More Pixel Dolls

Okay. I know. It's a sickness. But it IS Saturday, and after I went to my bellydance class (which rocked, by the way!!) I came home and played some more with the Pixel Kims. I found some clothes that look a little bit like basic bellydance outfits. I also found my sexy librarian glasses and I found a kitty cat that looks a bit like Tituba. Note that she's opening her mouth to complain that she hasn't been fed yet. That is very, very realistic. The bellydance costumes are more the "Egyptian Cabaret style" of costumes than the one that I listed on the site earlier this week. The one I made borders on a mixture between Cabaret & Tribal. Sort of. But it's mostly just cool.

This last one includes "fun with filters." Speaking of bellydance, I made the decision to try out the local studio today. The class was an "Intermediate/Advanced Drillz" class. I learned a basic choreography, and got a great sweaty workout also. The choreography that I learned was sort of "Bollywood" ish, and very fun. I was practicing it in the living room and the guy who is making our new coffee bar (a cool friend of ours who is also a shop teacher) busted me practicing. I think he'll live. But I'm sure that out of context it was a little weird. Ah well. I'm weird. That's the truth. I may have to waste some time building Nissa pixel dolls too. We'll see. The hubby will be home soon and I have to act like a grown up and cook dinner. (Spagetti.)

Yes, I just deleted a post, temporarily

Okay, if you have seen it here just moments ago and it's now gone, you're wondering why I have just done my first ever self-censoring. Well, I've taken that post off for at least the time being cause I don't want the person to whom it was referring to find this blog and use the post as fodder for some sort of weird obsession. I just got another sad email, and I'm now worried that I really really should have ignored the person.

Sheesh. You try to be nice.

Pixel Kims

Hah! Because she's a fabulous person and web surfer looking at things I hadn't seen, Liz sent me to this website yesterday in a comment. Oh Glorious glory! While I still think a pixel-person created by Chris D. would be cool, I have a few pixel Kims that I made on the website. The first is just a plain old Kim, standing around, perhaps waiting for the husband to finish making her a latte. She's wearing her favorite red shirt and her loose fitting (not the skinny) jeans. Too many lattes have made her have to keep the skinny jeans in the closet for now.

The next Kim has been watching a lot of MTV and just got back from Hot Topic where she felt sort of old around the other shoppers, but still loved the cool t-shirts and funky "punk rock" pants that she's wanted since punk was cool the first time (and a lot more hard core). At Hot Topic, she did see this t-shirt she totally wanted to get for the future Wells Jr. (Not that the Wells Jr. will be around to wear it for a long while, as far as she knows, but it's still so damned cute.)

Then we have "going out to P.F. Chang's for dinner" pixel Kim. Again in red, she has a loose fit so she can eat all of her rice-noodles with ginger & chicken and basil, as well as share on of those "Great Wall" chocolate desserts.


Then we have Pixel Kim's true (wickedly naughty but still sweet) nature. You realize, of course, that I do own my very own angel wings? Why, there's a picture of me wearing them right over there in my "profile" link. These wings are in their real color, when I don't magically turn them white because it freaks people out for me to have fairy wings instead of angel ones. Cause thinking I'm a naughty fairy worries them.

Then finally, we have what is undoubtedly my favorite pixel Kim, although I have to admit I don't own my own pair of handcuffs in real-life. I really like the leather cat suit. (Which I have seen AND TRIED ON at Hot Topic in the past. Granted, it was a Halloween costume, but maybe someday I'll deserve to wear a skin tight pleather cat suit like this one.)

Now this doesn't mean that if you're trying to create a pixel version of me on your own, you talented fabulous people you, that you should stop. I mean, what I really want is a pixel Kim in a bellydance outfit. Maybe my red one, that you see pictured in the post below. (Hint. Hint). But these will do for now.

I tried to make a Pixel Hubby but the guys on the website were all hopelessly NOT my husband. The girl who created this comic has a fairly normal image of what a girl can look like with the proper workouts and sensible eating. But the boy bodies were all ridiculously buff with World Power Lifter Abs. I am afraid the poor thing has some real disappointment ahead of her with the reality of husband-ly-ness. But that's another blog.

Here's my "Outcome" card on my Tarot reading....

And the thing it's supposed to mean is:

Indicates the outcome of the matter.Victory. A triumphant attitude that inspires. Success as a result of hard work. A blessed result. Advancement. High energy.

  With my question, it's a little weird to get this answer.  But I'm not telling what the question was.  I know.  That's mean of me.  But it's interesting, nevertheless. 

Four AM thoughts

The hubby & I tend to wake each other up in the middle of the night if one of us needs to go to the bathroom.  Since we both have tiny little bladders and drink a lot of water, it is a rare night when we sleep through the whole thing. 

This morning, about 4 am, he got up.  It woke me, so I figured "what the heck" and went too. (Two bathrooms.  Wonderful invention).  Then, back in bed, cool under ceiling fan and soft white sheets, we both lay there for a long time, sleepless.  He would flop to one side, I would move my legs.  He would sling his long leg over mine and then do this annoying twitchy-spasm thing he sometimes does, so I would move.  We were trying hard to fall asleep again, very tired still.  But I lay there with those thoughts you get at 4 am, thinking thinking, and knowing that I would never be able to re-capture them properly when awake. 

• The plot for my "fan fiction" of Evil Vampire Willow in Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
• My dissertation. Feel guilty.
• Worrying about the step aerobic routine I need to write for my new class I'll teach Wednesdays & Fridays.  Plan music to go with it.
• Thinking about evil ex-boyfriend and maybe writing a tell-all blog entry on how bad he was; deciding that gives him way more energy on my part than he deserves.
• Thinking about hammocks.
• Hear the cat's litter box (an automated one) going off and making its scraping happy noise, hoping it doesn't get clogged.
• Trying to sleep.  Thinking over and over again the word "sleep sleep sleep sleep."
• When that doesn't work, try the chant:  "Om Mani Padme Hum" (The Jewel in the Lotus).
• Bellydance outfits I want to make.  Silk Painting. 
• Thinking about blogging.  Wishing I wrote like blogger A or blogger B.  Figuring if I start doing it now, they'll totally know I ripped off their style.  Thinking about my favorite blog entries of the past, what they had going for them.
• Wondering about general health and well-being (doesn't everyone get this?)
• Thinking of Friday plans.  What kind of going-away present to get for a guy I sort of know, like as an aquaintance, but who once seemed to have a crush on me, so you don't wanna get something too personal?  Also, what appetizer should I make to bring?
• Think about junior high kids who were mean to me. Resolve to not think about that anymore.
• Hear cat meow;  listen to see if she actually has caught a bug who needs to be scooped up and rescued from her claws of torture.
• Flip over on tummy.  Feel hubby flip over on his tummy.
• Wonder what hubby is thinking about. 
• Think about Tarot cards.*  Want to get better at reading the whole deck, and not just the major arcana.
• Think about bellydance class/troupe I want to join.  Does the leader of the troupe remind me too much of a grad school teacher I hated?
• Finally, finally, fall asleep.
• Alarm clock goes off seconds later.  (It seems that way).
• Hubby says to reset it for an hour later.  (The re-rack).
• Lie there, tired.  Plan blog entry.  Fall asleep.  Wake up more than an hour later cause, in resetting clock, accidentally turned volume down.

*After going to the link on Tarot cards and getting a "free reading" to a question, I am a little weirded out at what the reading seemed to imply.  It's very interesting, the Tarot.  If you go there, use the Celtic Cross Spread.  :)

Get Your Barf Bag Out.......Sappy Romance Ahead....

Inspired by a new blogger I just discovered who writes long lists of "things she learned" from her mother & father, I was thinking of a list of things I learned from my husband.  I know.  I know. It's entirely too romantically mushy for print.  Maybe I won't even post it.  But here I go on a quest for enlightenment.

1. I can be gorgeous and so sexy he can't keep his hands off me at 7 in the morning, even if I have kitten breath and knotted hair.  
2. It is okay, sometimes, to be-- not rude-- but slightly short with salespeople who do not know anything and are not at all helping you.
3. Flying in an airplane while sudden "turbulence" bumps and jolts wiggle you back and forth is a nap-worthy event.
4. Freckles on a man's lips are cute as hell.
5. If I don't finish the ultimately soul-rending project of getting my dissertation done and my PhD in hand, I will always be mad at me.
6. (this when I was 21) The slightly older college professor who taught my business section of my honors class was hot.  (And about the same age as the future-hubby). 
7. I am a genius with computers.  (comparatively speaking)
8. I am a genius with food.  (with no equivocation).
9. I actually can gain weight!  I don't have a "lucky" metabolism like I used to always exclaim back when I was a skinny-minnie.
10. The power of stubbornness.
11. How you never actually can say "I love you" too many times in one day. 
12. That I like a man taller than me.  Especially when doing the waltz.  (And yes, I mean the dance.  Not a metaphor for anything else!)
13. That it is totally okay to buy cut flowers for yourself.  That guys kind of like flowers in the house too.
14. Casablanca!
15. That farts can sometimes be totally odorless, but really, really loud.
16. How to box.
17. How to jog.  (Still learning this one.  Not really convinced).
18. That lying in a two-person hammock in the back yard, drinking frozen margaritas while our black cat sniffs grass suspiciously is better than virtually any vacation in the world.
19. That I could survive on my own in a big city like London, if necessary.
20. This one is "because" of him:  that I am good at navigating London's "Tube."  Like I was born to it, despite previous public transportation experience being limited mostly to Pensacola's lame bus system.
21. How to enjoy red wines.  That White Granache is toilet swill.  (It's the only wine I drank when I met him.)
22. That I don't like Dom Perignon, but am pretty fond of Veuve Cliquot.  And that if you buy a bottle of Veuve and some Godiva chocolates in the duty free shop in Paris before boarding the Chunnel train, everyone else on board in your cheaper coach seats will be envious of your foresight.  And it will be the best champagne and chocolates you've ever ever had.
23. That I can speak French to shopkeepers on the Left Bank, and they will gush "you would learn it in two weeks!"
24. That you don't actually need to speak French if you speak Texan loud enough.  (Or else, used to be.  Maybe nowadays it's a little different.)
25. That cats in different countries follow him around, and he takes cool pictures of them.
26. To ask to speak to the manager, without getting mad.
27. That I don't like men to wear cologne.  That I prefer the way clean husband smells oh so much more.  And yet, sometimes, I have to tell him to take a freakin' shower.
28. That the idea of small versions of him running around calling me "mom" is really appealing.
29. That even after 13 years, I can sometimes get that "first kiss" buzz when he comes in the room.
30. That flightsuits smell funny. 
31. That most people who sell real estate are insane.
32. How to be a landlord.
33. That I really ought to want to balance my checkbook.
34. That I can bench press 60 pounds, five or six times.
35. That I love to cook for hours, just to see someone's face light up when it's really really tasty.
36. That he's a terrible liar.  But which is good, cause he just doesn't do it often.
37. To love Willie Nelson as a God.
38. That a man can love peace, and want kindness always, but still be prepared to rip someone's head off if necessary to protect the ones he loves.
39. (Warning:  NC 17!) That my favorite position really is missionary.  Other variations seem like too much showing off.
40. How to roast one's own coffee from green coffee beans.  That espresso is nectar of the gods.  And 1000 dollars is not too much to pay for an espresso machine if you get a really good crema.
41. That I cannot watch the movie Forbidden Planet cause Leslie Neilsen in a straight roll is impossible.
42. It might be really cool to retire by opening a B&B in some tourist city, like maybe New Orleans.
43. That one can and should shave a man's back if necessary.
44. That everyone in the world's personality is comparable to a character from Winnie the Pooh:  I, myself, am a Tigger with Owl on the cusp.  He is a Bear, with Rabbity tendencies.  My cat is a Piglet.  It works better than astrology.
45. That I love the sound of the phone ringing when it's him, calling to say he's coming home.

All New! All the Time! Live Nude Graphics!

How's that for an attention getter?  :) *

I just finished finding new art for my rotating banner thing and Photoshopping them up right nice, I think.  It's all fun clipart from the good old standby "Click Art".  Yes, you too can find stereotyped pictures of your gender among a low cost clipart program that you can then exploit for fun and no-profit!!

There is one that I remember finding amongst a weird place in the database that I will eventually load up there.  But I have procrastinated enough for now.  It's time for lunch, then several hours of dissertation editing. 

*Oh, but it's going to get me some strange hits from google!

Bizarre Rant of the Moment

Oh My GOD I wanna be pixelated.  I really really really do.  But I don't want to be a lame ass and write to the guy who makes this totally cool blog and say (in whiney Cartman voice)

"Chris, will you please make a pixel-picture of me?  I mean, you totally don't know me, and you surely have important things to do, and you're cool and living in NYC and all and you probably hear this about a million times a day with lameos who can't draw asking you for free stuff but I'm totally different.  I swear. I feed the hungry and do other charity work (like rescuing spiders from the sink on a little paper towel spidey ladder).  I sew pants for the poor (well, Nissa, and she's not really poor, but she is broke after buying all the fabric for new pants).  I make the world a better place by sharing my ridiculous musings with literally the whopping number of '50s' of people daily, allowing them to think, 'well, Jeez, my life sucks, but at least I'm not Kim!'  I'm saddened by all the Democrats on TV who not only cannot dance but can't even seem to keep a beat.  Come on people!  You're supposed to be the hip, young party!  What do you think, the Republicans are going to turn this mutha out?  No.  Not happening.  Take a dance lesson or something!  Surely with all that voter money you folks get from us checking that little $1 donation box on our Income Tax returns you can afford to hire some dance teacher for a little afternoon class in actually clapping ON THE BEAT when the camera from CNN is on you.  I mean, I would teach them if I were in Boston.  Maybe they'll fly me up there for an afternoon 'breakout' session if I write them the suggestion.  Nah.  After all, I am registered Republican (don't ask) and I live in Texas.  And why the hell do presidents always carry their pets around like some sort of old lady with a poodle in a purse?  What exactly is the pet-factor? What demographic are you trying to reach when you drag a furry little animal around getting hair all over your suits?  Maybe my hope for a party with rhythm is with the Green party.  Surely those hippies know how to dance.  Who the hell are they running for president this year?  Oscar the Grouch?  That would be totally cool!"  (Note that this entire paragraph was what I would write to Chris.  See the end quotes?)

Oh.  I forgot the point of this blog entry in my Ulyssean rambles.  (But note, that like the good English major I am, even with stream of consciousness typing I am using proper punctuation and capitalization and generally good spelling.  In your face Joyce!!!!!)  Wait. I digress again.  Anyway.  I want a pixel Kim!!!!  What do you think it would REALLY take to get this guy Chris DiClerico to draw a pixelated version of me?  Sex?  Money?  All the kingdoms of the world at his command?  Because I'm totally prepared to make some sort of offer.  (Oh yeah.  And his blog is really funny, too.  And I'm really not at all ripping off this SOC blog thing from a recent blog entry.  Really.  I swear.). 

Officially A Fitness PRO-fessional

So I figured you'd be kept up all night if you didn't know how my very first aerobics teaching gig went.  I mean, I have only taught college Engloish classes for something like 10 years, but how did I do teaching a bunch of folks how to do silly choreographed dance in order to get a sweat worked up? 

Pretty well, I think.  Out of the seven-ish who showed up, only one left.  She seemed a bit on the skeptical side from the start of the class, though.  When she realized how the warmup was going, she went and got some hand weights, like she just knew I wasn't going to work her out well enough.  Well, she left before the warmup was done.  Maybe she just wasn't very coordinated, and I'm too hip for her. 

I used a fun but not too hard choreography, and aside from a couple of issues, I think all in all it was pretty okay.  The only issues were that I got a little out of breath and with the microphone on my head, I was a bit "heavy breath-y"  and had to take off the headset eventually.  Then, for some weird reason my mix CD was too short!  I had fixed up some cool music, and somewhere in the burning process, I lost two songs.  So the class was over a little early cause I didn't have any other music.  Not a huge loss, though.  They were probably tired of me by then anyway.

So there you have it.  I did it!  :)  From a girl who weighed almost 200 pounds about four years ago to someone who is 50 pounds lighter and teaching an aerobics class.  In four short years.  (It took less time than that for me to lose the weight, but it took longer for me to come to the dark side.)

Lawyer Speak

I found a repulsive website yesterday with hugely nasty hate-speech towards women on it.  It included things like comments about women deserving to be killed (literally) for using the court system to get custody of their children.  There was no real discussion of what the particular man was complaining about--and believe me, I am all for Father's Rights here!  My own father was not active in my life as a child, and I firmly believe that unless there are cases of abuse, or serious criminal activity, both parents should be a part of their child's life.  The website was just a hate-filled, nasty festival of vitriol and negativity. 

When I signed up for my own website, oh so long ago, I signed an agreement that guaranteed that I would not put up certain content.  This includes hate-speech.  If I am found to have such things on my site, the company can terminate service at its discretion.  Indeed, it is my understanding that since I agree to it in front, by signing up, they don't really even have to tell me the particulars.

Knowing this, I thought I would report said hate-speech filled website to the webserver where it was hosted.  (And no, I will not link to this site on the blog, nor tell you its name. I will not be party to it finding more hits.)  Generally, web servers do not know the content on their customer's websites, so a report, in my opinion, should be enough for them to take a moment, send someone out to see what's on the page, and then shut it down for being disgusting.  It's pretty clear to me that the blatant nastiness on the website would not be considered "good" by anyone.  Even the people who like the site have to know it's hurtful and offensive.  That's the point of the site, in fact. 

So today I got a legal lawyerspeak email that basically said I would have to go way out of my way by providing specific "incidents" (I had provided three direct quotes of the website already-- I don't know how many more they would need because it said "each incident."  I suppose I am supposed to quote each and every page of the hateful website).  It also basically implied that I would have to be party to even going to court for this sort of thing.

Now this just disgusts me.  This website server host surely knows it can, and should, stop service for this a-hole's website.  It is so beyond the pale of decent behavior that any decent person in charge would cancel it, and the general user agreements we all sign when we sign up for this sort of thing would cover the server's legal butt quite effectively, and the a-hole who owns the site would have nothing he could do about it.  But clearly, the bragging that web servers do not tolerate hate-speech, which is illegal, is all a bunch of hot air. 

These are probably the same kind of folks who allow spammers to fill up our mailboxes with hundreds of junk emails a day, costing businesses lots of time & energy and annoying the crap out of the world. 

It's just not worth it to me to pursue this butthead for his nasty woman hating.  The amount of energy it would suck from my life to go through the process this lawyer letter is demanding of me is just too big, and too much.  It's that way on purpose, I'm sure. 

The Wiccan rule of threefold says that anything you send out into the universe comes back to you three times.  So you're only supposed to send out positive things, and not do any kind of harm to someone because it'll come back on you.  I sure do here and now and in writing send this wish/prayer to him:  may he and the lawyers who support his nasty, illegal activities be visited with the same sorts of energy he inflicts upon anyone who has the misfortune of stumbling upon his website.  Threefold.

Anne Royall

Because the hubby is watching Fox News' coverage of the DNC this morning, I was thinking about presidents. It occurred to me to think of the age differences at election of Reagan & Clinton. So I looked them up on the Internet. While doing so, I was sucked into (as congenital academics are prone to being) trivia on Presidents of the U.S. One fact on a page of trivia caught my eye:

John Quincy Adams customarily took a nude early morning swim in the Potomac River. Anne Royall, the first U.S. professional journalist, knew of his 5 a.m. swims. After being refused interviews with the president time after time, she went to the river, gathered his clothes and sat on them until she had her interview. Before this, no female had interviewed a president.

Look at that!  Can you imagine?  I mean, Adams could have avoided her by breaking the rules of etiquette and "female sensibilities" by just getting out of the water.  But she won because she used the rules for herself instead of against her.  Anne Royall sounded like an interesting woman, who I'd never heard about before.  So I looked her up.

She was called "an uncommon scold."  People apparently were not fond of her because she went after politicians, fraud, government corruption.  She was opposed to slavery, but disliked the zealotry of abolitionists.  She was opposed to liquor, but against the way temperance advocates went about it.  So even in her causes, she pissed people off.  What a woman to admire!  I took one Journalism class in college, but I never heard of her.  The first woman reporter I ever heard of was Ida B. Wells (who is pretty impressive too).  I wonder, are there any of ya'll out there who are Journalists who took a class where you heard of Anne Royall?  This is a woman that I think people ought to know about. 

(Insert random weird connection here) I mean, folks criticize reporters like Bill O'Reilly for being a jerk and just seem to passionately hate him-- but there's a long history of people not liking reporters who just speak their minds and don't take any flak.  (I have to say, I'm not a big fan of O'Reilly, but I'm glad folks like him are out there to bring through a certain perspective). 

Anyway.  I can't help it but be a bit of a teacher sometimes.  So here ya go.  Your history lesson of the day.

If you're not terrified by the story I wrote earlier, read this one

Jeez. I just read probably the most terrifying article I have read probably ever. It makes me think of how laissez-faire I've been about flying for a long time, and now I'm a little freaked out. I don't know how I would have responded to the situation described in this woman's narrative. The article is a little long, and reading it aloud to my sister, I felt choked up a few times and had to take a moment. Read it yourself and see what you think. And be prepared for a sick feeling in your stomach all day.


UPDATE: I had a conversation with the hubby about this at lunch and we both were skeptical. I mean, why in the world would an incident like this happen and major news media NOT pick it up? We have every news outlet scrambling for stories, and the biggest news right now is the DNConvention, and this would be huge. The magazine where this was first published has links to other articles that have followed up on the story of a flight where a reporter felt herself to possibly be on "the next 9/11" and there are interesting facts coming up. I asked my friend the pilot if he'd ever heard of this kind of situation happening, been briefed about it. And he said that yes, in a training video, this sort of situation was covered, but that there wasn't really a specific briefing on a recent incident.

What I think the entire thing shows is that fear and paranoia are working against another sort of fear and paranoia-- we're afraid that we're racist, and afraid that we're paranoid, and we're also afraid that there might be a good reason to be afraid. It's difficult stuff to deal with. Jacobson's second discussion of this incident speculates more on this, too.

I was getting on a flight out of Salt Lake City when a man complained loudly that they weren't letting him take 3 carryon pieces, and he claimed he had been doing so for several flights and was mad that the woman at SLC was NOT letting him continue breaking the rules. He seemed to think that they were targeting him-- and yes, he was perhaps Indian (that's what his accent sounded like to me, and I know a few Indian folks, so I think I may have been right). He said loudly that he was writing a letter. And I thought, as some of these articles that are the followup to Annie Jacobsen's on Women's Wall Street have pointed out, that if the guy had been any other ethnicity, perhaps a big blond German guy, we would have all just thought "what a jerk."

I also remembered one day when I was being bumped from a flight and the guy who had missed the flight that had just left was rude to the gate agents and they said they were "attaching a note" to his record. He sounded a lot like a Cajun (someone from Louisiana). Does ethnicity have to matter or does just plain "being rude" cover it? Does someone who is that rude indeed "get a note attached?" Rude is different from scary. But it's all really terrifying, and I am definitely afraid that our illusion of safety is just that: an illusion. but fear is definitely amuck. And the biggest fear is definitely that we are out of control of our own fates. And mostly, we are. But as said pilot friend of mine also pointed out, it would be far easier to blow up, say, a shopping mall, or a movie theater, or a ..... you enter unsecured place with lots of people here. This is something that is unfortunately now a part of our lives. And if some folks obsess over it, then maybe some aren't worried enough about it. Remember the guy who got all that stuff aboard a Southwest Airlines Flight? He was just pointing out breaches in security.

I don't mean to fear monger or anything. But it still makes me a wee bit sad that we feel we have to worry about these issues, and suspicious that some people who are declaring Jacobson a bigot for being afraid are doing so because they "doth protest too much" and have been afraid themselves.

Do You Believe in Angels?

I do. Here's why. (It's a creepy story, so be prepared.)

When I was about 13, we lived in a trailer on the property of my mother's boyfriend's job-- which was a big trucking company. One of the employees (we found out later) was an ex-con, who had been in prison for rape. I remember once in my youthful enthusiasm, I had happily hugged him (again, we didn't know he was a rapist). But even then, right as I hugged him, my nascent instincts about creepy men kicked in and I saw a funny look on his face and avoided him from then on.

We had this beautiful Doberman Pinscher named (can you guess?) Angel. She was one of the red Doberman's, and she was my sweet best friend. She had been abused by her former owner, and because we were kind and loving, she adored us. She would spin and leap happily whenever I came home from school. If you've ever seen a Doberman run flat out at top speed, you know how gorgeous an animal happy with life can be-- they look like speed personified. (They are bred partly from Greyhounds and you give them room and they will sprint like there's no tomorrow).

Angel liked to sleep in the doorway of my bedroom. One night, I was awoken by the sound of her yelping slightly to see her standing firmly in the door, with the look of permanent unbudging determination that said "Okay, buddy, you've got about ten seconds to live if you even think about trying it." The guy, I'll call him Zeke (since that actually was his name-- hey, I'm not protecting the bastard here!) was standing in front of her, hand out in that supplicating "please don't eat me" way that people tend to respond to Dobermans with their temper up. Angel didn't bark, she didn't rip his throat out, but there was the distinct impression that she would be glad to at any time. I realize in retrospect that my response to the situation was problematic-- Zeke said "sshhhhh" and "go back to sleep" and I did. Nothing untoward happened to me. Angel prevented him from entering my room, but she was a shy dog, and not trained to chase him off (he was, after all, a normal person to be on the property, so not exactly a stranger to her.)

My sister, who is seven years older than me and was sleeping on the couch, woke to find Zeke hovering on top of her. She told him if he didn't get off, she would kill him. Now, you have to realize that if my sister told you that, you would (and should) believe her. She is not at all shy, and would definitely carry out her threat (make that promise). He did-- he left, and was not seen again. (I don't know if he quit his job, or was fired, or what, but I never did see him again). My sister is kind of a heavy sleeper, though, and when she finally got up the next morning, she found that her underwear was gone. Nothing happened to her other than that "attempt" and we sort of wrote it off as a weird event that was fairly harmless. (Again, now, in retrospect, I would be calling the cops if it were my daughters telling this story to me the next morning, if only to keep my husband from going after the bastard with his well-polished Glock, but I think that's the issue with a lot of these cases-- people don't always realize how they should respond).

Angel was hit by a car and killed not very long after this incident. It was a heart-breaking moment and I saw it happen and cried for a very long time.

But here's the point. I am quite certain that if I had been the one to wake up with Zeke actually in my bedroom, given that I was young and used to minding adults, I'm not sure what would have happened. Angel firmly kept him out of my room, and my sister could handle herself. There are other things that would have been nice if they had happened, like Angel actually ripping his throat out. But that's what Angels do, right, they protect, but they don't actually inflict harm. Then, after saving me from a painful terrible event, she was sent back to wherever Angels hang out when they aren't in bodily mortal form.

I like to think that she's my guardian still today. I have a particular fondness for red Doberman's. It's possible I may get one myself one day, especially if I have a daughter who might need some firm protection. Of course, I plan to teach a future daughter's Angel to not be so gentle when assholes who don't belong somewhere show up. In the future, any man who doesn't belong in my home will be finding his balls as a new form of Alpo.

And One More

I meant to post this picture in my post on the Gypsy Fair. Look ma, I'm twirling!

Gypsy Fair

You might have wondered why I didn't post a blog entry yesterday. I was very very busy, gentle readers. Early in the morning, my friend Nissa and I went off to the park for the Bedouin Dance Troupe's "Gypsy Fair" which meant dancing and buying cute bellydance stuff. We sweated for a little while there, did some dancing and chatting and photo ops, and then headed for a friend's birthday party, which consisted of some BBQ and then the rest of the day at Six Flags Fiesta Texas. We were done with our day's events by about 11:30 pm after having left the house at 10 am. LONNNNNG day! But the day did end with some lovely Italian Gelato at DaVinci's in Stone Oak.

Since people are usually interested in photos, though, I'm posting a few of my favorites here in the blog. You can also see more if you go to the ofoto gallery here. Most of these are of the other folks at the fair, though. I'm a fabulous photo taker, you know. :) I'm planning to begin going to the Bedouin's classes, and try to get myself to be invited to become a member of the troupe. If the leader likes my dancing, she'll eventually invite me to do so. It appeals to my inner drag queen to actually perform, and learn choreography and my current teacher isn't interested in doing that sort of thing. So I'm trying to get in with a crowd that does this stuff regularly. Plus, the classes for the Bedouin group are something like three hours long usually, which means a lot more exercise benefit from the dancing.

That is the thing, and a few folks have said that all the stuff I do inspires them to think of exercising. I hate to exercise, but I love to do fun things, and if you can find things (dancing, roller skating, hiking, bikes, etc) that you find fun that also burn those calories, you can still eat cheesecake and pizza AND be slim and healthy. So that's the goal-- find more activities to do that will burn the calories I dearly love to consume.

The costume-making frenzy I've been on for the last week has resulted in: three new pairs of harem pants for me, three new pairs for Nissa, and a plan to make a few more things, including a skirt, and to try to learn to make cholis-- which are the top you wear with bellydance outfits when you're not wearing a fancy shmancy coin or beaded bra. The pattern looks easy, but I am a mere beginner in the sewing department. I love how this new red costume turned out. The shades of red are my favorites, and I think it looks pretty flattering on me. This picture is pretty decent, too-- I am trying to learn how to pose in pictures so I don't look like a total doofus-- I usually hate pictures that people take of me because I don't like the expression on my face, or I think I look fat, or whatever. You know what I mean, and if you don't, and are one of those lucky photogenic people, then never mind!

Today's events include a trip to Canyon Lake for Andrew's sister's birthday, which will also mean some kayaking. Fun in the sun, and I don't even have a sunburn (which is a real feat of modern technology & SPF 30something, because I am prone to being a crispy kritter, what with the red hair and freckles and all.

So my suggestion to you, if you're reading this, get out of the house! Go do something fun today! Don't spend all day looking at a computer screen for Lakshmi's sake!

Editing Shmediting & The Pen/Sword of Patriarchy

First off, where do you think the practice of adding "schm" to something to make fun of it comes from? I dunno. I'll bet somewhere there's a website that explains it, but I'm not going to look it up right now. Lazy? Yes. It's in the blog title, after all. (Well, procrastination is a form of laziness).

But second, I edited my intro chapter a bunch just now and I have a crick in my neck to prove it. I went through the suggestions from my committee chair and clarified more, and fiddled and faddled. I now have a ton of typing changes to do. That takes a certain kind of patience in a 40 something page document, so I predict it will not happen today. But still, good work done on the chapter. I am hoping that the changes I have made make my chair happy. Please Goddess! (I should talk to Hecate about this probably, since she's often been seen as a witch goddess.)

I used the word "Patriarchy" a lot today. I generally try to avoid blaming all the evils of the world on men and/or patriarchy, but in a feminist dissertation, it's pretty hard to avoid. The places where I added it, I had sort of been wishy-washily implying the word, but that just didn't wash with my advisor. I must bang the drum of academic feminism and use words like "epistemology" and "patriarchy" and maybe even phallogocentrism*. Yes. That's a word. Look it up. I have a sore neck and can't be bothered to find a link. (I would have said a stiff neck, but that would just be funny, from the perspective of the word I just used.)

*I was hoping spell-check would have an interesting suggestion for replacing this word. It did not. It was just a blank "hey, this word is wrong" pop up. Sad for me to know things that are pointless in most conversational arenas. :)

They "Made" Me Do It

It's amazing that you can watch bad TV for hours sometimes. I have only watched this for thirty minutes-ish, but I really like the show "Made." Right now is the episode where this chorus girl wants to join the hiphop dance team. I don't know why I am so fascinated by this silly MTV show. There's just something interesting about people stretching their boundaries, trying something totally alien to their personality.

Perhaps it's also that I have other things to do. I really ought to be doing real work. But it's just so important that I see how this chubby chick does in getting that "hip-hop" flava.

Call Me Cardio Queen

I'm working on my "teaching routine" for my new gig as an aerobics instructor. Next week on Tuesday I'll teach my first ever class, subbing for another teacher. It's a "hi-lo" class, which means basically traditional "floor" aerobics, like line dancing, only cooler. Today I worked out the moves, based on a routine I learned many years ago. But what about the music? It takes a lot to figure that out if you're doing it yourself instead of buying the "Ready made" mixes available out there. I don't like the ready mades cause they often are "covers" and not the original artist. So today I've been practicing teaching my aerobics class to imaginary students, (and they got it on the first or second try, max, except for one imaginary chick at the back of the class who kept giving me 'tude, rolling her eyes and acting too cool for me. I hope she goes to another imaginary class from now on.) And I've made a mix of cool music that works with the routine. But the first two mixes I made didn't quite work, based on beats per minute or other things, like the burning program didn't "crossfade" the songs together and there was a 2 second gap between them-- and two seconds is a long time for silence in an aerobics class.

Phew. I'm tired! I worked out my regular 45 minutes of exercise, then I did it all again practicing to my imaginary class. I'm going to be soooo buff when I get this gig going every week. :)

All Better!

I just finished sewing the final touches on MY costume for Saturday. It's a "shades of red" bellydance outfit, which will go nicely with my new coin belt & bra combo from way back when. The second pair of pants went ever so much easier, although I did have a moment where I had sewn one leg on inside out. But I fixed it fairly easily after some paint-peeling curse words. Now I am mostly ready for "Gypsy Fair in the Park" on Saturday. Nissa's costume is mostly sewn; she'll just have to come over for final adjustments & additions to the pretty pants I sewed her.

Now it's off to aerobics to learn a routine that I'm going to have to teach next week. I kind of have a headache, though, so I don't know if I'm going to be very happy in the class. Holy Cow, is it really that late?! I actually should be there right this second. Hmmm. Given that I won't be able to make it through traffic, I may have to re-adjust my plans somewhat. I knew my feeling of accomplishment just in time was too good to be true.!!!! My kitchen clock is an hour behind, darn it.

Oh well. I'll write the person who I'm supposed to meet an email that I have had a problem.... there's still several days to go to her class before I have to teach it. ::smacks head in annoyance::

Sew n Sew

I'm sewing new bellydancing pants for myself & my friend Nissa today. We have a "thing" to go to on Saturday. For some reason it is NOT going well. I think it's the fabric I'm using; it's kind of weird, with gold metal things sewn into the fabric, and it's hard to work with. So I'm getting really cranky. It might just be one of those things, like some days you are clumsy and weird about things you normally can do just fine. I've made several pairs of these pants in the past with no problems and today things are just going wrong-- easy things, like thread issues. ::sigh:: I've also made a couple of annoying mistakes; things that if you do yourself, you just go "oh well." But if you were to buy something this way, you'd be mad. So Nissa, just love me anyway. :)

In a comment, Terry said he was much more a "dog person" than a cat person cause cats are snooty & independent.

I know everyone says this, but my cat is different.

She's not at all snooty & too independent. Yes, she's okay spending time by herself and doesn't need attention all the time, but she comes running when we come home (after a sufficient gap to make sure it's us and not the boogeyman before she pops out from whatever thing she's under cause she's a scaredeycat.) She's very talkative-- will gab your ear off while you're feeding her, or if you say "hey, Tituba, what'd you do today." Seriously. She talks back (sure, it's meowing, but it's friendly and sounds like a conversation.) She's also not generally snooty-- she's very sweet. I think most cats are snooty & not friendly because that's the way their owners treat them. I had a room mate in college whose cat was more a stereotypical cat, and it was mostly because she had gotten the cat at the same time she got a dog and paid more attention to the dog.

Anyway. Slight diversion cause I needed a break from sewing the pants from hell.

Ahhhhnold Cat Toy

I had to pop in to Petsmart last night because the precious (say that with a Gollum like tone) Tituba is on a persnickity period of ONLY eating fish flavored foods (including Ocean Fish & Catfish) and she was all out. While there, I found this faboolous cat toy. If you want one yourself and don't know if your local pet store has them, go to this here website. They also have George W. and Hillary.

How does the cat like it? Well, she was sitting on the floor with the Arnold next to a paw, and I pestered her about it. It's filled with catnip, and she sniffed it a bit, whacked it once or twice with a vague paw, and started to try to chew on its head. I figured hillarity would ensue moments later as my kitty clawed the Terminator and carried him around the house in her mouth (which you know is the point of making these toys-- tormenting politicians in effigy is good clean fun). But she couldn't get a good grip on the head and just decided to go have some more catfish instead. Just before abandoning the toy in favor of a little snack, she scowled at me, and gave me a meow which seemed to say "Moooommm, I can't be expected to perform tricks on command!"* Poor thing.

*yes, I am one of those people who thinks of her cat like a baby, and insist in conversation that she's calling me "mom" and Andrew "dad." Deal with it.

Home & Stuff

We're home. Yay! We've had pizza and fresh peaches we bought at a roadside stand outside of Palestine, TX. Yum.

I've made a command decision-- I will go on the "no liquor for 6 weeks" boot camp diet to lose the pounds I've gained since I've been being bad lately. So tonight I made Andrew make me a nice martini. Last time I did the boot camp, I lost 30 pounds. I don't need to lose that many now, but a few. :)

Random stuff. More tomorrow.

Notes From the Last Full Day in Shreveport

So tomorrow, we'll be driving back to San Antonio. I'm really ready to be back in my own house, my own bed, with my own gym to go to and my own cool backyard. I have things to do! It's a long drive, and we're leaving around noon, so I'll probably not have time to post a blog entry tomorrow. I'm very glad that I got my laptop with the wireless capabilities before this long stay here, though; I really miss having the Internet available when I don't have it.

Yesterday, I may have come to a good breakthrough on writing the intro chapter of my dissertation. I have been mulling over the advice my director gave me since I got the revisions back a while ago, and thinking of how to make the changes she suggested and get that chapter more organized and clear. It's a process that actually takes longer and is harder than anything I've ever done before-- and I've written thousands of essays in my academic career! But after I left the coffee shop, I went back to our hotel and Andrew was ready for a nap. I was not sleepy (remember, 40 oz of latte a day keeps the sandman away). So I was just keeping him company and the Muse of Inspiration popped in for a little chat. She explained what is now a very simple solution that I am amazed I hadn't thought of before-- it's always so much simpler after you think of it, but it seems so obvious that I can't imagine it was hard. So I hopped up and wrote frantically for a little over an hour, reorganizing, adding and subtracting and clarifying. I hope that it turns out to be as good as I think it is right now-- it's very hard to tell on a computer screen. I need to print up the writing and read it all, but then perhaps I will send it back to my advisor soon again. It would be SOOOO nice if it is to a stage where she accepts it, and we send it to the rest of the committee, cause then the rest of the dissertation would totally be downhill. We shall see. Maybe my task is not so hopeless as it sometimes seems.

Anyhoo. That's the news on this front. My ears are clogged and I keep getting a sharp-ish pain in my left one-- I hope I'm not getting infected to the point where I need to go to a doctor, because, dear readers, with me as perpetual grad student who isn't also teaching, I do not have insurance. Sigh. It's always something, isn't it? Maybe getting back to my home-allergens will clear me up. Here's hoping.

I'll try hard to think of something inspiring and meaningful to write next time, more along the lines of parable and/or metaphor. This is all autobiography that probably doesn't inspire anyone to anything other than being grateful you're not in grad school too.

Finally, at the coffee shop, where I'm at right now, there's a little girl of about six or so playing in the "kid's" section of the shop. She's playing happily, but it means she's screaming at some game. Literally screaming. And it is happy scream, the sort that moms probably don't even hear anymore cause it's just the kid playing make-believe and perhaps her little dolls are fighting dragons or something. But to a person with no kids, I tell ya, it's deafeningly loud and annoying. Just in case you were wondering. I don't mean to be a grumpy pants but for Freya's sake, lady, tell her to keep it down to an "inside voice" wouldya?

Remembering The Cat Ate My Gymsuit

Oh!  I just read on another blog that Paula Danziger died last week!!  She was one of my favorite writers when I was a teen, and she apparently died very suddenly.  This makes me very sad.  It's much  more important to post a link about this writer than to fish for pointless blog hits by mentioning that tennis chick in the last post.  I feel sad now.  No wonder I'm in a goth mood today!  Books by Danziger that made my pre-teen life happier:

The Cat Ate My Gymsuit
There's a Bat in Bunk Five
The Pistachio Prescription
Can You Sue Your Parents for Malpractice?

I can't say which of them were my absolute favorites. I also seem to remember reading more books by her, but they weren't listed on Amazon. Probably they are all out of print, because after all, I'm very old, and was a pre-teen ages and ages ago. But if you never read anything by her, and/or if you have a pre-teen girl who likes to read, get something by her. They're funny, without being smart alecky in a negative way, they have very interesting female protagonists, and the situations are often some that kids actually are going through.

I can't speak for her more recent work since I haven't read anything by her in a couple of years (cough. cough) but I really do recommend her stuff. And pass a sad moment of remembering a writer that meant a lot to a young girl who didn't have much in the way of good things in her life, and who read these books voraciously.

Maria Sharapova

Yes.  This is a shameless attempt to capitalize* on the search engine hits on Maria Sharapova after her win at Wimbledon.  I think it's cool that this young woman won Wimbledon, and I do play tennis, too, but mainly, I'm just trying to make google crazy.  :)  Stay and read the rest of the blog, you might find me funny. 
 
 
*Is that so wrong?

"Somebody" "Stop" "Me"

Remember in Say Anything, that chick who used her fingers to click "quotes" in the air, and John Cusack's character (Lloyd Dobler, all time sexiest nerd in movies) commented on it? 

I just realized that I am constantly using "quotes" around "words" in my "dissertation."  I think it is "driving" my dissertation director "insane."  And it's starting to "get" to me "too." 
 
Why do I keep "doing" this?  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

"1 Online"

I can't tell you how much it means to me when that little script that shows how many people are currently reading my blog reads more than 1... yesterday, at one point, there were 4 people online at my blog!  (That means 3 plus me, actually, but still!)  It's probably silly of me to worry about whether people are reading what is really supposed to just be a journal that keeps me writing every day, and isn't really meant to be anything all that serious.  But it's sort of like I got invited to sit at a lunch table with people, rather than having to sit over in the corner next to the geek table where they all have bag lunches filled with day old little Debbie snack cakes.  (And the thing is that even at the geek table, they had friends to sit with....)  But then, J will be brutal and say that I did have a table to go to-- with her, and La, and sometimes other folks.  But not always, dear love.  There was a time when I had to attach myself to the table where the evil ex boyfriend sat, and tortured me. 
 
Anyway.  That was a bit of a digression and it's a little pathetic.  If I wasn't so honest with me I would delete it and you guys wouldn't see what a big lame old sillyface I am, and now I'm probably losing even more cool points and there'll never be 4 online again...  sigh. 
 
Apparently I'm having a goth moment.  If I weren't wearing a hot pink lacy bra and cute flowery sundress and pink toenails & fingernails I might believe that better.  What a poser I am!

Last night, the sweet baboo and I watched Cold Mountain.  An excellent movie!  I have this tendency to figure out which character in the movie I am most like, or would be most like, in the unlikely event that I were to wake up tomorrow and live during the Civil War era.  I identified most with Ruby, the Rene Z. character (I am not even going to TRY spelling her last name).  Given my background, and growing up poor and being feisty and independent I am certainly not like Nicole Kidman's character.  Although I am more intellectual than Ruby.  So in a way, perhaps I'd be a cross between the two.  But then, given the whole imaginary scenario of living back then, I wouldn't get to go to college and learn all kinds of stuff, so my little hypotheses falls apart.  So the moral of this story is, Cold Mountain is a good movie, worth watching, not too far into the "girly chick movie" but also not totally depressing and prone to make you need to think happy thoughts in order to not hate the world later.  (Yes, there are some sad things.  But it's more about the strength of the characters than the bad parts).  So watch it, if only to see Rene purse her little beestung lips all cute-like.  (Cause believe me you, that is worth the rental price itself.  She's just an adorable little thing). 

Finally, I am having another moment here.... in the Internet cafe, there is another grad student, who is working on her Master's Degree* (in physics, no less!), and she is here to research and work like a good little graduate student, as I too should be doing.  And she, like me, spent a while checking email and stuff.  But now, she's being all good and reading articles and research and LEARNING stuff, while I am goofing off.  So I need to get my butt in gear and get some real work done.  Begging won't do you any good.  I've written enough.  :)  But I do love you all, and that's not just the latte talking. 

*But if it makes me feel any better, I can say when I was working on my Master's Degree, I was a lot better at self-motivating too.  And if I were writing that, I'd be almost done by now, cause I have written almost as much on the PhD dissertation as was my final product for the MA.  SO there.

A HOOT!

Okay.  So I'm sitting here in my little favorite coffee shop browsing the links on my blogrolling list.  Having a good time.  And there's this group of ladies in here that I can't help but comment on cause they're funny!  They're chattering away, and it's all about stuff I shouldn't be eavesdropping on, but they keep making me smile secretly. 
 
Things I've overheard:

"Sticky bun, cinammon bun, somebody's bun"
"We don't even get the paper 'cause we can't read."
"We've got to eat right or our Itallian butts will get huge"
"You really are on my ass today, aren't you? (spoken to the older lady, who apparently is the mom of the two younger ones.)

All in cute little southern bell accents.  Don't tell them I'm listening in and writing about them.  :)

Writing Underwater

For the last week, I've had a stuffy head from allergy-type issues.  It's very frustrating-- my ears are clogged and do that little popping thing when you swallow.  Yesterday, while driving, I had a moment of vertigo that made me seriously think for a sec that I needed to pull over (one more instant of the feeling & I would have).  It was scarey!  My sweet baboo (hubby) is also feeling crappy.  I think it has to do with the heat, or something; it's making the little trees & molds and grasses and things release their happy little sexuality into the air (in other words, pollen).  The aviator ditched his airplane ride today cause his head is so clogged; Oshun knows that he shouldn't fly with his ears that stopped up. 
 
It feels a bit like I'm swimming underwater.  So if my fingers seem prune-y, that's why. 
 
Someone asked in the comments what I'm doing here in "cowboy land."  Dear gentle readers, I'm always in cowboy land!  I live right in the heart of it: San Antonio.  We hardly ever see folks running around with cowboy hats and spurs in San Antonio (I hear it's more common up by Dallas) but it is deep in the heart of.....   San Antonio has a very old-world Mexico-ish feel.  There are lovely missions, and cactus is the operative shrubbery for landscaping (most folks use 100-year plants alot and lantana and butterfly bush too). 
 
I like San Antonio-- I've never lived very long in any particular place (Florida gets 2nd place in longevity of me living there) but people are really nice in San Antonio.  I like the bi-lingual-ness, although I don't speak Spanish very well (I understand more than I speak).  And honestly, we are the eighth largest city in the country!  You can get good Greek food (Mina & Dimi's Greek house on the south side) good Nuevo Latino (Azuca's downtown-- ooh the mojitos) good Indian (India Oven) good Sushi (all over town!) and/or any other great food you might want, any day of the week.  Great martinis downtown at the Zinc bar, and occasionally, a celebrity sighting in folks who live here like Tommy Lee Jones or one of the Spurs or Jerri Hall.  We also get pretty much all of the bit music/rock concert tours (I live close enough to the outdoor arena that when Aerosmith came to town, I could hear them singing cause I had my windows open).   We have a Macy's, and a Saks, and most importantly, a Williams Sonoma.  :)  So we aren't exactly backwardsville or Hell (although it's sometimes as hot as). Whenever I drive through smalltowns on the way back to Florida, I always think of how I wouldn't want to live in such a tiny little place, where the best place to shop is Wal Mart (nothing against the store, but I need at least a Target....) 
 
And man, you can get some incredible, better-than-sex Mexican food 'round these parts, too.  And the margaritas!  Oi Oi Oi!  But that makes me sad cause I usually do margaritas on Friday night and we're not going to do that tonight.  Sigh.  We'll be home in San Antonio on late late Monday night.  So whatever you think about Texas, if you've never been here, don't believe the negative stuff you hear.  Yes, there have been some bad things happen, but those happen everywhere. 
 
But right now, I'm a bit east in Shreveport, La, cause Andrew is doing his yearly obligation of Air Force Reserve duty.  Which consists mostly of sitting in an office drinking bad coffee, and occasionally flying around in a big old airplane.  Poor baby hasn't had a day off since the 5th.  (And that includes weekends!) 
 
Someone also asked about my dissertation.  I'm working on a dissertation on witches in contemporary fiction, TV & film, and discussing how the representations show/teach a kind of feminism. The texts I'm writing about:

Buffy the Vampire Slayer
the Witches of Eastwick (book & movie)
Cat's Eye by Margaret Atwood
White as Snow  by Tanith Lee
Practical Magic by Alice Hoffman (& movie too)
Mistress of Spices by Chitra Divakaruni
Brown Girl in the Ring by Nalo Hopkinson
Galveston by Sean Stewart

Yes, you can write an academic dissertation and get a PhD (theoretically; haven't done it yet, but it's possible) on such fun topics. *
 
So that's probably way more information than you needed today.  But now I feel my duty has been done.  I've defended my hometown, discussed my various physical impairments, and my dissertation.  (Which I don't believe I'm going to work on much today-- I wrote on it yesterday and the muse has left the building today).  Now, for another 20 oz of Latte, and maybe browse some of my bloglist.  :) 
 
Oh, is anybody going to see any good movies this weekend?  I don't care what they say, I want to see I, Robot, and Catwoman (I know, that second one's not out yet). 
 
*Just FYI:  all the links to amazon are through my "associates" account, which, if you do decide to buy one of those texts, will help support my womenwriters website hosting fees.  I don't make money on them, exactly, cause I pay more than I ever get in referrals.  But just so's you know.  You can read more about it here. 

Two Quick Rants

Just a note while I'm here at the coffee shop:

1. Ladies (especially) and gentlemen: please do not bathe in perfume (aftershave). If you can smell your little "spritz" all day, you probably are putting too much on. There is a conventional wisdom that you dab cologne on the spots that you want someone to nuzzle, kiss. If you can smell them without being THAT close to you, then it's too much. It makes me physically naseous to smell someone's strong perfume, and that makes being in a public place next to you (six feet away damnit) while your stinky musky old lady cologne wafts into my space PAINFUL TO ME. I am not just saying this to be picky. It really does make me feel ill to smell these strong scents. I am not at all alone-- I have a slight sensitivity to smells brought on over the years partly because of hormone therapies, but probably just a natural thing too.

2. If you're enjoying your frozen whipped cream coffee drink in a public place, try to contain your moans of "mmmm" and slurpy noisy lip-smacking pleasure. Keep it down to, say, one when you first start drinking. If I have to smell your stinky perfum AND hear your enjoyment of a mere coffee drink which rivals the sounds made by your basic porn queen, I'm going to get really cranky and start writing about you in my blog.

Just FYI.

Still in Ark-La-Tex

That's what they call it here. I guess cause it's right on the border of the three states. It's not so bad, but it's freakin'* hot!!!! I'm trying to stay inside as much as possible, although Andrew made me jog yesterday. Blech! I did try hard not to wimp out, but by the end, I was mostly walking cause I was getting a major headache.

I'm back in the coffee shop again. Maybe I oughta put in an application or something, since I'm here so much. :) It's really funny listening to people come in and ask for stuff, and be totally confused about espresso drinks (what is the difference between a cappucino and a latte? Do you know? I do, but most people don't). It's cute. I'm not making fun of the espresso-challenged. You'll learn. But stop drinking those horrible frozen things with tons of whipped cream, for Yemaya's sake! (See. I know other names of gods than what I listed earlier!!) (Unless of course you're skinny as a rail. Then have two of them, and eat a sandwich, too. You can afford the calories).

I'm trying really hard to figure out how to word my dissertation introduction so that I am making my argument clear. I think I might have something right now that will do it-- it's been sorta vague so far, but I got an idea while I was half-napping a little bit ago. So this is just a short "I'm still here" kind of post. I answered some questions and issues people raised in the comments to the bee post (which some of you really liked! I'm happy! I like getting comments!!)

Now I need to get to writin' 'bout witches. :)


*for adventures in "spell check"-- it wants to change "freakin'" to foreskin. Funny suggestion, that. :)

The persistence of Bees

Sunday afternoon, the hubby and I decided to make use of the hotel's pool for a little refreshing dip. When we got there, I spotted a little European Honeybee struggling in the water. I hate to see any life extinguished for no real good reason, so I had the hubby scoop her out of the water. She fell back in the pool. Scooped her out again, and set her on the other side of the pool (it seems to me that bees follow a path, and anything in that path will not distract them from that particular orientation-- including our house, or a pool). The little bee sat on the concrete pool gate for a while, drying herself out, wiggling her wings, and generally recovering from her dip in the chlorinated water. She wasn't really doing great, and tried to fly too soon and fell the ground. I don't think that did her any good-- she lay there, twitchy and wiggly. We left before I saw if she actually made it or not.

The point I wanted to make isn't totally depressing, but a little sad, I guess. I was amazed at the persistence she showed-- no matter what, she just kept trying to make it. Even when the odds were against her, (she was NOT getting out of that pool without "divine intervention"-- i.e., someone to scoop her out). She also kept failing, however. Each "salvation"-- each time someone outside her helped her, she would bumble into another trap of some sort. I thought about God, (Goddess, or whatever else you want to call the great organizing principle of the universe) and how we sometimes pray to get out of situation one only to fall into yet another bad situation. And we think "why won't God (Buddha, Kuan Yin, Kali, Astarte) help us?" But we don't always realize maybe someone DID help us, but we just kept on the path we were on and fell into yet another dangerous place.

I mean, life, ultimately, is a tragedy. No one's getting out of this thing alive. You extend any story out far enough, and it gets sad. Triumph after triumph is only ONE ending-- we have other endings and fates in store for us.

But that's the sad part. The happy part is this-- we have to keep going and going and sometimes the help we get we don't see. We should, however, examine the paths we are on to see if maybe there is a "water hazard" ahead. Persistence is a good thing. If you fall on your back, use those wings to flip yourself over. Crawl out of the puddle of chlorine. Wiggle and dry those wings. But before you go flying off the high places, make sure those wings are ready. Heal first. Think. Eventually, there are flowers for any bee to visit.

(Feeling introspective much? Yes. Well I could have written about my day yesterday where the best thing I did was watch several hours of the Surreal Life 2. Nah. Let's just stick with the bee story).

Two Cups Of Latte!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, the extra exclamation points were not an accident. I am supremely caffeinated! I am now on my SECOND 20 oz latte at this lovely little Internet Cafe in Shreveport, La.* But the first one tasted really good, and I ordered another, and now I'm thinking maybe that was more than I really needed. :) But that's alright. Expect dispatches to come from here for the next ten days (ish). Some days I may not be able to drag Andrew over here, and/or just be busy. But the wireless connection works just fine, and I'm very happy. This was the shop that started me on my little quest to get the new laptop (Pele!) and it works just fine. For half a sec when I first got here I was worried, cause the little indicator bubble that says "Wireless connection available" did not come up. But it did after a minute. So.

Now I'm grooving with my Real Player, which I loaded with about forty CDs last week, (for some reason my Rhapsody service won't work here.... I don't know why, but I don't really mind). Annabelle the Sheep is grooving away to the soundtrack from The Craft-- I totally love it when she gets the backup singers. :)

The coffee making clerk is a cute blonde high school girl who was despairing earlier cause someone called her "Ma'am." I told her that I remember my first "Ma'am" and how it made me feel old. She said "I'm not even 17!" I know. I know. My first Ma'am was about then, too. Young folks always get excited when they hear I'm an English teacher, like I'm going to magically impart wisdom to them just by being in the room. But girls more than boys-- maybe cause girls are generally better at writing than boys of that age, and it's something they can sorta do.

So more details-- last night we drove up here using back roads, cause it shaves almost an hour off of the travel time, even when you don't count not having to go through Austin rush hour traffic (which usually adds at least an hour to the trip, so that means at least 2 hours saved). It was a pretty drive-- rolling Texas ranches and trees and green green grass. Small towns with those old circa 1940 brick buildings, a really yummy burger joint in Palestine Texas called Chips that had FRITO PIE (although I truly regretted the onions later). There was this one ranch along the highway that was HUUUUUGGGE. There must have been thousands of cows ranging about as far back as you could see. It was actually really kinda cool. Strangely enough, I saw at least four watermelons lying on the side of the road as we went by-- not in the same spot, mind you. Miles apart. Also not completely kersplat, like you would think they would be if they fell off a truck somewhere. Just lying there, looking dejected. But not like they grew there-- like they were left there by a little watermelon toting Hansel & Gretel. I don't quite get it. (Yay! Prince just came on my playlist!! "When Doves Cry")

Okay, so that's totally enough random chatter. I need to go get some cat food for Tituba (who came with us, by the way, and wasn't too thrilled with the car ride). And some groceries for our little tiny fridge in our hotel. And, ummm, get some work done, too. (Oh, that! Whatever!)

See ya tomorrow!

*Actually, it's Bossier City, Moxie Java, which is on Airline drive over by the Old Navy/Books A Million. Here's a little shout out for those looking for something like the place!

Car Spidey

Driving home from the gym, about halfway there, I noticed a tiny little spider clinging desperately, crouched down low to hug the window better. I don't know how she managed to hang on that long, cause I had been driving what, to a spider, must be like Mach 5. (Spiders are always shes to me. It's my story dammit).

So I felt bad and didn't want to see her go hurling out into the vortex of space like the alien queen in Alien after Ripley hits the "clear" button in the holding dock*. So I slowed my car down to about 20 mph. There was no one behind me to annoy with this slow slow irritating driving. And the reduced speed allowed cute little spider to scurry into the safer corner by the wing mirror and enter into a crack into what was undoubtedly her stomping grounds under the door or somewhere.

I used to HATE spiders. Because of a "my-oldest-sister-used-to-chase-screaming-infant/toddler-me-around-with spiders" childhood trauma. But over the years, I've come to accept and even like their carnivorous spidey ways. They eat bugs I really don't like-- like mosquitoes. And they hardly ever really want to bite humans. They tend to get swatted that way. Now, all bets are off if you're a Black Widow or another really deadly spidey. But cute little house/car spideys get a free ride.

Anyhoo. That's the story of how I drove 15 miles under the speed limit to save the life of a car spidey who will probably jump out on me later today during the road trip,** sending me off into a ditch and causing me to spill my Starbucks all over my lap. But that's okay. As long as she got to live a long, happy spidey life. :)

*and speaking of Alien, there's a new "Alien" acted in 30 seconds with BUNNIES at angryalien.com. Check it out.

*and yes. I am going on a road trip to Shreveport, where we will be for TEN DAYS!! (God help me). But I do now have a reliable wireless laptop and know of a wireless internet cafe where I will post at least every other day (during the week, especially). So never fear.

I'm Eleanor!! COOL!

I've seriously tried to cut back on blog quizzes-- they can really be boring & hog up lots of time & energy. But when I saw this one, I though it was fun. And then who did I turn out to be!! :) Yay!

When you get your results, they have text which isn't included in your description below. I love it! They said:

Eleanor Roosevelt! Nice to see you.

A Roosevelt yourself, you married your fifth cousin Franklin; despite the obvious incestuous overtones, your six kids were happy and healthy.

When Franklin got elected, you became perhaps the most controversial first lady ever - you spoke out for the rights of women; for the rights of the poor; for world peace. You were even a member of a union while your husband was in office - and when he died, you were the head of the UN Commission on Human Rights.

All of which is pretty kick ass, but to top things off you had a hot and steamy relationship with the lesbian journalist Lorena Hickok, who was so madly in love with you that she halted her career for you. Unfortunately, you couldn't give up your public life that easily - leaving her heartbroken.

Bitch.


Which Famous Homosexual Are You?
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey

linkage shamelessly stolen from feministe

Fourth of July photos, plus a little photo essay

I've posted my fourth of July photos at ofoto, so if you're into cool pictures of fireworks, check them out.

I also, for those of you who would prefer to not have ofoto memberships, have a fun little photo essay about the daily harassments a cat of Tituba's status faces. Check it out here.

Stepford Anybody?

I haven't seen the new remake of the Stepford Wives yet. I want to; I've been "saving" it to see with a friend of mine. I did see the original, long ago.

I've been a feminist probably as long as I've been a female. I've never questioned the idea that I have the right (not mere privilege) to have my own career, my own opinions, my own life. I married a man who agrees with me, and in fact, is almost more driven than I am in pursuing my career. I believe that my children, when I am ready to have them, will be enriched and strengthened by my independence and strength. If, for some reason of fate and destiny, I am unable to have my own biological children because I have waited a little longer than some women then I will adopt-- or go without. It probably goes without saying that I don't believe we have a biological imperative to reproduce-- I want children, very much, but am NOT willing to sacrifice my own life and my own happiness to have them.

"So what's your point?" you may be asking. "This is all obvious, and we figured this stuff out a long time ago about you."

About a week ago, one of my "relatives by marriage"-- a young man, not the typical old guy who pesters me every time I see him-- lectured me on the problem with "you career women." This lecture came suddenly, in the middle of another conversation, and I really had a hard time with the rudeness and ridiculousness of finding myself having the discussion. At first I thought he was joking; when I realized he was serious, I felt sick to my stomach.

Why he felt, based on a casual family relationship with me, that he had the right to lecture me when my husband and I have BOTH made the choices we made is infuriating. (I have had maybe one other serious conversation with the guy in the years I've known him so it's not like this was something that had precedent).

I did want to tell him to get stuffed, but for family peace, held my tongue. But he felt that it was perfectly alright to butt into my personal business and literally lecture me. He eventually said "Oh, it's just my opinion" but also said things like "That's the trouble with YOU". This was not a rhetorical discussion, and I did not invite his opinions, nor did I feel comfortable debating it with him.

Can you believe that there are still people who believe that merely because of their maleness they have a right to tell others what is right for their lives? And without any knowledge of my situation would feel justified in lecturing me? It makes the Stepford Wives feel much less like a science fiction speculation and much MUCH more scary.

---

*an interesting editorial about this is available at Women's E-News

Movies You Watch Over & Over Again...

Even when you have no real idea why you love them..... Defending Your Life.

Okay, I do have a list of these on the web here, but I just added the last one because I just watched it again. It's really a stupid movie in a lot of ways...and I must have seen it about ten-twenty times. (I'm not kidding. It comes on HBO all the time and I watch it every single time I catch it). I'm not saying I've watched it from start to finish each time-- this time I just caught the last twenty minutes or so. But I'm sitting here with wet eyelashes cause the last scene makes me tear up-- it's so cool.

I am not really recommending this if you're cynical. Or if you don't, sort of, at least half believe in soul mates & maybe even past lives. But it's a funny movie, and Albert Brooks is such an unlikely romantic lead. Meryl Streep plays the brave unapologetic woman in the female lead so well. I want to be more like her character in real life-- not afraid to enjoy the pasta that comes my way, to be brave enough to save my children's (and my cat's) lives, and to be funny & happy.

OOh. And now they're about to put Planes, Trains, and Automobiles on, too. Another one I would watch a billion times. I love Steve Martin's portrayals of the "stiff necked" yuppie. He does it with such grace, and that look like his underware is pinching someplace tender when he's uncomfortable. :)

What movies do you feel that way about?

Today-- Buffy

Okay, so I'm not going to write much today, except to say I'm trying REALLY hard to get some work done on the Buffy chapter of the dissertation. I've dawdled and had fun for a couple of weeks now, and barely gotten anything done. But I've been doing pretty well this morning; I'm reorganizing the chapter cause it's currently all over the place. I think I may have it better right now, but I have to go print it and look. Really, why is it so much harder to write this damn paper than it has been to write anything else I've written in the past? I've come close to papers that are as long as the chapters I'm writing many, many times, and the Master's thesis was easy in comparison. Maybe once I hit thirty my brain decided to quit on serious "academic" crap. Sigh.

Off to the printer!

Bride Loses Her Head-- Gets it Back Years Later

A few years ago we redid the floors in our house from carpet to this lovely wood formica that looks like old weathered barn planks. When the carpet was being torn up, our entire house was in an uproar-- all the furniture in every room had to be moved to another room, basically. In the process, the furniture in the guest bedroom, which was where my story's "feature" was stored on the abundant bookshelves, had an "accident."

I didn't find out what happened until after the fact-- I came in and found them broken, and my flooring contractor never mentioned it to me.

So. This is the topper from my wedding cake. You see that the groom is wearing what looks like a military uniform-- it took quite a lot to fix it from the way it looked (more like a milkman before). The bride has red hair (like me) and her dress is cut sort of like mine was. I also loved the way it was sort of retro looking-- very 1950s. I loved this cake topper-- it was very me. I had the topper inside a protector plastic thing for a while. But when we moved to Texas, the protector thing got broken. I also really liked having the topper on one of the bookshelves, just sitting there, like book shelf curios do. And normally, people who wouldn't be careful with my things do not go traipsing about the guest bedroom, so I figured it was safe.

I came into the bedroom after the reconstruction of the house and found my bride & groom lying on a shelf, but her head was gone. Snapped right off at the neck. I looked and looked and did not find her head anywhere. It seemed like a terrible omen. I saved them for a long time; they sat on the bookshelf, the groom and headless bride, sort of like a creepy Adams family thing.

Well, somehow, this morning, my sister FOUND the bride's head. It was stuffed into this tote bag that one of my barbies had on her arm. The barbie had fallen over, and when Judy went to "right" her, the head rolled out of the tote bag. Sort of creepy, I know. Funny, too, though. So Judy glued her head on, and here she is, only a little worse for the wear. I'm planning to "touch up" her neck with some paint, but she doesn't look too bad!

The funniest part, though, is where the heck the head was all those years!! And how it got into the Barbie's tote bag-- which is a new addition, and was not even in the house when the initial head disappearance happened. I suspect that someone (probably one of the little kids who sometimes visit) found the bride's head in some little nook or cranny, and didn't really know what to do with it. And that's exactly the sort of thing little kids get in trouble for, so I don't blame whoever for not pointing it out.

But I am very happy to have my little bride's head back on her neck. They are now perched on a high shelf in my office, and will stay there. So maybe that can be seen as some sort of positive omen, now, too. My brain already feels less fuzzy today and perhaps the later plan of writing lots of dissertation will actually come true.

After all-- it is nice to get a little head now and then. (Drum roll please.)

Grackles & Lawnmowing

I kind of like grackles. A lot of people consider them pests, and really hate them, because they swarm in big flocks and poop on cars and in pools and generally make irritating yard guests by chasing off "cuter" birds and stealing all the food. (In this sort of behavior, grackles remind me of some people I know). They are considered by some to be a "pest bird" because of their lack of tidy behavior.

But I think when you watch a grackle stalking bugs or just stomping around a parking lot or park that you really can believe that birds are the modern descendents of dinosaurs. They look so feral, so ruthless. If they were big enough, they would have no qualms about eating us. Their birdcall is sort of like a cross between a buzz and a whistle, and they have these shiny brown/blue/black feathers and beady little black eyes.

Today, I mowed our lawn. As you mow the lawn, bugs, grasshoppers, spiders, etc-- any bug that was using the long rain soaked grass as a refuge-- will run for it. As the bugs try to escape the blades of fury, they apparently become quite vulnerable in their panic to smart birds who have figured out a lawnmower means a quick easy meal. There were, by the time I finished mowing the back yard, at least five grackles stalking around the spaces I had just passed with the lawnmower. They looked like they were getting a good feast, too. Now, I do feel empathy for the bugs that became dinner. But eventually everyone ends up someone's dinner, so it's part of the deal. And I had to admire the cleverness of those little brown beady-eyed dinosaurs with feathers in figuring out that the lawnmower is essentially like the pizza delivery guy just rang their doorbell. Now if I could just get them to give me a 15% tip. (And I'm sure that grackles have swiped plenty of valuables in their time and could manage more than 15% bug as a tip).

Happy Fourth of July!!

We've got two parties to go to today, plus the fireworks celebrations at Randolph later. A cool band, Two Tons of Steel, is playing on base. I hope we all make it there from second party at Jim's house. It's a little bit of a drive, though, so I'm not quite holding my breath.

Andrew, Judy, Nissa, Aaron & I all have matching flag Old Navy t-shirts. We're going to be so cute someone will definitely want to hurt us. :)

I hope everyone has a wonderful day, filled with junk food, cool summer beverages, and friends & family. (And beverages. Those are very important!)

What A Drag....

I just got this wonderful little book-- my favorite is "Hedda Lettuce". The drag dolls are based on real drag queens. I got it for two reasons-- one, as I've mentioned before, I am a "drag queen trapped in a woman's body." The other is that I am really interested in gender as performance, drag, etc.

If you read my drag queen guide on Amazon, you'll see what I mean a little. But it's mostly that when I was a little kid, for a brief time, my mom & I lived in the back living quarters in a gay bar--and there were definitely some drag queens there. And I love love love dressing up in fancy shmancy glam clothes. And this book is a little gem. It's soooo cool. :)

Good Movie

We just watched "The Station Agent"-- it's a quirky contemplative movie. I recommend it to anyone who likes movies about friendship in odd places.

We had friends over, and everyone (even the usual "fall asleep during movies" crowd) enjoyed it. So... rush right on out. :)

So what are ya'll doin' for fourth of July? We're going to Canyon Lake tomorrow, then to a friend's house for a party on Sunday. I think we'll make it to fireworks... we'll see.

Infinity Plus One

Andrew & I are sometimes disgustingly cute. Remember that Seinfeld episode where they were annoyingly sweet, declaring "No, you're shmoopy"... well, we're often like that. One of the things we do is say how much we love each other. And compete with it-- as in "Oh yeah, well I love YOU more." "Well I love you infinity" "Oh yeah? Well I love you infinity plus one". (I know. It's pukey). :)

So as I mentioned while in Alaska, I found a mammoth bone necklace that was called a "triple infinity" but which I call "infinity plus one". Here is a small picture of it, and if you click on it, you'll get a much larger view. It's cool, huh? I like it lots. The infinity loop is if you turn it on its side.

Things that Suck

A good friend of mine is having a medical issue right now that really makes me angry that people have to go through. There's no one to really be mad at, except of course, the universe. I told her that I wish there was someone whose ass I could kick because of it. I mean it, too. This is the time when you feel that impotent rage at the injustice of such a situation that just is so powerful. This person is a kind, giving, wonderful woman, and I know the situation is really really hard. And I wish I could do something.

I wish I could say more; I'd really like to rant about this for a while. It is one of those places where blogs conflict with privacy-- I feel an urge to write about this but maybe I need to do it somewhere else, where only I see those thoughts. But at the same time, there's something cathartic to sharing with strangers. So just know that I am morally outraged at the universe today, and if I could, I would pop someone in the eye for what is happening here. (I know, violence is wrong.... but it feels like the best response to this situation).