Seriously?

You've got to be kidding me. Check this out:



No, Avitable, I'm not flipping you off. But do take a look at my middle finger. Do you see that red area? No? Try this:



It's a bruise. On the tip/side of my finger. WTF?

I woke up yesterday morning and kept feeling pain and discomfort whenever the tip of that finger pressed against something:

• the baby food jar
• the button on the coffee bean grinder
• the shampoo bottle lid
  

When I got out of the shower, I discovered that discoloration which leads me to believe that I've bruised it. How? Beats the hell out of me. How does one bruise the tip of a finger? Leave it to me to be the first.

So, since it hurts to type, this is your CofaCMG post for the day. Sorry. Just kiss each of your fingertips and be thankful they don't hurt.

Telling You. About Me.

The above picture is of the table next to my hammered dulcimer. The jar contains my plain, leather, and felt-covered hammers (the black hammers are ebony - which give the strings a rich, deep sound). The left picture is of me playing for the first time at Vandalia and the right picture is my dulcimer while I played at a wedding. The paint brush is how I keep my dulcimer dusted.

I used to play the hammered dulcimer. My parents gave me my Dusty Strings Prelude dulcimer for college graduation and I was so excited. After years of watching Sally Hawley (a hammered dulcimer fixture in local music festivals) play at the Vandalia Gathering, I wanted to be able to someday join her for an impromptu jam session. But the dulcimer sat and collected dust for ten years. For those who have never played the instrument, it's very intimidating. It requires tuning on almost a daily basis and the notes are spread out over the two, sometimes three, bridges.

Finally, in 2004, I picked up the hammers and began playing. Five months later, I played at Vandalia. Over and over, under a tree on the capitol grounds, I played the same ten tunes and played my heart out. A fiddle player stopped by and jammed to "Soldier's Joy" while two other musicians (banjo and guitar) came by for some "Amazing Grace."

Over the next year, I practiced each and every day. I played Christmas tunes for our family holiday gathering, I realized my dream of jamming with Mrs. Hawley at a Vandalia Gathering, and I played wonderful music for Ian's and Vonda's wedding.

Then our children came and with them came responsibilities and a need to keep the house quiet when they sleep, the only time I can practice.

My dulcimer now sits silent, again. A musical instrument meant to play yet collecting dust is about as useful as a Corvette sitting in the garage. I've had this gorgeous dulcimer for 14 years and have played it for all of two years. It's a travesty and I'm very disappointed in myself and my lack of drive to become a serious musician of a musical instrument that is slowly being lost to history. Only a handful of hammered dulcimer players are left in the United States today. I wish I was one of them.

For a YouTube clip of a hammered dulcimer in action, click here.

That Time of the Month

No, not that time of the month.

That time of the month.

Thank gawd Burt has nothing to do with me being a bitch once a month.

But he'd damn-well better bring me some chocolate. I'm just sayin'

Dialog, Part 7

This is the part when you finally realize that it is the Ty-man with the witty, double-you-over-with-beverage-snorting-laughter, sense of humor, not me.

Me: I'm a Northerner!

Ty-man: You are not! You're from West Virginia!

Me: I am too from the north!

Ty-man: You're from a border state! Massachusetts, that's a northern state. Ohio, that's northern. West Virginia? Border!

Me: Hey, we fought with the Union against the Confederacy. That makes me a Northerner. Yankee. Abolitionist. Fan of Lincoln. And by the way? The South will never rise again!

Ty-man: Oh, yeah? Well from what I saw today the South did rise again!

Me: Laughing so hard I can barely breathe because my husband just made a sex joke while simultaneously using a Civil War reference.

Questions Round 5

I've just got to thank all you guys for asking me questions last weekend and giving me blog fodder for a whole friggin' week! Woo hoo! I'm pretty sure I'm back in the saddle, ready to come up with my own post ideas (probably lame and lacking in entertainment) for your reading enjoyment (or agony) in the days to come.

And now, on to my final questions, courtesy of Gypsy over at Strange, Dark Gypsy Girl.

What are you reading right now?

If I gave you $5,000 right now to spend on a new wardrobe, where would you shop?

What is in your porn collection?

Oh, paybacks are Hell, aren't they sweetie? So hacking into your site today and changing your banner to include a picture of Oral Roberts. Love, Me.

Anyhoo, on to the answers:

Right now, I'm reading Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers. Seriously. Not kidding. Did you know that when a man's body is embalmed, his penis becomes greatly enlarged due to the introduction of the embalming fluid? And that when medical schools are finished with their cadavers, they hold a memorial service for them, inviting those medical students who worked on said cadavers to attend as part of their death and dying classes? It's a fascinating book, just don't read it if you're depressed.

Seriously? $5,000? Let me send you my address.... Oh, wait, this is hypothetical. Crap. OK. I would have to say I would first go to my favorite clothing store on the planet, The Cornucopia, a shop in Charleston, West Virginia. They've got really funky clothes. Then? I'd head over to Banana Republic with the cash I have left. Yep, that'd cover it. I'm mainly a khaki pants/white t-shirt kind of gal with some loose/comfortable stuff in between.

Now, on to the question that is going to make smoke pour out of my in-laws ears. Truly, I don't have a porn collection. I did, before I had kids, but in a fit of nesting and "What if they find these someday?!?!?" the meager porn collection I did own (all purchased on-line from Adam & Eve, mind you) went in the garbage. I would have passed it on but those people all up and had kids, too, and porn is just not an appropriate baby shower gift, you know? So, allow me to instead tell you about my readable porn collection. I've become quite enamored of the Aphrodisia collection at Kensington Books. I've got a large gift bag full of these babies that I can go back and read any time I'm in the mood for explicit sex. And the best part? With a leather book cover, I can read it around the kids and they have no idea! Hee hee!

And that's it ladies and gentlebloggers! Thanks again for the fun trip down question lane. Our regularly scheduled programming will resume tomorrow!

Questions Round 4

Friggin' Avitable. Askin' me a question that required supreme geekiness and thought.

If you were to make a credible argument for the Empire against the Rebellion, what would it be?

Dang. All this time I've been a dyed-in-the-wool Rebellion girl. Lover of all things Jedi and Han Solo. And now? You're making me a turncoat. A liar. A spy for the Empire and all things Sith.

Cool. Here goes. Think of this as a full-page ad taken out in the Coruscant Daily by Darth Vader, on behalf of his Master.


Fellow citizens of the glorious Empire!

I, Darth Vader, am calling on you to help crush the Rebellion that has caused us much pain and suffering! These so-called protectors of the Old Republic are nothing more than terrorists! They want nothing more than to bring you fear and suffering, bring an old, ineffectual government back to power, and to re-instate a religious cult as your police force. They are nothing more than sugar-coated liars, terrorists, and fear-mongers!

Our fearless and magnanimous Emperor Palpatine has brought safety to your families and your homes by crushing the Separatists. This robot army was determined to conquer every planet in the Empire and destroy your lives with their totalitarian rule and instead our Leader defeated them with his clone army - something the Old Republic couldn't bring themselves to do because they didn't have the courage to make such a decision on their own.

The once noble Jedi had taken it upon themselves to steal your children and brainwash them to their celibate and mysterious cause. I was once one of those children, taken from my mother and taught to treat members of the Old Republic as if they were lower than myself. The Jedi declared themselves your "protectors" without asking your permission. They were a dangerous cult of "The Force" - a mythical and, I have discovered, non-existent entity - and they have been defeated.

Once, we had a Republic with Senators from each planet who were so diametrically opposed to one another because of different cultures, different ideals, different values, that nothing was ever accomplished in the old government. Now, our Glorious Emperor has appointed Senators he knows will get our government work done and will not allow them to leave the Senate without passing the legislation he believes will make our Empire great. And if any Senator introduces laws the Fearless Leader believes to be detrimental to our future? Then he will strike such laws from the books and remove the Senator from his or her position.

Many of you have whispered of a "Death Star" being built to destroy planets that do not bow to the Emperor's will. This is not true. The Emperor has simply constructed for himself a grand moon, his own planet, from which to rule without influence from the Senate, a satellite which can move between worlds so that he might visit his constituents, his people, up close without the isolation of Coruscant.

The Emperor saw your suffering under the Old Republic, felt your frustration over an ineffectual government, tasted your fear during the Separatist attacks, and did what any loving, benevolent leader would do. He took control of the situation, wrested power from those too powerless to effect change, and made our galaxy a safer place.

Join with me in praising the Emperor's name and his glorious cause!

Long Live the Emperor! Long Live the Empire! Crush the Rebellion!

OK, now? I just feel all dirty and stuff. I need a bath.

Questions Round 3

So, here we are, day three of the CofaCMG question/answer session. Thanks for participating everyone! Today's thought-provoking questions come from Momma, author of Poetic License. Her questions are:

1) If you could do any one thing to make the world a better place, what would it be?

2) If you were a superhero, what would your name and power be?

3) What is the other path your life might have taken?

Nah, you guys aren't making this difficult or anything. Not at all. I mean, you're wanting me to think and stuff. Jeez.

OK, here goes:

1) Let our kids be kids. Treat them with respect but also with discipline. Educate them (reading, writing, arithmetic, manners) and don't allow them to be brainwashed by a cult of personality/religion/government. If they have owies, give them hugs and kisses (this includes teachers - this whole "We can't hug or kiss the child because that could be construed as sexual harassment" argument is bullshit). If they have concerns and fears, listen to them. Talk to them and treat them as you would an adult because that is what they will be someday. But also give them order. If there is no order, no consistency, then there is pure chaos and that's when you end up with the holy terror. By following those simple steps for the next few generations, I think we could have a planet filled with a population of well-adjusted human beings. It all comes down to our kids. If they're brought up in an atmosphere of fear, hate, and misinformation, then they will become fearful, hateful, uneducated Michael Bolton listeners.

OK, that last part? About Michael Bolton? Made that up.

*Stepping down off the soap box.*

2) This one is easy. My nickname among my friends is Super Geek. So, I would be Super Geek, bringing sci-fi and comics to the masses! Plus? I would be able to fly and make myself invisible. Yep, that's me! And? Solve all world problems with the quadratic equation.

3) If I had followed my education rather than my heart, I would probably have a Ph.D. in physics, specifically plasma physics and aeronomic research. I would be teaching/researching right now and/or trying my damnedest to get a spot in a NASA astronaut class. I did a summer of undergraduate research in the above field and my advisor wanted me to return for my masters and Ph.D. studies. Instead, I followed my heart (a.k.a. Ty-man) and became a wife, technical writer, and mother. I can't imagine my life any other way!

Questions Round 2

Wow, I like this whole question/answer thing. Allows me to post without coming up with a plan! This helps when the creative juices just ain't flowin'. Thanks for playing along guys!

OK, question number two. My sista from another mista, Teri, has asked me the following:

If you had three wishes, what would they be? If you could do anything you want, no penalties, no reprisals, and the cost is unimportant, what are you going to do?

Wow, no really. Don't hit me with a tough one or anything. Don't give me a question that could either give me the Mrs. America crown or make me look like a shallow dumb-ass. Seriously. Not at all. Your birthday? Next month? You're gettin' jack, darlin'. Love, Me.

My three wishes. OK. Here goes.

Wish #1: The first wish would be to go back to January 28, 1998, to the phone call my father made the day before his heart catherization, two days before his death, the last time I ever spoke to him. He was expressing his fears regarding the procedure and I completely brushed him off. I would like to go back to that last conversation and change it. I would like to be supportive and loving and to make him laugh.

Wish #2: I would wish away my mother's restless leg syndrome. This is an affliction that really bothers her and makes day-to-day life a bit more difficult for her. I would definitely get rid of that.

Wish #3: I would wish guaranteed happy lives for my children. If nothing else, I want to make sure they grow up happy, no matter what they do.

Your other question was regarding why you keep waking up at 6:30AM every morning. Because you're special, sweetie. Very special! :-)

And there you have it. Where's my damned crown?

Keep 'em comin'! If you didn't get to ask a question, just go back to this Sunday's post and leave a comment with your question there. I'll be happy to answer!

Questions Round 1

First off, thanks Fab for the fun show! Had a great 60 minutes and can't wait for the next one! For those of you who missed it, you can check it out here.

Now...

It, seems I pissed off a couple of people yesterday with my lack of a spoiler alert when speaking of Friday's Battlestar Gallactica episode. First, allow me to apologize. It won't happen again. Second, I'm not Ain't It Cool and my thoughts? Don't include the words Spoiler Alert. Those two words were furthest from my mind when writing that post. There were lots of disturbing thoughts running through my head and worrying about spoilers didn't even cross my mind.

Whew. That felt better. Been stewin' on that one for a good 24 hours.

The first question comes from our dear Lori over at Serendipity and Rain. She asked this:

"O.K. I have a (probably lame) question.
The hubby and kids are gone for the night. You have the t.v. to yourself.
What's the first movie you go for?
The one only you can stand to watch 10,000 times?
(Besides Contact)
Hee Hee"

No question is ever lame! Contact is a fabulous movie and I do enjoy watching it, just not a lot. I like that movie to remain special, so I don't pop it in the 'ole DVD player all that much. The movie I could watch over and over again and never get tired of? Kill. Bill. Specifically, Kill Bill Vol. 1. I could watch the "Showdown at the House of Blue Leaves" scene over and over again. Another movie, so completely different from that one, that I can watch many times over is Return to Me. I know, I know, sappy love story, Fox Mulder, Minnie Driver, yadda, yadda.

But.

Carroll O'Connor, in this movie, reminds me of my father. His stooped walk, his facial expressions, the way he sings Sinatra songs, it's like having my dad back for a couple of hours. It's a comfort movie and makes me happy.

There you have it! Thanks for asking Lori! I'll continue with more answers to your questions tomorrow!

Whew!

Ever had one of those days? Weeks?

I am.

I'm uninspired, unmotivated, and just generally untied.

I've been occupied with trying out a new template for my blog. I've been practicing here. Please, no comments. It's a work in progress.

The news coming from Texas regarding the FLDS families and their separation from their children has me unsettled. I want the authorities to make sure there has been no abuse but at the same time the agony those mothers and children must be going through cuts me to the bone. Then? Friday's episode of Battlestar Gallactica left me freaked. Cally (wife of one of the final five cylons, Galen) finds out Galen is a cylon and decides to shoot herself and her son Nicholas out an airlock. She doesn't do it (a cylon tricks her and Cally goes out the airlock without her son - ish), but that she was thinking of hurting her child upset me. Then? Reading this post? About a mother being separated from her son by a drunkard piece-of-shit? It got to me, too.

Needless to say, I've had "forcible separation from my kids" anxiety all weekend. How did I fix it? I listened to my iPod while weeding my jungle of a front yard.

So, to bring back some creativity to CofaCMG (and to continue with the theft of ideas from other bloggers), I'm asking you to ask me.

No, actually, I'm telling you to ask me. I want you guys to ask me questions. I need you to. Easy, hard, stupid, intelligent, uncomfortable, funny, whatever. Ask what you want to ask. Ask more that one question. Just do it and I'll begin answering on Monday. 'Kay?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh, and? Tonight? It's me and the Fab man*. On his talk radio show. Just click here at 7PM 'cause I'll be there. We'll be discussing Oprah and her cult of personality, the unified field theory, Obama vs. Hillary.... yeah, whateva. We'll probably talk about penis bracelets, how to pee without the caller on the other end of the phone hearing you, and jawbone zits.

Seriously. Check it out!

* NATUI? Saw your post on alcoholic beverages. Loved the whole "hover over the word and see a text description." So? Stole it. All about the theft. Thanks, hon! Love you!

I Had a Dream...

So, if you think this is a bit of eloquent blogging about my respect for Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and his vision of a future, colorless America...

... you're wrong.

This is about me and my screwed-up head.

Wednesday night was a date night for me and the Ty-man. We started off with dinner at the Right Wing Tavern, a political-themed restaurant. I had "The Byrd" (Sen. Robert Byrd - you da man - and your feta/sundried tomato stuffed chicken breast ain't too shabby, either!) and I accompanied said dish with a Cosmo. Now, let me tell you, I'm not a drinker. Not that I'm a teetotaler or anything, but I just don't drink. I don't like the way I feel when I'm drunk and alcohol does bad things to my insulin levels. So drinking for me is a special, regulated treat. Well, as you can imagine, I was tipsy after two sips. Sheesh.

The evening progressed with coffee, books, and home to bed. Then, the dreaming began.

You know how you get zits, really large, hard, painful zits, at the edge of your jawbone?

Really? You don't get those? It's just me?

Go away.

Those of you who know what I'm talking about... I dreamt I had one of those huge, nasty zits. So, there I am complaining about this gigantic, painful zit and my mom offers to pop it. You know how you sometimes get zits that when you pop them, the goo comes out in a long, thin corkscrew?

No?

F off. Seriously.

So, that corkscrew zit? Well, that's what this was. Except instead of puss it was a snake. Like a fully-formed blackish-gray snake. There I am, completely horrified, holding my jaw with a gaping hole, staring at this snake that has just popped out of my zit.

And the weird thing? My jawbone actually hurt. I woke up, clutching my face because it was sore. And for the rest of the night? I would wake up and rub my jaw. And all of yesterday? I would check that part of my jawbone, expecting to feel a giant zit.

No more Cosmos for me!

Dive! Dive! Dive!

Note: I'm finally getting around to writing on the blog about my dive experiences two weeks ago. This is an article I wrote for my sorority alumnae newsletter. I know it's a bit long, but I hope you all enjoy!

Live-aboard diving is not for the faint-of-heart. You are living, with 19 other divers (24 if you count the crew) for one solid week, on a converted yacht, with a schedule that looks like this:

7:00 – 8:00 AM – Breakfast
8:30 AM – Dive
9:30 AM - Snack
11:00 AM – Dive
12:30 PM – Lunch
2:00 PM – Dive
3:00 PM – Snack
4:30 PM – Dive
6:00 PM – Dinner
7:30 PM – Night Dive

Most conversations on a live-aboard involve talk of safety stops, PO2 levels, nitrogen loading, nitrox mixes, underwater camera F-stops, and all the different types of marine life encountered on the previous dives. There is also the telling of old dive stories, stories to make us all laugh about the time a diving friend of a diving friend was accosted by a reef shark. No, he wasn’t bitten, but the shark thought he was a nice-looking mate, if you get my drift. It is generally accepted that eagle rays, though beautiful, are out to kill every diver they see by leading them down the reef wall and into the depths below. Sharks couldn’t care less about the average diver but those pesky eagle rays, they’ll be the death of us yet.

The typical thought-process of a diver – before, during, and after a dive – goes something like this: (Pardon the stream-of-consciousness, but this is literally a diver’s inner-dialog - well MY inner-dialog when on a dive.)

OK, I need to analyze my air. 32% oxygen – gotta log it. Now, set the computer…. done. I need my skin and my full 3 mil suit. Halfway on, time for booties. Whoops! Sean’s giving the dive briefing. “Elephant Ear Canyon” is the site name. We may see batfish? Cool! OK, get my skins and suit on the rest of the way… booties… mask… get my BCD and tank on my back. Excellent. Where are Sam, John, and Stacey? Oh, they’re heading down to the platform. Time to move. ‘Scuse me, Robert! Gingerly make my way down the stairs. Falling would not be a good thing. I’ll park myself on this bench and put on my fins. Is the ladder clear? Time to jump in ‘cause the pool’s open, baby! Woo hoo! In the water, cold water down the neck! Let the air out of my BCD and slowly sink. Looking around. There’s Stacey, OK, Sam’s over there, and John is on his way down. Look at the compass, there’s west, OK, heading over to the top of the reef. We’re at 50 feet, holy crap! There’s a hawksbill turtle! That’s the fourth this week! He’s just cruising over the top of the reef, divers surrounding him like the paparazzi, snapping pictures. He disappears around a corner at 80 feet, John trailing behind. OK, we’ll hang and wait for John’s return. Oh, look! That’s the biggest lobster I’ve ever seen! Wow. I don’t know how he fits under that coral head! OK, John’s back – let’s cruise. Around the corner, the coral is so abundant! Wait, what’s that? Move closer. Dang! That’s a Spanish lobster! Those things look like underwater cockroaches. Sweet! Move in for a picture – click – move out for John to get a snap. Glance at computer – WOW – I’ve already been down at 70 feet for 30 minutes. Sam is signaling. Oh, OK, he wants to go back to the boat along a shallower depth. Cool. Slowly swimming back, there’s a hermit crab! Just a little guy! Hauling ass toward the reef wall. Cutie! Picture-time! OK, let him finish his travels. Turn back south and wow! A stingray just laying in the sand. Signaling Stacey and John, cool, John’s on his way. We’ll hover while he gets the shot. Turn around and there’s a sandy-field of garden eels, poking out of the sand and weaving in the current, bobbing up and down as we swim by. I guess we’re pretty imposing. Oh, look! Conch all over the place with little trails behind them, marking where they’ve come from. More stingrays, smaller, and tangs everywhere. Time to ascend! Slowly making my way up the water column, no faster than my smallest bubble. Don’t want to get bent! Stop at 15 feet, look up, there’s the boat! Cool. Waiting for three minutes, check out the bottom of the boat – Tim has written “Disco is God!” in the algae scum attached to the hull. Laughing hysterically through my regulator! Whoops! Current is pulling the boat away from us. I’ll just wait it out. Seven minutes later, the boat makes its way back. That was a long safety stop! Finning as quick as I can to the ladders. Give Sean my camera, hand up my fins, wait for the swells to pass by. Riding the ladder like a wild mustang! OK, it’s calmer. Climb up the ladder and make my way to the bench. Take off my mask and take a deep breath. WOW! What a great dive!

So, any of you care to join me on the next trip?

Sexy Who? Wantin' Me to Convert to What?

OK, first off. If any of you lovely readers o' mine out there in the blogverse are Mormon...

I mean no disrespect. In fact, I've got big respect for anyone of any faith. I seem to be lacking in the "God gene" present in those with so much faith in their Maker. Me? Organized religion and a faith in the unseen is a mystery.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.

When I was a kid, I remember the odd occasion when a couple of young men would come to door and introduce themselves as Mormons wanting to tell us about God. My dad would politely thank them but shoo them off and then, after closing the door, mumble under his breath, "Goddamned Mormons." We, you see, were Presbyterian. Predestination, Apostle's Creed, all that.

As a young married woman, living in our first house, we were far enough off the beaten path to not receive visitors of the faith-based persuasion. In this house, though, the tables have turned. Jehovah's Witnesses come quite regularly and young Mormon men have been by twice. The first time was our first month in the house, on the day of our housewarming party. The second time? In 2002, while we were at the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics. How ironic.

Whenever these young Mormon missionaries come by, I politely thank them, tell them I admire what they're doing, but that we're not interested. But not anymore! Cause I've seen this:



Oh, yeah baby! This is the brain child of Mormons Exposed, a calendar of twelve sexy, young Mormon men just back from their two-year missions. The info page states:

Usually seen riding their bicycles and preaching door-to-door, these hunky young men of faith explode with sexuality on each calendar page. Hand-selected for their striking appearances and powerful spiritual commitment, the "devout dozen" are stepping away from the Mormon traditions of modest dress, and "baring their testimony" to demonstrate that they can have strong faith and be proud of who they are, both with a sense of individualism and a sense of humor.

Dear Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints:
Please send these young, virile men to my door. I may not convert, but I'll certainly invite them in for a caffeine-free soda and some "baring testimony." No slamming of doors, I promise! There might be inappropriate questions, such as, "Would you take off your shirts?" and "Would you lick this calendar?" But, I promise, it will all be done with the utmost respect.

And did I mention licking?

Sincerely,
Heather

Site Meter Silliness

At times, my Site Meter hits make me chuckle. I mean, nothing will ever be able to top the Canadian who found my site through a Google search for "Where is my cat's clitoris?" but lately there have been a few good ones. Allow me to share:

mom confessions “spring break”: Yeah, ummmm, not here. Mom's don't get spring breaks and when we do, it usually involves sleep. Loooooots of sleep.

greenwoods roswell lemon chive: Oh, hell to the yeah. Greenwoods restaurant has some kick-ass lemon chive butter on their pork chops. Heaven! Pure heaven.

crack whore confessionals: Da fook? 'Scuse me? I confess the thoughts from my brain here each and every day. At times, I refer to my morning coffee as crack. But a whore? Never. Unless it involves Sean Connery and lots of chocolate.

i like moms only: Well thank you, sweetie. I like you, too.

Stormtrooper sex: OK, some freak in Denmark wants to see Stormtroopers having sex. Since all Stormtroopers are men, cloned from the same man, this is like a freaky homosexual masturbation/gay porn/incest/sci-fi fetish that I really don't want to get into here. Screwed-up Danes.

a map of the miners forecast in 18 hundreds: The hell? Yeah, I have no clue.

2008 Christian martyrs: There are Christians? Who have died for their religion? This year? We're only in April. Busy people...

Johnny hunt fbcw: Yep, the minister of First Baptist Church of Woodstock is still a prick, in my personal opinion.

zip tie handcuffs: Fab, knock it off already. I KNOW you tie your hookers up with these things, just quit using that search term to get to my friggin' blog!

“coal fields” “west Virginia” growing up: No. Yes. And Yes. Any other questions? By the way, if you're going to capitalize Virginia? Give the west a big W, 'kay? It's a friggin' state, not a region. Geography retard.

cortisone suppositories: OMFG, I've already lived through this once. Let's not remind the CMG of this horror AGAIN!

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

And by the way, Fab has asked me to come back and co-host his Pointless Drivel Live show, yet again. OK, actually, he didn't ask. Turns out I have incriminating pictures of him from our meet-up in December. Blackmail is such a sweet thang! So, what will this Sunday's show be about? Well, according to Fab: "The sexiest geek this side of the Mississippi joins us for a second time as we discuss who would be better in the sack, Stephen Hawking or Carl Sagan (obviously when he was alive). Also, I may or may nor be wearing pants for much of the show."

Well, I can certainly vouch for the Hawking vs. Sagan debate. Me? The sexiest geek this side of the Mississippi? Hmmmm, not sure 'bout that. But the presence or lack of pants? I'll never tell! Tune in, call in, and we'll have an hour of fun and laughs!

kthnxbi!

One Tired Ghost Hunter

Yesterday was post-free because I was recovering from an all-night ghost hunt. The location is old with much history... and a ghost who wanted to play rather than show itself. After a long night of wandering through rooms and the outside coupled with the quiet, mind-numbing viewing of monitors and event-logging, I was facing down the 4AM decision of whether to crash in my sleeping bag or to leave with the other 10 group members to an adjacent building where a spirit had been taunting other members throughout the night. Of course, I'm going in. Head lamp on, digital voice recorder at the ready, I marched in with the rest, as if going into battle. We let the spirit know we were there, en-masse, and there to stay. There would be no intimidation unless it was from us and we would take nothing less than total communication and co-operation from it.

After an hour of watching shadows flit and hearing intermittent knockings in response to our questions - knockings that could have been explained by the building settling, I was finished. I was tired, I was hungry, and I wanted action. I stood up and said, "I'm done. I'm tired of you acting the coward, scaring and intimidating us and others who pass through here. I want you to show yourself to me, talk to me, and do it now, because I'm over it and I want to go the hell home with evidence of your cowardly presence." I boldly walked to the back of the darkened room where shadows had been seen and, shaking like a leaf from fatigue and adrenaline, I stood there. Behind me, J.D. replied, "Yeah! I'd listen to her if I were you!"

I couldn't believe it! Here I was, third-ever ghost hunt, provoking a spirit, the unknown, possibly pissing something off that could cause me and mine harm by following me home and scaring the bejeezus out of my family! And then, as I stood there, all tired and hungry 66-inches of me, egging on whatever it was that was probably quietly watching me, I wondered what it will be like for me? What if I become trapped on this plane after death? Misunderstood and scaring the living, unintentionally becoming the scary story parents tell their kids during slumber parties, flashlight to chin, little girls screaming and hiding under their covers? Could I someday become the spirit that a future ghost hunter provokes to "come out of the shadows and face her!" And if I am that spirit someday, will I appear and apologize or will I continue to hide, giggling in the shadows, waiting for the next unwitting person to frighten?

I realized all of this and shakily returned to my seat. Adrenaline gone, hunger and extreme fatigue still there, I sat down, bowed my head, and quietly listened to my fellow ghost hunters continue the session. Thirty minutes later, as the sun's rays turned the dark, starry sky to a bright orange, I trudged back to my sleeping bag and pillow for a quick nap before the long drive home.

I have a lot to think about today, tomorrow, and for the rest of my life.

11001000*

Yep, that's right. Welcome to the 200^th post of CofaCMG.

This simple Saturday post is a humble thank you to all of you, my readers, who suffer through the crap in my brain that makes it to the Blogger page each and every day. Before I discovered blogs (thanks, Vonda) and what they can do for us writers, I would occasionally send out inane e-mails to family and close friends. These e-mails would contain factoids, my thoughts on current events, my love of everything Berkeley Breathed, or whatever floated my fancy that morning. These people suffered through my randomly-sent thoughts, silently allowing me to get my thoughts out into the open. And then? I fell in love with the blogging format, the idea that I could shoot out a couple hundred words at a time, publish myself on the World Wide Web, without permission from an agent or book publisher, free from purchasing a domain-name or paying for server space. I could do this on my own and if someone read me other than the husband and parents? Well, bonus - party!

Thanks, guys, for making the past almost-eight months a fun ride. Here's to many more thoughts, words, posts, and months to come!

* 200 in binary code. HA!

Tammy Faye Baker is Alive and Well!

And she was vacationing in the Turks & Caicos!

OK, maybe not. But her twin sister was. And her twin sister's kids, husband, other sister, brother-in-law, nephew, and mama.

Seriously.

And talk about a show. US Customs and Immigration should hire them for entertainment as you wait in line to get your passport stamped. Because I was thoroughly entertained.

And horrified. And scared. And amused, all at the same time.

I had witnessed this family while waiting in the Providenciales airport. Mom (a.k.a. Tammy Faye's twin) was wearing her tropical resort best, heavy makeup, brown roots showing underneath her blonde hair, all pulled back into a ponytail. The Dad was walking around with 6-month-old baby strapped to his chest, and Mom was gabbing with her Sister, Brother-in-law, Nephew, and Mama, all the while trying to get her 3-year-old son to shut up. Good times!

Thankfully I lost them on the plane, but as I made my way through the extremely-slow lines at US immigration, there they were, big as life, putting on quite a show. All I could do was shake my head, watching the train wreck unfold and wondering what those first-time visitors to the states thought of these American citizens. I just wanted to magically begin speaking Papiamento with an Aruban passport.

Dad had the Baby Bjorn carrier still strapped to his chest, with no baby. Mom was holding the baby and 3-year-old was whining because he was tired, hungry, and wanted Dad to hold him. But, Mom is fussing at Dad because he has misplaced the Customs forms all US citizens must fill out before re-entering the country - and he can't find the family's passports, either. OK, first? They didn't have to fill out eight customs forms for each member of the family - just one. One per family for all eight members. Yeah. The other funny part? Mom and Dad had the forms - and passports - for the entire family. Forms and passports for Sister, Brother-in-law, Nephew, and Mama. Sister was about 20 people back and every time they would pass one another in the queue line, it was like a prelude to the Ultimate Fighting Championship. Damn, was she pissed! Pissed that they were further back in line and pissed that Mom had all the passports and all the forms, and couldn't find them. So while Mom and Dad are looking for said forms and said passports, and trying to quiet down 3-year-old, Sister is giving everybody serious lip-service, white-trash-style. Meanwhile Mama and her big hair are just watching the disaster unfold before her.

Mom: Look in the ice bag.
Dad: Why the hell would they be in the ice bag?
Mom: I don't know. Just look in there and what we don't need, throw away.

Dad pulls out fancy cloth ice bag and, without looking, throws the whole thing into the trash. Meanwhile:

3-year-old: Hold me! *Whine, fuss, not really crying.*
Mom: No, I'm not going to hold you until you stop fussing.
3-year-old: Hold me!!!!!!!!
Dad: I don't know where the hell they are. Would you just pick him up, please?
3-year-old: I want Daddy to hold me!
Mom: No, no one is going to hold you until you calm down. Did you look in the ice bag?
Dad: I threw away the ice bag.
Mom: You threw away the whole ice bag?
3-year-old: HOLD ME NOW!
Dad: Yes. Fine, I'll hold you, just shut up.
Mom: Go get the ice bag, look in it, then throw away what's in the ice bag that we don't need, not the bag itself. I can't believe you can't find these forms and that you threw away that ice bag. It's a nice bag!
3-year-old: *Whining* I want to go home!

At this point, Dad has lost his mind. He whips up 3-year-old, nearly giving him whiplash, chugs back to the trash can, and retrieves the bag, while Mom says, "Ya'll, don't call the cops on us!" to the crowd in general.

The passports and Customs forms are retrieved, copies are given to pissed Sister, and all is calm. Except for 3-year-old who is still whining incessantly. That's when I, standing right behind Daddy and looking 3-year-old in the eye, deciding I have had enough, gave him one of these:

(OMFG. I look like dead-mom-warmed-over. Trip to Wayne's didn't work for me, did it?)

The pissed-off-Mommy look. And you know what? He shut up. Immediately.

That Funny Face

What's that? You say today is really rough? You need a laugh? Let's see what I can do.



Maybe this?


How 'bout this...


What about...


Really? What do you think of...


Seriously? Let's try...


Laughter but no wetting of pants? OK...


What about Cousin It?


Did you laugh? At all? Thank GOD! 'Cause the kids were snorting.

Nothing like a little personal ridicule to make your day...

Dialog, Part 6

Miss-Miss: Papa, where Mama?

Ty-man: Mama went scuba diving.

Miss-Miss: Mama went stuba dive?

Ty-man: Yep.

Miss-Miss: Mama went stuba dive wif Gill?

Ty-man: Sure. She went diving with Mr. Gill.

Miss-Miss: O-tay!

Well, certainly not Gill, but Bruce was definitely there...

(Thanks to Aussie John for the kick-ass picture!)

Manic Monday

So I woke up yesterday, got out of bed, and immediately felt like this:


Except I realized I wasn't on the boat any longer, but on solid, dry land. Blech. So, I tried to cure my wooziness with a giant mug of:


Yeah, didn't work. The toast did. So did a shower. Mom got here at 11:30 so I could drive all the way to Gainesville:


However, on the way there I lamented free speech. Well, maybe not free speech. But certainly free grammar:

(My kingdom for a can of spray paint and a large grammar book so I can hit this guy on the noggin.)

Nearly ate a Honda Civic for lunch because the little f-er decided to rubberneck an accident on the opposite side of the road. But, I'm not bitter:

(Yeah, I'm talking about you. Ass-hat.)

And witnessed evidence of the Georgia drought:


Although, this scene on Lake Lanier is the same I witnessed ten years ago. So, I just need to remember that all is cyclical. Five years from now, I'll probably be lamenting the excessive flooding. Finally, I was at my destination and placed my hair in the always-capable hands of Wayne:


Got some color:

(I'm too sexy for this towel!)

Ate a chicken salad sandwich courtesy of Wayne:


Read some ridiculously sugary-sweet double-X chromosome fare:

(Damn, somebody smack me with a National Geographic, quick.)

Finally, Wayne began the long process of forming my graying split-ends into something resembling "No, really! I'm not a SAHM! I'm a kicky, trendy, working girl! - Hell, who am I kidding?":

(Do you realize how hard it is to get one's hair cut, carry on a conversation, and take a picture? Don't ask.)

I heard about his kids dropping the F- and B-bombs and listened to the latest gossip involving Tommy Aaron. And finally, the finished result:


Go ahead. Whistle. I'll wait while you get it out of your systems. Back 59 miles to the CofaCMG homestead and to these little ones:


And a quiet evening of both of these:




Ah, it's great to be home!

I'm in Love...

... with the other woman!

That's right. I've crossed over, come out of the closet, and professed my love to a woman who loves the water as much as me, has beautiful brown eyes, and uses a little too much Botox on her lips.

Who is this dastardly dame, this hussy, who stole me away from Ty-man and the kids?

Meet Loretta...

(OK, seriously? Keep the "Damn, she would make a great sandwich!" comments to yourselves! Please!)

Loretta is a very friendly Nassau grouper who lives on "The Gully" dive site off of West Caicos. And she? Looooooooves divers.

She parks herself on her patch of coral, right on the top of the reef wall next to the gully, and waits for divers to arrive and pay their respects. And me? I paid my respects three times. I got down on the sand and talked to her through my regulator. She swam right up, got in my face, and nearly planted a big one on my lips after I took the regulator out of my mouth.

Damn, she knows how to show a girl diver a good time. I'm formulating the Dear Ty-man letter now:

Dear Ty-man,
I love you, but I need a change. A change of sex. A change of species. A change of location. Turns out, I like girls. In fact, I like girls with gills. Now, I know, I know, she can never leave the sea, she doesn't talk much, and she would never appreciate a good "Star Wars" movie, but those eyes *swoon* and those lips *faint*.

Please tell the children I love them. And please send my extra dive gear, bathing suits, and money for air to:

Heather
"The Gully" dive site
West Caicos
Turks & Caicos
Atlantic Ocean

Thanks!
Love, Me :-)

So, what do you guys think?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And? If you missed it? Check out the archived Pointless Drivel Big Honkin' Duet II Show here. Download it! Get all of your friends to download it! Rate it! Love it! Live it! (BTW, my duet with Fab was the last one. I don't sound too bad!)

She's Baaaaaaack!

Oh, yeah. I'm back and attempting to adjust to the fact that I'm once again on land, that the house isn't rocking, it's just me, that I'm nowhere near a large body of saltwater, and that my scuba gear still smells, well, funky.

Not just funky, but fonkay!

And? I'm not quite ready to blog about my adventures in the great, big blue. I'm too busy playing with the kids and smooching the Ty-man to write anything decent.

I'll be ready tomorrow.

Until then don't forget that tonight's the night!

Just click on the above graphic, just a little before 6PM tonight, and prepare yourself for two solid hours of Fab and 18 blogger buddies crooning (not all at once, thankfully) to a bunch of hits and misses! Check it out!

Open Letter 3

Dear DirecTV minimum wage employees who program the TV show titles into the DirecTV programming guide:

OK, if it's an hour-long Degrassi: The Next Generation episode about a spring break trip? Then call it Degrassi: The Next Generation NOT Degrassi Spring Break Movie! Okay? My TiVo is programmed to pick up all first-run episodes of Degrassi: The Next Generation NOT Degrassi Spring Break Movie. So, when you give something a different title/name, then my Season Pass won't pick it up, won't record it, and I won't have any idea of it's existence. I've just missed a full hour of "Did Emma knee Peter in the nuts? Does Manny truly love Jay or just yanking his chain? Does Marco's father finally accept his homosexuality? Can Darcy accept the fact she was raped?" You people deserve a special place in Hell.

Dear Blog Reader:
Yes, I watch Degrassi: The Next Generation. I'm 36. Watching a show about Canadian high schoolers. Bite Me.

Dear HarperCollins:
I could give a rat's ass if you think The Chronicles of Narnia should be numbered and published, as a set, according to when the books occur in the Narnia timeline. C. S. Lewis wrote them in a specific order (The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - Prince Caspian - The Voyage of the Dawn Treader - The Silver Chair - The Horse and His Boy - The Magician's Nephew - The Last Battle) and that is the order in which they need to be numbered and placed in their special little box set. It pisses me off that every time I walk by my kids' set, The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe is labeled 2 and The Magician's Nephew is labeled 1, etc.

Thank you, though, for keeping The Last Battle in 7^th place. At least that one is numbered correctly. Ass wipes.

Dear Blog Reader:
Yes, I rattled off those Narnia titles, in their proper order too, by memory. Bite more of me.

Gad. Could I be any more of a lame geek than I am now?

I'm Turning in My Twin-Mom Card

A while back, a loooooooong while back, I lamented about the stupid questions people ask when they see you are the parent of twins.

Are they identical?
How far apart were they?
Did you have them vaginally?
Are they artificial?

Well, after a recent pediatrician visit, I'm turning in my twin-mom card. There I sat with Bubba and Miss-Miss who were quietly playing. I could tell the mother sitting near us was watching them with interest. She finally asks, "Are they twins?" And I answer, "Yes. Double-Trouble!"

Oh. My. God.

I said Double-Trouble? Out loud? In a perky voice? When that's what all the curious strangers say to me? And it drives me crazy?

Someone, I beg you. Cut up my North Metro Mothers of Multiples membership card. Then? Just smack me, please. I'm so embarrassed.

Top Ten Signs You're a Lapsed Scuba Diver

10) You look at your kids and wonder if you could get enough money for them to pay for a South Pacific dive trip.

9) You fantasize about diving in Lake Lanier, Georgia. Wow! I love collecting beer cans, fishing line, and dead bodies!

8) You start wearing your old dive t-shirts every day. Even on date nights!

7) Instead of telling people you're tired, you just say, "I'm narced!"

6) You read and re-read your dive magazines until the pictures are worn off.

5) You get aroused looking at dry suit ads.

4) The news talks about a Hollywood personality getting arrested for a DUI and you wonder, "Why would somebody get arrested for buying a dry suit?"

3) Sea Hunt re-runs just aren't doing it for you anymore.

2) You stand in your driveway, fully geared up, whenever it rains.

1) You rent an air tank just stay underwater in your bathtub.

Fly the Friendly Skies!

Do you recall the headlines about ten days ago? Let's see, there was:

Obama & Hillary Mud Wrestle for the Democratic Nomination!
McCain Caught Taking White House Drape Measurements!
Piece of Wing Comes Off Plane Mid-Flight and Strikes Passenger Window!

WTF?

Oh, yeah. That's a vote of confidence for someone getting ready to board a plane in a matter of days. So, I quietly sat, watched the news unfold, shook my head, and chanted to myself, "That's not going to happen to my plane. That's not going to happen to my plane. My plane will be fine! My plane will be fine!"

I remember flying on an Egypt Air airplane, eight years ago, from Abu Simbel to Aswan, Egypt. The whole thing rattled during both the take-off and flight. During the landing, though, part of the overhead compartment, the next aisle over, came loose from the ceiling and just sort of hung there.

WTF?

Oh, yeah. I felt real confident with Egyptian domestic air travel after that. And now? Not feeling too confident with the American carriers.

I then find myself, last Thursday morning, 48 hours away from my flight, reading the following news headline:

Nearly 200 Delta and American Flights Grounded for Maintenance

Joy. And wouldn't you know it? I'm flying Delta! And wouldn't you know it? There was a handy link in the article, to the Delta site, that would allow me to check on my flight's status. So, off I went. Once there, I typed in my flight number and (here's the fun part) selected the departure date. My flight was leaving on Saturday the 29th and I was checking this info on Thursday the 27th. The date ranges I could choose from were:

Today (March 27)
Tomorrow (March 28)
And... wait for it...
Yesterday (March 26)

WTF?

Why should I care about yesterday's flights? Obviously, you've either gotten on the plane and taken the flight or not and if you got on the plane and it flew? Then you know it left because you were on the friggin' plane! And if you decided not to go, what the hell do you care if the plane flew or not?

Seriously?

I was like that freaky Nomad computer from the Star Trek episode "The Changeling", smoke pouring out of my ears, saying over and over "Illogical! Illogical!" because I just don't get it!



Somebody explain it to me!

Steal This Meme!

Yeah, I've seen this floating around all over the place. Might as well do it here. I mean, I could blog about the current presidential race, the strife in the Middle East, or the fact that my undies are riding up my crack. But why go to all that trouble when I have this kick-ass photographic meme knocking on my door? So, here goes...

If you would like to do this meme on your blog, just do the following:
1. Go to www.photobucket.com.
2. Type in your answer to the questions below in the “search” box.
3. Use only the first page.
4. Insert the picture into your blog.

Heh-hem.

1) What is your relationship status?


2) What is your current mood?


3) Who is your favorite musical artist? Psst! By the way, that's Victor Wooten. The most amazing bass guitarist in the universe. Seriously.


4) What is your favorite movie?


5) What kind of pet do you have?


6) Where do you live?


7) Where do you work?


8) What do you look like?


9) What do you drive?


10) What did you do last night?


11) What is your favorite TV show?


12) Describe yourself.


13) What are you doing today? Hm, let me think.... DIVING?!?! (OK, so this pic isn't from photobucket. You found me out. It's me in Cozumel, six years ago!)


14) What is your name?


15) What is your favorite candy?