Uncomfortable Christmas Tidings

Christmas time means different things to different people. Long before I was born, people talked about the commercialization of Christmas. No one has really said anything about the commercialization of Thanksgiving. I mean, people aren't upset about turkey farmers making a few extra bucks in November. Or how cranberry bog farmers make most of their money in one week of the year. But on the fat man's holiday, people are concerned about commercialization.

When I think of Christmas, I often wonder about Mary, the mother of Christ. We don't know exactly how young she was, but she was probably a teenager. Joseph was a great deal older than she was, and here she is scared, pregnant and wondering, perhaps, if Joseph will stick around. I mean, really, how many guys would stand by their woman if they said they did not have sex and were pregnant? So when I think of Christmas, I often think about Mary. And Linus talking about Christmas.

Well, several years ago, I was talking to a friend between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and she recalled a very difficult time in her life.

You see, she was pregnant, a few weeks from her delivery date, and "complications arose." She went to see her doctor when the baby stopped moving. Well, the baby died – which she tells everyone, was a good thing because the baby would have had multiple physical problems after delivery. Still, understandably, she was crushed.

But that was not the worse part of the story. No, my dear readers, she still had to deliver the stillborn. So over the next few days, in the shopping malls, at the grocery store, wherever she went, people would comment on her baby and ask excitingly, "How many days?" or "Boy or girl?" or some other question about the baby. These were innocent strangers, happy to see an expectant mother, and their questions reminded my friend about her loss.

She stayed inside four days before the procedure, and the baby was buried by himself. Yes, some family-members questioned her. "After all, it was not really a baby." "She did not love it like one loves a baby." To this day, she will tell you she had three children, two a married with kids of their own, and her little boy Joshua is with the Lord. She chose Joshua because she had to be reminded that God is her salvation. She anticipated that she would have doubts, already cursing God after hearing the original news.

I was chatting with a woman in the UK named jeepster, who had a similar experience. In her own words, much more powerful than mine, follow:

I knew my baby had died long before I did anything about it. I went to see the nurse and told her that I hadn't felt the baby move and she listened for a heart beat, couldn't find one but told me not to worry!!! WTF!!!

I went home and kept it together in front of my husband and at work and all that was going through my mind was: If I tell someone, they will take my baby away from me. I was 7 months pregnant. Eventually, and It must have been 3/4 weeks later I just couldn't do it emotionally anymore. When she was born, she was all curled up in a ball. Like a baby bird that had fallen from the nest.

I had 4 miscarriages after Tegan and now I have two kids but I say I have three. She was very real, she had a beating heart, I held her, I had a funeral she is still with me.

Christmas is a joyous time, but there is also, for many, reminders of tragic events. And it can be a lonely time as well. I know so many people who have lost relatives around Christmas.

So when you are elbowing the pushy brunette while getting that last toy, elbow with care. She may be packing heat. No, no, that's not what I wanted to write. Be compassionate, think of others, and watch sappy Christmas movies.

Being True to . . . One's Restaurant

A few weeks ago, I was in a nearby city, and we were looking for a restaurant. Have you ever traveled to a city, where you were looking for a restaurant and you had no clue where to go?

Well, we were looking for a restaurant, and happened into an Italian restaurant. Well, the restaurant said so-and-so's Italian Restaurant. I had a picture of a guy throwing up a pizza to clue in those who could not read the words. There were red and white checkered curtains in the windows, matching table-cloths on the tables. It seemed like an Italian Restaurant.

We sat down, hubbie and I, expecting Italian food, and then opened the menus.

Here are some of the items on the menu:

Seafood – and not just calamari (Italian), but fried flounder, shrimp and other things;

Fried chicken – the least Italian food I can think of;

Quesadilla, and other Mexican dishes – er, not really Italian;

Gyros – yeah, Gyros, Souvlaki and the like;

Hot Subs and something called Hoagies (I think hoagies are a man's sub sandwich);

Wraps – I really don't know where wraps came from, but I don't think they are Italian.

I had a bruschetta appetizer, eggplant parmesan, a small (Greek, I think) salad, and some (American) red wine.

The point of this is not to tell you exactly what I ate that evening; that's just and added bonus. This Italian restaurant is not doing what it is supposed to be doing. I don't want to be able to get won tons at an Italian restaurant – a restaurant needs to be true to itself. A good restaurant, at least.

People are the same way. People need to be true to themselves. Let's say, for instance, I am an extravert, that I enjoy being around people. That I really like going out in public, chatting to people, doing my little social butterfly pollination by flitting from table to table.

I can't just not want to go out and have fun. Now, reading a good book is wonderful, especially if I am surrounded by a warm bath with bubbles. But for an extravert, people get charged with groups.

In high school, part of the ritual was to fit in. And in doing so, we were doing things that were not true to ourselves. We pretended to like movies we don't like, like people who were popular, like music that others like as well. But more than that, we kept secret parts of our lives that weren't so "cool". We kept secret . . . .

I kept secret the fact that I love reading, that I enjoy classical music, that I like corny movies.

Many people remember the good ol' days, when they were in high school. Yeah, I miss them too, but I enjoy so much about being an adult. One of the things I love the most is that I can be me, that I enjoy being me, and I don't really care who finds out that I love to read, that I love reading, that I like corny music.

Ranking Hot Girls . . . and Football Teams

Monday, I talked about decisions. I really enjoy the decision-making process. And not to beat a dead horse, but I want to continue talking about decisions. Oh, and if I was not clear on Monday, I am going to try and post on Monday-Wednesday-Friday. We will see if this schedule is more conducive.

Looks like it will be Ohio State and LSU playing for the national championship in January. The big BCS super computer algorithm thingie pumps out a couple of names and they play for the national championship. But it is not the best way – I mean, the ranking of teams is not the best way.

For such a complex analysis (20 to 30 teams that legitimately compete for the national championship, and most of them don't play but a few of the teams each year), a rank analysis is not the best approach to take, but we do it anyway. A better approach is to use the decision making technique known as paired comparison analysis.

Let me explain about paired comparison analysis, not using football.

Let's say we want to rank hot women. We have four contestants: Shakira, ~Deb, Britney Spears and Drew Barrymore. Our goal here is to rank these ladies from one to four in terms of sexiness. This example simplifies what I am writing about – with only four women, ranking may be easy enough because some people perform paired comparison analysis with small sets of data anyway. But I am just trying to illustrate the point.

One looks at Shakira and ~Deb, first, then asks the question, "which woman is hotter?" Winner gets a point. Let's say the answer is Shakira. After all, Shakira is the only women I know that have lots of men and women lusting after her. I wrote about it a long time ago. Shakira and ~Deb are both sexy and smart, but the edge goes to Shakira. Shakira also beats Drew Barrymore – she has a sexier voice, can dance better and is way smarter. Also, Drew looses points because of her association with Cameron Diaz, a woman who just looks goofy, while dancing or otherwise. I really don't know why men find Ms. Diaz attractive. Well, all beat Britney Spears. Some hypothesize that Al-Qaeda is trying to obtain a pap smear from Britney in their efforts to obtain a new biological weapon. Not saying it is true. Just a rumor at this point.

So the scoring may be as follows:
Shakira – 3 points
~Deb – 2 points
Britney – 0 points
Drew – 1 point

You rearrange to get the ranking: Shakira, ~Deb, Drew, Britney. So that is paired comparisons.

The last time I wrote about football, I went to the ESPN website, and ESPN started asking me questions: Which team is better, A or B. And it kept on asking me. Paired comparisons.

Well, they did this to basketball. Problem is, I knew/know nothing about NCAA basketball. Ohio State lost to an SEC school last year. That's about all I know. Well, okay, the ACC is really good, but since I don't like basketball (even though Georgia Tech is good), I don't follow it.

I know why they don't use paired comparisons in the coach's polls: coach's don't have the time to answer a bunch of questions. Plus, I think there is a lot of manipulations going on.

Me, I don't really care who wins the national championship: Georgia Tech is out of the running. The coach is gone. Boo hoo. Besides, another Big Ten team will loose to some SEC team again. Right? Isn't that's what's going to happen. Notice the three contractions in a row – I did that on purpose.

Perhaps something better would be to take the hottest women in the world, and have them pick a winner. Paired comparisons. I believe that these women are familiar with this type of analysis. After all, I have heard many men say, "Nice pair." I assume the comment has to do with this topic.

Decisions, Decisions

Have you ever heard someone say something like, "I have a decision to make. Do I continue in this marriage and try and work it out, or do I smother him with a pillow in his sleep." This is an example of one type of argument fallacy. I can't remember the name of the type of fallacy, but it is because the question has only two options: (1) work it out, and (2) smother by pillow. Well, we know that there are other options: (1) poison, (2) shot by firearm, and (3) defenestration (to throw him out a window, preferably a high one with alligators at the bottom of the building).

All joking aside, when someone looks at merely two choices, one necessarily limits one's choices. And having limited choices is not always bad. I mean, if I am crossing the road and an 18-wheeler is bearing down on me, I would rather only examine the first option that gets me out of the truck's way. Time is of the essence, and all.

But for many of life's choices, there are more than two options.

I had been thinking about quitting this blog, because I was looking at two choices, (1) continuing to write crap five days per week, and (2) quitting my blog.

You see, I have noticed that writing every day, every work day, is difficult. And, being difficult is not necessarily a bad thing. But it is difficult, and the end product is not so good. I mean, every once in a while, an entry is really good, but on the whole, the words are average. Vanilla.

Someone recently said that their ex called her vanilla, and she was pissed, angry. Vanilla is supposed to be such a bad word, but I enjoy vanilla ice cream. Eating ice cream with fruit does not hide the taste of the fruit or the ice cream. To be described as a person who is themselves but lets others be themselves too seems to be is good flavor. I sort of want to be vanilla.

Oh, back to me.

I was thinking of either quitting my blog or not blogging. Yeah, sort of tired of it, actually. Notice, dear readers that both choices were essentially the same? Well, if the choice was to quit blogging or to continue as is, I don't know what my choice would be. Both choices, to me, are not good choices. Not today.

But there is another option. Several other options. I could continue writing and smother my husband. That would be another choice. An even better choice (hey, I love him most of the time) might be to write three times per week, on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

Me, I want to find some really good vanilla ice cream.

Bizarre Lying

I called into work this morning, and I lied. Funny thing is that I was sick, but I lied about it.

I said that I was "under the weather", meaning I had a cold, but that was a lie. Let me explain what really happened.

Yesterday, I was working out in the early evening. I normally work out a few days per week, on the ellipticals. I used to call them stair-steppers, but that is so 1990s.

I normally listen to my iPod, but I did not get a chance to charge the battery, so I used the ear buds to listen to what was on the tube. Well, some movie came on, and I started watching it. My elipticals last 30 minutes, but the 1/2-hour workout was not enough time to watch the movie. So I continued to use the machine and watch.

And I continued and continued. Well, during the workout, I had to grab my cell phone and call hubbie, explaining that I was watching a movie. He sort of laughed at me. I mean, it is sort of pitiful, us without cable, me watching some lame movie.

Well, I went home later than I wanted to go home, had eaten something on the way, and went to bed a little earlier than normal.

I woke up the next morning, and I could not move my legs. The alarm went off, and I could not move my legs.

I did not want to call work and say, "I am sorry, I cannot go to work this morning because I cannot move my legs." The translation is normally "I had hot sex all last night and my legs don't work." And that was just not the case. I mean, I was watching a movie, not having sex.

So I lied.

I am told that the only way to feel better is to work my legs. Holy crap, this is a bizarre and topsy-turvy world.

Polls

I have noticed that I am being asked a lot about myself, about my opinion. Sometimes the polls are telephone polls – and I always make time to answer them. The reason is that I have unusual opinions, and I like being outside of the normal range. I don't have cable, I don't drink coffee, I don't watch sports. Oh, and I do not affiliate myself with either the Republican or Democratic parties. So since they interrupt my dinner or book, I am going to be an outlier in their data. Dewey defeats Truman and all.

One think I have noticed, as well, is that a boatload of websites ask you to take polls. Most of the time, I don't take the polls – they are not scientific, and well, they sometimes are poorly written. Something in the pit of my stomach sometimes wonders if they change their cookies to say, "Don't let Leesa read the really interesting content because she did not complete our poll or questionnaire."

One site in particular asks about printers. I have gone to answering correctly to making up bizarre answers. So if Hewlett Packard has a bad quarter, I think they did it because they were trying to capture the Leesa blogger segment. Having completed a dozen or so questionnaires, I think I deserve being my own market segment.

So the next time you are faced with a questionnaire, perhaps you should make a game of it. I have taken different tactics, to answers these questions.

Making Patterns
My first foray into answering questionnaires was to answer all of a particular letter. But that is sort of predictable, boring. Then I would do the A-B-C-D-C-B-A type of patterns. And eventually, I would hum a tune and try to answer as the questions in the order of the tune. The answers would be a bit more random, well, not really random (tunes are not random notes, well most tunes).

Pretending
My actually favorite tactic for answering questionnaires is to pretend I am someone else. Not people I know, but famous people. I have pretended to be Shakira, Ivana Trump, Elizabeth Bayley Seton (sue me, I am Catholic), George Eliot (aka Mary Ann Evans), and Britney Spears (I needed a shot after pretending to be Britney). It has the allure of fantasy, as well as the mental efforts of pre-supposing how they would answer such questions. Oh, and by the way, I believe the George Eliot would vote for Mike Huckabee, though she lived in an age where she could not vote.

Well, the next time you hear of a Gallop Poll saying that were the election held today, Americans would vote for Meatloaf, don't believe it. Just consider who wastes their time answering the polls, and their true intentions.

On ex-boyfriends and beer sluts

I had a dream last night, and although it was not about my college days, it reminded me of a particular experience when I was in college.

When I was in college, I was in loooooove. Not my first love, but a love. Let's call him Robert. He would say his name was Rob, but I always called him Robert. He was handsome, fit, and his family had money. We dated for a while, and we broke it off. Well, he mostly broke it off.

It was my first break-up in college. Now high school break-ups can be traumatic, but in high school, there seemed to be more of a social network to catch one's broken heart. There were girlfriends to talk with, mothers to bake goods to comfort me, and Ben and Jerry's.

In college, the social network is a bit more spotty. Not as many girlfriends, but girlfriends nonetheless. Parents are further from home, meals are not home-cooked – and more importantly, the sit-down dinner does not exist.

So after Robert and I broke up, I eventually got over him. I will admit now that part of the hard part of getting over him was that he was "marriage material." The first man I ever thought was "marriage material."

Well, time past and I dated other men.

Then one day, a friend ushered me into her room one night with news. Her eyes were wide, she was grinning, and she had to tell me something. From looking at her face, it was either that she was engaged or some juicy piece of gossip. It turned out to be gossip.

My ex-Robert, known to all as Rob, had a drunken encounter with someone else in the dorm. No one I knew real well, but she was non-affectionately called a beer slut. She was a nice enough girl, but when she would get a few beers in her, she was a temptress. Okay, that seems to be a lot more romantic than calling her a slut.

Anyway, she and Rob had sex, and apparently Rob was sort of wasted as well. Not surprising. Well, that is Rob. What was surprising to Beer Slut is that Rob passed out. Been there.

Well, Beer Slut – I need to give her a better name, perhaps Veronica – did not like the passing out, and she was a little pissed. Let's just say that Veronica left that night but had deposited a little something on Rob's chest. Not sure Veronica thought this through, because the story had legs and made its way to my ears.

Oh, and not that I am proud of this, but I loved Veronica's exit that evening.

So the moral of the story is that you should not drink or some beer slut may poop on your chest.

Christmas Shows and Movies

As Thanksgiving gives way to Christmas, the networks and I am assuming cable companies are giving us a parade of Christmas specials. Now, don't get me wrong, I like technology, but it sort of takes away from what I remember as Christmas specials.

Let us review.

Before cable¹, the networks would air various Christmas specials throughout the season. They would start the week after Thanksgiving, and they were played exactly one time.

Charlie Brown Christmas special, played exactly once. If you missed the airing, you would not hear Charlie Brown shout in desperation, "Isn't there anyone out there who can tell me what Christmas is all about?" Or Linus call for lights and illuminate Charlie Brown on the true meaning of Christmas.

One of the best, of course, is The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. And not the Jim Carey version. I can still hear Boris Karloff say: "The Grinch hated Christmas - the whole Christmas season. Oh, please don't ask why, no one quite knows the reason. It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight. Or maybe his head wasn't screwed on just right. But I think that the best reason of all may have been that his heart was two sizes too small."

One little known fact is that the actress² that was the voice for Cindy Lou Who also was the voice for Grandmother Fa.

You know, I have lots of DVDs of favorite Christmas specials, and it sort of ruins it, in a way. It makes it less special because I can place the The Bishop's Wife DVD in the player anytime and watch Cary Grant be his suave self as the angel, putting everyone's priorities back in order. On demand movies, TV shows and the like make these productions less special. Especially during the most wonderful time of the year.

It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year
With the kids jingle belling
And everyone telling you "Be of good cheer"
It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year
It's the hap -happiest season of all
With those holiday greetings and gay happy meetings
When friends come to call
It's the hap - happiest season of all ³

---

¹Okay cable was out there but we did not have it. Still don't.
²Her name is June Foray; she was in lots of movies, TV shows and other acting stuff. Her most famous voice role was the Bullwinkle's Rocky the Squirrel.
³It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year, by Eddie Pola and George Wyle.

All Things Football

SEC discussion – not really important
Okay, my Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets lost to Georgia this weekend. Okay, I am bummed. But we will not talk about how Georgia Tech lost the game. Let's talk about the BCS for a moment. After another shake-up with the two top teams, here is how several teams are now ranked in the BCS system:

1. Missouri
2. West Virginia
3. Ohio State
4. Georgia
7. LSU
12. Hawaii
14. Tennessee

Now, I don't know a lot about football, but I can read the top rankings. Here is what is weird: next week LSU (#7 in the BCS) will play Tennessee ($14 in the BCS) for the SEC championship.

Yeah, I know, I know. The SEC is not the ACC. (Slight jab at the SEC.) But next week, someone will be crowned the SEC champion, and there is a chance, if Missouri and West Virginia both loose next week, that Georgia could be playing Ohio State for the national championship. So there is a chance that someone who is third in the SEC could be the national champion.

Now, except that I hate Georgia, that would be fine with me. That will show that the whole BCS national champion business is flawed.

Hawaii's woes
I don't know who is better, but here is something that is really weird. Hawaii is the only NCAA 1A school without a loss, and they are ranked #12 in the BCS. Yeah, Yeah, strength of schedule. But here is the weird part: Ohio State is ranked #3 with one loss, and they only beat – let me look it up – zero teams that were ranked in the top 20 (not sure what the poll is, but it is the one that they use to hype games – AP poll, I think). And the 11-0 Hawaii, with their easy-breezy schedule, played one team in the top 20. So Hawaii had one more victory over a top 20 team and one fewer loss, and they are ranked 9 places below Ohio State.

Thanksgiving Holiday

Travel Day
Today is the busiest travel day of the year. I heard this every year I traveled back home when I was in college. And as a busy day, it was a deadly day. Now I hear that the President is making the holiday travel better. Our president.

"Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we." - President George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., Aug. 5, 2004

I have traveled by plane on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and it is sort of thrilling. As long as you don't care if you actually make it to our destination.

Thanksgiving Day
I love going to other relatives for Thanksgiving. I enjoy the food, of course, but it is more than that. It is that all of us are spending time together, to pull together a meal that lasts for hours.

I don't know how your relatives do this, but we eat about 1:00 PM, and the initial dinner lasts a couple of hours, more or less. But it does not really end. After dessert, and having the men retire to football (yes, both the Detroit and Dallas games), we clean up and do a bit of catching up. This is the good conversations. Not the stiff beginning conversation.

We talk about relatives that are not there, about past Thanksgivings, about our plans from "Dark Friday" to New Years. And it is a lot of fun. And by the time the dinner is put away, it seems that we are informally eating dinner. Not that we stopped eating when putting dinner away.

Thanksgiving is great. And after the chemicals from the turkey kick in, we take little naps throughout the rest of the visit. Being relatives, it is nice to be talking to someone, and then dozing off to sleep on the couch. A wonderful feeling.

Black Friday
Black Friday, one of the busiest shopping days of the year, is an adventure. Now, I don't normally participate in the events. I love going shopping the day after Christmas. That was the shopping day when I was growing up. I love Christmas ornaments, and that is the best time to shop for them.

Now, I like shopping, and I really like Christmas shopping, but Black Friday is not my kind of day. I like strolling, watching people, as well as shopping, and I like doing it on sporadic days during December.

Well, I don't thing I will be posting Thursday or Friday since I will be taking the days off. Happy Thanksgiving!

Economics 301

I took one business class in college. It was a general business class for non-majors and "not so bright" business majors that have rich daddies. And in this business class, we received a taste for accounting (the Brussels sprouts of business, good for you but no one really like it), business law (tofu, no one really understands what tofu is, but they know they have to eat it), marketing (pizza, easy to understand and everyone likes it), finance (spinich, tastes good, but you really don't know why) and economics (white rice, a lot of starch, not a lot of nutritional value).

Okay, that's what I thought until recently.

My husband and I went to a lecture by an economist. Not my cup-o-tea, but I had to attend the lecture. When I think of economics, I think of supply side, I think of "butter and guns", I think of voodoo economics (thanks to Bush without the W – remember he charged Reagan with that). But this lecture was different.

This man talked about economics in a different way – he made it seem interesting, made it seem more real. And it was not about money. He made economics about incentives. And that makes sense to me. I mean, money makes transactions easier, but most people do not buy and sell things because of the money. They do so because of what money represents.

For instance, I have ten dollars in my purse, and if I pass a coffee shop (not Starbucks), I can enter and purchase a fived dollar cup of flavored coffee if the value of the coffee exceeds the five dollars in my purse.

Oh, that example is not about incentives. Try this one.

Lets say I make $35,000/year doing a fairly trivial job. It is 40 hours per week, with no overtime, and no real mental stress. I am offered a "managerial job" that pays $40,000/year, with potential for me working an additional 20 hours per week, with more mental stress. Well, that's about 1,000 hours. So I would be working for $5/hour for the extra hours, and my job would be tougher. So for me, the incentive is just not there.

In college, I was always unsure of buying guns or butter, especially since I had little experience with either. I was part of the Parkay® generation (butter-Parkay®). Me, I am liking this new economics.

Tapped Out Monday

I have writer's block. I don't want to write for NaNo, and I can't think of anything to write about today. On Friday, I wrote a blog entry, and I thought it was pretty good. But I doubt many people even read it.

And the kicker was that I was on a writing role, having taken the day off, and my husband came home early. Son-of-a-bitch. I probably would have written two additional blog entries, plus another 3,000 words for NaNo. Son-of-a-bitch.

There are times when I just want to sit at home and write. And it got ruined.

Part of the reason I was a bit bummed is that I have been a bit depressed lately, and my writing has suffered. It seemed, on Friday, that this changed. But after the interruption – okay, there were a couple of very pleasant orgasms as a part of the interruption – I could not write again. At the time, I sort of didn't care, but here it is Monday and I have nothing to write about.

Someone told me to write about football. Like I can contribute to a conversation about football. I don't really watch football. When I was in high school, I attended games, and the games were more of a social event than a spectator sport. That's the great thing about football. It has something for everyone. I like the social aspects – the getting food, the talking to "neighbors", the watching the sidelines. High school football is intimate. Now, I don't know much about football – I do know that you want to get the football into the endzone – but the positions. There is a quarterback, a half-back, a fullback. Now there is always a quarterback, but not always a half-back or fullback. That sort of doesn't make sense.

But it does not have to make sense as long as they sell nachos dripping with fake cheese. Have you ever noticed that everything goes better with cheese? And if not cheese, perhaps chocolate. Chocolate and whipped cream. Yeah, my lunch sort of sucked today. No cheese, chocolate or whipped cream.

So today, I have not much to say. Were I you, I would re-read Friday's post. It might be random, but at least I wrote something worth reading.

Random Friday #11

Link Exchange
I don't get why people ask me to exchange links. Not on this blog anymore, but on another one I maintain. I mean, you should link to a blog if you believe it is of interest to you or your readers. Conversely, the other blogger should link to back your blog if she believes it's good for her readers. Linking should be about quality, about fit, not reciprocation.

When someone asks to trade links, what they are really saying is "I don't really like your site enough to link to it. If I did, I'd already have your link up. But, even though your site isn’t worth linking to, I’ll do it anyway if you’ll link back."

Reminds me a little like exchanging oral sex offers. If the guy really doesn't want to do it, the oral sex isn't all that great. The same is true of link exchanges.

College Football
I follow one team in college football, and thankfully for me, they are not in the hunt for the national championship. Unlike most sports, there is no tournament for the national championship. This is not the case because of "academic integrity"; that the players need to study. Even NCAA I-AA football has a championship, and one could argue that their schools are more interested in players needing an education.

If my team were in the running, I would not be able to explain changes in the rankings. Hawaii, not my team but a proven underdog, has slipped in the rankings by winning. Now, I know they have no quality wins, but neither did Ohio State. Not really.

I don't know enough about football to be able to tell which team is better. All I know is that when looking at who beats whom, both Ohio State and Hawaii have not beaten a top twenty team this season. Even if Ohio State beats Michigan, well, Michigan is not a top twenty team. Oh, and if Hawaii beats Boise State, they will have beaten a top twenty team. Now, that does not mean that Hawaii is better than Ohio State, but there are lots of teams who have beaten several top twenty (and even top ten) teams.

I would sort of hate to root for Hawaii. Sort of like being an Auburn alum a few years ago. Perfect season, and did not get to play for the national championship. I am so glad that I don't take football seriously.

Great Hair
David Krumholtz has the nicest hair. Why isn't he all over the tabloids. I mean, if you are going to make someone popular, make someone popular with yummy hair.

The Great Bra Chase
Every time I find a new, wonderful bra, the company who manufactures the bra changes the design. I believe that this is some sort of male bra manufacturer conspiracy. My latest find is the Wacoal iBra. Expensive but nice. I bet by this time next year, Apple Computer will have filed an injunction against Wacoal and the iBra will be no more. Then off to hunt a new favorite bra. I don't want to be a hunter; I want to be a gatherer with support.

Double Standards

I don't normally watch the news.

I learned about the wildfires in California two days after they started. This morning I heard about some upticks in the economy, and George W. Bush was reelected president. Okay, I am not that bad (with regard to the president).

But over the last few days, I have heard two stories that are sort of connected, by theme at least.

In one story, some 13-year-old boy¹, an illegal alien, ran off with his 25-year-old teacher to Mexico. Well, turns out they found her and are bringing her back on statutory rape charges. She met him in sixth grade, and they ran off together while he was in eighth grade. Sad thing is that she has another child, currently staying with her parents.

There was another piece of news where a Wisconsin mother who told her children a little too much about sex. Apparently she was charged with exposing children to improper instruction – I forget the proper legal terms. She told her two boys, 11 and 15, about oral sex and showed them a sex toy. The older boy was troubled with this and told a school counselor. Me, I don't want people to imply that my parents ever had sex. I just don't want to be scarred by the image.

In the first story, there is a bit of snickering. Actually, some say that not only is the boy lucky, but that he may be able to come back to the US legally, with a 4-year-VISA. No public outcry, really.

The second story was a bit more tragic. Maybe the mother was a little misguided, but it did not seem criminal. It was criminal, since she pled guilty, there was a court date, judge and all. But you know what I mean.

There is a double-standard regarding exposing children to sex. And these are children.

A boy has sex with an older woman, and there are grins all around. A girl has sex with an older man and people are calling for the removal of his testicles. And I am as guilty as the next person. I have suggested gardening shears be used.

And I may have figured it out after all this time. When I was sixteen years old, if you took a naked picture of me and compared me to 18 or 21, my appearance – sans hairstyle – would have been nearly identical. Physically, I was an adult at sixteen.

Emotionally, however, I was still a child – an adolescent, but still not really a grown-up. I may have thought I was a young woman, but after becoming one, I realized that I was an adolescent when in high school. I almost typed "just an adolescent", but you know adolescence can be quite wonderful.

I think statutory rape laws protect children against themselves. I still don't know why we snicker when talking about boys in that way. I guess I don't have all of the answers today.

---

¹Some reports say he is a bit older.

Veteran's Day

Yesterday, I hit the stores because, after all, it was Veterans Day.

I believe it is a sad state of affairs that Veterans Day's most visible signs happen to be "20% Off Sales" signs. I watched the morning news, and their comment was about Veterans Day is that "traffic would be light in the morning."

I heard a quote by George Washington that said something about caring for the veterans. That a nation needs to care for their veterans in order to be secure. I have looked and looked for the quote, but can't find it at this time.

One would think that there would be more associated with Veterans Day. More since we have more than 100,000 soldiers, sailors and airmen in harm's way. More since we have a president who puts them in harm's way.

I am not one for big public celebrations. I mean, for me, a drive to St. John the Baptist Cathedral to light candles for the veterans I knew is the way I prefer to mark the day. I mean, in a couple of weeks, who is going to remember that new sweater? But the veterans' sacrifices should be remembered for all times.

You Said "What?"

The other day, someone at work said, "I don't mean to be an ass, but . . . " and before thinking, I said, "yeah, you did."

When people say, "I don't want to butt in, but . . . " or "I am not racist, but . . .", I figure they are signaling me that they are what they say they aren't.

I am typing up a storm for that freakin' NaNo-crap thing, so I am all spent for the week, but this just occurred to me.

I also wonder why the price of gas goes up right after crude oil prices go up, but it takes so much time to transport, refine, etc. But when crude oil goes down, the price of oil doesn't go down the same week. Weird, huh?

Of Nickels and Dimes

When I was a little girl, I was quiet during family gatherings. I don't know if all Georgian families are this way, but my family tells stories. And growing up, I chose to listen rather than try to tell stories.

Stories can be passed from generation to generation. We tell stories to entertain, to teach, to connect. One of my favorite storytellers was my grandfather. His stories normally did all three. Every time I find a dime, I think of one of his stories.

He tells a story of growing up, and every town seemed to have "their bum." You know, someone who drinks Night Train, Thunderbird, or MD 20/20; the fortified wine of your choice. Anyway, my grandfather would say that people would play a game with the man.

Then my grandfather would extract a nickel and dime from his pocket. He would place them side-by-side, and ask, "Which coin, given the choice, would you take?"

And of course, I would choose the dime. My grandfather would laugh, and say, "Yeah, little girl, the dime is worth more than the nickel."

And he would say that the bum always chose the nickel.

Almost rehearsed, I would then say something like, "That's why he is a bum, right? He does not know the value of a dime."

My grandfather would give me the dime, then explain to me that if he chose the dime, no one would want to play the game with him. So he would have earned ten cents. But because the town bum chose the nickel, he had others offer to play the game.

Sometimes, he would sum up, it pays to make a decision that would strengthen the relationship, and in this case, the bums relationship to the town. From that story, I learned that sometimes, you don't necessarily try to obtain the best deal each and every time. Sometimes it pays to form a relationship.

Thanks, Granddad, you wise man, you. I miss you more than you would have guessed.

What's in a Name

I once met a man named Mathew¹. That was his name. His parents wanted to call him Matthew, but they misspelled his name on the birth certificate. Well, they tried to spell it correctly, I am sure, but they missed the mark.

Now I did not know Mathew as a child, but these are the memories I would expect, had he been in my class.

Teacher Interactions
Can you imagine Mat's (well, isn't this the shortened version of Mathew?) teacher correcting him time and time again.

"No, dear, you need to place two 't's after the 'a'."

For me, I would need years of counseling to undo that Kindergarten memory.

Playground Interactions
"Let's play a game. Let's step on Mat."

"M-a-t, M-a-t, what kind of name is that?"

You know, kids can be kinda cruel.

Awards
Yes, Mathew received 17 certificates in elementary school and all of them, save two, will be spelled Matthew. Not much of a reward, you know, to misspell a certificate.

I did know a guy in school who was called Michel. I thought his name was pronounced Michelle, but apparently it is a French spelling.

--> Insert comment about feminine nature of the French here. <--

Not that I would make fun of a name.

---

¹Okay, some of you will say there are two spellings of Matthew. You will point to Mathew Rosenblum, the composer from Pittsburgh. Or Mathew Zucker, the photographer from New York. Or even earlier, Mathew B. Brady, the Civil War photographer – taking pictures of corpses, not high-heeled shoes. But if you point all of this out, my blog entry is a little pointless today.

Just Words, Lots of Words

Well, I have finished the first weekend of the National Novel Writing Month experiment. And here is what I have learned.

Writing a novel is a lot harder than writing a page. Yeah, it took me an entire weekend to figure that out. Yeah, I am a little slow.

I have learned some things.

For instance, my main character, Praga – who does not intentionally bear any resemblance to any real person – is an extremely intelligent gear head. He however, has his own language, made out entirely of vowels. Not only that, but it takes several words to say one thing. For instance, "Hello" is "aeaaoo aeooy aiiooeeuu aeaaoo aeooy aiiooeeuu aeaaoo aeooy aiiooeeuu aeaaoo aeooy aiiooeeuu aeaaoo aeooy aiiooeeuu." Okay, you may see this as an inefficient way of saying hello, and I see it as 15 words.

Praga has a monolog about "ghosting" that lasts for five pages.

Similarly, I have intervening chapters with a couple of lesbian lovers who enjoy parroting each other's statements.

~Leesa: Oh, Deb, you have the softest lips.

Deb: Oh, Leesa, you have the softest lips.

Well, the dialog is lame, but I have mastered the "cut-paste" functions in my word processor. Again, I am racking up the words with this crap dialog. I tried parroting actions, but once ~Leesa bit Deb's bottom lip and Deb reciprocated, I thought perhaps the girls would not really want to kiss too much more, as their lips certainly would have started bleeding.

Seriously, writing 1,667 words per day is already starting to be a chore, and I am joking about the ways of adding data. I did not really do much on November 1, which really put me behind schedule.

Maybe I will have something to say tomorrow. Have a great Monday.

Hypocrites

"Hypocrite" comes from a Hebrew word, and means the "godless" or "profane." As most of us know, a hypocrite is "a person who pretends to have virtues, moral or religious beliefs, principles, etc., that he or she does not actually possess." I got that from the Princeton dictionary.

Well, I was in the car yesterday, and there was a show on that I had not heard in years, "Dr. Laura." I actually enjoyed listening to her a long time ago.

Anyway, I started Googling to find a good Dr. Laura story, and I found this one.

SHOCK JOCK VOTED BEST BABYSITTER
Strip jock Dr. Laura and liar Prez considered untrustworthy in Internet poll

NEW YORK, New York — In an online poll in the Velocity NYC e-zine, 1,375 respondents were asked “Who would you trust as a babysitter?” The choices were President Clinton, Dr. Laura and Howard Stern.

The majority of Americans polled chose Stern as the person they’d trust most with their children, as he captured the popular vote with 54%. Scandal plagued Dr. Laura followed close behind with 42% of the vote, and President Clinton tallied an appalling 4%.

“I voted for Howard Stern because, while his show is raunchy, he’s a good dad and devoted husband,” said Anthoula Vokolos of Astoria, Queens. “And above all, (he) is always honest to his listeners, his critics, and his supporters.”

While Dr. Laura has been embroiled in her nude photo scandal and the President has taken hits for his lack of character and integrity, the resounding choice for America was Howard Stern. Some people still care about family values and morality.

Well, I was going to look up the particulars, but frankly, I don't want to get too frustrated. This happened a long time ago. From what I remembered, someone was interviewed concerning Dr. Laura, said that he had an affair with her (he was married, or she was, or both were, again, not sure of the particulars). His statement was in some magazine, and Dr. Laura called him a liar. The only problem for Dr. Laura is that she let him take pictures of her naked. And, I guess she might have thought he lost the photos. Not only did he not lose the pictures, but he actually sold them to a magazine, which published them.

I remember listening to her after the pics came out, and you know, she sort of backpedaled. At that point, I stopped listening to her. She could have come clean originally, but instead, she called someone who told the truth a liar.

I remember listening to her and her advice sometimes did not fix things. She told people not to admit to their infidelity because most people only did so to ease their own pain. Now I am not saying to anyone to come clean, but if there is something that is wrong with the marriage, perhaps the infidelity is not the real issue. It is a mere symptom.

I know. I know. All she really is doing is selling books and promoting her radio program. And the difference between her and Howard Stern, it would seem, is that more people would trust their children with Mr. Stern than with Dr. Laura. Oh, and Dr. Laura is not a medical doctor. Most PhDs that I know don't call themselves doctor. Sort of weak.

Cemeteries

Savannah has some of the prettiest cemeteries. Not sure of you are an aficionado of cemeteries, but I am.

I have walked through cemeteries my whole life.

I see cemeteries as parks on top of the deceased. Walking in graveyards does not bother me, and I am normally drawn to some of the simple beauty of tombstones, trees allowed to grow at their own pace, and an assortment of flowers, usually in varying states of decay.

I really wanted to prance through a graveyard last night, but it being Halloween, I opted out. Perhaps tonight. Perhaps I will visit a cemetery tomorrow night, on All Souls.

Have a happy All Saint's Day.

Halloween Costumes

As I was going to work this morning, I took a little extra time. It is Halloween, and most of my co-workers have school-aged children. Which means, when Halloween falls on a weekday, people are late to work. They are picking up fruit trays, shuffling their kiddos in costumes to their schools, arriving at work late. So I took my time going to work this morning.

On some morning show, they were talking about costumes. Apparently girl costumes are sexier than ever. And when I say girl, I am talking little girl. The only costumes they showed that were sold out were of the sexy variety. They were interviewing:

parents – women saying that they were looking for more "age appropriate" costumes;
store owners – describing arguments between daughters and mothers, and how fathers shrink to the back of the room, knowing not to get involved;
concerned citizens – saying girls are growing up too fast but costume designers are just giving the customer what they want.

When I was little, I was a cat. A lot of my girlfriends were cats. We were cats because we wanted to be pretty. You could be a witch – I can't remember a sexy witch at the time – but being a witch was to be an ugly creature. You could be a princess. Princess has a lot of plusses, but in the state of Georgia, it is normally a little warm for that costume. Being a perspiring princess sort of kills the effect you want on Halloween. Or you could be a cat. All you need is a black leotard, a set of ears, a pin-on tail, and a bit of makeup. Piece of cake. To feel pretty at relatively low design costs. Sort of a no-brainer, and probably why there were a lot of cats in the world in the last 1970s, early 1980s.

Now, I really don't know too many non-adults. I hate to sound like the type of person that says "kids these days." What I don't know is how our cat costumes were viewed. Were these costumes viewed as sexy at that time? Being a kid at the time, I have not a clue.

Me, I will be handing out candy. No black leotard. No tail. No clip-on ears. Well, I have to gear up for tomorrow, being November and all.

Secrets

I like secrets. I like to keep secrets. I have lots of them.

I keep my identity here a mystery. Part of me wanting to keep secrets, I guess. But more than that, I enjoy knowing things that other people don't know. Now, I don't know the names of people in Terrorist Cells in Montana, or even if there are terrorist cells in Montana, but I know some secrets.

I know secrets about my family, and sometimes I wonder how many people know these secrets. When I was younger, I told secrets to my brother and sister, but since college, I am not sure I have shared any secrets with them. And I guess I have not shared too many secrets with them since college.

They don't know about any of my affairs, but I am relatively sure that my mother suspects. My father, well, not so much. He sees the best in people – a true gift. They don't know that my husband and I got so close to getting a divorce. Some at work do, but not my family.

I am on the brink of November, and every November, I think about Grant and the NaNo. You know, the National Novel Writing Month.

I have a secret desire to write a novel, and it is still a secret because if I tell somebody, somebody in the real world knew about my secret desire, I may feel more compelled to act on it. No all secrets are dirty, are ugly, are embarrassing. Well, dirty, ugly embarrassing secrets are the type of secrets we like to hear, not the type of secrets we like to harbor.

I have not convinced myself to write my rough draft this month, but every November, I think about it. That's my little secret.

The "S" Curve

Every time I go to the bathroom, I think of Oprah. Let me explain.

About one year ago, I was sick. Staying home from work (I heard "school" in my head, not work), I watched, among other daytime shows, an episode of Oprah. There was a physician on the show, and apparently it was a recurrent role.

Anyway, they were talking about poop. The shape (it should be S-shaped, though Oprah's C-shaped poop was perfectly fine. It's color. Some people with diseases poop white. Anyway, it was completely gross, aired in the US, and I could not shield my eyes from the episode.

So after that airing, I started looking long and hard at my poop. I became an amateur scatologist. I did not keep a poop notebook, but I looked at my poop. Its color, its shape, and its consistency. I think the doctor would say that I had good poop. And I am completely grossed out and fascinated with my own poop since the show.

A couple of years ago, my husband brought me to a very fine restaurant in Savannah. The food was wonderful, the atmosphere was great, and I got a case of food poisoning. Okay, I could not prove it was that restaurant, but I had some weird, half-cooked food, and I felt really bad that night. I spent three days on the potty, basically excreting anything inside of my body. Lovely imagery, I know.

Now I would not encourage you to go out and get food poisoning, but afterwards - to be fair, ten days later - I felt really good. When John Wayne died, there were like 40 pounds of stuff in his intestines. Undigested meat, mostly. At that point in time, I had nothing in my colon, and I felt great.

I sort of think getting food poisoning every once in a while cleanses the body. Or kills you.

Me, I don't have 40 Billion Dollars like Oprah, but my poop is like hers. To Mastercard®, that would be priceless.

How the heck do I delete this blog entry. Is this button delete or submit?

Improvements

Holy crap.

I was answering my few comments this morning and found the following box below my name: "Email follow-up comments to" and my email address.

And I thought to myself, "holy crap." Did I say that? Did I?

When I was more active in blogging, this improvement would have been pretty cool.

You know, I sort of assumed that Google stopped supporting Blogger, focusing its efforts on YouTube. With the networks talking about YouTube "celebrities", it sort of makes sense. But just when you think Google is just keeping Blogger around without improvements, they go ahead and make tweaks.

Similarly, or perhaps not similarly, the US Government has "improved" Daylight Savings Time. Now, the United States has been doing the same thing concerning Daylight Savings Time for a heck of a long time. I did not want to look it up, so let's say that DST has not changed much since the invention of electricity.

Until last year. Then MS Outlook burped on the change, and people could not get to their meetings for a couple of weeks. Oh, and afterwards, the reason for making the change (saving electricity, energy) actually did not materialize. Turns out the change actually cost us money. And this year, we are doing it again. Wasting more electricity, heating oil and whatever, and we are getting ready to miss more meetings.

I sort of like having the time change in early October. And I am a bit afraid of that "Email follow-up comments to" box.

Unplug and Think

I was reading ~Deb's post the other day and my response to it was "Unplug and think." Her post, much more intellectual, was on letting people be who they really are, you know, accepting people. I am going to explore, in this post, the importance of unplugging from the technology of everyday life.

We have iPods, so we have music bouncing around in our brains all of the time. We have phones, strapped to our hips, in our purses and pockets, so that bosses, spouses, children and friends can talk to us all of the time. We are on email, can't turn it off. We have blackberries – crackberries – so named because of their addictive ability. We have televisions in our bathrooms, our kitchens, on our desktops, in the airports, everywhere.

Every once in a while, we all need to unplug. To be alone with our thoughts. To ponder.

When I was growing up, I would go on family vacations – and frequently we would go to a house that had no phone, no television, no outside stimulation. We would go and vacation. It really helped us as a family. We played board games, we went on walks alone or with a group. We really got back to who we were. Of course, this was before all of the pop psych crap that was on daytime television. And I can tell you my parents were not vacationing in this way because of psychological benefits.

Now, it is a rainy Wednesday in Savannah, and it seems to me to be a wonderful time to unplug from the world and get closer to who we really are.

I <3 Nerds

I almost did a very bad thing the other day.

I was clothes shopping the other day, and I nearly bought a t-shirt. It was a "I <3 Nerds" t-shirt. But I got to thinking, "Er, I like the sentiment, but my husband is not a nerd." This could be a real mistake.

This would have been a real mistake.

When I was in school, nerds were not loved. Well, they were loved by their mothers and sometimes fathers, but not by girls. Popular girls would not be found near nerds. Now, nerds are cool.

I don't know exactly what it is. Perhaps Bill Gates, Larry Page, and Sergey Brin tipped the scale, and others found out that these guys are winners. Maybe it is because even cool people take advantage of technology. Flash drives, iPods, TiVos®.

I think geeks and nerds going from outcasts to the center of attention was a gradual thing.

And I did not even see the change coming. Well, I did not notice the change, but perhaps I did see it. You see, when I was in college, I remember the Computer Science geeks. Computer science was a 30- or 40-year discipline, and I remember seeing them on campus. Many of them were typical nerds, the type of person who thought it was cool to write a computer program, type it out on computer cards (punch cards), and get the program to run correctly the first time through. Yeah, before tape, before floppies, before hard disks there were computer cards. I have never used them; I was not a computer nerd. But it seems impressive that holes punched in pieces of paper are lines of code. It does not get me going, so to speak, but it is impressive.

I understand being attracted to bad boys. And I understand to being attracted to nerds. The difference is that when you settle down with a nerd, you have a better chance of not having your car repossessed. Oh, I can understand the attraction to nerds.

The Economics of Prostitution

When I was in school, in high school English class, we had to do public speaking. I thought it was just because English teachers were sadistic grownups. I mean, they make you diagram sentences, do public speaking, and read Sherwood Anderson.¹

Well, in one such round of public speaking, someone did a speech on the costs of prostitution. Really. In high school. In Georgia. The guy that spoke was not really good. The subject matter was something that made him more nervous, and it was not a very well-chosen subject because of this.

Afterwards, we normally critiqued the speech. Even in high school, we were acutely aware that if you gave a really harsh critique, you would really get blasted when it was your turn. So we were normally very complimentary when giving critiques. And the sadistic grownup we called the English teacher was probably aware of that as well.

Anyway, after he gave the speech, instead of normal critiquing, the teacher said that we were to discuss the issue. And at the point, I was thinking to myself, "I don't really want to talk about prostitution."

Now, I don't remember the speech. And I don't remember most of the discussion, aside from not wanting to say anything. But I do remember one comment that a guy made, "If girls had more sex, there would be no need for prostitution." Well, that comment got a laugh, and at the time, I laughed too. But I did not believe the comment – just some jock wanting to be the class clown.

Now, some twenty years later, I thought about the comment, and if an economist made the same statement, I would think the statement was better thought-out and I would give their opinion more credence.

If you thought that prostitution was a really bad thing and wanted to eliminate it, you could by incentivizing women to be open to sex when men want sex. I am not saying that a man opens a door for you and you reward him by giving him a quick hand job. I am saying that if women were extremely open to sex, there would be no market for sex-for-money, and prostitution would completely dry up.

Me, I don't want to sacrifice sex with random men for cleaning up prostitution. Since we have more English teachers than prostitutes, perhaps we should just make the English teachers be more open to sex. Of course, I have a suspicion that they might actually enjoy it. It would beat reading Sherwood Anderson.

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¹I read Sherwood Anderson's The Egg when I was in 11th grade.

The Fake Justine Bateman

Have you ever known someone famous? Me, not really.

When I was in high school, however, I knew a girl who looked remarkably like Justine Bateman. Justine Bateman was a young actress on Family Ties, the middle sibling Malory Keeton.

I have not seen the show since it went off the air – I am guessing that the show was a little dated. It dealt with the roaring '80s, and it was one of the most popular shows when I was in high school. Anyway, I can remember talking with fake Malory, and it was interesting. She would go to the mall, and people would ask her if she was the actress. She would be at the pool in the summer and people would take pictures of her. And every once in a while, she would pretend to be Justine Bateman.

I mean, if you think about it, having a "famous double" is something that many schools probably have. Especially in the '80s, when there were fewer hairstyles, fewer popular clothing choices.

If I could have a celebrity double (when in high school) I would have chosen Dana Plato– but I guess I confused her role on Diff'rent Strokes with her real life role. She had all sorts of problems, and killed herself in 1999. I just liked her Kimberly role – she had a rich daddy, was clever and liked by most. She was also extremely tolerant and did well in school. Again, I wanted to be her character, not her person. She was a tragic character in real life.

When I was googling Justine Bateman just now, I saw a recent picture of her. Er, she has not aged gracefully. It sort of makes me want to look up my old classmate and see if she has similar wrinkles.

Maybe I don't want to be like a celebrity.

Grey Sweatshirts

Okay, I am sort of pissed at the weather. New, I really don't like really cold weather, but I like the fall, you know autumn weather. Brisk days and cold nights. Not snow, but autumn weather.

I have a favorite sweatshirt, and when it is cold outside, I wear this sweatshirt at least once per week. It is unflattering, it is rather ugly, but it is the most comfortable piece of clothing I own.

I don't know why some sweatshirts, over time, become more comfortable, don't look worn, or whatever, but that's what happened to this sweatshirt. Actually, now that I think about it, some clothing does improve with age. Perhaps there is some sort of clothing fairy who decides which clothing to bless with a unique property of improving with age. I don't know.

Back to my sweatshirt. I am a bit pissed because I have not worn the shirt since the last season, and I blame La Niña.¹ I don't really understand the weather, but I know the net results: I don't get to wear my sweatshirt as much, and it pisses me off.

Actually, the weather is a bit more complicated – I tried reading about different climate thingies, and it occurs to me that weathermen and weather girls sort of get the raw deal. They are perceived as these idiots, but to truly understand weather, you have to be smart. Maybe really smart.

So we have these people on television talking about the weather, a really complex area of study, and we assume that they have the job because they are cute or handsome.

Me, I am going to just curse La Niña. And the pisser? La Niña means "little girl." What a bitch.

---

¹La Niña winters are warmer than normal in the Southeast and colder than normal in the Northwest.

Environmental Activism and Recycled Urine

I don't understand why some people (most notably Republicans) are so anti-environmental. I mean, I have heard some, not all, Republicans say basically if they can afford to pollute the environment, by golly, they should be able to pollute the environment.

Were I Republican, I think my stance would be, "Hey, I like clean air, clean rivers, a healthier Earth, just like everybody else. I just don't want to waste my time putting money on environmental issues that don't have decent pay-offs." To me, that sounds like a reasonable Republican.

When I was in college, I was an environmentalist. That was back when most environmentalists were either putting paint on furs or ramming boats into whaling vessels. And the early environmentalists, including me, were a little bit on the fringe.

Early environmentalist: "We need to save water by taking three minute showers."

Modern day environmentalist: "Don't take baths regularly."

It is not about not using any natural resources – it is about minimizing our footprint.

I have a friend who is an environmentalist. But get this, he and his wife have four cars (two drivers, four cars, none of them are used for anything besides transportation – I sort of get collecting cars, if you have a lot of money and garage space), two of which are hybrids, one SUV and one minivan. Now purchasing additional cars that are more environmentally safe really doesn't help the environment too much. The additional cars cost energy and materials to make, and some even don't have very good gas mileage, as odd as that seems.

All of this reminds me of Apartheid – it was sort of big when I was in school as well. And if you did not want to deal with companies that prospered because of South American exports (Apartheid), you had to exclude many companies. We are talking oil companies, pears, pineapples, puffins (yes, canned birds that are sort of like penguins), all sorts of exports. But if you boycott oil companies, perhaps you should boycott companies that deal directly with oil companies – drilling companies, for instance. And you can see this goes on and on.

The same thing with the environment.

First, you are just forced to purchase low flow toilets – which I sometimes call "two flush toilets." Before you know it, some environmentalist is telling you to recycle your own urine because it is 90% water, after all.

Al Gore won the Nobel Peace Prize. I actually saw Al Gore give a speech when he was vice president. He reminded me of a goofball. Completely different than the current VP, who will be more likely to shoot you than make you laugh. When I think of the Nobel Peace Prize, I think of Albert Einstein, the Dalai Lama, Mother Teresa, Albert Schweitzer. People of substance. Al Gore just does not seem to be in the same class, and his contribution to help disseminate global warming information does not seem to impact world peace. There, I said it. Environmentalist that I am.

I don't know if Al Gore recycles his own urine in his 10,000 square foot house. But I wonder if his private plane is a hybrid.

My God, Your God, and Ann Coulter's God

When host Donny Deutsch (of MSNBC's The Big Idea) asks Ann Coulter a question regarding what her idea of the perfect world would be, she responded with some stuff about how more perfect the word would be if everybody was Christian.


I have embedded the clip because it is sort of shocking.

I have not listened to it in a day or two, so pardon me if I don't get the wording exactly right. Something she said really infuriated me. She said that Christians are on the "fast track" program – that Jews need to be perfected. She said that Jews have to obey laws (and need to be perfected), and she sort of implied that Christians don't need to follow rules. Any rules.

Part of me just wants to quote Rodney King and ask, "People, I just want to say, you know, can we all get along?"

I have heard other Christians say things similar to Ann Coulter. I get that some religious people know in their hearts that what they believe is the truth. The thing is that no one is really sure that their version of religion is the only version, the one version, the true version. I think these people are arrogant.

But lets move away from who is right and wrong. Ann Coulter believes that it would be a better world if we are all Christians. I guess she believes there would be less fighting, less war, more agreement.

Here is a thought. Thousands of years ago, before Christ, Jews did not work on their Sabbath (Saturday). Christians came along and declared Sunday the Sabbath (oh, and by the way, to a little Catholic girl reading the Old Testament, this is so confusing – the Saturday, Sunday, which day are they talking about thing.

So a long time ago, primary Christian communities worked 6 days per week, taking Sunday off, and primary Jewish communities worked 6 days per week, taking Saturday off. Later on, okay I am sort of making this up, sort of suggesting it, when there was a work week in a more integrated community, some people had Saturday off, some Sunday off because of where they worshiped.

My guess is that managers started getting confused, forgetting who was the Christian, who was the Jew.

"Hey, wait a minute, Tevye, I thought you took last Saturday off."

Then managers, who are not as smart as the rest of us, decided that instead of setting up a spreadsheet to distinguish Christian from Jew, managers gave people two days off in a row, Saturday and Sunday.

So Ann Coulter would rather have a six-day work week. That's why she is such a miniskirt-clad, Republican bitch. She would steal a day from all of us.

Sports are for the Guys

I remember in the 2004 – perhaps it was another Olympics, forgive me but they tend to blend together with the Cold War being over and all¹ – the coverage tried to include more women in the audience, and it didn't work all that well. Today, I want to write about sports coverage and why it is only for the guys.

Print Coverage
Have you ever noticed how a sports story is written? The structure suits men, not women. Again, I have not read a sports story in a while, but they usually start out telling you what happened in the final minutes, the forth quarter, the final inning. They tell you the teams, the score, and possibly what comes next (if it is a tournament situation).

Sort of wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am. You have everything you need to know in that one paragraph or two. Now I have a hypothesis on this, and no, it is not that men can only read a paragraph or two. The hypothesis is this: men reading the story, probably watched the game. So they are reading the article, savoring or crying over the result.

So, anyway, I can picture a guy, grunting and pounding his hand in the air, in victory over whatever sports event he is reading. "Oh, yeah, baby, walk off homer in the ninth. Sweet."

Then the next paragraph might talk about some record that was set. Or some bizarre fact – like that the entire secondary was injured before the game. Something of interest.

Then the story usually talks about the third quarter, or the first quarter. Maybe even the second quarter. Honestly, if you wrote an article from beginning to end, then took the paragraphs and cut them up, and then rearranged them in no particular order.

For men, I am guessing, it does not matter the organization of the article. If you already saw the game, you know the outcome, then each paragraph has you relive that particular part of the game.

Men can understand this, I cannot.

I want a story to start at the beginning, perhaps have a little bit of back story sprinkled throughout the article and ending with the final score. I don't mind the final score at the beginning occasionally, but not every single time. This, however, must be how sports writers are trained.

And, you know, sports writers are, in general, pretty good writers. I mean, sometimes better than other writers of the paper. Not all other writers, but some of them. And I am not sure that was the case a long time ago.

Running Out of Room
Okay, I try and only write one page per day. And I wanted to explore other avenues of men and sports on other days. Could this be a multi-day post? That sort of would make this a woman's view of sports (men want one, women multiple, er . . . cough).

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¹It was not just the Cold War that made the Olympics. It was the amateur athletes. Today's Olympic athletes, while highly gifted, are not amateurs in any sense of the word.

Blogger Blahs - Random Friday #14 (Not So Random)

Blogger Blues
Okay, I have been sick for nearly a week, and I think I need some autumn holiday. I am not big into October holidays - I don't like scary stuff, so Halloween doesn't thrill me. I don't drink beer so Oktoberfest seems like without the beer it is just bad music. I don't get into Columbus Day - I feel no need to spread syphilis or conquer people I don't really understand.

Television
Well, since I have been sick lately, I have been watching television. You know, I am not a big TV person, but when I can't sleep and need to be upright to breath, I revert to television.

Here is what I don't understand.

Numb3rs
Everybody is sleeping with everybody, but the most disturbing part is that the head detective is sleeping with someone on his staff. This is an FBI job, and I am pretty sure there are rules against sleeping with one of your employees.

CSI
Grisham, the boss, is sleeping with Sara, one of his employees. Now I don't know what CSI's employment rules are, but I am guessing they frown on bosses sleeping with their employees.

CSI - NY
Detective Mac Taylor, the head of the crime lab, is sleeping with Dr. Peyton Driscoll, a medical examiner at CSI. Now I don't know if they are in the same lab, but it again looks like boss-employee hanky-panky.

Okay, okay, I know it is just television, but what is sad is that no one seems to care or even notice. Bosses that sleep with their employees sometimes lack good judgement.

Exorcism
The Exorcist was a movie released in 1973. Although I have never seen it, it usually makes the list of ten scariest movies ever. It does not rely on special effects. It relies on the subject matter – the possession of a girl.

Well, I don't really believe in exorcism or possession. Not really. But I have read some things that make me wonder. M. Scott Peck wrote a book called "People of the Lie." Most of you will remember him for another book he wrote: "The Road Less Traveled." Apparently he has a new book out, Glimpses of the Devil. Christianity Today gave it a good review – but I just don't know about possessions. Some say postal workers and IRS employees are possessed. Others consider them condemned.

Taking My Medicine
Me, I heard of some type of recipe to cure myself. It has a lot of rum in the concoction. Not sure I want to take it at lunch today. But if it helps . . . .

Waiting in Line

The other day, I was waiting in line at a "quickie mart" that was not in my usual area. Actually it was across the border, in South Carolina. What can I say, I am a world traveler.

I normally would not have gone into this particular quickie mart – not that it did not look nice. It was just that there were more cars there then I would have expected. I am somewhat logical – not "Prata logical" but logical nonetheless. More patrons mean longer wait times at the counter.

I picked up my drink, a snack, and then waited in line.

Now I was a bit tired, not in my element, and so I was sort of zoning in line.

I moved my items to the check-out girl, she smiled, and said, "Hey, toots. I have not seen you in here before. You are a cutie."

Her statement sort of woke me out of my reverie.

"Excuse me," was the surprised reply I could muster.

"Sorry," she answers, "you are probably not a lesbian."

The rest of the conversation was not noteworthy, but she surprised me with her statement.

As I was leaving, the guy behind me was going to jump from her line to the other person's line.

She tells him, "Oh, no, you were not going to leave me for him. You stay right here."

I was out the door, so I don't know how the next conversation ended.

Not sure there is a point to this, but it was the most bizarre part of my day. Well, for days, it was the most bizarre experience.

I heard something the other day – that completely unlikely things happen to each person about once per month. I have a feeling this is my completely unlikely thing happening.

Sick Day

Guys and girls are different. Men and women are different. We just are.

Case-in-point: when we are sick. I know, it is like 100 degrees¹ outside right now. But even though it seems so hot, hubbie and I got some type of upper respiratory infections. Yeah, I know, I know, outside temperature has little to do with getting infections.

Anyway, I don't want to talk about bacteria and virus.

I don't think that married couples who are both sick at the same time should be allowed to recover in the same house.

Okay, one might think this is because my husband is a big baby when he gets sick. Well, that is only the half of it. I have the same illness, and I am supposed to take care of him because a uterus makes me better able to take care of him than he of himself when we are both sick.

Yeah, we both stayed home Monday. And it really sucked. Well, it sucked for me but not for him. He was waited on hand and foot by my sniveling, sick self. And now that we are both feeling a little better, I am kicking myself on the butt for taking care of him.

Yeah, Bible-thumpers, I know about "in sickness and in health". But the Bible just does not want me to strangle him in his sleep. It does not say anything about getting him juice, making sure he takes his medicine, fixing him toast. Actually, restraining myself from strangling him from my point-of-view seems extremely compassionate.

I sometimes rally to men's defense, especially when people are trying to use some out-of-date stereotypical tripe. Well, we have all heard jokes about how men are terrible patients. I just want to curl-up-and-die when I am a patient. I don't want someone looking after me – perhaps because I remember my mother taking care of us, even when she was sick. She looked so tired when she took care of us. So when I get sick, I think about my mother.

Well, I knew this blog entry has an end, but it just escaped me. Oh, and I went to work one day early so that I could get some rest. That's messed up.

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¹For our Canadian or European friends, that would be 37 degrees. Not as prosaic, but there you have it.

Weekdays

In the United States, perhaps in other countries, each day of the week has a personality.

Monday: People hate Mondays. You see them, lining up at the coffee stand, trying to kick-start their weeks. People, after a weekend of rest, relaxation, prayer, sex, golfing, watching professional football, whatever, need to get back to work. Back to the grindstone. Me, I am a bit different. I rather enjoy going back to work.

Tuesday: This seems be the most misunderstood day of the week. Not as brutal as Monday. Not as noteworthy as Thursday or Friday. It is the least distinct of the days. And for me, sometimes Tuesday feels like a Wednesday.

Wednesday: Humpday. The middle day of the week. This is the middle of the week, not close enough to Friday to feel like it is close to the weekend, not anything but the doldrums of the middle of the week.

Thursday: When I was in college, this was my favorite day of the week. The clubs had the best live bands on Thursdays, and I often went out that night. It was even more fun than a Friday night.

Friday: The party night. The old Loverboy song was written for the day.

As we grow older, however, perhaps the days of the week change a bit. For me, I love to work, or at least go to work, and so I look forward for Mondays.

When I was growing up, I watched more television than I currently watch. And I don't even remember what day shows were on. I guess the weekdays the shows were on gave the days character as well. But that's when there were only three networks, when people watched the same shows. Now I don't know what people watch, other than Monday Night Football.

Me, I am going to work today. But it feels like Humpday.

Husband Crushes

I don't know if it is called a crush, but I can tell when my husband finds an actress attractive. Some of the crushes don't bother me at all. Farrah Fawcett, for instance. She was way before he met me, and, after that poster of her, most boys fell in love with her. Well, I think my husband's most recent crush is Julia Stiles. I mean, the other day, we were at a Blockbuster (I hate the store, I really do, but they are convenient), and he wanted to rent "The Prince and Me." We actually rented it, and after the first couple of scenes, the movie really lost momentum. His little crush on her bothers me – she is significantly younger than I am, she is blond, and she is hot.

You know, I guess I should start over and make some order of this post. It was originally meant to be added to a Random Friday post, but I have more to say.

Tramps
The first series of women who I don't really want my husband to have a crush on are the trampy women. You know, Paris Hilton. I don't really know a lot about Ms. Hilton, but I do know that from the limited amount of information, she is not smart, brags about not being smart, and we would not even know her name if her father was not an extremely rich man.

I don't want my husband to lust for tramps because I want him to have better taste. Really. Obviously, I want him to only think of me sexually, but, well, that is probably never going to happen. In light of that, I just want him to have better taste than to think of tramps.

Funny thing is that most of us can name the tramps. I don't think that is a coincidence.

Women Who Resemble Me
Now, when we were going out, I could tell my husband liked me physically. And he like other shortish, brunette, cute women. Unfortunately for me, there are a lot of us out here, so his eyes constantly are wandering. Well, not constantly, but wandering a little bit too much for my taste.

I have gone back and forth about being pissed when hubbie looks at women who resemble me. I used to be pissed because, hello, he has me, but I have grown more tolerant in my years. Well, sometimes I still get pissed.

Women Who I Wonder About
Occasionally, very occasionally, my husband will find someone attractive that I just have to scratch my head about. Most recently there is Patricia Heaton, who played Debra Barone on Everybody Loves Raymond. I am sort of assuming Everybody Loves Raymond has ended because she is now in the new sit-com Back to You (I get my information about TV shows from ads).

I am not really upset at these crushes. More bewildered than anything.

Goose/Gander
Then there are the movies where both a female and a male character strikes a chord with both of us. Finding Forester is such a movie. When we were watching it, I could tell that my husband was attracted to Anna Paquin, who plays Claire Spence in the movie. I was a bit more lucky, as I was attracted to the main character, Jamal Wallace (played by Rob Brown). Now I don't know anything else these two have played, and I suppose the story has a lot to do to the attraction – the main characted was a young, brilliant, writer. Yum.

And for me, what is good for the goose is good for the gander.

Random Friday #10

Jump Her Bones
When I was in college, I first heard of the phrase "jumping her bones." Intuitively I knew what it meant, but I also was unsure that I liked the phrase. It seemed so violent, to reduce one of flesh to one of bones. And, originally, I thought the phrase was ill-fitting. Men seem to have more to do with bones, in the vulgar sense, and the phrase has a slightly vulgar meaning. The following year, a girlfriend used the same phrase to describe jumping her boyfriend's bones. Equal opportunity vulgarity? Makes me want to burn a bra.

Feminism
Burning bras makes me think of the woman's movement of the 1960s and 1970s. I have two immediate thoughts, not profound, but random: (1) I wonder if we would have chosen burning bras if the movement started now? Bras are damn expensive, and let's face it, some do without for non-noble causes. (2) Were bras supposed to represent men, who were "constrictive" at the time? Because bras are supportive as well, and a little bit of support can be a beautiful thing. Supporting a child, learning to read. Supporting a parent, who gave you so much. Supporting a co-worker, who just needs a shoulder, an ear and a smile.

And if feminism was more economic than anything else, we may have come along way, baby, but we have a ways to go.

Fans
In the state of Georgia, there is one football team that most people love. Yeah, I am talking about the University of Georgia. Well, people just call the university "Georgia." Now I don't have anything bad to say about Georgia. Well, actually I do, but I will leave that to some other time. What I don't like is for people who went to school elsewhere and pretend to be Georgia alumni. Well, they don't say they are from Georgia, but they have the bulldog paraphernalia and they went to school in someplace like Nebraska. I just want them to root for their school. It is not like they went to SCAD and are rooting for Georgia because SCAD does not have a team. What is even worse is when someone from let's say, "Georgia Tech", one of the finest schools in the country, jumps ship and then starts rooting for the Bulldogs.

Husband Crushes
I don't know if it is called a crush, but I can tell when my husband finds an actress attractive. Some of the crushes don't bother me at all. Farrah Fawcett, for instance. She was way before he met me, and, after that poster of her, most boys fell in love with her. Well, I think my husband's most recent crush is Julia Stiles. I mean, the other day, we were at a Blockbuster (I hate the store, I really do, but they are convenient), and he wanted to rent "The Prince and Me." We actually rented it, and after the first couple of scenes, the movie really lost momentum. His little crush on her bothers me – she is significantly younger than I am, she is blond, and she is hot.

You know, maybe Monday, I will finish these thoughts – at least the thoughts on husband crushes. It could make an interesting post.

Customer Service

A few years ago, I remember hearing about self-service grocery store check out lines. It was in an article in Money Magazine, I think, and the experts were saying that it would take care of some of the people purchasing ten items or less – but that's about it. And the companies were saying something about how they were employing technology to make it harder for shoplifters.

I was shopping yesterday, and it seemed that several of us were using the check-out area with a basketful of groceries. Well, small basketfuls.

And it occurred to me: the industry probably did not think it would catch on for larger shopping trips because of the wonderful customer service grocery stores provide. For me, I would like my eggs to arrive home in one piece – well, 12 pieces. But you get the idea.

I remember as a little girl going shopping with Dad. He had a way with the cashiers, always complimenting them, always chatting about this or that. And in return, they gave him wonderful customer service. Either that, or grocery store checkers were different. I don't know if that was the case – because I paid more attention to Saturday morning cartoons than to wondering about grown-ups.

I enjoy scanning my own groceries. Putting in the codes for plums, grapes, and cantaloupes. And the grocery store has a non-paid employee for five minutes or so. A win-win situation for both of us.

You know, customers are doing some things that employees used to do – not just scanning groceries. An early shift from employee to customer was in pumping our own gas. And, over the past several years, the IRS has us entering our own information into computers for them (electronic filing).

Me, I am not helping the IRS out by electronically filing. I figure that's what part of my tax dollars are for. But I will help out my grocery by scanning groceries. I even bag all of the cold items together and tip myself well.

What the SCHIP is going on, here?

The New York Times and The Boston Globe reported the following the other day:

A coalition of states (New Jersey, Maryland, Arizona, California, Illinois, New Hampshire, New York, and Washington) is challenging the Bush administration over new CMS rules that make it more difficult to extend State Children’s Health Insurance Program (SCHIP) coverage to children in families with incomes at or above 250% of the federal poverty level. The states are mounting the challenge as Bush threatens to veto a compromise bill that would reauthorize and expand SCHIP and relax some of the recently imposed coverage limits.

CMS has the Federal Poverty Level Guidelines on its website, as follows:

Family Poverty 250% of
Size Level Poverty Level
1 10,210.00 25,525.00
2 13,690.00 34,225.00
3 17,170.00 42,925.00
4 20,650.00 51,625.00
5 24,130.00 60,325.00
6 27,610.00 69,025.00
7 31,090.00 77,725.00
8 34,570.00 86,425.00

Sorry if everything is not lined up – I used spaces and HTML will probably render them a mess.

I am not a liberal or a conservative. Well, not really. I guess for me, with a family size of 2, $13,690 seems like a pittance. It really does. But at 250% of poverty level, that sort of seems like it is either two people with minimal incomes, or someone in Georgia with about my income. Looking at the states involved, and it appears that most of them are in the "high cost" states. Well, I am not sure if I would have lumped Arizona, or Illinois (outside of Chicago), in those high cost states. But maybe they are.

Part of me is thinking that the government should not subsidize healthcare for people earning two-and-a-half times the poverty level. Seems to be a step towards socialized medicine. Not that I would turn it down.

I guess the way of looking at it is if I were a single parent making what I make, what would I do. I would of course take the benefit. But I would be an average single parent of one – and I am not sure the government should step in.

Crap, am I becoming libertarian? Oh, SCHIP, I hope not.

French, Anyone?

The other day, I was watching a movie. At the beginning of the movie, there was the international copyright notice, both in English and in French, the two international languages. Then I got to thinking, why English and French¹? I looked to see what the most common spoken languages are, and got this list (see below). I figure, if you are going to have two international languages, they might as well be popular languages.

1. Chinese, Mandarin  2. English  3. Spanish  4. Arabic  5. Bengali  6. Hindi  7. Russian  8. Portuguese  9. Japanese  10. German

11. Chinese, Wu 12. Javanese 13. Korean 14. French 15. Turkish 16. Vietnamese 17. Telugu 18. Chinese, Yue(Cantonese) 19. Marathi 20. Tamil

Look at the list real closely. Okay, I knew Mandarin was #1, and guessed that English was #2. French was #14, and there were lots of languages above French, including Javanese. Not Japanese, Javanese (as on the island of Java, part of Indonesia).

I guess I am wondering why we hear English and French during the Olympics. We should probably be hearing Mandarin and English. It would reach more people – especially since the next Olympics are in China.

For those of you going, I would bring many small (3 oz or less) tubes of toothpaste. Not sure I trust the flavoring of toothpaste in China. You go to Mexico and are warned about the water. I guess you go to China and they warn you about manufactured goods.

Still, in the dawn of the twenty-first century, I don't understand why we have French as an official language. Perhaps it is only because of the following popular French phrase²:

Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?

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¹Yeah, I know, hundreds of years ago, the English, French and Spanish carved up the Americas and Africa.

²And if this is the reason for using French as the language, I guess we know which head the decision-makers were thinking with.

The Power of 10 Marriage

In the Power of 10, a new prime time game show, Drew Carey asked the following question: "What percentage of married Americans said they do not currently love their spouse at least as much as they did on their wedding day?" This was the $1,000 question (the first question), and the contestant said between 15 and 55% (they are given a 41 point range, though the show producers say it is a 40 point range). The answer was 9%.

Before I continue with this, I just wanted to say that I found out about Antenna Web, a site for the few of us who do not have cable or satellite television. It tells you what stations are in your are by zip code, and it tells you about angles. Okay, I have not clue about the angles, but it seems like a cool site.

Back to the Power of 10. Oh, and I heard it online instead of with rabbit ears. But I digress again. I guess I digress a lot.

When I listen to the show (while I am doing other things), I often guess on the percentages. And in this example, I knew the percentages were less than 50% (about the divorce rate). But of the other 50%, I figured half would have said that they loved their spouse at least as much. The figure I came up with was 23%. And I would have been wrong. Well, I would have placed the range between 3 and 43%, so I would have gotten the question right, but I would have been very wrong.

9% is pretty a skimpy number.

I was pretty happy with my hubbie on our wedding day – most people are, I suppose. Now, I don't know a way of measuring, in any quantifiable way, one's love for another. It is not like getting a blood pressure, or figuring out the pH of your soil. Actually, I know some girlfriends who wouldn't mind driving an aluminum testing meter through their husband's heart.

But if I could quantify my love for my husband, I would hope that the love was more than on the day I married him. Actually, I remember not being too pleased on the honeymoon, wondering if I had made a mistake. I had not noticed that he doesn't ask for directions (we were lost for hours because of this). I also recognized that we really didn't know how to fight at the time.

But our love grew after that. And I know I loved him more afterwards. Several years later, I can confidently say I loved him more. Of course, I loved him more then than I do now. Not that I don't love him. I would be in the 9% - in that lonely demographic, but I do wish that our love did not wane. Because it was better than it is now.

I guess infidelity does that to a couple. I trusted him completely, and, you know, he trusted me as well. I guess we did not deserve to be trusted. Not that simple, of course, but that's what I was thinking about now.

I want to love my husband more now than ever. I mean, that's what is supposed to happen. I wonder if the questions were as follows: "What percentage of married Americans said they currently love their spouse as much as they ever did?" I want to be one of those people. Yeah, I know we all control our own thoughts, but darned it, I want to be one of those rare ones. I want my marriage to be extraordinary.