If You Disagree With Me, You're WRONG

This movie SUCKS. Why am I having to watch it??

So Uncle Walter wanted to watch a movie tonight.  It's awful.  It's dull.  They say "fuck" every five seconds for no apparent reason.  It's soooo *fucking* boring!  Why do people make movies like this??  And why do they think that just because there are some "big" names in it, it will be good?

Which movie, right?  Well, first, let me tell you that it has some actors I like in it.  Tilda Swinton.  Frances McDormand. John Malkovich.  You've guessed Burn After Reading, I'm assuming.  That would be correct.  It's even a Cohen Brothers film!  The Big Lebowski was great!  Raising Arizona was fun!  This is stupid!

This is a good example of where my tastes differ from the majority.  As far as I can tell, this movie has NO redeeming value.  And to be honest?  I still have no idea what it's about!  Does it HAVE a plot?  I'm thinking not.  Ugh.

Uncle Walter?  You OWE me.

The little Cloud that Could...

So, when I was little we lived in Florida, where there are exactly two seasons:  Hot and Wet and Hotter and Wetter.  That may be how you want your WOMEN, but not how you want your environment.  Well, one day it was beautiful outside.  One of those rare times when you could play without sunscreen or an umbrella.  We were in the front yard playing kick ball (because the back yard boasted waist high grass and dog droppings).  We noticed this tiny little cloud, hovering waaay low, down below roof level (single story). 

The cloud was light and fluffy looking and practically insubstantial.  And it was raining.  Just that one cloud.  Just in that one spot.  It rained for like 10 minutes, and we took a picture of it at the time, but I wish we'd had video.

You know how some cartoons will depict an angry or sorrowful person with a storm cloud overhead, raining only on them?  That's what this was like.  The rest of the sky was beautiful and there was no other rain that day.

It's as if the sky had to show us.  It was being merciful to give us a nice day, but it could change at any minute!

Oh, God, make it stop! My teeth can't take it anymore!

For some reason, unbeknownst to me, I have been fairly obsessively imagining this absolutely horrible feeling of certain textures and how they apply to my teeth.  So if I brush against the couch, I can actually FEEL the sensation of it against my teeth.  It causes me to break out in goosebumps, and nearly shiver.  I usually drive barefoot because I feel like it gives me more control.  But lately the texture of the floor mat in the car has been making my teeth ache!

It started when Uncle Walter made a reference to someone pulling the wick out of a candle.  For some reason I pictured it being done with teeth.  Oh, how that made my skin crawl.  Now, no matter what it is, if I feel a texture anywhere on my body, the sensation goes straight to my teeth.  Well, tooth to be exact.  One of my front teeth is half fake, and I really only feel it there.

The sensations are horrible.  It's been driving me crazy for weeks now!  I cannot stand this anymore.  I wish I knew why it was happening.  Has this ever happened to any of you?  If so, how do you cope???  This is almost as bad as my chronic pain!

Why did Voldemort have a floral couch?

My latest dream:

Dumbledore and at least 1 friend were living next door to a Bank of America, on Thomasville Road in Tallahassee, Fl.  Also, on the other side of it was my daughter's "boyfriend" Jesse's house, where he lived with one of his moms.  Jesse and I were pet-sitting Dumbledore's guinnea pig and parakeet.  The parakeet, though, wasn't in its cage, because it was with someone else.  Then we were warned (by someone, somehow, though I don't know who or how) that Voldemort was coming, because this was HIS house and he was reclaiming it.  Since we were the only ones there, we HAD to get out, but we ran out of time.  So we grabbed the guinnea pig's and bird's cages (the GP one was like a small cat carrier), and hid behind the floral couch that was in a diagonal position in the corner.  We were looking out into a living room that kinda looked like Uncle Walter's grandma's house.

It wasn't Voldemort who came in, but Snape, which was good since Jesse would NOT SHUT UP and I was getting very, very angry with him, to the point where I wanted to shake him.  He was acting almost autisic, which he's not (he's very, very smart and functions normally for an uber genius).  Anyway, we throw ourselves on Snape's mercy and he tells us how to get out before Voldemort gets there.

We go back to Jesse's house, but instead of Jesse's mom is a friend of mine and her daughter (but it IS Jesse's house, and somehow I knew that it was the right place).  I need to take the bus home, but I don't know when it is coming (another hour?) and I don't have any money.  So I was going to go to the BoA to get some cash.

I thought that was the end, but I do remember a bit more.

When I got there, with my son in tow now, the line was like a million people long (seriously, it stretched for miles).  So I went inside to ask if there was some way I could still withdraw money with just my ATM card, since it's not my card, but my husband's, and I didn't know the account number.  The person who came to help us was the "Education Coordinator" from the school program that my son is in.  He greets us and THEN I woke up.

I never used to remember my dreams.  And now they're getting really weird.

Oh, and the BoA in Tallahassee that I'm thinking of is on a corner, but in my dream it was in the middle of the block.  Also, it's a business area, with a Texaco (that I used to work at) on the one side, and then a bunch of businesses behind it.  Just saying -- no houses, nothing to resemble houses, anywhere nearby.

I love Butters

"The chosen one?"

"Yeah, it turns out I'm the key."

Butters is awesome.  Actually, the brilliance of South Park is just great.  God is going to talk to Kyle right after Captain Crunch?  The show's hilarious.  Maybe it's just that I have an immature sense of humor, but you know what?  I sure seem to enjoy things more than people who have "sophisticated" senses of humor.

I don't understand "sophisticated" humor, anyway.  I can't really figure out what they find funny.  Seinfeld?  Couldn't stand it.  Frasier?  Bored me to tears.  But give me Popeye being raped by Christmas Critters?  Weapons for Jesus?  Al Gore in a towel cape proselytizing about Man-Bear-Pig?  I am so there, and I'm SO serial.  Give me an episode of Family Guy over Friends any day.

Do people really believe that those shows are FUNNY, or do they like them because they think that they should?  What about boring movies, like Gladiator?  That thing wins something like 5 Oscars, but it takes forever for the *really* good stuff to be honored (Blame Canada!).  But crap?  Crap gets awards.

Those questions pale against the big ones, though...  Like: Why is it so easy for children to break into the Pentagon?  That's what I really want to know.

If you steal the donations BEFORE Goodwill gets them, is it still wrong?

I hope not, 'cause if it is, I'm going to hell.  Big time.

In case I haven't mentioned it, when I was growing up, we were POOR.  Like, poor enough that we had cracks in the walls of our house, and lacked flooring in some places (definition of "dirt poor" is when you can see the ground through your floor, or don't have a floor at all).  Not to mention that in reality we'd only get 2 meals a day unless we ate breakfast at school for free.  I guess that's why I still don't eat breakfast most of the time.

If I were to really think about it, I'd be hard pressed to tell you how old I was when I finally stopped having to wear used underwear.  13 or so?  When I had a JOB and could actually buy them for myself.  Which would probably explain why I have a bit of an underwear compulsion and wind up with like 200 pairs.  And I'm not talking slinky, sexy underwear.  Plain, cotton, Hanes Her Way bikini cut.  I swore that when I had kis, they would never, ever *have* to wear used clothing.  It took years before I was even willing to buy used clothes (and when I first started it was with consignment shops that were VERY picky).  Now I'm a bit better about it (mainly because I have a daughter who is *obsessed* with "cute clothes" and would spend me out of house and home otherwise).  But they don't HAVE to do it.

What was I talking about again?  Oh, yeah.  So when I was little, even Goodwill was a bit expensive for us, so we started stealing from them.  Not shoplifting, but going out to the donation center at night and rumaging through the stuff to get things we needed before the store received it.  Nowadays places have cameras and all, but they really didn't back then.  And even the ones that DID were a bit more high-scale than Goodwill.

We called it "picking", 'cause we would pick through the items.  We even went so far as to sew a little license plate cover so that people wouldn't be able to "trace" us.  Of course, it's not like our big, white TANK of a car wasn't distinctive enough, especially not when there were 3 little kids and one adult in the car.

Sometimes we'd get just clothes and such.  Other times we'd find some other items that caught our eye.  I remember one time I found a purple, tiger striped, french-cut, string bathing suit that barely covered what I DIDN'T have back then.  To an 11 or 12 year old, that was pretty cool.  Now, though, the thought of wearing a used bathing suit is nauseating.  Back then I didn't know any different.

Anyway, is it wrong to steal from other poor people?  Or were we depriving other poor people of the few cool things that there were to find?  Sometimes I feel a little guilty about it.  But on the other hand, it's hard to be willing to say that I would have deprived myself of one of the few things that gave me some enjoyment as a child.

Some photos from the RWA (Romance Writers of America) Convention

J.R. Ward, trying to win an award for The Skinniest Writer In America.  Seriously, I told the woman to do me a favor and eat a sandwich, followed by a Snicker's Bar chaser.  Despite being the tiniest thing, she was exceptionally nice -- she signed pretty much everything anyone bought, and when she ran out of books to sell, she signed bookmarks.  Unlike some OTHER author, who shall remain nameless (*cough cough* Nora Roberts *cough cough*) who was being a real PITA about what she would sign and how.  While I'm sure her books are awesome, I haven't read one yet, and took this photo for my friend Laura.

This is Julia Quinn.  Nice lady, very friendly, signed everything, spent time with each person and had something nice to say to everyone.  Always a pleasure to meet someone like that.  She also writes fun books.  :)  I got this picture for my sister, because she's a huge fan.  Well, she's a fan, not that she's huge.  But you get what I mean.

One of my favorite romance authors, Mary Jo Putney.  I primarily attended to see her.  She signed probably 8 of her old books for me (plus her new compilation that I bought there), and chatted with me for quite a while.  She's a very introverted person, so these events cannot be easy for her, but she did it with grace.  This is the photo I got for ME.  I did get one of her with me, but the person who took it was shorter than I am and it's just a terrible picture, so my vanity will not allow me to post it. 

I met many other authors, and got tons more autographs, including on books that I brought with me, but it was such a tiring day, and I was so caught up in trying to get to everyone, that I forgot to take pictures.  Which is a shame, as I was hoping to get some of Sabrina Jeffries, Jacquie D'Allessandro and Gaelen Foley, among others.

I totally bullshitted my way through this convention.  I had no desire to go to the conferences or convention parts, but I really didn't want to be in a hoard of squeeing fan girls (just not my style). So... on the day of the book signing/fair, I showed up early -- nicely dressed, with a notepad. I asked questions, scouted the lay-out. RAIDED THE GOODY BAGS! lol With permission, but still, I got like 3 free books and a bunch of other extras (pens, etc). Then, after talking to the people in charge of volunteering, I went home, had lunch and went back. :)

This is when it gets interesting. I've found that if you look nice and you act like you know what you're doing, no one questions you. So I went up to the volunteer desk, and before they even noticed I was there, I overheard them saying they needed someone to "guard" the door that the authors would come in through. I jumped at it, said I would be the bouncer. So... without a pass, without anyone knowing who I was, I was in the thick of everything. Because I did the job well (I was friendly, kind, and directed people to where they needed to go -- which I could do because I'd scoped the place out first!), no one questioned me. So I got to meet almost every author as they came in. Also, since I was at the OTHER entrance (not the main one where everyone else was), I just walked in when it was done. Because of that, I was able to get to people before everyone else.

The fee to join the entire convention was nearly $500.  Because I was sneaky, the whole thing (other than the cost of books I bought) cost me about $25 (parking and cab).  I'd say I got a good deal out of it.  Like I said, I did my volunteer job well.  No one had any complaints.

And the best part? I got to meet an author I truly dislike, AND I got to tell her that I disliked her and WHY! THAT was so worth it. Sounds mean, I know, but she does some things with her books that offends me (and I am NOT easily offended), so I had to tell her so.  I said  that she wouldn't like me because I didn't like her books and panned them on Amazon. I've read three of them, and they got progressively worse. I told her that I hated the attempted rape/non-consensual touching. That I especially hated that all the "villains" in her books were either gay or had non-traditional sexual tastes -- that it offended me and did a disservice to not just homosexuals, but the people who are all ready ignorant of homosexuality.

She didn't say much. Just seemed shocked. But *I* felt much better when I was done. I gave her a good shot, I think, but after the 3rd book and seeing the pattern emerge, I was more and more horrified. So hopefully, when she goes to write her next book, she won't be so offensive.

All in all it was a very fun day, though by the time I got home I felt like I was ready to keel over from exhaustion.  One of the highlights was meeting an author who writes gay erotica.  In order to make the sex scenes as accurate as possible, she practices with GI Joe dolls first!  Talk about funny!

Edited to add a couple of photos for someone.  This is Sabrina Jeffries who writes fun, somewhat silly, historical romances.

 

And also, just because I covet her dress with most fibers of my being (and she's an awesome author, too) here are a couple of pictures of Jacquie D'Allessandro with her Alligator Purse, "Allie".  Too bad the dress would look awful on ME.

Stale eclairs and pink "champagne" equal dive-bombing sea-gulls

My second oldest brother always seemed so cool.  It never occured to us that holding his drinks while he drove us around was a bad thing.  And even though he worked at a pizza parlor, he always seemed to have a LOT of money (we didn't know that he was hustling pool at the time).  So when, one summer, he wanted to take us to the beach (a beautiful island near our "hometown"), we didn't think there was anything wrong with buying all our supplies on credit.

We never ate expensive food at home.  We didn't have the money.  But my older brother remembered when the family DID have money, and he really wanted to give us a "taste" (ha ha) of that.  We picked up some Delmonico steaks, a pack of stale eclairs, and a bottle of $3.59 "pink champagne".  Keeping in mind that we were about 9-13 years old...

We would go to the beach, spending a fortune in gas in our old, beat up, 1974 Plymouth Fury.  My brother had a BP gas card, and we once stopped at this REALLY old station, with the old-fashioned style pumps.  An ancient man came slowly walking out and my brother held up his BP card and said "Do you take this?"  "What?" he answered?  So my brother *yelled* "DO YOU TAKE THIS?"  The guy kind of stared at him a bit before he said yes.  Apparently he just didn't know what "this" was, but my brother assumed he was deaf.  I swear it was hilarious at the time.

We grilled the steaks and after we ate went out into the water to eat our eclairs and drink our champagne.  Apparently, $3.59 pink champagne is a sea-gull attractant, because we were bombed by them.  They shot down out of the sky, coming within inches of our heads, screaching in that way that they do.  We were scared a bit, but laughing.

It horrifies me now to think of some of the things that we did, but at the time?  It was a little happiness in a rather bleak existance.

We had big balls...

Another story from my childhood...

The local news rag (and it was a rag) would give us rolls of newsprint when they were too small to be of any use.  You could put down a deposit (like $10 or something, which we got waived because my mom worked for them at one point) and as long as you returned the empty roll you could trade it in for another.

My mom was a nurse.  She also had a bad habit of "forgetting" when she had things in the pockets of her scrubs.  So she would bring home rolls and rolls of that cool mesh tape that they use for bandages.

Ah!  Inspiration!  As you know, we were pretty hellish kids. We rarely got into trouble because we knew the limits and the parental units just didn't care.  So we would make the paper into giant (like cantaloupe size) balls, and wrap them over and over with the medical tape.

So what do you do with giant balls?  Well, this should be obvious!  You hide in the bushes and throw them at oncoming cars!

Which was rather amusing, actually.  They were cushion-y so they didn't cause damage, and why would anyone care, right?  Well, mostly that was true.  Although one would think (had we been thinking) that throwing huge objects at a moving car at night could cause an accident or a heart attack or both.  But nothing untoward happened...

Until that one time...  See, you should NEVER, and I mean EVER, make the mistake of possibly maybe damaging a redneck's pickup truck.  Ever.  Rednecks may live in run-down trailers and not bathe, but their trucks will either be working trucks (covered in mud, with a gun rack, and usually boasting a confederate flag), or they will be SHOW trucks (pristine, immaculate, well cared for, shiny, expensive rims, the whole package).  If you make the mistake of throwing one of those big balls at a show truck?

You learn to run REALLY fast, 'cause that redneck will stop the truck, grab his shotgun and run after you, screaming the whole time.  He chased us for a while, yelling at how he was going to kill us.  But he did eventually give up.  Oddly enough, we did this RIGHT outside our own house, so surely he knew who we were.  I guess when he found out that there was no damage to his truck, he let it go.

That was one of the last times we did it.  We did find other things to occupy us, most involving fire (other than the bullets), but that was one of the more entertaining pastimes.  While that was my most frightening memory -- and it WAS frightening -- the best was when a boy asked us why we were "throwing cabbages" at his mom's car.  :-)

Don't like your kids? Just send them back!

So said a 5 year old boy to me today.

First he asked if I was my son's "nanny or his mommy?"

Me: "I'm his mommy.  I'm very lucky to be able to stay home with my babies."

Boy's dad: "They're very lucky to have their mommy stay home with them."

The Boy (mine) does something that upset me.  I say "I'm not happy with that."

Boy (not mine) says: "You should get a new one."

Me: "What, a new child?"  Boy nods.  "What would I do with the ones I have?"

Boy: "Send them back where they came from."

Me: "They came from my tummy.  I don't think I want to send them back.  Besides, he's much bigger than he was.  When he was born, he was much, much smaller."

At which point I had to leave.

After mulling it over, I've come to the conclusion that he must be familiar with foster children.  Rather than learning that there are children that need homes, and that people who are not the moms and dads can take them in and love them... what is this boy learning?  He's learning that if you don't like the way your kid behaves, you can just get rid of them.  What a fantastic lesson, eh?  How scared do you think that little boy is that if he messes up, he'll be sent away?  If he does have foster children that come into his home, how much you want to bet that the boy holds it over them, that if they don't do x, y, z, whatever, they'll be "sent back"?  These people should NOT be allowed to have children bought into their home.  I can only hope that maybe they've said something like that in jest that the kid has picked up on, and that it's all nonsense.

For some reason, though, I suspect not.  Stupd Efn morons