Shovel Buddies

Last week, I heard a story about someone . . .

Well, read the AP story for yourself:

MAYFLOWER, Ark. – Auctioneers preparing for an estate sale Saturday morning made a scary discovery among the items up for bid – a suitcase full of military-grade explosives.

The rusted, padlocked suitcase sat alongside a porcelain coffee service set and other goods.

Auctioneers opened the suitcase, which belonged to a deceased former member of the U.S. Navy, just before the sale and found three blocks of military-grade C-4 plastic explosive, two tubes of a similar plastic explosive, a blasting cap and some dynamite.

Workers quickly called 911, and the Conway Fire Department's bomb squad collected the materials, drove them to an isolated spot and destroyed them, according to the Log Cabin Democrat.

When I heard the story in the car, the first thing I thought to myself was, "Too bad the guy did not have a shovel buddy." A shovel buddy is someone who has agreed to, after you have died, discretely get rid of all of your "loose ends." For most of this, this may involve adult toys that we don't want our friends and family to ever know about. You know, after losing granny, we really don’t want to tarnish the image with imagining her using a vibrator on . . . you get the picture (sorry).

A while back, I was a shovel buddy. That's actually how I found out about the term. A girlfriend of mine asked me to be her shovel buddy, not because we were best friends but because we were good friends and I was discrete and responsible. She had a toy chest that I was to dispose of if she and her husband were to die about the same time. And I was sort of fine with that arrangement. She gave me a key and a bit more information about her sex life than I wanted to know. Oh, and I was to dispose of her adult movies as well. Apparently her brother-in-law had a bookstore and she had a lot of adult movies. This was a few years ago, so they were movies, not DVDs, as I recall. Well, we have drifted apart a bit – and she took the key back and said she would find someone else to perform the task.

I was a bit hurt and a bit relieved. I was hurt because she took away a unique responsibility I had. And I sort of wanted to know what types of toys she had as well. But I was relieved because if anyone caught me removing property, well, I am pretty sure I would be trespassing and stealing, according to the law. Even if the deceased wanted me to do it. I mean the theft would be nothing like grand larceny (unless she had one of those Sybian machines). I mean, I am not sure I could explain this to the police.

Leesa: Yes, officer, what seems to be the problem.

Police Officer: Ma'am. We got a call from a neighbor. The occupant of this residence has recently become deceased, and the neighbor is concerned that you are not a family member.

Leesa: I am just picking up a few items that are . . . mine.

Police Officer: I count seven vibrators in this box. What was the nature of your relationship?

And then my mug shot would be on the news that evening. Something about lesbian larceny (they like those types of news items – they rhyme, the have sex and lesbians and they are weird. Forever more I would be known as a lesbian.

When all I ever wanted to be was her shovel buddy.

Politics and Hurricane Katrina

I originally posted this post in a two part series in March 07. I thought I would dust it off and re-post it, not because I am lazy (I am), but because I spent a lot of time on the post and this is the anniversary of Katrina (August 23, 2005 was the day Katrina hit the Gulf Coast and changed so many lives). I have made some minor changes.

When I was in middle school, I can remember a lot of talk about Fidel Castro. The story that I remember most is that Fidel Castro was a minor league baseball player. I did not remember all the facts concerning the Bay of Pigs or the Cuban Missile Crisis (hence my poor Social Studies grades). And I just learned that the story is false.

That leads me to think about how other people have affected history by what they did or did not do. I want to tell you a story today, but I am not sure if I can maintain my one page blog rule.

If I asked a group of people to list the most corrupt states in the United States, one name would rise to the top. That state would be Louisiana.¹. And if you could list the most corrupt people in that state over the last twenty years, one name would also be set apart from the rest: Edwin Edwards. Edwin Edwards was first governor from 1972 to 1980, and in the state of Louisiana, you cannot run for a third term in a row. You can sit out one term and then run again, but you cannot be governor three terms in a row.

Huey P. Long, "the Kingfish", was an amazing politician, the model of the corrupt politician. My favorite quote of his: "One of these days the people of Louisiana are going to get good government - and they aren't going to like it." Edwards was more corrupt than the Kingfish. Oh, and Edwards has been in jail since October 2002. I guess that is better than being shot (Huey Long was shot – some say he was shot by one of his own bodyguards when his assailant, Carl Weiss, punched him).

Back to Edwin Edwards.

In his second term, he was positioning himself to take the office back. In Louisiana, a Republican has not been elected governor since the Civil War – that happened a lot in the South. Southern Democrats run the gambit – from conservative to liberal. So the fight is in the primary – once a Democrat won the primary, beating up the Republican was not a problem.

Edwin Edwards instituted a different type of voting, "patronage voting" or something like that. Basically, everybody runs in the same primary, and the top two vote-getters run in the general election. And you might think Edwin Edwards proposed this change in the election process to benefit the fine people of Louisiana. But since we are talking about politics, let's assume he did it to benefit himself. And knowing Edwards, perhaps this benefitted his pocketbook as well. So when Edwin Edwards left office in 1980, he was delighted when David Treen (the first Republican Governor of Louisiana) was elected over a very liberal Democrat.

Edwin Edwards won re-election in 1983, a couple of years after one of Edwards closest friends was indicted after an FBI sting. There were tapes that showed close ties between members of the Edwards administration and a New Orleans mob boss. Edwards was not indicted for his involvement.

Edwards, being Edwards, in his role of governor, went to trial for shaking down $1.9 million in bribes to secure hospital licenses. He was not convicted, but because of this and several other things, he was not re-elected in 1988.

Buddy Roemer was elected, mostly because of Edwards ethically challenged character. Edwards dropped out of the 1987 race, and one columnist stated, "The only way Edwards can ever be reelected is to run against Adolph Hitler."

And as luck would have it (for Edwards, not for the people of Louisiana), an Adolph Hitler character ran in 1991.

For the 1991 election, Republicans and Democrats and every other flavor of politician ran together in the primary, and the two top vote-getters would face one another in the general election.

Incumbent Buddy Roemer and 3-time Governor Edwards were running neck and neck, with a third candidate trailing far behind. Buddy Roemer had switched parties, theorizing that he could take both the Republican vote and moderate conservatives as well.

Edwards was a crafty politician, and his staff dug up a quote about Roemer supporting Michael Dukakis over President Bush (he said, "Dan Quail made up my mind."). This did not sit well with conservatives.

When the ballots were counted in the primary, Edwards received 33.8% of the vote, the candidate who was running third in most polls received a surprising 31.7% of the vote, and incumbent Roemer received 26.5% of the vote and was eliminated from the race.

Edwards was prepared to run against his opponent, and it is reported that Edward's staff counseled Edwards to stop dating 20-year-olds. Some reports surfaced that his dates should be at least 25.

Some facts about Edward's opponent:

1. There was a 1989 photo of him shaking hands with the head of the American Nazi Party.
2. Even though Edwards was dating 20-year-olds, this man had been accused of dating at least one 17-year-old. Edwards said of his opponent that he "is not a womanizer. He is a little-girlizer."
3. He made several public anti-Semitic remarks (and said that the Holocaust was a hoax).
4. When asked about issues, he was usually caught off-guard. He, for example, could not name any of the top three employers in the state.
5. He had stated publicly that blacks were inferior to whites.

During the election, Edward's opponent renounced many of the things he had said previously.

Edwards won the election with about 61% of the vote. Buddy Roemer, when leaving office, said that Edwards "for twenty years created a hunger for integrity, was saved in the end by having a man run against him who has less integrity."

One of his first acts after moving back into the governor's mansion was to appoint Robert Harvey, to head the Orleans District levee board. Robert Harvey's qualification for this appointment: contributing $5,000 to Edwards campaign.

The headway that previous administrations had made about forcing the Army Corps of Engineers to built higher levees were forgotten. Over the next few years, the levee board was preoccupied with other priorities.

Oh, and the man who ran against Edwards – the man who was more crooked than a master crook? David Duke.

So you see, gentle reader, some could argue that David Duke, making it into the general election, is in part responsible for having levees that were not high enough to protect New Orleans. You see, Robert Harvey did not give $5,000 to the Duke campaign. And that (insert Paul Harvey pause) is the rest of the story.

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¹Louisiana has the reputation of being the most corrupt state, but in a recent study, here is how the most corrupt states ranked: (1) Mississippi, (2) North Dakota and (3) Louisiana. The only question I have is: North Dakota? Are you serious?

Watching the Olympics

A member of the beach volleyball cheergirl performance group practices her routine at the Chaoyang Park Beach Volleyball Ground ahead of the Beijing 2008 Olympics on August 3, 2008 in Beijing, China. (Photo by Chris McGrath/Getty Images)

Rent vs Buy

For a number of years after we were married, my husband and I rented. We did not have the cash for the down payment of a house, and even if we did, we were not really to make such a financial commitment. So we rented.

I did not mind renting. I did not think that our rent checks were being wasted. I know others did (real estate agents, for instance), but we got a place to stay, and that seemed adequate trade for the rent money. I mean, if something happened to the house – if the house needed a new air conditioner, for instance, it really did not affect us financially.

The only thing I did not like was, sometimes, they way I was treated because I was a renter. People expect, when you are renting, that you are not as good as homeowners. Yeah, you can say I am full of it, but I have heard someone's voice change after learning that I was a renter. Well, it was great when the gutter salespeople came by: "I'm sorry, but I am a renter."

Renters get a bad rap, I suppose, because some renters don't take good care of the property they inhabit. You know, there is not much of a financial incentive to do so – a number of rentals I have had seem to do everything they can to retain your deposit even if there is nothing wrong with the apartment or house at the end of the rental agreement. The property is not yours – and some treat is less preciously because of that. That's what some think renters do – they don't take care of the property as well because they don't have a financial reason to do so. Oh, and perhaps as a rule, this happens more often than naught.

I have been thinking about the direction of my life lately, and I have been treating my life as a renter. I have not been owning my life, just renting it. There are things I want to do, things I want to write.

In my blog, I used the following phrase to introduce my blog: "I started blogging to improve my writing; I really did. Painters don't start with masterpieces – they start on scraps of paper, and even when planning a great work, they do many other drawings in preparation. I think writing is the same. You just don't start and finish a novel by merrily typing into the computer; you experiment. Blogging is sort of like a writer's doodling. So this is my scratch pad of sorts. This is less than scraps of paper actually, just 1s and 0s on your computer screen."

Well, after a few years of writing this blog, I have not really done what I set out to do. Yeah, my writing may have gotten marginally better, but I have not started any serious writing.

Last month ~Deb gave up her blog, and I have been thinking about doing the same. Temporarily or permanently, I don't know.

I am not stopping this blog because I have run out of ideas or because I have gotten any stalkers. I just want to spend my time doing other things. I have enjoyed this blog, I have enjoyed the people I have met, and I have enjoyed the whole blogging experience.

I guess I want to start owning my life. We have very little time on this earth, and I need to spend it doing what I want to do, what I feel called to do. Now I don't know if I will be back next week, next month or never again, I could not tell you. Personally, I hope I will be able to write, really write, and not come back to this blog. It's not that it is unimportant. It is that I feel called to write a novel. I am a bit scared, but that is not necessarily a bad thing.

I will miss writing every day or several times per week. But it is time for me to move on.

Note: I have one post scheduled to get published some time in August. But it is already in the queue. Other than that, I may or may not be back. We will just have to see.

At the Gym

I go to the gym nearly every day; I am not a gym rat, but I like to observe while working out. Anyway, I go to the gym at certain times a day, and because of this, I run into the same thing every day. Here are a few people at my gym:

Ponytail
I call one of the young women "ponytail." I don't know her name – I don't know many people's names there – but I have in-my-head nicknames for the regulars. As you have probably guessed, she has a ponytail. Her blonde hair goes nearly half-way down her back, and she normally does ellipticals several machines from me. She almost always wears a white top, but her shorts change from time-to-time. Her top are sheer, probably Under Armour. She always does the same 30 or so minutes, then heads to the weights. I don't do weights, so I don't know what she does there. All I really know about Ponytail is that she has nice skin.

Small Package
There is a guy who has the largest chest I have ever seen. A freakin' barrel chest. He must do weights. He has to do weights, but I see him on the treadmills and ellipticals. I call him mentally "small package" because he is the body type that I associate with 'roids. I mean, I am not sure he dates ugly country music singers, but he is definitely a guy to ogle over. I don't hunger for him, but I like looking.

Nice Ass
One of the ladies on the ellipticals is Asian, and she has the nicest ass I have seen in quite some time. I look at women's asses, partly because I compare myself to them. This woman is probably 50-years-old, and she has a great ass. It sort of makes me a little bit envious. A 50-year-old should not have such an ass. She always wears dark work-out clothes, and she I think she works out often. I almost always start and stop my ellipticals before she finishes. Always. Must be why she has a great ass.

Bony
One guy who I see often I mentally call bony. He is old, how old I really don't know. I want to think he is in his 80s, but maybe he is older. He is only slightly taller than me, and if he weighs 100 pounds, I would be surprised. His head is a little bit larger than normal, or maybe because he is so skinny, his head appears larger. His shirt is normally full of sweat, but he seems like a cute old guy. He is single, but not my type.

Gidget
I don't like calling her Gidget, but I could not think of a better name for her. She is probably 30, and she has all sorts of friends. And they talk to one another on elliptical equipment, and I hear words over my iPod. Gawd, I am old. I thought "Walkman" when I meant iPod. Anyway, the conversations are juicy. I know if I had Gidget for a friend, I would not tell her a damn thing. I mean, when I get bored and she is within earshot, I listen. Sometimes it is about who is screwing whom in their neighborhood, or complications from pregnancy for other people, or that Jimmy's testicle finally dropped (okay, I don't know what this means, but I nearly choked when I heard that).

There are lots of characters at the gym. Not just sweaty people trying to drop a few pounds.

Random Thursday

Ass Pants
Every girl ,every woman, likes to look good. There's no secret there. But what some men don't know is that all clothes are not created equal. Me, I have a favorite pair of pants. One pair makes my ass look so good. I feel good in the jeans, and in my mind, I always call them my ass pants. Now, I can't wear the pants in the summer, but in the spring and fall, I reach for my ass pants when I want to look good. Pick the pants first, then the top and shoes. Because if your ass looks good, it makes everything else look good.

Tickle Answer: Leesa, you're the Shy Side Of Sexy
When it comes to sex appeal, you've got it — and you know you've got it — you just have trouble flaunting it. Taking that first step can be really hard for you, especially if it's a step into a new lover's arms. And you know you can sometimes come off as a little, shall we say, tame. But look out! When you reach your comfort level, you're in the zone and unstoppable.

Your lovers are the lucky ones because they're the only people who really know what lies beneath your reserved exterior. In public you sometimes blush or shy away, but once you get behind closed doors, you truly unleash your sexual desires. And saving your racy side for those fortunate few bonds them to you that much more. You may be shy, but you know how to hook and reel 'em in.

Where is my Stuff?
A hoax Craigslist advertisement resulted in an Oregon man losing a sizable chunk of his possessions as hoards of bargain-hunters descended upon his home in a free-for-all grab.

A number of ads apparently popped up on Saturday afternoon, claiming that the owner of a Jacksonville home was forced to take leave in a hurry. As such, all his belongings, including a horse, were now free for the taking. The problem was that the victim, Robert Salisbury, had no such plans. In fact, if not for a call he received from a concerned do-gooder, he could well have returned to his home to find it totally cleaned out.

Excerpt from Seattle Times:

On his way home he [Robert Salisbury] stopped a truck loaded down with his work ladders, lawn mower and weed eater. “I informed them I was the owner, but they refused to give the stuff back,” Salisbury said. “They showed me the Craigslist printout and told me they had the right to do what they did.” The driver sped away after rebuking Salisbury. On his way home he spotted other cars filled with his belongings. Once home he was greeted by close to 30 people rummaging through his barn and front porch.
According to Salisbury, the trespassers tried to brush him off initially with printouts of the ad. By the time Jackson County sheriff’s deputies arrived, several vehicles laden with his possessions had already taken off.

The case is now in the hands of the police who are working with the Craigslist legal team. In the meantime, items can be returned with no questions asked. If caught with Salisbury’s possessions though, prosecution is likely.

How the hell do you steal stuff because of something you found on the Internet? It is like if it is on the web, it is true.

Ian Fleming and President Kennedy

I am a little young to remember President Kennedy. Too young for Johnson and Nixon as well, really. The first president I can remember is Jimmy Carter. I don't know if it is because of where I am from or that I grew up in a household that really did not follow politics. Anyway, when I write about Kennedy, Johnson or Nixon, I am doing so from a more historic perspective – or really, whatever my social studies teachers told me about more recent history.

Anyway, the following comes from my recollection of something a couple of social studies teachers told our class. I have no idea if these stories are true, but it is interesting nonetheless.

Josh F. Kennedy was an attractive president, and it seems that the press was in love with him. Actually, as a Catholic, I remember some teachers telling me that they did not know if the US would ever elect a Catholic president. Anyway, apparently President Kennedy invited Ian Fleming to the White House for a party. My guess is that the president did not specifically request him, but he made a list.

Fleming chatted with the president at the party – and said something funny. The US was concerned that communist-run Cuba (a mere 90 miles away), and Fleming had an idea about how to get rid of Castro.

Getting Castro to shave his beard was the key. Fleming believed that without the beard, Castro would look like anyone else, and the Cuban people would be less enchanted with him. He would not be as special. Fleming suggested that the US should announce that beards had hazards – that the beards attract radioactivity. Then any person could become radioactive him/herself, as well as becoming sterile.

Castro would then shave his beard because of the health concerns, and then he would fall from power. No Bay of Pigs (the Bay of Pigs had not happened by then), just radioactive beards.

Anyway, President Kennedy was amused/impressed, and said he would read one of his books (he wrote a series of James Bond books).

Anyway, later, at a press conference, a reporter asked what types of books he liked to read. Now I am not sure Kennedy was a particularly scholarly person. I mean, listening to the stories over the years – his daily sexual escapades with his "assistants" in the White House pool, for instance – I wonder if he had time to read.

But he was the president, and he could not say, "Read? I don't have time to read. I bone a couple of girls in the pool every day." Instead, he said he enjoyed books by Ian Fleming. Not that he read any of them, but that's what he said.

And, funny thing, Mr. Fleming and the James Bonds books, really became popular. All from party conversation.

Remember Me: YouTube Video

Lizzie Palmer made a YouTube video called "Remember Me." It aired on Fox News Sunday.



I watched this video, and what is interesting, is that after I watched it, I noticed that the first video that was "related", was on Oral Sex. Not sure what that was about. Definitely a way to remember someone, but it was not the point of the video.

My regular Wednesday post will be tomorrow (I try to post M-W-F). I guess tomorrow being Wednesday, you might guess I would post tomorrow.

Adult Summer Camp

I have a college friend who has invited me to do a week-long summer camp with her. I don't know if I am going to do it, but I am tempted. Ever since I have been married, I have vacationed with my husband. Sounds reasonable. I mean, we got married because we enjoyed each others' company.

Anyway, I will let you know if I go. I am thinking about it.

That brings me to a topic I don't know if it exists. In March and April, I hear about summer camps throughout Georgia. Golf camp (all sports camps, but there is a lot of golf), space camp (I think they go to Alabama for that one), day camp, traditional camps, you name it. Not once have I heard of a frazzled mothers' camp, a couples' get-away camp, a fathers' I just-want-to-fish camp.

I would not really be excited about my husband going on a cruise by himself – I have not been on one of the big cruises, but from my experience watching the Love Boat, there are a lot of hook-ups there. And frankly, I don't want him to be (unsupervised) around that many bikinis.

Sorry for such a short post this morning. It has been hot-as-hell here lately. Well, not 100, but I am not used to the heat yet. Where ever I spend summer camp, I want there to be lots of water and refreshing drinks.

Trapped without a Thought

You can't keep a good woman down. Okay, the original saying is, "You tie a woman to the bed, gag her, and then leave her to contemplate the situation, and she will probably wiggle free." But you know, we needed to simplify things, so now, we say, "you can't keep a good woman down."

And by good woman, I am talking about ~Deb. I got a message from ~Deb that she is addicted to blogging, and her blog is back in business. Funny thing is that she stopped blogging because she was tapped. Oh, and don't think of the original image when I talk about ~Deb being tapped. She just ran out of ideas for a while. She may have just needed a break.

Now here I am, a month or so later, and I can't think of anything to write about. Not a thing. I first was thinking of guessing the subject that ~Deb wrote about today. Obviously, my first guess would involve something to do with God. God is all around us, so that is a pretty safe bet. Well, either God or Atomic Chickens. The chickens are all around us as well.

One of my favorite actors is Christopher Lloyd – but even he messes things up occasionally. Remember the TV show Stacked> Okay, I never saw it. It started a couple of huge stars, and by stars I mean Pam Anderson's breasts. I did not watch the show on principal. Then I peeked at Christopher Lloyd's resume. He has made a lot of stinkers – though I bet he will make a wonderful Marley's Ghost (rumored film, A Christmas Carol).

Well, I am going to go work out at lunch – I have not stopped doing that, at least. The weather is really nice, and I don't want to be embarrassed with wearing shorts and swimwear. You know, secretly, I think women would shave off a few years of their lives in exchange for looking hot longer. Flies in the face of self-preservation, but there you have it.

I am going to hit the elliptical machine. Perhaps even reward myself by going to the hot tub. At least in the hot tub, "trapped without a thought" feels good.

Chatting Experiment

I don't often chat on Yahoo Messenger, but I occasionally do so. And since I don't chat often, the odds of one of my buds being online is fairly small. I mean, I really want to chat with my buddies, but since they are not losers spending 22 hours/day online, they are not there when I need them.

Well, in that case, if you really want to chat with someone, you can always log onto the "chat rooms." Now I remember chat rooms when they were actually full of real people. By real people, I mean people like you and me. Now a days, that is not the case. The chat rooms are full of robots.

Normally, it is really easy to tell the professionals from the normal people. And by professional, I mean stripper. And by normal people, I mean mostly men and lesbians. I normally don't pay attention to the professionals. They pretty much just want my credit card information so they can charge the card.

Well, I got a gift card a while back, and there was a little money left on it. I really think stores do gift cards partially because of the wasted end of the card. You know, all of those $2 or $3 adds up. Well, anyway, I had a card that

HornyHannah75: i'm gonna send you a cam invite here k?
Leesa: Sure.
HornyHannah75: ok sent, did you get it?
Leesa: Nah.
HornyHannah75: hmm.. let me try again, hang on
Leesa: Didn't work.
HornyHannah75: what about now?
Leesa: No, not quite
HornyHannah75: ugh, this is stupid, this always happens to me when i use yahoo.

Then you get lured into a paid site, and you give them your credit card info. Well, since I had a little money on a card, I chanced it. I really wanted to see if they would drain the account after I gave it to them.

Well, they have not drained the account. Yet.

But after I went to the chat room, I was "alone" with one very nice woman. I may have said it before, but I am a bit picky about lusting for women. Not all women get my juices flowing, so to speak. She did not. She was cute and all, but she was just not my type.

So here I was, girl that I was not attracted to in a bra and panties. And I was chatting with her. I first asked her to put up two fingers. I just wanted to ensure it was live.

She takes off her top, and I am just chatting with her. Where are you from? How did you get into this line of work, and she is asking me if I like her nipples. Not sure she was ready for my chat. Here I was, doing Barbara Walters, and she was doing her nasty chat. It was a bit comical.

It cost me $1. Plus they will probably drain my account. I don't really care. The dear was sweet and professional. Which is a bit weird for someone who takes her clothes off for strangers every day.

Now I sort of feel like the people who spend 22 hours on the Internet each day. Maybe I should live in a basement. Well, I first have to find a place with a basement. Instead, perhaps I will stay out of chat for a month.

Summer Reading

I love reading at the beach. I absolutely love it.

When I was in high school, one of the most important things to me in the summertime was to darken my skin. I loved worshiping the sun. Well, not worshipping like one worships a deity, but the good sort of worshipping – the kind that deepens the tan and gives one sarcoma or melanoma.

But in high school, I was poolside.

One thing that is important when tanning is not getting freakin' bored. To combat boredom during the baking phase of my summers, I would read. But what to read?

1. Romance Novels: Romance novels are sorta mindless. I have read them, and, yes, I enjoyed them initially. But that was a long time ago. You know, before real sex.

2. Scientific Journals: Okay, how did that get in the blog entry.

3. Geek Books: I am not talking about the latest Star Wars novel. Okay, perhaps that, too, but I am talking about books on unexplained phenomena (Lock Ness, Stonehenge, whatever).

4. Book Covers that Would Embarrass: There are certain books that have book jackets that would embarrass. For instance, bOObs: A Guide to Your Girls or Naked Economics: Undressing the Dismal Science. It is not the stuff inside the book that is embarrassing; just the jacket.

5. Any Book by Suze Orman: What can I say? Suze Orman just sucks.

I prefer books that have small titles. I don't like guys trying to strike up a conversation on some book I am readying while baking. I just want to catch some rays.

Inertia

Inertia: a property of matter that causes it to resist changes in speed or direction (velocity).

We learn about inertia in the physical sciences, and for most of us, it stops with a true/false question on an exam. Or maybe multiple choice, something I prefer to those darned true/false questions.

Inertia is something that keeps us doing the same thing over time. I have a cup of coffee or a Diet Dr. Pepper in the morning. Then I decide it would be better for me, for my teeth, for my neurological system that tells me I should quit. And I decide to quit. But then inertia keeps me wanting my Diet Dr. Pepper in the morning. A bad habit.

Do you ever notice we don't focus on the good habits in our lives? Those who go to the gym five days per week? Or those who floss? We don't really even think about it.

Inertia is the elephant in the room – something we don't talk about – when we think about doing something else. The book I have committed to write but have written a couple of pages. Son-of-a-bitch. So why don't we do the things we should do and avoid the things we should avoid? Inertia. That little word that was worth five points on a high school sophomore's science test.

I have no other answers today. Just thinking about inertia.

Going Pantyless

Several months ago, there were pictures of Britney Spears's love muffin all over the web. Then there were pictures of Paris Hilton's love muffin as well. And Lindsay Lohan's. Now I don't know if paparazzi intentionally go for the crotch shot, but they definitely get some shots when taking pictures of these women.

And then there is Ashley Tisdale ¹ who says she's nothing like them - she always wears panties.

She did an interview for Blender magazine recently, and she is quoted as saying: "I don't know why they do that. Maybe they didn't do their laundry. I’m definitely the kind of person to wear underwear all the time."

I absolutely love her answer.

I don't know if you do it, but when I read an interview, I think of something that would have been better to say than what was said. Okay, my weird word play has disadvantages. I never read that Tom Cruise was into scientology because he liked controlling his wife - that was just something in my head that I heard.

But when I read the bit in Blender – someone emailed me the link – I don't read magazines named after kitchen utensils, I would have answered differently.

Blender Magazine asks some question about my opinion of why some celebs don't wear panties.

Ashley Tisdale (in Leesa's head): "I don't know why they do that. Maybe they have recurrent yeast infections."

Blender Magazine (in Leesa's head): "Are you saying that Britney, Paris and Lindsay have yeast infections?"

Ashley Tisdale (in Leesa's head): "I didn't say that. I was just giving a hypothesis as to why they seem to be pantyless. I had a friend in middle school who did not wear panties because a doctor told her not to. Something to do with infections."

Blender Magazine (in Leesa's head): "So what are you saying about Britney, Paris and Lindsay's love muffins?"

Ashley Tisdale (in Leesa's head): "I am sorry. I have no knowledge of their love muffins. Well, maybe not Lindsay's."

Blender Magazine (in Leesa's head): "So you are familiar with Lindsay's love muffin?"

Ashley Tisdale (in Leesa's head): "I didn't say that either. I meant I saw it in one of the celeb gossip pages."

Before the interview was over, I would have had to reach over and destroy the interviewer's notes and tape recorder. I then would have been arrested for assault, but would have taken a dynamite mug shot. Afterwards, I would have gone on a drinking binge, got in a taxi, then upon getting out of the taxi, a paparazzo takes a picture of my love muffin.

Son-of-a-bitch.

---

¹Okay, she is one of the stars of "High School Musical". I don't get cable, but I did see the original, made for Disney TV movie.

Elementary Schools and Memorial Day

I remember visiting my elementary school when I had just graduated high school. I can't remember the reason for the visit, but I definitely remember the feeling. My initial reaction was that I was some sort of mutant giant. The combination chair-desks looked so tiny, but when I was 5 and 6, they were as large as the desk I am sitting at right now.

When I saw the classroom, not much has changed. I mean, I felt like they shrank the desks, but intellectually, I knew that they hadn't. I spent most of my childhood years in the same school system, and I liked it that way.

If I would have lived nearer the school, I guess I could visit every time I needed to be reminded about change in perspectives.

I was in an elementary school recently – well a month or so ago. Not my elementary school, and I did not feel like a mutated giant. I think it may have been because I never saw the chairs when I was small – that they were just chairs to me, not my chairs when I was growing up. Everything looked fairly normal.

But I was reminded how strict they are in elementary school. Walking in a single-file line with no talking. Waiting for the teacher before entering the classroom. Wow. They still are strict in elementary school.

I am a bit removed from Memorial Day. We never really observed it as children, and we really don't do so as adults. Most of us think of Memorial Day as some three-day weekend in May. Nothing more. I have seen little things that remind me that war, even today, leaves families in pieces. But it is like me seeing someone else's kindergarten classroom. It makes less of an impact than if it were my own. If I were closer to the reason for Memorial Day.

Take a moment to pause today for the men and women who have fallen in defense of our nation.

Connections

I little more than a month ago, one of our friends (~deb) stopped blogging. At the time, I know what we were all thinking - ~deb is getting too much action to write. Okay, perhaps that's not what other people were thinking. Most people don't have their brains in the potty.

Here is what I noticed. ~Deb was (is!) really popular, and her blog linked people with very diverse interests: fundamental Christians (they either love her or hate her), lesbians (ditto), writers, people who loved her sense of humor, and those thinking she would post lesbian kissing videos. I am sure there are other interests involved, but the point is that she has a diverse bunch of friends. Anyway, she would connect people of different interests with her blog. And we would benefit because they would occasionally hop over to our blogs as well, posting occasionally.

Since April 15, however, I have noticed fewer lesbians and fundamental Christians on my blog. I mean Grant can say I will rot in Hell for my actions (he is not fundamental Christian; I suspect he believes everyone will rot in Hell – though he may characterize it as more of a party atmosphere), but that's not like someone else knowing God's mind and telling me I will rot. Some Christians are just helpful that way. Plus I don't get the lesbian crowd trying to convince me to go to Florida for a private pool party (I suspect that is code for something, but I am not sure what).

At one point I actually wanted to get together two of my blogging friends: ~deb and Joe. I mean, I thought the two of them had a lot in common. They were both from New York. They both wrote wonderful and humorous blogs. And they both like girls. Yeah, I did not really think this one through. That's like saying, "This Phillips screwdriver should work fine, screwing in the flat head screw. The screwdriver is near the screw, and both are made of metal." But ~Deb and Joe were not destined to be. SSC gets that honor. Oh, SSC and Joe, not SSC and ~Deb (as far as I am aware of). Reminds me of Malcolm Gladwell's story in Tipping Point concerning Paul Revere's ride. There were actually two riders that night, Paul Revere and the other guy. We don't remember the other guy because he really wasn't that connected to the people he was trying to communicate with. So history has forgotten this man, and so have I. The other guy was not effective at linking people, so when he rode by, shouting "The British are coming," I suspect a lot of people thought to themselves, "Who is that idiot who seems to have had too much mead this evening." Okay, the story is a bit different, but you get the idea.

As humans, we seem to need to connect. And many of us connect with similar people – our own church groups, people we work with, maybe people we share a hobby with (swingers, perhaps, connect in another way). But some, the rare individuals, seem to be able to connect with people of different backgrounds. Whether it is people or blogs, when connections are broken, it is felt.

Who's the Boss?

The other day, I was stuck in traffic, and it occurred to me: I am not the boss in many of my roles I have in life.

Take my part in traffic. There was a man who was directing traffic, and he was the boss. Others in traffic did not realize it, but I certainly did. There was construction around an intersection, and he was directing us through the intersection. Okay, this is not news or a revelation.

But I saw a man make an obscene gesture towards the man, you know, give him the one-fingered salute. The flagman's reaction? He smiled, and flipped his sign over, from "Slow" to "Stop." He kept the man at the intersection far longer than was customary. And thinking back, I sort of applauded the lesson the finger-flipping man was given.

When I go to the doctor's office, I am very kind to the medical receptionist. I used to be kind just because I thought the job may be thankless, but that's when I had not really observed the medical office. Now I see that she really guides traffic, making sure patients have their vitals checked, their insurance in order, and their children controlled. And she, more than anyone else, determines when you get ushered to the exam room. In the medical room, I am certainly not the boss.

Not only does the medical receptionist tell me when I can go to the room, but once I am there, I am at the mercy of the doctor. I can't ring a button or change a tipping situation in order to command better service. I am at her mercy. And then she gets to decide whether to give me a shot (well, that argument probably works better in the pediatric world), give me a pap smear, or hit me with the rubber hammer. Yeah, me out of control.

I go to the airport, and I am definitely not the boss. The luggage has more rights than I do. Everyone with a TSA jacket and badge can pretty much do what the hell they want with me.

TSA Agent: "Touch your nose with your left index finger."

Dumb Ass Leesa: "How is that a security request."

TSA Agent (talking into radio): "We have a code orange in Terminal B. Bring the cattle prod."

Okay, it is not that bad. But they get to determine what is three ounces or five ounces, if as stick pin is some sort of dangerous weapon, and who to delay when they wave their phallic wand in your direction. Me, certainly not in charge.

I suppose that's why, when I am grocery shopping, I sprint to the "Self Check-out Line." I love being in charge of that machine. I love that I don't put my bread and canned items in the same bag, and I love that no one smirks when I say, "plastic." I re-use the damn bags all of the time. Stupid environmentalist baggers.

Movie Reviews

I remember Siskel and Ebert – they were the first movie reviews I ever really watched. Gene Siskel, as I recall, got brain cancer and died. By then, I had stopped watching their reviews.

At first, I started watching them because they were entertaining and their information helped me make decisions on movies that were in that somewhat grey area. Yeah, they had an actor or actress I enjoyed watching, but the previews looked questionable. They gave me useful information.

After a while of their same stick, I started watching their interactions. Sometimes they would can a movie, say it was not very good, but they would say that young men in search of boobies might find redeeming value in the movie. Okay, so their interactions did not say that, precisely, but you know what I mean.

I watched a movie this weekend with my husband, and we really took two different approaches. The movie was not one I would have ever seen on purpose. In fact, if I were in a plane at 30,000 feet and the movie was on, I might take a nap.

The movie was Speed Racer.

Okay, I did not really ever watch Speed Racer when it was on TV. I don't like Anime, and I don't like cars. I read the reviews as well – something about a movie giving people headaches. That it was a fast-paced and slow-paced movie, wavering between the two. So watching this movie was an act of love.

On the other hand, my husband loved the movie. He said that the movie reminded him of the TV series, not the artwork but the spirit of the series. Personally, I think he is full of crap. But I am still suffering from the over-stimulation of my optic nerve.

Funny thing is that I was waiting for the movie to end and he loved every minute of the movie. We watched the same movie and had totally different takes on it.

When I was in college, there was a movie reviewer called Joe Bob. He used to review really bad movies. But it seemed he really gave reviews that his audience appreciated.

Don't worry – I will not do movie reviews. I think there should be movie food reviews, though. Cost verses quality/tastiness.

Random Friday #22

The Singing Patient
I got a comment this week from someone called "The Singing Patient". Well, her name is Carla Ulbrich – she is a mucician who is also a blogger. You can see her music here. She has lupus, she is a newlywed, and I love her sense of humor.

Public Television
I read in the paper that the government is thinking of cutting public television again. I remember fondly about public television when I was growing up. Personally, I think they are talking about cutting funding for the same reason that local governments talk about cutting libraries – they want to scare people into accepting higher taxes.

I was looking at public television the other day, and I know it is supposed to be commercial-free. But when the television tells you about a product and gives you a phone number, it sort of feels like a commercial.

Weird Saying
My mom, when talking about her early years of marriage, would say, "We were so poor that we did not have a pot to piss in." You know, I don't think Bill Gates has a pot that he pisses in, either, and, well, he is doing pretty well for himself. And if I were really poor but had a pot, I think I would be making stew and soup, not using it for a restroom. Doesn't seem to make much sense.

Vista
I don't use MS Vista; I still use the last OS: Windows XP Professional. Apparently Vista must suck, because my husband has not mentioned purchasing it. It is sad when I assume that's why we have not installed it on the home machine.

Geek Girl TV
I watch Geek Girl TV on YouTube. I am not much of a computer geek, but I like the intro music by The Daze. Plus, I really like listening to technical stuff, even if it doesn't really make sense.

Iron Man
I saw Iron Man recently, and although I did not really like Robert Downey, Jr., or I should say I haven't until now, I liked him in the movie. I did not know that there was an Iron Man superhero, but apparently he is pretty popular. I looked him up on Google, and Iron Man debuted in 1963. Who would have known? I am not a big comic book person. I think comic books serve a purpose: limiting the genetic success of their readers – but I don't understand the draw. I love to read, and to read sentences that are not surrounded by bubbles. Oh, I meant to say that I actually enjoyed Iron Man, surprising for me and my husband. Yeah, I agreed to see it so I get to pick next time. Perhaps we will see The Edge of Heaven, if we can find some local movie house that is playing it. I really want to see the new Indiana Jones movie, but I am downplaying it with hubbie. I want him to think this is a sacrifice for me. I am sneaky that way.

Bill O'Reily
I don't watch Bill O'Reily (because I don't watch much TV and I am more liberal than conservative). But he had on Marina, one of the YouTube people I watch.



Have a great weekend!

Recession Anyone?

I am not much of a newsie, but I keep hearing reports that the US economy sucks. Okay, gas is freakin' expensive. Okay, it is so expensive that I probably should have said "fuckin' expensive." That is expensive. And I hear that food is getting more expensive. Okay, I am not sure food is more expensive. I mean, I can't really tell with fruits and vegetables; I mean, sometimes food gets more or less expensive due to the season. And I am eating more organic stuff, so it is hard to judge based solely on the grocery bills.

I do know the price of our home has decreased in value over the last year. Fallen like a stone. Someone on our street is selling a house and has dropped the price twice in the last month. Holy crap.

So all of this stuff – the stuff in the media, I am talking about – makes me think that I am not doing so well financially. I mean, I have not lost a job, and I got my cost-of-living increase. Okay, it was called a raise, which is technically true. Actually, a cost of living increase would have been a heck-of-a-lot more, considering the price of gas and groceries and vibrator batteries.

I read last week that there are certain recession-proof things. Professional sports is one of them. People will not give up their season tickets. That sort of surprises me. I mean, in economics, we learned that booze is recession-proof, and some suggest that hookers are also recession-proof. During hard economic times, people need a way to escape. Not sure if there is a rise in illegal drugs, but based on other things I know, it would not surprise me.

My grandparents were children of the Great Depression, and it really affected how they viewed the world. I had a grandmother who was very well off, and she would wash out Ziploc bags. Several times. My mom did the same thing. And I started doing it as well. You know, clothespin them to the curtains in the kitchen to dry. That was just part of how I lived my life. Then several years ago, I thought about how much Ziploc backs actually cost. One fewer stop at a Starbucks could fund my "not reusing Ziploc bags" fund for a month. Sure, there is also an environmental impact as well. Sometimes I don't like having a conscience.

But you know, I re-use tubs from my spread (not really margarine) and other packaging. It makes good containers for leftovers, and I throw them out when they acquire a smell. I know what you are thinking: it would be more environmentally sensitive for me to churn my own butter, but then I would have really bulgy arms. And I would have to buy different dresses, I am sure, to accomidate my new Eastern-European weightlifters on steroids look. And that would be worse for the environment. The world is a complicated place.

I talk to my friends, and they are cutting back on stuff as well. Not that they are making less money, but they feel poorer. At what point are we psyching ourselves into this recession?

I am no economist – I have far too much common sense for that – but it seems to me that when people spend less, companies make less, they lay off more people, and so on. What is sort of messed up is when times are good, our government still spends all the money it receives in taxes (and then some). So when times are rough, the deficit spending just increases.

I saw an article the other day about spending money. The congressman who was proposing some $4 Billion dollar program defended it because "$4 Billion really is not a lot of money when the total budget is about $3 Trillion." That's like me telling my husband that I bought a $500 dress because, in the grand scheme of things, it is not really all that much compared with our annual budget. And these are the sorts of guys that are deciding on how to spend the Federal budget. Yikes.

So we have a bunch of people in office who are fiscally irresponsible, we have a media who tells us how bad things are economically, and we spend less money. I know who we need to blame: President Bush. He is an easy target.

A recent Bushism: "Let me start off by saying that in 2000 I said, 'Vote for me. I'm an agent of change.' In 2004, I said, 'I'm not interested in change --I want to continue as president.' Every candidate has got to say 'change.' That's what the American people expect." --George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., March 5, 2008

Weighing In

Okay, last week I bought a new scale. I figured, "I am an American consumer, and my goal is to loose weight, so I will purchase a better devise for measuring weight." Okay, tongue-in-cheek, but I got a new scale.

This scale measures weight, but also tells you body fat, bone weight and percent water. Personally, I think the scale has some random number generator and takes guesses at much of this, but it is fun. And it looks so professional, with the LCD-numbers. LCD always looks accurate, huh?

So here I am, weighing myself every morning at 5 am, with no clothes on. Yeah, I can see me loosing one-tenth of a pound, though I think perhaps if my toes are not in the same position, perhaps, that might account for the tenth-of-a-pound.

Here is something I did not expect. My husband is using the scale. He has not used our other scale in years, but because this is new technology, he wants to use it.

So I would think, "Great, hubbie is going to work on loosing weight as well." Yeah, right.

The other day, I am in the bedroom, and I hear my husband on the scale.

Hubbie shouts to me, "Hey, Leesa, guess what?"

I yell back, "What hun?"

Hubbie answers, "My poop weighs 0.2 pounds."

"Excuse me?"

My husband explains, "I weighed myself, then pooped, then weighed myself again. And I am 0.2 pounds lighter."

I retort,"Just don't weigh poop on the scale."

Oh, yeah, and I am told that my husband's pee weighs either 0.1 pound or 0.2 pounds, depending on how much there is. Yeah, he did that experiment as well.

Oh, and by the way, the next time my husband asked me, "Hey, Leesa, guess what?", I had a different response:

"Not a clue, honey, not a clue what you are up to."

Stepping Out with a Woman

This is the second part of a two part post.

After avoiding a man, a woman was also flirting with me.

We were at a bar, man to the left of me, woman to the right of me, and both were flirting with me. Like it or not, I was enjoying it. The guy touched my ass, the woman touched my leg, and I was a lady.

Now I did not fuck the man because I did not want him to think less of me. And the woman, I thought about it.

I mean, when I was unfaithful with my husband in the past, it was with men. So with a woman, would that be different?

I have heard lots of people say, "If a woman fucks another woman, it is not exactly cheating." Actually, I have a friend who has lots of women lovers, because his husband allows female conquests but no male conquests. That is a bit twisted from my point-of-view.

But at the bar, when she was touching my leg, accidently brushing against it, I wondered if it was an easier road to take. Still did nothing about it, but I don't dream about her since I got back from the conference.

Stepping Out with a Man

A few months ago, I attended a conference. It was a conference I did not really need to be at, a conference I was at because of a reward. Yeah, vacation on the firm. It sounds so "big girl" when I say it that way.

Anyway, the conference was full of hour long or 90-minute long presentations. Okay, I was not really interested in the presentations. I was looking to see why people would ask questions – so I was watching the participants seeing their motivations for speaking up, for checking email instead of listening, all sorts of things. You know, I can entertain myself with my thoughts. I never got the "I'm bored. Entertain me!" mantra I seem to here every once in a while.

In the evenings, we would have mixers and go out. I have not gone out much in the past several years, so it was fun going out. I flirted, I danced, I had fun, and I was a good girl.

At the conference, I went out with the same group of people two nights in a row. I was pursued by both a man and a woman on those nights, and I was flattered: today I will write about the man who pursued me; Friday I will write about the woman.

I have had men hit on me over the years, and I am very good at saying "No" without bruising egos. It is an art, and most women who like male friends having additional benefits know how to do this. The difference about this conference is that I actually wanted to sleep with the guy.

You know, I wanted to sleep with him and I didn't do it. I controlled my emotions, my feelings, and I did not sleep with him.

I want to say that the reason I did not sleep with him is that I am a different person than I was several years ago, and while that is true, that is not the reason for my abstinence. I have avoided situations like this for a while, but when you are by yourself at a conference, there is temptation.

I did not sleep with the guy – a handsome, smart, sexy funny man – because I did not want him to think I am a slut. I wanted him to think better of me. Yeah, that does not make me feel any better. I may have slept with him if I did not think he would think of any worse of me. That's sort of screwed up.

He emailed me after the conference, "networking" as he put it. He is still trying to hook up with me, and I am not discouraging it. And that makes me a bad Leesa. Or a human Leesa.

Sports and Democrats

I saw that the Atlanta Hawks drew out Boston to seven games. After Game 6, I knew the Hawks were going to go down in flames in Game 7. They were chanting "Game 7. Game 7" after game 6, sort of like they had just won the Superbowl. Okay, mixed metaphor, but you get the idea.

The same weekend, some horse broke two ankles in the Kentucky Derby. When I was growing up, I can't remember any horse being put down at the major races. Sure, I knew it happened, but I never experienced it.

I don't know about sports in the spring. I don't like basketball or baseball. Not professional basketball or baseball, at least. Normally, the Atlanta Hawks are on vacation come playoffs. Well, ten games before playoffs, actually. And now this with the Kentucky Derby. I think I will not watch sports until August 28!

I guess I will turn my attention to politics. It can't be any less upsetting that putting a horse down after she breaks a couple of ankles.

I heard the other day that Rush Limbaugh is taking credit for Hillary's victories in Texas and Ohio. Well, that fat conservative (is he still fat?) takes credit for a heck of a lot. I don't know a lot about Rush now a days, but he has a bit of an ego. Actually, Hillary should thank Obama.

Obama mishandled the whole Jaramiah Wright situation. If Senator Obama would take my calls, here is what I would tell him:

Senator Obama, here is how you should have settled the whole Jaramiah Wright situation. You should have started by explaining that you have been associated with Reverend Wright for sixteen years (he said "almost 20"). I have been married for almost 16 years, and I would have never characterized it as almost 20. Perhaps "feels like 20", but never actually almost twenty.

Then, Senator, I would have explained that Reverend Wright grew up a generation before you did. He saw things, experienced things, that helped shape way he sees the world. I do not have the anger that Reverend Wright has, but I can understand his feelings, given his experiences. Some have suggested that Obama must believe what Jaramiah Wright believes. I don't believe everything my priest believes. And I have had priests that have thought some really strange things.

I have known people who lived through rough times, times where people were mistreated based on their skin color. And I can understand how some people's view of the world would be changed, based on those experiences.

The Reverend Wright has said some pretty awful things, but his opinions are not Obama's opinions. It's not like Obama lied about ducking from sniper fire in Bosnia. Obama's making some mistakes right now. How the heck can he make these mistakes? I mean, it's just common sense, right?

Random #21: Not So Random

Playboy on YouTube
Someone sent me a link to a YouTube video; apparently Playboy is using YouTube to help pick the playmate for their 55th anniversary. Here is the sad thing: the video has been up for a month and there are only a tad less than ten thousand views. Ten people have rated the video, and there was one comment when I saw it on Thursday. I have a feeling that Playboy is a bit past its prime.

The playboy channel on YouTube is getting lots of views. I mean, they talk about Theesomes, the Olive Garden, and . . . well, I sort of got bored. Sorry, Grant, I did not find any Asian women.

Masturbation Month
I got an eCard saying that the month of May is masturbation month. Should that be capitalized? I don't know. There was a link to Tara something-or-other (definitely not work safe), and instead of just the site, it was lined to an MP3 file. I actually clicked on the link, not knowing what it was, and a co-worker overheard, "I am going to sit here and play with myself, and . . ." before I killed Windows Media Player.

At the Gym
A friend emailed the following to me earlier this week: "As I was pulling into the gym parking lot at lunch, I noticed someone waiting from a parking space right out front, next to the disabled parking spaces. I often wonder why people try to get the closest space when going to the gym – I just find the first space I can pull through and park. The extra twenty steps don’t seem to be a big deal. Can’t people pretend their workout starts in the parking lot?"

Okay, I edited it a bit. But I think it is funny.

Leaving Early Today
I may leave work a bit early today, and I can't really think of too many other things to write about. Have a good weekend.

Fat Ass

I wrote about Samantha's scare Monday; for something similar, you can read ~Deb's scare here. Today's post will be less scary, but still about bodies. In re-reading ~Deb's story (I won't comment on the particulars because you ought to read it), I just remembered that I hate when doctors call patients "clients"; I just hate it.

I was chatting with a friend yesterday, and then excused myself to go to the gym. You see, I need to loose 10 pounds, preferably having five of them come off my ass. I weigh 135 pounds, and I would like to get to what I consider my ideal weight: 125 pounds. I am a mere 5'2", but 125 pounds seems to be a good weight for me. ¹

When I was in college, I was 118 pounds, and I shifted from 115 (scary skinny; ribs poking out) to 125 (after nights of beer and pizza and less dancing than I should have done). By the time I was a senior, it seemed that I was destined to be 122 pounds forever. My weight was fairly steady by then, and I was too stupid to know that my metabolism might one day slow down. Yeah, I was a college kid.

I remained about the same weight for more than ten years. Fifteen years? Okay, ten years. And then I started gaining a bit of weight. Not much. A pound or two a year. Maybe three pounds occasionally. But they are cumulative pounds, and I find myself sitting at 135 pounds now. The other day, I heard someone say her favorite number was 8. It is a curse for me. I was always a dress size 6, and now, I am an 8. I hate that number. At first, I occasionally bought a dress with the number 8 sewn into the back. I would blame it on the manufacturer sizing a bit different than standard sizing. I can't use that rationalization anymore. I am the poster girl for size 8.

I joined a gym about a year ago, and I have been going, on and off, not really committing myself. Feeling good enough to stabilize my weight. Now, I do elliptical. Something I used to call Stair Stepper ®. At first, I thought the word "elliptical" was a bad description. I don't want my butt in the shape of an ellipsis. Then it occurred to me that the work referred to the motion the feet may be making. That makes more sense.

I have heard and read that America is getting, how does the media put it, "too damn fat." My personal struggle over ten pounds would qualify me to fix the problem, were I to work for the government in the fat regulation office. Well, it is probably called something like Council on Calorie Control in the U.S. Government Accountability Office.

My first thought would be to announce that by January 1, 2009, the only clothes that would be legal to wear in public would be bikini bottoms for women and Speedos® for men.² I know, I know. As Fat Burner Czar, it would seem strict. I would be crucified in the media. They would call me a kook.

But let's think about it. Without clothes, you can't hide any fat. And you would be encouraged to loose a bit of weight. That would be my strategy.

I know, I know, with all that skin out there, there would be lots of gawking. And I would not want to wander the produce isle, constantly hearing, "Nice melons."

But I would do change in direction. After everybody would complain about going nudie (children excluded, of course), putting them in some Star Trek like snug suit would be a breeze. All of the naughty parts would be covered, but you can't hide the fat.

Me, I am going to go back to the gym today. And tomorrow. Looking to loose the ten pounds. I just hope that the pounds don't come from my breasts. Now, that would suck.

---

¹ A little curvy without having a pouch in the front or a big ass.
And, no, Grant, I don't look like those skinny ass Japanese women (girls).
²I would need the generic word for Speedos®, but that is a small hurdle.

Life to Its Fullest

I want to tell you a little story about a friend of mine. The date is February 2, 2002, and as my friend tells it, she was re-born on that day. Let's see if I can tell it through her eyes.

Her name is Samantha, but people call her Sam and she likes it that way. She is young, sexy, of course, so the masculine name is okay by her. People know she is all woman.

She is in her doctor's office. This is the second visit in a week, a bit surprising because she has only had yearly visits for the last few years. You know the type, the visits that is dreaded – half the time, they scrape the walls of the cervix for fun (okay, for preventive medicine, I suppose).

First visit – they did an x-ray of her chest because they thought she might have pneumonia. Actually, the visit is more of a blur than anything. Not sure why they called her back – it was not explained well. She finds out later it was because someone besides the doctor in the office needed to take a look at her x-rays. Guess they did not want to worry her.

The nurse has already taken her vital signs. Blood pressure is a little elevated. No mystery why that is to Sam. She has on white cotton ankle-high socks, lavender panties, and a white paper examination gown. The panties don't quite match the gown, and she wonders why she is thinking about matching at a time like this.

As she is waiting, she notices that the computer is still on, showing her vital signs, her name, age, and some history. There are some lines that look like previous visits, and tests that were performed on her body. One line says something, and "x ray" is in the line. There are two lines with x-ray, actually, and she clicks on the more recent line.

It pulls up a report by a radiologist. It looks almost like an email, but many of the words are foreign. She cannot make everything out, but she does see something at the bottom. It is written in something like English, with a heading of interpretation or findings, she cannot now remember which.

She does not know precisely what it means, but the radiologist note says that her x-ray suggests several small tumors in her lungs, but that they should have an MRI to resolve what these growths are.

Her pink face turns white.

She does not remember the doctor visit at all. She is pretty sure he had her breathe, and she is sure that a pelvic exam was not part of the tests done. All she really knows is that she got a piece of paper, telling her that she has an MRI appointment in two days.

The doctor may have explained that the MRI was routine, to further resolve what is going on in the chest area. Her impression, fuzzy as it is, is that this was explained as a routine test. Funny thing is that the MRI was scheduled the same week; peculiar because she thought that these machines had months long waiting lists.

The MRI exam was also disturbing. It took about an hour, and they decided to take more pictures, just because. The MRI technicians, there were two of them, looked like they had discovered surgical tools left inside of her, but she had never had an operation. Going home that day, Sam thought she was dying.

For the next five days, Sam continued to play facts in her mind. Radiologist is thinking she had cancer. Two MRI techs, acting cool, definitely did not like the images they were taking with their big magnet. All she really knew was that whatever was making her feel so bad was not pneumonia. And by all guesses, it was much worse.

One would think Sam would have become depressed. She had one sleepless night; she thought all evening about her life, what she was doing with it, that it may soon end. She also thought of things she had planned to do but did not do.

The next night, she was going to tell her husband about her bad prognosis. This was Friday night, and she made a nice dinner for him. She greeted him at the door with a smile and a kiss, an aroma in the kitchen warned him that he was to come to the dinner table instead of plopping himself on the couch.

They had Cornish hens, asparagus, rice, and a good $10 bottle of wine. Clothes were off after dinner, but I don't know exactly how the rest of the night went. Sam did mention that there was no television that night, but she also did not tell him about the bad news. They woke in each others' arms the next morning, and though I do not know this, I would suggest that they ached from the previous night. A good aching; the kind you have when you have pain and smile at the same time.

Sam continued to wonder about her mortality; actually thinking about it for the first time. She looked at her life, her unfinished plans, and identified where she had gone off track. Then something happened. She became at peace with her own demise.

A few days later, she had the dreaded doctor visit. The spots were explained away, actually, as being some kind of fungus. She asked about cancer, and the physician looked at her closely.

"Samantha, I never said anything about cancer."

She knew that the doctor knew that she knew more about her condition than she was willing to offer up.

"Oh, I just thought with the MRI and all, it might be cancer."

I would have thought that February 2, 2002 would be a day to forget. The day you thought you had cancer. But for Sam, tough as nails as she is, she says it was more like a wake-up call. It was like someone (God, perhaps, or Atomic Chickens ® who rule the world) had told her that her life is precious, and that she needed to start doing the things she finds important.

She celebrates every February second. She makes a nice dinner for her husband, and more often than not, she serves the same meal, down to the asparagus. Her husband has no idea to this day, though he has noticed a change in her, a change that he likes. She celebrates life; she has been given a second chance. It was not cancer but the realization that her life is precious. That has made the difference for Sam.

For me, I see Sam's story as a call to look at my life, to see where I may have drifted off the path set by an idealistic young woman.

Random Friday #20

Putt Putt Golf
I wrote a piece on the Masters earlier this week. Not a serious piece, but some words. Anyway, I really liked putt putt golf when I was a girl. When I got older and started dating, I had several dates while doing putt putt. Then I did not like the golf as much. Part of me wanted to give a good impression – look cute and bring sparkling conversation to the date. That is hard to do when you are using a putter (that many snot-nosed people used) to hit a golf ball through a clown's mouth. Plus, you have to let the guy win.

Wonderful Songs
The other day, I was watching Samantha Who online while working (ooops, did I type that?), and the show ended with Night Ranger's Sister Christian. The song is a beautiful rock ballad. Little known fact: Kim Cattrall has a small part in the music video. I googled something about rock ballads, and I got a site that listed the top 200 or so. Yeah, this song made the list (#148). Bridge over Troubled Waters is #2, but every time I hear that song, I think of teenaged suicide. Go to a funeral of a teenager who has ended his or her life, and they play this song. When I was a little girl, I would stop what I was doing when I heard "Blowin' in the Wind" on the radio. They did not play it often, but I always stopped for that song.

Searching for Gold
I was googling stuff about gold. I mean, if there is so much on the Internet, maybe there is enough evidence to find evidence of gold.

Earth Day
People celebrate Earth Day – and I am always unclear on the date. I thought Earth Day started around 1970 – April 22, 1970, I believe. As I recall, April 22 was chosen because it is Eddie Albert’s birthday. Funny thing is that April 22, 1970 is also the 100th anniversary of Vladimir Lenin’s birth.

I find it interesting that we consume more to celebrate consuming less because we love the Earth.

Away from the Web
I have not been completely here over the past few weeks, and thus, I have not been thinking that much – well, not random thinking, that is. So I have less random thoughts going through my brain. I wonder if the Internet, television and the like contributes to random thinking.

Not sure, but I wonder.

Digital Age Problems
First, Vanessa Anne Hudgens had some bra and panty pictures (and even a few racier quasi-lesbian pictures) surface in the Internet, and now, Miley Cyrus has a few pictures where you can (gasp) see her bra. I think this is just an artifact of the digital age. When I was growing up, there was no instant access to digital images (pictures were developed by people at Drug Stores, an incentive to not take risqué pics). Both young women associated with Disney, and so far, I think the folks at Disney understand.

Practicing to Communicate

On Monday, I wrote a little piece that looked like erotica. Well, it was an introduction to what would have been an erotic short story or script for porno (do they even have scripts?).

One line that caught the attention of a few readers follows: "Then Leesa seductively ran her right index finder down the front of her summer dress."

When I was answering comments, it got me to thinking: over the years, I have come to practice certain non-verbal communication skills aimed at sending messages that I would rather send with my body, not my words.

Drawing attention with the Finger
Maybe I first saw it in a movie, I don't know. It is a fairly common move, I would imagine. For me, it is my way of saying, "Pay attention to me." Or maybe, "Look what may be in store for you." I don't know. The fun thing about non-verbal communication is that the meaning varies slightly from sender-to-receiver. And it could also be something that is frustrating as well.

I have used a finger to trace my thighs, as well. Again, same meaning. Oh, gawd, this is a bit embarrassing to write. I don't often point to areas near my ass . . . .

Tucking hair behind my ear
Again, in the story, something I occasionally do. And I don't like when my hair is short, partly because I can't tuck my hair. I don't do it to be sexy at all. It is meant to say, "Look at me, I am cute." Or insecure. Or something else. Crap, as I am writing this, I am realizing most of these non-verbal cues are about noticing me.

The Head Tilt
I actually used to practice my head tilt. I would tilt my head down, then raise my eyes. Were I a money or gorilla, perhaps this would be a submissive sign. That I was acting submissive to whomever I was with. For my husband – and when I was dating, for my dates – I think acting submissive is a turn-on for the men. I am not 100% why this is; why men would want a submissive woman. But men do. Some of the time. Oh, and playing submissive, some times, can be fun. Playing submissive all of the time is a bit boring.

The Wink
I suck at winking. I cannot wink seductively. I have tried. I have practiced winking, and I just don't do it well. When I was a girl, my winking could be characterized as blinking. I could not control one eye without the other one imitating it. Same with the lids. And I love, how non-verbally, the wink means, "I know that, too." Or "we have a shared secret."

When I was in high school, and, embarrassingly, in college as well, I would practice some of my non-verbal cues. I wanted all of my communications to be magical, to catch someone's eye. To make me seem more complicated than I am.

Oh, and I don't really know if I want to open up this entry to comments. It seems a little too close to home.

The Pizza Man

After Amy arrived, the evening could begin. Amy was always late.

Deb had brought over the movies, something men would call "chick flicks" but in actuality are movies with plots and without explosions. We called up the local pizza parlor, then started watching "The Notebook."

Gretchen started making her margaritas, and we completely engrossed in the movie when the doorbell rang.

Leesa, the flirt of the group, bounces towards the door. One minute later, she comes back to the group, and asks if the group is up for a bit of fun. All agree, not knowing exactly what they are agreeing to.

Leesa returns to the door and the pizza and asks the middle-aged man if he would need a break from delivering pizzas that night.

"A break?" asks the pizza man.

"Well," Leesa continues, tucking her hair behind her right ear nervously, "you are really cute, and I wondered if you would spend a few hours with me and my three tipsy friends."

"Miss," the pizza man continued, "although I am done with this pizza run, I have to return and pick up more pies. I have another hour until I clock out. And I have to go back to the pizza parlor."

"Well," Leesa continued, smiling, "I think your car just got a flat. I think you need to call your employer and tell him about your flat. I have a can of "Fix A Flat" in my car, if you need it. It will take about an hour to find, however."

Then Leesa seductively ran her right index finder down the front of her summer dress.

"I think this is a wonderful way to spend an hour or two."

The pizza man's draw dropped, his mind wondering if the risk was worth taking.

The problem with porn, most of it, is that it is fairly unrealistic. There is no back story that makes things seem plausible. Now, I don't know if I would ever write things that would be considered erotic, but I did want to start a pizza man story, not to have another erotic story, but to show how most erotic stories have little plot.

I love a good story – perhaps it does not need good plot. I mean, there is something to be said for character development as well. There are different types of stories, ones where action is the key, or dialog, or whatever, but a good story needs to have something.

Still looking for something.

No Naked Pictures Here

Sorry guys, ~Deb is still on my mind.

Okay, I know, for many of you. A smart, hot, lesbian is something that you think about often. Granted. ~Deb’s absence has sort of made me think more and more about my flirting with giving up this blogging thing.

I know I am thinking out loud, but sometimes I wonder if decisions we make, I make, keep us from doing the things we were meant to do. I am not suggesting that I will stop blogging – or that ~Deb is taking a break because she needs to work on something else. Why ~Deb is taking a break is ~Deb's business. If she were to post naked pics on a sight, that would be my business.

Sometimes we don't take risks. To continue to write on this blog is not risky. To scale back time on this blog to pursue a new interest, a bit riskier. Especially if the other interests are new, that makes things risky.

I want to write, but I don't want to write the same sort of thing that I do on this blog. I want to write a novel. A novel has a beginning, middle and end that grips the reader. My trite little bursts (in this blog) are written to capture one's interest, stimulate a bit of discussion, and then I am out the door.

To write a novel, I always thought you had to have the entire novel all mapped out. But the more I read about writing, the more I think that novelists are just making things up as they go. One novelist suggested that writing a book is like driving at night, the headlights illuminating the next thirty feet of road. The author, nor the reader, really knows where the story is going.

I like writing three times per week. I have spent my extra time this week catching up one work. Yeah, my employer has benefited to date. Next week I hope to start writing something.

All I need is a subject.

Better than Sex

On Monday, someone made the comment that golf is almost better than sex. At first, I was wondering what kind of putter he is working with – okay, a joke. Then I remember what a golfer once told me. He said that there is no feeling like hitting a perfect strike, and watching the ball climb into the sky, then fall to the Earth, inches from where you intended on smacking the ball. Okay, he used different words, and golfers probably know by my description that I don't golf.

I have not ever hit such a shot. I have not gotten that feeling. But it does explain why the game is so well-loved. The rest of us just have not hit such a shot.

When I was in high school, I remember listening to a cool kid say once, "Pizza is like sex. Even bad pizza is good." The guy was a football player, ultra hunk, and I thought he was also a philosopher. My guess is that he read that either on a bumper sticker or as a joke inside of Playboy. God, he was a hunk. He is probably towing cars in Buford, SC now. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

Until recently, I did not get the phrase, "Better than sex." I thought there was nothing better than (good) sex. Well, I have found something.

I was listening to some live music a few weeks ago, and I swear it was better than sex. The bar was dingy – or should I say atmospheric. There was a blues band, and I am not a blues aficionado. I just don't understand all of the nuances in blues.

We start listening to the band, and my first impression was that this band was good, really good. By the third song in the set, the music was touching my soul. I was happy and sad at the same time, moving to the music.

Then the fourth song surprised me. It touched me in a more earthly place, and I swear I almost had an orgasm. Listening to music. There were tiny beads of sweat on my brow, and after the song, I was flushed. I was not bumping and grinding. I was listening to music.

Maybe the first three songs were foreplay. The fourth song was when the guitarist plowed his notes deep inside of me, playing with all that is sexual and good. The rest of the set did not give me quite the satisfaction, but I did have a grin on my face.

Needless to say, we stayed for a second set. I am not saying that the music is better than all sex. But it would make my top 20 sexual experiences, if I could ever rank such a thing.

Just some young blues player giving me the thrill of the night.

Sad News from ~Deb

I just read on her blog that ~Deb is quitting blogging. I have been toying with the idea, but I am not as brave as ~Deb.

~Deb is such a creative writer. I love reading her – it is akin to eating her up with every blog entry.

I was just finishing an entry that will be posted tomorrow (and I am proud of the entry, actually), and then I thought I had a few minutes to catch up. I am pairing back my time to devote more of it to writing, and then I see this.

Wow.

Prizes

I don't really like golf at all, but I know one thing (reinforced by a picture of Trevor Immelman "flying." I embedded the picture, and all I could think is that song, "I Think I Can Fly". I hate that song, and it is stuck in my head because of a picture of a game that I don't really like. Monday is starting off a bit bad for me.

Oh, and you cannot not like golf in Savannah. We are a stone's throw from Hilton Head, SC, and there are probably 5 really good golf courses within an hour from here. Really good is a bit humble – there are world-class golf courses around here. People here love golf. You can't say anything bad about golf in this state. Unless you are an anonymous blogger.

If you know little about golf, I wonder what your impression would be. I mean, you have these (mostly) men, spending tons of money on equipment, greens fees and really bizarre clothes. Then they spend the better part of a Saturday chasing a small white ball around with a stick. If we have visitors from another planet, I hope they don't think golfers are like the rest of us.

Back to the golf picture. The Masters is perhaps the biggest golf tournament in the world, and the winner gets a green jacket. Okay, they get cash and prestige as well, but they present a green jacket to the winner.

I don't know about you, but I think if I won the Masters, I would ask if I could get the jacket in a different color. Or at the award presentation, I can see myself saying, "I don't look good in that shade of green. Can I see something in basic black?" And I think, perhaps, in the media, I would be characterized as less than gracious.

The Masters started in 1934. I imagine in 1934, getting a jacket for winning a golf game must have felt like proper compensation. Many WPA projects were still going on, and the United States was recovering from the biggest depression we ever had.

I am not sure I could play four rounds of golf for a green jacket.

Calling In Sick

Just wanted you to know that I have not been able to post. I post when in the office, and I have been under the weather of late.

Amateur vs. Professional

A few years ago, I gave someone some grief about not being professional in their work.

Looking back, I need to give me the same talk.

Amateur comes from the Latin meaning "to love." I guess, for the Romans, amateurs love what they do, and professionals get paid for it. I hesitate to mention "professional" and "woman" in the same sentence, because some people's thoughts automatically jump to the oldest profession.

I was not talking about prostitution to my co-worker. I was talking about being professional. By professional, I did not mean being a lawyer or a doctor. I meant being a professional about your work. But unlike the Romans, I think professionals need a certain amount of love for their jobs. They need to be passionate about what they do.

Right now, I am an amateur writer, and I am not talking about not being paid for writing. But I am not committed to writing. Not yet. I write a few times per week, and although it may be a bit more than most people, I am not committed to writing.

And I want to be committed.

Random Friday #19

I keep vacillating from planning on posting five days per week (Monday through Friday) to three days (Monday-Wednesday-Friday). It all boils down to my simple rules concerning blogging. You need to post on a routine basis in order to hold people's attention. The thing is that posting every work day is easy for people to remember. Posting on one day per week also is easy to remember. Posting on Monday-Wednesday-Friday confuses the hell out of me. I wonder if it confuses other people.

Part of my change is that one third of my entries would be random posts. I started posting randomly to get rid of ideas that did not have enough substance to make a regular post.

Target
I have always liked Target. I pronounce it "Tar-shea" and have ever since I was a teenager. I am not sure it is any different than Wal-Mart (they can't squeeze their wholesalers like Wal-Mart), but I have always liked them. What I never understood is why they would want to use a hunting target as their image. Yes, we want our customers to think about shooting arrows into bails of hay decorated with our company logo. Just does not make sense to me. But I like their stores.

Authors
Wanting to publish a book seems to be a common fantasy, but I have thought about authors, and the one's you know about seem to have pretty messed up lives. I mean, if they are not snorting cocaine or being alcoholics, they get hit by cars or shoot themselves with shotguns. Who knows. Several of them have done three or four of those activities.

YouTube Partners
To drive content creation, YouTube has established partnerships with people to encourage them. You notice that Google (same parent company) has not done the same with Blogger? I mean, I don't want any of their money. But I find it interesting – and I guess they don't have to pay writers because so many people want to write. With YouTube, there are tons of other places to post videos and I guess they want to keep them on YouTube.

Captain and Tennille
I was thinking of a song the other day. I don't know the name of the song, but, embarrassingly, the version I have in my head is by Captain and Tennille. One of the lines goes, "once is never enough with a man like you." When I was younger, I really did not know what the song was about. Now that I am older, okay, I still don't know what the song is about. Partly, because I can't remember all of the words.

But the line got me to thinking: is she saying that for some men, once is plenty. I mean, she does not say that, but it is inferred. And I think that thought is hilarious. Captain and Tennille also sang Muscrat Love. I am not sure they could have gotten away with that song now-a-days. Animal love is verboten.

You know, I thought Toni Tennille died, but after Googling her, she has a fan website, a blog (she is also thinking of taking time off), et cetera. I really thought Toni Tennille died of an eating disorder. How could I have gotten her confused with Karen Carpenter? Both are/were a husband and wife team, where they featured the wife.

JargonFish
I got a message from Blog Catalog, touting a new widget called Jargon Fish. My first reaction is that it looks really crappy. I don't like junk on my site. But I like the idea of a tool that would link similar ideas from my site to other sites. For instance, if I was writing a story of cum stains that resembled certain personalities, you would probably want to read other similar articles? True?

New Source of Stem Cells
When I was in college, people made extra money by going to the blood bank. Now, I can imagine a menstrual fluid bank. I can see it now, "Wanted: Kind, courteous support staff to help with harvesting of menstrual stem cells. Must be willing to take abuse from some who have PMS into days one and two." Actually, I did not know any women who sold their blood (or more accurately, platelets). Now college co-eds will have something to sell for beer/pizza money.

Have a wonderful weekend!

April Fools, One Day Late

I was trying yesterday to think of a good April Fools joke. I thought of a few, but all of the jokes seemed a bit cruel. April Fools Day seems to be a cruel day, and I don't want to be cruel.

A while back, I announced I would start posting three days per week, on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. And I kept my promise for a week or so. Then I went back to posting five days per week. I had the energy; I had the words; I had the drive.

I was ahead of the game, writing the blog entries days before posting them. And I got busy again. And I went on vacation, doing my best to catch the alpha and beta rays, as well as punish my liver. Isn't that what vacation is all about?

You know, I have sort of enjoyed watching the Writer's Strike. As a non-TV-watcher, it did not really affect me. Plus I think it gave other people a taste of not having to change their lives around their favorite shows. But it got me to thinking: what are the best television shows that got cancelled?

One of my favorite shows that got cancelled was "My So-Called Life". It starred Claire Danes, and I assumed at the time it was because Ms. Danes asked for too much money. Well, the show was on after I was in high school, so I was not watching a lot of television (and could not care about Entertainment Tonight-type stories). Well, the show got cancelled, and I think it was due to low ratings. Anyway, the show was good – the writing was really good. It took ordinary situations, and made them into poignant vignettes.

I have heard that "Freaks and Geeks" was a good show, but I never saw it. I don't know anything about the show. And now I am wondering about starting to write about televisions shows like I am some sort of expert. Because I really don't know much about television.

I mean, if we want to cancel something, how about cancelling some sports teams? Perhaps we could cancel the Pittsburgh Pirates. I would love to cancel the Atlanta Braves, mostly because I don't like their fans. What kind of fans don't attend the first round of the playoffs because the team makes the playoffs nearly every year?

I guess I should post once per week, because I am practically on empty. Have a good day. And luckily, I can't cancel my blog due to not having anything to say.