tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64265237976533228422024-03-13T05:06:52.144-04:00Anemone Pie...life outside my reclinerLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.comBlogger113125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-13365800970048556792012-01-07T00:25:00.001-05:002012-01-07T00:26:49.404-05:00Public Service Announcement!Okay, it's official...I'm tired of this blog. I'm not, however, necessarily tired of blogging, so, for those who might still read this, in the next few days (probably more like a week, knowing me), weird things may go on here and with stuff associated with this blog. In fact, since I tend to start out with flourishes and wind up fucked, I can see how I might actually wind up accidentally deleting stuff on this blog, or possibly the whole blog, with some things I'm going to try to do. If I manage to do such a thing and you don't want to take that opportunity to just be rid of me (which would make me very sad, but I'd live), I'll post updated info over on <a href="http://oopsiedaisyisaidthat.blogspot.com/">oopsie daisy...i said that?</a>. If I get very lucky, I'm about to make a very deliberate change that hopefully will work and make it fun again. ;-)<br />
<br />
Happy New Year and I hope it's going to treat us all well! After all, come December 21, we may die.<br />
*nods*Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-57169543620286826532011-11-01T01:09:00.001-04:002011-11-01T01:11:03.205-04:00It's November 1st!Today is a memorable day in my own history. 11 years ago and 2 hours from now is when I first found out my now ex-husband was a drug addict. Although we were separated and he was living at our office/house, we were talking about trying to stay together and had had a lovely night taking Jake and his friends trick or treating. He said he had to get back to the office to work, I left Jake at my mom's and went home to sleep. For the record, I, too, had dressed up for Halloween and was so tired that I went to sleep with part of my costume still on. I was a gothic fairy, lolol. At around 2am, I was awakened by a deputy at my door, who proceeded to turn my world more upside down than I ever thought possible. I still wore glitter, a fake tattoo on my forehead and left the house wearing no shoes...just sparkly socks. In hindsight and with the help of a couple of wonderful and caring deputies who knew I was clueless and were very good to me, it was the night I really woke my ass up and regained control over my own life. It's a tough but very good anniversary. :-)<br />
<br />
So, enough of that stuff, let's talk Christmas! I'm a bargain hunter and love finding odd, unusual gifts for people I love. I also love a good deal in general...who doesn't? So, from now until Christmas or shortly thereafter, I'm going to post any deals I find interesting and hope they help someone else. Now, a few things you should know:<br />
<br />
1. I use no affiliate links so feel free to click and know I get nothing out of this. I'm just doing it for fun and to maybe be a bit helpful.<br />
<br />
2. Most of the things I find will come from the <a href="http://slickdeals.net/forums/forumdisplay.php?f=9">Slickdeals.net Hot Deals</a> forum. I love Slickdeals and recommend you go check it all out...lots of good stuff to be found on the Hot Deals forum, though. Feel free to ignore me and just bookmark it, then check it yourself a couple of times a day. :-) <br />
<br />
3. Always be sure to check ebates.com for rebates on things you buy. There are some other rebate sites, but I really like ebates.com best. If you shop online a lot, you'd be surprised at how these rebates can add up! Also, don't buy without looking for a coupon code. My favorite spot is currentcodes.com but you can always google, for example, "whitehouseblackmarket.com coupon codes" and try other sites. If I know of any coupons in what I post, I'll include them. <br />
<br />
4. Good deals often end quickly, so don't be shocked if it's gone. Also, stores will sometimes oversell this close to Christmas and you'll get the dreaded cancellation notice a few days later. It's not my fault, so don't bitch at me!<br />
<br />
<br />
So, let's go.<br />
Here's a cool clock...looks like it runs on water. Also says it's good for people with lazy eye, which is what "amblyopic" means. Who knew? Not sure how all this works, but it could be a good, cheap gift for the person who has everything or, alternately, a teacher. Or someone with a lazy eye. I have a friend with that and I never know which eye I'm supposed to look at when I talk to her. Anyway, here's a link to the post...it could be fun or it could be some Asian person's way of laughing at us Westerners. It's a crapshoot. Oddly, I want this. Here's a link to the entire post so you can decide and do as it says. <a href="http://slickdeals.net/forums/showthread.php?sduid=0&s=57d04b84b5cc347401fb2c186d890313&t=3484992">Water Powered Hydroenergy Clock</a><br />
<br />
Need a portable hard drive for yourself or a gift? Here's a killer deal. <a href="http://slickdeals.net/forums/showthread.php?sduid=0&t=3480710">Seagate® FreeAgent® GoFlex™ 1TB Ultra-Portable Hard Drive</a> Trust me, I shopped hard for these just a couple of months ago and it's good. Again, I've added the link for the entire thread on the deal...read through it for info you may need first, before ordering. Looks like someone may have posted a deal for another one, too. This one reminds me, sometimes you have to actually buy a coupon on eBay to get a good deal. I've done this many times...it's well worth $1 or so to save $25. Just watch feedback for reputable places.<br />
<br />
Does anyone still use checks? Great deal here. I only use checks to pay my lawn service and the local handyman, but I'm nearly out so I did this and got the ones with dragonflies. It works fine! <br />
<a href="http://slickdeals.net/forums/showthread.php?sduid=0&t=3373544">2 Boxes of Checks Wallet Duplicates for only $5.05!!</a><br />
<br />
And lastly, here's some <a href="http://slickdeals.net/forums/showthread.php?sduid=0&t=3483790">Pottery Barn Santa stuff</a> that looks like it might be a good deal if you do this kind of thing. <br />
<br />
G'night! And yay, Christmas is coming! Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-86012712584463784902011-10-23T21:01:00.001-04:002011-10-23T21:04:06.683-04:00A letter to Janey.<i>A little background here: When <a href="http://anemonepie.blogspot.com/2011/05/goodbye-gina-marie.html">Gina</a> died, a very sweet daughter of a dear friend wanted to cheer me up, so she made me some things. Her mama, however, is baaaad about mailing things on time (not that I share that trait *averts eyes*), and I just got it yesterday. I'm going to keep a few details private just to keep the girlie safe, but anyone who knows me well is going to know who this precious kid belongs to. If you don't know me that well, just enjoy the utter sweetness of this gift and know that someone out there is raising a good, kind girl. </i><br />
<br />
Dear Janey,<br />
I got your mail yesterday and thank you so much! It sure took your mom long enough to mail it, didn't it? ;-) I was thinking about Gina yesterday and missing her, so your gifts came at such a good time and made me very happy! I loved your letter and am glad you liked your Hello Kitty stuff and your dancing flower. I have one in my window, too, see? Every time I saw mine, I thought about y'all and that you'd like them, too. Glad I was right!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSU8ZURnZq9yPifNX9cz7omdGgmbSWzZ2vYxNCjyy-6kG6xPPXyt-LXJ0ecdQvXfXnAYeIqf7a3gGBbT9-u5CzfiXVbKTU6TQRKEFQQMM3H_ANJtB7i0ZSUPWrTtYcNwG1iST1DQX0jFY/s1600/dancingflower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSU8ZURnZq9yPifNX9cz7omdGgmbSWzZ2vYxNCjyy-6kG6xPPXyt-LXJ0ecdQvXfXnAYeIqf7a3gGBbT9-u5CzfiXVbKTU6TQRKEFQQMM3H_ANJtB7i0ZSUPWrTtYcNwG1iST1DQX0jFY/s320/dancingflower.jpg" width="287" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> The picture you drew was excellent! It actually looks a lot like Gina did. :-)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjURfzeocbzMcVy2nKo4McOYJyiW7wSfQylvnl61ovfB2NePfiE_eb7jQEq0E1mqpwhuRwo2-w9sNT_BCUlo85vKKt07UdIUs3z1_6TiFa7wlMvH_zyTx5p_KWBCrPiMUl1u7Kp6R9Sum0/s1600/catpicture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjURfzeocbzMcVy2nKo4McOYJyiW7wSfQylvnl61ovfB2NePfiE_eb7jQEq0E1mqpwhuRwo2-w9sNT_BCUlo85vKKt07UdIUs3z1_6TiFa7wlMvH_zyTx5p_KWBCrPiMUl1u7Kp6R9Sum0/s320/catpicture.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Your letter just made my day! You write very well, by the way...lol, about as good as Jake and he's 20!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ0-Jm2Ol0Ibb3uuMoajmLq_RsVMkgDW-lCXtKr4eBgEtfcAtKItGHZ5GHN0__NV52-6_Wup3YTOjr9DeclSTezuQ2EA8ApqJPbuRG8-bwsSsBRJWmBskuso8R-QcIwSEQI9gsc1kP0Po/s1600/letter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ0-Jm2Ol0Ibb3uuMoajmLq_RsVMkgDW-lCXtKr4eBgEtfcAtKItGHZ5GHN0__NV52-6_Wup3YTOjr9DeclSTezuQ2EA8ApqJPbuRG8-bwsSsBRJWmBskuso8R-QcIwSEQI9gsc1kP0Po/s320/letter.jpg" width="247" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">But I have to tell you, I LOVE my magnet best. </div><div style="text-align: center;">A kitty in a heart with angel wings...how perfect is that to remember Gina by? It's just beautiful!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwcwHdd9Fp8ye5-0jxsw72pdPW-Nu9d2Z6fp_-ySQzsTmUuPZAI1mDWy8Tfv7I-dbpPVQf4M20GuKYU_NUidjpia4meDuZY_z8e0xluK0gz5hj4UlhHECSJGVNQwNAdi2921q8Km0y7Bc/s1600/magnet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwcwHdd9Fp8ye5-0jxsw72pdPW-Nu9d2Z6fp_-ySQzsTmUuPZAI1mDWy8Tfv7I-dbpPVQf4M20GuKYU_NUidjpia4meDuZY_z8e0xluK0gz5hj4UlhHECSJGVNQwNAdi2921q8Km0y7Bc/s320/magnet.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I took a picture of my fridge to show you I have many magnets and stuff all over it, but decided yours needs to be right out in front. Your letter is under your picture so I won't lose it. :-)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh9EMcWArVNE3axaX6NQ4Jq-7PJl3jzHmvkxbmtATTFj_uJHPHRxTjMM6hc2GdmGHOM1Z2C77LnlkXpW7DLyhbDf1jAwYrwqWjRCswLCt-eSwftK7GgU9tbUbQ9hxrlHNCl-unMvIUU0M/s1600/fridgefront.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh9EMcWArVNE3axaX6NQ4Jq-7PJl3jzHmvkxbmtATTFj_uJHPHRxTjMM6hc2GdmGHOM1Z2C77LnlkXpW7DLyhbDf1jAwYrwqWjRCswLCt-eSwftK7GgU9tbUbQ9hxrlHNCl-unMvIUU0M/s320/fridgefront.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
I just can't thank you enough to doing something so nice for me and hope you don't mind that I've shared it with everyone here so they can see, too. I also hope you don't mind that I snagged a picture of you to add on so everyone can see the sweet girl who did such a thoughtful thing. I hope I get to meet you in person some day and give you a big hug!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRMmcRDygga6n0cz6T2q5nep1BB0glM4DGKVRRclhxmJgnTVYjQZBVTEMKLYUWyLcVIBrPO_uHO7b-5PbJwyvoZYUw1IWSBPGZwL2qYkYMboNPt9MIa91gWg5AwG2_ZAfU-c1xoXCyWjM/s1600/janey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRMmcRDygga6n0cz6T2q5nep1BB0glM4DGKVRRclhxmJgnTVYjQZBVTEMKLYUWyLcVIBrPO_uHO7b-5PbJwyvoZYUw1IWSBPGZwL2qYkYMboNPt9MIa91gWg5AwG2_ZAfU-c1xoXCyWjM/s320/janey.jpg" width="283" /></a></div><i>Isn't she beautiful?</i><br />
<br />
XOXO,<br />
LisaLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-71993081980397422962011-10-02T04:24:00.003-04:002011-10-02T21:02:41.602-04:00Raising Jake.Some background you should know...I've caught hell from my family for how I've raised Jake since he was born. From not vaccinating (he is now, so spare me the silly emails), to unschooling and then homeschooling, to teaching him to not base his choice of who he loves on a set of genitalia, but rather on a person who treats him like he's the best thing ever and who makes him laugh, feel special and feel safe and who inspires him to feel the same....yeah, I've caught a lot of flack. But, the fact is, I knew early on he was different. No, not brighter or "gifted", I've never been one of *those moms because every kid is bright or gifted in their own way...no, I've just chosen to embrace his oddities instead of trying to pretend they don't exist. He's 20 now, and I'd not change a bit of that. I won't ever have a kid with some big title or retirement plan, but I've got a kid who knows he's free to dream as long as he works hard to make those dreams real and you know what? I'm happy with that.<br />
<br />
Tonight, this morning, whatever you want to call it, at this very moment, Jake is at the Vampire Ball, performing his original music. He's been swarmed by fans (lol, albeit it probably less than 100), had many photos taken and is signing autographs. He's living his dream, even in small form. Would I love him to go to college or do something to further his education someday? Of course I would, but not now. Not at the sacrifice of what he's having tonight. There's time for that later but this? Won't wait. How many of us can really, honestly, say we've lived the dream we had at his age? I can't. My parents insisted I be more practical and I gave up my dreams but swore to myself I'd never do that to my kids. "They" say we always want better for our kids than we had and I do...I want him to have nights like tonight and am so very, very proud of him that he's worked hard enough to have even this much.<br />
<br />
Someday, when he's older and has more responsibilities in life, I hope he can look back on tonight and feel good about himself. I hope he can not have resentment toward me or what he feels he could have been, had he just had the support. I hope the rest of our family can someday, somehow, realize that for *him, I'm doing the right thing in not forcing college or (God help me, *never) the military on him. I want him more for Jake; I want him to have no regrets. I want him to live his dream.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTWn5OVwu3GfqGbmnJOd_hjxyqoJVCrzRkOYPiDtE6EGC-5QaJVOl5HswimurqsNEMnKgZQqQPJIPXV6PwEN2xxM1T4vIZgXhuya7Qri0Y2aCAouintyDfCFKKWXtkv6-zLP_kf0ImRrY/s1600/JakeVampireBall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTWn5OVwu3GfqGbmnJOd_hjxyqoJVCrzRkOYPiDtE6EGC-5QaJVOl5HswimurqsNEMnKgZQqQPJIPXV6PwEN2xxM1T4vIZgXhuya7Qri0Y2aCAouintyDfCFKKWXtkv6-zLP_kf0ImRrY/s320/JakeVampireBall.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Lol, he looks scary tonight, hmmm? This is not the kid in blue velour pajama pants I usually have running around the house drinking apple cider vinegar in apple juice because he's read it's healthy, playing with the cats and watching Dancing With The Stars with me (he's rooting for David Arquette)...looks can certainly be deceiving, can't they? Yet, it is the same person. I hope people read this, see him, and realize that.<br />
<br />
I'm so, so proud of him right now. Always. And I have no regrets about how I've raised him, even if it's hasn't been "normal" and even if he's not what's considered to be "normal". More power to us both for flipping off "normal" and being *real. And mostly, let's just hope he keeps an eye on his drinks tonight. Argh!<br />
<br />
<i>** Edited this morning to add: Welllllp, he learned a harsh lesson about following dreams last night. After all that, the venue had scheduling issues and several performers, Jake being one, didn't get to perform. He's so upset and I am for him, but it's still a good lesson. He might even appreciate what he *did get to experience in, oh, 20 years. ;-) **</i>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-90901044790037605112011-09-26T03:20:00.000-04:002011-09-26T03:20:24.109-04:00Random thoughts and a deal on razor blades.Let's tackle the razor blade thing first...Jake needed new razor blades today, sort of urgently, since I'd bought the wrong ones the other day and he was leaving today (more on that in a bit). Within a mile radius, we have a Publix, Winn-Dixie, CVS, Family Dollar and Walgreen's. He wanted Schick Quattro Titanium blades and Walgreen's had the regular Quattro blades on sale for $8.99 but the Titaniums were $13.99. For four. Yes, *four. Razor blades are one of those things that make my asshole pucker up when I have to buy 'em, but hey, he's going to be gone a long time and I decided to suck it up. At the register, however, even the Titaniums rang up at $8.99. Yay! But to make matters even better, this purchase got me a printed coupon for $5 off my next purchase of more than $5. So, basically, I can go spend $5.10 and only pay 10 cents. Or, alternately, I got $13.99 blades for $3.99 and will pay for something I'd buy on sale there anyway. Probably nail polish. Anyway, with the purchase of *any Schick Quattro product, men's or ladies', and even the disposable razors, you'll get the $5 coupon for a future purchase of anything. This is a deal worth sharing. :-)<br />
<br />
So, yeah, it's 3am and about 2 hours ago, Jake left out with a friend to spend an undetermined mount of time in Ft. Lauderdale. He will be back long before Thanksgiving, but that's all either of us know right now. I will miss him fiercely but am glad he's getting to experience a new area and see if it's a place he might be better off living in. Don't get me wrong, I love my kid and hate the idea of him moving, but this area offers nothing for him now. Just nothing. He has to move away to have a future and at least Ft. Lauderdale isn't that far away.. But here I am...kidless, alone, feeling sort of giggly at the freedom of it all. I"m such a piss-poor empty-nester. Oh, and his friend? Is cute. And a little...um...prancy. Hmmmm. :-D<br />
<br />
So here I sit, it's past 3am and I'm having a glass of wine, bleaching my shower grout and trying to keep Tucker the cat from breaking in and licking the bleach. Does anyone else have a cat that loves bleach? Obviously, I'm going to be leading a wild life while Jake is gone, lol. I think tomorrow (fine, *today, whatthehellever) I'm going to make myself a honey-do list and share it. Maybe I'll even keep myself honest with pictures. <br />
<br />
For now, I'm going to try sleeping in my bed. It's been over a month since I've slept in it. My back objects to being flat, I have issues with being on the far end of the house and so I tend to sleep in my recliner and Jake takes my bed since it's a full size and no one is in it. Still, in celebration of being freeeeeee and alone, I'm going to sleep there. I put fresh sheets and a fresh coverlet on, have a lavender tart melting and am going to try it without a TV, since my TV in there died. Wish me luck. <br />
<br />
Goodnight to everyone.<br />
<br />
(PS: I'm not bothering to proofread this so ignore any typos)Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-54006534059808808352011-09-14T01:43:00.000-04:002011-09-14T01:43:09.216-04:00Passive-Aggressive Scrabble.Miss Arse and I play Scrabble on Facebook and she usually beats my ass, too. When we have an argument or she's in a foul mood about something, she starts new games even though we have several going and plays mean. I just opened up a new game and apparently she has something on her mind...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzkaVcXy5VmHeyTgTUHcm7t9EpTefMR9T47AKIMQYkJOIBdsCs0D2js6M8YNP4dP4TAdMIDeWWSWN3Ut0BY4MOvhwBu-901IdGNifZuKes8wE4blLi5o0zLA6bjEkhLwza_14z4JFrgy8/s1600/Scrabbledyke1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzkaVcXy5VmHeyTgTUHcm7t9EpTefMR9T47AKIMQYkJOIBdsCs0D2js6M8YNP4dP4TAdMIDeWWSWN3Ut0BY4MOvhwBu-901IdGNifZuKes8wE4blLi5o0zLA6bjEkhLwza_14z4JFrgy8/s320/Scrabbledyke1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br />
Click it to make it bigger.<br />
I love how she wishes me luck...that's my clue it's about to get ugly on the Scrabble board. By the way, check out my letters. Can you guess what word I played back? :-DLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-42186131949010790972011-08-25T16:10:00.000-04:002011-08-25T16:10:42.696-04:00It's the old lady's birthday!Nope, not mine or Miss Arse's. ;-) It's Ginger's birthday! Now, I'm not ordinarily one to celebrate cat birthdays (much), but when a cat turns 19 it seems to me it ought to be acknowledged and Miss Ginger is 19 today! Coincidentally, had I remained married to Jake's dad, we'd have been married 20 years ago today. But let's stick with happy things and celebrate the sweet old, bony furbag that is Miss Ginger. She's absolutely the most agreeable, kind, accepting and tolerant cat that ever lived and is happiest in a lap, having her belly rubbed. Or eating.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJf6HHdmo29msSFyCMSyogLsVxDoZKkOZn2W4tBtXEhLY1rmetXc67doM8jxz1v0yKvBdXurBByAXVhh4mKrFQ9g5zPVcffhp-eU4wsAMpGf5thhpQcdBvRIifkUNSR_XjXPZuzPhMONE/s1600/gingerfuss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJf6HHdmo29msSFyCMSyogLsVxDoZKkOZn2W4tBtXEhLY1rmetXc67doM8jxz1v0yKvBdXurBByAXVhh4mKrFQ9g5zPVcffhp-eU4wsAMpGf5thhpQcdBvRIifkUNSR_XjXPZuzPhMONE/s320/gingerfuss.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>She does not like it when you wake her up, though, lol. See, Ginger's deaf now and a year or so ago was diagnosed with Cognitive Dysfunction Syndrome. That's just a fancy name to say she's sort of senile now...kitty Alzheimer's. It doesn't really bother any of us, least of all her, and provides for some amusing times. She will eat imaginary things off the floor (yes, they are imaginary, I'm sure!) and just chomp and chomp, then swallow and look very pleased with herself. She's stopped grooming so I have to brush and wash her up daily. She's become fiercely attached to some objects over the last few years and she will randomly kitten call and we have to get one of them to her quickly or she'll get so upset she gets sick. One is her feather duster, which she's actually loved for many years. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju9SWQRlmqOGgxGmzUhFMqn9LRn_q5jguMp8QTF-7yqgSj1V0r1GfIdy0S-BeEmhu0m14fDFnbAYTf3cRmz_Yk8hs0IhEugdej7-cyOXfuaydBaoNuVb0V2jG4VHsLe1KpYXscBByMlpA/s1600/GingwithDusty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju9SWQRlmqOGgxGmzUhFMqn9LRn_q5jguMp8QTF-7yqgSj1V0r1GfIdy0S-BeEmhu0m14fDFnbAYTf3cRmz_Yk8hs0IhEugdej7-cyOXfuaydBaoNuVb0V2jG4VHsLe1KpYXscBByMlpA/s320/GingwithDusty.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We named him Dusty. I don't want to talk anymore about that. :-P<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-3KcXAowVUqsfHuKD8FaWOzHODH2UvqyAfaq1WDBeQgtdrpHXC8PBhZpoSAEDm4s0gOQLUCvLrffmWzTWEdDb-M66nbI9M0K_L9AhQlcVKqIzbtyrBoGgaHazi_8cBC9XWtGqVN6o79c/s1600/Gingremote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-3KcXAowVUqsfHuKD8FaWOzHODH2UvqyAfaq1WDBeQgtdrpHXC8PBhZpoSAEDm4s0gOQLUCvLrffmWzTWEdDb-M66nbI9M0K_L9AhQlcVKqIzbtyrBoGgaHazi_8cBC9XWtGqVN6o79c/s400/Gingremote.jpg" width="308" /></a></div>Lately, though, she seems to find the most comfort in my remote when she's all discombobulated. She will seriously snuggle it and relaxes like a baby with a pacifier...so sweet. The remote doesn't have a name, by the way. Perhaps her oddest, and only aggravating quirk she's acquired with her senility is that she's completely forgotten she's supposed to pee in her litterbox...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilwhDoKeP80LyuAVymSVmgYbGQ0YqKZQ_GMzRqf65aSvhiSXFTVgOsatW_RO9EUcFD6OkrTzs5RIDxM3OmABZw97S_4rVPKwsqE89h860Qc3z2_tok5aQl8nLQhzR8H4mznpFVBS7Pgbo/s1600/Peebucket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilwhDoKeP80LyuAVymSVmgYbGQ0YqKZQ_GMzRqf65aSvhiSXFTVgOsatW_RO9EUcFD6OkrTzs5RIDxM3OmABZw97S_4rVPKwsqE89h860Qc3z2_tok5aQl8nLQhzR8H4mznpFVBS7Pgbo/s320/Peebucket.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">...instead, she pees in a towel lined, galvanized bucket in my bedroom closet. Trust me, I'm not thrilled with this at *all, but what can you do? It was that or have her peeing on whatever struck her fancy at the time. At least I know where the pee is now, you know? She generates much laundry, so it's a good thing I love her. By the way, those shoes? Jake's. *nods* Back to sweet Gingie, 'cause it's her birthday, the CDS also causes her to do random and daring things she's never, ever done before. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2lf_eTaGyNppThaB7RBDbKL3bRGBnOuA-qp_81etmaY1945ifCTxSCCmb87J7pmFdngtcPV6juA1oP05M9-HD0SPeDRGEztKB4VvPmUXdid1BlmFZ2vx4DwOoGQwDol0bW07ENawW_Yk/s1600/Gingtoilet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2lf_eTaGyNppThaB7RBDbKL3bRGBnOuA-qp_81etmaY1945ifCTxSCCmb87J7pmFdngtcPV6juA1oP05M9-HD0SPeDRGEztKB4VvPmUXdid1BlmFZ2vx4DwOoGQwDol0bW07ENawW_Yk/s320/Gingtoilet.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Like this. This game lasted until she lost her footing one day and broke a fang tooth inside the bowl. I really hope this kind of stuff never happens to Miss Arse. Or me. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBE01FNP_majWxVJfjs4XQ3mzGsQ28FSig_5tMI49X0rN-vAB0Av3gDM6Mx2ZwtVz1MPAw_Y5epO61wfXr3UTxPro0UUbwe14OBaYNck2JMCxoCC1UTGpT15NMpvSxl43EUxmE_2Lz61w/s1600/Gingtongue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBE01FNP_majWxVJfjs4XQ3mzGsQ28FSig_5tMI49X0rN-vAB0Av3gDM6Mx2ZwtVz1MPAw_Y5epO61wfXr3UTxPro0UUbwe14OBaYNck2JMCxoCC1UTGpT15NMpvSxl43EUxmE_2Lz61w/s320/Gingtongue.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">So, happy birthday to our silly old Poogie. We're so glad we've had her for 19 years and hope we get to see one more together, at least. And just because I've shared some fairly unlady-like, unattractive pictures of her...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHbe45urp5mGbuNKIpTGX58Vr6euTwv9tXt3DEqI7tWFoEHrLP0NLb2V4gz1a8tCQO2RkhUFzj2j_yPUv3BxsFGXDVsThVZE-MEBqCvxlgWxerzJBhJ6-2Dem8jkjKS_1z4uPOmuFj7o/s1600/Prettyginger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHbe45urp5mGbuNKIpTGX58Vr6euTwv9tXt3DEqI7tWFoEHrLP0NLb2V4gz1a8tCQO2RkhUFzj2j_yPUv3BxsFGXDVsThVZE-MEBqCvxlgWxerzJBhJ6-2Dem8jkjKS_1z4uPOmuFj7o/s320/Prettyginger.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>...here's proof that even an old lady can still be beautiful. :-)<br />
<br />
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-47541536937131157162011-08-19T23:20:00.001-04:002011-08-20T00:14:33.393-04:00Destination Unknown.We all say we'll never be like our mothers, but then most of us turn out that way anyway. I said it and meant it. I just sent Jake off on a spur of the moment road trip with friends. They have no idea where all they're going or when they'll be back, only that one stop will be somewhere in Georgia since one friend wants to go back there to live. The others, including my sweet son? Will journey on to wherever a 12 year old Mercury Tracer and Facebook friends of friends with spare couches takes them. I armed him with a Walmart bag containing rice chips, Vienna sausages, Little Debbies and plastic forks, plus made sure he has his ID, two types of phone chargers, Claritin, an "in case of emergency" card, insurance card and $50. Adventures are fun, but I'm not funding them beyond some necessary money. Oh, and I gave him instructions on how to find a Western Union, just in case. Who knows where he'll go, what he'll see, and who he'll meet? How exciting, to just *go and see where the road takes you, though...what a cool thing to do. Soon enough, he'll be at an age where responsibility looms large and doing things like this won't be possible, not with the same sense of freedom. I just know it'll be a grand adventure, one I'm glad he can go on and one I wish my mom would have supported me going on at 19. Between us, though, I'm so worried and nervous. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXPBIu8Y18JvGfYlMqiiKTNRQHiEmOor5M5i5HxPyQimd82qLpKRRHDJoK1fW0LQouzE6Tu11APIkf4GDDZ_HiYBuxar88uGo3dzjFCWUg-h7bxZ4Jn6rJpwjPVB4UM8GTqvWiSVGIYFk/s1600/BabyJakeBW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXPBIu8Y18JvGfYlMqiiKTNRQHiEmOor5M5i5HxPyQimd82qLpKRRHDJoK1fW0LQouzE6Tu11APIkf4GDDZ_HiYBuxar88uGo3dzjFCWUg-h7bxZ4Jn6rJpwjPVB4UM8GTqvWiSVGIYFk/s320/BabyJakeBW.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It's a big, scary world out there and after all, he's still my baby. *sighs*<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Update: Not an hour after he left, he texted to tell me they're still in town, tired, and may just start out in the morning...could I leave the door unlocked for him in case he comes in? Lol, really? Me and my friends would have slept in a rest stop 10 miles from home, just to not go home. My son, he's obviously not a good adventurer. </i>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-87089995336591227292011-08-10T15:26:00.002-04:002011-08-10T20:02:03.927-04:00Beatrice's herpes...an update.Now *there's a post title not many people would put up, hmmm? ;-)<br />
<br />
So, we've been busy around here. Y'all remember Bea was tentatively diagnosed with <a href="http://www.eyevet.ca/herpes.html">Feline Herpetic Keratitis</a>, no? The options we had were basically that or cancer, and apparently they look very much the same. So, she responded okay-ish to her meds, I saw a little improvement happening slowly, and then I woke up to this in my face one morning.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiChiKqy4n6BEHV4vKLcag-_oh_WahdzhVivKUtkbm05L2PCzcrhl42xGUKUl1Wiljipb-16-PAQ44NleRUKxYdNksOj9HDyeOgT4AKhoA87zt5tIGoipCn9fi2aCVFvhkGAqF8zlABQ7A/s1600/beaseye1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiChiKqy4n6BEHV4vKLcag-_oh_WahdzhVivKUtkbm05L2PCzcrhl42xGUKUl1Wiljipb-16-PAQ44NleRUKxYdNksOj9HDyeOgT4AKhoA87zt5tIGoipCn9fi2aCVFvhkGAqF8zlABQ7A/s320/beaseye1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Sad, sad, little Bea face and her eye looked awful, just overnight. I mean *bad, totally clouded over, lumpy, red patches...bad. Bea was very unhappy and Mama here was pretty panicked. We headed into the vet, where the poor thing didn't even insist on being in her carrier with her invisibility cloak on. They put her on the scale and she just stayed there. She was just a pitiful little girl. :-(<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXIvzYVDWG4-_xZUHrfKZsQWfswFJqltQgXihA-H0_94x8LPlv-NAqeVWavKWjQ_9jcVjqqw77PH42KmttEHKXbw-gJr69x_RCfl2j6BFtBUtdDcB4XF1NtCCPf6qVZrLT_ciFJwj-qRM/s1600/beaseye2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXIvzYVDWG4-_xZUHrfKZsQWfswFJqltQgXihA-H0_94x8LPlv-NAqeVWavKWjQ_9jcVjqqw77PH42KmttEHKXbw-gJr69x_RCfl2j6BFtBUtdDcB4XF1NtCCPf6qVZrLT_ciFJwj-qRM/s320/beaseye2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Our vet was not happy at all with how her eye looked and cancer was mentioned a couple of times as something that now needed to be considered. So, with a referral to an animal ophthalmologist (who knew those even existed?) in hand, we went on a 100 mile round trip to get a biopsy done and see what was really going on. Luckily, Beatrice is a great traveler, thanks to the fact I've tossed her loose in the car for short trips to drop Jake off places since she was a baby, but she's never made a trip like this before. I took half of one of someone else's Xanax, Bea wore her invisibility cloak in her carrier and off we went. I took no pictures of the next part since I was: 1) a basket case; 2) wary of taking pictures with one hand and driving with the other, considering the Xanax factor; 3) trying to not vomit. We get to the ophthalmologist's office and it's good...dark inside, no other pets but for an old, quiet pug with cataracts, so no real dogs to scare either of us...it's good. They take her in, burrito wrap her and, in no time flat, have the biopsy done and we're left to await the results. They had to scrape that sad eye, but once again, Beatrice showed off her manners and was proclaimed one of the sweetest cats they've ever dealt with. Apparently, I have the Eddie Haskell of cats here. ;-) After 15 minutes of waiting room hell, we go back in and the doctor gives me news that nearly makes me pee myself with relief...no cancer. Yay! On top of herpes, she's got <a href="http://www.vision4pets.com/web/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=99:eosinophilic-keratitis-proliferative-keratoconjunctivitis&catid=43:common-eye-diseases&Itemid=189">Eosinophilic Keratitis</a> and it's unusually aggressive, it seems. On that link, see the eye of that cat? That's exactly what her poor little eye looked like, but hey, it's not cancer and I was so damned relieved, I almost couldn't stand it. We got her new meds, many meds, lol, and got our asses out of there. I swear, I don't know if she sensed my relief or what, but once in the car, she pawed to get out of her carrier and I figured what the hell...driving in downtown rush hour traffic with a loose cat in my lap and a loose Xanax in my body sounds like a fun thing to do. I opened the carrier, she climbed out and assumed her favorite spot for car rides...partly on me, partly on the armrest, watching the world go by.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK9BoRjLRfA7YFUu4EWtoJBiQUbcE43iUkEfaYp3H3f5DbMVzCEcP7HltHvo8meIdIEJ1MogOPd2B8XMu_6PUplIVrK8-jPLxZETxEu45dZdJzx89QhlrIDwNW7bNoM1ruZNvsv-fMKiM/s1600/Car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK9BoRjLRfA7YFUu4EWtoJBiQUbcE43iUkEfaYp3H3f5DbMVzCEcP7HltHvo8meIdIEJ1MogOPd2B8XMu_6PUplIVrK8-jPLxZETxEu45dZdJzx89QhlrIDwNW7bNoM1ruZNvsv-fMKiM/s320/Car.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>She was all "Let's go, Mama!" so off we went, garnering much attention at traffic lights. It seems people don't often see cats in cars, lol. It went very well until we got on the interstate and a semi passed us, rocking the car hard. She looked at me with pure terror in her good eye, belly-crept over the gear shift and back into her carrier. The rest of the way home, this is all I saw. :-D<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkjjixu-qTyl8spMrkt7h-D_W4shuxXkjv6KYY1tQnS3W35q3ajJ4ZL2tSZ84VQxoFOV0xYylqySaKSdWACnE9f08WcfQ97l1B1X5Uu3aiIudt_s2G59YcRqMQm-TMwoNvOnr6ja6iZ6w/s1600/Nose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkjjixu-qTyl8spMrkt7h-D_W4shuxXkjv6KYY1tQnS3W35q3ajJ4ZL2tSZ84VQxoFOV0xYylqySaKSdWACnE9f08WcfQ97l1B1X5Uu3aiIudt_s2G59YcRqMQm-TMwoNvOnr6ja6iZ6w/s320/Nose.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Yes, I took a picture while I was driving. So sue me. How could I not document that bit of cuteness? Here are the new meds...9 drops a day, which she's become accustomed to and doesn't fight anymore, plus two things for her food.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdczEo_l31Rzn1jLIyoQL_3dnMN-59m1Y7POZI5sWz2Xpzg0JPF1IlIHTEhWExMDzqXED47t3qyHEd68qKkEDR0hxpcHJJ1pWGWGL0LcPhjn0Dl4VfG1g-CoX6fDa_4I72tKg1FmxHwNs/s1600/Meds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdczEo_l31Rzn1jLIyoQL_3dnMN-59m1Y7POZI5sWz2Xpzg0JPF1IlIHTEhWExMDzqXED47t3qyHEd68qKkEDR0hxpcHJJ1pWGWGL0LcPhjn0Dl4VfG1g-CoX6fDa_4I72tKg1FmxHwNs/s320/Meds.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div>The miracle drug has been the Prednisolone Acetate (steroids) and is, ironically, the exact stuff Miss Arse has to use daily in her <a href="http://anemonepie.blogspot.com/2011/04/year-in-pictures.html">cadaver eye</a> the rest of her life. These two tickle me with their twin medications. Anyway, just one week into our new regime and just look at the pretty eye that's showing back up again! By the way, I balanced a bag of treats on my head to get this shot. I'm slightly ashamed of that.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_w5hhuZgFB2P512f6M1LEUXaXE2xtxi3WcCIMPiUh14s0lcuFrp7lbz707SDx18sP2uxGISuM37kq2uPafQt5rMp4oI3ySxDmq8M9REMaPxv8nd6VJ86z0RiHJycuFf9ArAh_oxv_KSc/s1600/beaseye3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_w5hhuZgFB2P512f6M1LEUXaXE2xtxi3WcCIMPiUh14s0lcuFrp7lbz707SDx18sP2uxGISuM37kq2uPafQt5rMp4oI3ySxDmq8M9REMaPxv8nd6VJ86z0RiHJycuFf9ArAh_oxv_KSc/s320/beaseye3.jpg" width="319" /></a></div>It's still got a long way to go but it's just got a thin cloudy layer on it now, no lumpy stuff, no red!<br />
<br />
I surely do love this goofy cat, in case that's not obvious. I know, you couldn't tell, could you? You're shocked. *nods* Part of why I'm sharing all this, though, is because it's easy to initially miss or dismiss these conditions as nothing serious and, in fact, it can be very serious for your cat. Not all vets can diagnose it, either, as we found out, if it's aggressive, and since it does mimic cancer in appearance. It *is fixable, though, and do not be put off by the potential cost of a specialist. I'm not one to typically talk money, but the entire visit to the ophthalmologist, including the biopsy and all of her meds, was under $200. Yes, it's a lot of money but not nearly what I feared it would be and not what a lot of people might fear and put off until something bad has happened. Luckily, I didn't put it off because seriously, who wouldn't want that face up there to be so happy again? ;-)<br />
<br />
Also, totally unrelated, but I'm going to be messing with my blog some later. I don't like the layout anymore. For whatever reason, I can be a situational 'tard and just realized that hanging around with the whole MWOP/BWOP bunch and having a little sheep(le) dragging dead like that looks like I'm some radical anti-MckMama person and, in reality, I just thought it was cute. But yeah, I need to change it. I might even go private for a day to get it in order, but I'll be right back!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
<i>(Edited: Good God, I connected the "cadaver eye" link to a cooking post. Fixed *that!)</i></div>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-31699903268361724422011-08-08T00:51:00.001-04:002011-08-08T01:08:32.871-04:00It was a (mid) Summer's Eve...So, look, we all know I'm pretty damn open-minded and we know I'm no big feminist, either. I'm also not easily offended at inappropriate things. Those are all understatements, by the way, so when something really does offend me, it's usually got to be pretty bad and the new Summer's Eve commercial? Offends the living shit out of me. <br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/4_zJwLZ49zM" width="425"></iframe><br />
<br />
Really? "Show it a little love"? and "Hail to the V"? Niiiiiice. So, as women, it's not our brains or determination that get us places in life. It's not that we may strong ethics or principles, it's the simple fact we have vaginas and should be used for breeding, display and to make men feel like men with our admiration, and men are too stupid to see past our vaginas if we (figuratively, I hope) make them obvious? That was a badly constructed sentence, but whatever...this just bugs the snot out of me. Watch this, please...tell me what you think. Am I being overly sensitive and ridiculous? Have I lost my sense of humor? Or is this just damn degrading?Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-5690907741606139202011-07-15T23:47:00.000-04:002011-07-15T23:47:02.129-04:00I need advice, please.I'll try to not make this too long-winded, but I think detail may be necessary and that means long-winded. Back when Tom and I split up, Jake, the cats and I left our house for the one we live in now. The house we were in was supposed to be sold and all profits split up between us and Tom was court-ordered to maintain that house until that time, even though I bought this place far earlier. He did not and the house went into foreclosure. That didn't stop Tom, his girlfriend (now-wife), Crackwhore Michelle (no, really, she is), from moving back into it, nor did it stop him from having his brother, Tim, move in with them. Various and assorted other people also lived in that house in that time frame, resulting in the the house becoming the local crack house. All of them are/were/whatever crackheads at that point in time and who knew crack houses could exist in really, really nice neighborhoods? Trust me, they do, and it's humiliating to even admit that, so very embarrassing, but it's part of my history and it plays a part in this problem. So, the lot of them had over a years notice of the auction date, but they didn't leave or get their stuff out. The house was auctioned and they were given 30 days to leave. Because I'm nosy, I was keeping an eye on things and they left with one day to spare...one freaking day. You'd think this is done and over, no? No. A few days later I got a call from the man who bought the house in the auction, irate, and blaming *me. It seems he had no clue, being an out of state buyer, that the house was a crack house and that the interior was destroyed. He found me (the crack heads were untraceable by then) and decided to dump his world of ire on my shoulders. Yeah, not so much. Once I got him calmed down enough to let me talk, I 'splained I'd not lived in that house for well over a year, told him who *had, and said that since he's made such nasty accusations against me ("What kind of filthy trash *are you?" and other ore colorful variations), I'd like to drive out, meet him and bring him pictures of the interior of the house on the day I left. Luckily, my attorney had instructed me to take pictures of every room with that days' newspaper in the picture, save the paper, and document I turned my house keys over to a deputy. I took everything with me and went to meet ol', mad Bob. When I pulled into the yard, I saw masses and masses of...well...garbage. It filled the huge front porch to the ceiling and overflowed out into the front yard and driveway. Bob and I, once he saw the pictures of how I left the place (trust me, *anyone could have moved right into that house, it was so spotless and nice) got along just fine and he asked me if I wanted to pick through the garbage to see if there was anything important to me or my son. Gah, now *there's a charming offer, and I'm getting to my dilemma, I swear, so hang with me. Anyway, he gave me three days and I spent all of them out there, sorting through the nastiest shit you could imagine but I stuck at it. Why? Because I'm a sentimental person and the very first bag I looked in, mixed in with maggot-y kitchen garbage, I found the silver baby spoon and fork that's a family heirlooom on Tom's side and was passed to us for Jake. In another bag, I found Tom's and Tim's graduation pictures. In a box of filth I won't even share the details of, I found Tom's trophies. So, I went back and dug and dug and dug some more, cleaning and salvaging anything I could. In the end, I filled two huge Rubbermaid boxes with things of Tom's and Tim's that could be saved...diplomas, degrees, family pictures taken in the early 1900's, childhood scrapbooks, photo albums, memorabilia from the deaths and funerals of various grandparents, books with special meaning, school year books, and the thing that made me most sad, all the cards Jake ever gave Tom. You know, the ones where they can't really write, so you hold their hands and guide them on a card they made themselves? Yeah, all of those. Anyway, my plan was to clean everything up and when Jake's great grandmother came to see him, I'd give them all to her since all of the old photos, silver and some other things were hers to begin with. I had no reason to give it back to Tom or Tim, since they obviously didn't give a shit about any of it. Well, in the end, Jake's great grandmother apparently never gave a shit about *him, since she never came to visit. Ten years later, here I am with these bins still in my house, a constant reminder of all the pain the time brought and I want rid of them. For the record, Jake has no interest in any of it since he's come to see these people for what they are. When I first got the stuff, I did give him his dad's trophies and framed a few pictures of his dad as a young boy for his room and he still has those but says I can do whatever with them, too. Here's where I need some advice and am asking what y'all would do with all this stuff? I'm most inclined to ship them jointly to Jake's great grandmother, mother and sister anyway (mother and sister are mean bitches of the highest caliber), along with a letter laying a lot of things out there that they they don't know because they refused to hear it...basically, unburdening my heart *and my floorspace in one fell swoop, finishing it all up with one big "fuck the whole, big, dysfunctional lot of you", only phrased more mannerly than that. As much as I hate them all, and I do because they fought hard to take Jake completely away from me, I feel like this stuff needs to be back in their family. But part of me also wonders why. I mean, if they didn't give a damn about Jake, why bother? And I've got some family telling me to dump the stuff, let it go and don't worry over it. A few say to send it back but with my letter, so my burdens are all dumped back on them, and some are saying to let them know I have it and the first one down this way can pick it up. Trouble is, that'll be Tom and really, I'm mean enough to want to everyone to see what he and Tim abandoned. At the same time, I realize they aren't going to give a rat's ass about anything I have to say and, in reality, are going to be pissed at me for holding on to all this stuff instead of giving it to Tom or letting them know I have it. Ugh. No matter what I do, it's only going to reinforce what a bitch I am in their eyes. <br />
<br />
So, knowing the whole, drawn-out story, what would y'all do with this stuff?Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-81784323837461399672011-07-08T00:09:00.001-04:002011-07-08T00:10:30.985-04:00Beatrice and her cloak of invisibility.Today, Beatrice had a follow up. It's official, she definitely has herpes. In her eye. *sighs* They say she was probably born with it. Look at my poor, sweet baby...I dare you to not fall in love.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0FcW9jPyrEpVzjD3ujAO8Cdulp2UNs3hDVeWXvjtJyvZ2G0wiz0FExXfvBsyBGvG_RLY0X3FSs4R8t1Hx3riS-TlatA5z9jN0pj4o5q4jAzhDAY_mLRhzjoORrharxr553Vfgf16d8JY/s1600/Beavet1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0FcW9jPyrEpVzjD3ujAO8Cdulp2UNs3hDVeWXvjtJyvZ2G0wiz0FExXfvBsyBGvG_RLY0X3FSs4R8t1Hx3riS-TlatA5z9jN0pj4o5q4jAzhDAY_mLRhzjoORrharxr553Vfgf16d8JY/s320/Beavet1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
She has to wear her blankie every time we go and, in fact, wears it at home when she gets scared or is very tired. How sweet is she, though? She just sits in her carrier the whole time, positive no one can see her. :-) She did perk up once, though...she heard plastic rustling and being opened. She just knew she was getting a treat, since that's what the treat bag sounds like.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiL9N-TwaxtaxniAO2UCY8k8SXZa8kv2HQsFz1gVRokj8uHo3jjvHmL3yz7mU_eEO4RQwSCkCXo7YPAnRbmzL__D480eL4QSseze3-XIl1WBCOjVMrGTNE0ZkbxgLbJoX9T05KSY_PtlQ/s1600/Beavet2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiL9N-TwaxtaxniAO2UCY8k8SXZa8kv2HQsFz1gVRokj8uHo3jjvHmL3yz7mU_eEO4RQwSCkCXo7YPAnRbmzL__D480eL4QSseze3-XIl1WBCOjVMrGTNE0ZkbxgLbJoX9T05KSY_PtlQ/s320/Beavet2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Sadly for Beatrice, it was actually the sound of a rectal thermometer being prepared. I suppose some may find that to be a treat, but Bea does not. At least she's off all but one drop, three times a day, but forever and ever, amen, I have to add some stuff to *all their food to help prevent spread and future outbreaks in Beatrice. I'm also to keep her non-stressed, since stress causes outbreaks...this for the nervous girl who wears a cloak of invisibility. Ah, well, at least she didn't have cancer, although she would have rocked the one-eyed pirate look in her pirate ship. Arrrrr!<br />
<br />
I don't wanna talk about the Casey Anthony trial right now. Bastards.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-73250470781384435842011-07-04T04:06:00.005-04:002011-07-04T15:38:38.372-04:00Doings around here.Well, didn't I just disappear? I wish I had excuses like an exotic vacation or moving to a fancy, new home but alas...mostly it's been due to my complete obsession to the Casey Anthony trial. And I don't use the term "obsession" lightly...I'm probably an expert on all this stuff now. My obsession started the first night the news reported Caylee missing (this is all going on the next county over from me) and hasn't let up since. The funny thing is how this whole area is obsessed...any medical office you go into, the trial is on. Traffic is noticeably lighter while it's on. People are discussing it in great detail in checkout lines and running errands during lunch recess. Most of us say we're on jury duty, lol, since we are there for everything the jury is and we deliberate amongst ourselves. The moment recess is called, friends and neighbors begin calling and texting to discuss what just happened. I've had 2 neighbors tell me church was near empty today (well, yesterday), since Belvin had court in session on a Sunday. I just don't know what I'm going to do with myself when this is over, y'all. Sleep in some? Mop, finally? Watch People's Court again?<br />
<br />
But, I have had other things going on. A couple of weeks ago, we noticed Beatrice, The Casserole Cat's eye looked funky, like it had a murky, clumpy film on it. She's not a cat that looks you in the eye often (she's a shifty thing) and we keep the house very dark inside day and night, so it could have been that way for awhile. I took her to the vet, only to find out her eye was ulcerated. I felt awful. :-( See her poor eye? It's her left one, the one to your right. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqkKyTOmakA0h9e1X0eWZl7STKxopyc31t7GbHH2RUTwQUUY1qC8BH6zJvM2K1NlQIUK7UZx1YM3g1NiAGqcSxxBeb2UHx7Mk3_LaEhDEqU3R_0WM64IyBUPX1LoCm4uh5pI3uVgBao38/s1600/BeasEye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqkKyTOmakA0h9e1X0eWZl7STKxopyc31t7GbHH2RUTwQUUY1qC8BH6zJvM2K1NlQIUK7UZx1YM3g1NiAGqcSxxBeb2UHx7Mk3_LaEhDEqU3R_0WM64IyBUPX1LoCm4uh5pI3uVgBao38/s320/BeasEye.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The vet gave me several possibilities, from injury to herpes to toxoplasmosis to cancer. A week on antibiotics held it at bay but it was no better so now we're trying 2 weeks on antibiotics and an anti-viral drop. The assumption (hope? prayer?) now is that it's herpes or toxoplasmosis and considering I keep her litterbox *very clean, the vet leans to herpes, carried in from outside on hour shoes or hands. Seriously? Only in our family...only in quirky-assed Beatrice...could eye herpes come about. The anti-viral drops are working, proving this theory to be correct, though, since her eye looks some better. Jeeez, eye herpes in a cat. Between this and me having had <a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0002581/">cat scratch fever</a> (no, really, I did in my early 20's and with every ridiculous complication possible), Beatrice and I have about covered all the possible STD-y sounding things that can happen between cats and humans. You want to talk fun, though? Try putting all this in a cat's eye and mouth daily:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvhQsKcmSNRV-0mqKk1Yl6NhIG-fORPX_KcqHaYfzM90yz7FbaT9li4q0gjhyphenhyphensD_syPntOzo-APf_2W9MX51AYEbP2R2tw5J-rscHRQpqHqcTLS7gahcuVqfmqtkCdjgNQD0Bw2UzTXIs/s1600/Meds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvhQsKcmSNRV-0mqKk1Yl6NhIG-fORPX_KcqHaYfzM90yz7FbaT9li4q0gjhyphenhyphensD_syPntOzo-APf_2W9MX51AYEbP2R2tw5J-rscHRQpqHqcTLS7gahcuVqfmqtkCdjgNQD0Bw2UzTXIs/s320/Meds.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>2 doses of oral antibiotics, 3 doses of antibiotic ointment, 2 doses of anti-viral drops and 4 doses of Systane a day, none of which can be done together in one burrito-wrap of Bea. We spend all day burrito-wrapping and dosing, it seems like. I'm not bitching, though, *really...hell, I'm just grateful I didn't have to burrito wrap Miss Arse during her disturbingly similar <a href="http://anemonepie.blogspot.com/2011/04/year-in-pictures.html">ordeal</a>. Let's see...what else? Well, I flooded. Well, not *me; that's not happened in years. Anyway, it didn't get in the house, so that's good and just ignore that semi-painted door and messy back patio. For the record, a few minutes after this was taken, that stray umbrella stand was in water. Ooooh, let's play "Find The Item"...can you find the shovel still in the ground? If you can, your prize is knowing that's where we buried Gina and forgot to put the shovel away. *twitch*<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTp66u6jpqzBlhmk6wrk1g2z_qANhbe1DUmIm1n97UakZpz1KdWIkwe68IFheznSbj7LAicRddWU5W3b48hVE3rf0GFUJcvdBma9Ymjjm-chQ3pj_x5KYKPcPKI4kmqsjKnM-3xyAlYqg/s1600/backyardflood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTp66u6jpqzBlhmk6wrk1g2z_qANhbe1DUmIm1n97UakZpz1KdWIkwe68IFheznSbj7LAicRddWU5W3b48hVE3rf0GFUJcvdBma9Ymjjm-chQ3pj_x5KYKPcPKI4kmqsjKnM-3xyAlYqg/s320/backyardflood.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I made a 5 minute craft project. Jake was going to go to a Southern Pride festival and needed a hair bow. Whaaaaat? That strikes you as weird? ;-) I sacrificed a small Rebel flag for the event, cut the side off panel off where the stick goes in and tied it into a bow, then sewed a hair clip the the underside. Not too bad for a fast project, I thought. See? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4vn2uS2FW2HPDEb54SMrTmW8x3j50MYNn6mXrZV9AblQJIoTWCA7YMAqFrN2G-Z7bNEu-tGi1wDJPL1xxrpzwa7shx9AaG86HRXBVAvER0lN9sZ-BS1SAGs_pblw4pwsn3RQe1Fa-yU/s1600/RebelBow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4vn2uS2FW2HPDEb54SMrTmW8x3j50MYNn6mXrZV9AblQJIoTWCA7YMAqFrN2G-Z7bNEu-tGi1wDJPL1xxrpzwa7shx9AaG86HRXBVAvER0lN9sZ-BS1SAGs_pblw4pwsn3RQe1Fa-yU/s320/RebelBow.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He wound up not going to the festival but wore it to Walmart the next day to shop for jeans...with a Tennessee t-shirt cut up and a lycra tank underneath, a la Flashdance, Dixie-style. Have I ever mentioned how much I adore my son? Because I do. I guess the only other excitement is that anti-social me had a drop-in dinner guest and it was fun. She's an old friend from high school (hi, Tracey!) and didn't even know I lived here. She was driving by just to get away from family she was visiting the next street over, recognized me as she drove by and stopped to say hi. I was in a social mood, invited her in and shared dinner that was already planned with her. I did use my pretty fish plates, since she was company...see?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBBK4oFpjclreW2MtrAcG4LZ1jMl4jvVSE1qUxCzc-DSJBvWFXGD-mXCadONsmLRTCsQVTgRt4m16cSfjSWcH6GpfdfbhzPshaCVXwjkGkLpJXquNfvBnswxxt0FJLsDKKA-ithTu3ipk/s1600/Dinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBBK4oFpjclreW2MtrAcG4LZ1jMl4jvVSE1qUxCzc-DSJBvWFXGD-mXCadONsmLRTCsQVTgRt4m16cSfjSWcH6GpfdfbhzPshaCVXwjkGkLpJXquNfvBnswxxt0FJLsDKKA-ithTu3ipk/s320/Dinner.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Tracey was a little disturbed to discover it was a seafood mix that contained squid and octopus along with shrimp, mussels and clams, but she was a good sport and insisted on trying it. I made a coconut and saffron basmati rice with scallions to go with it and she wound up loving it all! We had fun playing with the parts...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMlNbmXUERPPKOWbiPUrbBKxlO46jTlPklu-qHj2V1JW17-z0lBWAWEDGhse1I9_plwOs76v5ItdJ5NK2wF9W3FzVWJ6d16usTwEAc71jAeZk8W3bUlZaR2qP8nK2pxet7gskJgKVKIQQ/s1600/Octopus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMlNbmXUERPPKOWbiPUrbBKxlO46jTlPklu-qHj2V1JW17-z0lBWAWEDGhse1I9_plwOs76v5ItdJ5NK2wF9W3FzVWJ6d16usTwEAc71jAeZk8W3bUlZaR2qP8nK2pxet7gskJgKVKIQQ/s320/Octopus.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">...I see a tentacle! By the way, I told her I had a sweet red wine to go with dinner, even though red wine doesn't go with seafood. She asked what kind of red wine it was. I repeated, it's *sweet and showed her. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo6OZFzdHD9bH_ChXP82OvKuCkTmIbEud_LcUBSKa-ghasH0cbigSebmueZYfhrVjnOjsRHjheMcdOQ6NRgYASFDN8jOwsCJje9qJNLuLbPA5lD9fhEbkHbWPoACpgOLHoMmO-kUGUKdQ/s1600/Wine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo6OZFzdHD9bH_ChXP82OvKuCkTmIbEud_LcUBSKa-ghasH0cbigSebmueZYfhrVjnOjsRHjheMcdOQ6NRgYASFDN8jOwsCJje9qJNLuLbPA5lD9fhEbkHbWPoACpgOLHoMmO-kUGUKdQ/s320/Wine.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Once she stopped laughing, she had to admit it's really an amazingly decent wine for under $3 a bottle. We went through two bottles. *nods* It was an unexpectedly lovely few hours and I hope we can repeat it next summer. :-) And lastly, as if anyone needs more proof that my son is allllll mine, we went to Blockbuster to rent a couple of movies. We each picked one, he handed me his as I checked out and I didn't even look at it. Once in the car, we examined the other's choice and this is what we each picked, his to the left and mine to the right:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcyD45qVZb3zPXuABKQsbZu6E2w_0PPa20VBi42QJmL1yIAFx0y5JMSjgCMjOEflfra1v9nt_X4DsGbU531Bdn2EtY0yA93Klr-Khq4qbM_BHUG0bsGwXLkjPUkgs8EOfCbVGC5j6xnHo/s1600/Movies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcyD45qVZb3zPXuABKQsbZu6E2w_0PPa20VBi42QJmL1yIAFx0y5JMSjgCMjOEflfra1v9nt_X4DsGbU531Bdn2EtY0yA93Klr-Khq4qbM_BHUG0bsGwXLkjPUkgs8EOfCbVGC5j6xnHo/s320/Movies.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">How telling. :-D</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">PS: It's 4am and Blogger is being a pain my ass, not letting things space correctly between pictures and text. I give up and am going to bed. Just know I tried.</div>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-65240036747535101352011-06-08T04:15:00.000-04:002011-06-08T04:15:17.191-04:00Foodnotbombs.netIt's after 4am, I was awake, Jake is here, but my phone rang and I nearly had a heart attack. I saw it was my mom...heart attack number 2. Is she sick or hurt? No. She's upset as hell about this and can't sleep: http://www.wftv.com/news/28144821/detail.html She wanted to know if we could find out if we could volunteer with Food Not Bombs and, if so, go help. Really? My hard-ass conservative mom? I mentioned we might get arrested and she was fine with that, said it would feel good to take a real stand and at least people get fed in jail. I'll be damned. But, I'm with her...I can handle a criminal record for this. "Why were you arrested?" "Oh, I fed some homeless people even though it was against the law." Yeah, fuck *that, bring it on. So, I'm going to find out if they can use us and if so, we might wind up on the news, lol. For real, though, I love my mom for this...this story has been weighing on me, too. It should never, *ever be illegal to feed people who are hungry. <br />
<br />
I get why people don't like large groups of homeless people gathering up. They smell bad, pick-pocketing is rampant, drug sales occur, other crimes can take place...they panhandle, they accost, they can be scary. I get it, really. But in the end, they are still people, human beings, and they are hungry. Who in the hell has the right, and who *gave them the right, to tell me or anyone else we can't give something as basic as *food to hungry people, regardless of their numbers, circumstances or location? Food, and forgive my liberal-ass self for suddenly emerging here, is a human right to have as long as someone is capable of voluntarily giving it. To arrest people for providing food to hungry people because they want to and can? Boggles my mind. It really does. How shameful in America. It is, it's just shameful. <br />
<br />
If you want more info, please go and help if you can. Lord knows I have no trouble asking people for money to help others, lol, so if you can, even a dollar helps. See? http://www.foodnotbombs.net/dollar_for_peace.html<br />
<br />
*grumbles*<br />
Arresting people for feeding the hungry, my ass. I don't think our founding fathers *or God would like that, do you?Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-9724208195980937042011-06-03T01:21:00.004-04:002011-06-03T01:36:04.169-04:00A tale of pee and genetics.Brace yourselves, I'm going to talk about my pee. Yesterday, I noticed it was somewhat dark, a telltale sign I'm not drinking enough. Um, stuff like water, anyway. :-D So, I set to work drinking tons of water, tea, chemically diet soft drinks (note that I refrained from saying "cokes", lower case, and then specifying the cokes were Dr. Pepper and nasty Sierra Mist), and juice. Today, my pee was normal again *cues canned applause* and all was well. Only when I went to pee a bit ago, it smelled funny. Smoky, like BBQ pork. Um, that can't be good right? I'm a little freaked out and come in here to Google "my pee smells smoky" and came to the conclusion I either have low DHEA levels or am diabetic. Google it, you'll see. Terrific, now I'm scared. I decide to ignore it and distract myself so I go out to check my mail and am bowled over by the smell of smoke and as I step out into the open, ash is falling. Fires? I go back inside and check the bathroom...sure enough, the window is cracked open. Dammit, Jake! But it's still a good PSA...if your pee smells smoky, like bacon or ham, it's not a good thing. File that away and remember I might have just saved your life and I didn't take pictures. You're welcome.<br />
<br />
Pee aside, tonight I was looking through some old pictures and found some cute ones of my grandmothers and one even included my mom. Want to see? Thought so.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYrHlheC4sSynVbiub9na8HWPa23hmTBra8tGMZ6sdGNInmD-XyO2vFUjHDU1q9ynTl-9ILrkwN7B5cp_kiE2nkE50ajEtcTes0fUnlkN1TcsfSqtPdwQG5aGqbibA9L-FvCn99tpfcIE/s1600/Mamaw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYrHlheC4sSynVbiub9na8HWPa23hmTBra8tGMZ6sdGNInmD-XyO2vFUjHDU1q9ynTl-9ILrkwN7B5cp_kiE2nkE50ajEtcTes0fUnlkN1TcsfSqtPdwQG5aGqbibA9L-FvCn99tpfcIE/s320/Mamaw.jpg" width="304" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is Mamaw. She didn't really have a crease across her face in real life but she really did have the gold tooth. It's okay, my dad had two. Someday, I aim to have a grill. *nods* Anyway, she was Cherokee and Lumbee and could do cool things like heal people up with herbs, beat Papaw up when he got drunk, deliver babies, skirt the law and ride horses. She was mouthy, feisty and loved wrestling on TV. She was also fiercely independent but a caregiver and a wonderful friend, mother, mother-in-law and mamaw. She lived with us for a few years and we alternately wouldn't speak to one another and then turn full of secrets together. Her hair was down to her butt and it was a daily event, brushing, braiding and then pinning it up. I used to love to brush her hair while she told me stories about our family and sang to me. I know now she told me things she hadn't told anyone else. She died when she was up in her 90's, when I was in my 20's. I miss her every day, still.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is my Mammy, with Mamaw. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiplJqb0rSoKLV0EJIw83bYx7npc3IJbBwVeqOAt9t-tcR1YBfBQp7x_aHZr4teuqe09qGfLf2WLr4OqDaOM8W9KSOeJXSG5CXAaeMLblP-nqeuO1zH1NHQwIUHO-zoQF4AocEPUNUfpwM/s1600/MwandMy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiplJqb0rSoKLV0EJIw83bYx7npc3IJbBwVeqOAt9t-tcR1YBfBQp7x_aHZr4teuqe09qGfLf2WLr4OqDaOM8W9KSOeJXSG5CXAaeMLblP-nqeuO1zH1NHQwIUHO-zoQF4AocEPUNUfpwM/s320/MwandMy.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Mammy had the distinction of giving me white blood, lol, since she was half white and looked to be about 300% so. While Mamaw was an "other side of the tracks" kinda girl, Mammy was a "has a housekeeper" kind of lady, yet the two became fast and forever best friends. They'd travel together with my parents, sharing a room and giggling like teenagers...they were avid practical jokers, my dad generally being the butt of their jokes. Together, they were dangerous and man, did they like being together. And having adventures.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5HqALYO1veuaCCRrRn_k9t_yFLNIO3GJd9TtY8ZFNJuhfMup9yRfpk0kLbJwhr81DbUISdzAXQxqVwCFSxOaZTVeMhJxSjR0jzWNC94TyJxNs53CTAHEt-9GC2UAsY0EanDQCqoyvvxY/s1600/MandMcottonfield.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5HqALYO1veuaCCRrRn_k9t_yFLNIO3GJd9TtY8ZFNJuhfMup9yRfpk0kLbJwhr81DbUISdzAXQxqVwCFSxOaZTVeMhJxSjR0jzWNC94TyJxNs53CTAHEt-9GC2UAsY0EanDQCqoyvvxY/s320/MandMcottonfield.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Like trespassing in someone's cotton fields. From Mammy, I get my farm wife's bosom, my defiant smirk, my lack of shame and my willingness to wear knee-hi stockings with dresses. Oh, yes, I have done so. In later years, she developed an affinity for Hawaiian print muumuus and dye-to-match orthopedic shoes, coupled with funky glasses and lots of jewelry. Anyone who knows me in real life is laughing right now and nodding. From her, I got tacky. She would totally have talked about her pee, too. She died fairly young, in her late sixties, after years of complications from being diabetic. She lost a leg and half a foot to it in the years before she died and she taught her grandkids all we know about alternative uses for prosthetic limbs and how to fall out of a wheelchair and not even be able to call for help for the laughter. She taught us all how to make fun of people, too. I learned a lot from her and so miss her, too.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZBXOs-OjaR4jMLTL03Rv8cS_1UAExHEGo5LTsskFDYz7_vYvfV-OGBy3_-vAZIbKvgkF1fNRsDcPH9SuIxZeY3glrMeiVYeU0yPHzpSar1DATWaAo4Lo8SF5lX-IWa69jq9VignaPEOA/s1600/Frenchbroads.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZBXOs-OjaR4jMLTL03Rv8cS_1UAExHEGo5LTsskFDYz7_vYvfV-OGBy3_-vAZIbKvgkF1fNRsDcPH9SuIxZeY3glrMeiVYeU0yPHzpSar1DATWaAo4Lo8SF5lX-IWa69jq9VignaPEOA/s320/Frenchbroads.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>My dad was the amazing photographer behind most family pictures I have. He took this one of Mamaw, Mammy and my mom, which I have framed and in my living room. :-) And who do you think was behind my now-famous (at least in my own mind) little walker icon, after shoving red sunglasses on my face and a red pacifier in me?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTlscAXM6Rh100qcg_YkQT_ZUPGqMjTrxlYWT9UL_Y9Y-265nQ53xrXfW2Vu_ukQ68w-NJcSF1GFzvZvBqfp3p7iloIEF7VaurqRTatK0e5vBfz65KECRuTF6vdPoAtlsrFZpgSXpo6U/s1600/DadMeBeach.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTlscAXM6Rh100qcg_YkQT_ZUPGqMjTrxlYWT9UL_Y9Y-265nQ53xrXfW2Vu_ukQ68w-NJcSF1GFzvZvBqfp3p7iloIEF7VaurqRTatK0e5vBfz65KECRuTF6vdPoAtlsrFZpgSXpo6U/s320/DadMeBeach.JPG" width="284" /></a></div>Yes, indeed, he's the guilty party. It's okay, though...I'd wear them both again to have him back. I miss my family tonight. Think it would be weird if I went to Mom's and let myself in, then crawled in bed with her? I guess it would be, huh? I'll just wake her up early and tell her about my pee event. She'll laugh, apologize for not having her teeth in, and the world will be good again. :-)<br />
<br />
G'night, y'all.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-64654386045494181602011-05-24T19:35:00.000-04:002011-05-24T19:35:48.552-04:00Trial watching - Casey Anthony.Foreword:<br />
<br />
I'm obsessed with this case...I have been since the outset and I have no shame in it. I was obesessed with the OJ trial, but not so much the case itself. For the record, I think he was guilty as hell, but had I been on the jury, I'd have been forced to find him not guilty, as well. Next was the Jon-Benet Ramsey case. One of my first real experiences on the internet was joining my aunt and cousins, along with my mom, on a mIRC chat called Cybersleuths, which was heavily devoted to the Jon-Benet Ramsey case. So, yeah, me and mysterious criminal cases? Love 'em. This case has the best of it all, plus it occurred relatively close to me, so even our local media is full of coverage. That being the case, I'm hoping at least a few of you are also watching the trial and up for discussing it with me, sometimes maybe daily, other times, maybe not. I'll try it for a day or so and see how it goes, see if anyone else wants to talk about it and exchange theories and thoughts. That all said...<br />
<br />
DID YOU SEE IT TODAY? Damn. I was expecting the pool story, the rumor has been floating around, pardon my pun, for awhile now and the rumor/hints of sexual abuse have, too. But somehow, hearing it said out loud in a courtroom was surreal and shocking. As I've processed it all, I have to admit Jose Baez put on a good opening statement. I went into this with a fairly open mind, believing that Casey definitely was involved in Caylee's death, but that it could well have been an accident. Today, I still think this. I don't believe she committed first degree murder; I still believe it was a bad, bad negligent accident and she handled the aftermath beyond poorly.<br />
<br />
Do I believe George molested Casey? No, I really don't, although my mind is open to being proven wrong on that. I do think Casey's brother, Lee, may back her story up...I think he loves his sister enough to sell George under the bus in order to try to protect Casey, particularly since it's not like George faces any criminal charges. Let's see...the loss of Dad's dignity and reputation versus the loss of Sister's life? Yeah, I think Lee is going to back the defense's story up and try to save his sister. And actually, I'm not sure George and Cindy won't do the same, albeit in a more subtle manner. Wouldn't many parents sacrifice their reputation for their child who they genuinely feel is innocent of anything but negligence and mishandling in their grandchild's death, but who is facing death by lethal injection unless something is done to save her? I would, for Jake, if I truly believed him. <br />
<br />
As for Roy Kronk, I think he's basically an asshole, but I think the defense looked plainly ridiculous in trying to incriminate him in anything much. Roy's girlfriend was a jail employee who came into contact with inmates when Casey was first jailed. That's the only coincidence I have much faith in. I suspect she heard Casey tell someone, possibly Baez, where Caylee's body was, then, knowing boyfriend Roy was a meter reader who walked that area and that he was in arrears in child support, rushed home saying, "Roy, guess what I heard? I know how you might be able to get money!" The shortest distance between two points is always a single line and in this situation, Roy's girlfriend seems to me to be the shortest line.<br />
<br />
So...do I have any fellow watchers? If so, please join in and let's discuss the crap out of it!Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-81661175576581876452011-05-20T22:57:00.000-04:002011-05-20T22:57:56.572-04:00Goodbye, Gina Marie.You were part of our family for nearly 19 years, but today, it was time for you to leave us.<br />
<br />
I remember the first day we brought you and your sister home...I'd only wanted one kitten and insisted she be a calico. I finally found your sister at the SPCA and she was so darn attached to you, that I couldn't split the two of you up. They warned me you were sickly and might not live long...they didn't even charge for you. You looked kind of rough, but you came home with us, too. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6oADRDeV2ZDwCbv54Ot5VPlRGFhkgh_9MgpGca42fzU0D3CAudcz1Q6icNoW4o28tNXs21LK8OyGXdKoRNIX5WnuCWfthVRY79iCkPUivGlTCwlzDLhr0oWnaCe_PqCdKz1bbdxryFdk/s1600/tandkittens.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6oADRDeV2ZDwCbv54Ot5VPlRGFhkgh_9MgpGca42fzU0D3CAudcz1Q6icNoW4o28tNXs21LK8OyGXdKoRNIX5WnuCWfthVRY79iCkPUivGlTCwlzDLhr0oWnaCe_PqCdKz1bbdxryFdk/s320/tandkittens.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
It took 2 weeks to get your eye cleared up and opened and another 6 weeks to get you over a bad intestinal infection. That was such fun for us all...only not. But your sister loved you and obviously, so did your new daddy. This is how the 3 of you slept all night, that first night. I was glad your sister was happy.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcm9Cz8bZ1H8DQ8eOkdP1ihjuml93Y-gEI42J4DU-sfe8ralrRcHk9QMAftNbdkLJk66pMsBdCpsVddEis68u5yzRKxIoroHVQ06yqFQ9ldNLBS8Ke9M-nPOr3l84nqrGgBBh90I7VAB8/s1600/ginagingerbasket.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcm9Cz8bZ1H8DQ8eOkdP1ihjuml93Y-gEI42J4DU-sfe8ralrRcHk9QMAftNbdkLJk66pMsBdCpsVddEis68u5yzRKxIoroHVQ06yqFQ9ldNLBS8Ke9M-nPOr3l84nqrGgBBh90I7VAB8/s320/ginagingerbasket.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>As time passed, we realized you were going to live and that whole free cat thing? Yeah, not so much, nearly $1000 in vet bills later. But it was okay...you were part of the family by then, and your sister loved you.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0jURyx_z5JAKz-ZOWd_B2moQ2vZQxywjFgF7dneThEAt6ltxsrKfBi0S5lZfmPxo8yJ6eszCnD0aS61uXkRyDuVduCcSxfcjBk3877Qo59p6-REkBHyScBWFWmPF-4ireJFRziBY5L1o/s1600/ginajakesick.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0jURyx_z5JAKz-ZOWd_B2moQ2vZQxywjFgF7dneThEAt6ltxsrKfBi0S5lZfmPxo8yJ6eszCnD0aS61uXkRyDuVduCcSxfcjBk3877Qo59p6-REkBHyScBWFWmPF-4ireJFRziBY5L1o/s320/ginajakesick.JPG" width="265" /></a></div>Although I was always your favorite person, you would worry when Jake was sick and stick right by him until he was better. Then you'd resume your attempts to smother me in my sleep so I could be yours forever and ever. Even today, when I held you, you wanted to lay on my face and lick me. Everyone called you Velcro Gina because of how you'd launch yourself onto me and cling...you were an annoying thing but I secretly liked it. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9wJoVU1-4perEpdN2clmn9BCF7GAYQikE8AfadIHniXqbLLTDeoM277uBwkJCDH-eLuyM6_Oqcw8LT0b5QtXZvuEKs1arNhweP3KGy-5XfdLi_B1piQqU3Z2tnGsA3gIlRFurHVZbvFc/s1600/gghomeschooling.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9wJoVU1-4perEpdN2clmn9BCF7GAYQikE8AfadIHniXqbLLTDeoM277uBwkJCDH-eLuyM6_Oqcw8LT0b5QtXZvuEKs1arNhweP3KGy-5XfdLi_B1piQqU3Z2tnGsA3gIlRFurHVZbvFc/s320/gghomeschooling.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>You and your sister helped to homeschool Jake when I had to work. I never told you how much I appreciated the help, but I did. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4QUblWiP-ItsT9DcmDd_HOA20thK1lwv_ytKrT3zredehh3KIRuugYIIkzl70gFHyjqT3E_MuHGGLkYVwBuoH527T02mmwB1563YdUaFrbbo9GE9ESJGTH3FthY_NY7CmJnev4fQQqlw/s1600/Ginaledge.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4QUblWiP-ItsT9DcmDd_HOA20thK1lwv_ytKrT3zredehh3KIRuugYIIkzl70gFHyjqT3E_MuHGGLkYVwBuoH527T02mmwB1563YdUaFrbbo9GE9ESJGTH3FthY_NY7CmJnev4fQQqlw/s400/Ginaledge.JPG" width="316" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You turned out to be my adventurous, fearless baby, much to my surprise...no place was too high, too scary, too far for you to explore and make your own. You learned how to get up there when the others couldn't and you were the one who learned to push the screens out of the windows so you could go hang in the backyard with the dog. You had no fear of a gigantic Rottweiler, but he? Was your slave, mostly because you scared him with your braveness. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU8fuvr8hEYgY5BXqrFutMPI5JD8pvQ-gd64CczUVKaWX4vaHq2mG0E7QU4Ub9V5D95IQfahgpCEzTU9Gz2kaLc43relf5ekAt7wnHwQqBYpI5JNxybI8X4jsuXkDt3iH06LwmOx9XFVY/s1600/ginanadme.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU8fuvr8hEYgY5BXqrFutMPI5JD8pvQ-gd64CczUVKaWX4vaHq2mG0E7QU4Ub9V5D95IQfahgpCEzTU9Gz2kaLc43relf5ekAt7wnHwQqBYpI5JNxybI8X4jsuXkDt3iH06LwmOx9XFVY/s320/ginanadme.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And for all my bitching and moaning about you and your whiny, weird, velcro ways, I love you very much and I'll miss you. You were part of my life for nearly half of it and Jake doesn't remember a time without you in his. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNCgX_9e1BJ1-MrKUSMT4zr4fcALEb3vilygF7PIeImQ4Sq6W0vPbhnVGLK7rTlZyEaBuMDhS24ueNzHU-WpbiJWNcbyc3gdD1yt4KJJ6oYZWq9KjC2GXRrabd1g81P5Qxl_tWj5OvCGo/s1600/ginalastday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNCgX_9e1BJ1-MrKUSMT4zr4fcALEb3vilygF7PIeImQ4Sq6W0vPbhnVGLK7rTlZyEaBuMDhS24ueNzHU-WpbiJWNcbyc3gdD1yt4KJJ6oYZWq9KjC2GXRrabd1g81P5Qxl_tWj5OvCGo/s320/ginalastday.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>But today, you were just so tired and your poor little stinky ears hurt so badly, we knew we had to stop putting it off and do the right thing for you. So, goodbye, my sweet little Gina Lemon Verbena and thank you for being ours. *sighs* Your sister misses you tonight and is trying to find you. Take care of her, okay? <br />
<br />
Love always, MamaLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-71755322698851014702011-05-16T19:11:00.002-04:002011-05-16T19:17:07.410-04:00How to cook like me...a baking edition.So, back during my steak and kidney pie escapade, my sweet friend <a href="http://talice828.blogspot.com/">Trudy</a> suggested I bake everyone something. She had a good idea, so I went through my recipe book and then it dawned on me - I'll make y'all an old favorite around here. Something I usually just make for holiday breakfasts and such. I know you're wondering if I'm going to use...um, parts...for this and I am! I'm going to use the bacon part.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil1n88O7LNppT3gVSh_cjYbuTOmDDZWUr5TIIh8kAtkwFvmTa-LImQy81cKJXmT984RZtc2i3XlLZ5shU6K9N5IyCDhPur5jVjRjiOK7A5LUEqF7exIR832r05SIeBXCNBCyupkDPorF4/s1600/Bacon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil1n88O7LNppT3gVSh_cjYbuTOmDDZWUr5TIIh8kAtkwFvmTa-LImQy81cKJXmT984RZtc2i3XlLZ5shU6K9N5IyCDhPur5jVjRjiOK7A5LUEqF7exIR832r05SIeBXCNBCyupkDPorF4/s320/Bacon.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Mmmm, bacon. Who doesn't love it? Bacon even makes Jews and Muslims sinful, at least some of them. *nods* But now, what fun is bacon? I mean, everyone makes bacon, right? Sure. But does everyone make bacon cookies? I think not! You're going to, though, after reading this...trust me, you will! They're good! Are they the best cookies ever? No, probably not, but they're very tasty and everyone loves the novelty of eating a bacon cookie so they'll probably be a hit in your house unless you're super-observant or something and really, bacon is worth risking Hell for. So, get your pen and paper ready to write all this down.<br />
<br />
First, fry your bacon. The recipe makes roughly 30 cookies and calls for 1/2 pound, fried. I use a heavy 1/2 pound...like 3/4 of a pound...because hey, it's bacon and you can't get too much. What you see above was fried last night and was fresh out of the fridge, which is why it might look a little stiff. For the record, I fried 2 pounds because, you know, it's *bacon. Oh, and a tip - if you like chewier cookies, don't fry your bacon until it's crisp. Make sure it's done but keep it limp. We're limp bacon lovers in this house but it's up to you. You want a crisp cookie? Fry your bacon to death. It's not my business.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBlvRcTL6QjxA7jWkIXm7Ew20k4vABxNHszm3i1o6Sw3FdoFHgpirZ97Yg7LbVg70DNNohRMofTPhXBcPh4zWcFUdcKmcoQUmbLTgzY9X2J5mrJ8ubXy73HSfQd27zrlmzO55dC18zOtc/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBlvRcTL6QjxA7jWkIXm7Ew20k4vABxNHszm3i1o6Sw3FdoFHgpirZ97Yg7LbVg70DNNohRMofTPhXBcPh4zWcFUdcKmcoQUmbLTgzY9X2J5mrJ8ubXy73HSfQd27zrlmzO55dC18zOtc/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The ingredients are pretty simple...your bacon, 2 cups of raisin bran cereal (if you really like raisins, add maybe 1/4 cup more or pick extras out of the box), 1/4 teaspoon of baking powder, 1 egg, a stick of salted butter, 1 cup of all-purpose flour and 3/4 cup of white sugar. Now, a few options: If you have any on hand, about 1/4 teaspoon of maple extract is nice to add in if you love maple. Also, this is a sweet cookie and the bacon is subtle. If you want to add 1/4 teaspoon of salt or <a href="http://www.baconsalt.com/">Bacon Salt</a>, you can and it'll enhance the bacon flavor more. I don't since I try to watch my sodium. *laughs* <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYyyioMUjhiQDFndQsq3kTzP3RPFOIy2VC2CbmN5Lva13vu3FaJyylnKkbMz6FrT3bPtnN2RdnmFxB2ibl-iM3jv0bdwSeRC7jm0VpYcnU9lbYpqkz9zN2RR7vMcxihi-AYwIzO7no9sI/s1600/Ginger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYyyioMUjhiQDFndQsq3kTzP3RPFOIy2VC2CbmN5Lva13vu3FaJyylnKkbMz6FrT3bPtnN2RdnmFxB2ibl-iM3jv0bdwSeRC7jm0VpYcnU9lbYpqkz9zN2RR7vMcxihi-AYwIzO7no9sI/s320/Ginger.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Offer some bacon to the sweetest old lady cat who ever lived (19 this August!) and fuss at her for being on the counter, knowing full well she's deaf and has no clue and wouldn't give a shit if she did hear you. When she rejects your bacon, eat it yourself, despite the fact her nose and mouth actually touched it.<br />
Whaaaaaat? It's not like I can add it to the dough now.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcMD7figGKQyz7Sbj_YvZ0Biv0tEaKpTYqT2wvlRATNIux7fripQoxNme_BelULejviT2fI9uBlfH0FtybrehnJFf1GhfVWAEehlN5j2aChhqSuScF4IQnlb2oJqGTSxYb4lMzpGtqXu8/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcMD7figGKQyz7Sbj_YvZ0Biv0tEaKpTYqT2wvlRATNIux7fripQoxNme_BelULejviT2fI9uBlfH0FtybrehnJFf1GhfVWAEehlN5j2aChhqSuScF4IQnlb2oJqGTSxYb4lMzpGtqXu8/s320/3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Tear your bacon up into roughly 1/2" bits. Eat some. After all, the recipe does really call for 1/2 pound and that gives you permission.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLvKf3tklYMFc9rrk2tI0JLK3haxvhNYzeKqIK4pKMXFVvCSDEHTzJZPRcRwiwjkhw9cjar28Jl8Xcp33x3qA-5HKBmkkqKHFNXUhcYS5K8KQrU4hjHnkLnSAf219ytBxzMayJYf8u9s/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLvKf3tklYMFc9rrk2tI0JLK3haxvhNYzeKqIK4pKMXFVvCSDEHTzJZPRcRwiwjkhw9cjar28Jl8Xcp33x3qA-5HKBmkkqKHFNXUhcYS5K8KQrU4hjHnkLnSAf219ytBxzMayJYf8u9s/s320/4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Add your butter and sugar together and cream it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPoKZFt-QILSraHL7o33BuODFrqGqbAThaEVnHeMK42g-suF0k3IcrJWImvw5PJzugdcuo6fdH0tSh-Ghi2-Fp4ukkSgFUTYaR2-JeFb_guQ3D3j4EyRc7wRiRnXkGrN_iphJKAmoBu4E/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPoKZFt-QILSraHL7o33BuODFrqGqbAThaEVnHeMK42g-suF0k3IcrJWImvw5PJzugdcuo6fdH0tSh-Ghi2-Fp4ukkSgFUTYaR2-JeFb_guQ3D3j4EyRc7wRiRnXkGrN_iphJKAmoBu4E/s320/5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Add the egg and cream that, too. By the way, if you get thirsty, these go well with bacon cookies.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyNYsT4TwUAmuzhYtejlFm5fsqxagNlDArxtnblxnuomM-Z693INwt83uqvvko5nLl3i1yJT24arCUs_DgomfH91zNYRO9IaQIJsqO9M8LDgI_zvpzVL3yuuk328DLRJ3mqBU-pAGc5MI/s1600/BL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyNYsT4TwUAmuzhYtejlFm5fsqxagNlDArxtnblxnuomM-Z693INwt83uqvvko5nLl3i1yJT24arCUs_DgomfH91zNYRO9IaQIJsqO9M8LDgI_zvpzVL3yuuk328DLRJ3mqBU-pAGc5MI/s320/BL.jpg" width="278" /></a></div>Anyway, around this time you should preheat your oven to 350 and prepare your cookie sheets however you do them. I use parchment paper because I like to live the dream that I'm rich and parchment paper is one of the ways in which I do so. You do whatever you usually do with cookies.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnO-NDKWAcUP9udRS1P0CsIZIPVjEu7y6pwkMABIaj5_psjhDBa-vneDUlZ-uKKPWBOMuBdjBJSsdsCtG0_tsUG8ssJ40ov49Gwa03ORoX343Ec1V8bwwPDs3ZqBaHw1zF6bxZA2DYrbw/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnO-NDKWAcUP9udRS1P0CsIZIPVjEu7y6pwkMABIaj5_psjhDBa-vneDUlZ-uKKPWBOMuBdjBJSsdsCtG0_tsUG8ssJ40ov49Gwa03ORoX343Ec1V8bwwPDs3ZqBaHw1zF6bxZA2DYrbw/s320/6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Add your flour and baking soda. Mix. And seriously, if you're going to make these, those fancy Kitchen-Aid mixers will screw it all up. You have to use a 10 year old Black & Decker hand mixer with most of the attachments missing. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6HrcslhySrazmXPKBfwOE6dMDcr58uUHP_Q3XBc4HqntUFsSOcaITJNc8wn3MDGQPHsig9mbIhyNFLvzFLpfnM12kPMT5_fhTjYL6QgrNZNRpIpQW0ljD5p6IWjmoZFs7ne51PWoYteg/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6HrcslhySrazmXPKBfwOE6dMDcr58uUHP_Q3XBc4HqntUFsSOcaITJNc8wn3MDGQPHsig9mbIhyNFLvzFLpfnM12kPMT5_fhTjYL6QgrNZNRpIpQW0ljD5p6IWjmoZFs7ne51PWoYteg/s320/7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Now you dump the raisin bran and bacon in. Mix it by hand until everything is well incorporated.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaMWnAO5BCLMlF8fG3SpPF3AWytDqX8R2eJ1Tw5OeG0DXA8Fm70TPNdIS8A39bPIbUdeq3Yp3j3Q5u5SV-dtQ4v3KKFT37PNq2_CPd8He82Nn2CBrlShTZpWAk-6-FMiSg6hgP7-VxoE4/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaMWnAO5BCLMlF8fG3SpPF3AWytDqX8R2eJ1Tw5OeG0DXA8Fm70TPNdIS8A39bPIbUdeq3Yp3j3Q5u5SV-dtQ4v3KKFT37PNq2_CPd8He82Nn2CBrlShTZpWAk-6-FMiSg6hgP7-VxoE4/s320/8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It'll look like this if you didn't fuck it all up. I had to use a heavier cooking spoon to mix with, since it becomes a fairly stiff batter. Oh, God, I heard 3 of you snicker when I said "stiff". Stop it. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4qsSZ3DWiSQdtO1p1-l5sKMwOp9KAK2Z7yDdFAS70fh_12jB7AMBLBLeeGRYuuwxlOGaedY6X9u2AZhM4vryKx0D_xygBopJZHK8p_I4QduS4MXwlVuLp_BDCxo-YqBH3bE_L8VKFK7k/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4qsSZ3DWiSQdtO1p1-l5sKMwOp9KAK2Z7yDdFAS70fh_12jB7AMBLBLeeGRYuuwxlOGaedY6X9u2AZhM4vryKx0D_xygBopJZHK8p_I4QduS4MXwlVuLp_BDCxo-YqBH3bE_L8VKFK7k/s320/9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Place teaspoons full about 2" apart. It's important you use the ugliest cookie sheet you can find.<br />
Okay, not really...all of mine are ugly. Anyway, bake them for 15-18 minutes at 350. 15 keeps them chewier. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg07bu5gJmOIIBO48IBrAsYK919mSYAVdH1n8fRSJVrXhtWv2SCACwLPPW4bUFJ3v1CpWHfOBfc7sFxKtbMcGclMJLNDQasdnLxgAyrQObncI-kLlc2Ohkvt8kjMC6DOc4pavsJbE_fCfQ/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg07bu5gJmOIIBO48IBrAsYK919mSYAVdH1n8fRSJVrXhtWv2SCACwLPPW4bUFJ3v1CpWHfOBfc7sFxKtbMcGclMJLNDQasdnLxgAyrQObncI-kLlc2Ohkvt8kjMC6DOc4pavsJbE_fCfQ/s320/10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Have y'all ever seen these? They are such a great invention! I think the company is "Neese" that makes them and they are just wonderful for bags of cereal, chips, crackers, etc.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj88OnXyaHLXcBa331KMtLF-ODgGrqe4FIsVEzVMQL7FfuS0ILneFmSEgMEExjOMtpxr5ytQsRMmSt_3uYToXfhYCokT1_5NWfcJa_bGjpKDAovg0qpJgzsrCKa0OZSewmL4Mee6MDGgM/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj88OnXyaHLXcBa331KMtLF-ODgGrqe4FIsVEzVMQL7FfuS0ILneFmSEgMEExjOMtpxr5ytQsRMmSt_3uYToXfhYCokT1_5NWfcJa_bGjpKDAovg0qpJgzsrCKa0OZSewmL4Mee6MDGgM/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>See how they seal up my cereal with a zip-loc top? And you get 20 for around $2.50. These are the large size and 10 mediums come in the box, too. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRIf49dGKy-4MCLQrBVUzOP_-zaJg_olcn5COuLwiY9DnWd09sdtqiVUu1D9sqLcI2V4Hrad_5A-WE1Gc66KweSCRCyke1E9lbGKenO-PqeD0yvxr6sJ5n9aaFvLMTYwJhPHY9DMrDhw/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRIf49dGKy-4MCLQrBVUzOP_-zaJg_olcn5COuLwiY9DnWd09sdtqiVUu1D9sqLcI2V4Hrad_5A-WE1Gc66KweSCRCyke1E9lbGKenO-PqeD0yvxr6sJ5n9aaFvLMTYwJhPHY9DMrDhw/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>15 minutes later and the cookies are out...they aren't the prettiest things ever, but that's okay. Neither am I. Or you. :-P<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcw826uhna4kmnCI5dBBlqBajcfvqXC3Rj8O6kbfoWUL6pp7Uj4qSNR0xB0_-wDMruWxjX7rMCTsKw4CVT5xSxT5b6G6MmUP2BJKWfWW-7XAsSgDaNc4gepX_uW-ebEWFFRm_eubbvbM0/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcw826uhna4kmnCI5dBBlqBajcfvqXC3Rj8O6kbfoWUL6pp7Uj4qSNR0xB0_-wDMruWxjX7rMCTsKw4CVT5xSxT5b6G6MmUP2BJKWfWW-7XAsSgDaNc4gepX_uW-ebEWFFRm_eubbvbM0/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The recipe makes a plate full and see how good they look? Sweet, gently bacon-y, chewy goodness. Don't you want to make them now? If you do, don't forget that since they do contain meat, you should refrigerate them. The cookies do warm up nicely in the microwave, though, and are excellent dunked in hot coffee. Show of hands...who is intrigued and thinking of trying them?Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-13950559670788076682011-05-09T01:54:00.000-04:002011-05-09T01:54:54.670-04:00A post-Mother's Day post.So, yesterday was Mother's Day (still today in my mind since I've not been to bed)...<br />
<br />
Some comments from Miss Arse:<br />
<br />
Upon seeing I was wearing the gold hoop earrings she gave me when Jake was born, the same earrings I wear 90% of the time and have now for nearly 20 years since they were *that special to me: "I see you're wearing the earrings I gave you...I'm shocked you've not lost one by now."<br />
<br />
After taking Jake to Publix and Walgreens with her, him looking for all the world like Courtney Love after a rough night: "People were staring at him, Lisa, but I just pretended I didn't care. We all have our crosses to bear."<br />
<br />
The other day, on a shopping adventure we had at Lowe's, she bought herself a new chainsaw. I made her swear she'd not use it without at least calling me first, so I'd know to check on her later. Like in 10 minutes, lol. "Guess what I did this morning? I chainsawed out all the arborvitae under your old bedroom window!" Upon scolding her for not calling me first: "Oh, I just said I would to shut you up."<br />
<br />
After looking over the good dinner I'd made us...BBQ ribs, fresh-scraped fried corn, french fries, salad..."This all looks so good, but you *are starting your diet back up tomorrow, aren't you? Not that I'm pushing you, because you know you need to lose weight without me pointing it out." <br />
<br />
Background on this one, but my first Mother's Day after Jake was born was awful. His dad took my car and chose to spend the night before out with his brother at a strip club, got too drunk to drive and didn't make it home until the next afternoon. When he came home, he presented me with a card and a tacky necklace with Jake's birthstone in it, expecting me to be thrilled. I accused him of picking it up on the way home as an afterthought. He denied it to the point he made my life a living hell for about a week. A few weeks later, I was cleaning my car out and found the receipt for the card and necklace shoved under the seat of my car...bought Mother's Day afternoon, on his way home. My mom, reminiscing: "Remember your first Mother's Day? It was bad, wasn't it?" Yes, it was, Mom...thanks for reminding me.<br />
<br />
And her best one? "Remember the year you sneaked and moved out on Mother's Day?" Me, bursting into tears as I do every time this is even *thought of, since it's one of the things I feel most guilty for in life: "Yesssss, and I'm soooo sorry. *tears flowing* I was just young and screwed up and stupid." Miss Arse: "Oh, Honey, I didn't mean to make you cry...I don't care anymore." <br />
<br />
So, if anyone wonders where my lack of tact came from and why I constantly work on fixing it and constantly fail miserably, now you know. I'm fighting against genetics and it's hard. Or maybe...just maybe...I secretly like being this way. ;-)<br />
<br />
PS: I had a really nice day with her and Jake...it was good. I hope yours was, too. Tomorrow, she and I start our Casey Anthony trial obsessing. Anyone else going to watch this with us?Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-57686935131201668352011-05-05T05:04:00.001-04:002011-05-05T13:51:56.051-04:00500 blog hits later, I'll elaborate.Yes, 500 blog hits on my Geronimo post...had I known, I'd have put ads up! What tickles me to no end is that not a single person left a comment. I had a very small handful of "your (sic) a traitor/ignorant/Muslim" emails and that was it. I must admit, this leaves me curious as to the lack of comments with so many hits and the random emails. Those who emailed, why not say it here? Ah, well, you must have your reasons. *coughchickenshitcough*<br />
<br />
So, since that last one was so all-fired popular and I'm wide awake at 5am, let's just go wild, shall we? <br />
<br />
First off, I don't hate bin Laden. Never did, never will. In fact, I've got some admiration and respect for the man. Freaked out yet? Well, that's on you. I admire and respect anyone who feels so damn strongly about their religion, their principles, *anything, that they are willing to devote their life to and even die to protect those values. Now, try...TRY...to remove bin Laden from this equation and read what I just said again. Do you not agree? Do you not find it admirable to devote your life to and even die for your beliefs? Of course you do, even if others find you evil and want to kill you for it. What if that's the case? What if others find you evil, wrong, a threat? Are they justified in killing you, if so? What if your beliefs caused the deaths of others, even if you never actually killed them with your own hands, because they were so alien to the beliefs of those others? Would your opponents, those others (random thought: who just had a "Lost" moment?) be justified in killing you? Now, let's think about bin Laden again....substitute him for you in what I've asked up there. Is he still so evil? Was killing him still so justified? You don't have to tell me...all I ask is that you try to keep your mind open and answer yourself honestly there. Now, let's try this: Let's put Jesus in bin Laden's place in my questions up there. After all, Jesus was a religious zealot and rebel in his time and many, many lives have been lost in the battles both for and against Christianity. Now, am I equating bin Laden with Jesus? Nope, I'm not...I admit, I am giving an extreme example to drive my point home in a lot of heads. My point? Sometimes evil, as with beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. There are no absolutes. Do I think Osama bin Laden was evil? Not even remotely. Was he a rebel, an extremist? Yep. Would I have done as he did? Nope, but then again, I'm not a fan of violence in any form, be it what he orchestrated or what our own military is doing these days. Do I admire him for devoting his entire life to what he felt strongly about? All day long. You don't have to agree with someone's core values in order to admire them for their dedication to such. That's a lesson we, as Americans, often aren't taught. It's a shame, that, for without that lesson, this world will never have peace.<br />
<br />
Now, going back to bin Laden and what I freely will admit is my defense of what he's done, I'll ask you to indulge me in another mental game, if your mind is open enough for it. Ready? Let's go. Say you and many of your family all live on the same street and have for what amounts to forever. Sure, you have your bickerings and fights, but in the end, what matters is family. You know, the whole "I can say shit about her because she's my sister but I'll be up your ass in a heartbeat if *you say shit about her because she's my sister!" thing. It's a good thing, love ruling and having one another's backs against others, isn't it? So, let's say a family from two blocks away, newly moved in compared to your family, decides they don't like how your entire family, all homes, parent. Or your religion. Or the values your family feels strongly about. Screw them, you think. Right? But what if they begin marching into your family's homes, one by one, using force, and demanding that your family do things their way? Now, let's take a moment here and look at that family and what they are saying...they genuinely believe their way is best for your family. I mean, really, they do. They just think your family is too old-school, too antiquated in its values, to know better and they want to help you advance and see it their way, since they genuinely believe their way is so much better. And they are so damn sure of this, they feel it's perfectly fine to march in your front door without invitation, use force even with injuries, to have you do it their way and then do the same with all your family-neighbors on the street. Yes, some kids may be killed in the process...some men may lose their wives and your sister? She might lose her husband and your mom may lose your dad when he tries to protect his home. Tell me the truth...how would you feel about that? In your own heart of hearts, as the saying goes, how would you feel? And what if weird Uncle Joe, the family black sheep, said "Enough. Just enough. I'm going to try to stop these people from 2 blocks away and show them how it feels!" And 9/11 happens, killing innocent people, yes, but fewer innocents than than the obnoxious neighbor two blocks away killed. Of course, they call those innocents "casualties of the war" we caused by not living as they do. I call them my brothers, sisters, uncles, Mom and Dad, my babies. Again, be honest with me...how would you feel about weird Uncle Joe now, for doing whatever he had to do to stop this? Personally, I'd be my weird Uncle Joe's biggest fan. He had the guts to try to protect our family when no one else did...go Uncle Joe! Defend us, make them stop it! In fact, I'd be inspired to help Uncle Joe. What about you?<br />
<br />
Now comes the hard part. We, the United States of America, *are that family two blocks away. That's not up for debate...we just are. And let's replace the block full of your family and their homes with the Muslim countries. Weird Uncle Joe? Is Osama bin Laden. Ask yourself now, how do you feel about what Uncle Joe did? I still maintain it was admirable and anyone who came into our family turf, so to speak, and killed Uncle Joe? Yeah....they deserve what they get from here on out.<br />
<br />
We went into someone else's home 2 blocks over and abandoned everything we are supposed to stand for - we shot an unarmed man whose only resistance was in failing to raise both hands when directed. Then we flipped off his religion in how we disposed of his body and I'll be damned, our family not only is okay with this, but cheers in the streets about it.<br />
<br />
Count me out of this. I'm an American and I dearly love my country but I do not, not even a little bit, love what it has done and stands for right now. I am so ashamed for the United States of America. I'm not a bit ashamed to be American, though...I have hope for my country. I have hope that we will, one day, be a peaceful and peace-making nation with a strong defense but with a true, dare even I say true *Christian, understanding of what "defense" means. I have hope that one day, America will act as Jesus would have done.<br />
<br />
Right now, we have no sense of that.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-67445229345495841952011-05-02T18:47:00.002-04:002011-05-03T00:00:19.816-04:00Code name: "Geronimo"That's the code name our government used for bin Laden, have you heard? My initial reaction was fury...yep, fury. How *dare they? Geronimo was a good and decent man who did nothing more than defend his people against those who invaded the land of his people, determined to take that land at a cost of whatever death and destruction it required since those people were, after all, savages...of course, he fought back and that? Makes him the bad guy. Anytime we try to go in and take by force, or instill by force, our own desires, well...only bad guys fight us on that, dontcha know? We go in to people's homelands and kill, maim, steal but it's all in the interest of making the savages' lives better so it's a good thing...let them fight *back and they're bad guys, or terrorists.<br />
<br />
Wait a minute...wait a damn minute here...maybe "Geronimo" wasn't such a bad name for bin Laden at all, now that I give it some thought. Maybe it was just exactly *right, in fact.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdSt6z6qneMSZ127t3wGTGhlKl-IbJifNKJop96p58D05KzOgOZoXRgXifsg_TzKsamQnx5Lkn4e0MTGO0EPqNB_sTZ9POnh2nuL6aC4-4ZktHussHNT6NQYKmlzCHMJsCBaPFfsjgKTA/s1600/4609db3c19492d2a9becf1d50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdSt6z6qneMSZ127t3wGTGhlKl-IbJifNKJop96p58D05KzOgOZoXRgXifsg_TzKsamQnx5Lkn4e0MTGO0EPqNB_sTZ9POnh2nuL6aC4-4ZktHussHNT6NQYKmlzCHMJsCBaPFfsjgKTA/s320/4609db3c19492d2a9becf1d50.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-81662523747988432222011-04-29T04:39:00.004-04:002011-04-30T16:45:46.198-04:00How to cook like me...the royal wedding edition.I've got to be honest here...I actually made this dish a few of weeks back and was saving it to post soon but realized that today, with William's and Kate's wedding, would be a very appropriate time. So, the whole idea stems back from a conversation I had awhile back with a very British elderly neighbor who loves food but doesn't cook much and was reminiscing about his favorite comfort food as a youngster. I sort of made a mental note that I'd love to make his favorite dish for him sometime. Cut to a few weeks ago and I'm at Winn-Dixie and spot a key ingredient. I grabbed it. The fact that I was vaguely disgusted tipped me off that this was going to be fun! I ran home with my special ingredient, praying I had everything else I needed. I did, I did! So, in this edition of "How to cook like me", we're going to make...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcqliGkHCRtyi82oDm6C8QlxFXlFQT7kcjPgCPTBYGEJljEAKSsbaZZGR5sqhCiOeswAnLRiLXsts8Dg82bTC6PTXcZ_pMyiw6We25nuZhZVkaGun7yrc6yg0XEkPEbiDGPNIpfVWJ0Kg/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcqliGkHCRtyi82oDm6C8QlxFXlFQT7kcjPgCPTBYGEJljEAKSsbaZZGR5sqhCiOeswAnLRiLXsts8Dg82bTC6PTXcZ_pMyiw6We25nuZhZVkaGun7yrc6yg0XEkPEbiDGPNIpfVWJ0Kg/s320/3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> steak and...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhra99SgzGqcHeyRN_xz4gNgIJdAapAZ7YI89jKElwvw5buskhR8IVqCrDEQRJh0LAHU9IwE_Xu26pU-uGTQBbZqtmXIMy6tGf4vdhB9_HslzP-aya5mYFzP6hLVAXURQXuKyTTrJxmsx4/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhra99SgzGqcHeyRN_xz4gNgIJdAapAZ7YI89jKElwvw5buskhR8IVqCrDEQRJh0LAHU9IwE_Xu26pU-uGTQBbZqtmXIMy6tGf4vdhB9_HslzP-aya5mYFzP6hLVAXURQXuKyTTrJxmsx4/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>...kidney pie! Yep, I found kidneys. Now, I've never eaten kidneys and I grew up hearing horror stories from Miss Arse about how her dad loved kidneys and it would make the whole house smell like rancid urine when her mother cooked them, so let me admit right now that I was wary. But intrigued. Very intrigued.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg5c9mz7QNrg2Hg_Iqh_0eirnRRPaqxN9fO0Xbg9G2-QGEZqpLCl3tUR88K8lyQTJOUrdwxo1MEG7hPOCzu_Nrp6X2rxCfaXnUsCduC7Vo-b-KqBVLeHCuTA647xVPd8GUhSqwg2TI_MA/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg5c9mz7QNrg2Hg_Iqh_0eirnRRPaqxN9fO0Xbg9G2-QGEZqpLCl3tUR88K8lyQTJOUrdwxo1MEG7hPOCzu_Nrp6X2rxCfaXnUsCduC7Vo-b-KqBVLeHCuTA647xVPd8GUhSqwg2TI_MA/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a>\</div>I assembled the ingredients I thought I'd need...meats, 'taters, puff pastry, mushrooms, onion.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjisXHwsr3Paq1R0L8dTGDkvQonNJIneCZTUndnRrpuFGOZBj0EOdi9HhKSZl1_c0FzoblHhB-lmZryAe1YvHjhUqh8loSZHWQ0vOV93A8XRXR8cwQ7tLtm9-q3mpU70atF0aQKjjoeO48/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjisXHwsr3Paq1R0L8dTGDkvQonNJIneCZTUndnRrpuFGOZBj0EOdi9HhKSZl1_c0FzoblHhB-lmZryAe1YvHjhUqh8loSZHWQ0vOV93A8XRXR8cwQ7tLtm9-q3mpU70atF0aQKjjoeO48/s320/6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>And seasonings, also deciding to go with baby bello 'shrooms instead of regular ones at the last minute. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRiKEWCBJxNMo6JTOJX9J8cdbTSKH53HarkIGlLH8L9VzjZJWZCylGxFqw8AMNrxP6npQodv6BLN6Ye72QzUT2SgGEPQp0qx6II3au_1tGRbHM-2bAUyY7rhjxptp043jasxNEm4M49ws/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRiKEWCBJxNMo6JTOJX9J8cdbTSKH53HarkIGlLH8L9VzjZJWZCylGxFqw8AMNrxP6npQodv6BLN6Ye72QzUT2SgGEPQp0qx6II3au_1tGRbHM-2bAUyY7rhjxptp043jasxNEm4M49ws/s320/4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I thawed and pounded the hell out of my weird cuts of sirloin. Hey, they came out of a multi-packaged family pack. We can't expect much here, okay?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNHRqSDrNlkFcKrX6PmHuRwgUBNcGnvWIhXjGRrG8wcFEhMla4A3BOos8umDplAP-7fQ4pg3CLlJvBO7rvpn_Mnhkg76RywrnXNrGrmP9pkyrvWMSJezL9udLAsiKjpwjrHdSil8qh8k0/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNHRqSDrNlkFcKrX6PmHuRwgUBNcGnvWIhXjGRrG8wcFEhMla4A3BOos8umDplAP-7fQ4pg3CLlJvBO7rvpn_Mnhkg76RywrnXNrGrmP9pkyrvWMSJezL9udLAsiKjpwjrHdSil8qh8k0/s320/5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After removing 3 layers of plastic wrap on the kidneys, I was down to the final layer of plastic wrap and becoming a tad more disturbed by what I saw. What I thought were many small, individual kidneys were now beginning to look like, um, one big one. From what could only be a Zord sheep. Ugh, I prayed this wasn't true. I also decided this was a good time to actually look for recipes, lol, instead of relying on what an old man told me from 50 years ago. It seems I was pretty set on ingredients, a game plan and I was also told to "trim" the kidneys of tough tissue. Uh-oh. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlictnwo0XSQ8OecNTvufotP8UkyMzsf6Wh0MAakncG2QH8oH9aDpMAZIKWLUaPHp0uXrs3PdWCUWZLgCUdljZl55U5V-Tu_kIY9f9HN2FFRnaHkXkob8hTTM5HUbWOHkaueU9tklpofo/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlictnwo0XSQ8OecNTvufotP8UkyMzsf6Wh0MAakncG2QH8oH9aDpMAZIKWLUaPHp0uXrs3PdWCUWZLgCUdljZl55U5V-Tu_kIY9f9HN2FFRnaHkXkob8hTTM5HUbWOHkaueU9tklpofo/s320/7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I dumped it out on my cutting sheet and immediately discover why it was encased in 4 layers of plastic wrap. No one wants to go in Winn-Dixie and be reminded of John Wayne Gacy. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRIqEJbumWXapfpMgbcHTTbuez0v4EijuOYU8xbZuEJabjTKFiPE_w2AFhxp9Mf57ZVMWJLYwrOFmkvpy9LXbAorzsakx3-HsRvSLj5VNqsKLSzzXHnoYHKHGmppCQXNEe5LMiyoZ3yFE/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRIqEJbumWXapfpMgbcHTTbuez0v4EijuOYU8xbZuEJabjTKFiPE_w2AFhxp9Mf57ZVMWJLYwrOFmkvpy9LXbAorzsakx3-HsRvSLj5VNqsKLSzzXHnoYHKHGmppCQXNEe5LMiyoZ3yFE/s320/8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I also confirmed that I was actually the proud owner of one, and only one, kidney and said kidney had...pods...on it. *gags* At this point, I really wondered if I can do this. For whatever reason, I could do the tongue, the cheek and heck, I've cooked brains but this kidney might be my undoing. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAORyDH5INe40pcQgxx9H8cISEETr_3JCwfVHNKjjCrqAX3vlxQk93wstSzWgpQrvhQxlVSSxte4HtY6TSIVvVgjDouPOhlHfoh5SY99N6EdX6uX8UF6HZIjmFmrCIcBSY4aPG4hwWkBg/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAORyDH5INe40pcQgxx9H8cISEETr_3JCwfVHNKjjCrqAX3vlxQk93wstSzWgpQrvhQxlVSSxte4HtY6TSIVvVgjDouPOhlHfoh5SY99N6EdX6uX8UF6HZIjmFmrCIcBSY4aPG4hwWkBg/s320/9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Flipping it over did not help. Not only did it have gristly, waxy thing in the middle, it had a *insert squeaky voice* duct hole. A. Duct. Hole. For what could have only been urine. But hell, I'm not about to let organ meat stop me, so I grabbed it and washed it good in cold water and ran water into the *shudder* duct hole. While I'm at it, I copped a good feel of the whole thing, trying to find out about this "tough tissue" thing. I felt tough tissue in every fucking pod and it all grew out of this weird, waxy white thing. God *damn. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJVH44QEU_BHdcRCCn_500IrTngHFE-eT-8YDBMS9WRgnkMxf8puhnCce_FK8wOU7fP_WCo9TPru3R9peuCSlYHhPHc5WSHRFrg-WqImO_mnI6-PtIEfws15fZiC3zRseTRBl9mE44Czw/s1600/BeaSippie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJVH44QEU_BHdcRCCn_500IrTngHFE-eT-8YDBMS9WRgnkMxf8puhnCce_FK8wOU7fP_WCo9TPru3R9peuCSlYHhPHc5WSHRFrg-WqImO_mnI6-PtIEfws15fZiC3zRseTRBl9mE44Czw/s320/BeaSippie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">While the water was running, Beatrice decided she'd like a sippie and it was a much welcome break for us both. Ignore my water bottles in the background, I'd just emptied my trunk. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJYmrNHBAd_RhwI0kfiwu8p2KSRUtFMYMuiapu2ycrS5sL9hxoCd-7A5dwCV9XWrLs6x28EJf0tr0JTYMUPi4IUM52a8PI4egXQbKx4BWS_xZD0GeBrZ1Qkkv6g9lRSOVYqmo645BY1m4/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJYmrNHBAd_RhwI0kfiwu8p2KSRUtFMYMuiapu2ycrS5sL9hxoCd-7A5dwCV9XWrLs6x28EJf0tr0JTYMUPi4IUM52a8PI4egXQbKx4BWS_xZD0GeBrZ1Qkkv6g9lRSOVYqmo645BY1m4/s320/10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>With a new enthusiasm, I began cutting the pods off the kidney. This was the best I could do and I did a little scraping, at that. I did smell it and it smelled a lot like normal ol' liver, but with an odd, faintly sweeter smell. The smell actually reassured me that this could be okay...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOuT4ardPiCOLXAYKNdihwrXk4SUDgR7zPffUPs4veVii14FwDp2ShVa0mOxhRRUht6xTYZn9fIKhyphenhyphenlTvZdZQiZZ2S-D2_DfQySez-A6gduX86SMGLjTqUCCmGybN4O3GXDYl-zzUFM8/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOuT4ardPiCOLXAYKNdihwrXk4SUDgR7zPffUPs4veVii14FwDp2ShVa0mOxhRRUht6xTYZn9fIKhyphenhyphenlTvZdZQiZZ2S-D2_DfQySez-A6gduX86SMGLjTqUCCmGybN4O3GXDYl-zzUFM8/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>...until I spotted the Duct Hole. Again. I poured myself a glass of wine, tossed it (not the wine, no point in *that) in the sink and pretended I never saw it. I took all of my kidney pods and dredged them in seasoned flour, then proceeded to brown them up good. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJBtDGDkAFNEBJS4GlkR_UDnOj9kIK1XBpJkQ85zySWQ4UKezgW4vyz9ld5SItp-E9XunggPJ-ACKRrQl97tKOPTHeOlhNbIM7kZqvSkAciGMs-Cc1TIq6EoNMWHfIARW7AWWwSWDSuuw/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJBtDGDkAFNEBJS4GlkR_UDnOj9kIK1XBpJkQ85zySWQ4UKezgW4vyz9ld5SItp-E9XunggPJ-ACKRrQl97tKOPTHeOlhNbIM7kZqvSkAciGMs-Cc1TIq6EoNMWHfIARW7AWWwSWDSuuw/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>See? This is looking better, isn't it? And it smells like liver, so once again, I felt reassured. I wasn't picking up on any of the nasty urine smell my mom remembered but am figuring that since they killed their own sheep, maybe they just didn't rinse those Duct Holes (forever capitalized in my head) well. *gags again* But still, I'm game and not about to be defeated, not even when I spot what the lid says on the bottle of oil I pulled out of the cabinet to fry the kidney pods in.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZeVVYfhoIyb2hrrfi6ecoqBnyTodkFZ_CLm_bXXM3aA6gvJ2xxwTaML_e94F5UGmncyCFi6EQ3fqcuXvxg9es5ESHbVlXYM-meWIFEJuvcYDF8yU68x9yOeF-lsOysHv-_B9cD_vLvCo/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZeVVYfhoIyb2hrrfi6ecoqBnyTodkFZ_CLm_bXXM3aA6gvJ2xxwTaML_e94F5UGmncyCFi6EQ3fqcuXvxg9es5ESHbVlXYM-meWIFEJuvcYDF8yU68x9yOeF-lsOysHv-_B9cD_vLvCo/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Uh-oh. And oops. Well, I'd not used it for anything but okra and onion rings, so hey, added flavor, right? I thought so, too. Journey on! I decided to scrub the sink and counters of all the blood and ook that has splattered while my pods browned up some.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQHQSLglAHxEC2wA5PesltPfd4llQn1neZAq2WUYHzrSGmlQACtjLiVmhZrpoDaBRrYsE5S_zA9tSR_Q-0Dibq-NQGW-lY1cn4ZxPJlNWZiH2by_qLwBLmyMZchcPb2HItVfdw05AdsO0/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQHQSLglAHxEC2wA5PesltPfd4llQn1neZAq2WUYHzrSGmlQACtjLiVmhZrpoDaBRrYsE5S_zA9tSR_Q-0Dibq-NQGW-lY1cn4ZxPJlNWZiH2by_qLwBLmyMZchcPb2HItVfdw05AdsO0/s320/16.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>As I go to clean the sink out, I see this. Duct Hole, she mocks me. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh216vHpjyLoh73ekKCFdAxMHZ9MbxgOXlSD2D_NypHa4pfySNcOHG379RofS0wn7w76bz4o4tmj5oEtcVaXAU8iHuYrWaaqsxlB-rjphEBAXcMyzqQ_MqozlKp4j6ZwPe_iLCMTATG9r0/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh216vHpjyLoh73ekKCFdAxMHZ9MbxgOXlSD2D_NypHa4pfySNcOHG379RofS0wn7w76bz4o4tmj5oEtcVaXAU8iHuYrWaaqsxlB-rjphEBAXcMyzqQ_MqozlKp4j6ZwPe_iLCMTATG9r0/s320/14.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>At this point, I had some slight problems occur. My main kitchen light burned out and I had no replacement bulb, so I was stuck with this one light over my sink to cook by. It was getting dark out and frankly, I'd lose a lot of enthusiasm for this project. I decided to quickly brown the now-cubed and floured steak, deglaze, refrigerate the whole deal and start again tomorrow. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Cly12g1KzIB8U2uMMZkcwooV_z88hOu8YoHRJJPWvGZ895n2ULrPWwIYJNHhJRgb55Z9zAY9nfOGUBvIlfT0lMab0u0SJxBZc53eNpFbpgz_7gBq-db219CraYJZElZQXw_kPUbFpbM/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Cly12g1KzIB8U2uMMZkcwooV_z88hOu8YoHRJJPWvGZ895n2ULrPWwIYJNHhJRgb55Z9zAY9nfOGUBvIlfT0lMab0u0SJxBZc53eNpFbpgz_7gBq-db219CraYJZElZQXw_kPUbFpbM/s320/15.jpg" width="318" /></a></div>They say you should always cook with a good quality wine, something you'd drink. I agree and deglazed with this. :-D<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-CZNrJSX0_e7zr85paXfEj6bsZn-hONbjz_wa4P8FVVgoBrST_6KUC4FFX414nyqZya2jYBWCsLgvXfDIuc803cjB2ittxRwp7J1ZD7untz1CrIeRuiwWrAYnNt5SuitPdvQ67xs7_rY/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-CZNrJSX0_e7zr85paXfEj6bsZn-hONbjz_wa4P8FVVgoBrST_6KUC4FFX414nyqZya2jYBWCsLgvXfDIuc803cjB2ittxRwp7J1ZD7untz1CrIeRuiwWrAYnNt5SuitPdvQ67xs7_rY/s320/17.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Oh, look. Yummy. *eyeroll* Into the fridge it went, once I made room. Oh, hey, want to see in my fridge pre-room being made?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnFxkzVhx8SPPqhZ9DCBQUCPrl8AgwPursdYsvsxylH9or3Kr2nvEm2qQ36UrrvFMetot1K6iTadcz6fmoDlllPzsLat35v_Hs-KFUbpjyTB2d6CdJXq5eC-RlgigK5mN3NZ1G5O36y18/s1600/fridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnFxkzVhx8SPPqhZ9DCBQUCPrl8AgwPursdYsvsxylH9or3Kr2nvEm2qQ36UrrvFMetot1K6iTadcz6fmoDlllPzsLat35v_Hs-KFUbpjyTB2d6CdJXq5eC-RlgigK5mN3NZ1G5O36y18/s320/fridge.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I'm the nosy sort and love seeing in people's fridges and cabinets. Closets, too. Yep, it's an old one...18 years old, I do believe. Hey, it works, so why change? Can you find my bacon grease, my leftover shit-on-a-shingle, my multiple bottles of hot sauce and salsa? Oh, yum, salmon cream cheese...I need more of that. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjayPK-eXXeo6zUOIJgYAHnKymkmvvWOi-0FDDDaTVks7S06XTwYIV91FX0Ru7LOEP5zD6jyDNTiB6aRP9WJ9pZI_tvbZsJi812rbPhrrjG_EebriQlFvS3ZGatQ4El_U4mzDSEsDaPPqE/s1600/18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjayPK-eXXeo6zUOIJgYAHnKymkmvvWOi-0FDDDaTVks7S06XTwYIV91FX0Ru7LOEP5zD6jyDNTiB6aRP9WJ9pZI_tvbZsJi812rbPhrrjG_EebriQlFvS3ZGatQ4El_U4mzDSEsDaPPqE/s320/18.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I felt considerably more on my game the next day, especially since Duct Hole was safely out in the garbage can. I added all of my assorted ingredients, including water, sauteed onions, taters and mushrooms, carrots, chopped parsley, beef bouillon, Worcestershire sauce, salt, pepper, bay leaves, herbs de Provence, additional lavender and, upon discovering I had no tomato paste and unwilling to make a trip out, a big squirt of ketchup. Because yes, I have lavender and no tomato paste...it's weird, but whatever. I let all of this simmer for 2 hours and I must say, it smelled wonderful!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtZ_MHdi8KLMDSmNKN_TZiW7JnjUg7HvBB8KZ496cNUkFBNQKbZWDA6rr-tEeu-oW2vo3J_BDxCOB3PomG59VaBZMB709AuzPRp4dFHrV4ptnWWEV6WZIap7mP30sd6U5E-HCv9xG0Yk/s1600/21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtZ_MHdi8KLMDSmNKN_TZiW7JnjUg7HvBB8KZ496cNUkFBNQKbZWDA6rr-tEeu-oW2vo3J_BDxCOB3PomG59VaBZMB709AuzPRp4dFHrV4ptnWWEV6WZIap7mP30sd6U5E-HCv9xG0Yk/s320/21.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Once the bottom layer of puff pastry was baked for about 10 minutes, I dumped a lot of my mixture on it to hide where it swelled way up in the middle and then did a last taste test, in case additional seasonings are needed. I got a piece of kidney on that one and I'll be damned, it wasn't bad. In fact, I liked it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGtukvnn3WdanbvARMmWTrjbJ4ViCKmGsueB_3psx3B8D-fMjWVDMpMrDERHY3fURTtgazp7TyiIkFIbJB44eWgiWd_7TYwepa6z1YvCU_eFlY-3cWN3uKoQ98qPsw2dTH65XIQjn_LA/s1600/22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGtukvnn3WdanbvARMmWTrjbJ4ViCKmGsueB_3psx3B8D-fMjWVDMpMrDERHY3fURTtgazp7TyiIkFIbJB44eWgiWd_7TYwepa6z1YvCU_eFlY-3cWN3uKoQ98qPsw2dTH65XIQjn_LA/s320/22.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>A covering of more puff pastry, an egg wash and into the oven it went 350 degrees for about 40 minutes. I didn't really time it, I just pulled it out when it looked golden.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTnQuHqo7L7DqLCn4r171O8Gg4X0iCta3rh07KDK9n7uwZBlp_19JdYq0uPK4OtSj4-s1NhWwPneg5uZkiVBTWsgOo_id3MJSCnRDF801ddVFKtTTSHHWbYf26eWwPY3-en02QcpxgO0/s1600/23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTnQuHqo7L7DqLCn4r171O8Gg4X0iCta3rh07KDK9n7uwZBlp_19JdYq0uPK4OtSj4-s1NhWwPneg5uZkiVBTWsgOo_id3MJSCnRDF801ddVFKtTTSHHWbYf26eWwPY3-en02QcpxgO0/s320/23.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Here was the final product...since this was an experiment, I got a chunk, as did my mom, Jake and my British neighbor, who(m?) I encouraged to be honest. He really liked it! He said he could have done without the bottom crust at all (I liked that part but wish it has been less soggy) and said my top crust could have been puffier but that overall, it tasted like what he grew up with and hoped I made it again. I did notice that while none of the recipes I found mentioned adding the 'taters, he stressed his mother did so I'm not sure how authentic the 'taters are to a true steak and kidney pie. Nonetheless, it was a far bigger success than I expected. The kidneys tasted like a very mild liver, so Jake and I really enjoyed it and even Miss Arse found this to be tasty as long as she didn't think too much about it. The end verdict is that, despite my gagging and shuddering and despite the ominous presence of Duct Hole, I *will make this again. I do think I may use calf liver next time, though, and just not tell anyone it's not kidney...no one will be the wiser. Trust me. <br />
<br />
Who is going to make it next? ;-)Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-64089223137724401892011-04-26T02:46:00.001-04:002011-04-26T02:47:16.153-04:00Miscellaneous crap.I haven't checked my sitemeter in ages...until now. Some searched terms that found me? <br />
"Some really fuck up stuff"<br />
"e-whoring Mafia Wars" (ftr, I don't play)<br />
"maxine waters all look the same to me"<br />
<br />
I'm proud of this assortment. Also, someone from State Farm in Bloomington found me. *waves* I don't think you're supposed to be reading my blog at work, but hey, we can keep it between us. ;-) I hope you can forgive me for the fact I'm about to take my policies elsewhere. It's nothing personal, mind you...it's all about saving money these days. Didja see where Aegeon sold their reinsurance division to Scor? That worries me a bit. They had to sell out in order to repay Sweden (or is it Denmark?) back. That tells me this isn't a particularly lucrative business anymore and that bodes ill for most everyone, if I'm right.<br />
<br />
Here, I found this interesting. I don't do anti-depressants but if you do, you might want to read this. And cry. Or whatever it is you do. <a href="http://www.foxnews.com/health/2011/04/25/antidepressants-otc-painkillers-good-combo/">Antidepressants, OTC Painkillers Not a Good Combo - FoxNews.com</a> Ignore that it's from Fox News...as long as it's not political stuff, they can be trusted.<a href="http://www.southernsavers.com/"></a><br />
<br />
Lastly, do you live in the South? If so, here you go. It's helpful, really! <a href="http://www.southernsavers.com/">Southern Savers</a>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-22603559103910441342011-04-25T05:39:00.001-04:002011-04-25T05:41:58.710-04:00Ditto, Dad.<div>Another Easter has come and gone and another Easter made me miss my dad all over again. Easter was his holiday. He hated holidays that required real shopping, decorating or stress but loved a holiday that allowed for some sneaking around. Halloween was a good one for him, too. But Easter, he really loved. He enjoyed coloring eggs and would draw tacky-ass shit like toilets and roadkill with the magic crayon in the egg coloring kits, just to make me laugh. Then, after I was asleep, he'd set to work with his carrots and Cocoa Puffs cereal in the backyard, creating the best messy bunny and poop trails ever. I actually bought into the Easter Bunny a good two years after I knew Santa was a lie. But the most amazing thing was that every Easter morning, just after I got up, he'd say, "Oh, look, Lisa! It's the Easter bunny!" and I'd look out back and sure enough, there would be a huge brown rabbit in the yard. Granted, we lived against a bit of wooded area but every single Easter morning? That's odd. One morning he told me that Mrs. Bunny had stayed behind to have her babies and I remember going out into the chilly, damp morning barefoot, the tail of my nightgown getting all wet, and seeing a little nest of babies up against our house, nestled in some pipes and mulch. I was sold on the Easter Bunny, let me tell you. As an adult, I asked my dad about those bunnies every Easter, since we lived out the woods with Jake and we never had that kind of luck. He just laughed and said he would ask them to come. Riiiiiight. I wondered about this statement, though, since I'd seen firsthand that he could actually communicate with animals to a degree (remind me to tell y'all about our Irish Setters sometime because the stories are amazing) but I still blew it all off as a coincidence. I mean, who does that...you know? <br />
<br />
Saturday night, it's late, I'm going in and out my back door to do laundry and sent up a quick little prayer. "Hey, Dad, if you still hear me, will you send me a bunny in the back yard for Easter, so I know you're still with us?" I got up yesterday morning and peeked out back. Nothing. Went out and looked around. Nothing. Honestly, I just sort of laughed at myself, even though I was a tiny bit disappointed...I'd been foolish in hoping. I fixed my coffee and was sitting down at the computer when my mom called. We wished each other happy Easter, made our plans for the day, I filled her in on some gossip and before we hung up she said, "By the way, would you believe I saw a big, fat rabbit in the backyard this morning? I had to laugh, it reminded me so much of your dad and his Easter bunnies. It's been years since I've seen a rabbit at all." Well, damn, Dad, I guess I forgot to specify which backyard I wanted it in, didn't I? <br />
<br />
Then, my dad always called Jake his little lamb (when he wasn't calling him a baby girl, lol, so it's no wonder Jake has no gender lines) and all four Easters they were together, he bought Jake a lamb stuffed toy. Yesterday morning, Jake walks in the door after spending the night with a friend and I'm cleaning the bathroom on the other other end of the house. I holler out "Who is it?", as I always do, and the answer I get back is not the normal "It's me!"...oh, no. I hear "It's your little lamb...happy Easter!" I came out fast and demanded to know why he said that. He laughs and tells me "I don't know, that's just what came out when my mouth opened. It's Easter...relax, Mom!"<br />
<br />
Good enough, Dad. :-)</div><div>I love you, too, and thank you.</div>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6426523797653322842.post-69646195495758072822011-04-17T12:43:00.001-04:002011-04-17T12:51:52.773-04:00A year in pictures.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've been thinking about this place lately and miss sharing things. I know, because I'm such a sharer, right? Whatever, I do miss it. I've been wondering why I let it go and think I just became very unfocused or something. Let's go back to this time last year, shall we? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Right around this time last year, Miss Arse lost her sight. She wasn't blind as in the world went dark and she needed a service dog named Libby or anything. I mean, hell, she's got me, right? Right. She could see variances in light and dark, she could tell if something was large and red although she'd say it was purple and have no clue it was a firetruck. But she wasn't Stevie Wonder, either. So, what happened? Wellllp, she neglected cataracts for over 25 years and they rebelled on her, causing massive infections in both eyes and fusing to the corneas in both, one worse than the other. So, repairs began since doctors just swore they could fix this for her and she was game to try.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVCfSvpgxMmCW5-cRDaWsuMI1S_0HIPbW8g0TcUR-2sV4-dc4fh3ZvwIgmk7rGvaJOaU_zb5NAfCPNuRaMiyFqvOqrtH_IGycxekzI-Oh8fEBSTn_CaQx6GUCfEHS40JusCBR_A7YhImQ/s1600/YesEye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVCfSvpgxMmCW5-cRDaWsuMI1S_0HIPbW8g0TcUR-2sV4-dc4fh3ZvwIgmk7rGvaJOaU_zb5NAfCPNuRaMiyFqvOqrtH_IGycxekzI-Oh8fEBSTn_CaQx6GUCfEHS40JusCBR_A7YhImQ/s320/YesEye.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The poor old bird was also terrified, as you can see here. This was in the waiting room, just before her first surgery. We both had to take Xanax on this day and I still had a panic attack that necessitated me sitting in my car, reading an IKEA catalog and trying to not vomit the whole time.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK08UPFfxFPPNIkqHFg36y3sfdtmJ0SZ8hucRph0aSTHE0_ow8vMCnaRo1QAf0PiYDJQvcxmf4c2zdRe1f0pnQIjyykiV2Tn9M29RuXQblARVNFf9T37aOxRR-_c4s32HybnWIp_Bzry4/s1600/HappyPatch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK08UPFfxFPPNIkqHFg36y3sfdtmJ0SZ8hucRph0aSTHE0_ow8vMCnaRo1QAf0PiYDJQvcxmf4c2zdRe1f0pnQIjyykiV2Tn9M29RuXQblARVNFf9T37aOxRR-_c4s32HybnWIp_Bzry4/s320/HappyPatch.jpg" width="306" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Once it was over and I had her back home, she was good. Of course, she was also drugged, but hey...she was happy. It was an unusually long removal that involved both laser and knife, and she wound up with a destroyed cornea but hey, she didn't die. It was a good day!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLYvWovCxWl_ZqSC17h59tHzeqPJd_4NpsNwnAC-L6RPCSfcLImteaLOfblt53XZ5owBVbjWa0CxYyaxhSdmMNsmK4npi3PHeGau1s0NKHavfWMHRpiRut7bizIg5hxWXqtBoKNiYJ01U/s1600/MightBeDead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLYvWovCxWl_ZqSC17h59tHzeqPJd_4NpsNwnAC-L6RPCSfcLImteaLOfblt53XZ5owBVbjWa0CxYyaxhSdmMNsmK4npi3PHeGau1s0NKHavfWMHRpiRut7bizIg5hxWXqtBoKNiYJ01U/s320/MightBeDead.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I think the corneal transplant nearly killed her, though. Doesn't she look dead? Actually, the transplant was super-easy on her but she had to lay in bed 48 straight hours on her back, facing the ceiling, with only momentary breaks to pee or eat. After hour 6, she wasn't so much fun anymore.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggxd0sFJVkk7z39D4hHHTMsLCfaBDhRcMyUTTcP76SQ1O0cP9MDMhjumfSmN1RKse6Ojk9QAxwWzv8CeV2IyQsXWL8JVaoATudmmhVO3vEx1rHXLz0U303Tb75VpKXQO7s7Nd5ydilW9g/s1600/MissArseinmybedwcats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggxd0sFJVkk7z39D4hHHTMsLCfaBDhRcMyUTTcP76SQ1O0cP9MDMhjumfSmN1RKse6Ojk9QAxwWzv8CeV2IyQsXWL8JVaoATudmmhVO3vEx1rHXLz0U303Tb75VpKXQO7s7Nd5ydilW9g/s320/MissArseinmybedwcats.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>After hour 30, I was desperate so I loaded her in my car and drove her to my house so she could sleep in my bed and be entertained by my cats while I crawled into my recliner and ignored her. You know, just for a change of pace. It was during this time we began calling her Old Cadaver Eye, for the record. Desperate times call for desperate measures when it comes to amusement. As you can see, it was an exciting time for us all. And yes, my bedroom looks that boring most of the time. What*ever, it's clean.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJshpx_4iscIdZ1rmg3pYRFkM2ZO-NDBHa1L2nA3erIGJ-JfHUQPSEl_m2jcgWRtSSQB5AyVIGe6_r-kzVnL4j5v3WnmBb15gGasfpeQXJ5eZDJF4VRJ-k__aNXUGgyncf1432K5FPeQs/s1600/Cornea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJshpx_4iscIdZ1rmg3pYRFkM2ZO-NDBHa1L2nA3erIGJ-JfHUQPSEl_m2jcgWRtSSQB5AyVIGe6_r-kzVnL4j5v3WnmBb15gGasfpeQXJ5eZDJF4VRJ-k__aNXUGgyncf1432K5FPeQs/s320/Cornea.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>While the transplant went well and by God, she could see out of that eye again, they had to tweak the cadaver flesh because a stitch (ewww!) malfunctioned. That deal went so well she didn't even have to wear a patch *and she got good drugs...see? She was showing her nifty new cornea off here.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq5AMYyOIz-PWSE-R0_wzEUi4K7Nvvi9NPBnBQJzwPclTpX1FRsbJaPTR4r6m06O9HHoSB1fRCh33zH7mjQ_HqXmJ_5oycN-bo9RL1lDCENWLxt-hgQJeuN3cMLXiuDZi1Qhfx_0L3ZP0/s1600/Lasteye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq5AMYyOIz-PWSE-R0_wzEUi4K7Nvvi9NPBnBQJzwPclTpX1FRsbJaPTR4r6m06O9HHoSB1fRCh33zH7mjQ_HqXmJ_5oycN-bo9RL1lDCENWLxt-hgQJeuN3cMLXiuDZi1Qhfx_0L3ZP0/s320/Lasteye.jpg" width="293" /></a></div>Once that eye was repaired and healing well, they tackled the other one. Luckily, they saved her cornea but this time she didn't get the good drugs and things went harder than they thought. It hurt her very much and she was whiny so I bought her a Whopper and made her coffee. As you can see from the noticeable lack of happiness on her face this time, Whoppers and coffee can only do so much when you hurt. But, in the end, the doctors were right and while it took 9 months to get her there, she can see so well now that she's quilting again. And...discussions are underway to buy her a pickup truck soon because she's going to get her license back and she wants to be able to haul stuff. Lord, I love my mom. :-D But, for these 9 months, I was busy-busy driving her to multiple appointments and helping with the 30+ drops per day she had to do at one point, in addition to cooking and cleaning for her, plus just keeping her company since she couldn't see her computer or TV. In the end, I hope if I ever see 82 that I'm mostly like her. One of these days, I might even tell her that.<br />
<br />
In the midst of all this eye drama, Beatrice gave up sleeping in the casserole dish and chose the center of the couch instead. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYoZANhxFhqiEtUqFxBkRb-46agFPmSmKLR713OfzxafdFCXzvBU_rJwAJ5-4gPhSEXkaOYW1ac1PkE2eAF2_3zsq8h_TCptnaJqzhh9Em19u4fwbl_huJKd5T2xfq2_BYfRaEp4vNmNs/s1600/Beacouch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYoZANhxFhqiEtUqFxBkRb-46agFPmSmKLR713OfzxafdFCXzvBU_rJwAJ5-4gPhSEXkaOYW1ac1PkE2eAF2_3zsq8h_TCptnaJqzhh9Em19u4fwbl_huJKd5T2xfq2_BYfRaEp4vNmNs/s320/Beacouch.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>She's adorable no matter where she sleeps, isn't she? One of my old lady cats (19 this August!), Ginger, had other plans and not only stole Bea's casserole dish idea...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrd4SMJ7qKxRm6-ZDin5r-rv6F-B8IazReDp9rkviweIeNTLpGrO7kqu_ObFDTrQ6Qb0qF4D7H3TY42jMAjss6GTCrMQLIRq7YRZuRV5-NdyDfStKcgJ9r3XZi4LP48p7jEOFZPiMsX2c/s1600/Gingerpan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrd4SMJ7qKxRm6-ZDin5r-rv6F-B8IazReDp9rkviweIeNTLpGrO7kqu_ObFDTrQ6Qb0qF4D7H3TY42jMAjss6GTCrMQLIRq7YRZuRV5-NdyDfStKcgJ9r3XZi4LP48p7jEOFZPiMsX2c/s320/Gingerpan.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>...she tried to make it better. Or warmer. Or something. A cookie sheet sort of thwarted her plan, though.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYV9qInqyjuAx__bFZoZqb99fZRknWBEEZFjm0LcfUs8jMxyqAeOQb7SUyiV9OO_DsB9VGIhV5bheARWhirIogCgVIJsr2hUw0dqdL2hZble5sW3r_mtBzxwBdT4CAFJIeT3c-P9LBwP4/s1600/Gingerguitar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYV9qInqyjuAx__bFZoZqb99fZRknWBEEZFjm0LcfUs8jMxyqAeOQb7SUyiV9OO_DsB9VGIhV5bheARWhirIogCgVIJsr2hUw0dqdL2hZble5sW3r_mtBzxwBdT4CAFJIeT3c-P9LBwP4/s320/Gingerguitar.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>No one fretted over the dish sleeping; she was just stringing us along because she had an axe to grind. We tuned her out.<br />
Bwahahahahaha!<br />
*pauses*<br />
Sorry.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggma2Hxff96NlnOtw-wf35_kJLXOdnSiAoopc-Z1YCCLDuV93bVhCb0YNXDAO6MhCJxHfBBfitN0fRPx-dyy-2MJwxkBS70PLmli0mEJzhWe-prl7zq-bhMvvATEkWS2Bmd3aX6J4b8wI/s1600/Heater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggma2Hxff96NlnOtw-wf35_kJLXOdnSiAoopc-Z1YCCLDuV93bVhCb0YNXDAO6MhCJxHfBBfitN0fRPx-dyy-2MJwxkBS70PLmli0mEJzhWe-prl7zq-bhMvvATEkWS2Bmd3aX6J4b8wI/s320/Heater.jpg" width="230" /></a></div>And no, my cats aren't spoiled. Why would you think that? <br />
<br />
Jake had a busy year. He turned 19 and got his first ice cream cake ever. Go him. Maybe when he's 20, I'll let him get a driver license...<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsRUdCCIIWkz4f5D-8uHUDHQy3gRY8wtUFqn0qLXUSzGC0ARiJKm2PWfK0mcKqVC-XtOQYJiHokwJ1gmgzTrijRxMA2_1yoOyoVFgw37iEAXGS0ki18gWp1hMFBT3RCWISPyjqpy0hjbg/s1600/Jakecake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsRUdCCIIWkz4f5D-8uHUDHQy3gRY8wtUFqn0qLXUSzGC0ARiJKm2PWfK0mcKqVC-XtOQYJiHokwJ1gmgzTrijRxMA2_1yoOyoVFgw37iEAXGS0ki18gWp1hMFBT3RCWISPyjqpy0hjbg/s320/Jakecake.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
That's kind of pitiful, I suppose, but hey, he's lucky I didn't get him a chin implant to go with it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtUc46RwdEdYTLgSGtPYDgwtc5YUrnqe8gexJnqyrpnzhfSW5WI5_oTKh_Rgf0YX6gGstY7koXHB_vTEyoopSpvvDyNbT_nB8Hn_ls89m_Maqwe_Y1wOP-bkqzkySoW9bz814kmVucHhI/s1600/Jakeeyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtUc46RwdEdYTLgSGtPYDgwtc5YUrnqe8gexJnqyrpnzhfSW5WI5_oTKh_Rgf0YX6gGstY7koXHB_vTEyoopSpvvDyNbT_nB8Hn_ls89m_Maqwe_Y1wOP-bkqzkySoW9bz814kmVucHhI/s320/Jakeeyes.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I did, however, get him very cool "doll eye" contacts...one blue and one violet. No, he's not spoiled either.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_d1pGStEWx5hZQ3ZQ6p_bSvrNGwsSOhvgckh3D0khC-mSzwngISnxcScrEOg-u7OXP3y9cvSQOp4ouCm-3zCafxolw6oaonzfeEelbsj0r6q0-w29tHZC0-nOUcwiM30ToW47xZjTpnQ/s1600/ChristmasJandM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_d1pGStEWx5hZQ3ZQ6p_bSvrNGwsSOhvgckh3D0khC-mSzwngISnxcScrEOg-u7OXP3y9cvSQOp4ouCm-3zCafxolw6oaonzfeEelbsj0r6q0-w29tHZC0-nOUcwiM30ToW47xZjTpnQ/s320/ChristmasJandM.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Then Christmas came...he got tons of junk and taught Miss Arse to play Rock Band. And the best part? She could see it! She still sucked but dammit, she could see it!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo0ob4AZM4bDiYVlJ16LmXqZUpOruN8AJQyGZyimvIsLm_M8fgjXBWVOciBvjieE7eizOnmfckKdKft7PFu9Kwf-Kf_rnYEZAgy358RnQrtyLFPZjUG5vWSe589ZRXdKsrlockRWhRnAQ/s1600/JakeTattoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo0ob4AZM4bDiYVlJ16LmXqZUpOruN8AJQyGZyimvIsLm_M8fgjXBWVOciBvjieE7eizOnmfckKdKft7PFu9Kwf-Kf_rnYEZAgy358RnQrtyLFPZjUG5vWSe589ZRXdKsrlockRWhRnAQ/s320/JakeTattoo.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>His best friends got him the tattoo he's wanted since he was 14 for Christmas. I maintain that with friends like these, no one needs enemies. It's the ugliest damn tattoo ever, but he loves it and hell, I guess he really did want it since he waited 5 years for it. At least it's a nice job, all straight and such. But really...Manson stuff? On your arm? At least get Bowie. Let's see, what else? *digs through pictures*<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvCk1PHtlQI-iQmvwJ4nyzL58FciYfUBqz9LAZkfXtPZAZVQaIE8bxEnxSKRAfehkznrz0yYV1-aYUClhvxQ3WcwdDQRcNKD1sPopJji_pcSvnFqhZ-j9f1gPct8xjunIJkdkCYVgwGZw/s1600/Mailbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvCk1PHtlQI-iQmvwJ4nyzL58FciYfUBqz9LAZkfXtPZAZVQaIE8bxEnxSKRAfehkznrz0yYV1-aYUClhvxQ3WcwdDQRcNKD1sPopJji_pcSvnFqhZ-j9f1gPct8xjunIJkdkCYVgwGZw/s320/Mailbox.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Some idiot ran over my mailbox. I believe this makes 6 of them in 10 years. Take it from me - don't buy a house on an inside corner unless you like disposable mailboxes.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOKZSUgarR2u45oek9MdFPjUASBQ0JF1M8yfLpZoTIIigFuncaJEF6wW9_IR8SQDpyRl_oE2n9D85AGfMtn55eF8ixTdHObP7keyTZvZktxBImOHvosxtcu9JJpGQB2AAb_Wio-1YOFOY/s1600/pinkmold.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOKZSUgarR2u45oek9MdFPjUASBQ0JF1M8yfLpZoTIIigFuncaJEF6wW9_IR8SQDpyRl_oE2n9D85AGfMtn55eF8ixTdHObP7keyTZvZktxBImOHvosxtcu9JJpGQB2AAb_Wio-1YOFOY/s320/pinkmold.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We grew hot pink mold. That's special, right? And kind of exciting, too? Only it's not really mold, it's a bacteria called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serratia_marcescens">Serratia marcescens</a>. I have no idea what started it but it's been an ongoing battle in towels, shower and toilet since it started and it comes on fast. Like in hours. What you see on that towel happened less than 12 hours after that (freshly washed) towel was used and dropped in a hamper. It'll grow in a shower or toilet that was scrubbed a day or so before and it smells like Fritos or the pads on dogs' feet (which are interchangeable, by the way). I now buy a lot of bleach. *nods*<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfElpmqQs3alJ4hJGBOl-sed-tE1SeWUTdo6HGU0DDpSHC9N9EVhKl2AqJF_D3UtmhGlMRAjRLDMFMOGcqD0t0VFGs7qY5y2fJF9x_MFvsQKBXkDtO_xWhY7UKZWKENu7K6057s_gvAYg/s1600/Trotters1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfElpmqQs3alJ4hJGBOl-sed-tE1SeWUTdo6HGU0DDpSHC9N9EVhKl2AqJF_D3UtmhGlMRAjRLDMFMOGcqD0t0VFGs7qY5y2fJF9x_MFvsQKBXkDtO_xWhY7UKZWKENu7K6057s_gvAYg/s320/Trotters1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I did do some cooking and took pictures of one dish, planning on a blog post but it just never happened. I made trotters for some elderly neighbors who love them. As for me...?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEmlPC4IDbGWYDcvX8xpHYXVjVMKi3srQFq-ZXTqWx-nUAQ9JLYFMRUqkkcuKy8vclcLNEHxAY0M0lHgNgR_T2d8FNQS7SPHttcJ26ws6IZyxUHKNCs7MXjlA3dm9Zu80PvS6K8tJb0aw/s1600/Trottersupclose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEmlPC4IDbGWYDcvX8xpHYXVjVMKi3srQFq-ZXTqWx-nUAQ9JLYFMRUqkkcuKy8vclcLNEHxAY0M0lHgNgR_T2d8FNQS7SPHttcJ26ws6IZyxUHKNCs7MXjlA3dm9Zu80PvS6K8tJb0aw/s320/Trottersupclose.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Even I'm not eating this stuff. I do have limits.<br />
<br />
So, let's see...what else? Oh, back to Jake for a moment if no one minds. His music has really taken off and, as such, he's been able to get in backstage at various concerts and hang out with the musicians. Apparently his new thing is to take "surprise!" pictures with these people. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZuW3fD82GPvbkD29-7IRB0sW4IPuxzPBsnfWtQ83P33KX-CEDlw_hp9q-oCd6AgudLWuHj1whDMcEv-zBS7MLLO4lQbkBy4xbHOug2tsBsbPAK_8MKXAg-mKGWgIcjyr2UTtvfFauyYg/s1600/JakeandAlice2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZuW3fD82GPvbkD29-7IRB0sW4IPuxzPBsnfWtQ83P33KX-CEDlw_hp9q-oCd6AgudLWuHj1whDMcEv-zBS7MLLO4lQbkBy4xbHOug2tsBsbPAK_8MKXAg-mKGWgIcjyr2UTtvfFauyYg/s320/JakeandAlice2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Here he is with Alice from <a href="http://crystalcastles.com/">Crystal Castles.</a> I was sort of horrified by the look on her face and asked him if he stank. He said no, that someone had just hit her in her face and her mouth was bleeding and she didn't want that shown in a picture. Well, alrighty then. But as horrified as I was over poor Alice's expression, the one that came next was worse.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmhNExSUnYB9vZrEFNumqMhYI63-cn_nSkLtpXbUsWwauawXaJSMSftUEqXBH0YIekFzr_ECdmSgX0APjuEXq3Uv_8RHyf-hH5ce9yl2WrcnWrEroVAieK3bp22t52qxYefzDuniLgr3w/s1600/WithGaryNuman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmhNExSUnYB9vZrEFNumqMhYI63-cn_nSkLtpXbUsWwauawXaJSMSftUEqXBH0YIekFzr_ECdmSgX0APjuEXq3Uv_8RHyf-hH5ce9yl2WrcnWrEroVAieK3bp22t52qxYefzDuniLgr3w/s320/WithGaryNuman.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>He licked Gary Numan. You know, *this <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ldyx3KHOFXw">Gary Numan,</a> one of my all-time favorites. And all I get to do is fight pink mold and cook trotters. Life isn't fair...not a damn bit fair.<br />
<br />
The other interesting thing that happened is that Jake nearly became a statistic. He'd gone to a club to see (and probably lick) The Dead Kennedys. While there, someone drugged his drink. Yep, exactly what you hear about in the media and figure will never happen to you...well, it happened to him. Thankfully, he was with a group of excellent and caring friends, as well as the father of one friend. They were able to see something was terribly wrong and call for help quickly...they saved his life. I get the dreaded call no parent wants from the dad at around 1am, saying he's at the hospital with Jake and I need to hurry. I hurried. When I got there, this is what I found and I was scared *shitless.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpHbVM-07EWwTENPJVVQ0uy_joWuy8lVr2xPZdpDpnJKMzH1TKr9JbIFUSGdcjHa_gQLqT1HrvEL5Mn0W0rXxKjzUU9EC-D7HAv2zXYQL71Hfd1zVhsD4RcInb3xsVe1KFhoWS9owKQ9Q/s1600/ER2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpHbVM-07EWwTENPJVVQ0uy_joWuy8lVr2xPZdpDpnJKMzH1TKr9JbIFUSGdcjHa_gQLqT1HrvEL5Mn0W0rXxKjzUU9EC-D7HAv2zXYQL71Hfd1zVhsD4RcInb3xsVe1KFhoWS9owKQ9Q/s320/ER2.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He spent a couple of days in the ICU because they had a little trouble getting his heart regulated and he was so terribly stomach-sick, but within an hour of me arriving, they knew he was going to live and I was able to relax a little. I took this picture so that all who see it will know (almost) firsthand that this can and *does happen. People will drug your drink. In the blink of an eye, in one dumbass move on his part that he's probably done a million times - turning his back on his drink - he very nearly died. And I still cry every time I see this picture and realize how close I came to losing him.</div><br />
So, that's it for my photodocumentary of what's been going on in my life. I know, you wish we could trade lives, don't you? It's been a long, rough year and in the end, Tucker had the best idea...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhod4sdYzy8LV7zZPZaf6RDnJfaV2QIrNl3bP9RERPC_ga96X1KunKJXPZILqdIE137ODAL-0hYY6uitUI3ol2Lm7x9_P9e2c6N98l5eSQZou0TW9eXm7Je5fiwpbdxxvz4LSe2kjtoPI4/s1600/Tuckerinsari.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhod4sdYzy8LV7zZPZaf6RDnJfaV2QIrNl3bP9RERPC_ga96X1KunKJXPZILqdIE137ODAL-0hYY6uitUI3ol2Lm7x9_P9e2c6N98l5eSQZou0TW9eXm7Je5fiwpbdxxvz4LSe2kjtoPI4/s320/Tuckerinsari.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I should have found myself a nice old sari and covered my head with it, then relaxed in the knowledge that I was safe because no one could see me. Ahhh, were it all this simple...Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13502047590236410856noreply@blogger.com7