Random Things That Irritate The Hell Out Of Me.

My inside voice filter is MIA again, so I figure I better make use of this while I wont have any residual feelings of guilt *grinz*


People that don’t know how to WALK irritate the hell out of me. You know the ones I am talking about. Imagine this…you are walking through the mall on a busy Saturday afternoon dodging kids, strollers, random insanity, and then all of a sudden a pack of women suddenly stumble out of a store right in front of you. In one hand they are clutching their latest shopping bag, in the other they are holding their still smoking credit card and they have this completely tuned out glazed over look on their faces and they just stand in the middle of the “walkway” of the mall making people dodge them and crash into each other to avoid walking right into them. Well screw that. No more Miss Nice Mall Walker. I am going start crashing into these idiots. I can’t remember a time when I have EVER walked around without noticing my surroundings, or been completely oblivious to the entire world around me. It’s time to take back the walk areas from the people that don’t know how to walk!! Maybe if they get run over enough times they’ll realize THEY are the problem.


People that wear MP3 players and don’t take the ear phones out of their ears to talk on their cell phones irritate the hell out of me. Anyone that has ever taken public transportation during rush hour can commiserate with this. These asshole teenagers with clothes that are either painted on their bodies, or clothes that are so big they have to hold them up with one hand while “posing” on the bus/train get on the transportation systems and not only are they in herds, they all have to compete to be the loudest. This morning this little punk that I privately have fantasies of wringing like a chicken, gets on the bus listening to his IPOD at a volume that was literally concert arena loud. To top it off, his choice in music sucked ass. So while we all suffered through this horrid disruption he some how notices that his cell phone was ringing. He answered it without turning down his IPOD and stood on the bloody bus screaming “Yo Dude! I can’t hear you man! I’m on the bus!” over the psychotic volume level of his IPOD…like it’s the buses fault that he’s putting out more noise pollution than all of the Rolling Stone Tours put together.*bangs head and screams*


People that clutch the “stuff” divider bar like its some holy grail of the grocery shopping line irritate the hell out of me. What do these people really think that divider bar is capable of? In reality, its capable absolutely nothing…Just ask the random people who went home with copies of Archie magazines, gum, batteries, and whatever else was handy at the check out because they so rudely slammed that stupid bar down with a withering dirty look because I didn’t put the divider bar down BEFORE I put down my arm load of groceries. I mean seriously. WTF?!?! DOWN WITH DIVIDER BARS!!! DOWN WITH DIVIDER BARS!!! Hey!! That’s an idea!! Maybe they should have lines WITH and WITHOUT divider bars. The seriously neurotic and idiotic ones can all get in the check out line with the bars and maybe with their “premier shopping point plans” they can order divider bars with their names on them in different colors. The rest of the world that can keep their stuff together without some psychotic divider bar swinging glaring moron breathing down their necks can get in the other checkout line.


People that section people off into neat little groups (example: lifestyle friends, ‘nilla friends, spiritual friends) and never the two paths shall cross irritate the hell out of me. How self absorbed and pathetic do you have to be to NOT realize that every single person has their own personality regardless of what kind of life they live. They can’t all be lumped together depending on how they relate to your life like trash bags tossed on the side of your driveway. Many spiritual men and women do not like the Dalai Lama, but according to this kind of person, the Dalia Lama is just like her/him because she/he is “spiritual”. Give me a fucking break. On top of it all, how much an insensitive ass do you have to be to only give public recognition of friendship to one specific type of group of your neatly labeled friends because the risk of offending that one specific group is so high. To anyone that has neatly labeled me this, or neatly labeled me that, all I have to say is a giant FUCK YOU, and I mean that from the deeply spiritual place that my soul is in *smirks*


People that don’t know how to chew with their mouths closed irritate the hell out of me. Why on earth the rest of the world has to suffer through watching you eat is beyond me. Have you ever seen yourself eat? You look like a cow in a field. All that’s missing is the green grass drool. Seriously. SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH ALREADY.


…wow…I didn’t think I would get this excited…in a really scary way, this experience is really liberating *lol*


That’s all I can think of at the moment…I know I will come up with more…


Now here’s the fun part….what irritates the hell out of you? *grinz*

True Character?

“When others asked the truth of me, I am convinced it was not the truth they wanted, but an illusion they could bear to live with.”

Alanis Morissette – Everything.

I can be an asshole of the grandest kind

I can withhold like it's going out of style

I can be the moodiest baby and you've never met anyone

Who is as negative as I am sometimes



I am the wisest woman you've ever met.

I am the kindest soul with whom you've connected.

I have the bravest heart that you've ever seen

And you've never met anyone

Who's as positive as I am sometimes.



You see everything, you see every part

You see all my light and you love my dark

You dig everything of which I'm ashamed

There's not anything to which you can't relate

And you're still here



I blame everyone else, not my own partaking

My passive-aggressiveness can be devastating

I'm terrified and mistrusting

And you've never met anyone as,

As closed down as I am sometimes.



You see everything, you see every part

You see all my light and you love my dark

You dig everything of which I'm ashamed

There's not anything to which you can't relate

And you're still here



What I resist, persists, and speaks louder than I know

What I resist, you love, no matter how low or high I go



I'm the funniest woman that you've ever known

I'm the dullest woman that you've ever known

I'm the most gorgeous woman that you've ever known

And you've never met anyone

Who is as everything as I am sometimes



You see everything (you see everything), you see every part (you see every part )

You see all my light (you see all my light) and you love my dark (and you love my dark )

You dig everything (you dig everything) of which I'm ashamed (of which I'm ashamed)

There's not anything (there's not anything) to which you can't relate (to which you can't relate)

And you're still here



(You see everything, you see every part)

And you're still here

(You see all my light and you love my dark)

And you're still here

(You dig everything of which I'm ashamed)

(There's not anything to which you can't relate)

And you're still here...

“By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and Third by experience, which is the bitterest.”

A woman is often measured by things she cannot control.

She is measured by the way her body curves or doesn’t curve, by where she is flat or straight or round.

She is measured by 36-24-36 and inches and ages and numbers, by all the outside things that don’t ever add up to who she is on the inside.

And so, if a woman is to be measured, let her be measured by the things she can control, by who she is and who she is trying to become.

Because every woman knows, measurements are only statistics, and statistics lie.

“For me, the adventures of the mind, each inflection of thought, each movement, nuance, and discovery is an immense source of exhilaration.”

All your life you are told the things you cannot do.

All your life they will say you aren’t good enough or strong enough or talented enough, they’ll say you’re the wrong height or the wrong weight or the wrong type to play this or be this or achieve this.

THEY WILL TELL YOU NO, a thousand times no until all the no’s become meaningless.

All your life they will tell you NO, quite firmly and very quickly

They will tell you NO, and YOU WILL TELL THEM YES.

“There are very few human beings who receive the truth, complete and staggering, by instant illumination. Most of them acquire it fragment by fragment, on a small scale, by successive developments, like a laborious mosaic.”

Our Deepest Fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our Deepest Fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our dark that most frightens us.

Your playing small does not serve the world.

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so other people don’t feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine as children do.

It’s not just in some of us it’s in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people the ability to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear our presence automatically liberates others.

“When you embrace all the things about yourself which you find unlovable, you will have automatically allowed the space for its opposite trait to manifest”

People don't know how to love. They bite rather than kiss. They slap rather than stroke. Maybe it's because they recognize how easy it is for love to go bad, to become suddenly impossible... unworkable, an exercise of futility. So they avoid it and seek solace in angst, and fear, and aggression, which are always there and readily available. Or maybe sometimes... they just don't have all the facts.

Anger and resentment can stop you in your tracks. That's what I know now. It needs nothing to burn but the air and the life that it swallows and smothers. It's real, though - the fury, even when it isn't. It can change you... turn you... mold you and shape you into something you're not. The only upside to anger, then... is the person you become. Hopefully someone that wakes up one day and realizes they're not afraid to take the journey, someone that knows that the truth is, at best, a partially told story. That anger, like growth, comes in spurts and fits, and in its wake, leaves a new chance at acceptance, and the promise of calm.

Sometimes what tears us apart helps put us back together.

“Compelling reason will never convince blinding emotion”

Sometimes the things that may or may not be true are the things a person needs to believe in the most.

That people are basically good.

That honor, courage, and virtue mean everything.

That power and money, money and power, mean nothing.

That good always triumphs over evil.

And I want you to remember this ~ that love… true love… never dies.

You remember that and then it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not.

You see, a person should believe in those things, because those are the things worth believing in.

“You teach best what you most need to learn.”

Think.

What do you fantasize about?

World peace? Money-Fame- Ferrari? A Pulitzer? A Nobel prize? An MTV music award? A genius hunk ~ ostensibly bad but secretly shimmering with noble passions, and willing to sleep on the wet spot? A Victoria’s secret model ~ just slumming it between law school and running her family’s vastly endowed foundation for Tragically Sad-Eyed Children?

Okay, good, you see my point.

Fantasies must be unrealistic.

The minute you get something, you don’t, you can’t, want it anymore.

To exist, desire needs absent objects. So desire supports itself with crazy fantasies…

This is what people mean when they says the only time we are truly happy is when we are day-dreaming about future happiness. Or why they say, “The hunt is sweeter than the kill” or “Be careful what you wish for.” Not because you’ll get it, but because you are doomed not to want it if you do.

“Not being known doesn't stop the truth from being true.”

I Declare

I went to support group on Friday. Its been 3 whole weeks since I “graduated” and I felt guilty for skipping last weeks support group so I trudged through the sleeting rain and gazillion mile an hour winds to go and work. Well…ok…maybe not work exactly…more like see Lorraine and Carla and catch up on the gossip…I just wanted to make an appearance…not actually SAY anything. So...anyway…as I was saying…I went to the support group. Lorraine and Carla were there…we had a good 20 minute chat before group started and got all caught up and Lorraine told me that she didn’t go to the support group last week either, so I didn’t feel so guilty for not going *lol*

Group starts and this girl I’ve never met starts talking about something she witnessed when she was a young child ~I think she said 5 years old~ and how the man that did this horrible thing to this other child is still going to her families church and how her entire life she didn’t know what to do with her fear of him and a situation like that happening to her. (sorry I am not specific, she was really vague)

Brennan ~therapist~ jumps on that and starts to push her a little bit about what carrying around that fear is giving her. It must be giving her something otherwise she wouldn’t be doing it. He works with this girl for about 30 minutes and then he looks right at me and says to the group “can anyone else relate with residing fear from a traumatic event?” *groans* I sit silently, he keeps staring at me. The entire room is quiet…no one really knows what to do with the story this girl has told yet.

I finally say “I think I can relate to this, but I am not sure how”…the only reason I opened my mouth was because Brennan kept staring at me. He smiles at me ~that’s when you gotta be afraid of Brennan…he never smiles unless someone else is going somewhere really uncomfortable *sighs*~ and says “well, what are you thinking of Christine?” *bangs head* I just wanted to see my friends and catch up on the gossip damnit!!!!

I glare at him and say “when I was 21 I was raped by a boy I had dated for almost the entirety of high school…*insert room gasp here*…I did what I was supposed to. I pressed charges. I sent him and his friends to jail. I went to “surviving rape” counseling. I followed all the rules. He was released from jail in 2004. He served 5 years. His friends served 2 years. They were out in 2001. I am constantly wondering when I am going to bump into them. What would happen, what I would say, what I would do.”

Brennan then says “What do you think you would you do or say if you bumped into him and his friends?”

I look at him like he has three heads and I can’t decide which one I want to smack first and said “I would kill him.”

He sighs, looks at me and shakes his head ~another tell sign with him, it means he knows you don’t wanna work and his getting ready to give up on you and move on so someone else in the room can work instead ~ and says “well, murder has definite behavior consequences, so barring that, what do you think you would do? What would you want to say to him and his friends?”

Aha! I think I am catching on to his train of thought now…so I blast out “how fucking dare you???!!!!!!???!!!! would pretty much sum up anything I have ever wanted to say” and then Brennan sighs again. He looks at me and says “the only things you would ask him are questions? You wouldn’t want him to know what he has done to you? The impact his assault has left on you? The only thing you would settle for are questions that don’t have answers?”

I stumble a little bit…I have never actually THOUGHT about saying ANYTHING to him. I went to his court appointed psychiatric sessions because I was ordered to. I heard everything he needed to say. I didn’t even think that I had anything to return.

Brennan watches me toss this new idea around in my brain and then says “Christine, What would you want to declare to him and his friends? Even if you can’t address them in reality you can still address them in your therapy.”

I pipe back with “I sincerely don’t have a clue what I want to DECLARE to him or his friends. Why do I have to declare anything? I think the fear they left me with isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

Brennan just smiles and says “I think you have to declare something to take more of the power back from this situation. How can you expect to fully heal when you won’t recognize the feelings you have? It seems like you do have something to say. Think about it a little bit and bring it back to group next week. We’ll stop there” and I got to go home for the weekend.*bangs head*

So….what do I want to declare?

20 minutes later I am still sitting here staring at the screen…*sighs*

Dammit. This is hard. Ok. I think I have an idea.

September 16, 2006

Dear ******,

It has been 8 years since you attacked me. Attack…It’s such a light and breezy word full of misinterpretations. It has been 8 years since you and your friend’s raped me and almost murdered me.

When we were a couple in High School I never would’ve imagined that this is how we would turn out when it was all said and done. When I was 16 I actually thought that you were my “forever.” You were the first man I had in my life who truly showed me what it meant to feel treasured and cherished. You were always so concerned about my safety and my happiness. If I worked late you were always waiting to take the bus home with me, or drive me once we got our licenses and vehicles. You used to create all these weird and wonderfully romantic ways to celebrate us. You taught me that it was GOOD to dream. You taught me HOW to strive for what I really want. I loved you.

Breaking up with you is still one of the hardest things I have ever done. I know we both tried to hang on and fix what was wrong but at 17 neither of us had a clue how to do either of those things. Life wasn’t meant to be hard. Teenage love wasn’t supposed to be fueled with fights and anger. The day we sat down in those bleachers and I actually said the words “******, I am sorry, but we are over” was almost impossible for me to do. The fact that we agreed to still go to Prom after we had split was in a lot of ways even worse.

You have changed my entire life. In one hand you gave me dreams and in the other hand you killed them. In one hand you filled me with love and in the other hand you filled me with rage. I wish I could say that I understand. I wish I could say that it’s OK. My heart wants to forgive you but my brain keeps refusing.

The night you raped me you left me with a completely shattered knee, damaged internal organs, broken ribs, severe infections from the cigar burns, and broken collarbones but the thing that hurt the most was my heart. I spent months in a coma and years in surgeries to reconstruct my knee, reset the broken bones, heal the internal organs, skin graft the burns you allowed your friends to give me, and under a laser to remove 99% of the scars. When we were in trial I was still covered in bruises. You used to look at me and cry. Your eyes used to beg me to forgive you.

Your lawyers were doing everything they could to make me look like a whore and you sat at the table watching me and crying. You allowed these random strangers to brutalize me over and over again and I was supposed to love you enough to forgive you. When you took the stand I was shocked. Your defense team asked you about the sledgehammer and you said “I don’t remember doing that to her.” They asked you about the knife and you replied with the same answer. The jury kept looking at me like something was wrong with ME because you were the only person involved in that night that was crying. I refused to give you any more emotion ******.

Whenever I hear someone say “I love you” I instantly flash back to the night you told me the same thing. The only difference is you were holding a knife to my throat when you said those words to me for the last time. I am so full of confusion and resentment towards you.

As time has moved on and I have healed whenever I remember you I instantly remember the good times, the fun times, the crazy teenage things we used to do and then it all slams back to me in a huge ‘oh yea’ and the memories turn into a nightmare.

I am so angry at you. I am even angrier at myself for not being able to give up my memories of our happier times. I know that no one is really going to understand this conflict. I know my friends will exclaim something to the effect of “how can you still think kindly of him” but ******, despite everything, I don’t sincerely hate you. Maybe that’s an indication of growth, or maybe that’s an indication of how deluded I am. I am trying to view it as me taking back some of the emotional power you have had over me.

I want you to know how badly you hurt me. I want you to know how horribly you impaired me. I want you to know that because of you I suffer every day. I want you to understand that in my darkest moments I want you to die. I want your death to be slow and painful. I want you to be surrounded by people that only want to scar you and I want you to feel your heart being ripped out of your body and trod upon.

You used to tell me that you loved my poetry. I wrote a lot while I was in the hospital recovering from what you did to me. I don’t think you will like any of it now. That thought gives me some satisfaction. It gives me some power. I want to include some of the things I’ve written about you but my motives are purely vindictive and that won’t teach me anything. Despite all that I still want you to read them and I want you to feel the hurt and destruction you’ve caused.

In my fantasies, if I was to see you on a street I would walk right up to you and start screaming at you. I would physically beat you until you too had to be taught how to walk again. I would recruit who ever I could to join in and help me break you. In my darkest moments I would take you to a deserted farmers field and hold a knife to your throat while other people destroyed you. I have this vision of you tied to a tree. In my vision someone nails your penis to a piece of wood and hands me a torch. In my vision I light the torch and watch as you scream, cry and beg.

In my reality, I would never underestimate you. I would run for cover and hide from you. You didn’t feel it necessary to kill me 8 years ago but you might change your mind. I am under no illusion that I can over power you physically but I know I am stronger than you will ever be mentally. I know I can out think and out maneuver you.

In some way I want to thank you for putting me through hell. You gave me the gift of caution. The fear you instilled in me has its benefits. I am coming to terms with everything that has happened since the day I met you. I have changed from the 15 year old girl with stars in her eyes that you met and fell in love with. I am a 29 year old woman now who knows her worth and her strength.

Even with the knowledge of hindsight, even if I had known what was going to happen to me because of you, I still wouldn’t trade those memories in. I wouldn’t erase you from my life. I have nothing left to give you. I have nothing left to feel for you. I have nothing left to say to you. I just wanted you to know.

Christine.

Ninja Pooper

Some jobs are way lamer than others. In my opinion, the job that is truly the cherry on top of the lame job sundae would have to be the one where you are selling vinyl windows in the middle of the mall. Next time you’re in a mall scout out the vinyl window kiosk. Trust me, they’re in every mall in North America. Now check out the salesman. I’m going to guess that he’s not even remotely aware that you are staring at him. Clap your hands and shout, “Hey!” Now, snap a few dozen pictures utilizing flash photography. Nothing, right? The mall vinyl window salesman is completely oblivious to everyone and everything around him. He’s really kind of like an amoeba in a vinyl-clad Petri dish: you see him but he doesn’t see you. Perhaps he is not even aware that he exists. Now that you’ve got the mall window salesman in your sites, I’m going to guess that he’s reading The Sun, The Journal and likely one (or both) of our national papers. By the end of his shift he will have read all of the newspapers from cover to cover including each and every international story and the religious stuff that no one reads from the Saturday paper without so much as glancing up from the news to see if there is a customer in need of attention.



This is a day in the life of the mall window salesman, the MWS.



Here’s my theory on the mall window salesman. The MWS used to be the best. He routinely met and bettered company sales projections. He won sales contests, he received letters of praise from satisfied customers and was even seated at the sales manager’s table at the company Christmas party for two consecutive years back in the mid-nineties. He had a beautiful wife, gifted children, a late-model domestic and an eighth-share in a set of Oilers season tickets. Then, the wheels fell off. Customers discovered do-it-yourself centres like Home Depot, Rona and Totem. They discovered that choosing their own windows and installing them was really nothing to fear. The salesman’s numbers plummeted. His wife left him for the lumber manager at Home Depot. His children no longer speak to him because he can’t buy them the designer jeans and $95 t-shirts they demand. Now he lives a life of squalor in a dilapidated house boat down at the marina. He drinks too much and his sales are soft because of it.



Fast forward to the present. Soon a crusty old window salesman from the past will wander past his booth in the mall. The old man will stop dead in his tracks, squint, and have a flashback to when he was the king of the vinyl window game. He too will have lost everything at one point in his life, but dammit, he’s not going to see it happen again. He will take the current day mall window salesman under his wing and demand nothing but perfection. They will train 18 hours a day down at the old man’s vinyl window dojo and through careful tutelage and age-old vinyl window sales wisdom, the MWS will once again rise to the top of his not-so-glamorous field. Sadly, however, the old man will not witness the younger man’s triple-glazed sales triumphs for he will succumb to an incurable disease that he has kept a secret for he does not want sympathy, only respect.



Later that year at the company Christmas party the younger man (now in his mid-forties) will dedicate his Salesman of the Year title to the old man.



The End.

Yesterday I took a walk at lunch so I could buy myself a sub. The order: a 6-inch club on wheat. As my sandwich was shaping up quite nicely on the other side of the spot-free sneeze guard the craziest thing happened. The most diligent assistant manager (DAM) in the history of diligent assistant managers happened by. Stopping dead in her tracks, the DAM spun on her heels, made a beeline to where my smartly-dressed, courteous sandwich builder was honing her craft and proceeded to lift the top off my now completed sub. My first thought was maybe the DAM is simply making sure my sub is up to company standards, but that wasn't the case at all. The DAM lifted the lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and black olives off the lower bun and began counting the slices of processed meat.



This wasn't about me at all.



This was a sandwich audit. Angry with the results of the sandwich audit, the DAM yanked one, single slice of processed turkey off my sandwich and slammed it back into the bin with its heavily processed turkey brothers and sisters while muttering angry words to my now embarrassed sandwich builder.



Unbelievable.



Even if today’s sandwich audit had been to ensure this glorious little 6-incher was up to my not-real-high sandwich standards, I would have been bothered by the DAM violating my sandwich in front of me. But, like I said, today’s sandwich audit wasn’t about me at all. It was about the company. And really, is one slice of meat so valuable that it’s worth embarrassing an employee over in front of a lunch time crowd? More importantly, is one slice of meat so valuable that creating an awkward moment for a paying customer is the only solution?

I've said it a dozen times: some ideas just make good, good sense. For instance, who knew that they sell beer and wine in the IKEA cafeteria? I sure the hell didn't until this past Saturday morning and that discovery, my friend, will go down in the books as one of the single greatest discoveries EVER. I liked the idea of drinking at IKEA so much that I actually wrote "Blog about IKEA beer" on one of those little order forms they keep next to the free golf pencils so I wouldn't forget.



Think about it. Being able to get your wobble on at IKEA works well on so many levels. For the parent at the end of their rope I suggest making the most of the free hour of IKEA smalland babysitting. Simply drop your kids off in the care of complete strangers, head right up that escalator and proceed to drown your cares in 11 domestic beers in 60 minutes while you bask in all that fluorescent light atmosphere. Too boozed to make it back before your hour of free babysitting is up? Go have a nap in either the living room or bedroom department. I'm sure that there are laws that prevent smalland from ejecting your kids into a busy parking lot, so relax and enjoy the bed spins on the all-new NORESUND. Trust me, your kids will still be there when you get sober.



For the frugal shopper, I suggest a trip to the IKEA cafeteria before you begin shopping. Seriously. A gallon of red wine and a few beers later, and the next round of KLIPPAN loveseats is on you.



And do I even need to mention the starving student? Hell, even if a beer is $4.50 that’s more than manageable when you just paid $1 for breakfast.



I used to dread our all-too-frequent trips to IKEA, but to be completely honest with you, I now look forward to them. A few dart boards, a pool table, a karaoke machine and a big screen would be nice, but I’m not going to complain. I’ll just hoist my glass, a SVEPA (or it might be a POKAL) and say, “IKEA: Swedish for let’s get drunk and go shopping.”

Earlier today, I went to the washroom to urinate. I sat there in my own little cubicle, whispering and then talking (out loud) to myself. I was completely oblivious to the fact that I was not alone. It wasn’t until I was standing at the sink washing my hands that I caught a fleeting glimpse of a pair of shiny black shoes in the mirror. Those shoes were directly behind me in one of the stalls. What the? How the? No sound, no smell...oh my God…it was a Ninja Pooper.



Now, I figure I was in the washroom for at least two minutes, maybe three, and did not have a clue that there was a stealthy pooper lurking in the shadows. It was the strangest thing. There were absolutely no signs that an office pooper was nearby. No smell, no sound, no “How’s it going, eh?” chatter, no nothing. This particular pooper didn’t even announce his occupancy with the perfunctory courtesy cough, overly exaggerated yawn, or the simple but effective “River Dance”. I was in the vicinity of the elusive Ninja Pooper.



The Ninja Pooper lurks in the shadows and will defecate without so much as stirring any one of your five senses. It is my theory that a Ninja Pooper is so adept at the office poop that she/he poops while simultaneously releasing a fresh potpourri scent/white noise combination to further conceal their occupancy of a washroom stall. This, combined with their ancient controlled breathing methods, allows them to stealthily poop without blowing their cover.



Later, as I wandered the hallways inspecting my coworker’s shoes in the hopes of finding the true identity of the Ninja Pooper, it occurred to me that this particular Ninja Pooper is so good that she keeps a spare pair of black shoes in her desk and only slides them on when an office poop is inevitable as not to jeopardize her deep cover. To that I say, bravo, Ninja Pooper, bravo.



All hail the Ninja Pooper.

Remembering New York

Tribute to the New York Firefighters

“Keep climbing” says the captain,
“Up through the smoke and smell”
“Keep climbing” says the captain,
“I think I heard somebody yell”
“Keep climbing” says the captain,
“Alive or dead, not ours to tell”
“Keep climbing” calls the captain,
“Forget about your pain.”
“Keep climbing” shouts the captain,
“We have a few more floors to gain”
“Keep climbing” yells the captain,
“We’ll bring them down again”
“Keep climbing” cries the captain,
“If I can, so can you”
“Keep climbing” orders the captain,
“Right now I need the best from you”
“Keep climbing” screams the captain,
“Forget about those sounds.
“It’s just some girders twisting and some concrete falling down”
“Keep climbing” prays our captain,
“Eyes raised, heading for the top.
“And when you’re tired and feel like quitting, remember them. They didn’t stop.”
“Keep climbing” whispers the captain,
“Climb up to that light.
“Right up to that sunshine. No smoke to smell, no fire to fight.
“Keep climbing” sings the captain, “That angels hand will lead the way.
“Rest now” sighs the captain, “You did your job today.”
~Author Unknown~

Beastie Boys - An Open Letter to NYC

Two Thousand One Nine Eleven.

Two thousand one, nine eleven

Five thousand plus arrive in heaven

As they pass through the gate,

Thousands more appear in wait

A bearded man with stovepipe hat

Steps forward saying, "Lets sit, lets chat"

They settle down in seats of clouds

A man named Martin shouts out proud

"I have a dream!" and once he did

The Newcomer said, "Your dream still lives."

Groups of soldiers in blue and gray

Others in khaki, and green then say

"We're from Bull Run, Yorktown, the Maine"

The Newcomer said, "You died not in vain."

From a man on sticks one could hear "

The only thing we have to fear...

The Newcomer said, "We know the rest, trust us sir, we've passed that test."

"Courage doesn't hide in caves You can't bury freedom, in a grave,"

The Newcomers had heard this voice before

A distinct Yankee twang from the Hyannisport shore.

A silence fell within the mist Somehow the Newcomer knew that this

Meant time had come for her to say

What was in the hearts of the five thousand plus that day

"Back on Earth, we wrote reports,

Watched our children play in sports

Worked our gardens, sang our songs

Went to church and clipped coupons

We smiled, we laughed, we cried, we fought

Unlike you, great we're not."

The tall man in the stovepipe hat Stood and said,

"don't talk like that! Look at your country, look and see

You died for freedom, just like me"

Then, before them all appeared a scene

Of rubbled streets and twisted beams

Death, destruction, smoke and dust

And people working just 'cause they must

Hauling ash, lifting stones,

Knee deep in hell But not alone.

"Look! Blackman, Whiteman, Brownman, Yellowman

Side by side helping their fellow man!"

So said Martin, as he watched the scene

"Even from nightmares, can be born a dream."

Down below three firemen raised

The colors high into ashen haze

The soldiers above had seen it before

On Iwo Jima back in '44.

The man on sticks studied everything closely

Then shared his perceptions on what he saw mostly

"I see pain, I see tears, I see sorrow - but I don't see fear."

"You left behind husbands and wives

Daughters and sons and so many lives are suffering now because of this wrong

But look very closely. You're not really gone.

All of those people, even those who've never met you

All of their lives, they'll never forget you.

Don't you see what has happened? Don't you see what you've done?

You've brought them together, together as one.

With that the man in the stovepipe hat said

"Take my hand," and from there he led five thousand plus heroes,

Newcomers to heaven

On this day,

Two Thousand One, Nine Eleven.

~Written by Paul Spreadbury~

Skating Anyone?

For some unknown reason to me I really seem to enjoy buying things that I can potentially severely hurt myself on while attempting to use.

When Lance and I first started going out he told me he really like to rollerblade. I said “oh cool, I’ve always wanted to learn how to do that”….fateful words…so Lance and I went to Sports Check and I bought these really hot super duper top of the line K2 rollerblades.

My Rollerblades. Aren’t they pretty?!?!?! *lol*

The day I bought them the sales guy at Sports Check asked me if I had ever roller skated, I said “oh yea, my roller skates had ice cream cone laces and rainbows on them. I remember dancing on my driveway in them.” Sales guy then said “ok, then you’ll have no problems on rollerblades” …fateful words…he then let me get off the sticky mat thingy to try them out around the store. I was so excited.

I cruised around the store like some kind of rollerblading super hero. I only had one minor problem in the store. Someone decided that putting a pyramid of boxes in my way was a good idea…and no, it doesn’t matter that the pyramid was there before I even thought about buying rollerblades…I crashed into the pyramid like the Kool-Aid Guy and hit the ground HARD. I wasn’t so excited at that point. Everyone was laughing at me. Lance was torn between laughing his ass off at me, making sure I hadn’t broken anything and being somewhat thrilled that his girlfriend appeared to be trying to have some skill at rollerblading

We drove over to his sister’s house and I put my blades on, still somewhat all happy and excited. I figured that I had learned from the crash in the store and I wouldn’t repeat that mistake…bad thought process...I laced and strapped myself into my blades and attempted to stand up. It’s really not easy to do without a sticky mat underneath you so the wheels don’t roll. I finally managed the feat of standing up and I hobbled to the back alley where Lance was waiting for me.

Despite the fact that it took me almost 10 minutes to stand up from the chair I was in when I put them on, I was still pumped to get out and skate. We “practiced” going up and down the back alley until I got the hang of the back break thing. On roller skates the brake is a big blob on the front of the boot, on roller blades they put the brake on the back of whatever foot you feel comfortable having it on. You have to drag your foot behind you like some kind of idiot to stop yourself. It’s really not that easy.

Lance figured that I’ve got the brake thing understood and we decide to leave the safety of the back alley and head for the bike trails. We went down the back alley and when the alley reached the street it had this teeny tiny little hill. Well I went down this little hill like I was rocket propelled. All I really remember is screeching “I can’t stop!!!!!! I really can’t stop!!!!!! Lance!!!!!! I seriously can’t stop!!!!!!!!!” with my arms waving above my head like a panic struck psychotic dragging my brake foot behind me before lance tackled me like a football line backer and took me down about 2 feet before the street reached a busy road. I looked up and saw a truck roar past on the busy road and then I realized I would’ve been on the grill of that truck. I made an executive decision at that point to stop rollerblading for the day and we head back to his sisters house…the long skate back…the whole block and a half away. I managed to make it back to his sister’s house on the blades without falling down again partially because I walked on the grass and clung from tree to tree and partially out of sheer luck.

I ended up in the hospital with a minor concussion and Lance ended up in a panic stricken state. Come to think of it, that was the night that he said “I think I love you”…my reply to that? “Lemme know when you are sure” *lol* I haven’t been on the blades since. That was last June…or was it July? I dunno…I got a concussion, I am not supposed to remember *lol*

Fast forward to around September of last year. Lance was all excited about his “beer league” hockey league starting. He asks me if I have ever skated. I say “yea, I used to skate when I was a kid, it was fun. We went to Hawrelak park and always had hot chocolate when we were done” he says “cool, have you ever played hockey?” I say “yea, in elementary I was on the floor hockey team, we kicked ass, we won the championship!” he says “sounds fun. Do you want to play hockey with us?” I stop, vaguely remember the rollerblading incident, decide to ignore it, and say “yes! That would be so fun!”… fateful words…

The “boys” skates.

We instantly rush out to West Edmonton Mall buy skates. I got a pretty hot pair of “boys” skates. They felt good, I didn’t wobble around in them, my heels didn’t lift…the sales guy at Sports Check told me they were a perfect fit. I beamed at the sales guy and lance kissed my forehead and took them over to the skate sharpening booth to get them all ready. West Edmonton Mall has a skating rink in it. We were just going to go directly from the store to the ice rink. Lance tied my boots up for me at the rink and I hobbled over to the door in the boards. I stepped onto the ice and HOLY SHIT who put the rocking chairs under my freekin feet!?!?!? I only had one foot on the ice and I went down like a sumo wrestler. I hurt my butt. Everyone was looking at me and laughing.

West Edmonton Mall is a HUGE tourist attraction…all these Asian people come from all over these Asian countries to see this mall...I stood there and watched them cruise around the ice and thought “well gheesh, if they can do it so can I!”… bad bad thought process…but with that thought, I actually made it out the door this time and had BOTH feet on the ice…and no, the death grip I had on the boards doesn’t matter…Lance was skating around in circles waiting for me to move my feet and actually skate.

I push off. I land on my butt. I crawl back up the boards and push off again. I move a whole 3 inches. I push off again and glide another foot. At this point I am still clinging to the boards and Lance is still skating around in circles encouraging me. All the Asian’s are still zooming by me. I take one hand off the boards of the rink and decide “OK, I can do this!” and push off and away from the boards. I weebled and I wobbled, but I didn’t fall down!! Yay me!!! *lmao* I am about a foot away from the boards and I push off again and BAM!! I fall down and almost take out a little kid wearing a helmet. *sighs* I crawl back up the boards and push myself along them and make it half way around the rink to the hockey team players benches. I stumble head first into the benches and rub my butt and instantly start whining that my skates are too tight and they are hurting my feet. *smirks* a pretty good lie on the spot I thought!

At this point I think Lance was feeling a little sorry for me because he said “ok hon, I’m gonna skate around a bit, you loosen off your skates so your feet don’t hurt and then we’ll go around again”…like I had even made it around the rink once… I sat in the benches and watched Lance turned Wayne Gretzky zoom around the ice, dodging kids and Asian’s the whole way and thought “damn he’s good” and figured with the brilliant female logic “if he can be that good at it, I can be better” *sighs* and I hopped out of the players benches and onto the ice. Just a tip guys…DO NOT HOP ON ICE!!!!

Lance zooms back over to me, helps me up and kisses my forehead and then says “baby, you have to get to the other side of the rink if you want to stop skating.” I look at him like he’s some kind of alien who has taken the place of my kind hearted boyfriend who should offer to carry me across the ice and say “fine!” with that tone that says “it is SO not fine” and push off on my skates and amazingly I made it around the rest of the rink without falling again. I get back to the area where I started this skating nightmare and step off the ice and take a look at myself. My jeans are SOAKED. My hands are turning blue. I am just not a happy camper. Then I realize “dammit! I have to pee! “

The person that designed this skating rink really didn’t have a good idea. They put the bathrooms down about 50 stairs. Lance looks at me, looks at the stairs, looks back at me and says “please be careful.” I wonder if he was thinking that I was just gonna attempt to slide down the railing or something. Gheesh. I looked at lance and muttered “I CAN walk down stairs without falling ya know!” in that female snitty tone and started down the stairs…and then I fell. It was like doing a cart wheel with sharp pointy spears on. I took out an Asian guy coming up the stairs and we landed in a heap at the bottom of them. *sighs*

Lance runs down the stairs…my isn’t he clever? Not only can he stay upright on ice, he can run down stairs too!...and unfolds me from this poor man that I almost killed. I apologize to the guy and bolt to the bathroom. I held my butt up to the hand dryer so my jeans would dry off and I ran my hands under hot water so they wouldn’t look like I was dead anymore and came out of the bathroom. Lance was leaning against the wall, still in his skates, looking at me with that twinkly little smirk he gets when he’s trying really hard not to laugh and doesn’t say a word. He just grabs my hand, kisses my forehead and walks with me back up the stairs.

This is the point where I start whining that I need a toe pick to be able to skate. I start in with how “girl” skates are flat and “boys” skates are sharpened like they are rocking chairs. I actually had myself convinced that it was the skate’s fault that I couldn’t manage to stay upright. Needless to say, I didn’t play hockey in the beer league last year. I haven’t been on the “boys” skates since.

Fast forward to today. Lance’s hockey beer league starts tonight. He decided that he needed new skates because the skates he has are about 12 years old. Off to Sports Check we go…are you starting to notice that I really don’t make good decisions when I go to Sports Check?!?!!?... and while Lance is browsing in the “boys” skate department I venture over to where the “girl” skates are displayed and I see this super cute pair of “girl” skates with …ta da…a TOE PICK!! The answer to my prayers!! I try them on. The sales guy tells me they are a perfect fit. I was so proud of myself. Lance finds a pair of skates that he likes, I am super happy with my “girl” skates that come with these really super cute fuzzy skate protectors that match the boot of the skate and Lance is smart enough not to say a word. We buy our skates, get them sharpened, and leave Sports Check.

The “girls” skates with the toe picks and the super cute fuzzy skate protectors.

We go back to the West Ed Mall skating rink and I get into my skates. Lance re-laces them for me because I couldn’t get them tight enough and off we go. Remember, I seriously thought that because I have used “girl” skates my entire life that it would be like riding a bike. The other skates were bad because they didn’t have a toe pick…REALLY bad logic…I step onto the ice and am instantly attacked by a swarm of Asian people who weren’t any better on skates than I am. We all go down in this giant mass of twisted legs and arms and sharp pointy speared feet. Lance is still standing inside the boards, not on the ice yet, laughing his ass off. I glare at him from the bottom of the skating dog pile that I managed to create and he comes out in true rescue hero form and pulls me to my feet.

This time I managed to skate around the ice for about 20 minutes only holding onto the boards when the swarm of Asian people was zooming toward me again. I got brave and decided to try going up the middle of the ice, completely away from the boards, and away from the zooming Asians. I made it to the middle of the rink and then…well…I truly wish I knew exactly what went wrong, but I ended up doing this warped pirouette and I landed on my head. I looked like I was trying out for the figure skating team for the Special Olympics. I sit on the ice, Lance skates around me in circles desperately trying not to laugh. I am still sitting on the ice wondering how the hell I am going to stand up without the boards. This little girl skates by me in a frilly figure skating outfit, stops, looks at me, and decides that this is her perfect moment to attempt a double sow-cow jump. She landed on me. *sighs*

This little girl’s mother comes raring out of the “shoe’d” area onto the ice in her flip flop sandals screaming like some kind of lunatic. She gets about 5 feet away from me and then she slips. It was like watching a cartoon. Her feet went over her head, her butt hit the ice, and she came crashing into me and her little girl. At this point everyone that was walking around the mall, everyone that is skating on the rink, the employees, Lance…EVERYONE…was pointing and laughing. I am once again on the bottom of a dog pile and Lance is once again trying to disentangle me from the chaos.

I get on my feet, wrap my arms around Lance and he tows me to the “shoe’d” area and I get off the ice. I take off my “girl” skates, put my runners back on and just sit there. Lance is smart enough to not say a word. We come home, I peel off my soaking wet jeans and then Lance says “wow babe, nice bruises!” *sighs* It hurts to sit down. I may just get back on the “girl” skates. I didn’t do too badly on them. This time I was upright more than I was on my butt, that’s progress right??!!

I truly don’t know what keeps possessing me to buy things I can really hurt myself on. I keep making an ass out of myself. At least I am good entertainment.

Does anyone want to buy a pair of skates? They are all size 8. *lol*

Oh, To Be Loved

I am so excited.

The day I "graduated" from group Lance came home with Phantom of the Opera tickets.

I was feeling pretty scared about going out alone ~ as you all know~ and I really didnt have anything to look forward to, to be excited about, to feel that simple joy about. My fear was overriding everything....

Until Lance came home and handed me flowers and the Phantom tickets. Gawd how wonderful he is for my soul. He unwittingly gave me exactly what I needed...something to anticipate. He shows me a million times a day how much he loves me. He expresses his caring for me in so many different ways ~ from a kiss on the forehead, to screaming "Honey! Im homeeeee! Wanna get naked?" *lmao*. I am so very thankful that I am now able to recieve and recognize his efforts for what they truly are. I have never been loved like this before ~ ok, thats not really fair, I might've been, but I have never felt the way I do in return.

Tommorrow night we will be going to see Phantom. I so cannot wait to create another memory with Lance.

I love you so much My Tiny Lancer Sexy Bum Hot Toes *lol* Thank you for loving me.

Phantom of the Opera - Music of The Night

BDSM Communities?

There is no kink community.



There is no leather community or fetish community or BDSM community.



At least not in the way the many imply that there is.



In chat rooms, forums and blogs, the word "community" is tossed around with gravity. At leather title contests you hear the buzzword all the time. Ms Leather So-&-So and Mr. Leather Whatnot talking about how great it is to be supported by and serve the community. New erotic adventurers who come seeking knowledge and camaraderie are met with encouraging words of how the community helps one another, protects and educates their own. We exchange grave nods of approval at the utterances celebrating the strength of the community. From all this, you'd think that there's some card-carrying membership policy among a secret network of safe houses where rules are universal and the elders are wise.



There isn't.



Here's the current situation. There are multitudes of loosely knit connections of people who share similar sexual appetites or erotic aesthetics. The connections are made through the various methods available to the modern romantic, which were not available in the ancient days of 1990's and before. The blogs, the e-mail lists, pod casts, Craigslist and various Tribe and Friendster type network sites are de rigueur now.

People still connect at fetish-themed nightclubs and SM social organizations, but less so through the traditional leather bar cruise scenes. Little kink events once held on rare occasions in seedy clubs have blossomed into major destination events taking over convention hotels and drawing thousands of people with a large impact on the local economy.



Through all this, many people are still introduced through trusted mutual friends. Even the interests range wide in these communities. Today you can find every subgenre of fetishistic sex interest and erotic taste supported in web lists with accompanying events. Whether you are into silk scarf bondage or erotic cannibalism, there's someone out there that shares your interest. Enough mouse clicks and you can find them.



But does that make us a community?



This depends on how you define community and what you expect from it. The greater your assumptions and expectations, and in turn the dependency on these expectations, the more likely it is that you're going to be disappointed.



In a community one expects that we share many things in common. Various human communities are formed around religion, politics, belief systems, hereditary or ethnic lineage, history, language, laws and even brand preferences. So, do we as an aggregate agree and hold something in common?



We all like kinky sex, right? But what's kinky? I know people who enjoy spankings who do not think their sex style is kinky, nor do they feel they have anything in common with people who may practice bondage or flogging. Can we as a community agree that we believe in Safe-Sane-Consensual sexual activities or the how's and why's in the use of safewords? We certainly know that not everyone believes in or adheres to these codes of conduct. Can we assume that at least we can agree on politics that protect our rights to privacy in our bedroom and consensual sex among adults? No. Plenty of kinky people have shown with their votes that certain adults should not have sex, kinky or not, together -- especially when they're the same gender. Okay, so we can't agree on what kind of sex we have in common, basic kinky sex etiquette, who can have such sex or politics and civil liberties, yet we still identify ourselves as a group, bound by a common affinity. Curious, isn't it?



If there is a community, are the members entitled to certain rights and benefits? There is no Bill of Rights for kinksters beyond the law of the land. Sure, private clubs and organizations will have written bylaws and perks. If you qualify for membership in these, and behave in certain ways fit for those organizations, you have access to resources such as meetings, parties and outings. While rarely invoked, many clubs have the policy that misbehavior or breaking agreements can get a participant's membership revoked. These rules and benefits, however, do not extend beyond the organization. This means that there is no one designated to protect a perv among pervs in the general population. The unspoken assumption is that we're all adults and behave as polite adults. There is no one to whom individual responsibility and accountability can be abdicated… and this includes dominant/submissive or master/slave relationships.



If a kinkster encounters a crisis, is there some governing body that will come to their aid? No. Are kinksters entitled to mutual assistance simply for being kinky? No. Are there people who expect such aid? Yes.



In the end what are we left with? How do we find a place of belonging that we can call a community? It seems to be in our genetic makeup to seek out social groupings, a tribe, a village, to belong to. The soul hungers to belong and be accepted for who we are. Sex and desire is just as fundamental to the human condition as this desire to belong. Through technological conveniences and twists of words we often fool ourselves into a false sense of community to stave off the dreaded loneliness. As we lean more and expect more out of this shapeless entity we call community, we may feel more and more desperately alone and disillusioned with each disappointment.



So what is the leather / kink / perv / BDSM community?



In the end, the only community that you can count on is the one you make yourself. It's the network of friends that you actively create. To do so, you cannot hide behind a faceless screen name. You have to take the risk of making real human connections. The people you meet may come to care about who you are, but first you must care about who they are. You have to really get to know people, not just their on-line profiles and favorite quotes. When it comes down to it, the community and its quality that you experience is made by what you put into it, and the network of friends you personally make, eye-to-eye, handshake to handshake.

Written by: Fetish Diva Midori, 01/24/2006.

What do you all think about BDSM Communities?

Now before I get the typical "but I cant go to BDSM clubs" and other excuses, please stop and apply some thought to this.

Before you found this particular lifestyle did you actually think that you were in a community with every random person you ever met, or did you think that your friends and family ~ the people you spent time with doing real life things every day ~ was your community?

How can people claim that they are this or that when they have never actually experienced anything even close to a real scene? Typing "mmm yea, spank me Master, I've been bad" is entirely different than getting bent over and truly punished. The feeling of pain has very little to do with anything at that moment. Just as actually doling out pain is VERY different than typing about it.

I truly dont understand why respect is automatically given to people on a computer monitor because yahoo allowed them to make an Id with the word Master or Mistress in it. We have all seen the submissives bow, crawl, cater to, and attempt to dry hump their legs as soon as these "Masters/Mistresses" appear, but yet, when the submissive is asked "do you know that person?" the reply is almost always "no."

When did giving up your personal respect and boundaries become the IN thing to do? When did allowing every random stranger with a "dominant" yahoo ID to humiliate you become acceptable? When did it become OK to sacrifice your self, your worth, your needs, your wants, and your body to every random stranger you come across to achieve a status in a "community"?

Why do the dominants hold these submissives, who act in such self-disrespecting manners, in such "high" regard? is it simply because they always know who to PM when they are horny? or is it because they truly believe that as a submissive a person is EXPECTED to give up their entire personality and morph into some kind of super whore?

When did intelligence, common sense, self worth and logic get replaced with a free for all fuck fest that will be hand catered to those people who have a "dominant" ID?

How did people that join this "community" forget that BDSM relationships are just like any other ones? There is time, patience, communication, and mutual respect needed to make it succeed, just like anything else. Just because someone can type "cracks my whip" or "twirls my flogger" or "spanks your ass" doenst mean that person can actually DO any of those things safely and with any skill what so ever.

Just like anything else, I am so tired of the plastic facade. Lets get real people.

The picture I put in on this blog says it perfectly to me...do people really believe that submissives are on their hands and knees typing with a pencil held between their teeth because their hands are handcuffed?!??! Do submissives really believe that the "dominants" are sitting in front of their PC's wearing PVC and holding a whip to crack at their monitors!?!?

Where did reality go?!?!?!??!?!

I Wish

Its been quite a day.

I spent the early morning hours killing a virus that had somehow "mysteriously" gotten onto my computer (and noooooo...the porn pop up link that was visited couldnt have had anythingt to do with it...RIGHT?! ...I mean GHEESH...I gave the man free safe sites to go look at women, why do it the wrong way!?!? )

Having finally killed the virus (arent ya proud of me MEB, I didnt pm you panicking once! I just wont tell you about the Computer Programming Chat Room I found and the nerds in there that helped me...), I ran my entire system through a billion different scans and clean up programs...then I backed up everything onto a billion more data disks (ok ok maybe not a billion, but the total so far is 48 and Im only half way done )

I cleaned out my folder of all the stuff I wanted to blog but never got around to...hence why there are a few entries today....and I organized my out of control music file and re-loaded my mp3 player cuz my song list was gettin boring

I talked to some of my Boyz' family members today. I called them all just to touch base and to let them know that I was thinking of them, and their son's (or nephew in Mark's case)...It seemed like a good idea at the time...now I am not so sure.

Mark's family is in the midst of trying to prepare for the fifth aniversary of September 11. Mark's Aunt is taking it very hard, as she does every year, but she actually got really angry with me when I told her I wasnt coming to NY for 9/11 this year. I am not ready to see D & M's graves. I am not ready to re-visit Mark's grave. I cant do it yet.

T & J's Dad is in the midst of moving out of Boston to Florida (whyyyyyyy?!?! the man hates the heat!!...but whatever...he wants to be an old retired gigalo ) and he wants me to come down and visit in January...I bartered for February cuz thats when its coldest in Alberta *lol*

D's widow (skrag, skank, ho, twatwaffle...need I go on about how I feel about her?! *smiles sweetly*) is getting married again ...it seems she met someone while D was in Iraq and they are gonna get married...that's gotta be a record...the ink is barely dry on his death certificate.

M's dad is moving from Cali back to NY because he (and I quote) "Hates fucking palm trees" so I am going to make him a paper-mache palm tree for Christmas

Today I really miss my Boyz. Not that I dont miss them everyday, but today, for some reason, they are on my mind alot.

Jamie Foxx - I Wish You Were Here.