Drunk Dialing

Hey - for once it wasn't me making the call! I received a call last night that I have been remiss in blogging (no shit!). Actually, I believe the quote was, "I've read about Milk. I'm sick of reading about Milk over and over again. I need something new!" I didn't point out that one could easily scroll and re-read some older posts, because there's no reasoning with drunkenness (I know - people have tried to reason with me when I've imbibed and it's like talking to a brick wall). So, my friend, after I return from misadventures on the west side of the state, I will blog my lil' heart out! Until then, you've been immortalized :)

Milk & Soul Mates

This was my birthday weekend, and in the grand tradition of birthdays yore, Kirk came up to Lansing to spend time with me. I was reminiscing recently with his sisters about the first time I met them, as the memory is so vivid. They came to college for the annual siblings weekend, and he brought them to the mall where I worked. Tiffany was probably 8, and Shel was probably 3. I remember Tiffy being very precocious, and Shel with her hair all scraggly and standing on end as Kirk hadn't bothered to brush it that morning. When I mentioned that it was amazing that it had been nearly fifteen years, Kirk admonished me that once it's greater than ten, you're not allowed to count, almost like when half-birthdays stop mattering.

Back at that time, Kirk was in the closet and I was a straight-not-narrow member of the campus GALA organization. I had a roommate who was a lesbian, and as a way to befriend her and gain her trust, I started going to meetings with her to show my support. I marched in an effort to have sexual orientation included in the university's non-discrimination policy. I spent time trying to understand the struggles my new friends endured. A few months after first meeting Kirk's sisters, he came over to my apartment, nervous and jumpy, wanting to share some big news with me. He told me he was gay. I don't remember exactly what I said to him, as time blurs some details. I'm guessing I told him I loved him and that I was a little bummed! Over the years, I was witness to him coming out to other friends, family and coworkers. I watched the struggles he had, sometimes on the sideline and sometimes by his side. I was his plus-one at work parties where it just wasn't acceptable to be "out." At times, it was a pretty intense thing to share. The vulnerability and uncertainty was often palpable and I often found myself wishing I could change the world for him.

We had talked over Thanksgiving about going to see the movie "Milk" together. The movie, about Harvey Milk, the first openly gay man to be elected to a major political office, seemed right up our alley. So, this past Saturday, we ventured to the theater to take it in. The details of the movie are just a fraction of the experience. Sitting with Kirk, holding his hand as we watched this movie about the struggles of gays and the hatred that they face, was amazing. By the end, I couldn't stop the tears that were streaming down my face. My eyes were red and swollen. I was exhausted. I was enthralled. I was amazed at the courage of so many people who have been willing to fight - not only for themselves, but for those to follow. And I was also discouraged that our society still holds onto such bigotry.

I've never believed that I have one soul mate. And I struggle with the idea of what a soul is. I guess that's the problem with being a concrete thinker. When I had the opportunity to fulfill my general education requirement for Philosophy, I took Logic. It wasn't because I wasn't interested in philosophers so much as I knew that pure logic would make sense to me. I remember being fascinated in 9th grade English by the transcendentalists and the idea of the oversoul and the thought of all finite beings drawing support from one infinite spiritual being of the universe. I was intrigued by the idea of the mere existence of this spiritual being; to me, this differed greatly from the Catholic ideology of a God being a controlling being to fear that I had been groomed to believe in during countless hours spent in Catechism. I've felt connections with many people on many different levels. But the connection with Kirk in the theater Saturday was something I haven't experienced in a long time; it was the sense of just knowing how the other was feeling because of such a long, shared history together. And it served as a reminder to cherish those moments with my soul mates.

Huh...

Did you ever realize you possessed a quality you thought there was no way you would possess? Mainly because you had never been truly tested in that vein before? Let me say it's a true bite in the ass when you find that quality unappealing...

As Heard On the Radio...

...an advertisement for Ski Doos being sold by Groves Motorsports:

"Get off your couch and get some excitement between your legs!"

The Rev!

Corky scored tickets to the Reverend Horton Heat show on Saturday at the Majestic in Detroit. This is the second time I have seen The Rev with Corky and Runs With Spatula, and as before, it was fantastic.

"What makes it fantastic?" you say? First and foremost, it's like going home. It may be hard for some to understand, but to actually be among a large group of people where I don't feel like I stand out one single bit and where just about anything that I think is cool goes is a rarity. There were chain wallets galore...leather pants and jackets...alternative doo-wop greaser styles...old people...young people...mohawks...the people of my young adulthood. It took me back in my days of combat boots with crazy black patterned tights, real alternative music that didn't have a radio station home (or for those who kick it old school, the days when 88.7 in Detroit was a classical station with an 8 - midnight segment of college-like radio, where I first heard and fell in love with Nine Inch Nails), goth make-up when I chose to actually put some on (I was wearing some the first time I had a gay man look at me and say, "You're fucking beautiful"), funky clothes, silver jewelry, and trips to Sally's Beauty Supply for whatever odd hair color I could get away with at whatever job I had at the time (auburn was the classic favorite). It's a crowd where I can just breathe and feel completely at peace - someplace to feel anonymous and noticed all at the same time.

Then, of course, there's the music. Just to watch these three men play is a treat, and it still amazes me that such a sound can exist with a guitar, an upright bass and a drum set. Since the concert was in December, they played a few songs off of their Christmas CD, which was awesome. The Jimbo song makes me happy. And they put on such a great show without the need for theatrics. All in all, it was a much-needed excursion!

Nashville Pussy!

After a long drive home, a quick shower, and a 60th surprise birthday party for Kirk's aunt, I headed down to the Reverend Horton Heat show with Corky, Runs with Spatula, and her nephew, Michael. We met up with A. and her very cool friend, Nicole. We had heard that there were two bands opening for the Rev, Backyard Tire Fire and Nashville Pussy. To make a long story not so long, the lead singer of Nashville Pussy shares his first name with Spatula's sweetiepie. So, the gist of the conversation went a little like this:

C: You should have him sign your chest.
A: You should!
C: How funny would that be?
S: I will if you will! (I'm sure secretly hoping I wouldn't, but she knows better!)
C: I wonder if A. has a Sharpie in her purse... (by the way, her purse weighs easily 20 pounds, and probably qualifies as a FEMA emergency kit)
S: (thinking to herself, "Shit!" as the likelihood was great)
A: (after digging around) Here you go! One blue Sharpie!
C: Alright...let's go! (the lead singer was standing just a few feet away...)

We walked over, where the singer was chatting with a drunk and impaired young lady...
C: I'm sorry, but may I interrupt for just a minute? We were wondering if you would sign our chests...?
Singer: ;alsdjf;lasdjf;lasejdg;kasdhg. (Completely unintelligible, but he grabbed the Sharpie and scrawled away just above my right breast.)

Runs with Spatula followed, and we both had, "Hell Yeah" followed by his signature gracing our chests in blue Sharpie! A. commented that she didn't realize how naughty we were and proceeded to photograph the experience, which likely won't end up on this blog. Runs With Spatula and I agreed that he was actually respectful and didn't overtly try to cop a feel or anything. Needless to say, it's the first time I've been signed by a musician, but who could let that harmless opportunity pass by?

But, I must say the real question of the night was: were the singer and Ron Jeremy separated at birth? You be the judge...

Wayne!

I wouldn't call it a life-long obsession by any stretch. But certainly since the first time I visited Las Vegas, I have wanted to see Wayne Newton in concert. Despite a few opportunities over the years, I never made it to a show. But when I read in my weekly Ticketmaster email update that he was coming to a state near me, I decided to go. I flew solo for this event - I didn't have any takers on the invitation to travel 200 miles each way to see Wayne.

I took off a little early on Friday and drove down to Hammond, IN. If you haven't been there, I wouldn't suggest booking your next vacation for the greater Hammond / Gary, IN area. I checked in to the hotel, took a quick nap, then went in search of the Horseshoe Casino. It was nearly an exercise in futility as Google Maps failed me. I did eventually stumble upon the casino, made my way to The Venue (yes, that's what the theater is called - perhaps they should rename Binion's Horseshoe Casino to The Casino). I was a bit late, and was promptly seated 3rd row, center. Holy cow! Three rows away from Wayne!

I thoroughly enjoyed the show - he is quite the entertainer - very gregarious and charming. I chatted a bit with the three guys in front of me from Ohio, who were in their late 30s - early 40s. It was surprising to me to see three guys (straight, mind you) at a Wayne show for some reason. But they were entertaining as well. Wayne's voice is getting old and isn't so smooth anymore, but he's so charismatic and energetic that it didn't matter. The ambiance was great. I especially enjoyed the very end when the house lights came up a a bunch of people in wheel chairs and with walkers rushed the stage to shake Wayne's hand. There was even an oxygen tank. The line for the elevator outside The Venue was extremely long, due to the sheer number of mobility aids required by patrons.

I took a hot minute to scope out the black jack tables, but the minimums were more than I cared to spend. Since it would be sacrilege in my family to leave a casino without placing a bet, I plopped down at a nickel slot and put $20 in. It was one of the infamous nickel slots with five electronic "wheels" and the opportunity to play up to fifteen lines. I hit a little bit on the first few spins. Then I decided to play the max bet on each line and hit for 2,560 nickels. I ended up cashing out $153 dollars and promptly left. I figure that covered the hotel and some of the gas - not too shabby!

I survived the drive home Saturday morning / early afternoon despite the treacherous conditions (at least one car off the road each mile along I-94 in MI for at least 12 miles). I think the trip was time well spent, and this is another adventure to check off of my list of things to do!

My Favorite Man

My siblings and I had family pictures taken as a 40th anniversary gift for my parents in August. I copied the CD of the pictures, and not surprisingly, here's my favorite picture - with my nephew. His new career goal is to be a comedian because he likes to make people laugh - just a little bit of May blood flowing through his veins!

Pinnochle: The Curse...?

Thanksgiving was enjoyable as usual - great food, time spent with family, nephew cracking me up... The rest of the weekend went well, too. I got to catch up with friends (Four Christmases with D & Frank, lunch with mom & Sheryl, dinner with Jackie & family and Brian), and also got to play pinnochle with mom, Nan & Kirk. Usually, playing pinnochle makes me happy. This time, it just reminded me of my uncle. And it made me sad. Kirk would call it being in a funk, and usually I would agree. This time, it's more like mild depression. Losing people never gets easy. No matter how much I've been through it, it still hurts, and it hurts differently every time. I find I can't shake the thought that for the rest of my life, I'll keep losing more people. So, there's options... I can opt not to get close to people and miss out on amazing experiences, or I can get close to people and have amazing experiences but have such a void when they are gone. I know...I would probably sense a void with the first scenario, too. But grief makes me wonder which is worse. And maybe there's no answer - maybe they are equally painful.

Life in the World of Online "Dating"

Just because I have so much free time on my hands, I decided to give match.com a whirl. Again. I figured, "What the hell? Haven't been on here in quite a while...maybe things have changed." I challenge all of you who believe I'm not an optimist - obviously I must be an optimist (or just straight-up delusional) to think things may have possibly changed in the realm of online "dating." So, here's a blurb from someone who is calculated to be an 81% match for me:

"I like to watch movies at home or in a theater. I like to hang out with my friends and family. I also like to local race tracks. I work a local race track. Like to hang out in my local donut shops. I like other sports other than racing."

Hmm...this makes me think the other 19% is really freakin' important.

But, I did find a diamond in the rough that gave me a little bit of hope. We emailed back and forth a bit, then he disappeared for a week. I received a final email from him that went a bit like this:

"You seem like a really great person, and I apologize for falling off the face of the earth. I found someone that I think I have a real chance with. I just wanted to let you know. I hope you find someone, too."

Wonder of wonders - a true gentleman, willing to be honest and willing to let me know that it just wasn't going to happen instead of just vanishing. Crazy concept, hey? I did respond back that I wished him the best (which I do), but was secretly thinking I didn't want to burn any bridges should it not work out for him.

Now, I'm not looking for the infamous Mr. Right. I don't really believe he exists. I am looking for Mr. I'm Willing to Work Hard for This and Have Fun Along the Way. If only he'd knock on my door and say, "Hey, let's give it a shot," and save me from the tedium of weeding through profile after profile...

What we're gonna do now is go back...

I left this house this morning just after 7. Yep, on a Sunday. It's definitely not my normal habit by any stretch, but I have a feeling I'll be doing this occasionally for a few years. My nephew had a swim meet this morning, and since I was actually in town, there was pretty much no way I was going to miss it.

Just like the last one, it brought back a ton of memories from when I was a kid. He had his event numbers written on his arm in Sharpie. My mom was documenting all of his times in the program, and had his event numbers written on her hand, too. Parents and family members were cheering. The pool was hot and humid and smelled like chlorine. Ahhh, the good ol' days.

I saw him swim four events. His 25-yard back was great until the finish - he has a fear of cracking his head on the wall, so he slows down and forgets to count his strokes in from the flags, which makes him take too many and he ends up cracking his head on the wall anyway. If he'd stick with his game plan, and swim the same speed & count his strokes, he'd be all set. He's practiced it, but it hasn't translated into meets yet. But, he still took first and broke the swim meet record.

His 25-yard free was nearly perfect. His start was awesome, he took only one breath, and he looked like someone (or something) was chasing him. He had a personal best of 15.16 seconds, took first again, and broke the swim meet record.

The 50-yard breaststroke saw a 5-second drop in his time, and he took 2nd, but wasn't too far out of first. And finally, in the 100-yard free, he kept up with his teammate next to him through the first 60 yards. He started slipping going into the last turn, and was a bit behind. Somehow, he turned it on and caught up. We were sure he would take 2nd, but in a Phelps-like maneuver, he out-touched his teammate by two hundredths of a second to take first. The weekend's tally was 5 gold and 3 silver. Not too bad at all!

I found myself getting a bit teary when he won the 25 free. There's something about knowing he's worked hard and then watching him execute so well that makes me proud. I looked at my mom and told her it's probably good I don't have kids of my own, because I'd embarrass the hell out of them by crying all the time. She just laughed because she's the same way. We followed up with lunch after the meet. It was great to have some time with my family at the pool. It's funny how zen that can be - I guess I find my peace at different places than most, but I'm okay with that.

Dos and Don'ts for Goodwill

I called Goodwill on Saginaw to see if they accept donations, and if so, what the drop-off hours were. I also asked if there was anything I couldn't donate. The response was "No knives, guns or tires." Knives and guns on the face I can understand. I can also understand tires when I think about it for a minute. But what an odd combination. And how about, "No drug paraphrenalia," or "No medications." Just an odd happening today.

Oh, the People-Watching

I worked the late shift at a charity poker tournament tonight. Not surprisingly, the people get more strange as the night wears on. This was no exception. A. and I were diligently selling and redeeming chips, when one person in particular came up to the counter. I had remarked earlier that I thought he was a bit creepy. Here's the conversation that ensued:
DG: How many kids you got?
Me: (no response...I was counting and logging, and didn't realize he was speaking to me)
DG: I said how many kids you got?
Me: I'm sorry...did you mean me?
DG: Yeah, how many kids you got?
Me: Eight. (dead-pan, by the way)
DG: (staring, shocked, for a few minutes) How many?
Me: (no response, aside from a gentle shrug)
DG: No, you don't got no kids!
Me: You're right, I don't.

A. looked at me - "Did that just happen?" Yep, it did. And yes, DG is code for Drunk Guy. I'm looking forward to working some more on Saturday...

I Wonder...

...will it be 150 years before we elect a gay person as president? How can we cheer that we've "come so far" by voting for a non-white man, yet seemingly be okay with the fact that we, as a society, continue to target other groups? The country wasn't ready to acknowledge blacks... and then women... then Japanese... now it's fighting against gays. When will we realize that we're doing the same damn thing over and over and continuing to bully groups of people we perceive as different? We think we've come so far, but have we really? Shouldn't actual change be seen in the fundamental way we treat people as a general rule? If so, we haven't learned a whole lot since the Emancipation Proclamation.

Very Cautiously Optimistic...

Or should I say realistic? I cast my vote earlier today. I've been anti-McCain for some time, and at times pro-Obama, but not entirely. I had flashes of Libertarianism throughout (particularly during / after the vice presidential debate). But I voted for the person I thought would do a better job; I voted for the one I thought would have more of a chance to build consensus and work to repair the horrific legacy they are being given. I sat watching returns tonight with Angela, Runs With Spatula and Corky (and the dog), and while I know Obama is the projected winner / winner, I couldn't help but feel a bit sad seeing the students at Spelman, the footage from Harlem, and the gathering in Chicago. I see so much hope and expectation, and such elation, which is overwhelming and pulls my heart strings in a way I can barely articulate. But I can't help but think that noone's life is going to change as drastically and dramatically as they may think in the timeframe that they would like. And it concerns me...

And on a ridiculous sidenote, I wonder how long before spell check recognizes "Obama."

The Big Vote

The great election is almost over in terms of polling times, at least in the Eastern Time Zone. I apparently had some visitors this weekend while I was in the Detroit area. Howard Pizzo stopped by - he's running for treasurer of the great township o' Delta. He left a brochure attached to my door knob. It's one of the few I actually read - it didn't bash his opponent, and spelled out his education and relevant work experience. What a concept! And someone from the RNC stopped by and dropped off brochures for Mark Walberg and McCain / Palin. They left them on my doormat, and I didn't bother to pick them up. There was certain satisfaction from stepping all over them for the last two days. However, when I returned home this evening, they were gone. And I was a little sad.

So, of course I must have a gripe about the election. Maybe not the election so much as people's response to the election. I read several articles online (LSJ, CNN, TPC, Freep, etc...), and so many people commented that they were excited to vote, as they voted every four years. When I got my ballot this morning, I was number 220. At 8:30 in the morning. I remember past non-presidential elections where the voter turnout seemed low. So, I checked the archives for Eaton County for the last election in May, for the Grand Ledge School Board. A whopping 128 people voted in the election from my precinct. A whole 8.96%. And I was not one of them. And neither were 91.04% of the rest of the registered voters in my precinct. And I think that's a horrible shame. Because to think about it, the local elections are very impactful - what's more important if you have kids than how they are educated (hence, school board elections)? Or, if you pay property taxes, how about those special elections containing millage and bond proposals? People like to complain about income taxes, but how about property taxes? How is it that the president has such a greater impact on my life than my locally-elected officials? I make it out for the big elections, and for some of the smaller ones, too. Now, my resolve is to vote in every election, regardless of how I think it it impacts me (or doesn't, being that I don't have kids or a home). And I resolve that I will research before voting. My voice still matters, and apparently it matters a lot when there's not a presidential election. And your voice matters, too. So, to all my friends who Baracked the Vote today, I'm expecting to see "I Voted" stickers on you after the NEXT election, too.

Ahhh...the Dakota Inn Rathskellar!

I've enjoyed the Dakota Inn before, and Saturday was no exception. It is a wonderful German bar / restaurant in the old German section of Detroit. The Dakota is located on John R, just north of 6 Mile...not such a nice area, but such a wonderful place visit. Danielle, Frank and I arrived at 5, a little while before her dad and step-mom. We were quickly seated and ordered the Cheese & Sausage board, which is simply gouda, summer sausage and pretzels. It sounds a bit boring, but it's fantastic - the cheese melts in your mouth, and the summer sausage is spiced just right. Add a few German beers and we were off to a great meal! Danielle and I are borderline obsessed with the potato pancakes - they seem like they are made of both mashed and shredded potatoes, and fried to perfection. I ordered a side of red kraut. This sounded funny to me the first time I had it, but it's fantastic - it's a sweeter version of traditional sauerkraut, and paired with the potato pancakes and a dollop of sour cream, you have heaven on a fork. We overate to be sure, but the food is just so good - I think there's much to be said for simplicity in comfort food.

I Found a Kindred Spirit!

At work a couple of weeks ago, we were answering questions from the "Would You Rather" page-a-day calendar. One referenced rickets, so we got into a discussion about vitamin deficiencies. This quickly led to a few Google Images searches for rickets, scabies and scurvy. This is one of the images I found regarding scurvy:I had to click on the link, and found this blog by Mandy in Bowling Green, KY. Some of her posts remind me so much of me and my friends (Mandy's scurvy post and blogging about random sights around town); others couldn't seem more foreign to me (strong belief in god and Christianity). It's interesting, really. I think the level our strengths in what we believe are similar, but we've obviously come to very different conclusions. Anyway, it's a blog I'm sure I'll be reading from time to time!

Carrie + Beer + Tequila = Hot Mess

I don't know that I need to add much to that title. Thank heavens for good friends and a day to recuperate.

It just happened so fast. The shots went down smoothly. The beer tasted great. Then I stood up. Ooops.

B drove me home. I'm glad it was a nice day for a walk to Frank's today.

D called me this morning that she was in much the same shape, as she went on a pub crawl in Detroit last night. Funny to be an hour and a half away from each other, yet experience much the same thing. Beautiful.

I actually feel quite well now...no headache (thanks, Aleve!), my stomach is a little upset, but not too bad...I'm sure the sleep helped.

Note to self: just because it tastes good doesn't mean I should drink it...repeatedly.

Blogging From Work...Never Good

I've been trying to avoid political discussions at work...and haven't been too successful. The issue of Palin's wardrobe just came up. I commented that she stated she was frugal, and was met with a retort that Alaska cuts $2,000 checks to residents when they have a budget surplus. I told the person that perhaps he should move to Alaska. I'd say "oops" if I were actually sorry.

Holy Mole-y: Part D

I had a delightful trip back to the dermatologist's office this morning. I sat gleefully as she pulled out my three little stitches. We talked about the pathology results. The moles (yep - plural) were benign - yeay! But wait - moleS? Who knew? I just thought I was having one removed, but in my freak-of-nature way, I had two removed. A mole on a mole. Weird. It certainly didn't appear to be more than one, but thanks to the marvels of science and medicine, the dermatopathologist was able to diagnose two. One was congenital (from birth / shortly thereafter) and one from some point well after that.

So, after they pulled the stitches, they went on to glue a makeshift steri-strip to the "wound." It should wear off in 5 - 7 days, give or take a few, which would make it roughly 3 - 10 days. Hmm...sounds conspicuously like the margin of error for political polling. I was also given clearance to soak my hand (meaning I can get it wet and not worry). I didn't bother to tell them that my version of soaking involves an hour in chlorinated water twice per week. I think that might get me to the lower end of the steri-strip range. One can hope. I'll surprise myself if I don't rip it off at some point.

Holy Mole-y: Installment 3

I just want the flippin' stitches out already. It's getting old. I'll be very happy to see the doctor at 8:45 Monday morning. Yeesh.

My New Toy

I stayed at Chateau May (mom & dad's house) last Saturday night. Sunday morning, I made myself cinnamon toast with applesauce - a childhood favorite. It was inspiring. So much so that I bought my very own toaster. I know - strange to live without a toaster for over 7 years. But such is life - I never really wanted one before. If I wanted toast, I either heated up a frying pan or turned on the oven. But I finally decided to give in to the convenience.

I also decided to try my hand at homemade applesauce. Yes, I know buying it in the jar is easier. But I grew up on homemade applesauce, and it's so much better. I found a great recipe:
Ingredients:
3 - 4 lbs. apples, peeled, cored and cut into quarters
juice from one lemon
four strips of lemon peel
3" cinnamon stick
dash of salt
1 cup of water
1/4 cup dark brown sugar (my new favorite baking ingredient!)
Directions: Throw everything in a large pot. Bring it to a boil, then simmer for 20 - 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. The recipe also called for 1/2 cup of granulated sugar, but I thought that would make it entirely too sweet. So far, it's the best applesauce I've ever had.

Texting With D

Friday, October 17:

D: Did you know October is National Domestic Abuse month?
C: To commit it? You have two more weeks to smack Foofie around.
D: Thanks. He just punched me in the face because you wrote that.
C: You deserved it and he only did it because he loves you.

I think D and I should form the anti-Lifetime channel.

Hey, guess what? I'm pretty.

I must be glowing this week or something. Maybe the stars are aligned in a way they never have been before. But I had declarations from two men this week, both at gas stations, that I'm pretty. Actually, both were along the lines of, "Damn, you sure are pretty. Oh shit, I hope that's not your husband over there!" It's kind of funny, really. I never have the urge to walk up to some guy and say, "Damn, you sure are handsome!" Although, maybe I should do that anyway!

ER...who the heck is left?!?

I just finished watching ER this evening. It was Abby's (Maura Tierney) last episode. So far this season, and we're not that far into it, the writers have gotten rid of three main characters - Luka, Abby and Pratt. Who the heck is left for the rest of the season? How interesting can it possibly get? I don't know, but I'm hoping to have more quiet Thursday nights like this so that I can actually watch the original airing of a show!

And yes, it made me cry a little.

Holy Mole-Y...the Update

Since I had the mole / growth thing removed, I've been fairly compliant with the doctor's main order - I've avoided soaking my hand, which is very hard to do. I considered trying water aerobics, and even invested in some waterproof bandages to try out. I took a shower with one on, and thanks to some ridiculously sensitive skin that doesn't agree with adhesive, the 20 minutes the bandage was on was about all I could take. Now, I know that sounds dire. It's not like my hand was on fire, or skin started bubbling up or anything. What tends to happen is almost a burn-like rash that scabs up quite a bit...I've had times where I used a band-aid to cover a cut, and it took longer for the skin to heal that was in contact with the adhesive than the actual cut itself. It sucks. So, I'm sticking with gauze pads and paper tape. But that means no water aerobics until Monday. And I've been missing it desperately.

Holy Mole-y!

Today was my yearly appointment with the dermatologist to have an overall mole check. I've been a crispy critter in the summer for most of my life, many times despite using sunblock. And for the moles I can see, I try to keep in mind the cute little ABCDs of skin cancer:
A - Asymmetry
B - Border irregularities (ragged, etc.)
C - Color - not uniform or color changes
D - Diameter (greater than 6mm = time to worry!)

So, each year I point out whatever changes I've noticed. This year, four moles were raised more than in the past, and with one mole / growth, the color in the middle was lighter than the outside. The dermatologist assured me the four raised moles were fine. The one with the color issue, on the back of my left hand, seemed okay. But she gave me the option - keep monitoring, or have it removed. I opted to have it removed.

Now, I know I'm a bit of a freak (CFreaky, anyone?), so when she asked if I wanted to lie down or if I thought I would be comfortable sitting, I told her with gusto that I wanted to sit and watch it all. She called the assistant for the 6mm punch, and proceeded to glove up, clean the area, and inject some fantastic anesthetic. She warned me the last time she removed a mole that the anesthesia would sting considerably, and I either have a great tolerance to this or I have insensitive nerves, which seems like a contradiction in terms, but it didn't sting at all. It was pretty cool to see the entire area balloon up when the anesthesia was injected. And in just a second, the area was numb, including my middle finger (how convenient!).The assistant came in with the punch. This by far was the coolest part. The doctor placed the punch over the mole, depressed it, pulled it back and snipped the piece of flesh that was still connected, and presto! I had a beautiful hole in the flesh of my hand. And all without feeling a thing! The doctor put in three stitches, which was also fascinating to watch - any stitches I've had have been in locations I couldn't see, so this was a treat. I'll have the stitches in for two weeks, which is going to be inconvenient at best, and I know I'll be sorry when the anesthesia finally wears off. Mom already tried to convince me to take some kind of pain medication for the impending discomfort. We'll see how bad it is. So, it's uncovered right now, as referenced by the picture. It's supposed to be covered, and I'll bandage it up shortly. The adhesive on the tape was starting to irritate my skin, so I made a quick trip to Meijer for some different tape, as the last thing I need is an adhesive rash surrounding what will soon be itchy stitches.

All in all, it was an interesting appointment. And I urge my fellow pale-skinned friends and those who think because you tan easily that you're immune from the horrors of skin cancer - if you haven't had a mole check, take the time to get one. Prevention can be a beautiful thing.

Just a Thought...

I think Celebrity Deathmatch should be resurrected for a Tina Fey as Sarah Palin vs. Sarah Palin bout. Wouldn't that be fantastic?

Oh, Mamma Mia!

Sheryl organized a little group to take in Mamma Mia! at the Wharton Center. I'm still bopping along! I sat between Sheryl and a very nice stranger (no stranger danger there!), who were probably sick of me chair dancing most of the time. I had a special affinity for Rosie, one of Donna's (the mom) best friends. Kittra Wynn Coomer was fantastic in the role, and had me in stitches almost every time she was on stage. Of course, our row laughed more than most, and I know there's nothing shocking in that statement.

I remember listening to Abba when I was little. Mom & Dad had one of the albums. Yes, old-fashioned vinyl! And I vividly remember playing it on the old turntable in the big console stereo. I fell in love with Abba again when I watched Muriel's Wedding. My sister had rented it for her and Mom to watch one night, and the next morning, she told me I had to watch it. I sat on the couch in the living room by myself, watching and giggling and laughing throughout the movie, which had my sister cracking up as she and Mom were hanging out in the kitchen. I certainly wouldn't call Abba the soundtrack of my life by any stretch, but I do have some very strong memories attached to the music. And it was so interesting to see the music brought to life on stage. The colors were fantastic, and I looked at Sheryl a few times and told her I wanted to be up on stage with them - not a normal response for me!

I will be curious to see if Sheryl tracks down the outfits. I have dibs on the red one with the cape!

One of Those Nights...

Just one of those nights when I could've used a hug. Nothing wrong...things are alright...just needed a hug. However, I was cheered up by hearing John Stewart exclaim, "For fuck's sake!" on The Daily Show. And I enjoyed the interview with Bill Maher...I'll have to see if Mom is up for going to see Religulous. I could see that being a damn fun time with some of my posse in tow.

And on a side note, I really wish Times New Roman didn't exist as a font.

"Would You Rather?" - It's Funny How Things Change...

From Zobmondo:
Would you rather... always lose OR never play?

Not so long ago, I would've said I would rather always win, so I would never play. What's the point of playing if you never win? Now, I would have to say I'd rather always lose. I'm not sure if the fundamental shift in thinking is just from growing up or if it's something deeper. I enjoy challenge. I enjoy mastering things, but I enjoy trying even more. Once I master something, I don't lose interest quickly - I enjoy mastering things over and over again, and trying to make things a little more difficult to stretch my head a bit. Maybe that's why I love cooking and baking so much - I take comfort in both repeatability and improvement, and I've figured out how to make food better over the years. I'm not a master chef by any stretch, but I do make the best chocolate chip cookies ever. I love Sudoku - same premise over and over, but the skill sets evolve and the problem solving becomes more interesting as the puzzles increase in difficulty. I'm okay with being frustrated at things that ultimately don't matter. There's a part of me that likes getting lost when I'm trying to get somewhere on time. I know - livin' on the edge, but sometimes the simple little things can be the most thrilling.

Highly, highly suggestive...

I was in a funk on Thursday. I was definitely cranky, and I couldn't decide if I wanted to go to the comedy club. And that's strange for me - usually if someone mentions the comedy club, I'm one of the first to clear my schedule. But I just wasn't sure I was in the mood. After making some Kraft Mac & Cheese for dinner, I finally decided that since I was still so cranky, I really needed to go to the comedy club.

And that's where Flip Orley comes in. Connxtions billed him as a hypnotist / comedian. I didn't go with the intention of being hypnotized, but his spiel convinced me. He reassured us that we wouldn't be removing clothes or making animal noises, and that we would remember everything and be aware the entire time. So, I looked at Angela and Alex, and at the same time we threw out the infamous, "If you go up there, I'll go, too." And we actually did. But I'm pretty sure I was the only one up there who really ended up hypnotized.

At first, I was sure it wasn't working. Flip took us through a typical relaxation technique, having us focus on a crystal ball he was holding up. He had us do a few things, like raise our hands to tell him our name and, with our eyes closed, hold our right arm straight out with our hands in fists and the ability to keep our arm straight no matter what force was applied to it. Shortly thereafter, it started to get interesting. I went through feeling like I was being goosed every time Flip touched his forehead and giggling about it, holding a glass of water and not being able to drink it, and being completely offended every time he said "Ladies and Gentlemen," while telling him to apologize for being so mean to the audience.

Every time Flip counted from three to one, and had us close our eyes, I felt my chin drop to my chest and my hands unclasp. The most telling were my feet - they were crossed when I had my eyes open, but as soon as I closed my eyes, I felt that my feet were too heavy to keep crossed. I would position them on the outsides of my feet, with my soles facing each other and my sandals practically falling off, while slumped in the chair. I was aware the entire time, and it was a very surreal and fun experience. Runs With Spatula snapped a few pictures on Angela's camera, and each showed how completely under I really was.

I haven't laughed so hard in a long time - my cheeks hurt for hours afterward. I did feel like a circus freak after, as we had a drink at the bar in the comedy club, and I felt many people staring at me from across the room. The emcee for the evening came up and chatted with us on his way out, and commented on how entertaining I was. I am seriously reconsidering a career as a professional laugher.

I did experience a little sense of pride for being open enough to the experience to get so much out of it. I highly recommend giving it a try - as long as I get to be in the audience!

Seriously, PETA...WTF?

PETA wrote a letter to Ben & Jerry's encouraging them to switch from using cow milk to human milk. PETA's position is that a Swiss restauranteur has pledged to switch to 75% human milk, so Ben & Jerry's should, too. Now, you all know how much I love the lefties. But I see a few problems with this:

1. Ben & Jerry's is pretty granola-hippie to begin with. Yes, they get their cow milk from a cooperative creamery. They do not use milk from cows given the recombinant bovine growth hormone (rBGH). I'm sure they seem like a likely candidate to begin milking women to make Cherry Garcia. But PETA, pick on someone who's not doing any good! Both Ben and Jerry are reportedly trying to do what's right for their company, employees and community - the epitome of good corporate citizens.

2. PETA's letter states that cows would have a better life if they weren't forced to get pregnant, give birth and be milked for several years. Wouldn't a woman's life be better, too, if she weren't subjected to what a cow goes through? Save the cows; punish the women. I'm sure you are all now picturing postpartum women on all fours in a barn having automatic milkers hooked up to their very full breasts...now let me ask you, PETA - are they smiling? I think not. I'll admit I believe people rank higher in the hierarchy of life. I know it's unpopular, because many of you have told me it is, but if I have a chance to save my nephew or his dog, I'm saving my nephew. He can get a new dog later. And those of you who would choose the opposite may want to consider re-evaluating what's really important, and consider if you truly understand what a human connection actually is (that's the nicest way I could say that!).

3. Now, consider the math. On average, a woman produces 800 mL of milk daily. Less than one liter in one day. A cow can produce around 5 gallons per day. Let me do the conversion for you: that's almost 19,000 mL. Divide that by 800 mL, and you would need (rounding up, of course) 24 lactating women to replace one cow. Yep, 24. Does that sound reasonable?

4. Finally, let's talk quality control. Let's assume that the taste of the milk is impacted by the subject's diet. I'm pretty sure the cows are fed uniform, strict diets. Who is going to dictate to postpartum women what to eat? Seriously? And frankly, I wouldn't be the first person to stand in their way if they wanted to deviate from their diet. However, I also don't want my Chubby Hubby ice cream compromised by Jolene's curry craving or Maggie's garlic fix.

PETA, I agree that animals should be treated ethically. But don't you think people should be, too?

NPR and Ear Porn

I was driving to the Novi-Farmington area on Saturday, and happened to listen to NPR for part of the drive. I normally listen to music - CDs from Lansing until Brighton, and Detroit radio from Brighton to Novi. But I heard a little teaser that kept me tuned to NPR - it was about Q-Tips, and why it feels "soooo good" to clean your ears. Now, this normally might pique my interest a bit, but I would likely have gotten bored of listening to commercials and would've turned the station and would've forgotten to turn it back to NPR in time for the Q-Tip story. But the teaser indicated the radio personality really, REALLY liked shoving Q-Tips in her ears...maybe a little too much. I felt a little dirty just listening to the teaser. And I became interested in the scientific explanation for the joy one experiences when cleaning one's ears. My guess: nerve endings in the ear somehow connect to the "pleasure centers" in the brain, perhaps releasing endorphines...or something along those lines. And so I kept listening.

I'll be the first to admit that I clean my ears with Q-Tips every morning and every time after I swim. I keep it contained to the outer ear, and usually use the Q-Tip to absorb water that may be in my ears. That being said, I've not derived any intense pleasure from said cleaning. Maybe I've had poor penetration - perhaps I haven't shoved the Q-Tip in quite far enough into the ear canal to experience the exquisite joy the radio host seems to experience, as she asked the otologist why it felt "soooo goood" to stick that little cotton-covered stick in there several times.

The otologist went on to explain that there are in fact many nerve endings in the ear that connect to other parts of the body. He described how during the Roman orgies (not just the sex, but food, too), it was common to have vomitoriums, and a way to induce vomiting was to tickle the ear canal with a feather (ewww...). Obviously, once the Romans emptied their stomachs, they went back for more! But never once did the otologist actually explain why it seems to feel "soooo goood" to shove a Q-Tip in your ear. There was no discussion of neuropathways, pleasure centers, electrical stimuli, endorphines...just a little talk about Romans vomiting. Well, NPR, it's going to be very difficult to believe your teasers in the future!

Joe's Gizzard City

Sweet Jesus. If I can survive a "meal" at Joe's, nothing will kill me. It's all fried. Except the beer, which is lovingly served in Mason jars. Runs With Spatula arranged a trip to Joe's, the only Gizzard City in the world, located in scenic Potterville, MI. After eating there, I can see why there's not a need for a gizzard stand in every town. Certainly, you shouldn't eat there more than once a year if you're healthy. If you have a history of cardiac incidences, you shouldn't even go near Potterville, for fear of not being able to resist the pull of everything you can imagine being deep-fried.

We passed several appetizers among the six of us who seem to have a whole lot of confidence in our arteries and robust digestive tracts. I found the gizzards and Sweet Corn Nuggets to be particularly delicious and addicting. For a main course, I moved on to the small unfried section of the menu for a steak sandwich, which hit the spot. Runs With Spatula, Sheryl and I split a dessert combo. I think there were about seven different batter-fried creations, but I would've been happy with just the Nutter Butters and the Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. Seriously, the whole experience was disgusting...but so, so good.

And just a side note - the service was fantastic. Our waitress was very patient, helpful and accomodating. She even questioned how much we tipped her (a little over 20% on a rather large tab altogether), and was concerned that the food went to our heads, impairing our mathematical abilities. We told her it was dead on, and that we appreciated her great service.

All in all, it was a great evening - good but disgusting food, great service, and even better company! We'll see how the fried-food hangover treats me tomorrow!

Things I Learned This Weekend...

I went to Lapeer this weekend to spend time with my family to honor my uncle who died in July. The entire Michigan contingent was there - all 18 of us. We were just missing my aunt and her husband (it's hard to call him my uncle - he's husband #3, and I think I've met him maybe twice since 1996, when my grandparents died), who live in Las Vegas.

So, what did I learn? First and foremost, if I never go to another funeral, I'll be a happier person. My family opted not to go through the torture of a funeral service, and instead decided to pick a date everyone could commit to and just spend some time together. We went out to dinner (yeay - nobody had to cook!) at a fantastic seafood restaurant, and followed it up with game night at my cousin Debbie's house. We got to spend time as a family, reminiscing, looking at pictures, playing games, talking...instead of trying to entertain well-wishers and sympathizers while in the prime of our grief. What a concept! I also learned that pretty much everyone's wishes are to continue this new tradition, and to avoid funerals altogether. My aunt asked how I felt about not having funerals for mom and dad (assuming they go first), and I told her it was a relief. I think my past funeral experiences made the grief process much more difficult and raw.

I also learned that mom's love is unconditional, especially when I decide to flip out and melt down, and all of this even before our memorial celebration. I knew her love was unconditional to begin with, but forcing her to prove it made me realize again that she's more than happy to walk the walk, for which I'm grateful.

I also realized new empathy for my cousin, Lynn. I'm not the only one in my family to seriously question our Catholic upbringing. She has stuck with the religion, unlike my siblings and I. We had an interesting discussion about the upcoming election, and lack of separation between church / religion and the political process. I found it interesting that Lynn brought up religious freedom as one of the reasons for the founding of our country. She recognizes this as being important, but doesn't seem to be able to realize that she has that same freedom. My aunt and uncle chose for her to be Catholic, but that doesn't mean she has to continue on that path. I know her belief in God is strong, and she seems to want to have a church where she feels at peace, but she hasn't looked beyond Catholic churches to find this comfort and community she seems to be longing for. I really look forward to talking to her about this more in the future, as religion seems to come up at every get-together. I think I want to challenge her to pick a new church with a different religion to try every few months to see if a little spiritual exploration will help. Yes, I know - this is all coming from the owner of Jeez-Its, Lookin' Good for Jesus lip balm, and a Jesus action figure - not exactly holy relics by any stretch. But I really do respect her beliefs, and wish for her to find what she seems to want so badly.

All in all, it was an emotionally draining few days...I'm glad they're over, but I know I'll be replaying this in my head for a while...

Yup, I Read.

I'm a cyclical reader. Summertime is when I tend to catch up on books I've been meaning to read (namely those on my own bookshelves). So here's a quick synopsis of a few of my literary adventures:

Moose by Stephanie Klein
Were you fat as a child? Do you have mom-issues? If not, you may really find it difficult to relate to this memoir. It's about a woman's journey at fat camp. She takes some poetic license and condenses several summer's trips into one. She covers everything from attending diet meetings at a very young age to romance at fat camp to a brush with bulimia to having her obstetrician tell her to gain 50 pounds or lose her in-utero twins. She delves into issues with her mother's lack of love and affection. I'm so used to reading novels where most issues like this are wrapped up in a neat little bow and resolved at the end, and found I had to remind myself that that's not the case with memoirs. This was an interesting read. I entered into it thinking, "I've been fat all my life, I should be able to relate to this," but found I really didn't. I've never been bulimic, I have a great relationship with my mom, and food's not my enemy (though I may benefit from believing it is...). If anything, it reminded me that I often find I feel like the great outlier.

Are You There, Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea by Chelsea Handler
There's nothing quite like a camping trip with a Chelsea Handler book. Like when I read Wanda Sykes' book, since I watch Chelsea, as I was reading the book, I could hear her voice in my head. Not in a schizophrenic way, but more like she was telling me the stories herself. The book is a collection of essays, ranging in experiences in childhood (lying about starring in a movie with Goldie Hawn) to adulthood (smoking pot in Costa Rica to be able to deal with her father, who she took there on a two-week vacation). It's a light, easy read - easy to pick up and put down and pick back up again. It's not earth-shattering, and it's not a classic by any stretch, but it was enjoyable. I found myself laughing out loud more than once, and will probably make time to read it again.

A Dirty Job by Christopher Moore
This was recommended to me by one of my friends who doesn't read very much. I attribute that to Bucky working on her Master's, which she finished last year. I think when you work full-time and go to school at least part-time, it's hard to want to read much outside of that. But one of her friends turned her onto Christopher Moore, and I dare say I wouldn't want to stand between her and one of his books - I've never seen her read so voraciously! She finished this book before the end of our first camping trip, and she passed it along to me. I took it to England with me, and finished it while I was there. I don't want to reveal much about the book, because you really should just read it - it was good enough that I've already purchased as a gift for my sister-in-law. It's dark, disturbing, and plays with the supernatural, including Death, quite a bit. It's snarky. It's hilarious. And it would make a great movie.

But Enough About Me: How a Small-Town Girl Went from Shag Carpet to the Red Carpet by Jancee Dunn
Jancee writes for, among other things, Rolling Stone. This book is a memoir (anyone see a theme here!?) about how she got there, and her experiences once she did. Jancee stumbles upon her dream job while at a crazy party in New Jersey. She talks about how to interview celebrities successfully (never at a restaurant, and go to movies being filmed on location if possible), some of her favorite interviews (no shock - Dolly Parton!), and introduces readers to her not-so-dysfunctional-but-still-interesting family. There is the often-included quest-for-love story, as well. After reading it, I felt the urge to look at some back issues of Rolling Stone to read her articles...but I haven't quite gotten there yet!

Love is a Mixed Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time by Rob Sheffield
This is another memoir by another Rolling Stone writer, and frequent personality on E! and VH-1; I couldn't resist this book. I so related to a lot of the music Rob references in the book, and appreciate the idea of personal soundtracks at different points in your life. The book chronicles Rob finding his true love, settling into marriage, only to have his wife die very suddenly, in his arms. He walks the readers through his grief process, and his pain is almost palpable. It's short and quick, but not so light.

In progress:
1984 by George Orwell
I first read this in 8th grade English with Mrs. So-and-so...I think her last name started with an A, but I'm not about to go digging through a box in a closet to find my old yearbook. So Sara, when you read this, let me know what the heck her name was! I remember vividly reading this book the first time around, and though I didn't finish this in time for book club, I've resolved to finish it by the end of the year. It's not going to take me the 6 or 7 years I've been reading Solzhenitsyn's Cancer Ward (does it count if you haven't picked the book up in at least 3 or 4 of those years?). I've been enjoying rediscovering this one...

Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books by Azar Nafisi
I've been reading this on and off since the beginning of summer. It's deep to the point of being subterranean, and I can only handle so much at a time. So far, I find the author a bit repetitive and disjointed. I'm probably about 2/3 done, so we'll see what the rest has to offer...

Things I've Been Meaning to Blog About: Rori Raye

Somehow, I ended up on an email list for Rori Raye, author of the "Have the Relationship You Want" e-newsletter. I honestly don't know how I could've possibly signed up for this (or perhaps I didn't - my friend Sara ended up on the Republican National Committee mailing list, and certainly didn't sign up for it, and now she can't get her name off of it), but after reading it a few times, I find that there's no way I can unsubscribe. Rori Raye is the Sarah Palin of relationship advice, and it's a train wreck from which I can't tear myself away.

Case in point: "Doggie Treat Voice." Apparently, if I'm "frustrated, upset and angry" because my man is "totally clueless" or he's "depriving of affection, attention and happiness ON PURPOSE," I should use the "Doggie Treat" voice. The quick version I could glean from this is that if you find that you're not getting what you want from your man, you should:
1. Make your request
2. Evaluate his responsiveness
3. If said request is ignored or remains unfulfilled, assess your request for your tone (if he said this to you, how would you take it?)
4. Modify the manner in which you make your request in order to achieve your desired outcome, with apparently no regard to his wants or needs

This is a surprisingly neutral assessment for me to make, given that this "tool" is presented as follows:
1. Men can sense complaint from a mile away
2. Men tune you out if you complain
2.1 If you complain, the man has "the power" in the relationship

Upon identifying the above issue, stop and realize:
3. You are the man's reward for making you happy
4. You, woman, must retake "the power," assuming you ever had it to begin with

Once you realize this:
5. Your tone will change (as shown by: "your voice is the sound of a dog owner holding a delicious doggie treat and saying "Here, Boy...."")
6. Your man will respond, because men are like dogs in the following ways (yes, I swear this is in the article):
a. Dogs work for treats
b. Dogs work for pats on the head and tummy rubs
c. "Dogs hear words, but what they listen to is their SENSE of WHO HAS THE POWER."
d. "They KNOW that the creature with the food has the Power."

And finally, my favorite quote:
"And guess what - YOU are the food for your man."

Well, I guess that's true if you're lucky! (Yes, my mind is happily residing in the gutter - please don't encourage it to find another home! The gutter is well-decorated, and has a nice, homey feel to it!)

Can you see why I can't stop reading this tripe?

Things I've Been Meaning to Blog About: The Sock

I had a particular conversation with Sara a few weeks ago that went a little like this:

Carrie: So what's going on?

Sara: I'm looking for the remote for the DVD player so Kim (Sara's sister-in-law, who was visiting from Minnesota) can watch a movie.

Carrie: No idea where it is?

Sara: No...it's probably with all of the other remotes we lose.

Carrie: Maybe the cat is revolting and took it.

Sara: I don't think so - no opposable thumbs.

Carrie: True. Maybe it's with the infamous sock that disappears somewhere between the washer and the dryer.

Sara: The mismatched sock? Yeah, we have a pile of those, too!

Carrie: Sometimes I feel like a mismatched sock.

Sara: Really?

Carrie: Yeah. Maybe not a mismatched sock, but a sock missing its mate. Maybe I got lost somewhere between the washer and dryer.

Sara: I think your sock mate will show up. What kind of sock would you be?

Carrie: Definitely not a toe sock. I hate having things between my toes. It creeps me out. And not a tube sock.

Sara: Well, you wouldn't be a slouchy sock. How about leg warmers? They're almost like socks, but not really since they don't have feet. Do you remember the crazy colors?

Carrie: And the sparkles. I don't know. I was never fond of leg warmers.

Sara: Hmmm.

Carrie: Yeah, I have no idea what kind of sock I would be. Weird.

I've Caught Up

I did not watch any of the Democratic National Convention. And having missed out on media for almost a week, and walking back to hear of Sarah Palin being named as John McCain's running mate, I was inspired to watch the Republican National Convention happenings this evening. I missed the early speeches, as I was recommitting to water aerobics (yes, I know at least one or two of you is thinking "sea cows" right now, and probably feeling guilty about it, but don't, since I put that thought in your heads, and it's a hard thought to banish) with Jaimie and Felicity, and didn't get home until just before 10pm. That did put me in front of the television in time to see Guiliani, Palin, the roll call of the states, and the opportunity to catch some of the aftermath coverage by C-SPAN.

I am happy to report that I am still quite relaxed after my recent vacation. As such, I was easily able to avoid being irascible, and took the tact that I would simply sit back and chuckle, and enjoy the circus unfolding before me. Giuliani portrayed the usual smugness I expect from him, and I found myself shaking my head, thinking "what a schmuck," especially when he began talking about September 11 and the democrats' lack of acknowledgement of the events that day and the ensuing "war on terror."

Then, it was on to Palin. Sexist, perhaps? I enjoyed her introduction of her family, particularly the way she attempted to ingratiate herself to the convention by insisting her family is just like mine. I'm pretty sure that's not the case. I have to say that at 33, I am my parents' last hold-out for an out-of-wedlock pregnancy. Mom & Dad - there's still time! I'll try to get working on that... I also enjoyed the pledge to cut taxes without addressing the infamous war-induced deficit. But my all time favorite part of her speech was when she likened herself (and other hockey moms) to a dog. Seriously, as an independent woman and a feminist, I implore you, Sarah, to avoid referring to my sisters as bitches.

Did you catch the "entertainment" at the end? Gretchen Wilson, some Cowboy guy, and some other country & western yahoo did a bizarre medley of The Star Spangled Banner and the Pledge of Allegiance, ending in a whole lot of off-key screaching at the end, which was eclipsed only by the volume of my laughter. If you turned your television off before that, you really missed out on the one short segment that seemed representative of the entire evening's events.

For me, the evening was filled with text messages back and forth with friends, two of whom suggested I must be masochistic for being so drawn to the RNC. Well, call a spade a spade, I always say. Masochistic, I am! And I enjoyed every second of the RNC this evening for the complete fucking mess it was. Thanks to John and Sarah for reaffirming my vote! See, some good can come of all of this!

Things I've Been Meaning to Blog About: Gifts From Friends

My friends love me

This I know

For my Jesus paraphrenalia

Tells me so!

It started with a trip to a baseball game. One of Angela's co-workers organized a beer bus to a Tigers' game. It sounded magical, so I immediately signed up. After we loaded onto the bus, Angela and Eric presented me with a beautiful gift - Jeez-Its. Yes, it's styled after a box of Cheez-Its, but it's better! It's a delightful book of inspirational sticky notes. Just in case I'm having a lapse in morals, I can whip out my Jeez-Its to help me question my decisions. One style has check boxes to help me reason through my choices, and include:

Would Jesus Do It? (check one of the following)

-Yes

-No

-Maybe

-Hell No

Then there is a spot to assess, Would I Do It?

-Yes

-No

-God Knows

And there is a general sticky note, with Jesus' caucasian likeness almost giving a peace sign, with a subtle WWJD? at the top.

Then, just a scant week-and-a-half later, Joel and Renee came to town from Chicago to meet up to travel to Canada. And what did Renee have in her purse for me? Lookin' Good for Jesus Virtuous Vanilla Lip Balm. It indiactes I should Get Tight With Christ and Be Worthy and Be Noticed. Plus, it's SPF 18! And the back of the package lets me know my new lip balm has the ability to Return Lips to Near Virgin Quality! Thank goodness - my lips were feeling quite heathen.

I so appreciate these treasures, and the thoughtfulness behind them! I know they will find a place of honor in my home, maybe near my Jesus Action Figure and Liberace Bobblehead. Sincere thanks to Angela, Eric, Renee and Joel!

Ahhhh...Canada!

I can't say much more than the trip was fabulous. No television, no telephone, no internet...no worries. My friend Joel's grandparents bought property on Horn Lake in Sundridge, Ontario - several hours north of Toronto, near the Georgian Bay. They built a small cabin - the 3 bedrooms have privacy walls only, meaning no ceilings. There is a living room, sun porch, and kitchen complete with a wood-burning stove and hand pump for water, as there is no running water. That's right - we use an outhouse and bathe in the rock-lined, spring-fed lake, ranked as one of Ontario's cleanest!

Our first day was gloomy at best - the sun never made a true appearance, and the temperature was on the cool side, which made it a perfect day for our chore - chopping wood. Jamey found the tree that had been cut down for us. Our duties were simple - chop & stack the wood. It sounds simple, but was quite the orchestration, despite us having this down to a science by now. The short version:

1- Using a chainsaw, cut the tree into manageable sections not more than 13.5" long (anything longer can't fit in the stove).

2- Haul said sections of tree to the splitting area near the woodpile. Yes, this means lugging and / or wheelbarrowing large sections of tree trunk through the woods - can you imagine?

3- Split the wood using an axe an / or maul.

4- Stack the wood.

I have been an integral part of the stacking team for the last two years. This year, Jamey taught me how to use the chainsaw. I felt so bad ass. I have to admit, I didn't realize what hard work using a chainsaw can be - it takes a definite technique, and great patience (not always my strong suit). I enjoyed it immensely, and I think Jamey was happy to have a bit of a break from being the lone chainsaw guy this year.

Our other adventures included overfeeding our chipmunk friends. They are very tame, to the point of hopping on our laps while looking for peanuts, which we gladly give to them. I have no idea how much food chipmunks require. I do, in my heart of hearts, believe we succeeded in stockpiling them until we return next year.

We also managed several safe trips in the boat, known as the Saf-T-Mate. In years past, we thought it was a great idea to throw two extra chairs in the boat to transport everyone together. This resulted in everyone having to rush to the front of the boat to get it to plane properly, as well as the inability to travel at slow rates of speed, as the boat would take in copious amounts of water, causing frantic bailing. We're getting older - we decided to shuttle a few of us at a time to our destinations. We have also discovered that changing the spark plugs each year helps the motor run much more efficiently - go figure! We took the boat to Eagle Point, a local hangout for boaters, as there are a few great jumping rocks. Our favorite has a nice ledge with enough room for five of us, a cooler and a few chairs. The jumping rock from the water doesn't look too intimidating - it's about a 15-foot cliff. However, standing at the edge is another story. I made the jump again this year, and loved it. From feeling my heart race even while getting ready to jump to actually flying through the air, waiting to hit the water, was a complete and total rush. We encountered about six other groups of jumpers during our day on the rock, and everyone was friendly and fun. There is a cliff much higher up that people jump from, but not one in our group was willing, as it requires a substantial running start to clear some of the rocks jutting out, and is probably closer to a 30-foot drop. Again, with age comes wisdom (and Mom, I know you're happy to know that I have a little restraint!).

Renee and I also made the swim across our part of the lake to the island across the way. In the foreground of the picture, you can see a white ladder, which is just in front of the cabin. The island is in the very background of the picture. I don't have a good estimate on the distance, and the time it took doesn't help estimate, either, as lake swimming is so different than pool swimming. But, if I had to guess, I would say it's at least 500 yards one way. We had a boater stop along the way to make sure we weren't shipwrecked, as apparently, Canadians think it's "loony" to swim across a very still lake with not much boating action. He did chat with us about politics and the state of the American economy (the exchange is as bad for them as it is for us, was the claim).

And finally, in the grand tradition of cooking in a wood-burning oven, I mixed up a batch cookie dough. I didn't realize exactly how hot the oven was when I put in the first batch. Jamey is proudly displaying the results of having the cookies in the oven for about 4 minutes (as opposed to the usual 11). Yes, there's my first pan of burnt cookies. And not just a little overdone - actual burnt, charcoal-laden cookies. It was sad indeed. After letting the oven cool down for a few hours, Jamey threw the next pan in, and we had great success.

All in all, the trip was fantastic. I have the usual bumps, bruises, scrapes and bug bites (the mosquitoes were horrendous!), but I already can't wait to go back again next year!