tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80960894564495915022024-02-07T19:32:04.664-08:00Mary Ann DeBorde Writes (and Reads!)M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.comBlogger170125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-85686704024561775202016-11-05T05:39:00.000-07:002016-11-05T05:39:44.786-07:00Baby, It's COLD Outside!! <b>It's 6:30 a.m. and 41 degrees outside. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><i>Yesterday</i> I had the bright (warm & well-rested) idea to get up today, at the butt crack of dawn it seems, and enjoy a fall morning moseying about the annual church Holiday Bazaars scattered throughout our wee little town. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>It's 6:31 a.m. and 41 degrees outside and I think that was one of the worst ideas. Ever.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I'm cold & crabby and currently swathed with mismatched layers of flannel, and the mere notion of having to change into stiff albeit clean jeans paired with a matching cardigan, comb my hair and tidy up various body parts - to maintain the facade of 'respectable adult & productive member of society' - has all the allure of climbing Mt. Everest at 9.5 months pregnant. </b><br />
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<b>At this point in the early morning festivities, I don't care if they are selling Holy Fudge or grandma's vintage diamonds for a dollar. I am not, nor ever will be, a 'morning person' (whatever the hell <i>that</i> is). </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Especially when it's 41 degrees outside. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>What I <i>want </i>to do is to burrow back under the covers/cats, sleep for another 2-5 hours and </b><b>have some good Samaritan drop off the fudge & diamonds at a more reasonable time - like 2:00 in the afternoon. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Except, if I call the boyfriend to cancel (wuss out) at the last minute, I'll never hear the end of it. 'Cos he's a MORNING PERSON/male and doesn't understand that it is (very very very) slightly possible (or not) that somewhere in the distant annals of my lineage may lurk a drop or two of vampire blood so it's better not to risk the turning into a pile of dessicated Mary Ann. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I'm old. Shit happens. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>P.S. Speaking of<i> old, </i>what I'm really on the lookout for are baroque mirror & picture frames. I found a beautiful pair earlier this summer dated 1968. We (carefully) removed the glass and backing, cleaned them well, then painted them a soft antique gold before hanging. Dang, they look gorgeous! I love the look of 'just' frames with the wall or wallpaper, etc showing through. My house is very 'neutral' & somewhat minimalistic, but the fancy frames give it just the right amount of bling. Plus I like mirrors. </b><br />
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<b>Guess that shoots the whole 'latent vampire' theory. </b><br />
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<b>Let's hope the fudge is good this year ~</b>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-20048879697567187412014-09-18T20:12:00.001-07:002014-09-18T20:12:28.393-07:00Back in the Groove, BabyOne year ago today we moved into the new house. Silly me, I thought all the work ended once we got in. Nope. Nada. Nyet. <br />
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Still, I'm putting aside the caulk gun, paint brush and hammer to enjoy my favorite-est hobby: READING, of course of course :D<br />
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I'm hoping to get back on track & reconnect with old friends, maybe make some new along the way. Fall is a coming, and I'm ready to go BOOK CRAY-CRAY!<br />
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And I just joined up with Bloglovin<br />
<a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5578525/?claim=gem2a5x8dkj">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a><br />
<br />
Not sure what I'm doing, but it'll get figured out ... eventually. Heh Heh.<br />
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Love U guys,<br />
The M.A.D.M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-18056573848090025062013-04-22T19:26:00.000-07:002013-04-22T19:26:41.646-07:00My Weak in Review (and other nonsense)<b>Here in the good ol' Mid-West, we've been experiencing an awful lot of weather lately, and I think <i>somebody</i> should do <i>something</i> about it. Just a few weeks ago, we were treated to a delightful spring surprise of nearly 14" of snow that blasted my crocus and tulips clear back to the ice-age (not the movie) (though that prehistoric squirrel <i>is</i> pretty awesome). </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Then last week we received rain of such ferocity and duration that not only are we no longer in a drought, but water is still standing nearly a foot deep in the crawl space. Oh, and I forgot to mention the tense afternoon we spent hunkered down in the tub (with cats) while the tornado siren went off (again). </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Cats hate sirens. And tubs. And just about everything else that doesn't come in a can with a picture of a damn salmon on the label. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Anyway, I am glad to say that my laptop is (kinda sorta) up and working again. The little ^%$#@! crashed 6 weeks ago and the ipad just doesn't cut it. Yet, deep in my heart I know the laptop's doomed to a slow and painful (for me) death, because there's some issue with the hard drive and I </b><br />
<b>hate all this electronic crap anyway. My adult son is the programming savant, and even though he patiently trouble shoots and slowly explains the hard drive issue to me <i>over and over</i> again ... I have the childish urge to stick my fingers in my ears and go lalalalalalala - hoping it'll all go away.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>But it won't. Welcome to the technological revolution, kiddies. AS we speak (metaphorically), computer scientists and theoretical physicists are earnestly puzzling out how to garner enough computing power (even beyond the yottabyte) to experimentally determine if our physical reality may actually be a simulation (ancestral simulation is the best contender thus far). </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Not kidding. Heck, you can't <i>make</i> this kind of stuff up, and I should know since I try a lot. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>And yet, I can't get my laptop and Windows Vista to play *nice* with each other... (bangs head on keyboard). </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>So anyway, my (birth) mom and one of my brothers died a couple of months ago. Ironically, right after I wrote my happy little post on health/nutrition. It really knocked the wind out of my sails and has had me in a minor funk these last two months. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I have probably already made mention of just how rampant heart disease runs in my family. And when I say *rampant*, I mean that out of the 17 of us siblings (full siblings) ... of the fifteen of us that I have information on ... TWELVE of that fifteen have either dropped dead with heart attacks or undergone bypass surgery. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>My recently deceased brother, David, was just 13 months older than I, in apparent good health, a martial arts enthusiast, non-smoker, slim build, etc - and he dropped dead out of the clear blue sky at age 56. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Two years ago, I lost a sister at age 41. And so on and so forth. Some of my siblings have died from heart attacks before they turned 40, and the sister born 11 months AFTER me died at age 5. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>What's really scary is that there's been no early warning signs. My brother Jason went to the ER, only to be sent home as *fine*, where he then suffered a major heart attack and was dead by nightfall. I mentioned to my physician my concerns regarding the heart issue. He took out his stethoscope, listened to my heart and told me I was fine. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Wow, huh?! And silly me thought he might actually <strike>give a shit</strike> order some tests run. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>The upshot is that I have been rather pensive lately. Life is what it is, and what will be will be. Maybe I'll be a familial anomaly and live to a ripe old age, dance fast and drink sloe gin at my granddaughter's wedding (if only I <i>had</i> a granddaughter) (I've got all these grandcats, but they're not big on ceremony lol). </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I'm still going to read zombie books, get Low with Flo Rida, plant posies and potatoes at my new house, and treasure every single second of my beautiful, blessed life. Because that's what matters in the end ... quality not quantity. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I'd <i>like</i> to be the best soul I can possibly be, and always remember to avoid being an unnecessary asshole. I'd also like to help cure cancer, heart disease, to feed the poor and eradicate animal cruelty. I'd like to write a book to inspire the world to be a better place, but I may have to settle for spreading smiles here and there. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>So whether I'm able to write very much or not ... who knows what this stupid laptop is going to do next? Right now it's sitting here blinking in that <i>ominous</i> way ... I just don't trust it. </b><br />
<br />
<b>PS - How many of you are practically on pins & needles waiting to see WWZ?! </b><br />
<b>PSS - I've been in the mood to read more Sci-Fi and Ye Olde Haunted House stories lately. Any recommendations? </b><br />
<b>Stay Groovy :D</b><br />
<b>M.A.D. </b>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-29326528457273678632013-02-28T16:58:00.001-08:002013-02-28T16:58:16.742-08:00Announcing the New & Improved M.A.D. <span style="font-size: large;">(Not really)(Same sh*t, different day)(act surprised) ...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyhoo, my winter hiatus has nearly ended and I couldn't be happier. Spring, the good Lord willing, is right around the corner and I am thrilled beyond description. I loathe winter. No, really.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Even though I've been MIA for the last three months, I <i>have</i> been busy and semi-productive: cleaning, sorting, selling, pitching crap before summer when we'll be moving into our new home (constructed and ready to finish out the interior). I have this tremendous urge to get rid of EVERYTHING, purge my possessions, to hit the *Reset* button, and start over fresh. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Also, I am pleased to say, that several weeks ago I embarked on a healthy eating kick. Mostly superfoods and fat free foods. And it's really paying off. I've lost approx. 20 lbs and am determined to lose 30 more for a total weight loss of 50 lbs. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Though I've been petite <i>most</i> of my life (with my weight ranging anywhere between 112 to 130), 5 years ago I had to go on</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">certain meds which really played havoc with my weight & appetite. I began eating and gaining, consuming all the wrong foods, and I was mostly too tired to care. But now I'm trying to change all of that. I've been doing fantastic (much to my family's surprise), have lost my desire for crappy food, and I think I'll be able to get my *figure* back before summer. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In case anybody is curious about what's on my diet: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Kale</b> (excellent source of Vitamin C)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Sweet potatoes</b> or yams</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Quinoa</b> (good source of vegan protein)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Wild Alaskan salmon</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Fat-Free Hot Dogs </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Vegan-fed, cruelty-free (range) eggs</b> (high in essential Omegas).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Non-fat Greek yogurt</b> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Sugar free Jell-O</b> for my sweet tooth.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The occasional 1/2 of a <b>Cinnamon/Raisin bagel</b> for when I <u>must</u> have a chewy *bread*.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">With a wee bit of <b>fat-free cream cheese</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Baked Lays</b> (in EXTREME <u>moderation</u>, because it's too easy to fill up on non-essential calories).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Slim-Fast</b> 2-3 times per week, just enough to get some extra nutrients in my diet/take with my meds to coat the stomach.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The <u>occasional</u> <b>Diet Entree</b> (with careful attention to overall fat content & calories towards my daily total).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Green veggies</b> (asparagus, green beans, etc) scattered throughout the week. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>90% Cocoa Fair Trade chocolate</b> (just a <i>wee</i> nibble here and there, to satisfy that chocolate craving)(this stuff is SO dense and rich - I can't even eat ONE square!)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Also, I can't recommend enough the value of keeping a daily food</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">journal. Every bite that passes my lips gets tracked. It helps so much to see exactly what you're consuming. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm avoiding or only consuming in <b>tiny</b> portions: corn, GMO products, </span><span style="font-size: large;">white flour, gluten, cereal grains, high fructose corn syrup, white potatoes, non-healthy *fats*, most dairy and empty carbs, etc. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Basically that's it. I try to keep my daily fat below 15 grams, and my calories below 700. And when the weather gets nicer, I can get back to power walking which is something I love to do. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So, this is a huge lifestyle change for me. I can't get over how easy it was, once I got my body past it's junk addictions. Although, I've never EVER liked greasy fatty food, or ate much meat. And I've never been one for any of the fast food establishments. Even when NOT dieting, I just don't eat that crap. I don't think I've had a fast food burger in over 3 years, at least. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My addictions are things like donuts, lasagna, veggie pizza, candy. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And chocolate cake. Down the road, I want to learn to cook *healthy* - like lasagna made with gluten-free noodles, fat free sauce, kale and zucchini and mushrooms, and fat-free yogurt instead of cottage cheese. Also, as a semi-vegan, I'll use soy instead of meat. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Btw, if anybody wants to drop a few pounds, and would love a buddy, just holler. Also, some of the BEST inspiration I've found is on Youtube - the Extreme Makeover Weight Loss Edition is fantastic! Some of the people are truly amazing, and I can only hope to have a fraction of their courage and determination. :)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, so that's what I've been doing, and where I'm at. In the middle of some big life changes. And now all I need are some good zombie books to make life complete .... heh heh heh</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">(and you <i>thought</i> this would be a zombie-free post) (not on MY watch!)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I miss you guys. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-31442591442681004472012-11-19T17:43:00.001-08:002012-11-19T17:43:41.590-08:00Happy Thanksgiving, I really love you guys! <b>I haven't exactly been social this past week - a lot is going on, and I'm overwhelmed & kinda tired. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Usually I try to visit & comment, because I really do treasure my sweet blog-buddies. While it may sound silly, I've gotten to know so many beautiful souls these past few years - and if I had enough hours in the day I'd visit & comment every single day to just plain share the love.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>But since Halloween I've been feeling a little run down. No biggie. However, I wanted to take a moment to sincerely wish every single one of you the absolute BEST Thanksgiving ever! Whether you're celebrating with a large family, turkey & all the trimmings (I'm a vegan, so it's candied yams & green been casserole for moi), ... or curled up with a sammich & the day off work, ... I want everybody to know they are loved and special! </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><u>HAPPY (EARLY) THANKSGIVING :)</u></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Ps - If you can, <u>PLEASE</u> throw some scraps out for the birds, squirrels, stray kitties, etc. </b><br />
<b>What's scrap & leftovers & waste to US can literally feed, comfort & save the life of the vulnerable creatures who share this planet with us. On their behalf, I thank you with all my heart~</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Love, Mary Ann</b><br />
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<br />M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-61414339950278139372012-10-30T23:21:00.000-07:002012-10-30T23:21:50.185-07:00Ode to Zombies <h3>
HAPPY HALLOWEEN ONE & ALL! </h3>
<div>
For your *listening* pleasure, may I present ...</div>
<h3>
<b><u>An Ode to Zombies</u></b> (sung to the tune of <i>Up On The Rooftop Click Click Click</i>)</h3>
<div>
Outside the basement, Billy stalls</div>
<div>
He heard grandma's zombie claws!</div>
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With a smidgen of ketchup, a drop of soy -</div>
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that's how grandma eats little boys!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
No No No</div>
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Stay away from the ho -</div>
<div>
No No No</div>
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Them dead's gotta go!</div>
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Oh, down from the attic</div>
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click click click</div>
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Better hope grandpa's dentures stick!</div>
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<br /></div>
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This is the Halloween straight from Hell</div>
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If only papa hadn't fell</div>
<div>
down all the stairs where he seemed to die</div>
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until he closed then opened his eyes!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Scream Scream Scream</div>
<div>
They think you are meat -</div>
<div>
Scream Scream Scream </div>
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Stay fast on your feet!</div>
<div>
Oh, the dog in the backyard</div>
<div>
has broke his chain</div>
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and he can't wait to eat your brain!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Last comes your mom with eyes all red</div>
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You're pretty damn sure she's also dead.</div>
<div>
Tho it might be sad everyone's a ghoul</div>
<div>
Come Monday you're not going to school!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Run Run Run</div>
<div>
What a day this has been -</div>
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Run Run Run</div>
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Even if you are ten!</div>
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Oh, if you want to stay alive ...</div>
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... better jump in the car and learn to drive. </div>
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M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-68371730876754897712012-10-29T21:06:00.000-07:002012-10-29T21:06:41.597-07:00EVERYBODY - PLEASE VISIT & VOTE! <b>I am SO FREAKING EXCITED!!! A Life Bound By Books and Confessions of a Bookaholic have put up the competing covers for their annual Cover Contest! I hope you will visit them and vote for the cover YOU like best (even if it's not me, that's totally cool lol). </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>My cover is #7</b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6XJ0RBdOPM3-lRZOd_kHvPaP5EHnIJXaE0t2OEKSWZ637oXx1OK7UvdhJV4fEj9rLeZvi4qXcRGKdp_GmWlBH4hAearAifyncCcE4m36f-Sz7RE8Q3RJQEWV0AdBdqBKyk4wpVY8DXEry/s1600/SealectionbyMAD+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6XJ0RBdOPM3-lRZOd_kHvPaP5EHnIJXaE0t2OEKSWZ637oXx1OK7UvdhJV4fEj9rLeZvi4qXcRGKdp_GmWlBH4hAearAifyncCcE4m36f-Sz7RE8Q3RJQEWV0AdBdqBKyk4wpVY8DXEry/s320/SealectionbyMAD+(1).jpg" width="231" /></a></div>
<b>I did a sea-monster Cthulhu take off from the cover of Selection by Kiera Cass. Drawing all those tentacles was a bee-atch, let me tell you. But since I FELL IN LOVE with the original cover, I just knew it was the one I wanted to redesign & enter~</b><br />
<a href="http://www.totalbookaholic.com/2012/10/haunted-halloween-cover-voting.html">http://www.totalbookaholic.com/2012/10/haunted-halloween-cover-voting.html</a><br />
<b>While you may visit either site to vote, you may ONLY VOTE ONCE regardless of which site you are commenting from. So THANK YOU X A MILLION for reading this, and I hope you'll go and comment/vote. EXPIRES 10/31 !!!!!! HURRY! </b>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-71556873000485343752012-10-03T15:28:00.003-07:002012-10-03T15:28:27.238-07:00Awesome Zombie Event Shout - Out! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5bTI3qqgR0hpvP_iJeDY52qz1vCrppU5R1cL2ucxti0L6Yc6PNgjZj0S5QC-BU9mCgxinggR4DepxET34t1FbJvU7jpkxMw89SBEi1hPc1K1AdKgCosIJtyQQgGS4N1RuyRSYbK0iX6py/s1600/keepcalm_zed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5bTI3qqgR0hpvP_iJeDY52qz1vCrppU5R1cL2ucxti0L6Yc6PNgjZj0S5QC-BU9mCgxinggR4DepxET34t1FbJvU7jpkxMw89SBEi1hPc1K1AdKgCosIJtyQQgGS4N1RuyRSYbK0iX6py/s1600/keepcalm_zed.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>Nothing says October like Zombies! It's not just the leaves that are colorful and dropping off ...</b><br />
<b>heh heh. That is why you MUST visit my book -bloggie f(r)iend <a href="http://vvb32reads.blogspot.com/2012/10/keep-calm-and-carry-on-zombie-edition.html">Velvet at vvb32reads</a>. She is having a rotalicious KEEP CALM, CARRY ON: Zombie Edition virtual book event throughout the month of October. Giveaways, reviews, and all sorts of decaying deliciousness to be found! </b><br />
<b>This is your Commander M.A.D., over and out. </b>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-85767915649384069602012-09-26T13:39:00.000-07:002012-09-26T13:39:20.210-07:00How Tall Are You? <b>I am only 5' 2". </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Up until twelve hours ago, I never paid much attention to my height - or lack thereof. True, growing up, my dad reminded me about every other day that I needed to sue the city for building the sidewalk so close to my ass. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Dad missed his calling as a stand up comic (Dad's in heaven right now, undoubtedly heckling the other short souls just to keep his hand in the game for when I -eventually-show up). </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>But last night, somewhere in the wee hours of morning because it feels like I've got a stupid ulcer (can't imagine </b><i style="font-weight: bold;">why</i><b>?) and couldn't get to sleep and the stray kitty was at the door scratching for his 19th snack of the evening (only a very, </b><b><i>very</i></b><b> slight exaggeration) ... ONCE AGAIN I opened the front door to another slice of fresh baked hellcake (devil's food). </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Thank God I had the foresight (luck) to turn on the porch light before stepping out onto the deck. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>See, I </b><b>still glance up to the <u>right</u> and do a *quick check* of the underside of the awning over the front door every now and then. But, the cooler temperatures, torrential rains, and occasional tornadoes have kept the wasps fairly sluggish and inactive. I told you I was waiting for winter to fix the whole bug problem and I wasn't kidding. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><i>This morning </i>(actually 2 a.m.) I'm stepping over the stray kitty who is spatially challenged, balancing a paper plate of mashed dead fish heads or whatever it is that comes in those little cans, trying to quietly open & close the screen door so I don't wake up my more-productive, day-walking neighbors, checking for slugs lounging around the deck like they pay taxes, glancing up at the wasp nest to make sure nothing's happening<i> there ... </i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b>When some primal and long-forgotten instinct made me turn my head to the<u> left </u>(new direction) and came <i>this close </i>to getting a face full of SPIDER!! I swear to God I almost wet myself. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>This thing WAS THE SIZE OF A FREAKIN' SOCCER BALL and had I been another half-inch taller I would be in heaven right now, dead from a spider-face-heart attack and enduring stale jokes from my father. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Nature has really been pushing my buttons this year.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Anyway, (and you gotta picture this so I'll type slow) ... it'd been raining and windy and storming all damn day & night, but somehow (do spiders have superpowers?) this Arnold Schwarzenegger of the arachnid family, had managed to spin AND KEEP ATTACHED TO THE AWNING SUPPORTS, this massive, architectural-nightmare of a web during winds capable of toppling small buildings ... and this BLOATED (full of billions of spider eggs omg i'm gonna barf) Godzilla spider was clutching onto the web WAVING IN THE WIND like he was surfing the big one and I came within a hair's breadth of walking right into this trap from the darkest bowels of hell.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I jumped back like I'd been shot (a quick, clean death sounded GREAT at that moment), slamming into the front door and almost stepping on stray kitty who was still circling under my feet waiting for me to drop the damn plate already so he could eat and get on with his busy schedule of impregnating every feline within three counties (there's a job for you)(we don't call him *Big Boy* for nothing). </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Probably me screaming and slamming into aluminum screen doors with cats howling sounded like a dinner bell to the stupid wasps who started stirring up IN THE OTHER CORNER of the awning so I flung the fish heads out into the yard which made kitty happy and carefully ... very ... carefully backed inside, quietly closed the door and chewed a fistful of Tums like they were Pez. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Okay. The above sounds all funny and exaggerated but let me tell you. I grew up in Fla and there are spiders there that'll take your leg off and also they have cockroaches that FLY AT YOUR FACE. No lie. They are called Palmetto bugs. And if you open your door at night, these bastards will see the light shining and come barreling out of the night STRAIGHT AT YOUR FACE I swear by all I hold dear in life. These things are the size of a baby's fist and their SOLITARY goal in life is to end yours. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I don't know how many school mornings I stumbled, all sleepy and resentful from being yanked out of my soft, warm bed, cutting through my backyard to walk to school (uphill both ways, in the snow)(not really. This was Fla. It was uphill both ways <i><u>in the sand</u></i>) ... and would blunder smack dab face first into some monstrous web that had sprung up over night. And, right in the middle of this web stretched between the palmetto bushes like a tennis net, would be hanging there fast asleep (of COURSE he was, spiders don't <i>have</i> school) some fat, furry, fanged denizen that would stick to your hair, clothes, God-forbid-face while you shrieked and danced around like you had live coals in your underwear as you tried to A) brush it off. And B) look *cool* in case any of your classmates were looking. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Also, in Florida, my dad found a deadly Coral snake in our yard one afternoon. And it was nothing to find water moccasins in myriad bodies of water, such as: swamps, swimming pools and a puddle in the road directly on the OTHER side of all those stupid spider webs. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>No wonder I stayed in my room reading comic books. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Stick me with a fork, I'm done. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-21876584079495831582012-09-20T15:38:00.003-07:002012-09-20T15:38:57.138-07:00Squeaky Books Birthday Bash!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/p/squeaky-books-birthday-bash-2012.html" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/sidebar2-1.png" /></a></div>
For nearly a month, Enna Isilee has been celebrating her birthday by interviewing a TON of authors, and having a TON of giveaways. You can <a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/p/squeaky-books-birthday-bash-2012.html">click here</a> for all there is to know about the birthday bash. But here's the sad news: it's almost over!! You only have until 10:01pm MST on 9/21/12 to enter to win all of these amazing books. What are you waiting for?!
Click on the the book you want to win to be taken to an interview with the author where you can enter to win that book! While you're there, stop by and say hi to the author and wish Enna Isilee a happy birthday.
It's the party of the year! And it's almost over. Don't miss out!
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<a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/08/moira-young.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/1BRR.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/08/jodi-meadows.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/2Incarnate.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/08/shannon-hale.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/3PalaceofStone.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/08/veronica-rossi.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/4UndertheNever.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/08/jenna-burtenshaw.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/5Shadowcry.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/08/kelly-creagh.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/6Nevermore.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/09/brodi-ashton.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/7Everneath.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/09/marissa-meyer.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/8Cinder.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/09/diana-peterfreund.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/9ForDarknessShowsHC.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/09/emmy-laybourne.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/10M14.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/09/nerd-goddess-jewelry.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/11Earrings.png" /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/09/leigh-bardugo.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/12ShadowandBone.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/09/tera-lynn-childs.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/13SweetShadows.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/09/ruta-sepetys.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/14BetweenShades.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/09/cindy-pon.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/SilverPhoenix_zps35d84e57.jpg " /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/09/sarah-beth-durst.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/15Vessel.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/09/rae-carson.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/16GirlofFireandThorns.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/09/guest-post-giveaway-legend.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/17Legend.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.squeakybooks.com/2012/09/ally-condie.html"><img src="http://i1213.photobucket.com/albums/cc470/SqueakyBooks/Birthday%20Bash%202012/Giveaway/Matched.png" /></a></center>
M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-19477937450992675522012-09-19T22:46:00.000-07:002012-09-19T22:46:42.875-07:00My Blogger is All Screwed Up!! <b>I don't even know where to begin. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Today Blogger has gone from the old to new version, and I'm missing some of my feed in My Reading List (All Blogs). Oh, God. The whole thing's just a mess and I've got to somehow sort this mess out. Then, I made the mistake of trying to view in Google Reader ... which had (urk!) over 1000 unread items......</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I cannot keep up. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>What's even weirder is that some blogs I follow (in GFC) only showed content from several months ago, in my Reading List. Even though, when I clicked ON the blog(s), far newer content was there. So why the missing content? </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Granted, some blogs I could only follow, or opted to, in Google Reader as opposed to GFC. I get all that, but I'm really not sure how to bring it all into one easy-to-manage list. I guess I could import over to Google Reader, but I really prefer reading from my blog page. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>With all the blog hops, I know I've added far more blogs than I can reasonably be expected to follow. Try as I might. But it isn't any fun when you're trying to peruse hundreds of blogs/feeds on a daily basis, so as not to miss anything/anybody. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>And - like so many others reporting the same issue - I can't get the stupid *Manage Your Blogs* thingie to work. Maybe it's just me, but I've got to trim things down. Because this isn't fun anymore, it's more like work. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Work I'm not getting paid to do.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Which, is one of my biggest gripes with this tremendous focus on the ever-increasing social network. I can't even keep up with FB, or Pinterest. I know it works for some people, and they certainly work hard at it - but if the largest portion of my *free* time is spent playing catch up - what's the point?</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I'm just a little gal trying to have fun and enjoy my blog book buddy friendships. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>So, I plan to go over my list of follows, and trim things down to those blogs I especially enjoy. No doubt, anybody reading this is one of those friends I cherish and will most certainly (try) to keep up with. Because YOU GUYS are what matters the most. To me!</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Plus, a close friend has asked my help in a fairly large task. I'll be placed in admin. and sorting through thousands of pictures, tagging and writing content and so forth. I don't know how fast I'll power through this job, but speed isn't the issue - quality & accurate content is. Therefore, I'll have even less time, for a while, to read and blog on the Internet. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Anyway, if you don't hear much from me for a wee while, don't think the slugs or wasps have eaten me. I'm not that easy to digest. And, God willing, I can find the time for some Halloween fun, because there's a zombie project I'm really dying (heh heh) to start work on. I'll just have to play it by ear. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>In the meantime, I really love you guys ... and wish I knew what the hell I was doing with Blogger. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-40190662767883633072012-09-16T11:28:00.005-07:002012-09-16T13:12:06.489-07:00Warning: This Post Is For Women ONLY! ...<b style="font-style: normal; ">... OR, we could call this:</b><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>*The Hazards of Reading Young Adult Books IF You Are NOT a Young Adult*</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>periodsmenopausecrampsbleedingontheragmorecrampssanitarypadsperiods</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>(just to clear the room of any lingering males)</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Well then. How to dish up today's fresh slice of hell pie? </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Speaking of *start*... *sigh*. Okay, first off - to any of you *youngsters* out there (under 50)(no, I'm NOT kidding) reading this, just remember your day will come. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>In the meanwhile, enjoy having normally regulated hormones and the ability to laugh while holding your bladder. Or walking across a room and holding your bladder. Or coughing and holding your bladder. Or blinking your eyes and holding your bladder. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div><b>While this post isn't about <i>bladders</i>, I just felt the need to throw that in there. Because I <i>can</i>. ;P</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>What this post IS about - is being 55 freaking years old, not having a period for two years and then getting the stupid period, ... ESPECIALLY when you thought all that crap was behind you (get it? *<i>behind</i>* you?! *snort*)(I always make these dumb puns whenever my nerves are shot to hell & back). </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>My family had a thought on the matter (besides pretending they weren't related to me) ... it was *suggested* that I have read SO MANY young adult books that ... wait for it ... my BODY now thinks IT, TOO, must be a *<i>young adult</i>*, hence the resumption of some semblance of you-know-what. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Just watch. Any day now I'll break out with zits on my chin. With any luck, my boobs will once again go *perky* instead of just dangling there like two socks stapled to my rib cage. By this time next week, I might try out for cheer leading or pom-pom squad. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>On the down side, I'm kinda scared to go to the grocery store. What if I accidentally fall in *insta-luv* with the bag boy? What if there's a vegan vampire roaming the produce isle and he starts sparkling & twinkling like a Christmas tree? Can I resist his charms/wattage? </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Seriously, the very weird thing is, is less than a week ago I had a precognitive dream in which I started my period. AND in this dream I was quite annoyed by the whole thing, and wandered around *bitching* about how could this be happening after TWO WHOLE FREAKING YEARS?! </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Because it has been, almost to the exact day, two whole years. </b></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Whoa. I am so glad that my psyche can give me the heads up about important things like periods, instead of the winning lottery numbers... </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>....</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>..... </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Today's event is only eclipsed by my utility bill (<i>remember the recent rant with the broken water pipe?</i>). Oh, yeahs. That puppy showed up in the mail. I about fainted. Let's just say that small cities don't use as much water as what spilled out on the ground under my house. Of course, a utility customer's sewage charge is BASED ON THEIR WATER USAGE ... whether it goes through the sewer pipes or ON THE DAMN GROUND. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>You could have bought a book shelf full of new releases for what the broken pipe cost. Which serves to illustrate the *maturity* of my thought processes - that now everything is measured in terms of *book* buying. ;D</b></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Don't care. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>What I *do* care about, is how on Earth did my mind/subconscious *know* that I was going to start my period? Especially as A) I sure didn't and B) it hadn't happened yet. Logically, my body & subconscious mind are in a certain *sync* that my conscious mind, or the *I of me*, is not ordinarily privy to. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>And, that was not my only precognitive dream, not by a long shot. I've had a slew of such dreams (I dream in color, and also can *read* in my dreams, which is thought to indicate a more active *left brain* function that what is normally the case in *right brain-dominated* dream events). I've also had a great deal of *waking* precognitive experiences, like where you suddenly get a thought, or just know something is about to transpire. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Still waiting on those damn lottery numbers. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Anyway, as far as my scientific understanding goes, dreams are the means by which the brain stores information. It is a shortcut method of *memory retention*, by an associative means, developed by nature for nearly all mammals as a way of keeping the brain pan in proportion to the mother's physical ability to give birth, i.e. - pass the newborn comfortably (??) through the birth canal. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>So then, analyzing further, it would seem (logically) that my subconscious had already picked up on biological clues, which foreshadowed the upcoming period, and then *informed* ME, the waking consciousness, of this event-to-be. Which is all very causal and tidy and makes perfect sense. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>It's those seemingly *non-causal* events, that are harder to rationalize. For example, one day after I had taken my children to school, and was sitting patiently in my van, at the light, waiting for it to change to green ... something kept me sitting there. Even after the light changed to green. I wasn't *zoned out*, instead I had the funny feeling of being *stopped* in my tracks by something so subtle and nebulous that words fail me. Anyway, after a few moments of me just sitting there, for no good reason, a semi-truck blew the red light and went barreling through the intersection. Had I NOT been *stopped and still sitting there*, I would have been seriously injured, if not killed that morning (I know I've already talked about this, but it's one of those majorly strange things that bear repeating). </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Now, this would have been a seemingly non-causal event, for it involved actions outside of my own being. Those of the semi-driver, to be precise. How was it that some part of me could foresee that the semi-driver would not stop at the red light? </b></div><div><b>Unless, of course, our consciousness is super-entangled as quantum physics suggest it may be? </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>And yet, people suffer accidents and/or die everyday. Where is the subconscious warning in those instances? Why the seeming lack thereof?</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Now, without getting all *religious* here, because that is such a personal thing (okay, so are periods, I guess - but whatever lol) ... I do enjoy visiting a site called NDERF (<a href="http://www.nderf.org/">Near Death Experience Research Foundation</a>). I've mentioned this kind of thing before, and if you haven't yet visited it, you should. They have a tremendous archive of people's experiences, from all over the planet. Just go to the tab that says Current NDEs. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Anyway, what fascinates ME, is how the vast percentage of people who have had Near Death Experiences, report being told that *it is not their time*, or given the choice to stay or re-enter their bodies. Obviously, we are not hearing much from the folks who choose to stay, or those whose time it <i>is</i> to die, but still. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>So, was it then NOT my time to die that day at the stoplights? Better yet, how large and complex of a system would it entail to monitor an entire planet's population, of who stays and who goes, and keep track of the whole shebang?</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>That's pretty serious stuff, there. And, what if it's not just <i>our</i> wee planet, but an entire galaxy? Or universe? Or multiverse? </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Also, how are we *hard-wired* into this system? Which, as technical as I'm sounding, doesn't mean I'm not revering God or anything. I'm just curious as to the details & mechanics of His system, because I don't believe in magic. Of course, there's always the likelihood that I'm too shit all stupid to understand a fraction of it. Anyway, I'm curious (and also cramping like you read about). </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Yet. And this is a big, thought-provoking YET ... whatever the *system* in place, by whatever means or Whoever put it there, it must not be a *perfect* system or else people wouldn't be almost dying and showing up when they are told that they're not supposed to be there yet, or that it *isn't their time*. Notice, I'm not calling this *there* place, Heaven. Maybe it's just the antechamber or something. Like a doctor's office, you sit around waiting and reading magazines. Maybe Heaven sourced out their *holding* station like we outsource electronics to China? I dunno. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Maybe this *staging* area is but a minuscule part of a picture/system so immense, so incredibly vast, that our puny little brains can't conceive it. Heck, I can't even conceive of how the world wide web operates, who am I kidding? </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Still, it sincerely fascinates me. Like a monkey with a Zippo. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>I suppose one day I'll find out (not in any hurry here, just in case *<i>they're</i>* listening). I also suppose one day I'll finally be finished with menopause (this one I am in a hurry to complete). </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>In the meantime, I'll just keep reading and wondering and eating cookies like they are going out of style. Right now I'm nose deep in <i>Dust & Decay</i>. And am actually liking it far better than <i>Rot & Ruin</i>. *YAY* for Zoms. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Ps. - this post took me way longer than I'd anticipated. I'm tired. I'm done. And the hell with spell check. I need more cookies. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Pss. - this cookie thing is not my fault. I think it's hormones or something. Yeah, that's it. Hormones. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-41495784888646628822012-09-12T23:36:00.007-07:002012-09-13T01:21:07.439-07:00Night of the Living Slugs<b>It would appear that Halloween is nigh. All the big box stores are breaking their hump trying to be the first horse out of the gate for costumes, candy corn, ghostly window clings, pumpkin trick or treat carriers, faux skeletons, real skeletons (not really but that would be <i>awesome</i>!), nylon spider webs, more candy corn, and neon orange dental floss. </b><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>These same stores are also busily regurgitating last year's Thanksgiving place mats, centerpieces, and - wait for it - Christmas cards. In September. <i>Early</i> September, that is. *face palm*<br /></b><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Being obedient little consumers, - we, too, are getting geared up for Halloween around home. By geared up, I mean I bought candy corn. I also ate it. (<i>Whoa</i>, better dial down the festivities a notch). </b></div></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Thank God I didn't eat <i>too</i> much candy corn this evening. 'Cos if I had've, I would have ralphed when I walked outside this evening (I've GOT to learn to just stay the hell inside. With the door bolted shut. Forever). </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>No, seriously. You know how when something mind-boggling unexpected (like pregnancy) takes you so shockingly by surprise, that you feel giddy and faint and nauseous all at the same time. And your body doesn't know what to do, so it tries to do it all, but it can't, so you suddenly stand all frozen and kinda seized up, lifeless, like one of those old wooden Indian statues they put outside expensive tobacco stores? </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>And your face is all gnarly and twisted, with your mouth flopped open like a mail box, while your eyeballs are trying to claw their way out of your skull because they don't want any part of what your brain is seeing? </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>And there's this one cold bead of sweat slowly dripping from your brow? Centimeter by centimeter? But you can't wipe it away because your hands are dangling useless at your side like a couple dead carp? And your feet won't help. They refuse to *run away* because they take their orders from your eyeballs, which, as we already said, have severed all ties to your brain? </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>In fact, the only parts of your body still functioning are your intestines and your colon, and they are gurgling and churning and giving serious consideration to ejecting last night's Mexican buffet - which will not help matters in the slightest but that is all they know how to do. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>And there YOU are - you, the <i>real</i> you - suddenly praying for all you are worth to have an immediate and lengthy out of body experience. But God has better things to do, plus he probably thinks you're annoying, and whiny - which you <i>are</i>, of course, but this is not the time for an impromptu character analysis. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>So there I was. All froze up. In the semi-dark of night. Surrounded by a sea of slugs the size of Volvos. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>You only <i>think</i> I am kidding. These babies have been dining on leftover cat food for the better part of the summer. Quite frankly, I also think they're on steroids. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Tonight, there were millions of 'em. On the sidewalk, off the sidewalk, half on AND off the sidewalk, up the house, on the deck, in the grass, across the drive. The stray cat I feed watched silently from a safe distance across the street. He's an old tom, and obviously nobody's fool. Or else he'd decided he wasn't that fool hungry after all. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>I dunno. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Incidentally, while it may have been a cool evening and that was the reason, I couldn't help but notice my friends (?) the paper wasps were suspiciously MIA. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>No lie, almost. Picture a good 20/100 fat, juicy, slimy, glistening (running out of adjectives here) slugs rolling across your home and yard like it's ladies-drink-free-night or something. I don't think ANY of them were less than 3 inches long. Some were as big as those black, semi-tire sidewall thingies you see blown out next to the highway. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Of course, it <i>was</i> hard to see with my eyeballs way over across the street beside the cat, waiting for the legions of Cthulhu to slither forth and devour my quivering, mortal flesh. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>I.Swear.I.Do.Love.Nature.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>But can it please do its thing somewhere <i>else</i> for a change? Honest, I live in the corn belt, the great Midwest of the United States. NOT the uncharted jungles of the upper Amazon (or is it lower? never can remember that one). </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Uncharted jungles are very cool (for other people) to explore. Can you imagine finding a colossal steppe pyramid, all vine-covered with howler monkeys jumping around like it's a jungle gym, and just <i>bursting</i> with gold? Can't you almost picture what it would be like, slipping some of that *uncharted* gold into your back pocket? </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>I can. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>I can imagine cashing in some of that gold, SO I CAN ASAP MOVE THE HELL AWAY FROM HERE. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>...</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Meanwhile, the BF will soon have his new home ready to move into. It is five miles OUT in the country. With all the assorted deer, possum, coyotes, bobcats, bats, etc you can think of. It is very rustic and beautiful, and I'm never going out there. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Actually, I'm very excited for him and can't wait to see the finished result. It's beautiful wooded property and I'm hoping he'll provide me with a hazmat suit for Christmas. They probably already have one in red & green at Wal-Mart. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>On the plus (?) side, come early winter before the snow falls, it will look like perfect zombie country. All those stark, skeletal trees outlined against the flat gray sky. Sort of a post-apocalyptic Currier & Ives. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Doesn't that sound great, or have I simply lost my mind***?</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>***Anyone finding my mind, please return to me, well-cushioned in a thick, </b></div><div><b>protective </b><b style="font-size: 100%; ">layer of blank cashier's checks/rare stamps. </b></div><div><b style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></b></div><div><b style="font-size: 100%; ">Ps. It's <i>only</i> September and I'm already sick of candy corn. Hopefully the </b></div><div><b>Valentine's chocolates will be out any day now. ;P</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-75170200610960554932012-09-11T21:25:00.007-07:002012-09-12T00:12:43.573-07:00Lost Girls by Ann Kelley - Review<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOaMMuCC2eLiHFgOQ0uKie9H0ZTrPzSMwjwFUJby-Ah67TgXeyIuiL8XRuFrXuV8BxcjRzXbN2OqIhDzMt21YGZHArWEYR0lpNWJvLDgk32SZDbDGCsuBrpVbQ8r1q7Nlye9Z2ubcmjGMk/s1600/Lost+Girls.jpg" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 132px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOaMMuCC2eLiHFgOQ0uKie9H0ZTrPzSMwjwFUJby-Ah67TgXeyIuiL8XRuFrXuV8BxcjRzXbN2OqIhDzMt21YGZHArWEYR0lpNWJvLDgk32SZDbDGCsuBrpVbQ8r1q7Nlye9Z2ubcmjGMk/s200/Lost+Girls.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5787163597604260066" /></a><b style="font-style: normal; ">Pic & Description from <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12814600-lost-girls">Goodreads</a>:</b><div><span style="font-size: 100%; "><i>No parents. No rules. No way home. </i></span></div><i>Fourteen-year-old Bonnie MacDonald couldn't be more excited for a camping trip on an island off the coast of Thailand with her fellow Amelia Earhart Cadets-the daughters of the men and women stationed there during the Vietnam War. But when a strong current deposits the girls on what their boatman calls the "forbidden island," things take a turn for the worse: A powerful storm comes to destroy their campsite, the smallest of the junior cadets is found dead, and their boatman never returns. What once seemed like a vacation in paradise has become a battle against the elements.<br />Peppered with short, frantic entries from Bonnie's journal, Lost Girls is a page-turning, heart-pounding adventure story about a group of teen girls fighting for their lives.</i><div><i><br /></i></div><div><b>Plain and simple, I honestly loved <i>Lost Girls</i>. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Starting out, main character Bonnie seemed no different than your average fourteen year old. She was naive, basically easy going, and with a strong case of hero worship for their beautiful cadet leader, Layla Campbell.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>However, through the harrowing experiences Bonnie and the others undergo while struggling to survive, the reader is treated to the incredible metamorphosis of a child into an adult. We are also privy to the deep pain, and confused anger, of a young girl learning first hand that heroes are best worshipped from a distance. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Before reading <i>Lost Girls</i>, my expectations hovered somewhere between <i>Beauty Queens</i> and <i>Lord of the Flies</i>. But <i>Lost Girls</i> is entirely its own magic. Realistic, tragic and heart warming by turns, this is a story not about a ship wreck, but about what it means to be human. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>There are so many subtle lessons beneath the surface of the book: the strength of nature and the fragility of the flesh, the power of the spirit, and the gift of forgiveness through understanding. Equally an object lesson, was the backdrop of the Vietnam War. I was just two years older than Bonnie in 1974, and I remember the confusion of an issue that had the country so divided. I wasn't old enough to fully understand, but I wasn't young enough not to be affected. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>As Bonnie, too, learns, very little in life is black or white. Storms overtake us all - from nature to nations. We must navigate these periods of turmoil and search for peace within our heart.</b><b style="font-size: 100%; "> Throughout <i>Lost Girls</i>, the author incorporated brief passages from Pirsig's <i>Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, </i>which served to poignantly underscore Bonnie's emotional maturation. </b></div><div><b style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></b></div><div><b>And the ending - it touched me deeply. Maybe I'm too sappy these days, but there was something beautiful in the simple way Ann Kelley wrapped up her story. No loose ends, no sequel, no cliff hanger. Nada. Just that little rainbow feeling of somehow being richer for having read it. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Obviously, not everyone will agree with my assessment. But <i>Lost Girls</i> made me feel good and that's worth a lot some days - 5 stars in my book. </b></div><div><b><i>Namaste</i></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-47611113128422115752012-09-10T10:29:00.007-07:002012-09-10T11:54:03.807-07:00Books You Have Trouble Getting *Into* or Finishing<b style="font-style: normal; ">I don't know if it's just me, or perhaps my ability (DIS-ability) to concentrate is the issue ... but there have been several books, of late, that I'm struggling with. </b><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>You know how it goes, by the 3rd chapter your interest is waning, or the plot is so glaringly obvious that you already know what's going to happen. This is especially disappointing when the book in question received gallons of high praise across three major continents. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Then again, there are days I can't write my way out of a paper bag, so who am I to judge? But here follows a few (purportedly) great books that either I had trouble with, or currently do. Caution, the following DOES CONTAIN SPOILERS:</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b style="font-size: 100%; "><i>The Death Cure</i> by James Dashner: </b></div><div><b>Though I gobbled up the first two novels in this exciting series, so far this one comes across as chaotic and messy. It doesn't feel *linear*, and I'm having trouble making sense out of all the fights/battles that keep springing up. Basically everyone's running around yelling without much purpose. Plus, there's no way in hell these kids should have successfully navigated their through the first few chapters, so ... once again ... it's probably a set up by Wicked. The problem is, will I care? </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b> </b></div><div><b><i>Divergent </i>by Veronica Roth:</b></div><div><b>It seems almost sacrilegious to cast aspersions on this epically-praised novel, but there you have it. I'm going to hell. Anyway, the first half of the book I loved, loved, loved. The world building was unique, and the idea of society being parceled out into factions was a minor stroke of genius. But, by the final quarter of the book everything just went to shit. For me. The fights seemed surrealistic, and ... again ... I don't think the kids should have fared nearly so well as the author had them do. Additionally, near the end, having Beatrice/Tris lose not one but <i>both </i>parents in such a short amount of time came across as an afterthought. There was literally no time, for Tris or the reader, to emotionally process what <i>should</i> have been a monumental blow. Luckily, Tris was more concerned with her love interest, Four. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><i>Partials</i> by Dan Wells:</b></div><div><b>Here I want to stress that I am very much impressed with the world building, the descriptions, and the depth of character development. In fact, I would absolutely fan-girl this book were it not for the fact that, as soon as Kira became involved with her Partial/prisoner/medical lab-rat, the plot became clear as day from that point onward. While I could be wrong, the question is ... will I invest the reading time to find out? However, I predict that Kira will find herself increasingly sympathetic, curious, protective of her Partial, whilst her relationship with Marcus becomes a real drag. Eventually, I'm guessing, Kira and Partial will elope, take off, escape the evil adults yada yada, but will Marcus narc them out? Don't know, don't care. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><i>Scored</i> by Lauren McLaughlin: </b></div><div><b>I've got to come clean - I didn't like Imani from the get go. </b></div><div><b>She's prickly, deceitful, rude and I see no logical reason for non-scored, rich boy Diago's unflagging devotion/infatuation with her. He could do so much better. On the plus side, the author takes Orwell's 1984 *big brother's watching* to deliciously dangerous heights, and, damn if it isn't near plausible. One of these days I'll get around to finishing Scored, if only in the hopes that Diago will eventually tell Imani to go 'eff herself. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Well, that's it for now. Mind you, the above is merely one person's opinion. And, with opinions being ephemeral creatures, they may change for the better - once I get around to finishing the above mentioned books, or series. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Don't hold your breath. Better yet, go bake a batch of cookies and share with an elderly neighbor. Play catch with the dog/kids. Tell your significant other they're not nearly as annoying as usual. ;D</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-76638747213700697782012-09-09T15:31:00.004-07:002012-09-09T16:50:10.111-07:00Losing a Loved One ... <b style="font-style: normal; ">... or, what to do when they're not where you *planted* them. </b><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b><div><b>Chee, where to start? Well, first off, if you've ever read anything I've written (I'm sorry)(you have my deepest condolences), then you already know I've a warped sense of humor - but only because the Bluebird of Happiness keeps using my head as a Port-O-Potty. </b></div></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Life is pretty messed up at times. One instance that certainly qualifies for *messed up* was the day I received a phone call informing me that the cemetery where my mother is buried was caught in a scandal. It seems they were allegedly re-selling the same burial plots over and over. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>As I live several states and over 1,400 miles from where my mother is (was?) buried, a concerned relative still living in the area read the story when it broke in her local newspaper, and thought I ought to know. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>...</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>....</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>.....</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div><b>So. Being as how my mom had died way the hell back in 1969, I had long since evolved past the grief, and reached the conclusion that *she* wasn't really in her grave. Unfortunately, I believed this in a spiritual sense, and not necessarily a <i>physical </i>one. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Dear God - somebody *lost* my mom!!! And, being 1,400 miles away, there wasn't a whole lot I could do <i>anyway</i>, and certainly not while the scandal was currently *under investigation*. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>You can't MAKE this kind of crap up. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>My final conclusion on the matter, such as it stood, was that mom's physical remains weren't that important, not in the grand scheme (no pun intended) of things. A handful of bones does not a soul make. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>And, whatever wrong doing had or had not been committed, would eventually work itself out. I concluded that to emotionally invest myself in the drama would do ME more harm than good. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Thus, I washed my hands of the entire affair. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Now, I have had to do a lot of *hand washing* in my life. We all have. Don't think for a moment that I believe I'm some rare specimen. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>But, I'm telling you now, without humor life will rip you a new one. Granted, too many awful things just aren't funny. I don't mean to suggest they should be. What I am saying, redundant to the end, is to laugh as much and as often as you can. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>When we are young (admittedly, I sometimes see my own peers fall guilty to what I'm about to say) - everything is high drama. He said, she said, they did and so forth. People not only thrive on drama, they insert their nose where it doesn't have to belong, and they eat that shit up. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>A person will waste more damn energy, both mentally and physical, on stupid crap that doesn't really matter. Especially when it comes to relationships. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>For example: One of the most difficult things to wrap the head around, is infidelity. It happens because the animal reproductive response, the *survival* drive, is perhaps nature's strongest impetus. We, and every other life form on this weird little planet, are hard wired to reproduce come hell or high water. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>But, I am strongly suggesting, - if you are, will, or HAVE spent valuable time and energy concerning yourself if a partner is cheating, or WILL cheat, or HAS cheated - you are W.A.S.T.I.N.G. your time. Believe it or not, it's not worth the angst. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div><b>See, we take everything and anything, and insert ourselves, our ego, into the mix. In our minds, the world revolves around us, because we are both objective AND subjective beings. It is very, very hard to remove oneself from the equation. Somehow, or so we believe, things happen because of something we did or <i>did not</i> do. Especially in the event of infidelity. We think things would have been different, if only WE were different. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Which is hogwash. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>What happens to or with or between two people, is an event unique unto them. No matter how sexy or fugly a person is, if that person's partner is unfaithful, it was an act that does not and did not involve the betrayed partner. One need look no further than Hollywood to see this in spades. How many times have you been astonished to read that So-and-So cheated on his/her gorgeous spouse? Believe it or not, it really had little to nothing to do with the offended party. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>This is hard to explain, so I hope I'm making myself clear. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>You have to remove yourself from the equation at some point. Which is not the same thing as exoneration, it is psychological prudence and objective maturation. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div><b>People love to get themselves worked up. Often over something that is not all that crucial to their well being. They will act against their own best, higher interests. <i>And</i> generally make the situation worse for everyone involved. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>And, as bloggers, we've certainly seen enough drama come down the pike to last a lifetime. While I'm not taking sides, I will say that emotions ran unnecessarily high, until it turned into a veritable feeding frenzy. Because, unchecked, that's what emotions do. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>On the flimsiest pretext, some people unnecessarily inserted themselves into the drama, and the entire mess continued to snowball. While my point isn't about who was right or wrong, as it's not MY position to judge, my point is the utter waste and futility of it all. My particular honest opinion was that the situation was a matter between a mere handful of people, and it was up to THEM, not the entire blogging community (of which I am but a minuscule part, thank you very much!) to resolve. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>But no. Human ego, the entire world revolves around ME mentality, runs rife throughout our entire society. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Trust me, for I am not bullshitting here. For what it is worth, it is more important to learn when to pick your battles, and when to relinquish one's emotional investment in a situation. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Laugh more.</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Cry less. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Hopefully, in the end, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, we will be in a better place, where hope and humor and forgiveness rule the day. I hope mom's there, 'cos she sure as hell isn't where we left her ... 0-O</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Ps - I'm not always this *preachy*. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Pss - Feel free to send me copious amounts of baked goods and homemade soup, if only because I can't type/rant and stuff my face at the same time. ;D</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-58570997745035375522012-09-08T19:51:00.008-07:002012-09-09T02:34:43.431-07:00Zombie Grass and Other Aberrations <b style="font-style: normal; ">Viewing the waving sea of lush, verdant grass from my deck this afternoon, it was tough to imagine that merely six short (?) weeks ago our lawn had all the health and vigor of a charcoal briquette. </b><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Seriously, today my yard looked like something out of a Disney cartoon. I half expected Bambi and Thumper to come peeking out from behind the shed (hope they didn't get <i>too</i> close, just had the damn thing fumigated, you know). </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>And talk about a gorgeous day! The sky was that rich, deep cerulean blue, with chubby balloons of snow-white clouds bobbing about. It wouldn't have surprised me to find Julie Andrews aka The Sound of Music twirling and spinning and singing like a crazy person out on the lawn (which would have been infinitely better than Billy Joe Bob and The Keg-ettes wafting across the trailerhood at Mach 7). </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Anyway, our gladiolas are blooming, the Mr. Lincoln rose bush is full of rich-red buds, the hosta are sending out new shoots, and the stand of coneflowers has tripled in size almost overnight. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Everything is gorgeous and it's all going to go to shit any day now. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>The reason for this is two-fold:</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>For one, I'm going to try and schedule a rummage sale for this upcoming weekend (remember all that cleaning & purging we just did?). For the last three weeks I've been trying to hold a stupid yard sale. But, our small town newspaper only comes out once a week, on Wednesday. So you have to have any ad put in by Monday afternoon. You'd be surprised how <i>quickly</i> the weather forecast can change in those few days. The 10-day outlook would be great until MONDAY MORNING, when it would suddenly be revised to thunderstorms and flood warnings for the following weekend. You practically need a psychic/crystal ball to know on Monday what will be happening by Friday. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>For two, this is Illinois, folks. An old saying around these parts (that I've heard a billion times since I moved here in '79), goes '<i>if you don't like the weather, just wait around a few minutes and it'll change'</i>. And by change we mean <i>'not for the better'. </i></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>For some inexplicable meteorological reason, our seasons (we have TWO: very hot & very cold) change abruptly, with the flick of a switch. I think it was comedian Jeff Foxworthy who said Illinois was the only state where you could wear shorts in the afternoon and a winter coat in the evening, all in the <i>same day</i>. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>I hate weather. It annoys me and everyday there's just more of it. Somebody should do something, and it's not gonna be me because I'm more of an *idea* person. ;D</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Which brings me round to this: my mind is trying to *kill* me. With our current hint of fall, all I can think about are things like planting mounds of brilliant mums, washing the outside windows with vinegar, sealing up any cracks & gaps with caulk, waxing the car, carving pumpkins and painting gourds, baking bread, making soup & chili, sewing a quilt or some other hideous project, hooking a rug, braiding my hair, wallpapering a room, and - time/talent permitting - writing a book. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Right. Like any of the above is going to happen. Not. Bloody. Likely.</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>But Autumn is around the corner and it's time to nest. Or so my traitorous brain keeps suggesting. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>For one thing, I'm half-scared to get close to any green, growing thing. While the scars are slowly fading from the poison ivy debacle, I see no need to *push* my luck at the moment. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>And, is it really a good idea for someone like me (read: spatially challenged) to get up on a ladder to wash, caulk, paint or wallpaper? Do I really want to celebrate Christmas this year with *Best Wishes for a Speedy Recovery* penned in green or red ink on a cast? Or, far more likely, snap another tendon in yet another finger (not lying - two Christmases in a row this happened) and have to wear a splint for 22 (!!!) weeks. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div><b><i>As a medical aside</i>: I love when well-meaning friends or relatives try to dissuade me from my caffeine and nicotine addictions. They happily inform me I'm shaving years off my lifespan and I can add as many as 5 years or 10 or whatever (wasn't really paying attention) if only I'd quit. Well, in the first place it's the crappy years at the <i>end. </i>Like I'd want to end up at 97 all puffed up from my 29Th bout of poison-whatever, just one huge amorphous blister with a feeding tube poked somewhere in the middle of wherever the doctor thinks my mouth/stomach ought to be. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Because, see - I'm not one of those awesomely amazing people who suddenly take up sky diving, or zip lining, or whatever other dangerous activity people like my beloved sister love to indulge in the older they get. No joke. She's 60 and loves to check out lava fields and/or cruises to third world countries. I get nervous opening my mail.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Clearly, she got all the good genes and I got what was left over. But, as there were 17 of us kids, obviously not all of us could turn out to be *remarkable*. It's kinda like Twilight, except instead of Team Edward & Team Jacob, we had Team Indiana Jones and Team Prozac Nation. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>What if we actually, really & truly, were to have (<i>I don't believe this for a minute</i>)(<i>although my grass did come back from the dead, so</i> <i>it could happen maybe</i>)(<i>does this mean instead of burying our dead, we should be watering them?</i>) an honest to God Zombie apocalypse/pandemic? My sister would survive, that much I know. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Hell, she'd be the first one to pack a Katana and lop off a few heads. Me, the glow from my shaking cigarette would expose my hiding place under the bed. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>You know, people are always (now) speculating on the plausibility of a zombie outbreak. I still stand by my assertion that in the extreme unlikelihood of such an event, any survivors - as such - would be irreparably damaged emotionally. So the concept of *survival* is a moot one. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>What <i>I'd like</i> to see is an alien invasion. Well, not necessarily *invasion* ... but a whole slew of motherships appearing in our skies, and disgorging highly advanced beings to the delight of ComicCon fans the world over. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>And, I don't care <i>what </i>Drake's equation (look it up) postulates, I think our paths will cross, at some point in *time*. What I <i>don't</i> think is that they will arrive in big, shiny Greyhound spaceships, or creepy Lego-looking floating cyber cities. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>I think the dependence on objective, physical objects is a benchmark of a developing, yet still-primitive species. In fact, I'm a real armchair science-geek** and I've got a few nerdy ideas to toss around, but that's best saved for a *future* post (get it? *future*? giggle-snort).</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>**Science-geeky armchair people will never go zip lining because their nerdy little minds have already calculated the probabilities of any number of horrid scenarios resultant from mass in motion X trajectory under the auspices of the first law of Thermodynamics. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>***I just made that up. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>****Science is a lot easier to understand if you don't let *facts* get in your way. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><b><br /></b></div>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-89529967831867193462012-09-06T17:44:00.005-07:002012-09-07T23:20:16.217-07:00When Life Gives You Lemons ...<b style="font-style: normal; ">... put them in your bra. Can't hurt, and at the very least - some of that vitamin C might leach into your system. Don't do this if/while you are nursing. </b><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div><b>So. In keeping with our current month-long, fun-fest from hell, yesterday the son goes to crack open a can of pop. Which, of course, slips out of his hand and strikes against the edge of the coffee table. In a rare instance of physics-at-its-best, precisely <i>enough</i> pressure was thus generated to issue forth a veritable geyser of root beer, sufficient to the point that the entire north wall of the living room, all electronics, carpeting - and perhaps a small county up around Chicago - was blanketed in a runny, sticky film of brown sugar water.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>This was at 9:00 a.m. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Far too early in the day to hang myself, but not by much. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Now, by this point the son and I are feverishly putting our heads together, to try and ascertain if we have somehow unwittingly disturbed an Indian burial ground, or if we are simply under a generic, garden variety curse. Either way, this shit has got to stop. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Eventually.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>You would think. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Anyway, we also feverishly worked to wipe, mop, and basically eradicate all pop molecules before every ant in our zip code was alerted to the sugar buffet. Speaking of bugs, I know everyone is eager (Gross exaggeration) to hear how the wasp nest is coming along. Let's just say that I have trained myself NOT to look up when I open the front door (The wasps and I have reached an understanding. They can do whateverthehell they want, and I pretend not to care). </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>But ... as the cleaning frenzy progressed, we sort of got *into the spirit of things* and decided to go with the flow. And as we've really gotten into the whole downsizing/minimalist trend throughout the last year, we further managed to condense, pitch and otherwise remove anything that wasn't moving or glued down (or adhered in place by sugar solution). </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Our two cats showed their support by hiding under my bed until noon. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Now, the whole point of this boring post is that sometimes it really does help if you can make the best of things. No matter how trite or cliched, attitude IS everything. And I'd like to boast that our living room looked sleek, spacious and spotless by the time we finished, and we honestly enjoyed the team effort/results. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Sometimes things aren't as awful as we think they are :)</b></div><div><br /></div><div><b>** After a full summer of intense heat and unremitting drought, now we are having rain & thunderstorms to beat the band. After a week of considerable rainfall, down the street from me, one of the neighbors has a large *fairy ring* of white mushrooms which just popped up seemingly overnight. You can almost *see/imagine* the little people with gossamer wings and quaint top hats hosting a tea party under the moonlight. <3</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-76874692061354854712012-09-03T16:37:00.005-07:002012-09-04T20:00:22.369-07:00Heed My Advice<b style="font-style: normal; ">At age 55, I stand tottering on the cusp of geriatric wisdom, - that hard earned knowledge acquired once you are too damn old to do anything with it. Hindsight, to be concise. </b><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Since it's too late for me, and because I'm such a nice person**, I wanted to share a few important tidbits to maybe help someone else still young enough to sip from the fount of my middle-aged waters (that sounds disgusting)(like I just wet the bed or something). </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Any non-perishable product that you love, or have sentimental attachment to, ... say, - a particular shade of lipstick/nail polish you wore to your graduation, or your absolute cannot-live-without-perfume ... BUY EXTRAS NOW!!!!!</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Whether it's your husband's favorite aftershave, or a special clothing fad (Gauchos spring to mind ... 1976 ... wish I still had mine. OR the maxi skirt I wore to my 7Th grade Sadie Hawkins Dance) - stock up, put away, have extras WHILE YOU STILL CAN. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Even though companies have always been stinkers about this, I think they've gotten far worse over the last ten years - constantly changing formulas, discontinuing popular products (Kraft Chicken Noodle Dinner!! WTF?!) and just generally churning out new crap to keep us consumers always guessing, always spending, always seeking something *different*. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>The problem with this is, nearly always, once a product is discontinued it is GONE. Unless you can afford to shell out the big bucks on ebay, if you're even LUCKY enough to find a rare whateverthehellitisyouarelookingfor ... in the first place.</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Better by far, if you're the kind of gal who loves her Wisteria patterned wallpaper, or Blazing Saddles Red Lip Plumper, or Neon Grape Glitter nail lacquer by Opi (you get the idea) ... buy more than one!</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div><b><i>What I miss</i>:</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Pot O' Gloss by Yardley</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Tigress cologne by Faberge</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>70's platform wedges</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Glimmericks (Max Factor?) paint in the box eyeshadow</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Love's Fresh Lemon Bubble bath, bath powder, the entire line</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>White go-go boots</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Neon-green Gremlin</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Glow-in-the-dark Snoopy & Woodstock velvet posters that you glittered yourself</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Monsters of Hollywood model kits</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Creepy, Eerie and Vampirella magazines</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Love Story (HAH! Threw that in to see if you were paying attention!)</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>1970 Stackable eyeshadows/lipsticks (no idea who made these)</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Clackers (originally made with glass, banned sometime in the 80's, I think?)</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Camp Granada board game (My childhood friend had one. I wanted it. I didn't get it.)</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Gothic romances from the 70's (usually sold around .75c)(I read MILLIONS)</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Dark Shadows (before Tim Burton turned it into the Rocky Horror Picture Show)</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Peasant shirts, the kind that had a gathered bodice and tied in the back, these were uber popular and I loved them <3</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Elaborate costume jewelry when the manufacturers weren't too cheap to make sure the stupid stones were prong-set instead of simply glued in</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Metal lunchboxes, the fun, square kind with the Jetsons or Lost in Space logos</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Genuine *granny* glasses ...</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>... and so, so much more!</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Anyway, while I know this isn't necessarily funny, or even book-related, I've been meaning to write a mini-post about this topic. Just in case it helps one of you sweeties out there - so someday you can pull out a fresh tube of your favorite lipstick, when they no longer make it. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>*Be SURE to store any cosmetics or colognes in a cool, dry place, in individual baggies to guard against accidental leakage or evaporation. Believe me, someday you will REALLY be glad you did. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>**Nice people like me love appreciation, and what better way to show your appreciation than mailing me a new BMW or your entire life savings. Just to show you care ;D </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-35415640505820603122012-09-02T21:33:00.004-07:002012-09-03T12:45:57.025-07:00Don't Worry, Be Happy ...<b style="font-style: normal; ">... that song annoys the piss out of me (Can I say that on here? Is piss a *bad* word?).</b><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Another thing that annoys the piss (?) out of me is the movie <i>Love Story</i>. With Ryan O'Neal and Ali McGraw, 1970. I was 12 when it came out in the theaters, back when the price of a movie ticket was around 5 cents or something. No, seriously, I think way back when it cost all of a dollar to get in, and special discount matinees were maybe 50 cents. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Anyway, back in 1970 it was a real treat to see something in theaters that was <i>not </i>a Clint Eastwood western bloodbath, or a Charles Bronson vigilante bloodbath. And, since I was on the cusp of womanhood (whatever that is)(still waiting), a romantic though ridiculously tragic love story seemed like a pleasant change. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Boy, was I bored. All I can remember is Ali dying from leukemia about five minutes after they kissed/got engaged/whatever, and laying there in that phony hospital bed looking all pale & wan, uttering those famous eight words:</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b> <i>"Love means never having to say you're sorry". </i></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Which was pretty confusing to a pubescent preteen. I was pretty sure my parents loved me, if not - at least they'd been faking it fairly well for over a decade. But, I was also pretty certain that if I knocked over the potted plant on the brand new carpeting (this happened), I'd <i>better</i> be saying "I'm sorry" or heads were gonna roll (mine). </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Many years later, once I'd married, I also learned that if I set the new van on fire (this also happened)(stray cigarette cherry fell down inside the door panel) ... I'd <i>better</i> say I was sorry, or there was going to be a <i>whole lot</i> of uncomfortable silence later on at the dinner table. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>See how simple things we adults understand and take for granted, can easily be confusing for kids? <i>Love means never having to say you're sorry ... </i></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Nuh uh. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>So anyway, back to piss.</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Which reminds me of water, which also reminds me of the broken pipe beneath my home Sunday morning. Luckily it was not <i>too</i> big of a deal (we heard the warning sound of water escaping under pressure) and my beloved children fixed it for me, with a fancy-schmancy new brass fitting. *YAY* for beloved, grown children!</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>And people <i>wonder</i> why I <i>escape</i> via fiction? Chee, no idea. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>On a positive note, I am beyond ecstatic to report that the poison ivy is winding down, or the steroids are kicking in, or my body suddenly decided to fix things ... I dunno, but it's nice to look like only <i>half </i>a freak for a change. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>With all the disgusting patches and swelling and scabs and blisters and rash, what I should've done was *roll* with it. I should have mashed one of those uncooked Poppin' Fresh biscuits into the back of my head, squirted on a dollop of ketchup, chewed up some black licorice and let the drool drip down onto my chin and staggered around moaning "braiiiiiiiiinnnzzzzzzzzz" in the parking lot of Wal-Mart.</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>:D :D :D </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Just thinking about it makes me giggle! (I wouldn't have <i>really</i> done this)(not unless it was <i>closer </i>to Halloween) ... heh heh. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Another prank I've always wanted to do but probably never would (probably)(nothing in life is certain)(not a quote from <i>Love Story</i>) ... IS ... now, <i>think</i> about it, try and really <i>picture</i> what I'm fixing to describe ... get some of that nearly invisible, glow in the dark paint. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>AND, <i>with </i>this paint, say - on the ceiling of the master bedroom of a home you have finally managed to <i>sell</i> ... have a good old time painting all kinds of psycho crap like:</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><i>Freddy was here</i></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><i>You're all gonna die</i></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><i>Amityville part two</i></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><i>Satan sleeps in this room</i></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><i>R.I.P. uncle Bob</i></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>... maybe add a few pentagrams or tetrahedrons or ghostly hand prints, etc. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>I <i>know</i> it's not nice, and I would (<i>probably</i>) never do this. But I can't help imaging the look on the new owners' faces on the first night in their comfy bed in their brand new home. Staring up at that glowing ceiling from hell ...</b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Oh, my. The things you think up when you're bored. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>There's something in the hard wiring of our brains that make us want to play phucknuts on our fellow man, not in a MEAN way, of course, - just ornery. I think all animals do this, some kind of built in *humor* neuron or what not. Maybe humor is nature's safety valve, an outlet to diffuse tensions before they build up to the point where we want to kill each other. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Instead of bombs, maybe the world would be a much better place if we instead dropped laughing gas on our *enemies*. Or a plane load of Three Musketeers Bars and Whoopee cushions! </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>The ability to appreciate and relate via *humorous absurdity* is one of God's more subtle gifts. I wish our world leaders recognized this. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Then nobody would have to die, and nobody would ever have to say they <i>are sorry</i>. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-37465847934038126882012-09-01T10:20:00.004-07:002012-09-01T11:35:22.318-07:00Wasps Incoming<b style="font-style: normal; ">You'd think God** would get bored torturing the same person over and over again, but I'm happy (?) to report that is not the case. </b><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Whilst taking time out from my busy schedule of scratching and bitching, I happened to discover a plump paper-wasp nest attached to the underside of our front door awning. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Right.In.Front.Of.Our.FRONT.Door. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Of <i>course</i> it is. It wouldn't be any <i>fun</i> if it was at the never used <i>back </i>door. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Having spared a few minutes of my valuable time to research the matter online, it seems the best solutions offered are:</b></div><div><b>A) Don a bee-keepers ensemble and carefully remove hive to a new location.</b></div><div><b>B) Call a professional exterminator to handle matters.</b></div><div><b>C) Handle it myself via the tree-hugger method of mixing up a sugar water solution, putting said solution inside a humane trap, humming ancient Sanskrit show-tunes and channeling the spirit of Gaia/Mother Earth while I explain to the little wasps why they must be relocated to a new energy grid far away from my front door which exists only within my own mind.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Huh.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>A) - Just sent my bee-keepers outfit to the cleaners, won't be back til Tuesday.</b></div><div><b>B) - By now you'd think I'd have the exterminator on speed-dial, but I can't afford to.</b></div><div><b>C) - I'm going with this one. I mean, what's the<i> worst</i> thing that could happen? I get stung on one of my ten-zillion poison ivy blister-spots? Would I even <i>notice</i> it at this point??? Although, while there IS nearly 10% of my flesh not yet all deformed and red and welted and looking like human bubble wrap, I have to ask myself this important question ... is a wasp's aim <i>really</i> that good? Chances are 9 to 1 that I'll get stung somewhere on my body that's already hideously maimed. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>I <i>like</i> those odds. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Plus, as an aside, even though I broke down and went to the Doc$tor Thursday for a steroid shot, my skin is still breaking out in new areas. I have NEVER before had a contact allergy this widespread, for this duration. I'm not even trying to be funny here, as while I know everyone's sick to death of hearing me whine ... honest to GOD, I'm covered and still breaking out in new areas: both legs, thighs, arms, some on trunk, neck, face, hands, etc. For some nutty reason my feet are just fine, which is weird because I was wearing standard-Summer-issue flip flops at the time. And, when I wake up in the morning, my eyes are so swollen and puffy that the lids impinge on my vision. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>And yet ... I still love/respect nature, which is why I'm going to try to humanely relocate the nest ALL BY MYSELF. What could possibly go wrong? (??????) </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>If you never hear from me again (you wish), it's because wasps do not like having their *energy-field-lower-consciousness* being messed with by crabby menopausal old ladies.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>No, seriously. True story: </b></div><div><b>So, last night, after having decided on the DIY humane method, I got busy. And by *busy* please insert the word *<i>stupid</i>*. I grabbed a wide mouthed paper sack, emptied a couple of sugar packets in the bottom, sprinkled water on top, and - armed with one of those long handled tongs for hard to reach places thingies - I bravely threw open the front door to confront Satan's tiny minions. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>There I paused, mulling over possible plans of attack, where - 6 inches to the right of my face - zillions of wasps were at work enlarging their nest like their very lives depended on it (actually, their lives DO depend on it). </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>I paused again. They paused back. What we had here was a standoff. All involved parties held their collective breaths. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>During all this pausing I had to reach down and scratch a new patch of blisters on my calf. I'm not sure, but I think a couple of the wasps started throwing up behind the nest. One smart ass started buzzing and swooping like he was high on the fumes from my Calamine lotion. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>From deep within the nest issued the sound of sinister laughter. I did not know wasps could issue sinister. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Girding my loins (that was the most action I'd seen in a while), I gingerly placed the limp, soppy sugar-water bag directly on the deck underneath the wasp nest. My game plan was to use the tongs to carefully (!) detach the nest from beneath the awning, and transfer it to the bag below. Hopefully, the sugar water would distract the little stinkers from flying up out of the bag while I found somewhere else - way the hell far away from my front door - to deposit them. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>In theory. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>I reached up and actually *touched* the tongs to the nest. Halfway across the world, a 7.9 EQ hit the Philippines. And while I can't say for <i>sure</i> the two events were related, in my mind there will always remain that possibility. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Suddenly, all wasp-eyeballs were trained - not on the stupid tongs - but on ME. I could feel their beady little eyes, billions of them, fixed on my shaking hand. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>I looked up at the nest, down at the bag, back UP at the nest, down to the bag which was looking less and less like a good idea. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Overhead, the sky rumbled in an ominous way (not kidding). I needed a cigarette. </b></div><div><b>Ominous things affect me that way.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Sooooooooooo. I go inside to smoke and rethink matters. On the laptop, I pull up the weather Doppler, and sure enough (still true story) - we are under a tornado watch. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>While I am mulling over this latest bit of wonderful information, suddenly a tremendous downpour ensued. Temporarily defeated, I went to the door and gazed at the tiny paper bag wilting in the rain. The sugar water was now about 1 parts sugar to 100 gazillion parts water. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>It rained all night. We are currently under another storm warning AND flood warning. Thank you Hurricane Isaac, or whateverthehell meteorologists are calling you now. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Now, unless this upcoming winter mimics last year and doesn't show up, in roughly 6 more weeks it should get cold enough at night that the wasps will leave/freeze/take a vaycay to Florida. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>I can wait. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>**I don't really think God is currently torturing me. </b></div><div><b>He already did it twenty years ago when both my kids were preschoolers, brought chicken pox home from the preschool, everybody caught it, including ME who at age 30 had never had it, and our A/C broke at the same time, which was the hottest part of July. Also, the hubby was absent visiting his folks in Fla. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>***In case you didn't know, chicken pox in adults can get pretty ugly, pretty serious and all pretty fast. It royally sucked. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>****I love putting goofy things in the *labels* section of the post options. Just to mess with the Google analytics thing. ;D</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-54569520423776636112012-08-27T22:37:00.005-07:002012-08-29T12:52:48.490-07:00I'm too sexy for my blog ...<div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b>... <i>not</i>. </b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b>In fact, I am <i>still </i>in the *breaking out* stage of poison ivy, surely this has got to wind down before too long? I'm running out of blank spots and my skin looks like flesh colored bubble-wrap. </b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; "><b>Ugh, and this crap has now spread to <i>both</i> eyes. The lids are all swoll up like I've been crying for days, and I'm afraid to venture out into public as I might scare small children. </b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Plus I can't stop itching. I want to take a shard of glass and dig into my skin like I'm digging for buried treasure (relief). I have to say though, the kids were over yesterday and we looked around for the culprit. Sure enough, we found poison ivy growing under and around and beside various areas of established landscaping, especially the arborvitaes. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Now I'm giving serious thought to calling the doc$tor for a steroid shot or some such (insert sound of intense annoyance). Too bad this isn't 1970 when a single visit to the doctor, or physician's assistant, didn't cost nearly $130. Not kidding.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>BUT, as a very important aside, something is amiss with my laptop! It looks like it's not storing cookies, as I can't access half of the blogs I visit, or my own blog unless it's a cached version. Luckily, I can access my *dashboard*, and I'm hoping this post will go thru alright when I hit *publish*. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Therefore, until I figure out what's wrong, I can't respond to comments. Because when I go to the *cached* page, they aren't THERE. The son says it might (?) be a virus. </b></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Virus my butt. I'm thinking this *&^%$#@! poison ivy has infected my stupid laptop, is what is wrong (not really)(that'd be almost kinda cool).</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>By the way, I'm now 2/3s through <i>No Safety In Numbers</i> by Dayna Lorentz. While the premise is great, it's just not doing it for me. At least thus far. We'll have to see how the story goes closer to the ending. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Okee, I'm done here. I <3 You! </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Ps - Not sure if I've mentioned this before, but ALL book lovers should watch</b></div><div><b>the British comedy tv series called <i>Black Books</i>! I think you can still watch it for free on Hulu. It is the best thing ever, and if you end up not liking it then I will be forced to raid your personal library and steal cookies from your pantry (at first I typed *panty* ... I am so NOT stealing cookies from your *panty* heh heh). </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-70874315139723748042012-08-27T16:05:00.007-07:002012-08-27T22:06:53.203-07:00Monument 14 by Emmy Laybourne - Review <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFyF5LGq7vpRXw-2aN9ELkIVoJ-aG0lvxvouBuL7gs-LZI_8DiANpyhDX82uuBwNGT0RUhH75aShmRp6nzh8v5KRRNvL15g_2GVNamPzxIbyI0RWmzkNU3n4Y6faWkkHYNzGzozuKPWJb/s1600/Monument+14.jpg" style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFyF5LGq7vpRXw-2aN9ELkIVoJ-aG0lvxvouBuL7gs-LZI_8DiANpyhDX82uuBwNGT0RUhH75aShmRp6nzh8v5KRRNvL15g_2GVNamPzxIbyI0RWmzkNU3n4Y6faWkkHYNzGzozuKPWJb/s320/Monument+14.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5781493871754970530" /></a><span style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; font-size:100%;">Pic & Description from </span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12753231-monument-14" style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; ">Goodreads</a><span style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; font-size:100%;">:</span><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; font-size:100%;"><em style="color: rgb(24, 24, 24); font-size: 13.600000381469727px; line-height: 15.199999809265137px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">Your mother hollers that you’re going to miss the bus. She can see it coming down the street. You don’t stop and hug her and tell her you love her. You don’t thank her for being a good, kind, patient mother. Of course not—you launch yourself down the stairs and make a run for the corner.<br /><br /></em><em style="color: rgb(24, 24, 24); font-size: 13.600000381469727px; line-height: 15.199999809265137px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">Only, if it’s the last time you’ll ever see your mother, you sort of start to wish you’d stopped and did those things. Maybe even missed the bus.<br /><br /></em><em style="color: rgb(24, 24, 24); font-size: 13.600000381469727px; line-height: 15.199999809265137px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">But the bus was barreling down our street, so I ran.<br /><br /></em><span style="color: rgb(24, 24, 24); line-height: 15.199999809265137px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size:13.600000381469727px;">Fourteen kids. One superstore. A million things that go wrong. </span><br style="color: rgb(24, 24, 24); font-size: 13.600000381469727px; line-height: 15.199999809265137px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "></div><div size="3" style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; "><span style="color: rgb(24, 24, 24); line-height: 15.199999809265137px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size:13.600000381469727px;">***</span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; "><span style="color: rgb(24, 24, 24); line-height: 15.199999809265137px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size:13.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.188888549804688px; "><b>One of the most enjoyable debut novels I've read this summer! <i>Monument 14</i> started off with a bang, well ... by *bang* I mean an ungodly freakish hailstorm that set my nerves a-tingle straight off the bat! And that's only the FIRST disaster! Sicko that I am, I kinda wished the entire book had maintained its initial pace, but it didn't and I was sad. </b></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.188888549804688px; "><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.188888549804688px; "><b>But anyway, how many of us (raise your hands) have fantasized at one time or another about being *trapped* in a superstore, mall, etc? With enough diet Mtn. Dew, Keebler cookies, a half-way decent book section and <i>plenty</i> of electricity, I'd be in heaven. So, for all the angst, there was also something *cozy* about <i>Monument 14</i>. </b></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.188888549804688px; "><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.177777290344238px;"><b>Don't get me wrong. There were grim moments, peer power struggles, romantic triangles, and a few key points of interest. </b></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.177777290344238px;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.177777290344238px;"><b>One thing that irked me, though, was the fact that until a structured regime had been established, the kids appeared to be wasting the food - with such idiocies as having a Sunday ice-cream breakfast by opening a veritable plethora of ice cream cartons. This annoyed me because there were enough young adults present to have known better, or to have had a smarter head on their shoulders. I could forgive this lack of foresight from middle grade students, but not from those older students left in charge. And mind you, they did this WHILE they still had plenty of electricity and weren't in immediate danger of food thawing. The *mother* in me kept silently demanding they consume the perishables first, don't you know ;)</b></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.188888549804688px; "><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.188888549804688px; "><b>Then again, lest I come off as nit-picking, I really enjoyed reading about how the kids re-purposed their environment, similar to <i>Quarantine: The Loners, </i>minus all the freaky weird stuff. More like a Mom & Pop's version - fun & cozy stuff! :)</b></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.177777290344238px;"><b>Now, not so fun nor cozy was the little matter of a strange, biochemical air-borne poison that affected the infected by virtue of their particular blood type. Without giving too much away, I found it a very creative plot twist, and kudos to the author for thinking up such a scenario. </b></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.177777290344238px;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.177777290344238px;"><b>All in all, if you are looking for an enjoyable, mildly dystopian fast-paced read, then I think you would like <i>Monument 14</i>. It appears to be open ended, so I imagine we may anticipate a sequel in the future. </b></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.177777290344238px;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.177777290344238px;"><b>Sex & violence - not too heavy in my opinion. </b></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.177777290344238px;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.166666984558105px;"><b>* <i>I received this book as a gift from my beloved daughter (YAY for daughters!). I have not been compensated in any way for my honest review. So there ;D</i></b></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.188888549804688px; "><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.177777290344238px;"><b>EDIT TO ADD: (forgot to do this earlier)</b></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.177777290344238px;"><b>Lenore at Presenting Lenore is having an incredible Dystopian August! </b></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.177777290344238px;"><b>Tons of author interviews and giveaways, you DON'T want to miss this ;D</b></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;color:#181818;"><span style="line-height: 15.177777290344238px;"><b>Hurry on over ... click <a href="http://presentinglenore.blogspot.com/2012/08/dystopian-august-kick-off-5-marked-up.html">HERE</a></b></span></span></div>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-33181561902208984812012-08-26T21:09:00.013-07:002012-08-27T12:10:48.571-07:00Quarantine: The Loners by Lex Thomas - Review<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnD1TcdFhIuLvdz56HDGXG2lGvSNRxrJ8maQctR0n9xClUibv_qJIirdFNf53VsCH96sODWw8zxusYml7XWphZDWHGvFMGdo5cEUItmm5ByK351GrAewL7jrgMXr0r97QvPA5FZs8fQMH4/s1600/12620969.jpg" style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 222px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnD1TcdFhIuLvdz56HDGXG2lGvSNRxrJ8maQctR0n9xClUibv_qJIirdFNf53VsCH96sODWw8zxusYml7XWphZDWHGvFMGdo5cEUItmm5ByK351GrAewL7jrgMXr0r97QvPA5FZs8fQMH4/s320/12620969.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5781349501005042194" /></a><b style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; ">Pic & Description from <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12620969-quarantine">Goodreads</a>:</b><div><i>It was just another ordinary day at McKinley High - until a massive explosion devastated the school. When loner David Thorne tried to help his English teacher to safety, the teacher convulsed and died right in front of him. And that was just the beginning. </i></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div><span style="font-weight: normal; "><i>A year later, McKinley has descended into chaos. All the students are infected with a virus that makes them deadly to adults. The school is under military quarantine. The teachers are gone. Violent gangs have formed based on high school social cliques. Without a gang, you're as good as dead. And David has no gang. It's just him and his little brother, Will, against the whole school.<br />***</i><br /><br /></span><b style="font-style: normal; ">Per my previous post, I do loves me gritty SHTF novels. And, happily, it doesn't get much grittier than </b><b><i>Quarantine: The Loners.</i></b><b style="font-style: normal; "> As others have noted, it definitely puts one in mind of Lord of the Flies. </b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b>What was fascinating to me, was this complex, social eco-system *world building* created by the author, and how all these mini-gangs worked/traded/fought each other once the original teacher/student structure had ceased to exist. </b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b>As the story's time line progressed, the various gangs utilized and re-purposed whatever materials they could lay hands to. It really was amazing and quite imaginative to see the *uses* that such mundane items as pipes, books, desks, etc could be put to. As the novel progressed, it even became frighteningly plausible. </b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b>Gangs distinguished their identity by dying their hair by whatever means they could, typically Kool-Aid garnered from the military *food drops* which were air-lifted in every two weeks. At first. </b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b>Off the top of my head, gangs were the Skaters, the Geeks, the Sluts, the Varsity, the Pretty Ones, the Freaks and the Nerds. Those unfortunates without gang affiliation were called the Scraps. </b></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div><b style="font-style: normal; ">Oh, and per the teachers exposed to the infected students - they died. And were *buried* (<i>stuffed</i>) inside lockers.<br /></b><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><b>Grim stuff indeed. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>Now, sometimes a good book can make the reader uncomfortable. The two *power* gangs - Varsity and Pretty Ones, had that effect on me. Sam, the leader of the alpha athletic gang (Varsity, duh!) was such a sociopath that I wanted nothing more in life than to see him get 'put down'. Permanently. Sam took *ugly* to a new low and I despised him from the get go. </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b>As far as the female counterpart of Varsity went, the Pretty Ones, these were the most attractive girls who were taken care of and protected by Varsity. In return for sexual favors, that the girls had to acquiesce to in order to survive. This was certainly animal herd behaviour at its finest (?). </b></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div><b><i>Quarantine: The Loners*</i> finishes up somewhat open-ended, and I can't wait to read the next in the series. </b><b style="font-size: 100%; ">I do highly recommend this book, the author did an incredible job, but do beware of heavy violence & sexual situations. Not for young readers or the faint of heart. </b></div></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><b><br /></b></div><div><b>*<i>I received this book as a gift from my daughter and have in no way been compensated for my honest review. So there ;D</i></b></div>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8096089456449591502.post-9355586279852245652012-08-25T18:57:00.016-07:002012-08-26T13:24:05.175-07:00Doom Porn<div style="font-style: normal; ">I think it speaks volumes regarding the psyche of human nature that we are somehow fascinated with the idea of disasters. I'm not sure if it's the inherent *fear* factor, where we all enjoy being scared within a *safe* environment, secure in the knowledge that no harm will actually befall us: that biochemical rush of adrenaline that accompanies a safe *thrill*. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Or is it a variation on the *there but for the grace of God, go I* type of thing? </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Whatever the reason, we humans exhibit an almost voyeuristic hunger for disasters, apocalypses, life altering *events*. Game changers. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Some people call it *doom porn*. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Years ago, many, MANY years ago, when 99% of my reading material consisted of science, science fiction, speculative fiction, et al ... before I was cognizant of *dystopian* fiction as it's own sub-genre, I gravitated towards those type of works that had an underlying theme of TSHTF (in doom porn lingo: The Shit Hits The Fan). </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Today, of course, one can happily get their voyeuristic mitts on a wide range and, currently seemingly, unending supply of dystopian fiction. It is recognized, categorized, and being produced hand over fist. *YAY* (obviously a huge fan here)</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">My beloved & generous daughter surprised me with several yummy dystopians (yep, she's now hooked, too!) for my recent fiasco of a birthday (update: my left eyelid is so *disfigured* with poison ivy I look like a pale, freckled lizard after a hard day in the desert)(o boy). </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">So, in less than a week I've read Quarantine: the Loners (5 stars), Monument 14 (4 stars), </div><div style="font-style: normal; ">and am midway thru No Safety in Numbers (not sure what to think about this one yet). I've also read two other books that weren't dystopians, so I won't mention them at this time. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Now, back on topic. I have a long time favorite (ten years+) website that I visit daily, or more, and it's dedicated to all manner of eclectic topics, one of which is survival. It is absolutely mind boggling how many people not only believe that the shit is going to hit the fan, but are actively prepared for such an occasion. Some people, not too many - thank goodness, - actually anticipate, happily, the idea. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">And, there are as many diverse possible/plausible scenarios as there are personalities being brought to the mix: religious/Armageddon, social/civil unrest, fragile earth/reduction of ice sheets-climate change, geological/New Madrid, etc, astronomical/Nibiru-rogue planet-Oort cloud-asteroid-CME and so forth, just to name a few. I just read about something awful called a Verneshot last night (you don't wanna know). But one thing I can't help but notice, as an objective observer, is the fascination these scenarios have over their audience. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">I'm no different. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Now, I don't really think any one of us actually wants to, on a personal level, experience an ELE (extinction level event). And, the scary thing is, this shit has happened, and WILL happen again. Unless, of course, we somehow manage to achieve classification #1 of an advanced species, before such an event. While I can't recall off the top of my head exactly what this scientific system of civilization classification is called, it goes something like this:</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Class 1: control over one's own planet</div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Class 2: control over one's own sun</div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Class 3: control over one's own solar system</div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Class 4: control over one's own galaxy</div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Class 5: control over one's entire universe</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Awesome, huh? Un-awesome is that we are not even remotely a Class 1 civilization (yet)(someone needs to hurry, mmm kay?). </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">But, due to my own thoughts on the matter, I do believe those civilizations exist, somewhere out there. Hopefully, somebody will *babysit* us until we get there. Wonder what they get paid per hour? Not enough, I bet ;P</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Anyway, these are just some of the things I think about. We Virgos love to sort through information, analyze data and form predicative models. I predict we're all gonna die ...</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Just kidding (well, kind of).</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">But still, if you think about it, it truly is odd that so many of us L.O.V.E. reading or viewing our doom porn. What is the fascination, psychologically, or what is the biological programming? That's something else, similar to topic, what is our fascination with death? Why are we *geared* this way?</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Now, honestly. No matter what your private belief system or stance ... if there is any huge, bleak cliff off which all of us must jump, it is the moment we each shall face when our bodies can no longer sustain our awareness ... ergo death. It simply amazes me, intellectually astounds me, that so little effort is extended towards furthering our understanding, and eventual subjugation of human mortality. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">You would think, of all things on the *list of awful things that must be overcome*, death would be numero uno. Yes, it is true that we, or our doctors & scientists, work exhaustively to understand and mitigate disease and other nasties. We, as a species, have certainly come a long, long way in our methods of research and learning. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Nonetheless, I am sincerely nonplussed that no one is standing at edge of that huge, bleak cliff of mortality and doing everything in their power to understand & map the instant we leap off into the great unknown. Were I far more intelligent, and capable, I would suggest we do everything in our power, pull out every tool in our arsenal of technology, and try to *piggyback* onto consciousness as it exits (or so we hope/believe) the terminal human body. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Dead serious (no pun intended). I would love to see science make a sincere and exhaustive effort to map/follow/piggyback etc the mind as it makes its way through the portals of death. Somehow, you would think, logically, we should be able to find the means to measure consciousness and, perhaps via nanotechnology, tag along. Talk about the ultimate GPS system!</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Whether to God, heaven, Planet QRSt5, etc or .... nowhere. We need to bridge that gap. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Funny then, as next to our birth, nothing will impact each of us so greatly as our own death. And even though we can see the surface of Mars, we cannot see past our own flesh. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">We are such strange little creatures. Our daily minds are filled with the biological impulse to seek out energy (food) and reproduction (sex). Same as all other life forms. We take these things as a given, and vast industries are erected to fulfill those needs. We can stand on a mountain top and quote Plato, and yet we will biologically perish in the same fashion as an earthworm. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div>So, as we intrinsically know these things, why would we have <i>any</i> attraction towards doom/disaster/destruction/dystopian? You'd think, given our track record, that would be the <i>last thing </i>we'd want in our conscious awareness? But no. We even go so far as to seek it out. </div><div><br /></div><div>We <i>like </i>it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Why? </div><div><br /></div><div>You know, I am genuinely afraid of flying. Even though I've flown in airplanes when I was a teenager, as I've aged I've become more and more phobic about flying and I would fight tooth and nail to avoid having to face that fear/phobia. Even though I obviously have never experienced being in a plane crash, my mind can project a predicative model of what they would entail, and I refuse to place myself in that situation ... where my fear could be realized. Silly, but true. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am even mildly uncomfortable watching a fictitious plane crash in a movie. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am also afraid of a major earthquake. We've had a couple small ones here in the Midwest, but where I reside is smack dab between the New Madrid and the Wabash Valley faults. One of these days, it's going to happen. God forbid. </div><div><br /></div><div>And, even though my mind can predict/project what a major earthquake would be like, same as a plane crash, I am not uncomfortable watching a fictitious one unfold on the big screen, in fact I'd stand in line to buy a movie ticket to watch it. Better yet, I'd buy the book!</div><div><br /></div><div>Wherein lies the psychological difference? </div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes, when I'm really in a philosophical frame of mind, I suspect we enjoy our doom porn because it's more than an outlet for our unconscious fears, more than a vicarious joyride at the expense of fictional beings ... it allows us a measure of control. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's a fictional challenge where we can learn, predict and control from the passenger's seat. How many times have you read where, in some hideous apocalyptic novel, the main character does something bone-headed and you mentally *face palm* with a "<i>why</i> did they do THAT?!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Or, per a novel I recently read, which shall go unnamed, one of the main characters managed to scale the side of a mountain with one arm in a makeshift splint. At that point, I could no longer suspend disbelief and control/make sense of the events. It no longer held *value* to me per plausibility. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think most of us will agree, even with something as far fetched as a zombie apocalypse, that the penultimate apocalyptic novels are those with a logical sequence of events, and the ultimate apocalyptic novels are those wherein the main character makes those choices that we, too, would make if in their shoes. </div><div><br /></div><div>When logic & feasibility are thrown out the window, that is often the point at which I lose interest. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is no control to be had in an airplane crash, but there IS a modicum of control, a certain wiggle-room, during an earthquake aftermath or hurricane or societal breakdown. In other words, the reader/viewer is, on a mental level, playing *what would <i>I </i>do*. </div><div><br /></div><div>That - <i>what would I do</i> - is very critical to our enjoyment. </div><div><br /></div><div>Or so I suspect. </div><div><br /></div><div>As previously mentioned, I just finished reading Quarantine: The Loners. So a future topic, maybe, is going to be sociopaths in fiction. You know, the (usually) guy who refuses to 'play well with others'. </div><div><br /></div><div>Have a wonderful Sunday. I'm off to get a fresh diet Mtn. Dew and see what the boyfriend's up to. I'm sure he'll enjoy seeing my poison ivy-deformed face ;D</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>M.A.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14924439808069320143noreply@blogger.com4