good mood interrupted...

(from MetaFilter via Alas, A Blog)

Charlie Russell and Maureen Enns - authors of a popular book and the subject of a fascinating and well-recieved documentary - have been living for months at a time with bears in Kamchatka, demonstrating that man and grizzly can, in fact, inhabit the same landscape without violence - at least, no violence on the part of the bears... Their work has been brought to a tragic and all too human end...


I read this and I thought I would splinter. I am so sick of heartless, moronic, selfish, destructive, stupid fuckers like these guys (and you know I don't use the f-word on here). It just made tears roll down my cheeks.

Ahhhhh-h-h-h-h...

My mood has changed substantially for the better today. Number one: I don't have to be back at work until Tuesday of next week after 11:25 a.m. today. Hot damn. Number two: I got a lot of good work done last night. I sewed tags into my hats, got the mannequin heads painted with a dark grey faux stone paint (looks cool) and got most of my scarf-hanging apparatus constructed. Number three: I don't have to deliver my artwork to the Candy Factory until Monday morning, which takes a tremendous amount of pressure off of me. Now I will get to test the scarf hanger and get some more figure pieces finished up. I can take my stuff over to the Guild this afternoon for judging and relax a little. Today is also my older niece's birthday! Happy birthday, sweet'ums!

AND, I'm having a good hair day. Can you beat that?! The only thing that would be better is spontaneously losing 20 pounds. Oh well, you can't have it all!!

meowsings

Just when you are feeling down, some wacky friend sends you something funny:

Warning to all dog owners : Watch your dog!
Dogs are being picked off one at a time. They are falling in great numbers. Police in the area advise all dog owners to "Watch your Dog."

insert title here...

Tired. Grumpy. Depressed. Maybe I need vitamins. I did run out last week.

Tomorrow I'm taking a half-day off so I can deliver my pieces to the ETACA show in the Candy Factory. I got some bases painted and finished last night and worked on completing another couple of figures I have let set around for a while. I'm also taking some felted pieces to the Foothills Craft Guild for judging. It would be a very good thing to get accepted into that guild.

Tonight I have to spray paint all my Styrofoam mannequin heads to display my hats. I guess I'll run out at lunch and get that---maybe a textured black spray paint. Actually I need several things. I have a lot to do tonight to get ready for tomorrow. Blergghhh. At least it's stuff I enjoy doing. I have GOT to clean out my "creative room"--it's too small to be called a studio. It's in such a mess that even I can't stand it--and I am a horrendous slob.

I hope my mood improves. There's just so much change and financial pressure right now that it cloaks all the good stuff in a cloud of worry. Sorry to be cryptic, but that's the way it is. I have to keep my eyes on the silver lining.

something about this building...

Apparently my office is made like a WWII bunker or something. I only get the absolute worst radio stations (oldies or elevator music or smokin' weed tunes), which makes me kind of freakin' irritable. Coming to work makes me irritable to begin with. Now, the building doesn't let anything in, but you can hear every single word co-workers are saying within the building. I swear, it's worse than cubicles. In cubicles the sound waves junk up and confuse your little tympanic membrane. But not in here. No. It's like coming to work in your underwear. My voice is PIPED into the offices around me. It would be ok if I were an EXTROVERT, but I'm not, I'm an INTROVERT. And I probably wouldn't care if I loved my job, but I DON'T--not anymore. Ugh. I feel like I've strapped my head to an electric sander, "Yes, that feels fine. No, please don't stop...I DO appreciate this. I WOULD like a spontaneous lobotomy. I DO like rigor mortis. Yes, please embalm me with boring, listless juice." Why can't I be one of those people who are just happy to have A job?

silver linings...

I had two things I wanted to do at lunch, get a package to the post office and pick up at veggie sandwich at Subway. On my way to my first destination, a little pick-up truck pulled out in front of me. I was going about 55 mph and slowed down a bit to let him get his speed up. Irritating. No, not really, because the next thing he did was stop DEAD in the road and wave out an 18-wheeler onto the road. Now I'm laying down rubber, honking the horn and watching the contents of my purse fly all over the car. I said some f-words...lots of 'em. And I hope he was looking in his rear-view mirror. I had to follow that human turdhead all the way to the post office. I gritted my teeth and clenched the steering wheel the whole way. But then, when I parked at the P.O. and gathered up my purse from the floor I saw something...my favorite sunglasses I thought I had lost! It made prying my hands from steering wheel a little less painful. My husband often remarks that it's a miracle there's not more people killed on the road...I second that one. I think it's a miracle anyone survives the road.

from the bowels of academia...

Well, I've commandeered a computer between classes and before I hit the snack machine for my fair and balanced dinner. Psychopathology (the class I just came from) always holds my interest. It's fascinating how we are all are plotted on a continuum of behavior. We were talking about when do you decide someone has crossed the line between what's "normal" and what's "dysfunctional?" Unfortunately, it's a grey line and subjective. Diagnosing with labels is more for the insurance company than it is for helping. I know plenty of "normal" people I could diagnose with something, but their behavior causes no disruption in their lives. Aren't you glad to have an accountant who is obsessive-compulsive? Of course. Now, if that accountant can't get out of the house for days because there are wrinkles in the bedcover, well, that's a different story. I wish everyone could take these classes because human behavior is greatly demystified in them, which, as you know, KNOWLEDGE takes away stigma. Of course, I feel like an old fart, but there are a few of us running amok on campus, so, I guess I'll just get over it. Onward.

you silly narcissist...

Weblog Indexes Help Journalists Track Stories -- and Boost Their Egos

dreaming of...republicans?

I had a weird dream just before I woke up this morning. I was at my mother's house and I heard singing outside. I thought, "What the hell is that?" I parted the curtains and saw all these people dressed up and marching down the street singing some song. It wasn't Onward Christian Soldiers, but it was close to that in style. I thought they were religious fanatics at first because as they sang they pointed at people like they were saying, "Yes, YOU, need to repent." But then I saw them trampling down my yard signs for Madeline Rogero, the democratic mayoral candidate for Knoxville. Then I knew they were militant republicans. One very tall man stomped down one of the signs and I banged on the window and motioned that he'd better put it back up. He ignored me. So I ran outside in my robe and pulled the damaged signs upright. They had all but dispersed by that time, but I yelled "immature imbeciles!" at a few of them. I screamed a bunch of other stuff too, but I can't remember what I said. What a nightmare...my first political dream. YECHHK.

I've lost my mo-jo...

Oh, Mo-Jo, where did you go? I'm blah. I'm unmotivated. I'm ka-put. I'm having a hard time getting anything done anywhere...work, art, home stuff...everything. Someone unplugged me. Someone stole my Mo-Jo. I bought new underwear...nothing. I ate cookies...nothing. I ate cheese ravioli...nothing. I slept in over the weekend...nothing. I blogged...nothing. I private-journaled...nothing. Next stop, beer.

By the way, how do you add "Link Cosmos" for your individual entries? I went to Technorati.com and couldn't find any instructions for such a thing. I need a geek, quick.

blue Monday...

I found out today one of the nicest people I have ever met died of cancer on Saturday. Her name was Penny and she worked tirelessly to help people affected by mental illness. She was a selfless, enthusiastic and dedicated advocate for the mentally ill. She had some physical problems, but that never stopped her from being incredibly cheerful and sweet. I worked with her on Habitat House projects and many other volunteer projects our company put together. I always enjoyed talking to her. Penny was only in her 40's and was diagnosed with cancer only last year. Unfortunately it had spread to her liver and that's never very good news. She was plucked too soon. She had so much to give. One thing is for sure--she gave everything she had while she was here. It reminds me how precious life is.

"Live not as though there were a thousand years ahead of you. Fate is at your elbow; make yourself good while life and power are still yours." --Marcus Aurelius

welcome to little Hattie...

My friend in Nashville just got a new puppy. Welcome to little Hattie...you found a good home!

Baghdad Burning

Must read--the blog of a professional Iraqi female: Baghdad Burning

hat tip to Driving with Dawn

"oh boy, now I'm a WRITER..."

Way back in 1989 I started a job with the marketing department of a local hospital. Cool, I thought, I will get to do some "real" writing. Previously, I had been doing copywriting for a retail company which was horrifyingly boring:
"Mockneck, long-sleeve ribbed pullover. S,M,L 19.00"
Woo-hoo. So, anyway, I was really excited about this new job where I could write about "important" stuff. I had my own office, my own computer, desk--the works. I got DRESSED UP to come to this job.

So, one of the guys in the office needed help with a brochure. I thought, "Great, I'm up for this. Wonder what it is?" He came in with a brochure that needed to be redone and said he needed it spruced up--you know, make it sound better.

It was a BARIUM ENEMA patient education brochure.

Uh. My cheerful little balloon didn't deflate; it was rudely blasted with a shotgun.

BARIUM ENEMA? How do I make THIS sound good? After reading the procedure, I just wanted to write, "Listen, this is going to be the most humiliating hour of your life. They're going to stick a garden hose up your ass, inflate a stopper so it won't pop out, pump you full of radioactive stuff that looks like caulk and make you squirm around so they can see the goop rumbling around in your intestines. Then you're going to run like hell to the bathroom and poop this stuff out. YOU ARE GOING TO EXPLODE. It will be LOUD and you will hear people snickering through the airvents."

But, I didn't. I tried to write the steps out at clearly as possible--as if I were writing it for my mother and I turned the copy in. I neither asked to see the finished printed product, nor did I ask if my writing had fit the bill. I just didn't want to know.

dirt diggers

Ahhhnold, you just thought the paparazzi was bad...
Let's see if I were running for governor in California, something like this headline would show up:
"News correspondents uncovered today brown streaks of fecal matter in the shorts of Hatamaran's father. See full coverage of the story that has darkened her campaign efforts tonight at 11." A real smear campaign, eh?
Leave Ahhhnold alone.

"ohmygawd, I'm in numbers..."

First of all, the person who said that should be exterminated like a nasty little roach. With that said, here's the story:

A former co-worker and good friend of mine decided to work at a department store cosmetic counter for a while after adopting a baby boy. She wanted more time with him. Some of the gals she worked with were really cool. I would stop by the counter when I was in the mall to see if my friend was working and I would meet her fellow frou-frous.

One chick really stuck in my mind though--what there was of her. She ate slim-fast with ice (like the ice was the added treat?) and popcorn. As far as I know that was it. When they had a lunch on the company, she brought her slim-fast. One day, my friend said she was mortified because she had gotten so fat that she was, *gasp,* "IN NUMBERS NOW." That's right, she had moved up from the toddlers' section to the pre-teens. She had crossed the threshold of no value to some value. She was no longer zero--she was one. I wish I had been there because I would have screamed, "Oh my God, I'm in mother-effin'-double-digits. What should I DO?!!"

First of all, she might think straight if she would eat something. Second of all, her husband, an athlete who should know better, put tremendous pressure on her to stay painfully thin. How many therapists does it take to...?

Girls, eat something. If you have to be thin to catch a man, I guarantee you the one you just caught is the wrong one. Be healthy. Laugh. Be happy. Be with someone who can be happy with you like you are.

This whole issue gets all up in my cornflakes (thanks M). I went through it when I was a teenager and I still get irritated when "ideal" female physiques are presented to us in magazines...bodies that are tiny. These are not bodies for everyone to strive for, they are body TYPES. I mean, my god, my BONES weigh more than some of these gals. They could shimmy inside my bone structure and have room to move.

Oh well...just be yourself. I promise you are a total bore if you aren't.

the evils of procrastinating…

All week I’ve been lazy—such is the life of a procrastinator. I procrastinated on making the figure (Gabrielle) and I mustered super-human tenacity to get it done, was pleased, then collapsed. I wish I would stop doing that. I pour out the entirety of my creative juices all at once; then I’m good for nothing for several days. The thing is, I don’t have several days to spend doing nothing with so many shows coming up. I bought a book once about overcoming procrastination. I started it, but guess what? I never finished it.

There’s no use in going to a procrastination support group because no one would show up on time, or they would show up and not say anything until the last 15 minutes of the session. The only group that would be worse is one for people with paranoia. Can you imagine? They would all clam up and stare at each other, formulating terrible stories about who the other people were and why they were really there. It would be funny except for the fact my father suffers from severe paranoia. Living with a really angry, paranoid person is very scary.

Back to procrastination. I’m not a severe procrastinator, but it’s bad enough to be non-conducive to the things I want to accomplish. I go through cycles of tremendous effort and tremendous exhaustion. I think I’m addicted to the feeling of being totally immersed in something—to the extent that the world falls away and doesn’t exist. It’s just you and your project and the glory of intense concentration. The thing is, I can only maintain this level of intensity for a short period of time before crashing. Once the project is finished, I turn into an idiot-savant without the savant part. Then, I build up energy again and soon I start to make sense—and start to produce.

If I didn’t feel so guilty about the lulls in-between the productive times, I guess it wouldn’t be a big deal, but I envy people who just steadily peck away at things, joyfully checking off each little item from their to-do lists. If you analyze me in day-to-day behavior, I’m very inconsistent, but on a larger scale my actions are all consistent with my larger goals in life. So, I guess I erratically peck away at my to-do list. I know exactly where I’m going, but the journey to get there always seems to include a bit of chaos theory. It drives my poor husband crazy.

back to the 80's

My husband just sent me this link. Enjoy!
Games of the 80's

I'm no Einstein...

I just started reading a wonderful biography of Albert Einstein...a book I have been meaning to read for a couple of years now. The book is about 860 pages long and I don't want to skim anything. So, I started this book less than a week before I start two graduate level classes with heavy reading (plus I work full-time and am working on pieces for three art shows before the first of the year). What is wrong with me? It will take me months to finish it now. Like I said, I'm no Einstein. I am in love with two Alberts: Albert Einstein and Albert Schweitzer, the latter being my very favorite.

True confessions: I broke down and ordered an egg and cheese biscuit at McD's this morning. Oops. But, what I saw when I drove up to order made me scoff. The promotional poster for the Big Mac was a teenage girl, who looked to be all of 85 pounds, holding up the giant triple-decker sandwich. She wore a big smile on her emaciated face. I guess they couldn't really put a big fat guy on the poster, but it just reminds me why I want out of advertising and marketing. Our society sends out so many ridiculous messages. It's no wonder people are so confused about themselves.

I am a feminist...

Ah, stop rolling your eyes. After reading some of the stuff at Dean's World**and various blogs of others, I thought it would be good to remind people what feminism is, straight from the dictionary's inky bowels:

fem·i·nism
(fm-nzm)
n.

Belief in the social, political, and economic equality of the sexes.

The movement organized around this belief.

That's it. I believe in equality. Shoo away the stereotypes. Some feminists are assholes; some aren't. It's doesn't have to do with being a feminist. I hear a lot of people use expressions like "a bunch of feminist crap," etc. If you say that, you are saying you don't believe in equality and I think there are actually precious few who would agree with that. You could assert that someone is using bad statistics in order to further feminist argument, but that has nothing to do with feminism, that has to do with a person who is either dishonest or a bad researcher. I do wish people would separate the two. Feminism itself is good. A feminist is someone who believes in equality of the sexes. Whether or not a particular person identifies herself (or himself) as a feminist is brilliant or dumb as shit is beside the point. Feminism still reads the same in the dictionary every time--equality of the sexes.

And really, a note on statistics here. For those of you who have taken college-level statistics, you know that there are FEW good studies of anything out there. To really state statistics, you have to know the source, read the study, understand how it was set up, whether control groups were used, a random sample, a statistically valid sample size, etc. We all have to be careful when quoting statistics, because even a good study can be spun around to look like something other than what it really is. Crafty use of graphic charting can completely distort results from any study.

Unfortunately, we don't all have the time to bury ourselves in research journals to see if we can reliably quote something or not. And, most people do not know how to interpret statistics or know what questions to ask when they hear something that sounds outlandish.

Just something to think about...
**Note: I wasn't trying to pounce on Dean on this issue. I am merely commenting on the fact that when people argue about feminists and feminism, they forget what those terms really mean.

through the hubby telescope...

(Or, things I can't understand about men...)
One concept I have tried and tried to understand is "thinking of nothing." Sometimes, my husband will be staring off into space and I'll ask him what he's thinking about. "Nothing," he says. Then I say, "No, really, what are you thinking about?" And he reassures me that he is really not thinking about anything.

How can this be? I have tried for years to replicate this process in my own head. I can't think of "nothing." It's impossible. The harder I try to completely sweep my mind clear of thought, the more I am thinking about thinking of "nothing."

At first I thought this was a disturbing occurrence, but now it's my understanding that this is not an unusual phenomenon...other men can also think of "nothing." Does the mind shut down? Is there a drain that sucks out all of his thoughts everyday for a few moments to give his grey matter a break? There are no naked women running around the outskirts of a blank screen, no touchdowns going on in the background, no frothy heads of beer spilling into the abyss? Nothing?

The fact that my husband can think of "nothing" and know that he's been thinking of nothing--well, it just makes me short-circuit. The more I think about him thinking of nothing, the more I start blinking my eyes in disbelief. Nothing. It's like he has a passage into a black hole, the unknown, the anti-matter of matter.

I think this warrants a scientific study.

buy Gardenburger now!

Noooooooo! Gardenburger is having financial troubles. Go out and buy every package at the store now. If they go under I'll starve to death (or I'll have to cook--same difference)...
Gardenburger's Financial Woes
Seen at VegBlog...

don't you wonder...

Stevie Wonder is one of my all-time favorite artists. I even like the music he did when he was 11 (or so) years old. I would love to know how he feels about being African-American--what it's like to be discriminated against because of a color he's never seen?

how to explain American foreign policy to your child...

Found at indymedia

How to Explain American Foreign Policy to Your Child


...hat tip to Alas, A Blog

teaching kids what's really important...

As usual, I wish I had my camera with me when I saw these words on the Hooter's restaurant sign:

HOOTER'S GIRLS CAR WASH
THIS SATURDAY
TO BENEFIT LITTLE LEAGUE


I'm not even going to comment.

Do the Hatamaran a favor...

Under "One ringy-dingy" where my blog rings are listed...is this pooping out on your browser? Let me know. Sometimes it looks neat and tidy and then other times it blows out on me. I'm merely a nerd aspiring to be a geek, so I need some tech-head help.

hurrah for the heart!

My uncle did very well! We are so happy. He was originally scheduled for a triple by-pass, but they did a quadruple instead. I talked to my aunt last night and she sounded exhausted. I also talked to my cousin Susan...I haven't spoken to her in 15 years! It was good to talk with her. We always kept up with each other through our moms, but hadn't talked in a long time. She sounds just like her "mahm"--heh, the crazy northern accent.

Her first husband was abusive and she and her young son narrowly escaped being killed by him. They were finally separated and he lured them to his house saying that there was a medical emergency. He was waiting for them with a shotgun. They somehow got away, but he still shot himself. It was a gruesome, horrible event. Her son, who is in his teens now, is still a very angry, distant kid. I wish they would seek therapy for him so he can work his issues out. No kid can absorb such an event. You think those things don't happen to people you know, but they do. She's now married to a good man who loves her dearly.

People wonder why these women don't leave abusive men and the reason is that they fear more for their lives if they leave than if they stay. I remember attending a seminar last year about domestic violence and these men (and some women) would be more violent if the partner left. Murder happened more often when they did leave. Most of us can't fathom the cruelty of these people. Many of them torture the partner's pets, threaten to kill children--anything to control the other person with fear. It's total emotional and physical terrorism.

I was recently on an animal abuse task force in the area that looked at the link between domestic abuse and animal abuse and the link is rather strong. The goal of the task force was to find ways to link animal protection agencies with police and human service agencies. When you go to a house that has an abused dog, there's a much higher chance of domestic abuse in that household. Instead of an animal protection officer logging a report and going on to the next call, a broader report would be generated that alerted other agencies about the high risk household. There's much more to what they are doing, but basically they're trying to tighten up the gaps in information that can help agencies prevent abuse. I could tell you stories that would turn your stomach.

Okay, so I can't find the duct tape...

Which Silver Screen Siren are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Seen at Vertigo 25

apparently it really does cost a lot to be in the dark...

NYC economy loses $1B in blackout
And the Monday workday has ended. I'm almost always stuck at my computer for the entirety of the work day, so it's way too easy to irritate everyone with my petulant and meaningless updating. Now, I'm breathing. Now, I'm getting up and grabbing my purse. But wait, I have to log out of the network. But wait, my Coldplay CD is still in my mini-stereo. But wait, I have to pack up my Pocket PC. But wait, I should pee before I leave... I could drive someone completely mad...even I'm irritated. Tomorrow I'm going to duct-tape my fingers together and whack my head on a wall to get it working right again...

send healthy heart thoughts to old Milwaukee...

My uncle "R.L." (stands for Robert Something--don't know, he's always been Uncle RL) is having triple by-pass today up in Milwaukee. My mother made the trip along with her sister and her husband. Hopefully, everything will go well. RL is my mother's "little" brother. Ha. He's a big burly guy, and the loudest, hairiest man I've ever seen. They would come visit us in the summers for a week and he snored so loud that no one could sleep--not to mention all the hair he shed in the bed! That used to really gross me out as a kid. We would trek up to Wisconsin a lot to visit them, too. Wish him luck.

do I feel honored?

These keywords led a Google-searcher to my page: "rapid weight loss" hemorrhoids.

welcome to new blogs in the RTB

News from the man in the big seat, South Knox Bubba...
"Today, we welcome the following new members to our own 'event sociologique', Blog Encounters of the RTB Kind:

Darren at Long Pauses (neat site). Darren is a doctoral candidate in 20th century American literature at the University of Tennessee. Also, while you're there, check out the very cool and artistic Flash intro on his main page.

SayUncle nominates Chris at My Quiet Life, who appears to be blogging out of Nashville.

SayUncle also nominates Stoney at Rebel Yell who blogs from parts unknown. Apparently, there is a also Mrs. Stoney at Queen Medb's Castle.

AlphaPatriot advises that according to a recent interview, Forkum of Cox and Forkum operates out of Nashville."

Welcome to the Rocky Top Brigade!

I'd rather be...

I am drinking my coffee out of a cup that says "I'd rather be knitting." I got it at Knitty. Truth be known, I need a cup for work that says "I'd rather be doing ANYTHING else"...ok, maybe not cleaning toilets, but *whine*.....*whimper*.....Mondays just suck out loud.

I start fall semester next week. I'll be taking a class on group therapy and intervention and another class on psychopathology. Both of those should hold my interest quite well. It's so hard being an older student in a sea of flitty "ohmygods!" and sorority 90-pounders running around on their cell phones all wearing the same clothes. They all have brand new SUVs, BMWs and some even have Mercedes. You know what I had to drive when I started college? Even I have to laugh--a mustardy-orange Pinto stationwagon with a black vinyl interior, complete with an 8-track player (I did take that out). I think it was a 1973 model. We called it the orange pumpkin. Then the last year of school I got a VW GTI in which I got about 100 tickets and eventually had to go to driving school and be yelled at by a State Trooper who, I swear, was 7 feet tall. He was the missing link. I had a lead foot back then--and really big hair. Age mellows you out--thank God.

More later, I have a publication to do...blerch.

high-end yarn on Ebay at $1 ball

Yup. Get thee to my Ebay store if you are a knitting freak and get yourself some awesome yarn at a low, low, LOW price. All the items are up now so click yourself silly and bid, bid, BID!
Dandelion Arts eBay Store

Jeez, where'd that last post come from? What a grumpster.

ugh...

There are a lot of bloggers out there who are well-informed on politics. I do admire people who spend their spare time really keeping up with stuff--to me that would be akin to taking Ipecac on a regular basis. Others whine that they are right and everyone else is wrong and well, most others do just the same thing. There's only one thing I hate about politics and that's well, politics. The Republicans are full of shit. The Democrats are full of shit. The Libertarians are full of shit. Pretty soon you start smelling a lot like shit. Everyone puts out their own white papers, fact sheets and propaganda. They do their marketing research and call people and ask "would you be more likely to vote for X if he stood this way on this issue or that way on that issue?" How about a Commonsensian party who can pull the lobbyists out of their asses and talk about real options? When I keep up with politics the only thing I learn more about is bullshit and power-hungry dumbasses running around in suits. When I don't keep up with politics I am being an irresponsible citizen. Mmmm...shit smells bad. Say it isn't so.

who does that song?

Ok, everyone go to Missives Anonymous' blog and tell me who sings the song that boots up on the site. It's called "You Are Mine" and it sounds like Sade, but I don't think it is. I've done searches and can't find it... Leave a comment if you know. I hate it when I don't know who does a song I really like. Do it now! You're on a mission! Link: Missives Anonymous...p.s. it's a very cool site... UPDATE: Bleah!!!! ::hysterical whining:: It's not released yet, but I'll be waiting!

Why am I still up? I am tired. Why am I still up? I am tired. Why am I still up? I am tired. Why am I still up? I am tired. It's called Internet OCD. My eyeballs itch and throb and my back is tied up in knots from doing so much detail work over the last two nights and here I freakin' sit. I'm proclaiming myself an idiot for my own good. I'm pretty sure this is the beginning of spontaneous mental retardation.

I'm hooting...wouldn't you know it?

YOU ARE CATNIP


What herb are you?
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Seen at The Passionate Ailurophile...

Gabrielle Makes A Wish

That's the name of the doll/figure. Took some pictures--click fer' biggins'. She is already gone to the American Cancer Society for bidding tomorrow night at the charity auction. Wah. She is a wishing figure...apprehensive about her circumstances, she hopes that all will be okay in the end (she even has her fingers crossed)...that's the gist of it anyway.

I finished her at 2 a.m. this morning and my right hand is cramped and my left hand is full of holes from sticking myself with sewing needles...the later it got, the more I got stuck. Once between the cuticle and the nail, once underneath the nail--and I'm surprised my fingertips aren't squirting like sprinklers. I know, I should wear a thimble, but I hate them. So there. Anyway, take a peek and I'll let you know what price she fetches.

She's an original design made of fabric, glass beads, copper wire and has dyed mohair for a wig. Her hair is about 7-8 inches long. Her face is needle-modeled and covered with another layer of cloth before facial features are added with pencil/paint/pens. Thanks Michelle, for letting me put my work out!!! Luv yooooo--you're the best!

beer

The other day I noticed on a grocery list I had listed "beer" twice. I thought that said it all about my current situation.

And speaking of beer, here's a snippet from an email titled "chicken soup for the beer drinker" my husband sent me this morning.

One afternoon at Cheers, Cliff Clavin was explaining the Buffalo Theory to his buddy Norm. Here's how it went:
"Well ya see, Norm, it's like this... A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. And when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members. In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Excessive intake of alcohol, as we know, kills brain cells. But naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine. That's why you always feel smarter after a few beers."

ode to a cat poo

Well, I kept smelling something this morning here at my desk that was rather unpleasant. “What IS that?” I smelled my shirt—nope, clean detergent smell. Hmm. I look at the bottom of my shoes and a nice blob of cat poo was embedded into the deeply grooved soles of my sandals. Damn. So, I went to the bathroom and removed the nasty mess and ran hot water over the sole. Like they say, make lemonade out of lemons, so I wrote a poem about it. Wanna hear it? Here it goes….

It’s more than your furry face
That I love so very much
It’s the aroma you leave
In the litter boxes you touch

Kitty, I take you everywhere I go
The hair on my favorite shirt
The poo wafting sweetly from my shoe
It’s how I assuredly know
That it’s love you try to show.

You sign the carpet
In your own special way
And I read each love note
And cherish it before I flush it away.

I thank the Lord above
That you bring me so much love
And with each piece of your poo
I find our love rekindled anew.

in progress...

I've been busy making another figure in fabric. She's still rough with pins in her, but I have to finish her out tomorrow night...eek. She's going pretty well though. She'll have hair, hat, embellishments at the elbows and wrists, a gauze skirt, beading, shoes and of course, a base. Click for larger images. She's made completely of cloth and original. About 22" tall.

does your state hate?

See the hate group map at tolerance.org...click on your state for detail on your area's established hate groups.

cool fun

Make your own snowflakes. Seen at Branille's blog
Click here to start

My doll/figure is about half finished. I couldn't get the arms to look the way I wanted last night, but she has some cute gams and I'm happy with the torso. Her pensive look gives a little challenge to the pose, but I'll figure it out. I have tonight and tomorrow night to finish her. A lot faster than I like to work, but I've been in such a creative slump (or just a slump in general) recently that only a deadline can make me move my ass. I'll post some pics when she's done. More later! Have a great day, y'all.

Worth reading at "Alas, A Blog"

New Rape Law in Illinois: No means No, even after sex has started.

sleepus interruptus...

Every once in a while a little mole will get into our house that is promptly teased, tortured and killed my our sweet little kitties. Last night we heard the call of the wild, "mwwwwwaaaaahhhhhhhhhrrrrrrr..." --the jungle kitty call muffled by a little furry critter stuffed in the mouth. My husband said, "What was that?" I said, "That's the 'I've caught something' meow."

Hubby got up and investigated. I was a sleepy slug and didn't join the drama, but I did listen to the whole thing. Surprisingly, the mole had been captured by Rooney. Usually it's Grayson. If the traumatized mole is still alive, we'll put it outside, but if it's dead we give it a 21-gun salute and a burial at sea. This one was alive. My husband brought Rooney in for me to hold while he captured the mole in the other room...except it had disappeared. DING! Round One: Mole wins.

DING! Round Two: We let Rooney back into the room and let him do the dirty work. My memory gets fuzzy here because I'm a heavy sleeper, but soon afterward, both Grayson and Rooney are poking around in a basket of magazines in the bathroom. Obviously something is in there. Hubby gets up again (sorry, hon!) and digs in the basket. DING! Mole loses the round and a whole lot more. We thank the kitties for being the vicious critters they really are and give the little mole a watery grave down the toilet. They can never understand why we take away their prizes, but we praise them for a job well-done (they are so proud of themselves!), even though the entire thing is rather irksome and sad for the little mole.

that was TOO glum

I had little very glum poem on here and it was so damn glum I took it off. We'll save that bloody drivel for the paper-based memoirs, eh? So, sorry if you got sideswiped before I deleted it.

SO,

let's talk about hemorrhoids. Did you know that there's a $350,000,000 a year market for hemorrhoid products and that 50 percent of the 50-plus population will need these products? (read: invest now, the baby boomers are coming and they're itching...)
Read the whole poop.
Personally, I think there's evolution at work here...I mean, if 50 percent of the population over 50 has 'roids, then what does that mean? Have we always had this terrible prevalence of anus itching, or is it because we are so full of shit? Fuller than we were 100 years ago? Fuller than 1000 years ago? Perhaps, we are merely pooping more because we consume more. One-thousand years from now we may all have to wear hemorrhoid support belts or ice-packs on our poop-chute. I'll let you ponder the terrible, terrible consequences. Personally, I'm going to down a glass of orange-flavored Metamucil.
*Darwin turns over in his grave*

take it easy…

I’m trying to eat better. Less fried foods (mainly potatoes). Less cheese glopped all over everything I eat. A few less carbs. Some more vegetables. A little less caffeine. More exercise.

But,

I am so fearful of VERY RAPID weight loss that, as a precautionary measure, I went to the snack box and got a candy bar. I know, I know. I know what you’re thinking…that seems somewhat contradictory to what she’s trying to do. And it may SEEM that way, but when I lose weight, my God, it just falls off from all over and I instantly start looking like one of those skank-a-zoid Hollywood lollipops. I would hate for my head to look any BIGGER than it does now. I would hate for my bones to begin jutting out…why, I’d just WITHER AWAY.

Without this candy bar, why, I’d look downright UNHEALTHY.

Whatever, back to work. I'm just trying to get through the day without jumping out my window (the one that I don't have.)

lil' guys

Coming back from lunch I drove down Pellissippi Parkway, which is being slowly infested by surburbia, but nevertheless still beautiful. It passes over the lake and by a horse farm and several other smaller properties with horses. My favorite is a little place that has two miniature horses. I love to watch them swishing their little tails and snapping up the grass. They are so cute. I dragged my husband to a miniature donkey farm in Nashville about a year ago and it was such fun. Miniature donkeys are so funny. One of them would follow you around with her rump facing you because she loved to have her butt scratched. They were rather dusty but full of personality. The owner also had a mammoth donkey and she was HUGE. I think she was even sweeter than the minis though and I had my picture taken with her cheek to cheek (the ones on the face, stupid.) Something more positive to start the afternoon...have a great one.

what to do...?

Horses' Throats Slashed
Let's see, what would we like to do to this pathetic asshole? My personal wish is to feed the jerk into a meat grinder feet first... pause, whirrrr, pause, whirrrrr.
*Sigh.* Sometimes having such open access to news throughout the country and the world can heap too much bad stuff onto you.

sucks...

Gregory Hines Dies of Cancer at 57

"I KNOW I can bend that spoon..."

...click to supersize...

"A strong-willed herald of causes against injustice, you passionately strive to right the wrongs around you." Hmm. Reads nice...sure wish those vitamins would kick in though. Right now I'd probably win the award for the potato-chip fat arse fairy. But, like I said...reads nice.

forecast: synaptic drizzle

I've been a decaffeinated blogger recently. My energy must be pointed in the direction of my artwork because I've been devoid of curious quips and saucy snippets. Maybe I have finally emptied myself of meaningless drivel. I haven't seen any odd people or things to mutter about...hmm. Maybe the big karma is getting ready to give me a good ass-kicking, but that would be paranoid of me. Me, paranoid? Stop whispering about me, damn it.

Anyway, the day was rather vanilla. No astronomical cat pukes. The laundry didn't magically disappear...I tried staring at it for hours. I worked on my figure (fabric sculpture, not my butt). Hubby and I took our nieces to feed the ducks. I made cheese ravioli for dinner. I got some Poly-fil and fabric stiffener at Wal-Mart. We took a walk at a nearby park.

Oooooh. Wait! I do have something neat to share. I found VEGETARIAN TAMALES at Nature's Pantry. Freak out. I miss tamales big time. I can't wait to try them. Mmmmmmm!

See, I told you it was boring. More later.

The Lonely Job
Pillow-topped stamen
Peek through bowls of
softly shaded petal
Standing there unaware
Of visitors flying by

Unmoving and stoic
With only hopes to attract
Forever in the anticipation
Of a completing embrace

But passers-by only
Leave dusty calling cards
Never sleeping or taking time
To talk about the
Events of the day.

Just Snoozin'

Here's little Grayson taking a nap...he was kitty number four. My husband rescued him from the side of the road out in the middle of nowhere and smuggled him into our apartment in a duffle bag. He unzipped the bag, and out popped this tiny gray kitty with bright blue eyes. They have since turned green, but he's been a real sweetie. Click on the pic for a larger view.

I guess I'm a tad impatient...

It's already back in order...we tap our feet at the microwave these days. Remember when we had to WAIT for something to cook in the oven? When you had a TIMER? When you had to do something else while something COOKED? Oh well...

Cannot find server

And that's where all my graphics are...when is Yahoo! ever down? Blergh!!!!!!!

body parts...

That's what I'm doing today. I took a day off from work to make body parts...specifically heads. The doll/figure I'm working on needs to be developed post haste because it's going to be auctioned off for charity soon.

Hubby and I went to Sundown in the City last night. It was really fun. The band was hysterical--all their lyrics parodied KnoxVegas. I think they were called Todd and the Son of Spheres? Hubby will have to correct me if I didn't get it right (if you are being a good boy and reading my blog! hee). I have a million other things on my mind today, but I'll have to share them later.

p.s. the Yack-O-Meter went up by two pukes.

aie! blarg! I've been had...or, crime scene update (part deux)

Damn it. The whole thing about the planters being sold out of the back of a pick-up truck was one of 'dem stupid "man-jokes." Testosterone, it's a dangerous thing.

but I play one on TV...

Schwarzenegger Joins Calif. Recall Race ...what the hell? I actually like the old Terminator, but what is it with these stars and politics? Maybe he can ACT like a good governor, who knows? I suppose he's got the connections. Blargh. Shouldn't there be a test of some sort?
Jobs posted today: Governor
Qualifications: Insider connections, body building background, accent that sounds like a speech impediment, has played the movie role of a killing machine infused with high-tech tools and synthetic testosterone. Hires other people to wipe ass and buff nails.
Ok, you're in!

thieves and morons...

Oh, wait. They're one in the same. Someone stole two huge concrete planters with four-foot trees in them off of our front porch last night. Get your own damn trees, freaks.

The funny twist is that my husband just called and said his boss' wife just bought two planters with trees in them out of a pick-up truck on Kingston Pike--this morning. Hmm...suspicious-er and suspicious-er. I can't wait to see if they ours. Suh-weet justice might be around the corner.

We've had irises snipped off with scissors (to go in someone ELSE's vase I'm guessing--they were even cut an an angle.), landscape brick taken from our garden edges and phlox DUG UP and stolen from our side yard. Oh, and then there's the lawnmower that was taken as well. We live in a cool historic neighborhood, but it's obviously too close to an in-bred den of creeps and idiots. AND, our street is fairly busy...these turd-mo-fo's are brazen.

More crime scene updates later...

RTB Tailgate Party

Sugarfused is hosting the RTB tailgate party this week. Postings will appear tomorrow morning on her site. Check out what the Rocky Top Brigade is ranting about at the moment.

I knew it!

As soon as I posted my last blurb about no puke in the house, Atticus provided a steaming hairball for me to clean up.

reconnaissance mission yields nothing...

After a thorough inspection of the house, I've come up empty. Toilet paper in hand, I observed all carpeted areas, sleeping nooks, bed clothes and darkened corners. Nothing. Not even a little slime spot where he's half-yacked. There are no kitty pukes in the house. *scratches head* Baxter is staring at me like he knows something. I still think he's saving himself for a vomit of epic proportions. We'll see if we make it through the night puke-free.

when did you first hold a gun?

The post and discussion on Inn of the Last Home reminded me of a funny/disturbing story of my childhood. The first time I held a gun, I was four years old. We were living in a somewhat secluded area and my whole family was out in the driveway. I remember begging and pleading to hold the BB gun my dad had. "Puh-leeeeeeeeeease????!!!!! I PROMISE I won't pull the trigger." (By the way I don't think four year-olds should know what a trigger is.) So, finally, to shut me up, my dad showed me how to hold it and showed me what NOT to touch. Of course, that made the trigger a mentally excruciating magnet. I remember thinking, I'll just touch it, but I won't pull it.

BAM! I shatter my dad's driver-side car window. I had the classic dropped jaw, "I didn't mean to" look that all kids have perfected. He furiously jerked the gun out of my hands. I'm thankful I didn't shoot someone in the face. It was classic that he paid for it with his car window. God works in mysterious ways.

Last year, my dad tried to recruit me into the NRA. "Um, no?"

get a hobby...

These folks are consoling one another because the leftist guerilla Episcopals let that horrible gay person be a bishop. Great, I'm Episcopal. Now we're all going to be turned into homosexuals against our will. Sometimes I feel sorry for small-minded people and then other times I just want them to get a hobby...click on the photo for more.

well, I just don't understand it...

Still no puke. I don't understand it. It's as if Baxter knew that I had set up a "Yack-O-Meter" and had made public statements about him. "I'll show her, I won't yack!" He was laying under the dining room table this morning looking quite surly. Hmm. Perhaps reverse psychology works on cats, too? I'm almost worried about him, but I think he's merely planning a big surprise attack. He was eyeing my shoes with an evil squint everywhere I walked this morning. "Yes, those. Those shoes are NEW. Those shoes are SHINY. They must be ENCRUSTED. I will win and she will be sorry she shared my personal gastrointestinal battle with the public. Must wait until the right time..."

Updated report this evening...stay tuned.

I am pukeless...

I can't believe it. There is no cat puke to clean up today. I haven't found a hairball OR a vomit!

Bah.

I started on my ACS figure, laying out different fabrics, getting pattern pieces together. I'll probably use the Hope Angel pattern I did, but I don't know. I'm having a bit of brain fade on the project and there's a little creative block going on. Clay? Cloth? Clay over cloth? Cloth over cloth? Armature? Stump body? Base? At least I got in there and got in started. I'm sure the weekend will be very busy building her out. It pisses me off when I don't have the flow going.

Bah.

I need to stop biting my cuticles. I need to start reading more. I need to start writing more--not this mindless drivel. I need to get away from this computer...I'm turning into a neurotic OCD blogger. Blogging keeps my mind off of negative things, of which I am swimming in aplenty at the moment on the personal front.

Bah.

So, how much do YOU make?

An article on the distribution of wealth in the U.S.
"...The income map doesn't have to be so distorted. This huge gulf between the rich and the rest of us is a recent phenomenon. From World War II up to 1979, incomes increased at about the same rate in all brackets. But from 1979 to 1997, the average annual income of the top 1% (after taxes) increased by 157%, or $414,000 in 1997 dollars. Over the same period, the income of the poorest 20% fell by $100. ..." Read the whole thing at Alternet

taxing situations

Here's a real pick-me-up I wrote when we got the IRS letter that took everything we had plus a whole lot more. It's not a great poem but it provided catharsis for the extreme anxiety we went through when we were trying to figure out how to pay up.

Flight of the Tax Man
My mailbox is a nightmare
And the tax man knows
Just how unwieldy my heart beats;
He is an insatiable hungry crow

He sits on the electrical wires
And waits for my mistake;
Hovers with juices in his mouth
And lusts after me like raw steak

His claws come in the mail
And I never see his beady eyes
It's his clever way
To appear in posted guise

His declaration is my final woe;
I have only empty pockets
So into my chest his dirty claws go
And away with me he flies screeching
Mocking the dead gaze of the scarecrow below.
#

I'll blow more sunshine up yer arse later.

hey!!!!!

Hey! I got my letter from TACA today and I got into the Nashville show! Hoo-ray! I'm really excited!!!

Bleh, bleh, bleh…

Mondays are horrid. Pure unadulterated mental squalor. To blurt out a paragraph or two of senseless blathering-on actually keeps me from jumping out the window…oh, wait, I don’t HAVE a window. Figures.

The CD I can’t get out of my player: Coldplay, #5 on repeat.

Got a phone call this afternoon. Oh, dear. Husband is sick. Let me flick on my automatic nurse-maid mod-u-la-tor. Zzzz-z-z-z-z-zzs-s-s-tt-ttt. *sparks* Ok, I’m ready. Oh I forgot the weeping violins. *raises baton* One-and-a-two-and-a…(enter: violins)

Actually, I can’t complain, he takes excellent care of me when I’m ill. So much so, that I have to tell him to go away and leave me the hell alone so I can get some rest and stare at the ceiling like a good little patient. So I guess I’ll be nice to him. Looks like a quiet night and a good time to get the ACS figure started. More later…

careless, careless, careless...

I now have a new tag and am legal to drive again. On the way to the court clerk's office there was a turtle crossing the road and I wish I could have stopped (the road is too narrow and dangerous to pull off) because he was there when I returned except he was shattered. It was a grisly scene. I easily avoided him when I drove by the first time. I guess it was too much trouble for someone else. Carelessness is our worst disease. Sigh.

"Ma'am, did you know...?"

I keep watching my bank account to see if the check has been cashed for the Nashville show—obviously I can’t wait for the letter to come. I don’t know if I got in or not. I should get a letter any time. There are only 130 slots and it’s a national show, so I won’t be too disappointed if I get weeded out. I’d also have to work my fingers to the bone to ready for it.

In other news:

I did it again. I let my tags expire. I had good intentions, but while I was gone to a workshop, my husband moved my messes around and once something has been moved, it has been formally deleted out of my head. I can do lots of unique things that other people can’t do, but I cannot file or keep mundane tasks organized. It’s really quite odd. I think my husband just thinks I’m lazy. I’m telling you I did not get fitted with the “day-to-day tasks memory chip.” It was not added to the packing list and I didn’t get it.

So, today, at lunch I get to go renew my tags. What’s really embarrassing is that some guy behind me in the McDonald’s drive-through noticed it and yelled at me. “Ma’am! Did you know your tags are expired?” Ack! I said innocently, “Really? Thank you.” He nodded as if he had done his good deed for the day—helping a poor stupid girl who won’t even cook her breakfast on the weekends. Then I was stuck there until I got my pancakes. Ugh, another ugly room added to the House of Dunce. Bleh.

More later…

De-ja puke

Once again, my lovely but heftyweight feline Baxter, has decided to yack up his food all over my bed. Off to the laundry room we go--again. I have more patience than most people, but jeez, it's been a vomit factory around here lately. "I smell potatoes!"

singing, groping and hot peppers...

Well, I've never thought much about community theater, but you know, I am impressed. Hubby and I attended "Gypsy" at the Oak Ridge Playhouse, and I liked it a lot. I think it might have been senior citizens day there though; I've never seen so many people over 70 in one place. The performances were really good. Who knew such talent was to be had locally? If you put me up on stage, I would immediately shit in my pants, whimper, curl up in a ball and start talking to myself. I envy people who can get up there and perform like that.

An older couple sat next to us after intermission who were practically groping each other. I gathered from their conversation that they were on a date. They chit-chatted way too much for my liking and I was really close to giving them a reprimand, but my southern chaaa-a-a-a-m took over and I gave them one more chance to shut up. They did. Maybe it was the psycho stare I shot their way. I wonder if they made it home before they ripped each other's clothes off. It was a little gross.

Speaking of gross, after the performance hubby and I stopped for a salad bar meal at a little "we-serve-it-all" restaurant and the manager was making the rounds to the tables to ask people if their meals were ok, etc. A couple of minutes after he visited our table, my husband started laughing. He had overheard the manager remark to some other customers that he couldn't believe how many hot peppers they were eating. The customer replied, "Nah, they don't bother me." In reply to that the manager said, "Well, if they don't getcha' on the way in, they'll getcha' on the way out."

What a classy guy.

fiber munchies

Here's the 2 ply mohair and wool I spun up. Click for monster yarn. I really like this color.


More later, I need to get ready to go to the playhouse.

how about that...

There ARE other people out there like me! I just went to my first ETACA meeting (the East Tennessee chapter of the Tennessee Association of Craft Artists--whew) and there were some really cool people there. I was tad nervous but I was surprised that I didn't fall asleep or get bored (maybe I was in the right place!). It's weird to hear people compliment "my work," because I'm just now recognizing myself as an (whispering) a-r-t-i-s-t. Still feels weird. It took me a long time to recognize myself as a (whispering) w-r-i-t-e-r, too. (Makes note to self to discuss at next therapy appointment.) So, in any case, it was a very good first experience with them and I'm excited about my first show coming up in September. Actually, I might be in three shows before Christmas. I'm still waiting to hear about the big Nashville show and I'm pretty sure I'm going to do the one in October in Smithville. BAM! The to-do list just got really long. I'd better get busy. Ack, then there's the Foothills Craft Guild jurying...Ack! Ack! The Southern Highlands process is going to have to wait until next year...it's like getting into graduate school. Oh, yeah, graduate school...that starts up later this month, too. Hmm.

I finally finished plying my handspun wool/mohair and it's hanging with a weight to set the twist as we speak. When it's dry, I'll take photo for the fiber freaks. I'm too lazy to go beyond 2-ply...maybe someday I venture into more complicated structures. My first love is handspun, handpainted singles anyway.

In other news: I got a Canon Powershot 4.0 megapixel camera from my FIL for about one quarter the asking price--he is the "king of camera" on Ebay. I shouldn't have spent the money, but where else are you going to get an $800+ camera for $150? It is SWEET, as in SUH-WHEEEEEET. It's also hot as hell today...will write more later and hopefully post some pictures.

perchance to nap...

Since my head is splitting, I thought I'd go lie down for a minute, but this cat did this to my bed--again. I'd get mad, but how do you get angry at an overweight, deaf cat who does nothing but purr and cuddle with you all night. This is causing yet more psychic conflict that is totally unnecessary.

funny people…

Someone once told me “you are just naturally funny.” I still don’t know for sure if I should put that person on my friends or enemies list. Oh well. Busy Mom Blog had a really funny entry... click it or get your big butt outta here…”

Aftermath--in the secret thought bubble:
HATamaran thinks to self…“Am I projecting my insecurities about my own flabby, oversized ass onto others whom I do not even know? My Gawd, I am! I am!" ...she hastily schedules another therapy appointment to discuss.

you've got mail...

sorry if you've read it before...but I laughed out loud when I got this email from my friend Susan.

My name is Billy Evans. I AM A very sick little boy.
My mother is typing this for me, because I can't. She Is crying. The
reason she is so sad is because I'm so Sick. I was Born without A
body. It doesn't hurt, Except when I try to breathe.

The doctors gave me an artificial body. It is A burlap Bag filled
with leaves. The doctors said that was the Best they could do ON
account of us having No money OR Insurance.

I would like to have A body transplant, but we need More money. Mommy
doesn't work because she said nobody Hires crying people. I said, "
Don't cry, Mommy and " and She hugged my burlap bag. Mommy always
gives me hugs, Even though she's allergic to burlap and it makes her
Sneeze and chafes her real bad.

I hope you will help me. You can help me if you Forward this email to
everyone you know. Forward it to People you don't know, the too. Dr.
Johansen said that for Every person you forward this email to, Bill
Gates Will team up with AOL and send A nickel to NASA. With That
funding, NASA will collect prayers from school Children all over
America and have the astronauts take Them up into space so that the
angels can hear them Better.

Then they will come back to earth and go to the Pope, And he will
take up A collection IN church and send All the money to the doctors.
The doctors could help Me get better then. Maybe one day I will be
able to Play baseball. Right now I can only be third base.

Every time you forward this letter, the astronauts can Take more
prayers to the angels and my dream will be Closer to coming true.
Please help me. Mommy is so Sad and and I want A body. I don't want
my leaves to rot Before I turn 10

If you don't forward this email, that's okay. Mommy Says you're A
mean and heartless bastard who doesn't Care about A poor little boy
with only A head. She Says that if you don't stew IN the raw pit of
your own Guilt-ridden stomach, she hopes you die A long slow,
Horrible death and then burn forever IN hell.

What kind of cruel person are you that you can't take Five freakin'
minutes to forward this to all your Friends so that they can feel
guilt and shame about Ignoring A poor, bodiless nine-year-old boy?
Please Help me.

I try to be happy, but it's hard. I wish I had A Kitty. I wish I
could hold A kitty. I wish I could Hold A kitty that wouldn't chew ON
me and try to bury Its turds IN the leaves of my burlap body. I wish
that Very much.

Thank You,

Billy " Smiles " Evans

ugh

It would be great if I could just wipe this week off my calendar. It's been a disaster from the get-go. I have felt like total garbage all week, the tax man came carrying a chainsaw, I missed work and am still in a state of physical discomfort and mental stupor. Well, damn it, we must forge on anyway, regardless of what all the little purple people with psychedelic tu-tus dancing around me are saying. Shut up, you! Shut up!