That's Miss Karma To You

Many people say that Karma is bitch and most of the time, I tend to agree. But every now and then she's a fairly nice gal, somebody with whom you can sit down and have a great conversation over a venti decaf, non-fat, no-whip, latte with four Splendas. What we must remember about Miss Karma, though, is that she's only nice if you give her time to do her job. If you try to shove her in a particular direction, then she's going to plant her foot up your ass and it won't be fun. At all.

Take, for instance, my ghost hunting. If you'll remember a few weeks ago, I posted about ten of us quitting our group en masse. It was a big step. This particular paranormal investigative group is part of a well-known group and said notoriety helped push investigations our way and gave us a couple of big-name investigations for us to add to our resumes. When we left, I was afraid we would never have those chances again.

When we quit, there were some accusations thrown in the way of two of our members, accusations that had no merit. These two members were accused of taking freebies from a previous client when in fact said freebies never happened, but our leadership didn't take the time to discover this. It was easier for them to believe the worst in us. The ten of us were all shocked that said accusations ever occurred or that it escalated to the point that ten people decided to quit a group in which they deeply believed. But we stood up together, walked out together, and formed our baby, a different group to be run and organized our way with no false accusations or a lack of trust between the members and leadership. Then we sat back and waited.

You see, that client from whom two of our number were accused of taking free passes knew what had happened and knew of the false accusations and was pretty pissed about how the whole thing went down. Six days ago, that client asked us, we ten, as our new group, to come back and investigate on our own with no big-name affiliation, no history as a group except what we did with our former affiliation, and their faith in us steadfastly in place.

And Karma? Well, she just patted us on our heads and gave us each a sucker as we skipped off into the Georgia Aquarium's Titanic exhibit for one last investigation before the artifacts take off for another city. Last night was amazing, not because we saw full-bodied apparitions (WISH!) or had a 15-minute long discussion with someone who passed on when the Titanic sank (HOPE!). It was amazing because we were vindicated.

And we're on our way on our own twenty feet.

Nipple Shield

What did you think it was, a kevlar pastie?

Heh, don't you wish.

When I moved my family photo for scanning, I found this little bastion of my days as a Dairy Queen. It brought chills to the twins and I'm not talking about Bubba and Miss-Miss. And since I'm all about the sharing, there you go.

You're welcome.

Accidental Projectiles

• I keep checking my high school class reunion web site. To see who's updated. And what they're doing. And where they live. And who they sleep with. And it's driving me crazy because I shouldn't give a damn but I have this wicked-nasty case of morbid curiosity that I just can't satisfy by checking once a week. I have to check every. single. day. GAH!
  

• Why can't Hollywood make more movies like The Nun's Story? With a classic actress who isn't in the film to show her tits or ass and act like a complete airhead to whatever hunky actor the studio hired to play opposite her? And why can't the movie-going public appreciate said movies? I mean, this story is awesome. It's a woman who joins a cloistered convent to become a nurse in the Belgian Congo and she wants to be a nurse but to do so she has to be a nun and there's all this inner spiritual turmoil. But for audiences to appreciate a re-make of this movie in today's world, the nuns would have to wear black bikinis, carry around crucifix-shaped crossbows, use their iPhones for confession, with nun-priest sex every ten minutes, and crap blowing up with bodies everywhere and that just makes me sad.

• There's proof! Proof that the Loch Ness monster is real! It's real! It's real! It's... oh, never mind.

• And speaking of Hollyweird, can I get somebody to back an All Planet of the Apes, All the Time channel with me? Please? Because there's something oddly soothing about Roddy McDowall in full chimp makeup. Well, that and Charlton Heston in a loincloth.

• Can I just get an amen that Google Earth may have captured evidence of the Loch Ness monster? Thank you.
  

All in the Family

Most family pictures are happy pictures, pictures full of people who love one another, care for each other in times of stress and who give of themselves unconditionally.

Then there are other family pictures that look happy to outsiders but are filled with complete sadness to those in the know. When I look at this family photo, I don't see a happy 9th grade Heather (top, right corner) surrounded by her loving family during the 1986 Thanksgiving holiday. What I see is a tense Heather who hasn't seen the inside of her grandfather's house in three years because of family strife. I see two uncles who play with one another but have no clue about raising children or being decent brothers to their sisters. I see my mother who is in Hell just by sitting on that couch and a mother who didn't speak to her sister for eight years. Who didn't attend her funeral. I see an aunt who hated me simply because I existed and who would die nine years later. I see a grandfather who had no clue he was playing favorites and killing his daughter's and granddaughter's love for him every day. I see a step-grandmother who was never emotionally there, two cousins I love but never saw enough, a cousin who would die from a drug overdose 18 years later, a cousin I hardly know, and two step-cousins who couldn't care less about me even though we spent our childhoods practically attached to one another.

I look at this picture every day. I pass by it whenever I cross in front of my bookshelves. And when I quickly walk by with barely a glance I think, Wow. We were a beautiful family. Look at what could have been. But, on the days I stop and really look, pick up the photo and touch each of our faces, I cry. I cry because what I see is a family that no longer exists. I see people missing because of death. I see people missing because they turn away no matter how many times I've reached out. I see hopes dashed and love broken. I don't see a family. I see heartache.

I keep this picture to remind me of what will not be for my family. I keep this picture so that I will never forget.

Investigating History

Last Friday, I found myself at a crossroads. It was my first time investigating a purportedly haunted location without my usual group. I was there with three friends, but also four strangers, four brand-new paranormal investigators who are finding their way in the field.

What also made this investigation special was the location. This particular Roswell home is owned by the family of a famous Georgian (Sorry. Can't go into details. It's that whole privacy thing). The house is empty and for sale, but the granddaughter of the late owner was there with us and the stories she told took us beyond the headlines, beyond what we see or read in the news. And that meant more to me than the possibility of seeing or communicating with any ghosts.

It's hard to remember that people like Nancy Pelosi or Lindsay Lohan or Rush Limbaugh or Gwyneth Paltrow, for example, are truly people. Whether we agree with them or not, whether they are trains wrecks or not, whatever. They are people. People with parents, siblings, children, friends, histories, futures and when we, the masses see these people on the TV screen or on the cover of tabloid rags, we start to think of them as things. Less than human. Oh, well, your man broke up with you so you deserved it. Then there's Your approval ratings are down? Poor baby. Bite me. I didn't vote for you because you're a loony. And let's not forget You asked to be famous/have this responsibility. Deal with it and shut up.

But to sit with a family member of one of those well-known personalities, to hear about him/her from someone who truly knows them, it was an eye-opening experience. We joked, we talked, and she reminisced about her family and gave a glimpse into her fond memories. That, to me, was more valuable than any paranormal evidence I may find. Sometimes, I think these moments of touching fellow human lives is more important than touching the next-lives of those who have already passed.

Open Letter 11

Dear A&E channel,
Really? Obsessed? You had to do that to me. I mean, I realize people with OCD have real problems and said problems completely tear their lives apart. It's horrible. But do you have to televise it? Because I spent four hours on Saturday glued to the TV and I came away from those four hours freaked out about my hands, counting anything and everything, and wondering if I could ever again drive on the freeway. Just stop. Please. Put this show on at 7AM when I'm busy with kids or at 3AM when I'm asleep. And don't publicize the show in Atlanta because I will watch it and then I'll end up being a patient in an episode next season. A patient who counts blog post words and smacks the wall every time a blogger uses WTF? *Smack*

Thanks,
I just counted and this letter has 151 words.


Dear Quentin Tarantino,
Inglorious Basterds.

Dude. I haven't the words.

Wait, maybe I do.

I love you. I loved that film. I loved Brad Pitt's fake Italian accent on top of a fake Southern accent. He was genius. I loved Christoph Waltz and his character and I want him. Everyday. Curled up in my pocket so I can take him out and hug him and cuddle him. He is incredible. I loved the gore. I loved the violence. I loved... everything. I want this movie on DVD yesterday so I can watch it every night before bed. Even my 69-year-old mother was laughing and Woo hoo!-ing it up. Awesome. Abso-frakking-lutely awesome.

You are pure genius and I cannot wait to see what comes out of that magnificent brain of yours for the next movie.

Hugs and smooches,
Ms. Purple


Dear John Edwards,
Speechless. Utterly, completely speechless. I don't know what I'm surprised about more. Am I more surprised over the fact you had an affair, while your wife was dealing with cancer, paid for the other woman with campaign donations, had a baby with her, and that you're going to move her and the baby to a home near you and your cancer-stricken wife and three kids? Or am I more surprised over the fact that you gave me the willies long before any of this was known and that for the first time ever my willies-meter was dead-on right?

Can't decide. But I have decided that you are scum.

Regards,
Gonna have to spit on you. Seriously.

Dorks Unite!

Once upon a time, there was a Dork named Heather.


She came from a long line of Dorks. Eastern-European immigrant Dorks, to be exact.


All she wanted was to be an astronaut when she grew up.


Or a Jedi Knight. I mean, what Dork didn't want to be a Jedi?


She also wanted to be on the cover of Vogue. But Vogue had a distinct no-Dork policy. They were obviously Dork-prejudiced.


Instead, Heather became a soldier of fortune fighting against Dork-injustice the world over. But that got boring.


So she quit the soldier gig and got a job with Bernie Madoff stealing from the rich and giving to herself and all the other Dorks.


Unfortunately, this caused her to be vilified by out-on-the-street-broke-ass-seniors all over Florida.


And wanted. But not in a good way.


Thankfully, all the other Dorks still loved her as close Dork families are wont to do.


Eventually, Dorks became the in-crowd. Everybody wanted to be a Dork and Heather was finally rewarded for her hard work in support of Dork-rights.


Even Paris Hilton wanted to be her BFF and work for Heather's Dork charity.


Kiera Knightly couldn't even get a decent job because of Heather.


And all was right with the world because, it was discovered, the world was full of Dorks.

The End.


P.S. Thanks to The Bloggess for the link to PhotoFunia. Kick ass!

Caught Looking

When Drew first approached me about reviewing products for Eden Fantasys, I was extremely nervous. All I could think was He is going to ship me a whip, a ton of leather, and somebody named Mistress Alex to keep us on task. Far from the truth. Drew asked me what I was comfortable reviewing and I thought Let's start off small. Easy. Safe. Then work our way up.

And that's when I told Drew to send me a book.

Here's the deal. I hate adult movies (I'll be nice and not use the p word.). You know why I hate them? There are several reasons, one of which is that movies churned out by the adult film industry are made for men and what most guys like. I think if women were in charge of "erotic" film, it would be something completely different and I would probably enjoy it more. But the main deal-breaker for me is black socks. My college dorm roommates went through a Let's watch people having sex! phase my sophomore year and every time I came back from class, there it was. Many adult films were on the TV quite a bit and I couldn't stand it that during a crucial moment in whatever film we were watching (you know what I mean by crucial), there was the well-endowed male star, doing his thing completely naked... except for his black socks. And all I could focus on were those idiotic socks. Take the socks off, for chrissakes! Seriously, if you're going to the trouble of taking off your pants and shirt, at least take off your socks! It just really bothered me. What I like about erotic books is that I can picture the characters in my head and none of them are wearing socks. Anywhere.

Ahem.

Caught Looking is a collection of 20 short stories about voyeurism and exhibitionism. Among all of you, my readers, the majority may say Oh, I certainly don't want people watching me having sex and I'm not interesting in watching other people go at it. But let's face it, we're all curious voyeurs at heart. We all watch the car accident on the side of the road, the bar room brawl, and I'm pretty sure that if your neighbors were doing the naked hokey-pokey with their curtains open, we'd all stand there, mouths open, watching. Admit it. I know I probably would and after a few minutes I'd call all of you and give you play-by-plays of the action.

The main characters of each story of Caught Looking are either voyeurs or exhibitionists, finding themselves in different scenarios where they're watching or being watched. There are lesbian couples, heterosexual couples, gay men, women masturbating, threesomes, you name it, this book covers it. Because the book covers all types of sexual relationships, I could find something I liked throughout the book. Not only that, but these short stories are very well-written with developed plots and dialogs. One story in particular, The Poet, Dying, was a beautifully written story of an old, dying poet who hires two young men to perform sex in front of him. He wants to feel alive one last time, to feel that flicker of youth and sex and the story is interspersed with his poetry until the literal climax of the story, the young men engaged in sex, and the poet's final moment:

Everyone, everybody,
paroxysms of violet, this particular
day
which, like us, will broach no end.
But solid.

See, this is why I dig written erotica. It's the thinking-man's (or woman's) porn (Couldn't help myself. Sorry.). We can picture the characters in our heads, visualize what's going on, use our imagination, and even find beauty in the words of a story that if filmed might otherwise turn us off.

The other story I greatly enjoyed was Walled Lake Girl. It's the story of a woman who is down on her luck who is interested in a man who lives in her complex. He shows no interest in her and she watches him, constantly. When she's caught, the sex ensues, but it's the story itself, not just the sex, that is raw and rough. You feel bad for her, like she's had a sad life and this is her last chance to have something for herself, not something she only watches through a window. At the end? Well, you'll just have to read it and see.

There were only two stories that left me Meh, one involving adultery and another involving a woman who pleasures herself on the top of her apartment building in the middle of the city, hoping she has a thousand-person audience. Um, yeah. I had enough of an audience during the births of my three kids and I don't need any other type of audience during my intimate moments with the Ty-man.

Overall, I give Caught Looking four out of five bits of coal (Dude. I had to come up with something cute.). Whether you're into voyeurism or exhibitionism or neither, then definitely give this book a try. Me, the prude, truly enjoyed it and it's a great example of how good erotic books can be and how good adult movies could be if someone made the effort of crafting decent stories.

Just without the socks.

First Days

The twins started back to Montessori pre-school on Monday. This year was nothing like last year. No struggling to put on shoes. No waving of arms. Minimal chaos. No tears. Just lots of excitement because we're all old pros at this. Good Lord, you'd think they were starting their first semester at M.I.T. Oh, wait, with that whole time relativity thing, that will be next month. Never mind.


Aren't they just the cutest? Fine, I am biased, no need to remind me. Even J-man got in on the action with a lunch box and backpack of his own. I figured I might as well break him in early since he starts the whole school shebang in January.

Monday was a first day for me as well. It was my first day in years, YEARS I tell you, to drive up to an office building, talk to an HR rep (Who, by the way, looked like Willem Dafoe's twin brother from another mother. Seriously. I was waiting for him to chuck a pumpkin bomb at me. I kept flinching throughout our meeting.), fill out tax forms (Pssst! Ty-man! I haven't filled out a W-4 in... well, ages! What do I do! Hello? Hello, Ty-man?), get a tour of a company where people actually sit at computers and, you know, work (Yep. That's a cube farm. Yep, those employees are prairie dogging. Ah, memories.), and meet my boss (My boss is my sorority sister/college roommate. Nepotism? Technically, no.). It was surreal. Even though I'll be doing this Social Media Blogger gig from home, I went through the motions of Welcome aboard! Glad you're here! Girl, don't even eat poppy seed bagels for the next couple of months because we may make you randomly pee in a cup, thus causing you to positively test for opiates, even if it was opiates with cream cheese, in which case we'll chuck you outta this place. Head first. It's so great having you as part of our team! I drove home with a spinning head.

And then, it happened. It being a picture for my ID badge. An ID badge I'll probably never use except for dart target practice, because oh. my. GAWD! Will you look at that train wreck?



There it is. Right there. Proof that I was a butt-first baby. My whole face is crooked, people! My left eye is higher than my right and what's with said left eye being all droopy?!? Mr. Dafoe probably thought I was getting a head start on the opiate thing. No wonder he smirked when he said, What a great photo! Must remember to un-alphabetize all his files, pumpkin bombs be damned.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm not a big advocate of change. In fact, I fear it. Even if it would do me some good, change generally makes me grumble like Old Mr. Schneider pissing and moaning about the teenagers down the street. Every time change occurs in my life, I wonder if I'll manage it, will I be good enough, will I live up to the expectations of others (which, I know I shouldn't care about but I just do anyway , thankyouverymuch), and will I come out the other side better? Or worse?

I'll let you know.

Congratulations!

After having a record 13 people enter my sadistic blogiversary contest (heh), I went over the answers and entered all you brave souls into the random integer generator and I am pleased as punch to announce that Tuli is the winner! Tuli, e-mail me your name and mailing address and I'll send you a little box of Georgia swag! Woo hoo!

I've included the correct answers to the questions below. Thanks for playing, everyone!

1) Empire Strikes Back - To what did General Rieekan order all power in Echo Base rerouted?
B. The energy shield

2) A New Hope - What was M'iiyoom Onith's species?
C. H'memthe

3) Return of the Jedi - Whose fugitive parents were killed by Rodian bounty hunters when he was ten years old?
C. Doda Bodonawieedo

4) A New Hope - Who served as a test pilot on various TIE prototype ships?
B. Captain Yorr

5) Empire Strikes Back - To what phrase did C-3PO reply, "How rude!"?
B. "E chu ta!"

6) A New Hope - Where did C-3PO tell the stormtroopers the "madmen" were headed?
B. To the prison level

7) Empire Strikes Back - How many medium blaster cannons is an AT-AT fitted with?
A. Two

8) A New Hope - What was Beru Lars' homeworld?
C. Tatooine

9) Return of the Jedi - Which company manufactured the escort frigate used by the Rebellion?
B. Kuat Drive Yards

10) Return of the Jedi - What is the uppermost spire of the tower at Jabba the Hutt's palace?
B. A communications dome

I'm a Big Prude

So. OK. Here goes...

I'm a big, fat, gigantic, colossal prude. A goody-goody. I'm totally vanilla in my sexual tastes. Seriously. I've only ever had sex of any kind with the Ty-man and I'm not big into going outside basic sexual boundaries. We don't use toys, we aren't terribly experimental, and we don't go hog-wild in the sex game. Let's face it, I'm boring in the bedroom and I'm obviously not getting any better. And you know what they say about marriages. You're with the same person for the rest of your life and that means you've got to keep it interesting or lose interest. And lately? After 14 years of marriage? I realize I'm really not making this interesting for the Ty-man or myself. I've realized that it's time to step it up, but I'm taking baby steps, here. No swings hanging from the ceiling.

Yet.

Said baby steps have come in the form of Drew with Eden Fantasys. Yep. Eden Fantasys is an on-line store for all your sexual needs. And I met Drew at BlogHer. And he told me he had read this here blog and liked it (Me?!? You've read my wacky shit? And you didn't run away? Wow.). And he said he wanted me to become a product reviewer for them.

Me. Princess Prude. Doing product reviews for an on-line sex store. And Eden Fantasys is a really nice on-line sex store as opposed those sex stores we've all ventured into. You know the ones. Some sleazy 24-hour shop that hasn't been cleaned in years, with marijuana pipes in the glass cases in the front and some weird, quiet guy in the back looking at all the "HOT ANAL SEX WITH LADIES WITH BIG JUGS!" videos who then quickly scurries over to the "COUPLES" section when he sees you see him. Meanwhile, you notice those curtained-off areas in the back faintly smelling of Windex and God-knows-what-else, all while you're wondering Will that piña colada massage oil make me gag? Then, the creepy guy behind the register offers you a free cock ring with the purchase of your bachelorette party massage oils and all you want to do is shove said ring up his nose and run like hell. Yeah. Seriously. Eden Fantasys is nothing like those places. Go check them out. Now. I'll wait.

Isn't it nice? Pretty pink vibrators! Seriously! Don't you just want to buy one for your mom, mom-in-law, grandmothers, and all your aunts? I mean, they're just so... pretty! They could be pieces of art on the coffee table, for cripes sake. And look at this! It's the SaSi. It's purple! It matches my blog and my kitchen. OMG!

So, what I'm trying to tell you is that, for the first time ever on this blog, I will be doing reviews for products related to the most basic of human functions. Come on. We all need sex, it's what makes the world go 'round, it's why we exist. We are all sexual beings, no matter how repressed we may or may not be. So for now, I'm keeping my reviews to the book/couples section, products that will hopefully help Ty-man and I in our sex lives, products that may help all of you with your sex lives. Maybe, hopefully, these products will take my sexual proclivities from vanilla to vanilla with chocolate sprinkles.

I'll have my first review up in a couple of days!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Don't forget to check out Friday's post and answer the Star Wars trivia questions to win a Georgia swag bag in honor of my second blogiversary! Get your comments in by 11:59 PM tonight and I'll let you know who the winner is tomorrow!

Terrible Twos

So, yeah. This blog is two years old. I guess it's time for the temper tantrums, right? Do I really have to be potty-trained? Because these diapers are pretty friggin' awesome.

Would this whole blogiversary who-ha be easier to swallow if I told you there's a contest? And the winner would get a Georgia* swag bag? You'd like that, wouldn't you? Of course you would.

This past Christmas, the Ty-man (a.k.a. George Lucas's and Harrison Ford's love child) got this book from Santa:


You all know this is a Star Wars family, so I'm going to ask ten random questions from this book (only from the original trilogy, 'cause I'm old school that way). Based on how many questions you get right, that's how many times I'll put your name in the Randomizer and we'll see which name pops out as the lucky winner! Ya'll, I'm telling you right now, this shit is hard. Like, I go into the bathroom to take care of business and it's so rare I get an answer right that I've given up even touching this damned book. I just pee and go. The Ty-man, on the other hand, is all over this book. I'll hear him in there and I hear the book choosing a question and I hear Ty push A, B, C, or D and I hear DingDingDingDing!!! all. the. frakking. time. That's why he's disqualified from this contest.

Are you guys ready? You have until Monday night, 11:59PM, to comment here with your answers. Now, no cheating! No looking at the comments of others! Here we go:

1) Empire Strikes Back - To what did General Rieekan order all power in Echo Base rerouted?
A. The ion cannon
B. The energy shield
C. The medical facility
D. The hanger bay

2) A New Hope - What was M'iiyoom Onith's species?
A. Kubaz
B. Quor'sav
C. H'memthe
D. Saurin

3) Return of the Jedi - Whose fugitive parents were killed by Rodian bounty hunters when he was ten years old?
A. Greedo
B. Bossk
C. Doda Bodonawieedo
D. Max Rebo

4) A New Hope - Who served as a test pilot on various TIE prototype ships?
A. Captain Khurgee
B. Captain Yorr
C. Colonel Yularen
D. Colonel Kilb

5) Empire Strikes Back - To what phrase did C-3PO reply, "How rude!"?
A. "Tee chuta hhat yudd!"
B. "E chu ta!"
C. "Lana!"
D. "Paploo!"

6) A New Hope - Where did C-3PO tell the stormtroopers the "madmen" were headed?
A. To the hangar bay.
B. To the prison level
C. To the tractor beam
D. To maintenance

7) Empire Strikes Back - How many medium blaster cannons is an AT-AT fitted with?
A. Two
B. Four
C. Eight
D. Six

8) A New Hope - What was Beru Lars' homeworld?
A. Ator
B. Coruscant
C. Tatooine
D. Dantooine

9) Return of the Jedi - Which company manufactured the escort frigate used by the Rebellion?
A. Incom Corporation
B. Kuat Drive Yards
C. Hoersch-Kessel Drive, Inc.
D. Corellian Engineering Corporation

10) Return of the Jedi - What is the uppermost spire of the tower at Jabba the Hutt's palace?
A. A landing pad
B. A communications dome
C. A prison
D. An observation deck

Good luck everybody!

*Not UGA stuff. Georgia stuff. Like Vidalia onion salad dressing or something. Big on the something.

Calendar Girl, Part 2

Happy Blogiversary to me! Happy Blogiversary to me! Happy Blogiversary dear CofaCMGD! Happy Blogiversary to me!

(Enough of that. We'll cover more of that momentous occasion tomorrow. Promise.)

OK. Did everyone survive the pictures from yesterday? Good.

Are you ready for more? Excellent. Here we go.


Yes, July was me in the tub. Did you know that if you add bubble bath to a jacuzzi tub and then turn on the jacuzzi jets, that the bubbles just go out of control? Yeah. That bath was more bubbles than water. I was worried the bathroom was going to fill up with bubbles before Christian got the shot!


August. Yep. That's me. In Cozumel. In my Dive Goddess skin. Shut up.


Of course you're all familiar with September! There's a story behind this picture. Christian and I rolled up to a local Baptist church for this photo and during this entire shoot, I had the construction workers across the street hooping and hollering. Later that night, Christian's husband Ricky accidentally exposed the film to light. That's right. No pictures. We had to re-do them, catcalls and all. I told Ricky under no uncertain terms that if he exposed the film again then he would be in the Catholic schoolgirl outfit getting the whistles and rude comments. Needless to say, he didn't touch Christian's camera.


October. My favorite month. So much so that why do one picture when you can have two?


Yes. I licked the knife. Fear me.


November. Do you know how hard it is to find an adult-sized cheerleader costume on the Web? And not sound like a perv? Yeah.


And after all of that, I needed something rather innocuous for December.

Hope you guys enjoyed these pictures as much as Ty-man and I have! Tomorrow, we kick off the Second Blogiversary Party!

Calendar Girl, Part 1

First? Tomorrow is my two-year blogiversary. I have something planned, just not tomorrow. But we'll get to that later.

Now, I promise this will be my last post where I mention BlogHer. Seriously.

You see that picture of me? Up in the banner? In addition to being asked Are you really a coal miner's granddaughter? I also heard Is that you in this picture? When was it taken?

Yes, that is me in the picture and no, that picture wasn't taken in high school. It was taken six years ago (at the ripe old age of 31) as part of a Christmas gift for the Ty-man. My friend Kristina had put together a calendar for her husband and I decided to do the same. So, I employed my friend Christian to take pictures for 11 of the 12 months (August was to be a scuba diving picture) and I planned out all the scenarios and wardrobe.

So, here you go. I share with you Ty-man's 2004 Calendar of Heather.


January. Boring as hell. Ty-man was still in the house! I had to pretend it was for my mom! Luckily, Michael was there to take him out for a man-date so that Christian and I could move on to more interesting pictures.


February. I know I'm going to find this picture on a p0rn site or something. I debated about posting it, but you know what? It's a tasteful picture and it took every ounce of bravery in me to pose for it and to be comfortable with Ty-man's family looking at it that Christmas. Whew. So there it is. No turning back.


March. Oh my God. Could I be any more of a dork? Shamrocks t-shirt! Irish Breakfast tea! Ireland travel book! Shoot me. Shoot me now.


April. Awwwww....


May. Because you know all us housewives do all day is stay at home and read smut books in the laundry room. The smell of Tide gets me all worked up!


June. With Han Solo's blaster in our downstairs theater. All kinds of movie geek awesome!

If you want to see July through December? Check back tomorrow!

Different

I'm not the same.

Since my graduation from high school 19 years ago, I went to college. I joined a sorority. I earned a degree. I became a wife. I bought a house. I worked. I missed saying a last good-bye to my father by 30 minutes. My uncle died two weeks later. I was the executor of my uncle's life and watched the other uncle and cousins bicker over his meager belongings. I experienced the deep betrayal of a friend. I drowned in depression. I traveled. I bought a second house. I became a scuba instructor. I ran a marathon. I discovered I was infertile. I pushed my body and mind to their limits as I tried to become a mother. I became mother to twins. I became mother to a third child. I discovered the amazing love of my husband and children. I gave up gainful employment to stay at home with my kids. I started a blog. I became a paranormal investigator.

I have lived. I have experienced. I. Have. Grown.

A lot has happened in the last 19 years since my graduation from high school. In many ways, I'm not the same person I was in 1990. Now? I wear make-up. I have a backbone. I have definite opinions. I stand up for myself. I can walk up to strangers and strike up conversations. And yes, I swear. In other ways, though, I'm exactly the same as the 18-year-old me. I still read like a fiend. I'm an introvert by choice. I love music. I'm overly emotional. I despise conflict.

What you Black Eagles from so long ago who have found me through Facebook need to realize is that I'm not the Heather you saw walk across that stage for my diploma. I'm not the Heather you passed in the halls. I'm not even the Heather you saw march across the football field Friday nights every fall.

I'm different.

And so are you.

Answers, Part 2

I just want to apologize for my extensive use of the baser language in this post. I'm really hot under the collar about this and seriously just needed to drop a few s- and f- bombs. If it offends you, I apologize.

I've heard a lot in my short 37 years about things that are harmful to women, things that objectify those of us of the "gentler" sex, and make it more difficult for us to be taken seriously:

beauty pageants
bikini contests
strip clubs
porn
Hannah Montana
(OK. Maybe not that last one.)

To be honest? None of that stuff bothers me. As long as the women participating in said activities are doing so because they want to, because they have voluntarily signed up to do it, are OK with being slobbered upon, and they don't need Xanax to do it? It's not turning me personally into a sex object*. This is a free country; show your tits through a wet, white t-shirt. I couldn't care less.

BUT...

Being told by our property manager that responding to the VP/bully in a logical-'Scuse me but you just asked me what?!? That's wrong and you need to admit it!-in-his-face manner is OK if we (the HOA prez and me) happen to be men, but as women we need to present softer, sweeter, more joking-type responses. Wow. Seriously? Are you kidding? No? Because that, ladies and gentlemen, that is the objectification bullshit I'm talking about. You can kiss my glass ceiling Mr. Property Management Company Owner because that shit right there? That is what makes it hard for my side of the human race to be taken seriously by anyone with a penis.

Jodi and I have sat for six months and watched the vice-president of our HOA treat us like the mud on his shoe just because our mamas didn't raise us to be a doormats. He accuses us of saying things that aren't true, we tell him he's wrong, and when he responds with baseless accusations and over-the-top emotion? Then back the fuck up, because you don't call someone a liar, you don't accuse someone of things they haven't done, and then expect either of us (or any woman, for that matter) to complacently smile, nod our heads, and reply That's OK. I know you didn't mean it all while stroking his arm and ego. I think we're allowed to respond honestly and, yeah, a bit aggressively, based on our statuses as human beings, all gender aside. And when we sit for the same six months, watching this abuse unfold, receiving no support from the other two officers (one man, one woman), and being told by our property manager to be softer in our responses? To be sweeter? All because we have vaginas? Then I realize that the game is lost. Completely.

I'm finished, guys. I absolutely refuse to be a party to this double-standard crap of He's sowing his wild oats./She's a ho. OR He's assertive./She's bitchy. OR He can hold his liquor./She's a lush. And I hate it that after all these years of "following the rules" (i.e. Get the college education. Don't flash the boss. Don't sleep with everybody and their brother. Yadda. Yadda.) I'm still viewed as someone who needs to interact differently with my fellow man in order to achieve the result I'm hoping for, that I have to bat my eyelashes, that I have to show a little cleavage, that I have to wink when I say what I mean so it won't be construed in such a harsh manner. That right there is some of the stinkiest bullshit I've ever encountered. People, if you're bad, you're bad. If you're good, you're good. And if someone is abusing you based on your responses to them? Then it's still abuse. Period. End of the gender discussion.

As of next Wednesday, I will be resigning my position as secretary of the HOA and Jodi will be resigning her position as president. Oh, we'll still be directors, but we will no longer be officers with official responsibilities. Because if the vice-president wants all the power? Fine, he can have the 30-hours-per-week Jodi puts into the job. If he wants to scream and holler that my minutes are lies? Then he can keep notes on the meetings and write his own version of the history of the HOA. And the other two directors who have sat back and said nothing, therefore making the actions of the VP acceptable? They can deal with him as the new president. And I certainly hope they get two in-boxes, four earfuls, and two bellyfuls of his antics.

Because I? Am done.

*Me. A sex object. This is for to laugh.

Answers, Part 1

Last week, I wrote a rather cryptic post about endings and beginnings. And I left you all hanging, something for which I heartily apologize. I hate cliff-hanger endings. I especially hate cliff-hanger endings like The Lone Gunmen when the first season ended with a gigantic question mark and there was no second season and I nearly lost my damned mind and even though the final season of The X-Files answered Gunmen questions, I wasn't satisfied. Only choking the executives at Fox would have given me satisfaction.

And it's not as if I would throw that open-ended post at you and then shut down the blog. No, never. But, I can't end this question with one answer. I must, instead, give you two.

You all know I'm a paranormal investigator. And I've been doing it for about 19 months. And I've enjoyed every aspect of it and have become close with my fellow investigators. It has been wonderful... except for the communications between our founders and the rest of us. Now, don't get me wrong, as people I like our founders. They mean well, but I truly feel they communicate on a different level than the rest of us in the group. I've come up with my own theory I would like to share with you all. There are three types of communicators in the world:

Group A (impersonal - e-mail, fax, letter, etc.)
Group B (personal - face-to-face, telephone, etc.)
Group C (don't talk to me - I'm surfing p0rn/playing WoW)

The founders of our paranormal investigative group are group A communicators and the rest of us in the group are B. And I sincerely believe for any organization or business to be successful, then all participants need to be either A/A, B/B, A/C, or B/C. Groups comprised of A/B are doomed to failure. And that's exactly what happened to us.

The worst part of all this is that I hate telling people, people I consider friends, whether I'm wrong or right, that Hey, there have been several communication break-downs. And this isn't working. And you've made me and my group B friends very angry. And it makes me extremely sad to have to tell you this. And I can't work past said break-downs. And I'm quitting effective immediately. Because I truly hate it when friends tell friends We can't work together.

You see, I've spent my life having late-night anxiety panic attacks regarding death, dying, and infinity. But in the last 19 months, those incidents haven't happened and it's all because of what I've seen and experienced on these investigations. It has proven to me that there is something after death, that we do continue on, that death isn't an absolute ending. With this knowledge, I don't need to be up, pacing the carpet.

I don't need to be scared. But quitting my paranormal group means "quitting my Zoloft."

But, as I alluded to in last week's post, endings are actually beginnings. And the beginning is that we ten investigators are starting our own investigative group. We have two investigations on the schedule. We're organized. We have a great start on equipment. We're moving forward. And the best part?

We're communicating.

So, thanks for reading. Thanks for being concerned. And I promise, part two will follow tomorrow.

Whatever.

Dude.

You ever feel like a sock puppet who wants to answer every question, every statement, with Whatever?

Me, too.

Whatever.

Warner Music Group Can Suck It

Do you guys remember my Blitzkrieg Spock video? Where I got bored, took various pictures of the kids' Kirk and Spock action figures fighting all over the house to the tune of the Ramones' "Blitzkrieg Bop" and turned it into a video? And the video actually looked like some weird Kirk/Spock sex thing? And it was somewhat amusing?

Yeah.

Well YouTube allowed Warner Music Group to mute the audio of said video.

Yeah.

Because even though I wasn't paid to make the video and I didn't charge people to watch the video, Warner Music Group is a bunch of preemptive jackasses. Oh, no, forget the fact that maybe watching my stupid little video will get someone interested in the Ramones' music and want to download it. Don't even bother to give me the option of adding a link to download said song. Or, gee, maybe add the video to the WMG channel on YouTube. Or maybe, I don't know, use COMMON FUCKING SENSE! *Pant, pant*

No, just delete the audio with no warning or notification to me, the creator of said video.

USSR, people. I'm just sayin'.

So, I have re-uploaded the video to Vimeo. And if it again gets screwed by "The Man" then I'll upload it somewhere else. And write another post about WARNER MUSIC GROUP and how much they SUCK THE LIFE OUT OF OUR CREATIVITY! And if it gets taken down AGAIN, then I'll just mail the video on CD to all of you. And send one to Warner Music Group. With a big middle finger emblazoned on the front of the envelope.

And then I'll need bail money from all of you. Thankssomuch and enjoy.

Davelanta 3, Bitches!

So, you know, once a year, this really obscure* blogger by the name of Dave comes into town and gets all us supa-fly Atlanta bloggers together for drinks, dinner, and terrorizing the general public. As usual, Saturday night was full of many laughs, references to Dave's balls on Twitter**, and lots of talking about anything and everything.

Don't forget the pictures! We couldn't get too wild because there were kids sitting near us. Poor, kids. Disturbed for life after one dinner of sitting near a bunch of bloggers.


My requisite picture with the man himself. DAVE! Thanks, Hilly, for encouraging us to pinch Dave's bottom. Nothing like copping a feel at the Cheesecake Factory!


I met Anissa at BlogHer and was excited to not only find a new blog to read, but to discover that she's a recent Atlanta transplant. Glad you're here, hon!


And by the way? Don't let Anissa and her spring rolls anywhere near your crab cakes and dip. FOOD P0RN!


I just adore Kevin and Beth. Not only are they fellow bloggers, but they're also fellow alums of North Georgia College. GO SAINTS!


So, I ordered a margarita and the waitress didn't even blink an eye or ask for my ID. Mike got there, ordered his drink, and I watched him pull out his driver's license. Yes, Mike, you look like you're still in high school and I'm not bitter at all. Nope. Even though you've found the fountain of youth and haven't revealed its location to the rest of us, I still adore you and your beautiful wife!


I just adore Kim and she's pretty much the bravest and most amazing blogger I've ever had the honor of meeting. Give Gregory a smooch from me!


There are so many times I'll have a commenter and I'll start reading said commenter's blog and I get a hint that they, too, live in Atlanta. And then this blogger shows up to Davelanta and we're talking and she tells me she's Julie and that doesn't ring a bell and then she tells me her handle is Geekgrl64 and the light bulb goes off and the bells ring and I'm all Holy Crap! You're Geekgrl64! That's awesome! People, I've had so many of those moments, I can't even count them all. Can't wait to see you at DragonCon, hon!


And last but not least was Val. Val isn't a blogger, but she's a reader and we all chastised her for not starting her own blog and she said I'm not a writer. and I looked at her and said Well, Lord, hon. I'm not a writer. I'm just some crazy bitch who posts weird shit on the Internet. And I think maybe I scared her a little. Sorry sweetie!

It was great seeing everyone and I can't wait for Davegiving!

*If he's obscure, then I have beachfront property on the moon.
** Fried macaroni and cheese balls, people. Geez.