Halloween is Different This Year for Me

Excuse me if I get a bit testy on your Facebook posts today...or anything in general, really. You see...it's Halloween.

And it's hard to put a mask on and dance about like a drunken druid on some sunny Solstice day and everything around me...reminds me of frivolity.  But, I'm sad.

First off...I didn't get any pumpkins.  Didn't gut them...no seeds in the oven to burn to a pulp (oh, look...an inadvertent "pun-kin" there) because apparently I'm the only one in human history who can't toast a seed worth a damn.  So...no pumpkins, no pathetic attempt of carving with those crappy plastic knives they sell you with the artsy templates that would have had Michelangelo gouging his own eyes out with them...you know, if he would have had to use them back then.

Secondly, I have no candy.  I live where no one's going to come anyway.  If they do...I guess I'll just pretend I'm not here...or I'll give them some AAA batteries or a nicely wrapped can of dented soup...or something  So that means no 10 p.m. binging on mini-nuggets of Kit-Kats, Whoppers, and Dove's...oh my.  No waking up to wrapper shrapnel littering my sofa and floor.  Nothing.  I don't even have a cookie here to get my choco-fix.  I didn't venture out because I know it will all be marked down 50% the day after Halloween and I guess I can just take an extra Ambien or something.

  

Thirdly (is "thirdly" even a word), my daughter's at college.  I have no reason to dress up - my cats won't care one way or the other.  There's nothing more sad (well, yes there is) than to realize I can't slap a costume on my youngest kid just to justify donning one myself.  If I had a dog...I could probably dress them up...but cats don't appreciate the sentimentality plus they are way too sensible to let humans pop a cape or hat on them to satisfy some whimsical deviant dress-up fascination.  I also have no latent desire to priss up my pussy...for Halloween nor any other holiday.

Lastly, I guess I'm alone with my thoughts...for the first time.  Before, I had to put on a happy face...donning a mask of sorts because it was a happy day, a celebratory day, a day of rejoicing...of candy and costumes...of children and their squeals of "Trick or Treat" and of running up and down lawns, leaving little footsteps in the glistening grass, and scurrying to get under a streetlight to see what you just got.

And what I just got was a flood of memories.  You see, my "Mumzie", my "Mummo", my mother...died on Halloween in 1999.  And...I'm alone - for the first time really...with my adult son...and my cats...and my thoughts.  I always was too busy...with other happy things...to go off and cry; I had to put a mask on and hide it.  It might be Halloween to nearly everyone else on the planet...but to me it's also such a sad day.  I always wondered how people dealt with the death of a loved one...on a "special" day...when all around you is celebration...but deep in your heart, it's nothing but.  It's hard to do...and I guess, from now on, I'll just have to put a brave face on and come to terms with it.

But...it's so hard.  Wow...it's really, really hard.  :(

(And, yes, you can dress your cat up...but, why would you?  Okay, I admit, it's my cat, Simon...with a tiara on his head...on New Year's Eve.  I'm not proud of myself...and yes, that's what cat embarrassment looks like.)

Halloween's True Origin

The real reason we "dress up" for Halloween has nothing to do with druids or spirits or even commercialism. The real reason was started by Reginald Wickingham from Hounslow, London in England. 

Mr. Wickingham you see, was a purveyor of the spirital sort...which meant that he sold alcohol. He routinely consumed more than he sold, or so the legend of the town says. One day, upon hearing his door being pounded on...he rose up from the floor and staggered over to the door in nothing more than the first thing he could grab to put on. It was Mrs. Wickingham's dressing gown. The Vicar had come 'round to tell him that his wife had been taken ill and was at the local parish church being tended to by some members of the congregation...but that she was inconsolable and insisted the Vicar get her husband at once. Naturally, a couple others accompanied him in case Mr. Wickingham was overcome by grief upon hearing of his wife's grave condition. 

Mr. Wickingham, not wanting to seem drunk at noon on a Sunday...and realizing in his half-haze that he was now standing at the doorway in his wife's frilly thing...offered his "guests" some fruit and a couple of chocolates which were sitting on the table next to the door. He then stated his elaborate get-up was a "fun new fad" that was all the rage in the colonies...a yearly event where people got dressed up and handed fruits and candied bits of orange rind and the occasional chocolate to people who went from door to door...in a gleeful state brought upon by the occasional imbibing of a glass of mulled wine or a flagon of beer. 

Neither the Vicar nor the two people accompanying him wanted to look foolish...Mr. Wickingham was also a great wealthy man of some stature who travelled extensively around the globe...so they all nodded their heads in approval stating that they, too, had heard of the new fad...but were unaware that it was held on that certain day...thinking that it was going to be held the next day, which just so happened to be the 31st of October. 

They all had a laugh until it dawned on them that poor Mrs. Wickingham was lying prone on a pew in the church and needed to be attended to immediately. Mr. Wickingham, not wanting to be made a mockery of...donned an overcoat and top hat and threw it on top of the dressing gown...making it seem even more plausible to the Vicar and the members of the congregation upon their arrival back. 

As for Mrs. Wickingham, she had passed away...but it was all for the best as she really was disliked by everyone. And after the funeral, the next evening, they all got dressed up and celebrated...therefore cementing the ritualistic dress-up in the town, which, of course, over the years, ended up spreading far and wide. The fact that this day happened to occur on "All Hallow's Eve" was just a fortunate coincidence...and easy for everyone to remember it by. Well, everyone except poor Mrs. Wickingham, that is.

(This was another in my silly series of Halloween-themed "facts"...in other words, this was made up by me.)

Ancient Alien Conspiracy Regarding "The War of the Worlds"

Orson Welles...the genius mastermind responsible for such epic creations as "Citizen Kane", "The Magnificent Ambersons", and "The Third Man" got his brilliant idea of "The War of the Worlds" radio show on the exact same day as the Roswell, New Mexico alien spaceship crash.  Yes, unbeknownst to Welles, his panic-laden historic "Martians landing in a farmer's field in Grover's Mills, New Jersey" idea came into his head on 4 July 1947. 

Yes, the broadcast was a full nine years earlier, but some ancient alien theorists discount the date and, in fact, insist that aliens did indeed land when the inception of the idea first popped into Welles' head. The infamous Halloween radio show was broadcast 30 October 1938...but due to a full nine years of unaccountable time, it actually occurred the exact same time.  "If Welles were alive, he'd emphatically collaborate our findings." ancient alien theorist, Giorgio A. Tsoukalos, was quoted as saying. Tsoukalos further posited, "The time difference is just further proof that aliens indeed landed on Earth and have been time-travelling, interweaving fact with fiction all along.  That's what aliens are best at doing.  They've been setting the clocks back further than we've ever done.  We've only just begun to scratch the surface of this and firmly believe Orson Welles was a cosmic conduit between space aliens and 'The War of the Worlds' author H.G. Wells. Their surnames are nearly identical, both states the aliens landed in have the word 'New' in them, and Welles wrote that radio show interpretation of that exact same book.  This does not happen coincidentally...the aliens were trying to tell us something...and this was probably it."

(This was a little Halloween homage parody I wrote.  But...if they use it in one of their upcoming episodes, you will know where they got the idea.  I hope I get the check.)

Facebook 'Goes Down' in History

Millions of people were left stranded in their cars, in their houses, and at area businesses earlier today when Facebook had a malfunction.

As insane as it may sound, people actually had to drive with both hands on the steering wheel or sip their morning coffee staring blankly at their cereal boxes (a phenomenon which has not happened since the social media giant took the Internet world by storm back in the "'00s").  Some people could not even get dressed as their pleas for "What should I wear today???" were met with "try again in a few minutes" prompts over and over again.

Sally Bergeron, from upstate New York, had this to say, "I got up this morning and Fluffy, my cat...this one...in this photo and this photo...and isn't she just sooooo cute here as she's a photo diva for sure.  Um...wait just a second...there she goes again...oh, she's showing me her butt!  How cute!  I gotta post this up to Facebook, just a second..."

Grant LaPierre, a long-time San Francisco resident, said he had gotten up early to check his email and to see what cat photos had been posted by his Facebook friends, but was shocked to learn he couldn't give a "Thumbs Up" nod to any of them.  "Hey, this is how you lose friends" he said, "I can't begin to tell you how many people 'unfriended' me back in September 2010 when Facebook crashed before.  It was horrible.  They thought I didn't like their cats.  It was all the more gut-wrenching this time because they knew I just got a dog.  I guess I'll have to do a bit of back-tracking to make it all right.  Thanks a LOT, Facebook...you'll be hearing from my lawyers tomorrow."

According to the Chicago Tribune, Facebook acknowledged the problem, but insisted it was only for a "brief period of time"...even though service was down for several hours across the globe.

"We're sorry for the inconvenience" a Facebook representative stated, "We know how many of you rely on Facebook for news of the world, of your friends and family, and of their cherished pets.  We honestly had no idea the global impact of not seeing a link from a friend of a YouTube viral video of a cat playing with a laser pointer...would have on the world.  We are sorry...and we will strive not to have anything like this happen again.  Honestly, it was our server guy.  It was his fault...not ours.  I hear he doesn't even LIKE cats!"

Facebook service did resume to its full capacity after a few hours although their stock did plummet in the early morning hours.  General Mills stock, ironically, gained a few points and finished nicely at the end of the day.

Hash Tag...and I'm IT!

#

Yeah.  I don't get it either.  Apparently a whole bunch of people...or maybe it's just my friends...don't as well.

# has always been either a number sign or a pound sign to me.  In fact, if you call the base to refill your prescription, it will go through a whole series of prompts telling you to "enter the last four digits of your social security number...followed by the pound sign" and then "enter the numeric portion of your prescription...followed by the pound sign".  It does not tell me to enter a hash tag sign.  Because up until 26 August 2007, it wasn't.  Then some guy named Stowe Boyd decided, probably under the influence of a lot of alcohol (most stupid things people do, were), to call it something else.  How he managed to get everyone to follow suit is beyond me.

It's kinda like those sayings which, long before the Internet, managed to circulate around from person to person, and show up in our American lexicon.  Face it, someone came up with things like "Going to hell in a hand basket."  Why a hand basket is beyond me as well...because if I'm going to go to hell...I hope they deliver me in something larger.  Getting into a hand basket would be a hell of a feat of manual contortionist dexterity, I tell you.

But, back to hash tags. 

I went on my Facebook (yes, it's my Facebook...it was invented solely for my amusement and entertainment) the other day and asked people what they were and what do you use a hash tag for.  Why you use one.  What happens when you type one and click on it (because they become blue when you type them on Facebook...and therefore "clickable").  And, if no one had previously commented on a hash tag I just "invented", would it be mine forever, like when you register a .com name.

Again, I was met with shrugs and gasps and other things you cannot see when you're on the Internet, so you have to invent acronyms to convey these things...like "SMH" and "ISMSRN" (which hasn't been invented as I just coined it).  So, I decided to take a look.

Apparently Facebook recognizes hash tags but they only work from a computer and not a "mobile device"...which I think is code for "cell phone".  It was probably coined by that Boyd guy on 1 May 2009.  It seems everyone who said anything remotely new is now listed on the Internet so you can make sure when you say it, the proper person gets the nod.  Again, a nod you can't see...which, btw is as good as a wink to a blind horse.  (BTW is another acronym...probably credited to yet another person...and probably erroneously...like Christopher Columbus discovering America.)

But I'm digressing once again.

Anyway...the first hash tag I claimed in the vast Internet wasteland was "# IHateHashtags", followed by "# Mariann" and "# Pomtini" because "# MartiniTime" was already taken by someone.  Then I started getting really giddy thinking I am, sometime in the future, going to be contacted by people with gobs of money, buying them from me for astronomical sums...like they did for "Drugs.com" and "Sex.com".  I was, for all intents and purposes...getting extremely fond of all things hash-ish...and  hoping to make an Internet score of monumental proportion...so I just kept clicking away.  My newfound love was indeed the drug I was thinking of.  And anything that I thought of...well, I hash tagged it.

One of my friends remarked that, for a person who thought they were stupid, I was certainly hogging them all.  So...let it be formally known, that I invented the word "Hashhog" - followed quickly by "Hashhogging" and "Hashhogger" - and I have all three of them with a little pound/numeric/hash tag sign in front of them...out in Internetland, to prove it.

After making a few more I decided to stop, fearing for a backlash from Facebook...which is nothing like a blackslash...so please don't confuse what I say.  The Internet knows what I say...so I can always look it up and throw it in your face later. Anyway, I stopped because I didn't want to get put on "Facebook Probation" for a week like I did those couple of times before - for "over-friending".  I was being cautious and prudent-like...best not jump on the hash bandwagon only to get thrown off before my hash world-domination comes to fruition.

And honestly...I still don't know what I've done, if it will make any impact, or if anyone out there will ever visit my vast hashdoms...which is not the same as a hash den...but probably would give me the same heady delight...say, if someone out there offered to buy one of them from me for a couple million. 

So let it be known that I am focused on a mission to claim every single word combination left to claim -- that can be formulated in the spaces they allot (and there has to be a limit because one of my other friends tried making a long hash-string of words, but it didn't work).

In the meantime...start using the words "hashhog" and "hashhogger" -- and don't forget to join me for drinks at # Pomtini and drop me a line at # Mariann...because...well, someone hash to.

Esmerelda and the Area Known as 51 (Part 1)

(The following is a repost of a story I started writing a ways back.  Just wanted to bring it to the forefront to remind me.)

It was just about dusk as Esmerelda sat behind the counter filing her nails at the only gas station in Goldfield, Nevada.

She had sat behind that counter every day, or near about every day, since her daddy got taken ill with a raging fever that ended up taking his breath away. Momma prayed hard that day and asked Esmerelda, "Sing with your angel voice, child, sing so the angels can hear and come straight to your daddy to 'take him home'."

Esmerelda obliged.

She was just a girl of about seven...but her voice could make grown men weep - and when the town, once a boom town for gold, started to get deserted, grown men wept for other reasons. Esmerelda didn't really understand where "home" was. She just knew when people got bit real bad by snakes or had the consumption, they always went "home" and then no one ever saw them again. They parceled you up real good, too. Put you in a big wooden box to send you there. She figured a special postman with a big wagon and two horses came to take you back "home" and your family would walk as far as they could and then came back again...crying.

But no one came back once they went home. And for a very long time Esmerelda was afraid to ever go home, but as she never lived anywhere else, she figured she was already there. Then, as all things go, time passed and she understood about "home" and then was worried her momma would go there one day. Sometimes she'd find herself doing chores 'round the house and her sweet voice would pour out like liquid sunshine and kiss the ears of everyone within earshot. Then she'd clam up and run outside as far and as fast as she could. She didn't want those angels to find her momma.

But now she was filing her nails and Curtis was in the garage of the gas station shouting obscenities each time he'd smash a finger. Curtis worked at the little grocery store and service station that was smack on the edge of town. Smack on the edge of town to nowhere really. Wasn't anything much before or after the town and certainly wasn't much there. The only thing within miles was Las Vegas and the only time people came through Goldfield anymore was because they heard it once had gold...but that was a considerable time ago, but that never stopped the passers-by who lost everything but gas money out of Vegas. Goldfield was a tank of gas away...and if they got lucky and found the stray nugget, it was a tank of gas back. And the only place to get that gas was at Esmerelda's daddy's store, "Old Bob Perkins' Place" it was called by the locals and that's what it will always be called if Esmerelda and her momma had anything to do with it.

It didn't cost much to run and Curtis got paid only when he fixed something, which wasn't very often, but then again, Curtis was never going to amount to much anyway...but that never stopped him from trying to hit on Esmerelda.

He had it all worked out in his simple head. He'd marry Esmerelda when the time was right and that time would be any day now seeing as she was starting to fill out her dresses too much and started wearing her momma's. Then he and Esmerelda would move in with his momma as she had the biggest house for miles around. Curtis never knew why she did, he only knew they didn't want for anything...but he never much wanted for anything anyway...anything but Esmerelda, that is. And that "wanting" wasn't exactly like wanting a new tire or wanting a new pair of shoes -- it was more like wanting some dinner...only sometimes this hunger seemed a lot deeper. Curtis, again, never really knew why.

But Esmerelda's hunger and desire didn't lie with Curtis...she wanted to go to Hollywood...or at least Vegas. She liked the distinct smell of ozone once when daddy took the family on a trip up there shortly before he died. Once in a while, on a warm still night, Esmerelda swore she could still catch a whiff of it if the breeze was blowing just right and if she turned her head just so.

Esmerelda knew she didn't have much time, either. The desert sun can blanch the bones of a dead thing white in a couple days...and the supple, taut skin of a young girl of 15 turns into something hard and leathery like the cowboys and Mexicans wore in those "shoot 'em up" movies she wanted to star in. Star in them right up there on the silver screen with Gary Cooper or John Wayne. Even though Esmerelda only went to a movie once, she knew that's what she wanted to do...she also knew, aside from "going home", that was her only ticket out of Goldfield.

And the best way to get there was on a tank of gas after someone found a big enough nugget.

So, each day she came to work dressed in her momma's best clothes, her hair styled as closely as she could get it to resemble the latest "starlet of the month" on the magazine cover and smelling of something called "L'amore de Parisienne". It cost a whole fifty cents...the finest her daddy's store carried. And there she would wait, filing her nails, anticipating that one day, and one day soon, a big Hollywood director would need a fill-up on his way scouting around for a new place to shoot a film...discover her in all her momma's Sunday finest...and sweep her away to the place where dreams can be made real...or at least as close to the reality she always dreamt about.

Each day, she'd walk home more disappointed than the last...and the days she spent waiting turned into weeks, then months, and finally years. Curtis had filled out enough to become interesting to her...and as he was the only boy close her age for miles, his dream was beginning to look like it would be her dream as well.

(End of Part 1)

Nymph-O-Matic?

All across the world there are versions of this question ringing out: "What's for dinner?"

Now, I know some of you out there are good cooks, some might even be Julia Child-like...but there are some of you who think cooking involves a can of "Cream of Mushroom" soup, rice which never comes in contact with others of their species (how do they make rice that does that anyway - I think NASA had something to do with it), and a block of Velveeta.

While I'm not picking on you, I'm just amazed that someone can slap together a dinner, from start to finish, in the time it takes for me to wash my vegetables. Seriously, that's not fair...and that's as far away from being a gourmand than those rice grains are away...from each other.

Yes, I know...those "Iron Chef" people can make a dozen delectable dishes in the time it takes me to return from a commercial break, but I never see them wash their vegetables, either...so I'm discounting them. Plus being "quick like a bunny" never helped any rabbit in any cook's kitchen.

But, those of you who feel the calling to harken back to the bygone days of tomato aspics expertly molded into regal Crimean lion poses -- and little racks of lamb with the tiny white chef's hat lovingly placed upon each little lamb-bone...I bring to you a gem of a recipe I recently unearthed in my vintage 1941 "The Escoffier Cook Book"...

So the next time you scoff because that burrito in the microwave is taking longer than 1:21 to cook or that you can't believe the skyrocketing price of a dented can of Le Sueur baby peas...just be glad that you'll probably never cause a grand societal faux pas embarrassing yourself by mistakenly stirring your iced tea with your marrow spoon.

Now...about that dinner...

(Click on the photos to enlarge them if you cannot read the full text.)

Death to Punxsutawny Phil -- Too Harsh a Sentence?

Squirrel Goes Nuts -- Vows to Eat One Baby Each Day People Continue to Complain About Punxsutawny Phil

A mother squirrel in the neighbouring town of Slippery Rock, Pennsylvania, has literally had it with all the bad press lately about Punxsutawny Phil that she has vowed to eat one baby per day until the "madness has stopped".

The Slippery Rock rodent resident has lived in the shadow of Phil for too long and is tired of all the hoopla which descends upon the quiet and serene area of western Pennsylvania every year.

While the mother could not be reached for comment...she does live way up in a tree after all...we did manage to get hold of the following statement:

"Each year, without fail, right smack dab in the middle of mating season...all these news vans set up camp just to get a photo op with some lazy rodent who couldn't tell his ass from a hole in the ground" the upset mother of six (make that five) stated yesterday. "I know it's some human tradition thing that's been going on for years, but it wreaks havoc with my biological clock and a squirrel can only wait so long before she has to decide which mate to pick. Last year I picked Ralph...this year, it was Eddie. Ralph was no prize, trust me -- Eddie's even worse. All my other suitors relocated to areas further away because radio frequencies apparently inhibit squirrel sperm count. Had I known how my kids were going to turn out because of Ralph's mutated nut-juice, I would eaten them then. Now they are too big and I can't...so this year, I'm planning to eat one of Eddie's kids each day I see another news truck come barrelling through here. I figure he can't hold that against me and, since it's a noble cause for all the other wildlife around here, it's a win-win situation for all."

And I, for one, cannot agree more. Come on people...it's a rodent. A shadow-producing (or not), weather-predicting rodent in 2013? And we're going to ask for his head on a plate because he predicted wrongly? (People are actually calling for his death.)  Yeah, back before meteorology and calendars like the Farmer's Almanac...I could see people getting mad enough. But 2013?? No wonder the Aztecs were hoping we'd bite it in 2012.

(Yes, I know...literally vs figuratively...but literally still sounds better to the ear.)

Hit me with your lowest shot...

I was served divorce papers yesterday. 

Is that all there is to it?

No "Hey, guess what...I'm going to file for divorce - heads up notice for ya - start saving money to find yourself a lawyer like I've been doing as I've known I was going to do this for a while..." kinda thing? 

So, yep.  That is all there is to it after nearly 27 years.

I have 30 days to totally get my act together and reply.  Well, less than 30 now.  So, in about as much time as this contest ran - is all I have. 





Please go on over to "We Work for Cheese" to see the other (probably much longer) blogs than this one.  This is the last day to do it as the 28 day challenge is over! 

Cheers and Jeers

Today's prompt over at Nicky and Mike's "We Work for Cheese" contest (one more day left!) is "and that's why I got drunk". Please head on over to all the other teetotaler and drunkard posts...and read what they have to say about it. Cheers!

I'm not sure what to write for this post. Whether I should write something about my distant past, my not so distant past (also known, ironically, as my not so recent past), or my recent past.

So, I will write something which I hope all kids and grown ups out there will listen to and use it as a lesson. In fact, I'll write two. One was way back in my past - the second, the other day. These are indeed facts and I'm not proud of them...but if I can save a life...then it will be worth the indignity and humiliation and whatever else I got.

Back in my personal heyday of drug taking...I was born in 1960 after all, the things to take were just smoking joints and drinking. Or for those not into pot, there was always good old cheap booze. Cheap booze, by the way is usually not "good" nor is it "old". They made it on Monday in some guy's bathtub (well, the factory which operates on this basic set-up) and by the weekend, it was miles away from their makers, stocking the shelves of your local purveyor of affordable buzzes.

I had many young friends as was fashionable in the days when you'd all drive around from place to place with a carload of friends...and most times, since I was either a tiny bit older or had a job to afford a car...I became very important to some of these people.

Drinking would usually be done in back of a place called "Obie's" or the very old "Pig 'n' Whistle Bar" which (talk about irony) burned down the first night we moved to Browns Mills, NJ, in 1972.  They built a new one...but it wasn't as regal and resplendent as the original, but that was the one everyone "hung" behind.

There were a bunch of dirt trails back there and people hanging in the front of the bar made a nice extra income when the "younger kids" couldn't legally buy their liquour.

You'd take it around back...watch the cars, trucks, and motorbikes jump the dirt hills and you'd drink until drunk set it...and then you'd go home.

It wasn't hard to figure out that when a group of you ended up there watching the cars, trucks, and bikes...that was pretty much it to do where we lived; it was basically unofficially our town's entertainment distrinct.  Considering it's behind two bars in the woods...and this was as good as it was going to get...sometimes people would use it as a gathering place to "party".

You'd get drunk to fit in, you'd get drunk because otherwise people wouldn't do these foolish things for your entertainment, you'd get drunk because life was absolutely friggen boring in Browns Mills, New Jersey...and that's why I got drunk, too.

It was at one such of these events that some of my friends wanted to go home and I was the designated driver. The "designated driver" back then meant: I was the one who had a car.

The roads around a lake don't have any shoulder...what they do have are embankments full up of pine trees and then water.

Volkswagen Beetles were known to roll over without much effort expended...just the gravitational pull of lopsided sitters, failure to obey a 15 mph sign, and way too much alcohol and other recreational "treats" from my era...sometimes culminates into a bad day. This day there was much reveling and everyone made an oooooooooooooh noise and my oil light flashed on. Never having had my oil light come on, I asked my passengers, who probably had no clue; this time they did. You see, I was up on two wheels about to go over like a curious boy prodding a Dung Beetle with a stick. I was just a hair shy from ending up at the bottom of the embankment, because when they tell you 15 mph, there's a reason...and the last number I reason I saw was about 55.

Well, nothing happened after that other than I swear I sobered up. I sobered up quickly. You see, I had a couple friends who drove drunk and killed their occupants, or messed them up for life. I was determined never to drive after drinking again...this was when I was 17...and I never have. Not even one drink. I have not done it. I take it that I have a lot of willpower...but I'd like to believe I'm ethical, too. I never want to be responsible for taking someone's life because I was too stupid and drunk to know when to say "No." You say "no" before you get to that point - and many nites I would be the sober driver before "sober drivers" were the in people.

That was lesson number one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lesson number two is embarrassing.

I take Ambien. Some Ambien don't work very well and I take more Ambien. I am also prone to dropping Ambien, and being a germaphobe, toss those away. I shouldn't. But when you are taking Ambien there is no such thing as a "rationale" mind.

So, after finishing up yesterday's "Deal With It" prompt, I realized I didn't have enough Ambien to get me until "end day" - the day I can refill these things...and I'm already getting my spazz on early. I look like a miser counting my money. My little vial, my pills, my pills broken into portions, the portions being obligated for this day and that...and still I realize I won't have enough to make it. So, I did something stupid...

...I remembered what a few of my friends said...that they took their Ambien and sloshed it back with some wine or vodka. Again, I'm a "rational" person...but a rational person on Ambien is akin to The Easter Bunny helping Santa load his sleigh up for him. There's no such thing.

But I took my partial pill and noticed I do indeed have vodka...so let me try this - as I said several friends swear by it. I took down the very pretty, and very small, cordial glasses for sipping tiny bits of sherry. Think overly large, overly old, women sipping only enough alcohol to fit into two thimbles. I took one off the shelf and meticulously wash it. I'm not so wonky in the head that the germaphobe isn't there. The germaphobe is always there...he has permanent residence in there and pretty much calls all the shots. And this shot of vodka is no exception.

After it is washed out and looking sparkly...I fill it up. I fill it up without realizing just how much straight vodka can fit into this tiny, delicate, intricately carved glass. One sip...well, there's more in the glass...I can't toss it out - it's perfectly good Grey Goose Vodka, dammit!

So, I purse my lips and take another couple swallows. Who would have known, that not unlike Doctor Who's TARDIS, it's much bigger INSIDE that glass than looking at it from the OUTSIDE. And, within a short period of time, one could say with great probability...that the Ambien was kicking in about the same time as the lady-sized vodka rocket...and that's why I got drunk. Drunk on an empty stomach to make the Ambien work (not supposed to eat before or after you take Ambien or it takes forever to kick in)...also makes the vodka work.

I'm not sure what was working better...but I was pretty much gone for a LONG time.

While it was nice to be gone for a long time when you have chronic insomnia and never sleep more than three hours WITH medication, but...please, please, don't shove back your medication with a goodly sum of alcohol. I was stupid to have done it...and I hope I'll never do it again. I think lesser things have sent people to early graves.

So that's another lesson learned. I hope it lasts as long as the first. And please learn from them, too. I know personally know people who has died from the first...and I know a couple people who mixed drugs with their alcohol and died as well. Just because it's prescription drugs instead of miscellaneous ones you got from your friends...doesn't mean they can't kill you just as dead.

Just Horsing Around

(Two guesses where the "meatballs" come from.)

I started writing a blog about how I'm depressed and "oh, woe is me" and so forth and then I stumbled upon this news tidbit about Swedish furniture company, Ikea, getting caught selling horse meat in some meatballs.

This isn't an isolated event as quite a few places in Britain have been cited for their beef and pork being tainted with horse meat as well.

The first thing that came to my mind was, "What? Ikea sells food??"

Not only was I gobsmacked by the fact Ikea sells food...but I wondered how they packaged it. Was it all in individual little plastic bags when you bought, say, lasagne, and you'd have to assemble it yourself? Were you halfway through it when you noticed it was missing two noodles? Was there a toll-free number you could call for them to send you replacement noodles? How long does it take for them to ship out your noodles anyway? I'm figuring by the time you got your noodles you'd probably have to throw out the other stuff...and then you'd be left with only two noodles.

But seriously, do they do this "food thing" on an international scale? I never saw Ikea next to the Stouffer's or Hungry Man dinners. I think I would have noticed that. Do they even sell their food to other nations?

I looked, and according to some article, those horsey meatballs were sent to 12 other European countries. That's a bunch of irate people all talking different languages seeking justification as to how and why this could happen from a brand they probably trusted...and, perhaps it went something like this at Ikea's corporate office...

"We have just one thing to say about it, people -- just deal with it. It was only found in one batch and it's the same quality horse meat we've always used."

"Look, when you buy a product from a place that can't figure out how to get all your credenza parts into one box, you're going to have to realize we're really never going to figure out how someone managed to sneak horse meat into our production line."

"We have run several separate analyses on our products and found that horse meat is actually 20 percent better for you than the substandard sawdust we'd been using for the past 15 years."

"Look on the bright side...beef and pork have both been proven to cause arterial blockage...whereas no studies have been made on horse meat."

"Tainted meat...heh heh heh. We only did this so we could count up how many late nite comedians around the world used the word 'taint' in their monologues."

"Again, on the bright side...no one's ever died of 'mad horse' disease."

"All you neighsayers out there have been racing to track down someone to point a finger at. Right from the start...you were all quick to come out of the gate claiming some foal play,. Well, it'll behoove you to prove any wrong doing on anyone's part in our company. In the first place, you can't show we had any knowledge of this...and, in the end, you can bet we'll finish on top. We aren't going to issue some blanket statement on this other than you guys are definitely beating a dead horse over this whole issue."

Okay, that last one was a stretch.

Okay, I'll stop now. It wasn't that funny anyway...and puns were never a strong point of mine.

At least I didn't mention Sarah Jessica Parker...you have to give me some credit for restraint.

This was Day 26 of our 28 day quest into "We Work for Cheese's" maniacal writing contest. Today's prompt was "Deal With It"...and I tried. Now go and read everyone else's take on it..go on. You can do it. Hay, don't make me threaten you with another horse-related pun.

Sorry...I had to get one last one in there.



It's Always About Me

(It's me.  I picked it out myself.  My son wouldn't help me...so I picked one you see less of me as I thought "less was more".  Yes, it's in the bathroom...would you expect anything less from any photo anyone posts of themselves on the Internet?)

 

Because my list of personal stuff went off so splendiferously the other day (yeah, I'm being sarcastic)...almost as well as the one I did yesterday about my conspiracy dealing with the profiteering of drug companies...I am going to do something completely different.  I made a challenge...for those willing to try it.

Oh, wait - it's all about me again.  Oh, well.  But it is different.

I am going to state 12 statements below. Six will be facts and six will be fiction. They are going to be about me. Not that any of you really know me...just thought it might be fun for some of you who think you have a keen sense or sixth sense about strangers (you know...those of you who swear you can spot a liar from a mile away) to give it a try.

At the end of the day, say midnite-ish my time (I'm on US Central Time) - I will reveal the answers.

To make it easier, you can answer as many as you like...and you just have to pick out the six facts...by number. You don't have to go thru the whole list. Just put the numbers...for example: 1, 3, 8, 9, 10. Oh, I think you can handle it from here.

 

1. Jon Bon Jovi once asked me out.

2. I have a recurring dream where I'm trying desperately to rescue a box of puppies from out of a burning airplane.

3. My favourite song is "The Long and Winding Road" by The Beatles.

4. When interviewed by CNN Live, I told them my favourite author was Ray Bradbury.

5. My mother once lived in the same building as Audrey Hepburn.

6. I've never seen an episode of "The Simpsons".

7. Back when I was in around eighth grade, my friend and I invented our own language we named "Makoonish".

8. I was once carried around through a mall by a guy who played rugby I had just met the day before; we also donned pretty good fake English accents and had everyone laughing and thinking it was extremely awesome.

9. My favourite vodka is Ketel One.

10. When I was young, my friend and I were fishing at the lake at the end of our road and a baby alligator appeared out of nowhere and started chasing after us.

11. Once, when I was much younger (and hot), I played "Strip Poker" with my girlfriend and the four pilots she was renting a beach house with...and I ended up losing. Completely losing, if you know what I mean.

12. I don't have a middle name.

So there you have it - pick which ones are true...and I'll let you know later and we'll see who was closest.  Actual friends of mine who know some of this stuff should refrain from playing...hell, they refrain from reading it...so they probably will.

Please go over to "We Work for Cheese" to see all the participants who used today's prompt of "Fact or Fiction" in their much better blogs.

Confucius say...something not right in Medville

Today's prompt is "Confucius" over at Nicky and Mike's "We Work For Cheese" bloggy contest. Please go over there and then comment a lot on my blog saying how much better it is than all those other ones...or those naked photos of you with "you know who" gets published on the Internet.

Now, when people think of Confucius they think of all things Zen and fortune cookies. As I'm not one to look much into the future, that's the one I'm going with today. I see something...something strange...

"Confucius say 'Something very fishy and it's not your sushi."

Yeah, so I'm not being politically correct, but I'm not the one who makes up these fortunes...but here is what I saw today...and tell me Confucius is not right.

I'm watching CNN and they are showing Oscar Pistorius and the pre-Daytona 500 accident and then they do this piece on suicide.

Now I don't watch CNN religiously or anything - but I've been tuning to it ever since the Sandy Hook massacre because Piers Morgan is the bravest man I've ever seen. I'd never sit inches away from some gun-toting lunatic and tell him how stupid he is...especially since he has a lot of gun-toting lunatic buddies with those laser eye-scope guns.

So, now, when I'm bored and nothing is on - I pop CNN on.

Tonite was such a nite. TCM had nothing on I wanted to watch and I had already watched two episodes of the pseudo-Copper show, "Ripper Street" on BBC America.

Then the suicide segment came on. Some Dr. Drew Pinsky guy was on talking about how he was just talking to that country singer lady, Mindy McCready (who, unfortunately, committed suicide the other day), blah blah...guy from some Parenting magazine or website comes on...blah blah...and all the parents are taking Xanax and blah...and then that Pinsky guy says something about how the only two nations in the world who allow drug companies to advertise to consumers are the United States of America and New Zealand.

Now I didn't think much of that because I was too busy trying to finish up my boring blog (yes, thank you everyone for making my "Absurd" blog look pathetic in comparison) and reading everyone's blogs and commenting...when this commercial for Xarelto comes on. Xarelto is a blood thinner drug that they are saying everyone who takes Warfarin can possibly take. I take Warfarin - so I look up and pay attention because it's the first time I saw a commercial for it and my one cardiologist mentioned switching. I said "No" because "I haven't yet died on Warfarin...and that's always a good sign to me."

So...I'm watching this guy and the voice-over dude saying something about how much more you can do in your life instead of getting your blood checked once a month. Yeah...I'm sure that's sooooooooooo inconvenient to everyone - especially the ones of us who go to doctor's offices like every other day. So, I'm thinking how illogical this stupid commercial is...and it shows him in a truck and the GPS telling him to turn left and then he tells it "Uh, not today" or something and goes straight instead. Well, he ends up at a travel agency (like he has GPS but doesn't know how to book a flight online) and the agent lady asks him where he'd like to go as he's saved so much time not sitting in that office once a month and he points to a poster of New Zealand and tells her "There!"

Well, I'll be damned. Is that a coinky-dinky or what?

He doesn't point to Belarus (well, who would) - or Bermuda - or even wherever it was where that Confucius guy came from. He points to New Zealand. I'm wondering if the commercial in New Zealand has a similar guy pointing to the United States.

Either way...I sense some bad medicine here. And it leaves a really bad taste in my mouth.

I think I'll mention this to Dr. Drew (I'm sure he reads all his email)...just in case he hasn't noticed.

I'll keep you posted.

Seriously.

 

Simply Absurd

Today's prompt over at "We Work for Cheese" is "Absurd". And while I could go on and on about a story about my butt (for the umpteenth time) - I will spare you, and go straight to just things I find absurd. I'm not really deep thinking here and I'm right smack into the newest episode of "Ripper Street" which I think is the exact same premise as "Copper" only with a different set of actors, which, in itself is kind of absurd...but I'll throw in a few things that I find absurd.

Thirty-three things I find absurd...in no specific order...other than numerical. I decided a nice "round" number like 33 would be good so you would have to know how far to scroll down to in order to comment. :)

1. How nobody batted an eye (other than Jeannie on "I Dream of Jeannie" and that was on another network) or did a double-take at all when they switched the Darrin character on "Bewitched".

2. How dumbass things like the girl burning her hair with a curling iron manages to go viral on the Internet.

3. How dumbass I was for falling victim to clicking to watch the dumbass video of the girl burning her hair with the curling iron on the Internet.

4. How reporters on the Internet can get a job, yet I can't get one to save my life.

5. Why anyone abbreviates the would "you" -- it's only TWO MORE LETTERS, people!

6. Why anyone would take that psoriasis medicine they advertise on television considering it might give you seven different types of cancer, anal leakage (which may or may not be severe), liver failure and mild to moderate death.

7. Why people ask you how you are doing while you are on the elevator at the hospital either going to or leaving a doctor's office. Like how the hell do you think I'm doing...I'm IN the friggen hospital either going to or leaving a doctor's office! Dumbass.

8. Why someone would get inside of a laundry basket and slide down an overpass hill on a make-shift sled, literally inches away from traffic usually going over 55 mph (when it wasn't crawling at a snail's pace because of the weather) when it snowed a whopping two inches in Birmingham, Alabama a few weeks ago...considering they aren't at all familiar with snow at all as it rarely does in this area...and also the facts: 1) Snow is slippery when wet; 2) there is no ledge or berm-type structure separating you from getting run over by a car after you pummel over the railing head-first; and, 3) laundry baskets are not equipped with brakes.

9. Atheists saying "OMG!"

10. How I manage to write better when my brain is really whacked out on Ambien.

11. How people cannot readily calculate 20% of a number...yet have no difficulty calculating 10%.

12. Why any woman would want a guy who is really endowed. Seriously...hey, I saw a guy once who was really...um...built that way. No way would I touch that with a ten foot pole. Not that I could really...as, seriously...whoa boy. No way, ya know?

14. Why people who jump all over someone on the Internet for not spelling things correctly usually have a typo in their comment.

15. Why we had to put our ugliest presidents and other political figures on our American money. Why couldn't we have picked the better looking ones?

16. Why anyone still uses that "shaky camera technique" -- and just what are the requirements on that job applications?

17. Why anyone would want to be a proctologist. (Sorry...had to throw a butt one in there someplace.)

18. Why anyone would want a television service that allows you to record five shows at once. I can't even find one good one to watch at any given time. Five??

19. People who feel compelled to use two question marks in a row...as if it somehow makes it funnier that way.

20. Why the guy who head butts anyone on film never gets hurt, too.

21. Infomercials.

22. People on Facebook who get annoyed at me because I'm not eating meat during Lent on Fridays...like it's inconveniencing them somehow.

23. How Spiderman managed to swing from place to place in the old cartoon, yet none of the buildings were higher than he was.

24. Doors that open inwards in public rest rooms.

25. People who tell you "Don't mind the mess" when the most you can see that is remotely "messy" in their house are those two magazines on an end table.

26. Why people would think four faces carved into a mountainside is prettier to look at than the way the mountain was before they started carving it.

27. People who tell me that all red wine tastes the same.

28. People who tell me that all bottled water tastes the same.

29. People who make fun of people for being "ugly" - as if they played any part in how they were born.

30. People who pronounce "absurd" - "abzerd".

31. Everyone complaining at how music sucks nowadays yet it keeps on getting worse.

32. Everyone complaining at how bad all those reality shows are and how they never watch any...yet the networks keep making more.

33. How some of you are still with me after this many absurd comments...and those of you who did or did not notice that the number 13 comment wasn't there.


Ta-da!  All done.  And aren't you glad?  Oh shuddup...some were true and you know it.