZXFdZV686plNmS7b6C7NgnpxDt7MCwC/s1600/images-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKMAyUKbjqhHbmMni1OD72ioul3muUWd4bH50C8Tb08T2Ftx4OsEGCZk2A9gl20irBe_Xe_N6nfQOo4cIeT2e0VHi5MWOqIBO7DSHRR0VsqUEdtZXFdZV686plNmS7b6C7NgnpxDt7MCwC/s1600/images-9.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />
I kind of lost my way for a bit. Had a moment (quite a few actually) of squishy, face palm, why-the-feck-am-I-doing-this?, ego stomping.<br />
One of my novels sat with an agent for a year. It was very exciting. After a sub, I received a revise and resubmit request.<br />
Chuffed, to say the least.<br />
A full request followed and then I settled in to wait.<br />
I had other full requests during this time...Yeehaw, but they didn't pan out. I had a full request, but the agent wanted an exclusive. Couldn't give it because of all of the other plates spinning in the air.<br />
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Sigh.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwMNtnwAFhhjJxY_tXT5shsKf444WG6c_wEpicdHcSnE4MaKRm7FtJHamr-FyGtly-Zv-jQ4bXwPQkuJbAbeqQZA_c0K8QBrdxn7KAg2ji1Kkk-Wyjo-98-9U9nAqZVMDGVcYdpk6popJ6/s1600/MonkeyShakespeare1-300x225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwMNtnwAFhhjJxY_tXT5shsKf444WG6c_wEpicdHcSnE4MaKRm7FtJHamr-FyGtly-Zv-jQ4bXwPQkuJbAbeqQZA_c0K8QBrdxn7KAg2ji1Kkk-Wyjo-98-9U9nAqZVMDGVcYdpk6popJ6/s1600/MonkeyShakespeare1-300x225.jpg" /></a></div>
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The life of a writer is glamorous, eh?<br />
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Anyhoo. Reality. It bites.<br />
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After a very long wait...I finally got the call. REJECTED. But here's the sticking point. The rejection was based on the original query, and not the revised sub. The new stuff was apparently lost in the circular file. Shite happens. The agent is awesome, but from the feedback I know the revised manuscript was never seen. <br />
My little glass house shattered.<br />
Agents are busy. I get it. Writers are a dime-a-dozen.<br />
But it was still a kick in the gut to have worked and waited, then passed by because of crashed files.<br />
Hey. Shite happens. The agent is still awesome. No worries. Just not my time.<br />
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Meanwhile in Simianville...<br />
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I had to step back. For seven years my poor hubster, my poor children, all supported my writing frenzies with patient smiles, plates of food that miraculously appeared in front of me at odd hours, and allowed me to get two novels, four collections of short stories, and a burgeoning graphic novel out of my head.<br />
I put my eggs in another creative basket and took a break from writing.<br />
I opened an etsy shop so I could channel my art into another form. It's been quite successful.<br />
I caught up on movies.<br />
I devoted time to The Walking Dead.<br />
I became a devotee of Game of Thrones.<br />
I enjoyed Grimm -- gotta show the love for a locally filmed show. <br />
I maintained my relationship with Supernatural. yeah. mmmmmm.<br />
<br />
I NEVER DID THE HARLEM SHAKE.<br />
Wtf?<br />
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Lost track of some friends -- life happens, made new friends, reconnected with old friends again. <br />
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I still dabbled with writing -- wrote a zombie short from a horrible nightmare I had.<br />
Took part in a writing prompt -- Bump off your enemy in 200 words or less -- that went into an ebook anthology.<br />
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Dove into my child's school world and headed up a major fundraiser for the PTA (NEVER AGAIN, BTW...)<br />
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My particular brand of awesome is a bit out of place at that school. But of course it was a success. Even if I do say so meself. I tripled the previous years' revenue and kicked wicked high! HiiiiiiiYahhhhh!<br />
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But in the mean time:<br />
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I had dinner parties. And cocktail parties. <br />
Went on family holidays.<br />
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Thought briefly about being pope:<br />
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naw.<br />
<br />
Discovered my children are amazing and funny. My eldest loves to swear. My bad. But fer fuck's sake! oops.<br />
She informed me thusly: I was born an Irish woman. It's in my blood. It's who I am!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">F.M.Freddy! What have I done?</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
And she's very good at it, too. Heh. I'm probably going to start getting calls from the school soon. Sigh.<br />
<br />
She's also a rock star. I'm so proud. My little monkey is at School of Rock and at 7 going on 8, she's amazing! In June she will be performing at a nightclub -- three Iron Maiden songs: Fear of the Dark, Hallowed Be Thy Name, and Run To The Hills. She's got a huge voice and I'm looking forward to all the posh life she will provide in my dotage. <br />
Cackle™<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDZk-CiQihVYRzukHlQPrmKM0h8AzyRZ4oHcSCtgPUjoL0otOLbdzcFM-gYsk2n4CvEeMWfBdx5cvYvvuZgSid-B-c0OJ1MIBXg5joONR1bnlZitjc6Za0Dp4BP4xURB9_IcaDccpllmUK/s1600/lip-synching_1710116i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDZk-CiQihVYRzukHlQPrmKM0h8AzyRZ4oHcSCtgPUjoL0otOLbdzcFM-gYsk2n4CvEeMWfBdx5cvYvvuZgSid-B-c0OJ1MIBXg5joONR1bnlZitjc6Za0Dp4BP4xURB9_IcaDccpllmUK/s320/lip-synching_1710116i.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
And Shite went south.<br />
A close family friend turned out to not be such a friend. She went a bit cray cray...totes (thanks, Finn and Jake) and I had to cut the rope lest she drag me down the cliff face with her. Had to release the flying monkeys!<br />
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It was beautiful, man. Just beautiful.<br />
<br />
But also sucky. Suckness.<br />
Suckage.<br />
And money suckage, too. Cost me close to $1200 to rid myself of that brand of crazy. No good deed goes unpunished.<br />
<br />
I should have seen it coming<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ex9laf6bInI/UZb67r8oUdI/AAAAAAAABo0/rw7RhhY9wtM/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="304" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ex9laf6bInI/UZb67r8oUdI/AAAAAAAABo0/rw7RhhY9wtM/s320/image.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The thinner the eyebrow, the crazier the chica. Boom!<br />
<br />
turmoil, turmoil, turmoil....and then holding pattern.<br />
Retrospect and deep thoughts ensued. Ed Asner only visited one time...and I can't remember what he said in the dream. Non-dead Living spirit guide gone silent. Uh-oh.<br />
<br />
<br />
But I still had the deep dark urge to write.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBZmtbgZ5TWMsFmeqgWaK4TepYzAIVv4M514T_yXMg9XZqT6df2msqQzTBBgwmMuC2NzGyOtrAi2H3SJgLQozCA39FxjOHFtrP39Ef_UzC7CuZYm2oMDJ2ylCBi2drlI7LDsAOV5NZrBo0/s1600/monkey-mirror-e1310240900178.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBZmtbgZ5TWMsFmeqgWaK4TepYzAIVv4M514T_yXMg9XZqT6df2msqQzTBBgwmMuC2NzGyOtrAi2H3SJgLQozCA39FxjOHFtrP39Ef_UzC7CuZYm2oMDJ2ylCBi2drlI7LDsAOV5NZrBo0/s320/monkey-mirror-e1310240900178.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">yes...you are writer...you are still a writer...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
My poor writing partner, Ariana Burns, is pretty amazing. She has suffered so while I wallowed in self pity.<br />
We've been co-writing a novel for about 30 years.<br />
Okay.<br />
Not 30.<br />
But it feels like it.<br />
<br />
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heh. It started out as a Nano challenge. And we are sooooooooo close.<br />
I'm going to put this in the public eye so you all can hold me accountable:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">I WILL FINISH WIL<span style="font-size: x-large;">DCAT OF THE HIGH SEAS BY AUGUST 10. </span></span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3eklDlWVuxbDEhcRX2jBU7UD1lpZQCyAvlXYbTqBZovw4cvchGb5aMRPUbQ-PG1St41PK1mWRduR_1JdkXUhhcSFOzigzaNIqfl0TWqbOvXAWU6EuREvoTElkBDXd1oiLp6HPuNomCaMJ/s1600/images-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3eklDlWVuxbDEhcRX2jBU7UD1lpZQCyAvlXYbTqBZovw4cvchGb5aMRPUbQ-PG1St41PK1mWRduR_1JdkXUhhcSFOzigzaNIqfl0TWqbOvXAWU6EuREvoTElkBDXd1oiLp6HPuNomCaMJ/s1600/images-5.jpg" /></a></div>
And now for part II of my Ari promise:<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">I WILL FINISH THE THREE KEYS OF C<span style="font-size: x-large;">APTAIN HELLFIRE SONGS BY JULY 10.</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xva_mytdjHs/URKYI8MI8gI/AAAAAAAAAY0/mnmYLccEyHo/s1600/funny_monkey_smiling-445x299.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xva_mytdjHs/URKYI8MI8gI/AAAAAAAAAY0/mnmYLccEyHo/s1600/funny_monkey_smiling-445x299.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span> <br />
The graphic novel will be done by December. It has to. It's just too amazing not to be. Michael O'Mannion's art is the bomb diggety.<br />
<br />
I'm going to self publish one novel:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidbSjmibLUOyjZJgy4U2UNRKX-ttRPoy8VmKFDI8KYcplX7PCAfdHOOI2LcoYnq2Q-Ra3yNEqkse7eBGsof9hytLNLYr8pllK7eEDeAM30CZJkPgiZATzCA0yNLR35tU3btroxK9kSYmX4/s1600/MOFCOVER400cover1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidbSjmibLUOyjZJgy4U2UNRKX-ttRPoy8VmKFDI8KYcplX7PCAfdHOOI2LcoYnq2Q-Ra3yNEqkse7eBGsof9hytLNLYr8pllK7eEDeAM30CZJkPgiZATzCA0yNLR35tU3btroxK9kSYmX4/s320/MOFCOVER400cover1.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
and keep looking for a home for Melvin:<br />
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<br />
And I will get a pony.<br />
<br />
<br />
(crickets)<br />
<br />
Okay. Maybe just a bike.<br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span>So. There is my recap. Tahdah.<br />
Whatevs.<br />
<br />
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<br />
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I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-32701765150841713222013-05-17T22:09:00.003-07:002015-06-27T21:48:37.085-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
It's that kind of blog today. Oh yes, yes indeed. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And why not? I write these little bursts of creativity to satisfy the exhibitionist tendencies in my life. My Facebook page is rife with examples of over sharing. This blog, too, serves as a clearing house for the little blorps of grey matter that wriggle free and scream for attention. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
What shall I share today? Lots of different things.<br />
<br />
Let's start with this:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Embarrassment bucket list</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
What is an Embarrassment Bucket List? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Mortifying things that happen when and where other people will see. Luckily, due to some divine law, if you manage to cross of an item on this list it will never happen again. Hopefully. Maybe. Potentially.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Some things are out of your control. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Being caught outside in your backyard in your birthday suit (no girdle, no bra, no lipstick, NO dignity) because you think you'll be able to dash out quickly and hop in the hot tub without anyone seeing...but no...the neighbors have guests over and they are all out on their top deck as you come waddling out, starkers, oblivious, cocktail in one hand and smoke in the other. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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Good times.<br />
<br />
Number 2? Why number two of course.<br />
<br />
I recently had the flu. As we all know Mommies don't get time outs, do-overs, or real days off.<br />
Cue violins and laugh track.<br />
<br />
In my quest to get stuff finished before I collapsed on my death bed, I had two errands to run. Two.<br />
The bank, and to return some helium tanks to a rental place (I was in charge of a school function -- heh...PTA Monkey).<br />
<br />
Not only did I throw up in the bank lobby and completely humiliate myself, I proceeded on the next errand to have the trifecta at the rental return counter. Yup. Yuppers. Yupparooni.<br />
<br />
I coughed, vomited, and blew my dignity out me arse, all right in front of the poor service guy. Yes. It is what you think it is. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9hGKEBKNqSg/UZb67FPE6qI/AAAAAAAABoU/pri57WnySYI/s1600/gettycapuch.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9hGKEBKNqSg/UZb67FPE6qI/AAAAAAAABoU/pri57WnySYI/s1600/gettycapuch.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Damn! That's nasty, yo!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Yeah. Lovely. There's no coming back from that one. <br />
<br />
Embarrassment Bucket List?<br />
Check. Check. CHECK.<br />
<br />
<br />
In other news I have a child that likes to paint with poop. Stellar. But of course I do. I'm a smoking simian. Monkeys fling poo. Ahhh, but do they paint with it? Mine does. She's a genius!<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oSF7nHALhHw/UZb60V-kAeI/AAAAAAAABnU/JqI8Nui7qVQ/s1600/Monkey-in-a-Gas-Mask--37448.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oSF7nHALhHw/UZb60V-kAeI/AAAAAAAABnU/JqI8Nui7qVQ/s320/Monkey-in-a-Gas-Mask--37448.jpg" width="310" /></a></div>
A veritable Poop Picasso. Epic. <br />
Speaking of poo...<br />
<br />
(nice segue)<br />
<br />
I am obsessed with Samy and Amy Bouzaglo from Amy's Baking Company and Bistro Boutique Crazy Bonanza. If you don't know what I'm talking about, then you need to see it.<br />
Their restaurant was featured on Gordon Ramsey's Hells Kitchen. They were the only people Gordon Ramsey has EVER walked away from in the show's history.<br />
<br />
Amy and Samy are Nucking Futs!<br />
<br />
Here is the link : <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/ryanhatesthis/this-is-the-most-epic-brand-meltdown-on-facebook-ever" target="_blank">Crazy time wackadoodles</a><br />
<br />
She says she speaks cat.<br />
Oh. Dear. My. My.<br />
And not in the awesome Super Trooper kind of way.<br />
Whoa. <br />
<br />
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Meow, Amy. Meow. You need some lithium, babe. Seriously.<br />
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A big old shot of WTF.<br />
<br />
Even though I believe you to be utterly and sincerely CRAY CRAY, I do feel bad about the amount of horrible racist comments hitting your facebook page and twitter, and tumblr, and whatever.<br />
You and Samy are horrible people. But bringing race into it is off sides. <br />
Let's just stick to the facts:<br />
You guys scream at and threaten your patrons, your employees, you steal their tips, you sell fake food, you sell other company's cakes and claim them as your own, you do things to customers' food that will hurt them -- overspice much?-- you throw GOD in folk's faces and then turn around in the same sentence and say the most obscene things.<br />
Don't get me wrong. I worship at the altar of profanity.<br />
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But bitch, you crazy!<br />
<br />
Seriously unbalanced. Wacked. Out there. Un-hinged.<br />
<br />
You make me look like the poster child for Normalcy. Color me humbled.<br />
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Who am I to judge? Why yes...I am the decorum police.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
But...</div>
I still hate woodpeckers with every fiber of my being and dream of delightful Eli Roth inspired ways to kill them.<br />
I think free samples sitting out on counters are terrifying.<br />
I don't understand the lure of Bubble Tea.<br />
I hate all manner of blank blank Dynasty reality television shows, in fact 98% of all reality tv shows.<br />
Justin Beiber is a little twat.<br />
Auto tune songs make me stabby.<br />
The Wicked Witch caught a bum rap.<br />
I laugh when people fall down.<br />
Achondroplasiaphobia is my excuse to be a horrid little monkey. <br />
I think society would benefit from Thunderdome justice. Bust a deal...Face the wheel.<br />
<br />
So there it is then.<br />
<br />
My friend suggested I write about things that aren't what they are.<br />
<br />
Duran Duran. They are neither Duran nor Duran.<br />
<br />
Love it, babe. (that's what she said...heh)<br />
<br />
From <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=duran" target="_blank">Urban Dictionary</a> the meaning is someone who is perfect without flaws. <br />
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Simian Gothic. That's without flaw.<br />
<br />
But is Duran Duran truly Duran.<br />
Why yes. I believe it to be so.<br />
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Philosophical Monkey say, her name is Rio and she dances in the sun. The reflex is a lonely child who is hungry like the wolf. Save a Prayer for Electric Barberella because is there something I should know?<br />
<br />
That needs to go in a fortune cookie somewhere.<br />
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Time to go fall into a cocktail.<br />
<br />
Smelly bye byes.<br />
<br />
Foinah Out.<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-32651469338777231802013-03-02T17:14:00.002-08:002013-03-02T17:19:42.100-08:00Oh. There I am. <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oQuzXmb_Kb4/UTJs7WVqIqI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/iPpz6e01Zbg/s1600/images-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oQuzXmb_Kb4/UTJs7WVqIqI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/iPpz6e01Zbg/s200/images-4.jpg" width="136" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidAXBvd7Iw0o_9a_Z07B24FOZ4lu7X4FqHNVM26v7Xwew0PeAUPP52Onfn5fc7Xiwq84bP6pWYo2gyAO0-0jjTusaUNdTGQUJUttWlGHszGNJyL4nAxZfs1zc-cg2WhCiTqOYDtp1dlQvv/s1600/images-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidAXBvd7Iw0o_9a_Z07B24FOZ4lu7X4FqHNVM26v7Xwew0PeAUPP52Onfn5fc7Xiwq84bP6pWYo2gyAO0-0jjTusaUNdTGQUJUttWlGHszGNJyL4nAxZfs1zc-cg2WhCiTqOYDtp1dlQvv/s200/images-13.jpg" width="125" /></a>Greetings.<br />
Yeah, yeah...it's been a while.<br />
I'm busy. Two kids, life, flu.....<br />
more flu, house guests, turmoil, creative differences, pity parties.<br />
<br />
<br />
AND saving the universe from unscrupulous resellers....<br />
<br />
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There is a seller on Amazon called any_book. Wow. I had to file many claims to finally get them to stop listing my stuff fraudulently. Before you buy anything from them on Amazon, take a look at their feedback rating. Don't be fooled by the 5 stars, look at their percentage rate. Last time I looked it was 94%. Lots of 1 star feedback. That says a lot.<br />
That battle kept me busy.<br />
<br />
This blog carried on without me.<br />
<br />
But you know what? I discovered this blog is a clearing house for monkey pics. I'm apparently the go-to gal for every odd simian pic you are looking for on teh interwebz. And let's not forget a shout out to the e-cig spammers.<br />
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<br />
Don't I feel special? Am I going to stop blogging? Naw. Whatever. I amuse myself with the postings here, and really isn't that why I write?<br />
<br />
I'm still looking for an agent. That's been daunting, and an exercise or exorcise in self loathing and insanity. I receive great feedback, but it's the standard WHILE WE LOVE THIS PROJECT WE JUST DON'T FEEL IT'S A GOOD FIT FOR OUR AGENCY or the good old "We just don't know where to market this. Perhaps another agent will have more luck."<br />
So I've been taking a break. Stepping back to let the novels breathe for a bit. Yeah. that's it. <br />
<br />
<br />
My nose is ground flat from constant application to the grindstone.<br />
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In happier news the hubster and I just celebrated our 12th wedding anniversary:<br />
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Aren't we a lovely pair? He's my sweet babboo. Oh yeah. <br />
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I caught pneumonia for two months and quit smoking. I immediately gained 10 pounds.<br />
Screw that! Oh, my lovely little clove cigars, I'm sorry I abandoned you. I've come to my senses. <br />
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Nothing says I'm sorry like chain smoking. The conundrum -- pudgy but pink lunged or svelt(ish) and tar-coated? Need you even ask?<br />
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Plus there's that whole image thing. The writer who doesn't smoke and drink is the writer who doesn't write. Never mind what I said about my little break. Just because I'm not typing doesn't mean I'm not storing up ideas. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's sophistication. Ayup. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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With time off from my writing (the pity party I referenced earlier in this post) I've been able to have some quality gal pal time. The Divine YaYas. The Cackle Pack. I've discovered a number of things that go well with rum, including little juice boxes. This could get scary! heh.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey girl! WeeWa and Foi. Good times.</td></tr>
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<br />
And my world is complete now with the return of The Walking Dead.<br />
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Who doesn't love zombies? Eh? And here's a question: Were you just as disappointed as I was that the zombie apocalypse didn't happen? 12/21/2012 was suuuuuch a let down. I mean really! All that build up and nothing, not even a ripple in the space time continuum. Sure we had the meteor over Russia recently, but even that was pretty ptttfp. Maybe it dispersed microbes that will start the plague! Ooh!<br />
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Not that I'm actively condoning the dead rising to eat brains and make havoc, but it would be better entertainment than C-Span and the current budget cuts.<br />
Meh.<br />
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So to all the fans of random monkey pics, I thank you for your google prowess. Here's a token of my gratitude.<br />
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(That's me hosting a PTA function at my daughter's school. What can I say? I'm a Rock and Roll Mom in Heathers world.)<br />
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That's all I've got. You wanted more? Maybe tomorrow.<br />
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5X5 (yeah, my thumb is tucked, but four is the new five. )<br />
-- Foinah<div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-33125651471230498782012-09-27T19:14:00.000-07:002012-09-27T19:14:49.060-07:00My letter to an ASS HAT
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Dear fat white guy in a douli (but you probably call it a
coolie hat) at Reeder Beach with your unleashed pit bull,</div>
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I'd like to thank you and your illustrious group of whatever
they were for making one of the last warm, pleasant days of 2012 so memorable.
I know I'll never forget it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlDhCKAybx4IfjQOWaQHHhuYt4b5ycmBjNySLbQbt0AYVXuSh6lrKF4YJJALDi-pV7Sb5__d2by91-MXmPQvfobatxnx-W2MX5u_gmd0RPjiSY-Zvi7BJ34mCjfQ0NZq0y0Tzxf5C65UZn/s1600/images-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlDhCKAybx4IfjQOWaQHHhuYt4b5ycmBjNySLbQbt0AYVXuSh6lrKF4YJJALDi-pV7Sb5__d2by91-MXmPQvfobatxnx-W2MX5u_gmd0RPjiSY-Zvi7BJ34mCjfQ0NZq0y0Tzxf5C65UZn/s1600/images-4.jpg" /></a></div>
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No, no, no…your scraggly goatee/face hair spread and your
hipster rim glasses didn't make you look douchey <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">at all</i>. </div>
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And your wife/help mate/breeding partner really made an
impression with those bleached out, lumpy dreads piled on her head – to her
credit her skull actually had more hair then her arm pits! Good for you, honey.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your friends, outdoor guy and the mother
of his child (?) with the frosted hair and anorexic/post birth body, are
definitely keepers. Oh yeah. You guys all fit together like, hmmm, white sheets
at Klan rallies? Yeah. That's a good descriptor. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWmw-YjxHww07HbXmefP3cf1FNVpDX1BbCWkrsvkgPXpFRsdz33n2PzexL5vSNcber_iGGmhB4OjuAzdPV1Phr_J-k3jIsWucp2qkQRrTSqL4DbOIjs98XUxF23hDa5D6X0UcYsgUwDS1J/s1600/images-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWmw-YjxHww07HbXmefP3cf1FNVpDX1BbCWkrsvkgPXpFRsdz33n2PzexL5vSNcber_iGGmhB4OjuAzdPV1Phr_J-k3jIsWucp2qkQRrTSqL4DbOIjs98XUxF23hDa5D6X0UcYsgUwDS1J/s1600/images-6.jpg" /></a></div>
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But most of all I just <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">LOVED</i></b> meeting that dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart sends a big "Yo!" shout
out for the free stress test. I'd also like to personally thank you for proving
Kegels work. I didn't pee! </div>
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How much fun was it for you to see your "friendly"
pit bull CHARLIE come charging down the beach at full speed and attack me? It
must have been awesome. Yeah…I'll never forget it. Good thing you had him in a
muzzle, the same color as his fur so I couldn't tell he wouldn't actually bite
me, so you could laugh, laugh, laugh as I tried to run uphill, in sand, to get
away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good one. I really enjoyed being
slammed into at full speed by your "don't worry, he's friendly" dog
that was growling and had his tail between his legs. And then you got the added
bonus of my absolute terror when he bolted for my children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm reeeeaaaaallly sorry I tried to kick him.
Yeah. I meant to use that piece of driftwood. </div>
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Usually I'm better prepared.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsuCnw16wmat6FXTem00DFIsSfiUe8go3Vq6P2MmD3vL9vv7xhyZcmIwXJ9RhAP86mLURktOref4gq65Ts8bpFKgNcXS7YzbVcbpMnDQr-TjXHoLDfTBxs2BTQo0iT4VLCg4_4QQrmP9AA/s1600/images-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsuCnw16wmat6FXTem00DFIsSfiUe8go3Vq6P2MmD3vL9vv7xhyZcmIwXJ9RhAP86mLURktOref4gq65Ts8bpFKgNcXS7YzbVcbpMnDQr-TjXHoLDfTBxs2BTQo0iT4VLCg4_4QQrmP9AA/s1600/images-5.jpg" /></a></div>
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Is that why you finally called him back to your spot in the
sand 150 yards away? And thanks for manifesting that leash out of thin air and
giving me dirty looks because of the stooopid leash laws.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah. What's that about? Who wants to keep a
dog reined in in public? Sheesh. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those
meanies who hate pit bulls. Okay…so the ratio is five evil, face-chewing, baby
gnawing PIT BULLS to one happy, friendly, family pet, wouldn't hurt a fly, we
leave him alone with our infant all the time PIT BULL. Those tight asses and
their statistics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm sure your free
spirit/ runs way too fast/why is he muzzled? pit bull is super cool around your
own tiny babies.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPAT25AQisZs-TWASyoCQ7h7_hi609ILyj7e3gPhlu7y7gbdCxQPxw2RxGUnVOW3SVd_lxJvZ3lqIbORTNLsjJ9LzLAawRv190jLgk40tZJ-HMZONUDNPqd0TuUFWvYtm8XEi8Vg23eA-P/s1600/images-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPAT25AQisZs-TWASyoCQ7h7_hi609ILyj7e3gPhlu7y7gbdCxQPxw2RxGUnVOW3SVd_lxJvZ3lqIbORTNLsjJ9LzLAawRv190jLgk40tZJ-HMZONUDNPqd0TuUFWvYtm8XEi8Vg23eA-P/s1600/images-2.jpg" /></a></div>
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And thanks for the apology, by the way. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What apology</i>? you ask. </div>
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Exactly. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFWEqqQStuLv5oNhjLLiXh1-MfbRKHcHeij_EgzoELZjI0h6A9jQgrDu3FO1neTTZBw5ShBq1tj6sEHW2E0kK1aLOpQP3m5A4QTBCDAazM1gX6ivIc09kRF61h16QYak7QO2l9f6LYZVYV/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFWEqqQStuLv5oNhjLLiXh1-MfbRKHcHeij_EgzoELZjI0h6A9jQgrDu3FO1neTTZBw5ShBq1tj6sEHW2E0kK1aLOpQP3m5A4QTBCDAazM1gX6ivIc09kRF61h16QYak7QO2l9f6LYZVYV/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div>
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I really enjoyed your comments over the next forty-five
minutes as I moved my stuff down the beach and stayed between your dog's line
of attack and my children. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that
wasn't good enough. As you were leaving, that last dig about letting him go on
our side of the beach, just to see what he'd do…that was some funny stuff. I'm
still laughing about you saying I should be running down the beach catching
Frisbees in my mouth… oooh, burn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Were
you implying I'm a dog? I like dogs (just not your dog). </div>
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But you like dogs.</div>
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So was that a compliment? </div>
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You're just too deep for me, man. Whoa.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWConP3t6NWeXsbUsDbczaZ4KMERQMy_g5XygMzqv_CO0p1ZTd5SAPLRFMeaoWjC9QPMkWd3gPYnfCYMGuJHfuUB7Yfe-yEqjxC57WTSrq2kOFX7S69G6_yVC63lApcayXTGvmCyezgyIa/s1600/images-51.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWConP3t6NWeXsbUsDbczaZ4KMERQMy_g5XygMzqv_CO0p1ZTd5SAPLRFMeaoWjC9QPMkWd3gPYnfCYMGuJHfuUB7Yfe-yEqjxC57WTSrq2kOFX7S69G6_yVC63lApcayXTGvmCyezgyIa/s1600/images-51.jpg" /></a></div>
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You're right, of course, I shouldn't have sworn in front of
my children. I shouldn't have called you assholes…I should have called 911. </div>
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My bad. </div>
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But hey, thanks for a memorable day. Thanks for making my
kids cry. Thanks for coming to the beach today and spreading your brand of
sunshine.</div>
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I must repay your for this. No, really. I insist. </div>
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How about this?</div>
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I'll just keep mentioning you, describing your sultry,
swollen looks, your muddy blonde hair and pale basement/WoW induced complexion,
those bits of sandwhich lingering in your face scrag, your pit bull named
Charlie, your rapier wit, and ask my readers to keep an eye out. We'll play
spot the oh-so-<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">non</i>-douche-douli-wearing-man's-man
so EVERYONE can see how charming and erudite you are. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You'll become a star among gas giants. Maybe a
brown dwarf. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your white sheet buddies
will be so impressed.</div>
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In fact I'll give you the special honor of appearing in
EVERY ONE OF MY BOOKS from now on. You'll always have a place in my heart and
the stomach of whatever eats you between the pages. My gift to you.</div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-53892009847108170972012-08-09T08:56:00.000-07:002012-08-09T09:26:58.484-07:00Oh, my acolytes of the odd, do I have a fun doozy for you!<br />
<br />
Somebody has her panties in a bunch... Someone needs a clue stick and a fresh bag of sense-of-humor. Urgently. Immediately. Oh, and a wet wipe to remove that attention whore makeup smeared all over her face.<br />
OH NO SHE DIDN'T!<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggjylcbeNok-rILkqFRKxpacIb1ywpujPeHRYvlOYeKYZ7bcQ73EcUQXY39qX-UyIMT1NgFxQdzs10uQ_hJz0aJDKvvXnosDR5D627MAOvrGRIoPYZU7bqaqv-gaPc98wv2IaUuec7JOpQ/s1600/weird-monkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggjylcbeNok-rILkqFRKxpacIb1ywpujPeHRYvlOYeKYZ7bcQ73EcUQXY39qX-UyIMT1NgFxQdzs10uQ_hJz0aJDKvvXnosDR5D627MAOvrGRIoPYZU7bqaqv-gaPc98wv2IaUuec7JOpQ/s320/weird-monkey.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Heh. Yeah I just did. <br />
<br />
There is a blogger out there creating a hullabaloo to drive traffic to her site. She calls herself <a href="http://thefeministbreeder.com/a-plugin-for-folks-who-hate-babies-and-other-people/" target="_blank"><b>The Feminist Breeder</b></a> (I hate to provide the link and drive traffic to her site, but sometimes you gotta just see the crazy first-hand). Wha? Okay. Whatever makes you feel empowered, sweetheart. Who am I to judge. I'm a smoking monkey fer cripes sakes. Or is that crepes sakes? Meh. Whatever. It's all a flash in the pan so to speak.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Someone</b></i> (<span style="font-size: x-large;">no, not me</span>) is having a tantrum about a funny Chrome Extension that scans your facebook page for pics of babies and then substitutes pictures of puppies and kittens instead. It's called <a href="http://unbabyme.me/">unbabyme.me</a><br />
<br />
Local (Portland) filmmaker, blogger, and host of LIVE WIRE RADIO <a href="https://twitter.com/Wisenheimer" target="_blank">Courtenay Hameister</a> recently tweeted about this app and became the focus of TFB's righteous indignation. <a href="http://courtenayhameister.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Courtenay</a> is funny. The app is funny. <br />
<br />
<br />
Off on a tangent for a moment before the poking starts.<br />
<br />
I have mentioned before that I am a mommy, a proud mommy, too! Some might even say a feminist mommy. A rockin' mommy. I'm obviously a breeder, too. I have been guilty of the <b><i>over share</i></b> on occasion, but I do my best to keep a bazillion photos of my sprogglings from gracing my facebook page. While I recognize that my kiddos are the most excellent, intelligent, awesomest, baby geniuses in the world (they have stopped eating paper and pulling the heads off of their dolls), I also recognize that most folks don't want to be inundated with millions of pics of "baby looking cute--baby making a face--baby blah, blah, blah", and I don't really like casual acquaintances (no offense) ogling pics of my family. I have a sense of humor, albeit an evil and gallows humor-infused
romp through the dark side, but it's there. Oh yes, yes indeed.<br />
<br />
I enjoy seeing pictures of all of my friends' children. I really do. Really. It's exciting. It's also funny as hell because these new parents haven't had their spirits broken yet; their kids still have that "new car smell".<br />
<br />
But there are folks out there in meatspace who do suffer from blitz-spittle syndrome. This doesn't just happen with babies. Pics of dogs, puppies, kittehsssss, cars, boats, jewelry, piercings, tattoos... whew... (I'm dizzy from just typing all of that!) get <b><i>over shared</i></b> on Facebook and Myspace (is that still around?) and Tumblr and Twitter and email chains as long as Latvia. I'm not even going to start ranting about all of the political hoo-ha that shows up or STOP THE SLAUGHTER images that are designed to evoke knee-jerk emotional responses. I mean really, do I care that weird, ugly toads in Australia are being massacred by the millions? It's toad clubbin' time. Or that the old growth dwelling <a href="http://zapatopi.net/treeoctopus/" target="_blank">Tree Octopus</a> of the Pacific Northwest is in danger of losing its habitat?<br />
Yeah...I actually do care about that one. Cackle™<br />
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Where was I? A SENSE OF HUMOR. <br />
<br />
Oh yeah. A perfect opportunity for the <a href="http://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=2&ved=0CEsQFjAB&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.xecutionrs.com%2Ffiles%2F-xecutionrs-butthurt-complaint-form.pdf&ei=YdsjUO7dHYH3igKMioFA&usg=AFQjCNErG-ODAZ3Fp6ByIbSmFfATRCBk3w" target="_blank">Butt Hurt Reporting form</a>. (Yes...you can go here and download your own copy!!!)<br />
<br />
Folks need to get a sense of humor. <b><i>Some</i></b> people (TFB -- it's an acronym...it refers to the person at the beginning of this post -- point, point <span style="font-size: x-large;">☝ </span>) take themselves so seriously that if they pooted, Cubic Zirconium chips would come shooting out at a high velocity that could maim or kill. Hell, I died a little bit just wading through her blog. I cried. I hated myself for laughing at that unbabyme app. I soul searched and realized what a horrible, un-baby loving monkey I am. It showed me the error of my ways. It made me want to be a better mother. More tolerant. Kinder. gentler. Able to leap tall changing tables and navigate the world's obstacles with an army of self-loathing, humorless, angry feminist breeder automatons.<br />
<br />
Ha.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>No it didn't.</b></span><br />
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TFB equated unbabyme with discrimination. A vile, sexist, racist, agesit, creedist (not someone who likes the band creed-- because who does?) homophobic, misogynist, misanthropic, gassy, petulant, halitosis-harboring, multifarious, bad-dog-no-biscuit, yet-to-be-determined destroyer of the world!<br />
<br />
Really?<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Okaaaaaay.</span></div>
Maybe it's because she's a doula and a childbirth educator. I know a few doulas. None of them are like TFB. <br />
But I digress. This blogger latched on to that tweet like a rabid squirrel gnawing on a pirate's peg leg.<br />
<br />
Hmmm. That makes me wonder what she thinks of the app that changes your FB page into pirate speech for International Talk Like A Pirate Day?<br />
SCANDALOUS!!!!!!!<br />
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<br />
How does she feel about Baby Alive dolls?<br />
Mood rings?<br />
Does she hate kittens?<br />
That must be it. She hates kittens. And puppies, too.<br />
I bet she even puts her toilet paper as an under pull. HEATHEN.<br />
<br />
Personally I think she simply has too much time on her hands. According to her blog, she was up way past her bedtime last Tuesday night (trying to install new software on her laptop) when she came across Courtenay's tweet. Because Twitter is an integral part of any operating system. Of course.We all know that. <br />
<br />
TFB saw that tweet and became the defender of all that is right and pure on teh interwebz. <br />
<br />
Would someone please hand TFB a towel? Maybe a warm, snuggly, fluffy towel to dry her off. It must be hard living under that black cloud of suspicion. By her reckoning anything could be twisted and used for evil. <br />
Smurfs.<br />
Okay, that's a bad example.<br />
Kittens. Yes. They are truly an instrument of evil.<br />
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What about babies eating kittens!!!!!!!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXBWlyT0fLUDYmxBoV_LUosKQbh-KcZ_a_2nA1BxsqvKzkB9m0U0cNmJgfG4EWU2xnk8JrPCBQwk-_cIm6i80G3d0qzDXSccxulJXt_tsThySYpg2J1FplWbbUucUV-IPuE3x0rVjJr1RK/s1600/images-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXBWlyT0fLUDYmxBoV_LUosKQbh-KcZ_a_2nA1BxsqvKzkB9m0U0cNmJgfG4EWU2xnk8JrPCBQwk-_cIm6i80G3d0qzDXSccxulJXt_tsThySYpg2J1FplWbbUucUV-IPuE3x0rVjJr1RK/s1600/images-5.jpg" /> </a></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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Whoa.</div>
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Maybe TFB's just inherently sad and angry all of the time, and feels the need to lash out. I guess I'd be angry too if I lived with a stick up my bum all of the time.<br />
<br />
<br />
I popped a bag of popcorn and dove right in to read the comments. I laughed until I realized the folks were actually serious. There were some diamonds in the ruff, some level headed responders who called BS on the the blogger's suppositions. But the good were definitely crushed by the sallow-cheeked, ass kissing, smug mugs who dove right in and rode on TFB's coat tails. An indignant cow. That's what my darling hubby called her. Snerk.<br />
<br />
That woman needs to relax. In the immortal words of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B65mtE2TN1w" target="_blank">Sgt. Hulka</a> (Our glorious Big Toe), "Lighten up, Francis."<br />
<br />
It's an app. Just an app. It's not Pinhead's puzzle box. It's not Pennywise creeping in a sewer. IT'S FUNNY!<br />
<br />
In that illustrious blog to which I keep referring, TFB wrote:<br />
<b><i><span style="color: #783f04;">Really? This is funny? For those who aren’t quite clear on this – </span><b style="color: #783f04;">BABIES ARE PEOPLE.</b><span style="color: #783f04;"> Human Beings. Let’s try this little Plugin with any other group of people and see if it’s as funny:</span></i></b> <br />
<br />
and then she proceeds to add "UN" to various segments and groups in society that are targets for hatred: blacks, gays, muslims, women, the elderly... (oh boy!)<br />
<br />
But wait, the tantrum gets better! She then says: <b><i><span style="color: #7f6000;"> </span></i></b><br />
<b><i><span style="color: #7f6000;">Do I need to go on? Or have I properly illustrated how un-fucking funny
it is to replace a picture of a HUMAN BEING with a picture of an animal?</span></i></b><br />
<br />
This blog must drive her nuts. Who uses a smoking monkey as an avatar???!!! Who would replace human beings with pictures of animals???? WHO? WHO???????????<br />
WEll, let's just try that out. Shall we?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IZD3VmjDUKo/UCPP-bEHUII/AAAAAAAAAT8/v3jE6rDFLRw/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IZD3VmjDUKo/UCPP-bEHUII/AAAAAAAAAT8/v3jE6rDFLRw/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My beloved Ernest Borgnine! I loved this man!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Presto Change-o!</div>
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Awwwwwww! So cute!!!! It's Mr. Puggles Borgnine.</div>
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See? That's some funny stuff right there. </div>
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TFB then wrote: <b><i><span style="color: #7f6000;">I’m really sorry all those babies are annoying you. It’s a good thing you were never a baby. Oh. </span><i style="color: #7f6000;">WAIT.</i></i></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #7f6000;"><span style="color: black;">How did she know???? That's just scary. Yes, yes I did spring fully formed the head of my maker! </span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #7f6000;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><i><i style="color: #7f6000;"> </i></i></b></div>
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I guess I should say THANK YOU, TFB, for being a shining beacon in these humorless times. Thanks for making a simple little app that I can use on my own page, MY OWN PAGE THAT DOESN'T AFFECT ANYONE ELSE'S PICS, into that dreaded monster in the closet. Thanks for being the PC POLICE. Thanks for making your agenda the most important thing on the internet. Thanks for pointing out the slippery slope of a sense of humor into "ism" chaos and madness and anarchy and bad stuff, mmmm'kay?!</div>
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I'm going to get my tech savvy friend to create an app for folks like you. When I see smoke from a drama bomb, with one click of the mouse I can cover the conflagration with this:</div>
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I'll call it the ass hat app.</div>
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My gift to you.</div>
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Cha cha cha, darlings.</div>
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<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-12022521657361958882012-07-23T21:30:00.002-07:002012-07-24T07:17:05.837-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
Hello Monday. I see you survived your weekend. Good for you. </div>
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I'd like to focus on some recent interwebz knuckle-knobbery. I'm going to leave out names and links and all that stuff (oh my) because it's already been posted elsewhere... I just want to comment on the insanity. I don't have a role in any of this. I haven't been targeted. I'm just an observer at the side of the road staring at the wreckage of this train derail. <br />
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<br />
There's a brouhaha brewing at Goodreads. Far more eloquent and erudite folks than I have blogged on the incidents, but this smoking monkey just had to add my two cents.<br />
For those of you who are in the dark, Goodreads is a website dedicated to books and book reviews.<br />
Authors and readers of all stripes gather there and share their mutual love of the written word (both digital and print). It's a pretty cool site that has been inundated with loopty loops.<br />
Oi. Start up the crazy mobile because some of the folks on the web need a ride.<br />
There have been all encompassing swoops of egos where a certain author took it upon herself to "edit" a steampunk book list and wipe out hundreds of reviews going back years.<br />
oopsie.<br />
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From what I understand, her reasoning as the 'self-appointed authority on all things steampunk' was that the authors and books she removed from the list were not accurate representations of steampunk. <br />
Ummmm...she deleted a book by K.W. Jeter who coined the phrase in his 1987 novel Infernal Devices. <br />
oopsie.<br />
<br />
This created a whole lot of gnashing and frothing. First of all, she really shouldn't have taken it upon herself to make a sweep of that list. Naughty naughty, bad form. Secondly, she did it because she could. From what I understand it was a case of absolute power that corrupted absolutely. <br />
<br />
Now on to the second batch of wackbaggery at Goodreads. An author over there decided she was going to throw a tantrum about a bad review. She claimed she was being "bullied" by reviewers on the site so in turn began a bullying campaign to right her wrongs, even the playing field, blah, blah, blah and so forth and so on and more douchebaggery prose. She lost her nut and went on a savage campaign against some pretty upstanding and ethical folks who review books at Goodreads. She created sockpuppets -- no, not cute button-eyed childrens' playthings, but anonymous and fake accounts where she could post vitriol and defense of her own books.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Oooh, those meanies! How dare they write a detailed and <u><b>not</b></u> sunshine-and-puppies-and-rainbows-and-icecream-cones-with-sprinkles review!!! How dare they not blow smoke up my hoo-hoo like friends and family???!!!! How dare they say what they REALLY thought of my books!!!!</i><br />
<br />
<br />
She even started a website, anonymously like a coward, where she posted private information about these reviewers -- their names, addresses, etc. and whatnot. She has since claimed that info was never there...but the beauty of google cache and screenshots removed any doubts. Some of the folks associated with that site even called the targeted people at home <span style="font-size: large;">AND THREATENED THEM. <span style="font-size: small;">WTF? </span></span> This twatwaffle's story was picked up by HuffPo when she posted an opinion piece on their site. Oh the drama llama.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic2j-BJW0Gk0RfhyzYNVM7F9m93qd3y6OaDuI5OACaDQjtDSrAUjfjbj12Q1ZyhJfieyu36P8y6VPhiDFo-wjIm5u1e_biCdTNMQltFWnpiasiKSfwZi8TkkGaTZgAr-jnmFhWoU1ofmsO/s1600/images-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic2j-BJW0Gk0RfhyzYNVM7F9m93qd3y6OaDuI5OACaDQjtDSrAUjfjbj12Q1ZyhJfieyu36P8y6VPhiDFo-wjIm5u1e_biCdTNMQltFWnpiasiKSfwZi8TkkGaTZgAr-jnmFhWoU1ofmsO/s1600/images-3.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
SNAP OUT OF IT</div>
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As I said before I won't post names or links, but if you are interested in reading the sordid drama first hand just google Goodreads Bullies (but if you go to the evil site you give her power). Read <u><b>all</b></u> of the facts. Not just her handpicked snippets which have been quoted and represented as truth by places like HuffPo or her sockpuppeteers.<br />
Absolutewrite.com has quite a bit on the subject right now as does Goodreads.<br />
<br />
Personally I find it all rather sad. And I think someone needs a happy pill. Or perhaps a copy of this:<br />
<br />
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Here's a good rule of thumb. Don't air your crazy for everyone to see. Don't read your own reviews, and if you do and they are all bad, then take that as a sign and improve your craft. Take the higher road. Sail on. Take some medication. Have a cocktail. But for gods' sakes (yes...I said gods) don't be an asshole. If you rant, I don't listen. If you threaten, I don't listen. I see through the arm waving and finger pointing trying to distract, and recognize what it is I'm really seeing. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifEEFSMTx6OssJBQ6b5wXdb4kvxhBDobse-pnsnI-vkooGAPJ1WQlK5IdFvOmIV8GLDcVbx062GHqdSwEaWswcrxupomozUYmN5L0ugt-P9p-I9taHvB1EYMnSQhVTcndH3LxeGgyhJHAG/s1600/images-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifEEFSMTx6OssJBQ6b5wXdb4kvxhBDobse-pnsnI-vkooGAPJ1WQlK5IdFvOmIV8GLDcVbx062GHqdSwEaWswcrxupomozUYmN5L0ugt-P9p-I9taHvB1EYMnSQhVTcndH3LxeGgyhJHAG/s1600/images-10.jpg" /></a></div>
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nanananananananana<b><span style="color: #660000;">I can't hear you</span></b>nananananana</div>
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So, what color is the sky in your world? Is up really down and backwards really forwards where you live? Do you expect a cookie after this tantrum? </div>
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I have two children, and that shite don't fly, no matter how far it's flung, with me. You've outed yourself as an author of books I will never read. </div>
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UH-OH. Did I just make myself a target? Cackle™</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogRbgs_4EJZE2PnpxUUms7gJHs2LFgCzpcFK-P2cdNepTvI5uRGvsnBWP8XP7aZcXRo6_3tNnsxSZZXV2lnIS4UhghkxsMmrEizX7-yjhL1YPpS5C7LseemBSmy5-SAMCo7fQzSQqlYSH/s1600/images-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogRbgs_4EJZE2PnpxUUms7gJHs2LFgCzpcFK-P2cdNepTvI5uRGvsnBWP8XP7aZcXRo6_3tNnsxSZZXV2lnIS4UhghkxsMmrEizX7-yjhL1YPpS5C7LseemBSmy5-SAMCo7fQzSQqlYSH/s400/images-9.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Yup. That's random and about as much as I care. Troubles are like
bubbles, and like bubbles they'll float away. Or pop in your eye and
burn...or get in your mouth and give you a runn----- sorry. Got lost on a
tangent.</div>
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Now to interwebs wackjob 3. Again on Goodreads. Attention whore alert. Attention whore alert...</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">ATTENTION WHORE ALERT!</span></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjWQkxQlajQF1cuIr2I5FY9WiTCo0dC8eSVCKNbqaA7bM__N7Zx1kgYF7ncsvmtjqX3qqG1Ryz4CjZaZ46YyH6RGivRWIJ5bhdqI2GK3-ij2Ywme12VGERwsuJLDNR5Coez7lFMjWmbYy6/s1600/images-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjWQkxQlajQF1cuIr2I5FY9WiTCo0dC8eSVCKNbqaA7bM__N7Zx1kgYF7ncsvmtjqX3qqG1Ryz4CjZaZ46YyH6RGivRWIJ5bhdqI2GK3-ij2Ywme12VGERwsuJLDNR5Coez7lFMjWmbYy6/s1600/images-1.jpg" /></a></div>
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WHO? ME?</div>
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um, no.</div>
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This guy.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N66cXEYArTE/UA3k329Gv8I/AAAAAAAAAMs/frJYXn9iB7w/s1600/images-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N66cXEYArTE/UA3k329Gv8I/AAAAAAAAAMs/frJYXn9iB7w/s1600/images-7.jpg" /></a></div>
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Sorry random dude whose pic on the internet I used to make a point.<br />
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There's another bundle of jumble over at goodreads who <i>likes</i> "just legal" 18 year old female teen bloggers. Let's take a moment for a collective EEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWW and a good hand washing. Apparently this was not reciprocated by said "just legal" 18 year old female teen bloggers. The dude is in his 40's, needs some serious tutelage in reading and writing comprehension, and perhaps someone with a sedative to catch him in a happy jacket. He had a very public meltdown over his book "NOT" being reviewed by a blogger and then went on a rampage, targeting lots of folks who were already being stalked by the bullying "anti-bully" sack of unbalance I mentioned before.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWmw-YjxHww07HbXmefP3cf1FNVpDX1BbCWkrsvkgPXpFRsdz33n2PzexL5vSNcber_iGGmhB4OjuAzdPV1Phr_J-k3jIsWucp2qkQRrTSqL4DbOIjs98XUxF23hDa5D6X0UcYsgUwDS1J/s1600/images-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWmw-YjxHww07HbXmefP3cf1FNVpDX1BbCWkrsvkgPXpFRsdz33n2PzexL5vSNcber_iGGmhB4OjuAzdPV1Phr_J-k3jIsWucp2qkQRrTSqL4DbOIjs98XUxF23hDa5D6X0UcYsgUwDS1J/s1600/images-6.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Oh sweet Jayzuss, Susan Powter why aren't you here to stop the madness!!!!</span><br />
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<br />
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Goodreads needs to do a bit of maintenance. They say they have 9 million members...whoa...that's a lot of posts to wrangle. But perhaps they need an overhaul in their monitoring department. Seems that lately the lunatics have had the run of the asylum. Goodreads is a great place for book lovers. And apparently also drama llamas.<br />
<br />
On a side note, I just learned that term today. I love it!!!!<br />
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It must be the end times. The schizos everywhere are on a ramp-up. Joy. So there it is then.<br />
<br />
Here's a picture of me hugging a puupy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi68EctYdYpV9Rb0j9hOEP6sz1nyVLn6ZecAaRy02sdV-Uu24W_xNZzjNrHUO4yiAEvs9i7pN-NzmUdWtBHA1_eCzPmrYH4VF2o5mlZb50EWrfvpbJgiqi1NQTYFu6jMloV-27wrV3Dph8r/s1600/images-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi68EctYdYpV9Rb0j9hOEP6sz1nyVLn6ZecAaRy02sdV-Uu24W_xNZzjNrHUO4yiAEvs9i7pN-NzmUdWtBHA1_eCzPmrYH4VF2o5mlZb50EWrfvpbJgiqi1NQTYFu6jMloV-27wrV3Dph8r/s1600/images-8.jpg" /></a></div>
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awwwwwww.</div>
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Your turn. I wanna see a bunch of pictures of sockpuppets with funny captions.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lVuECBLtmZg/UA3k2wVX5XI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/VktkZJ8zvBw/s1600/images-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lVuECBLtmZg/UA3k2wVX5XI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/VktkZJ8zvBw/s1600/images-5.jpg" /></a></div>
Yes. A meme. All we need is memes (wah wah wah wah waaaahhhhh).<br />
<br />
<br />
And remember this: DON'T BE AN ASSHOLE. I'm going to start a religion with that one and only commandment from on high.<br />
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Preach it, monkeh. Don't be an asshole.<br />
<br />
ETA: And whatever you do...don't engage the crazies. And if you are crazy...um, take your meds and don't engage in flame wars. Be sure and print out a copy of that butt hurt form. Keep it in your tin foil-lined backpack, computer bag, lunch sack, whatever, and fill it out when you need it.<br />
See? There ya go. A new book project -- A collection of crayon etched butt hurt forms.<br />
<br />
My gift to you.<br />
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<br /></div>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-34834474968794295012012-07-23T21:29:00.003-07:002012-07-23T21:29:50.440-07:00The world seems to be exploding with crazy lately. My heart goes out to
all of the victims and their families of the tragedy in Colorado. I'm so sorry for your pain and
terror at the hands of a madman. <br />
May you all be surrounded and hugged by the people you love.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhYJKXKDGfJOn2x9CDq5_Scm-q4EPBhrXoxG4-rSJT_fZGpBqo_Qycs_HuigFly5fPzuoWBx-RsRK7gIESKFN1NohV-CdYyCCxvbfGSQh2rtA-GwhgWK-OassakEtkYaTYCtKOvMkI52Ok/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhYJKXKDGfJOn2x9CDq5_Scm-q4EPBhrXoxG4-rSJT_fZGpBqo_Qycs_HuigFly5fPzuoWBx-RsRK7gIESKFN1NohV-CdYyCCxvbfGSQh2rtA-GwhgWK-OassakEtkYaTYCtKOvMkI52Ok/s400/images.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-69533642001959485592012-07-16T18:31:00.000-07:002012-07-16T18:35:15.852-07:00Well hellloooooo!<br />
I do hope everyone's summer is progressing nicely. I suppose I should have let you all know that I was on hiatus.<br />
Ummmm...I'm on hiatus. Except for right now. But it could continue any moment...the monitor is crackling and I hear snorts and stirring of the wee.<br />
You see, when school ended, well, so did my writing time. The eldest just turned seven on Friday. Sniffle. The youngest is beginning her transformation into evil incarnate. Ah the joys of parenting! Endless days of makeovers and art projects.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLDLJaxJ841Ax5X-yZPIa6W0HFRHbr9n0NAgeVazvQkExAKTGIh4LT1IyC6mZnnEOyAsfc-nHEJnbtq3KJ1So9XFnSur-DHdsw6cp9Lo1KDTJa0TMLsW9F0iC2QmCRzfLnpcsE8qps0AW2/s1600/images-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLDLJaxJ841Ax5X-yZPIa6W0HFRHbr9n0NAgeVazvQkExAKTGIh4LT1IyC6mZnnEOyAsfc-nHEJnbtq3KJ1So9XFnSur-DHdsw6cp9Lo1KDTJa0TMLsW9F0iC2QmCRzfLnpcsE8qps0AW2/s1600/images-5.jpg" /></a></div>
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My new author bio pic. Lovely, eh?</div>
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But I wouldn't trade in my sprogglings for anything.<br />
Wait... That's not true. But it's my secret for what they would be traded. <br />
Cackle™<br />
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(Image borrowed from the weird folks at this <a href="http://www.photoshoppix.com/coppermine/displayimage/album=25/pos=21.html" target="_blank">link</a>)</div>
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I have been taking copious notes during my off-blogging hours about all of the random, funny, bizarre, infuriating things that have caught my eye. Unfortunately my darling 2.5 year old found the notebook and it is now festooned with scribbles, juice, and something sticky. Something very sticky.</div>
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Be afraid...be very afraid.</div>
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So all I can really tell you about is my obsession with toilet paper. I'm completely OCD about TP. Seriously. Not in the gross usage kind of way (eeew, really? Come on, folks).</div>
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It's a discussion that needs to happen. An argument that needs to be settled. </div>
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I'm an over the roll kinda gal. </div>
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<b style="color: lime;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">YES!</span></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnSDTsaL1NitLKijJcZeBcgtudTgeW5by9jzpxgtFHHVj3f6ZdsTHde9npSXX3-LXaq_0miYwjD0HiDyTMJa_Knh3pKAIsX5KUJCDQ_ZR69dDT09i31Dy5H9nC8u7vYtt3nSNHbg9nbVzi/s1600/images-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnSDTsaL1NitLKijJcZeBcgtudTgeW5by9jzpxgtFHHVj3f6ZdsTHde9npSXX3-LXaq_0miYwjD0HiDyTMJa_Knh3pKAIsX5KUJCDQ_ZR69dDT09i31Dy5H9nC8u7vYtt3nSNHbg9nbVzi/s1600/images-4.jpg" /></a></div>
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People who put toilet paper on a roll where you have to reach under to pull scraps, that invariably tear and fragment, make me insane. I get righteously frothy. </div>
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<b style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">NO!!!! NO!!!!!! NOOOOOOOO!!!!! </span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVczY64t_bvKmlGmvzwHU1J8GcgM6njMGrhyO4P9Vc85RLjEkJEVFNZ5yGWYj8iByxUbBPYLjovkVQsQRMBwMTH1zfLG-PWUcLuHs2PQgkYZhEAZ2VaPt0G7aJMAnH3MA2875z0Z-fdwnc/s1600/images-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVczY64t_bvKmlGmvzwHU1J8GcgM6njMGrhyO4P9Vc85RLjEkJEVFNZ5yGWYj8iByxUbBPYLjovkVQsQRMBwMTH1zfLG-PWUcLuHs2PQgkYZhEAZ2VaPt0G7aJMAnH3MA2875z0Z-fdwnc/s1600/images-3.jpg" /></a></div>
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THIS WAY OF LOADING TOILET PAPER IS WRONG! THE UNIVERSE WILL COLLAPSE. THE WORLD WILL END. BAD THINGS WILL HAPPEN!!!!! </div>
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And yes...I will change the roll to the proper pull direction. No. Matter. What.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_W91AZyJKDCJD7zHCSolIH30A9cBga5pkv2u8wFrzF2r2e5q81JUd_-eo8LDidOrhcYQmWkMcO8XqhAfDV3udk_wTcv_GQup225aEFafaCa8YpAeUowFFl56l64YnYqnIBZP31tyzuO9I/s1600/images-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_W91AZyJKDCJD7zHCSolIH30A9cBga5pkv2u8wFrzF2r2e5q81JUd_-eo8LDidOrhcYQmWkMcO8XqhAfDV3udk_wTcv_GQup225aEFafaCa8YpAeUowFFl56l64YnYqnIBZP31tyzuO9I/s1600/images-7.jpg" /></a>I was recently in a restaurant and excused myself to the loo. I find it to be a challenge (which I gladly accept) to get the industrial lock open on the dispenser and change the paper direction if I come across an errant roll -- I just need to do it. It keeps the universe spinning. It's my God Particle. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Is it wrong that I carry a metal pick to open the lock? Probably. Perhaps even a bit crazy. But it's my crazy...so don't judge. </div>
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<br /></div>
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But back to my story.</div>
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So here I am, stall door closed, me jimmying the lock, when the bathroom monitor came in. </div>
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Okay. So she wasn't a "monitor" per se, just the cleaning lady, but she came into the bathroom and heard me futzing with the metal cage of crazy-making in transition.</div>
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<b>"Ma'am...can I help you?"</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>Me: Nope. I'm good.</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>"Is the roll out? I'm sure it was full an hour ago. I changed it myself."</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJg7VtsPcPpFpFykwtTJRV72AiM1CDkGfHouWdHO129xSOB-uaG_V8sjqTcx_LKQdDa62yXfyKjrgnb526Yiaum9bl6Gz0QgE6fsP6o8c8kS9pnuzx_shmkBNPMcL-tMuLhVWP-FFWD7Ct/s1600/images-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJg7VtsPcPpFpFykwtTJRV72AiM1CDkGfHouWdHO129xSOB-uaG_V8sjqTcx_LKQdDa62yXfyKjrgnb526Yiaum9bl6Gz0QgE6fsP6o8c8kS9pnuzx_shmkBNPMcL-tMuLhVWP-FFWD7Ct/s1600/images-2.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b>Me: Ummm. No. Yes. {{{</b><b><i>it's free of the oppressive under the roll position!!! Mwahahahaha...</i>}}} I'm fine, thanks. I have a square to spare.</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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BTW, that Seinfeld episode is pure gold. If you need a refresher: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZL-FDxT1rGA" target="_blank">Elaine Benes </a></div>
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But back to the bathroom monitor.</div>
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I swear she was trying to peek through the door crack at me. </div>
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Then she handed me some paper under the stall door. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheEL1e4Pcx0e6yvYSxJsT2fKH5NS7RV0-D2zHXmCjtF6xEdwBkhKAI1OUHwp8wixUp5SVxwIzbaTbU1x0R5Up36MYQ1gwPokbTa8bNOBjYGWrhb17TDhSmXzrs1S95Y-1OQtR8NZ7u41bk/s1600/images-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheEL1e4Pcx0e6yvYSxJsT2fKH5NS7RV0-D2zHXmCjtF6xEdwBkhKAI1OUHwp8wixUp5SVxwIzbaTbU1x0R5Up36MYQ1gwPokbTa8bNOBjYGWrhb17TDhSmXzrs1S95Y-1OQtR8NZ7u41bk/s1600/images-6.jpg" /></a></div>
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What's the etiquette there? I mean...do I take it, juggle the now extra roll while I adjust the other rolls to the correct and proper insertion? Do I restate that I'm fine? Oh boy. She can hear me messing with the dispenser...I know she knows that I'm messing with it...is this a test? I took the roll. </div>
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<b>"Ma'am, is the dispenser open?"</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Me: Um. No.</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>"If it is then just leave it. I have the key."</b></div>
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<b>Me: <i>Jayzuss, lady! Just go away already!!!! </i> Okay. Thanks. Buh-bye now.</b></div>
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But she didn't leave. She just retreated to the sinks and waited for me to come out so she could rush in and see what I had done. I tried to wait her out...but damn she was persistent. And my food was getting cold. Damn it!<b> </b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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I finally came out and she rushed right in. I heard her muttering and then the key being inserted into the dispenser lock. Sure enough...she was switching back the direction of the rolls. I washed my hands and tried to skulk by the stall, but she poked her head out and just frowned at me, the extra roll tucked under her arm.</div>
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Busted.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipP0Sq4su4EUQnb8IvUkn0_VVBdLSAHp1WQYcS7GSYiYXzS6nThGDOR6aZIYWQMPEeWIgLTlCX6647jTFg0TxsrLyX2IVS9HF5AsLi-ZH8VCjORHLrAtzDSJa0Diz4p_aJgponj5VrYe_w/s1600/images-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipP0Sq4su4EUQnb8IvUkn0_VVBdLSAHp1WQYcS7GSYiYXzS6nThGDOR6aZIYWQMPEeWIgLTlCX6647jTFg0TxsrLyX2IVS9HF5AsLi-ZH8VCjORHLrAtzDSJa0Diz4p_aJgponj5VrYe_w/s1600/images-9.jpg" /></a></div>
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I know I have a problem. I'm sure there are other <b><u>under the roll advocates</u></b> out there trying to undo all of my good work with errant roll direction. Wouldn't it just be swell if directional advocates (like myself) were treated with the same hospitality and dignity as right vs. left handers? Would it be sooo hard to just mark the stalls for convenience:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO8PjKjWu-NTYjRwXBI8ghxJ3tTxslltK8TB66nBeJjDhZ5RxuW0eOc88yu9UZyI6qnHoPcXBKux8f3NHJuJF7cqfd85hh9QbIMR9pL_M8k1D72uafeukUAhZ3vwBTb168yKAOnxzVJc9i/s1600/images-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO8PjKjWu-NTYjRwXBI8ghxJ3tTxslltK8TB66nBeJjDhZ5RxuW0eOc88yu9UZyI6qnHoPcXBKux8f3NHJuJF7cqfd85hh9QbIMR9pL_M8k1D72uafeukUAhZ3vwBTb168yKAOnxzVJc9i/s1600/images-8.jpg" /></a></div>
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We could live peacefully together in this happy world of the right way and the wrong way (and those who want to do things ass backward).</div>
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And yes...I even do this at friends' homes. I fix their toilet paper. And now I've just admitted it in public. Heh.</div>
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Don't judge me. Embrace the change. Go with the roll. OVER THE ROLL.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP23gN3DVkfbItg1qJ6PXR6-wLKjxZNvdE4vZBbYDNUQZBQRoIqwKTBMNDeLmfXxb0YaJo0Gk-162PWZ-n713lAPydEiyE2avVaxpRzylRYhKA9xAiZxey2P4lay6imo_xi16lHigaQZ8Z/s1600/images-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP23gN3DVkfbItg1qJ6PXR6-wLKjxZNvdE4vZBbYDNUQZBQRoIqwKTBMNDeLmfXxb0YaJo0Gk-162PWZ-n713lAPydEiyE2avVaxpRzylRYhKA9xAiZxey2P4lay6imo_xi16lHigaQZ8Z/s1600/images-1.jpg" /></a></div>
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Yeah. </div>
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<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-76079816152313413192012-06-06T18:25:00.002-07:002012-06-06T18:25:37.676-07:00<br />I've been a busy simian lately.<br />
I apologize for my lack of attention to this blog. Life happens.<br />
<br />
(image borrowed from <a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=St7&sa=X&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&biw=1243&bih=670&tbm=isch&prmd=imvns&tbnid=uGXr-WWg5UrSdM:&imgrefurl=http://www.posterpop.com/products/Doug-Horne-Sad-Monkey-Sticker.html&docid=E-pebXGsJzkaEM&imgurl=http://www.posterpop.com/product_images/j/485/DNS05-Sad-Monkey__81324_std.jpg&w=239&h=288&ei=cQHQT7eRJciziQeY18SEDA&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=728&vpy=225&dur=848&hovh=169&hovw=139&tx=65&ty=113&sig=116465360849408172474&page=2&tbnh=160&tbnw=131&start=19&ndsp=26&ved=1t:429,r:17,s:19,i:218" target="_blank">here</a> -- art by Doug Horne) <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVmcF5rm1jc2262A5vKCgh11Qk5bT-THMZeAZaLEg_qmhnoAQthgzX_Lgs3L01fHQ-val-TxtFBhCmOy0SintdcEPgThD1fKLOWMYeZYCf_RWaurAq9xwHqG-MsBbfKuny5LHH_dYMOdQz/s1600/DNS05-Sad-Monkey__81324_std.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVmcF5rm1jc2262A5vKCgh11Qk5bT-THMZeAZaLEg_qmhnoAQthgzX_Lgs3L01fHQ-val-TxtFBhCmOy0SintdcEPgThD1fKLOWMYeZYCf_RWaurAq9xwHqG-MsBbfKuny5LHH_dYMOdQz/s1600/DNS05-Sad-Monkey__81324_std.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
And so does death.<br />
Sadly, with much sniffling and sentiment, I saw that the world lost a visionary today.<br />
<br />
Ray Bradbury.<br />
He was 91 years old. What a life! A fantastic writer and an interesting human being that should have lived forever. Yes. He should have. When Bradbury was twelve years old he was given a gift by a carnie. Mr. Electrico touched young Ray on the tip of his nose with a magic (electrically charged) sword and proclaimed, "YOU WILL LIVE FOREVER!"<br />
I read somewhere that that was the day Ray Bradbury started writing in earnest. He wrote over four hundred novelettes and short stories, twenty-one plays, twenty-seven novels (I'm sure my count is off), countless screenplays, essays, and anthologies... Bradbury's books and short stories served as a beacon for other
writers and artists...a light to journey by, a stepping stone in the quest to become
a teller of tales. <br />
Fahrenheit 451 made me treasure the written word. His science fiction glimpsed the future and helped brilliant minds achieve the technology.<br />
<br />
<span class="huge">He said : If you dream the proper dreams, and share the myths with people, they will want to grow up to be like you.</span>
<br /><span class="bodybold"></span><br />
<br />
I guess he will live forever. In the tales he created.<br />
<br />
I have to smile at the irony of my internet homage to the man. Ray Bradbury felt the world had become disconnected due to technology... too much internet and cell phones he said. Technology was the bane of his existence :<br />
<br />
Video games are a waste of time for men with nothing else to do. Real
brains don't do that. On occasion? Sure. As relaxation? Great. But not
full time— And a lot of people are doing that. And while they're doing
that, I'll go ahead and write another novel.
<br />
<ul>
<li>Salon.com (29 August 2001)</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><b>People ask me to predict the future, when all I want to do is prevent it. Better yet, build it.</b>
Predicting the future is much too easy, anyway. You look at the people
around you, the street you stand on, the visible air you breathe, and
predict more of the same. <b>To hell with more. I want better.</b>
<ul>
<li><i>Beyond 1984: The People Machines</i></li>
</ul>
</li>
</ul>
<br />
I would love to have been a fly on the wall during his meetings in the 30's with the members of the Los Angeles Science Fiction Society -- Heinlein, Petaja, Kuttner, Williamson, and good old "Forry" Forest J. Ackerman. Oh. I would have loved that.<br />
<br />
Thank you, Mr. Bradbury, for inspiring me to write. Be well in the afterlife. You earned it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-15686581855879980042012-05-11T12:48:00.000-07:002012-05-11T12:48:04.352-07:00Okay.<br />
I rant and pace and froth and type. Oh my.<br />
I do hope, good readers, that you read that <u><b>OH MY</b></u> in a George Takei voice.<br />
<br />
That's how I'm feeling right now.<br />
I'm a bit mortified.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifO3xd46p2zyFlAGm-zgG63Y8b7XNFYCVes4jn6beotO6Hl6I59ZgmxQUWneJEMs_EugSfQ8ZEPH70C3ZRDWgH8tJuu7NlELb0Lfz3DuiOMLIgeTvTzjXOrl33J1hzCcwhY9vckK4WXmxs/s1600/images-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifO3xd46p2zyFlAGm-zgG63Y8b7XNFYCVes4jn6beotO6Hl6I59ZgmxQUWneJEMs_EugSfQ8ZEPH70C3ZRDWgH8tJuu7NlELb0Lfz3DuiOMLIgeTvTzjXOrl33J1hzCcwhY9vckK4WXmxs/s1600/images-7.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
TYPOS!!!!<br />
<br />
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Who has ten thumbs and types like a monkey hacking at a lap top?<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3eklDlWVuxbDEhcRX2jBU7UD1lpZQCyAvlXYbTqBZovw4cvchGb5aMRPUbQ-PG1St41PK1mWRduR_1JdkXUhhcSFOzigzaNIqfl0TWqbOvXAWU6EuREvoTElkBDXd1oiLp6HPuNomCaMJ/s1600/images-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3eklDlWVuxbDEhcRX2jBU7UD1lpZQCyAvlXYbTqBZovw4cvchGb5aMRPUbQ-PG1St41PK1mWRduR_1JdkXUhhcSFOzigzaNIqfl0TWqbOvXAWU6EuREvoTElkBDXd1oiLp6HPuNomCaMJ/s1600/images-5.jpg" /></a></div>
This gal. Right here!<br />
<br />
My apologies for the plethora of dropped letters, bad spacing, and goofs contained in this entire blog.<br />
<br />
I'll strive to correct the boo-boos and m ake no more in the uture.<br />
<br />
Writers should hold themselves to a higher standard. Remember...it's a doggie dog world out there!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-18731870795068854602012-05-10T10:02:00.002-07:002012-05-10T10:04:34.788-07:00There are some amazing new horror writers out there, and I'd like to share their links and goodies with you! Mmmm...like sampling a dessert buffet. A feast for the mind (of the mind and all the gooey bits within -- snerk).<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Take a moment and check out the websites, etc., and perhaps buy one of their books or subscribe to their blogs!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx5fqR-p8CCKINzj2t6TQd166HUk2C56xq76B9RSTZ8t6Q_K3YMN2flZfZGVqp3AtSxcdzViraUZb_Pmk3VW80-foaDUb_ofHBbyReJl5S_MvKfRME35Vt83ndOnlNClNDJZrXqYieLK5A/s1600/1325929131_Bossy_monkey.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx5fqR-p8CCKINzj2t6TQd166HUk2C56xq76B9RSTZ8t6Q_K3YMN2flZfZGVqp3AtSxcdzViraUZb_Pmk3VW80-foaDUb_ofHBbyReJl5S_MvKfRME35Vt83ndOnlNClNDJZrXqYieLK5A/s320/1325929131_Bossy_monkey.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
DO IT!!!!!!</div>
<br />
These folks rock and are very talented as well!<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #cc0000;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Sara Jayne Townsend</b></span></div>
Writing Horror, crime - short stories, novels<br />
Blog: <a href="http://sayssara.wordpress.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://sayssara.wordpress.com</a><br />
Goodreads: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3500282.Sara_Jayne_Townsend" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3500282.Sara_Jayne_Townsend</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="color: red;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Luke Walker</b></span></div>
Writing Horror, Fantasy - short stories, novels<br />
Blog: <a href="http://getthegirlkillthebaddies.blogspot.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://getthegirlkillthebaddies.blogspot.com</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="color: red;">
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Sealey Andrews</span></b></div>
<br />
Genre: Horror, Spec. Fiction - short stories, novels<br />
Blog: <a href="http://thegirlinthesoapdish.wordpress.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://thegirlinthesoapdish.wordpress.com</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="color: red;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Diane Dooley</b></span></div>
<br />Writing: Horror, Science Fiction, Romance - short stories, novellas, novels<br />
Blog:<a href="http://dianedooley.wordpress.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://dianedooley.wordpress.com/</a><br />
Goodreads:<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4737760.Diane_Dooley" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4737760.Diane_Dooley</a><br />
<br />
<br />
My gift to you, my darling Acolytes of the Odd.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
smoochies!<br />
Foinah<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-90284503934502752422012-05-09T10:13:00.001-07:002015-06-27T21:46:51.617-07:00I looked in the mirror and the monkey was me.As a writer I tend to look at the world sideways. I consider myself an observer, a cataloguer, a voyeur at times. Things happen and I think to myself, "whoa...what if this happened instead?"<br />
<br />
I pay attention.<br />
Okay...I nod off sometimes, but no one is perfect. When I sleep, I dream. And when I dream I plumb the depths of my subconscious and gill net some odd stuff. My dream scape is rife with fiction fodder.<br />
Sometimes it's scary, sometimes it's beautiful. When I'm lucky it's scary beautiful.<br />
I write from the heart. I also write from a laptop. Cackle™ I've studied and honed my craft, absorbed every bit of writing advice parceled out by the great minds.<br />
I worship at the altar of grammar and sentence structure. I try and paint pictures with words -- <i>show, don't tell. </i><br />
But in my head it's Yoda's voice : <b>There is no tell...there is only show</b>.<br />
<br />
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And some Mr. T just because he's filled with Awesome.<br />
<br />
Back to the point.<br />
I read. I devour books like Jaffa cakes.<br />
If you don't know the miracle that is a Jaffa Cake, then I mourn for you! It is heaven in a chocolate-covered sponge cake/biscuit(cookie) filled with jellied orange. <br />
<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWR7dZnIkC4_JZOWWrzO15G2YFkD3qk7joSYqtaONtPjHE15nKtQmbfXMKxYJQrK2leJSjChOhyaufAe3yg550KrYPDP38CxyWJXnUCRNyzDJTC6tB9MhIHvRoUwo8XUbdCKyemddZ3zuV/s1600/images-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWR7dZnIkC4_JZOWWrzO15G2YFkD3qk7joSYqtaONtPjHE15nKtQmbfXMKxYJQrK2leJSjChOhyaufAe3yg550KrYPDP38CxyWJXnUCRNyzDJTC6tB9MhIHvRoUwo8XUbdCKyemddZ3zuV/s1600/images-7.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heaven! Pure, treacle HEAVEN.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But I digress. Again. Sigh.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I read everything. I celebrate other authors and their success, delight in the printed (or electronic) word.<br />
<br />
I submit my own manuscripts for consideration, and learn from the rejection letters.<br />
It's humbling, daunting, but no one said this path would be easy.<br />
Some rejections are actually better than an acceptance. Yes, I just said that.<br />
<br />
Some rejections are because the piece isn't right for that particular magazine issue. But it's the acknowledgement that makes it divine.<br />
<br />
But I'm suffering today.<br />
Being a writer is difficult. The waiting game takes its toll, its pound of flesh. I have chinks in my armor. I'm not the Death Star with that fatal design flaw, but I do have a weak spot.<br />
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<br />
It's bad writers who make it. As I said, I'm not perfect.<br />
It's frustrating to read the published work of someone who has no concept of grammar or plot. Before you jump in and remind me of James Joyce, I admit there are exceptions. His grammar was divine inspiration.<br />
I'm talking about BAD WRITERS. Jayzuss, who drank the kool aid and published that shite? I won't name the authors or their books, that's just bad form, however I can rant about it. <br />
Everyone's opinion is different, and I'm probably just a bitchy simian today, but it chaps my butt when I read something that is soooo bad and yet has acclaim. Even minor acclaim. But as I said, everyone's opinion is different. Maybe I just think it's bad. Maybe it's good? <br />
It creates that crisis of confidence. Goes right into that crack in my armor...wiggles it's way in like the bug in Chekov's ear :<br />
<br />
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<br />
Damn! That's nasty.<br />
<br />
In the end I should just let their bad writing push me to be better. Strive for perfection; keep honing my craft. Dream a little dream (filled with inspiration and oddness).<br />
<br />
Cheers.<div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-9355657356238457852012-05-07T01:12:00.000-07:002012-05-09T10:14:10.492-07:00Shameless self promotion time! WOOT, WOOT, WOOOOOOT!<br />
<br />
I've added another whack of stories to Amazon.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLS_iPrpLrTsyA8QhxAOsz9d6U8HbRx9Gt4VUlKNgcjYCaCATVi9UC7lYmLrZesZ6-SA4cV31CGAJkHMKpAJq6V6ykMa4513GSDD3obYrzpiswzvWptOAKw6RYEjw81exh9grJ7CItPlH_/s1600/monkeytyping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLS_iPrpLrTsyA8QhxAOsz9d6U8HbRx9Gt4VUlKNgcjYCaCATVi9UC7lYmLrZesZ6-SA4cV31CGAJkHMKpAJq6V6ykMa4513GSDD3obYrzpiswzvWptOAKw6RYEjw81exh9grJ7CItPlH_/s320/monkeytyping.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_667072735"><br /></a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/DEADLINE-collection-moments-ebook/dp/B0080Z7M9Y/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1336375478&sr=8-5" target="_blank">DEADLINE: a collection of moments</a> (yes...that is a link)<br />
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<img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZlt36cnr9uYiKSFGz1oNdqVweZDOZmMMy_MbakXaPx2bT7ow7n2-rVOc7i74tdvNM-SNzz6HQC2oLakHhtDmbpdu4FXRd_NRVSaY6Ckr31o-iSWdPQmV301s1e3zQeiIpFqLAIVhZk_g2/s320/a+collection+of+moments+cover.jpg" width="247" /></div>
<br />
Here's the promo from Amazon:<br />
<br />
<div class="productDescriptionWrapper">
<span style="color: red;">We all have moments in our lives that define who we are in an instant. Moments of regret, fear, indecision, hope...</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">This
21,800 word collection of six short Horror/Science Fiction/Fantasy
stories focuses on those moments, those choices, those instances where
everything moves so fast it almost seems to happen in slow motion. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">Contains some adult language, gore, violence, and general ick. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">Deadline
- What if you knew the world was going to end? Would you tell? Earl
Pickett has seen the signs, but then he receives a cryptic warning in
the mail. It's already too late to save anyone at all.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">Heavy
Clouds, No rain -- A day trip out of the city to escape a heatwave
becomes a race for survival for two sisters trapped in gridlock. Their
world is changed in an instant when the clouds overhead finally unleash
the storm...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">The Holiday: A holiday to New York City is the trip from hell for a family from Ireland. It just won't end...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">Manaan : Things happen in the magic time, the time of change...but only if you don't fear the moment.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">Big
Boy: It takes a village to raise a child. But it takes a witch to feed
that entire village to Big Boy. A mother's love knows no boundary.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">Who'd
Mourn for Henry Biddle?: A bitter, abusive old man, recently widowed
and alone in his cabin the Maine woods, is trapped with his worst
nightmare made real. In the end, who would mourn for mean old Henry
Biddle?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">This collection of short stories runs the gamut of soft science fiction to horror, with poignant moments in between.
</span><br />
<div class="emptyClear">
</div>
</div>
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2785823379750598080" id="productDetails" name="productDetails"></a>
<br />
<hr class="bucketDivider" noshade="noshade" size="1" />
Some of my favorite stories are there.<br />
I'm particularly fond of DEADLINE. Damn if it doesn't make me sniffle every time I read it. Jayzuss I'm a soppy simian sometimes (filled with the alliteration blues).<br />
<br />
THE HOLIDAY is my homage to Stephen King. He said a horror writer needs to write at least one ghost story set in a hotel room. So I did. There it is then. I'm quite fond of it, too.<br />
<br />
HEAVY CLOUDS, NO RAIN was inspired by a horror writing prompt from the good horror hounds over at Absolutewrite.com.<br />
<br />
I wrote MANAAN twenty years ago after a strange encounter in Old Town. Yeah...it happened. I took some artistic license, but to this day I still get goosebumps thinking about it.<br />
<br />
BIG BOY just makes me grin wickedly.<br />
<br />
And finally, WHO'D MOURN FOR HENRY BIDDLE, ah...I adore that story. It came from a dream. And no, the part of Henry Biddle will not be played by Ed Asner in the big screen adaptation.<br />
Abe Vigoda? Maybe.<br />
<br />
<br />
That's all I've got this time, folks. No clever isms, rants, snarks, or boo-boo lip to share.<br />
Well, except for this gem.<br />
<br />
I'm going to kill that god damned woodpecker if it's the last thing I do. BRRRRAAAAAAAPPPPP.<br />
It must be suicidal. It has to be. Call me Doc Kevorkian, Mr. Woodpecker. I'll do it right.<br />
Perhaps I am becoming unhinged. <br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://bizarrejuju.deviantart.com/art/Psycho-Monkey-Jack-139954642" target="_blank">Artist link</a> for BizarreJuJu at Deviant Art.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Right, so, okay. It's sleepy time for this bad monkey. Check out my new book, maybe buy a copy, or borrow it from the Kindle Library. I'd appreciate it ever so much, my acolytes of the odd. It keeps me in Caramel Machiattos. mmmmmmmm. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Ta, darlings.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Squish squish and all that rot.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-39967190198108919362012-05-03T13:43:00.001-07:002015-06-27T21:40:30.422-07:00What the hell was I thinking?Joss Whedon, I love you.<br />
I just do.<br />
You are awesome and funny, and dark, and talented!<br />
I got to see <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1259521/" target="_blank">The Cabin in the Woods</a>.<br />
<br />
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<br />
That is now one of my favorite, top five films of all time!!!<br />
You, sir, are a rock star.<br />
<br />
It was scary, funny, scary... So good. <br />
<br />
Thank you!!!!<br />
I was in my movie happy place all weekend long.<br />
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(was someone just humming I'm sexy and I know it? Oh, that was me. Snerk)<br />
<br />
So it truly chaps my rosy, red monkey butt when I come across a real stink fest. <br />
<br />
Uh-oh. What happened, you ask?<br />
Let me share!<br />
<br />
Yesterday and today I subjected myself to one of the more crueler punishments possible... I had to break it into two parts simply because it was barely endurable in one sitting.<br />
<br />
I watched a film. And by film I mean the slimy stuff left on an old sponge, the muck in the bottom of a septic tank, a layer of mind sludge.<br />
Harsh? Probably.<br />
Apropos?<br />
DEFINITELY.<br />
<br />
I have every cable channel available, and decided to go ahead and check out the offerings that my Xfinity altar had to offer.<br />
<br />
There it was...<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1206881/" target="_blank">THE BLEEDING</a>. <br />
<br />
A vampire movie? Starring Armande Assante, Michael Madsen, DMX, and Vinnie Jones? Oh, and kat von d (lower case as suits her status in my mind)? But back to the film. How did I miss this?<br />
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Such promise! Blood, vamps, guns, more guns, VAMPIRES!!!!<br />
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<br />
<br />
What could be wrong with this movie? Oh...so much. So. Very. Much.<br />
<br />
Plot : Two brothers in Afghanistan: one, Cain Black (Played by Vinnie Jones), is killed in action and his body disappears. The other brother, Shawn Black (Played by Michale Matthias), arrives home in the States to find his parents murdered. In his quest to find their killer, Shawn learns that he is THE vampire slayer and that his brother (a fallen, noble warrior) has been turned into a vampire and is the new king set to bring destruction upon humanity!!! Dun, dun, dun, dunnnnnn. Michael Madsen (I just love him, but WTF?) plays the rogue, foul-mouthed and hard drinking priest. Any role to keep the bills paid, I guess.<br />
DMX has a small role that is barely memorable (He screams and writhes in pain at one point), and Armande Assante phones in the role of a homicide detective with no real addition to the plot besides being a big name on the play bill.<br />
kat von d spends her time sucking in her cheeks and pouting besides Vinnie Jones as his bad, evil, vampire lieutenant. Blorf. Her mother, the jackal, must be so proud.<br />
Oops. Did I type that out loud? My bad.<br />
<br />
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See what I did here? Catty? Tee hee. </div>
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Back to the rant.</div>
<br />
I could actually smell the acting from my living room perch on my comfy couch. And really? Cain and Shawn are supposed to be brothers? Then why does Cain have such a thick English accent (yo, Vinnie!) and Shawn a mouth-full-of-marbles-Stallone-wannabe accent? Oi. So bad.<br />
I'm sure Mr. Matthias is a sweet guy, but I think the director wanted Vin Diesel and settled for mush mouth. Shawn's lines were so robotic and his acting painful to watch, my brain hurt afterwards. Vinnie Jones was the least scary vampire I have ever seen.<br />
<br />
I had to investigate this film further. I just had to.<br />
It cost 7 mil to make. Really?<br />
Seven million must buy hell a lot of black fright wigs, pleather coats, and cheesy explosions. Lets not forget the copious amounts of Karo syrup colored with red dye no. 40.<br />
<br />
I felt two hours closer to death after watching this movie. This is MST3K worthy!<br />
At one point Shawn is on top of a moving semi, balanced mightily atop the trailer while shooting two machine guns at the hordes of angry vamps chasing him. TWO MACHINE GUNS!!! But he apparently was able to morph a third and fourth arm for the close up shots because he was firing a pump action shotgun while simultaneously firing the two machine guns! WOW! HE <b><i>is</i></b> the slayer.<br />
<br />
There was so much serious unintentional silliness in this <i>film</i>, it should be a drinking game. But you'd be hammered a quarter of the way through...<br />
<br />
I pray to all the gods and goddesses of fortune that if EVER one of my books is being shopped for a movie, please, please, please do not let the writer or the director of THE BLEEDING near it.<br />
<br />
A made for SyFy movie is worlds above The Bleeding in acting (and that's saying something for Traci Lords), production, and all around "HOORAY! BREAK OUT THE POPCORN" entertainment value for your buck. Who doesn't love JERSEY SHORE SHARK ATTACK, or KILLER STORM 3.0...and so on and so forth and you'll tell two friends and they'll tell two friend, etc.<br />
<br />
My god I hated THE BLEEDING. GAH!!!!<br />
<br />
My colonoscopy was more fun to watch.<br />
<br />
If it seems I'm particularly venty in this blog post, well, I guess I am. I'm pissed. I'm pissed that I sat through 126 minutes of utter bollocks.<br />
Sure...I could have turned it off. I could have walked away. Worked on my own stuff...<br />
But I just couldn't...I got stuck in the event horizon of craptasticness. Sucked into the black hole of bad movie dialogue (and not the fun, shmaltzy, kitschy kind either), weak writing, and bad acting.<br />
<br />
To come full circle, I must thank you again, Joss. If it weren't for your specialness (shiny!) I'd be subjected to utter crap fests like The Bleeding, and it would be baaaaaaad.<br />
<br />
<br />
THE CABIN IN THE WOODS : THUMBS UP<br />
THE BLEEDING: Jayzuss, cover the thing in toilet paper, stuff it in a bag, light it on fire, and do a ding-dong dash at the writer's door.<br />
(and you know I mean that figuratively, right? Don't go set a bunch of poo on fire anywhere.)<br />
<br />
On that note, I need a cocktail. Must wash the bad taste of this film out of my mouth.<br />
<br />
But damn if I don't feel better after that rant.<br />
<br />
To quote Felicia Day in the recent episode of Supernatural, "Peace out, bitchessssss!"<br />
<br />
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Ta!<br />
<br />
PS- GO SEE CABIN IN THE WOODS!!! You'll thank me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-60202553011270722582012-04-19T10:05:00.000-07:002012-04-19T10:05:00.791-07:00What's the deal with Ed Asner and my subconscious???<br />
Yes, I had another Ed dream.<br />
<br />
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<br />
He was working at my local Starbucks and he had to wear a hair net. A hair net? Really? The man has no hair on his head that would require a net. His back? Oh yeah.<br />
He saw me and yelled, "Hey friend! The usual?"<br />
I gave him the thumbs up and he handed me a tall, triple shot, soy chai latte. I said cheers, high-fived him, and sat down in a comfy chair with a parenting magazine. Ed told me to read the article he wrote about crafting with kids.<br />
Bizarre on so many levels...<br />
wha???? SOY??? Blorf.<br />
That crap is the work of the devil! Chai? ugh. Not so much. And a triple shot? I don't do caffeine ~ shocker, I know, but I haven't for years. I'm just naturally spazzy and charming all on my own!<br />
Now you'd think I'd be all weirded out by Ed, but actually it's the whole drink thing that left me wobbly.<br />
Uh-oh. Maybe I'm starting to channel a hipster soccer mom.<br />
Bwahahaha. I couldn't even type that with a straight face!<br />
But back to the dream : The article on crafting with kids? He was actually using kids. There were pictures of kids covered in brightly painted macaroni, mosaics done with buttons all over their faces. BIZARRE.<br />
Ed, I have no idea what wisdom you were trying to impart with that last dream, but as my unofficial living spirit guide/odd guru I'd appreciate it if you made me a decaf caramel machiatto next time.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
Right. So on to the next bit oddness.<br />
Dick Clark died. Is it wrong that I thought he was already dead? My bad.<br />
You were cool. The eternal teen without all the emo angst.<br />
<br />
After hearing te news of his demise, I had to check on old Abe Vigoda. He's surely gone by now.<br />
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<br />
Nope.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.abevigoda.com/" target="_blank">http://www.abevigoda.com/</a><br />
<br />
This site keeps track of him.<br />
Rock on, Abe. You are a weird old dude, but I like ya. Don't start showing up in my dreams, though.<br />
<br />
Ta!<div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
I have no idea how to make an 'accept this cookie' box/check mark/agree thing so if you don't want Google to set cookies then don't enter this site.
There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2785823379750598080.post-61786389414000234712012-04-11T01:54:00.000-07:002012-04-11T02:14:23.275-07:00Greetings!<br />
<br />
What's new in Monkey land? Yet another tooth pull. But no added Hobo this time. Hooray.<br />
It's the last extraction!!! Happy monkey dance. You'd think it would be all puppies and rainbows and frou-frou sparkles now.<br />
Of course not.<br />
Today I woke up with the mother of all spider bites on my face!<br />
<br />
ON MY FACE! eeeew.<br />
<br />
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<br />
How do these things keep happening to me? And of course I've had a number of people tell me that I most likely swallowed the damned thing in my sleep. That's so not okay on so many levels. brrrrr.<br />
<br />
So yes, I am a bit cross today. Well actually since yesterday. I just noticed the time...it's 12:50 AM. So meh. whatever. Yesterday I was cross and it's the gift that keeps on giving. Snerk.<br />
<br />
For a distraction I toodled around the T-Shirt Hell website. I own a number of their shirts...so do my children. The classic MOMMY DRINKS BECAUSE I CRY was passed on from the first child to the second. Cackle™ Good times...<br />
<br />
Things have changed a bit over there. Sure, a lot of the shirts border on the edge of good taste, and it is a no-holds-barred free-for-all in the un PC department. Nothing is sacred. But today I noticed more racist shirts than usual. But, as I said...there was something for (and against) everyone. Not my cup of particular tea (I embrace that whole humans are humans concept -- we're all primates here), but amongst the zombie, poop, stoner, crass little gems I ran across a Hitler shirt.<br />
Yup. Make the demon into a buffoon and he loses his power. But this shirt rubbed me the wrong way.<br />
<br />
This site is NSFW! And this particular page has some raunchy stuff. Again...not my cup of tea. I like the funny shirts -- a gangster smurf with a gun with the caption POP A SMURF. That's some funny stuff right there.<br />
<br />
But this one ( which you can surmise by the link title) was off sides.<br />
<a href="http://www.tshirthell.com/funny-shirts/love-him-or-hate-him-hitler-killed-a-ton-of-jews">http://www.tshirthell.com/funny-shirts/love-him-or-hate-him-hitler-killed-a-ton-of-jews</a><br />
<br />
Yeah...genocide just isn't funny. So I sent their customer service a note. I dumbed down my language in the 1st email to fit in with the tenor of the site, and started a chain of epic snark.<br />
<br />
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<br />
As I said... I'm a bit cross.<br />
<br />
For your reading pleasure, I offer you this lovely exchange. Now remember, I often take it as a challenge to be clever and snarky when someone takes the first swing. I amused myself. And I guess that's all that counts. Snerk. Please forgive my momentary descent into internet troll/flame war/ ass hattery.<br />
<br />
On 4/10/12 12:59 PM, <a href="mailto:contactus@tshirthell.com" target="_blank">contactus@tshirthell.com</a> wrote:
<br />
<pre>Date: 04/10/2012 3:59 PM
Name: Foinah
Email: foinah@xxxxxx
Description:
I usually laugh my ass off at your shirts </pre>
<pre>and have purchased many for both </pre>
<pre>myself and my kids. I love un-PC humor -- </pre>
<pre>However, I just went through the </pre>
<pre>gallery and there's some seriously </pre>
<pre>racist, anti-Jew shit for sale. Um, not </pre>
<pre>so kosher (yeah, that's sarcasm).
I'm not Jewish, but the Hitler shirt </pre>
<pre>about "love him or hate him, </pre>
<pre>he killed a lot of jews" </pre>
<pre>is a bit off sides. Some things </pre>
<pre>just aren't funny, Sorry to be such a buzz kill.
Browser: Firefox
Version: 5
OS: Mac
Resolution: 1280 x 800</pre>
<pre> </pre>
<pre><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I received this response :</span></pre>
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<span class="gD">T-Shirt Hell Customer Service</span> <span class="go">info@tshirthell.com</span> </div>
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</td><td class="gH"><div class="gK">
<span alt="Tue, Apr 10, 2012 at 5:04 PM" class="g3" id=":8d" title="Tue, Apr 10, 2012 at 5:04 PM">5:04 PM (8 hours ago)</span><br />
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<span class="hb">to <span class="g2">me</span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Hi Foinh<br />
<br />
I guess you haven't noticed we make fun of everyone. We're not
anti-anyone. (The site owner is Jewish, btw.)<br />
<br />
</span>Sincerely,<br />
Customer Servant<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">Yeah...the tone seemed a bit "piss off" to me. But perhaps I was overreacting. So I sent this little gem </span>:<br />
<div class="aju">
<img class="ajn" id=":0_32-e" name=":0" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/c/photos/private/AIbEiAIAAABECNb59rWvjoyI-AEiC3ZjYXJkX3Bob3RvKihkY2M3ZTFjNzRhOGIzMGI0YzdhYjFmNjdmZmE4YTc2ZDk4MWJhZDQ3MAGZZn42eDxghlBo6ZQhQjIMQ_LNew?sz=32" /></div>
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<span class="gD">Foinah</span> </div>
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<span alt="Tue, Apr 10, 2012 at 5:29 PM" class="g3" id=":7c" title="Tue, Apr 10, 2012 at 5:29 PM">5:29 PM (7 hours ago)</span><br />
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<span class="hb">to <span class="g2">T-Shirt</span> </span></div>
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Hi,<br />
I
have noticed and it's always been an even handed, all encompassing
swipe at everybody. Raunchy, rude, awesome. But I guess I'm just a tight
ass who doesn't think genocide is amusing. Gee, my bad. No Darfur
shirts or Rwandan massacre offerings? 9/11 flaming, falling body
t-shirts? Too far?<br />
And telling me the owner is Jewish (btw) is kind of lame. I know it's
not easy answering these kind of emails, and I'm sure you gave it the
old college try; perhaps the sarcasm I picked up in the response really
isn't there... Naw. It's there. I'm sure your company isn't anti-anyone,
but your response leaves me less than enthused to keep shopping here.
Bummer. Yeah, I know...ooh...one customer is not going to shop here
anymore...big whoopety-doo. <br />
<br />
<br />
I would rather have received a response like : Suck it up. We make fun of everyone and it's not personal. <br />
<br />
or<br />
<br />
Have you seen the t-shirts we sell? We strive to offend, but with humor.<br />
<br />
or<br />
<br />
Wow. On behalf of our company we are sorry that the product offended you. However, humor is subjective and tastes differ.<br />
<br />
But a half-assed, smarmy poke just went south.<br />
<br />
So, there it is then.<br />
<br />
Sincerely (loved that, btw),<br />
Foinah<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">Too snarky? I guess so. Here's what I got back : </span><br />
<br />
<div class="aju">
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<span class="gD">T-Shirt Hell Customer Service</span> <span class="go">info@tshirthell.com</span> </div>
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<span alt="Tue, Apr 10, 2012 at 8:07 PM" class="g3" id=":34" title="Tue, Apr 10, 2012 at 8:07 PM">8:07 PM (5 hours ago)</span><br />
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<span class="hb">to <span class="g2">me</span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I have zero patience for anyone complaining
about that shirt. You think it has anything to do with genocide??
It doesn't. It's a common type of humor that takes a sensitive
subject, and simply states the obvious of what happened. He killed
a ton of jews. It can be used for almost any horrible
situation/person. We're taking away the emotion and presenting the
facts. Watch comedy central or go see some stand up comedians and
you'll see this done all the time.<br />
<br />
It's comedy. Get over yourself and get a sense of humor, or don't
be a customer.<br />
<br />
I point out that the owner is Jewish because there are some idiots
who think we are actually anti-______. You come across as one of
those. <br />
<br />
</span>Sincerely,<br />
Customer Servant<br />
<div style="color: red;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: red;">
See...now I had to reply. It's like I was channeling some creepy internet troll...not creepy really, more evilly amused and arrogant. But...I cracked myself up!</div>
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<span class="gD">Foinah</span> </div>
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<span alt="Tue, Apr 10, 2012 at 9:17 PM" class="g3" id=":65" title="Tue, Apr 10, 2012 at 9:17 PM">9:17 PM (3 hours ago)</span><br />
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<span class="hb">to <span class="g2">T-Shirt</span> </span></div>
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<div class="ii gt adP adO" id=":2m">
<div id=":5p">
Hmmm.
Apparently this is quite the hot button. Also apparent that perhaps I
am not the first to comment on this particular shirt? My first email was
as a customer stating that I found that particular shirt off sides.
Simple really. I also pointed out that yes, wonderfully so, your
company is an equal opportunity basher. That should have been enough.
But your subsequent responses, and stellar customer service interaction
have taken this to the realm of the absurd. Obviously I have a sense of
humor...I'm replying to your email. <br />
No. I am not a fundie, nor a sprout-eating, sandal-wearing,
trustafarian, or even a crazed NRA-lovin', GOP wannabe, and I do not
live in my mother's basement and play WoW all day. I do not march with
placards and shout chants...I do not have Asperger's or any form of 1%
disorder. I'm a writer who delights in black humor.<br />
I'm a customer who can appreciate the intricate nature of gallows humor with the best of them. <br />
But
some things just aren't funny. And it's a fine line between humor and
poor taste... or clever and stupid, to quote Nigel. <br />
So, in essence, this shirt represents the Higgs Boson of humor? You are
saying that it is the ambiguity of the statement "He killed a lot of
Jews", disassociated with the horror of the holocaust, that makes it
funny. Right. Nothing about genocide there. {{{eye roll}}} He killed a
lot of Jews (thumbs up? nudge nudge) or He killed a lot of Jews
(boo...thumbs down!!!). <br />
You wrote : <span style="font-family: Verdana;"><b>You think it has anything to do with genocide??
It doesn't. It's a common type of humor that takes a sensitive
subject, and simply states the obvious of what happened. He killed
a ton of jews. It can be used for almost any horrible
situation/person. We're taking away the emotion and presenting the
facts. Watch comedy central or go see some stand up comedians and
you'll see this done all the time.</b><br />
<br />
</span>Thank you T-Shirt Hell for taking the temperature of
society and showing me the error of my humorless ways. Thank you for
being the elucidation gurus.<br />
Did you actually read my email? Seriously? I come across as one of those??? Did you read the email? Did ya? Oh, le sigh.<br />
I
did love your company. I truly did. And I will wear the shirts I
purchased before with a smile on my face. But you, customer servant, in
all of your eloquence and froth (and lack of reading comprehension) have
done your company proud. <br />
Take some time off, have a latte, chalk this whole exchange up as you
waving that scolding finger with pride; without any actual recognition
of the initial point beyond the tip of your own finger.<br />
<div class="im">
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Get over yourself and get a sense of humor, or don't
be a customer.</span></b></div>
You forgot to add, "Go f**k yourself, San Diego.<br />
<br />
This has been an enlightening experience. <br />
<br />
Regards,<br />
Foinah Jameson</div>
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<tr><td class="amq"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr">Gee. Spider angst channeled and abated. </td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td><td class="amr"><br /></td></tr>
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Poetry, man. It does a Monkey good.<br />
Some things just ain't funny in my book! Well, a dead clown ~ That's funny! <br />
<br />
I won't respond if Customer Servant replies. I've had my say. <br />
<br />
Until next time, Stay Classy.<br />
Ta,<br />
Foinah <br />
<br />
<pre><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span> </pre><div class="blogger-post-footer">"This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and analyze traffic. Your IP address and user-agent are shared with Google along with performance and security metrics to ensure quality of service, generate usage statistics, and to detect and address abuse."
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There. I have posted officially for the EU. yeehaw and huzzah. </div>Foinah Jamesonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898415210672132676noreply@blogger.com2