My horrible fear of ...Stairs!

I am afraid of stairs. It's not a phobia, when seeing a flight of stairs I do not start screaming and smacking myself in the head. It's the fact that I have fallen down so many stairs in my life I've earned a healthy fear of them.

It seems to me I came out of the womb as tall as I am now. My mother will happily attest that this is not true, but to me it feels like it. I was always the tallest girl in my class and I always had the biggest feet. I've been a size 10 since birth, too (shut-up, mom).

As a tall, skinny, awkward kid always in a hurry I fell down a lot of stairs. Mostly at school when I had a throng of people behind me making me hurry. Not all falls resulted in public humiliation or bodily injury, but I had plenty of those in my life, too. When I lived at home with my parents in Illinois our basement stairs were painted with a super high glass paint. During the summer months our basement was constantly damp, turning those wooden stairs into little planks of slippery snot. I landed against the rough concrete walls on average about two times a week.

In 2003 a dear friend of mine fell down a long flight of stairs and it killed her.

So I have a very real fear of stairs. As such I have had to come up with ways to combat them. I count when I walk up or down stairs. There are 13 leading to our basement, at work one stairwell is comprised of 10 steps each flight while the other has 19. My father-in-law has 11 steps leading to his basement, my sister has 14 going up to her front door. Counting while going up lets me make sure I don't miss one on the way down. I also grab onto the handrail, some times with white knuckles, just in case I slip up. If there is no hand rail I lean against the wall or keep my hand on it while I walk. If there is no handrail, no wall, and nothing to grab onto should I fall, I avoid those stairs all together.

I found some paperwork in my box this afternoon that was very interesting. I had also found some left over chocolate cake. Cake in one hand, papers in another, elevator broken, I found myself halfway down the stairs before I realized I had no support system should I fall.

I froze. I literally could not move.

Then I proceeded to fall down the fucking stairs.

Self-fulfilling prophecy? Subconscious fear fully realized? I don't know, but it's stairs 1, Barbarian 0. And now I have to explain why the reprint my professor is sending a colleague smells like a birthday cake.

HA!

I hate cigarette smoke, and now I have proof that I've been right all along.

Ohhh, you cry-baby smokers who feel your being picked on, think of this: There is nothing in this world (aside from maybe radiation) that damages innocent bystanders as much as cigarette smoke, yet you have the balls to walk around like YOU'RE the one being prosecuted. Pa-leeze.

It stinks.
It's dangerous.
And it travels.
Keep it to yourself.

(Clap, clap) Bitch On!

I have something to say to the family of Josh Hancock. If you are not familiar with this story, Josh Hancock was a Cardinal baseball player. He got drunk at a local sports bar called Mike Shannon's. He poured his drunk ass into his SUV and then tried to take on a tow truck. He was killed instantly.

His family has decided that their poor little boy was a victim of circumstance. If the people at Mike Shannon's hadn't tied up their innocent son and poured three hours of constant alcohol down his throat he'd still be alive. Not only are they trying to sue the restaurant, it's employees, and the managers, now they want to sue the tow truck driver, his company, and the people who owned the car that broke down causing the tow truck to be in there in the first place.

Let's get some facts straight: no one forced Joshy to drink. He picked up his glass and poured that liquor down his own throat for three and a half hours. That was his choice. Then he decided he was sober enough to drive home DESPITE his friends suggesting he call a cab. That was his choice. It was also his choice to speed like a demon down a dark, crowded highway. It was his decision to not use his seat belt, to talk on a cell phone, and to swerve across two lanes of highway to avoid a slower car.

He slammed into the back of a parked (Hello? Parked!) tow truck and ended his own life. It isn't any one else's fault except his.

But oh no, his little Mommy and Daddy can't except that fact that their son was a dumbass. It's so much easier to believe an entire city conspired against their boy and viciously set him up to die.

This is what happens when you raise your children in a world where they can do no wrong. Parent's who excuse their children's behavior by blaming everyone else are just as much to blame for their offspring's dumbassery as the dumbass themselves. I'm sure Joshy was a spoiled brat who got away with everything. Mommy and Daddy probably tore his teacher's a new butthole when they dared to give Joshy a bad grade. I bet Joshy was a bully in school, and his parents blamed the other kids for being pussies when anyone complained about their son.

So, Mr. & Mrs. Hancock, it's time for you to pull your heads out of your asses. If you had been better parents your son might still be alive. Instead of teaching him how to blame everyone else for his own failures you should have been teaching him about responsibility and consequences of his own actions. Is "drinking & driving" a new concept to you? Why didn't you teach your son about the perils of alcohol and vehicles? The only reason your trying to sue everyone is because your meal ticket went bye-bye. This city is not responsible for your drunken dead son any more than they are the other drunken assholes that kill themselves every year. Your making a mockery of your family and those who were sympathetic to your plight now hope you shut-up and move away. The memory of your son is forever tarnished by your stupidity and selfishness. Hope your happy about that.

Now, why don't you have a few cocktails and go for a nice long drive.

(Clap, clap) Bitch off.

Ooooooh, You Ugly, You Ugly, Your Mama Say You Fugly!

I have a friend going through a tough time right now. It's her story so I won't tell it, but it involves her man. Naturally this makes me think about my man. (Warning: sappy love stuff).

I get frustrated with my husband's video games. They have made me angry, sad, lonely, and feeling left out. I've cried over them, I'm not ashamed to say, and they have caused more than one uncomfortable moment for me and my husband. At one time I entertained the thought of life without either of them (but only for a minute).

But that just won't do. See, my man treats me so well in every other way. He respects me, he never raises his voice or hands to me. He doesn't talk bad about me behind my back. In fact, if someone else were speaking badly about me Hubby would be the first to straighten them out (or come home and tell me and I'll straighten them out). He cares for my well-being. If I've had a long, hard day he does his best to make sure the rest of my evening is pleasant. He buys me presents, cooks me dinner, and makes me laugh. He shares his life with me and I can share mine with him. He loves my friends and family. He would never do anything to intentionally hurt me, and he doesn't lie to me, either.

I could go on and on, but the point is it's worth putting up with his video games because in every other facet of our life my husband is the best. He loves me, and with that love comes honor, respect, and fidelity. Sometimes I think I don't deserve him (only sometimes). I had to learn that in a relationship there is compromise. I put up with my husband's games because I know they make him happy and give him an outlet. I don't understand it, but hey, it's his outlet. Lord knows he puts up with a lot from me.

I hate that my friend is going through a hard time and I am helpless to do anything (well, anything that doesn't involve a very deep grave and a chainsaw). She's a good woman and mother and she doesn't deserve this. It's killing me to sit on the sidelines and keep my mouth in check, but it's her game and I am just a spectator. So here's a cheer for ya, girlfriend:

Ra Ra Ree, Kick Him in the Knee
Ra Ra Ruts, Kick him in the...

Case of the Blahs

I don't feel like doing very much today. I'm restless and tired at the same time. It sucks.

I was disappointed to see Ono win Dancing with the Stars. I don't have a reason but I just don't like the guy. I was hoping Joey would win, but oh well. I have been one off since the end of America's Next Top Model (Jaslene? Please!). Maybe I'm just watching too much TV.

Hope you're having a good day.

Yes, but what about the FLEAS?

This is just another example of how stupid we humans can be. Seems some animals are dying of bubonic plague at a zoo due to fleas carrying the disease. Oh, they've taken every precaution to assure the animals affected have been taken out of public view, and they think the threat to humans is low.

Uh-huh.

Gee, the bubonic plague was such a low impact disease, right? I mean, it only killed off MILLIONS in a short amount of time, it can't be dangerous or anything. But hey, they took the monkeys out of view, that's good enough, right? Notice they haven't done shit in order to get rid of the fleas? Yeah, nice how they left that information out of the article. Because it's the monkeys that are causing the problem. Morons.

Just a tip: if you live in the Denver area stay the hell away from the zoo.

1 Down, 1 To Go

I had my first procedure today. The drugs weere fantatic! I am not in pain. My doctor was kind enough to give me some pain pills just in case, but I may not need them. I took the BEST nap.

Thanks, honey, for putting up with me and for the bagels. I love you.

Oh, Look Out!

Now that stem cell research has been proven to cure baldness in mice I bet, I just BET, all stem cell research will be approved by a landslide come next election.

About Damn Time

Read this. Just read it, it's about time some serious law makers started looking at the REAL issues of this country instead of wasting their time on abortion and gay marriage.

Still Feeling Like a Dwarf

Today I am coughy and droopy.

I just have something I need to get off my chest:

PULL OUR SOLDIERS OUT OF IRAQ AND LET SOME OTHER COUNTRY WORRY ABOUT IT FOR A WHILE!!! Whew, that's been inside for a while. Iraq "leaders" won't be able to lead until we, the United States of Crutch, let them stand on their own. If they are ultimately going to deal with the insurgents and all, what better time to start? If they continue to lean on us they will never get independence. And all those other countries urging us to keep our men in there - where the hell are they're troops? I mean, ALL of their troops? Hmmmm? Oh no, we'll just let the Americans do most of the work.

Enough.

Barbarian Illness

I'm down for the count, folks. Icky, sneezy, drippy, and ewy. There has been one thing that's cheered me up, though. Oh, I know, one way ticket to Hell. At least I'll see Jerry there.

The Language of Love

Those of you who have been with your significant other for a long time know how that person acts, speaks, and thinks. Oh, not all the time, but you get the idea.

This last Saturday night my husband could not sleep. he woke at 3AM and proceeded to watch three horrible movies before I woke at 9. He wasn't sick, he wasn't stressed, and he didn't have any major clients to brood over. I start to prepare for the day when he comes into the bedroom, lays down on the bed, and says, "I have some good news and some bad news."

Shit. Honey can't sleep, hasn't slept well for a while, and now he's essentially said, "We need to talk." Has he lost his job? Are we being relocated? Is there an issue with the house? Oh God, is he getting ready to dump me?

He says, "I've been made some big poo-bah in my stupid little game and this means I will spend more time in La-la Land, thus more time ignoring you." (Ok, I'm paraphrasing.)

THAT'S it? That's the news? That has absolutely nothing to do with my life. It isn't good or bad news to me, it's ridiculous. Oh, it's bad in the fact that my husband has immersed himself more and more into this stupid game, but it doesn't have a damn thing to do with REAL life. The ten years he scared off my life weren't worth it.

Lessons in Frustration

Yesterday I had a great day until 2:30. After that every ounce of shit hit the fan at work. I left work with relief, all I had to do was stop by the post office before I went home to relax. I needed to mail off Mother's Day items or I'd be in the dog house come Sunday.

The post office has two entrances but only one exit (due to the drop-off boxes). I was a bit annoyed that so many cars were there. I knew there would be a wait. I walked in and took my number (68, missed it by one), then I assessed the situation. As usual there were only two ladies tending to the counter. Why do they even bother to build four stations, in every post office I've ever been to only two people work the front desk at any given time. Anyway, one teller was busy with an old lady and the other was finishing up with her customer.

Waiting in line with me was a mother with three young kids, a fat guy with nothing in his hands, a couple dressed in the same blue shirts (I hate that), another lady in white, and the lady who came in behind me (Mrs. 69). The lady at one counter finished up her business and the young twin-couple was next. "We need to get passports," they giggle.

If any of you have ever been at a post office when passport papers are being processed you know it takes For. Ev. Er.

That left one teller.

The old lady was having a problem, seems the address she wanted to ship her package to was incomplete. Of 'course, the old bag herself needed to be told this five times before it finally sunk into her gray head.

During this time two more people came into the office while Mrs. 69 left in disgust. The three kids were whining about something when the lady I like to call "The Freak" burst into the post office.

"Iiiiiiiii gotta be meeeeeeee," she's singing at the top of her lungs. "Isn't it a glorious day to be at the post office," she sings. "C'mon everybody, let's sing about being at the post office." This gets the kids excited and soon we have ourselves a little show. "Sing along, every one," The Freak yells.

The old lady decides to buy something instead of leave. It's only $.87. So she has to reeeeeeeach into her purse, pullllllllll out her pocketbook, open the pocket book, dig around for a dollar, close the pocketbook, put the pocketbook back into her purse, give the dollar to the mail lady, get her change, dig around in her purse again, take the pocketbook back out, put the change inside, then put the pocketbook...well, you get the idea.

The Freak has launched into a soliloquy about stress management now that the fat guy's egging her on.

The couple is still processing their passports. The lady in white has left in disgust.

FINALLY the old bag shuffles away and the fat guy is next in line. He needs to see if package arrived. It hasn't. You think that would be the end. Oh no, Fat Guy's on a mission.
"Haven't seen you around lately, Pearl."
"I've been on vacation."
"Oh yeah? Where'd you go?"
"Montana. Do you need anything else?"
"I hear Montana is a nice place to live. Is it?"
"I don't know, I was only visiting. Do you need anything else?"
"I've been to Colorado once, ever been ski-"
"Do you need anything else?"

Browny points for Pearl, she shakes the fat guy off and calls the next number, 66. No one answers. I don't see the lady with the kids anymore and The Freak was behind me so I assume I am next.

We all know what happens when we assume. I dart past The Freak to get to the counter when out of nowhere the mother and her brats jump me.
"I was next," she screams.
I managed to be pleasant. After all, I was in the wrong. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you had left."
She's all attitude now, "Well, I didn't."
Me, full of venom, "Well, I'm not psychic."

The bitch with the kids does her thing and I crowd her as much as I can. The Freak is behind me looking for a playmate now that the bitch's kids are occupied. Bitch gets done and it is FINALLY my turn. While I am mailing off my stuff the twin couple finally finishes up with their passports and leaves.

Pearl was so nice and efficient, I want to thank her for that.

I get into my car and get behind the Echo that holds the twin couple and wouldn't you just know it they need to make a left. Making a left onto Big Bend during rush hour is near impossible. I just want to go home!

There was no honking, no pointing, no yelling out the window, just me quietly having a conniption fit in my car. Twin boy must have seen this in his rear view mirror because when he could turn he did so as slowly as he possibly could - just to piss me off.

Bad move. I snapped. I floored it with every intention of ramming his little Echo into the gas station across the street. I wasn't thinking of hurting others or possible jail time, I just wanted to end the lives of those two people. Lucky for him he sped up enough to avoid sudden death. I made it home without another incident.

I don't know about you, but in my world post offices no longer exist.

When I did get home I found that our dog tore through our juice bottles. Seems he liked to bite into them because liquid squirted out. and if he shook his head back and forth the liquid went everywhere. Orange juice and fruit punch for everyone!

Where's the Bitch Slap?

Why are we still protecting people of color who stick their foot in their mouth? Where is the public outcry about this? Where are the apologies and firings? Why isn't this being blown up into a huge media and public scandal?

Just asking...

Writings

Sometimes I just write stuff. It comes to mind and I write it down for no reason, and for no one other than myself. The words sound nice, I like the way they flow. Here's my latest:

Baby's running with the blues.
He didn't know as a man he'd have to fucking choose.
Oh, oh, oh, but I can't live without you,
Who knew you could live without me?
All you traded in was you fucking sanity.


A woman is conflicted and her lover is damn sure.
They want to have something sacred, but neither of them are pure.
So he just simply runs around unsure of what to do.
While she sits on time and waits for him to simply come unglued.


I had the perfect love affair,
I knew not his name.
I never spoke a word to him but I loved him just the same.
I saw for five long seconds, and I know he saw me.
We parted ways before we ruined what could never be.


"Snap to it, boys," the old man yelled. "Rebels you'll never be. You have to climb to the top before you get the revelry."
"Shut up, old man," they snapped back, sweat stinging in their eyes. "We've no time to argue over useless, petty lies."
"Fine, then," the old man conceded, "take not with you my advice." But to their backs whispered, "I'll see you in the ice."
Those young boys they went a climbing for that was all they knew. One by one the mountain picked them off with a mighty wind that blew.
Sad families gathered to say their last goodbyes while the old man could only bow his head and avoid looking in their eyes.

Compute This

My husband knows more about computers than I do. I'm willing to admit this. He works on computer stuff more than I do, he learned more about computers than I ever did, and he keeps up to date with the newest computer crap whereas I do not. If I am having a problem I can go to him and 9 times out of 10 he will be able to clear it up for me.

This does not mean that when it comes to computers I am stupid. I know a lot about them. He just happens to know more. I am capable of getting my way around a computer just fine, and when it comes to certain things I know just as much about it as hubby.

That's why it frustrates me to no end that my husband treats me like a child when it comes to computers. I hate it. Last night I wanted to show him something. To me it was a lot easier to show him then to tell him, so I attempted to do just that. I hit a big brick wall.

"Why?" he asked. "Why should I do that?"
He gets this look in his eye, that pity/humor/annoyance look that means, "I'm only listening to you to humor you, but this is totally a waste of my time." Ladies, you know the one. He gets this look and absolutely refuses to cooperate with me.

If I were that fucking stupid I wouldn't be able to hold down my job. I'm on computers EVERYDAY. Seeing as I do all of the birthday, anniversary, and Christmas shopping in this house I know a hell of a lot more about Internet buying than Hubby. The things I know could make Hubby's life a little bit easier, but because of his machismo idea of superiority he refuses to listen.

So fine, fuck him. See if I offer him any help again. And if I need help I'll spend days looking it up before I ask him. I don't want to stroke his over-inflated computer ego.

For My Man

I don't have a husband who buys me things.
I have a husband who gives me things.
Like love.
Honesty.
Confidence.
Passion.
He makes me feel special every day by giving me laughter.
He looks at me as he looks at no other.
Diamonds aren't forever.
What I have is.

Lost on Lost Part II

If you don't watch Lost you may want to skip this post.

What the hell is wrong with Jack? He went to the island with The Others and came back with a bit of a God complex. Just who the hell does he think he is? Just because he's the only doctor on the island doesn't mean he won't get his ass kicked. The shit he pulled with Kate, that whole "Should we tell her? No, not yet." Oh, just try that shit with me! See if you don't find your left nut in your mouth.

If I had been Kate I would have punched that smug little smile off Juliet's ugly face. Of 'course, if I had been Kate I would have kept my mouth shut instead of running to Jack with every little tid-bit. Why is she incapable of keeping her mouth shut? The next time she opens it Sawyer should stick his dick in there, maybe then they'd all be able to keep a few secrets.

I am sick of Jack, I'd like to see him die or at least be horribly maimed. Kate is getting on my damn nerves, why can't she drown already? Now I hear the producers have signed on for 3 more seasons. Three? What the hell are they going to do for 3 more seasons? They're on a freaking island, there's only so much they can do.

Wiat...what's that out there....in the ocean? Why, I think it's a shark! And that's the whole cast of Lost jumping right over it...

WTF?

Where are Jessie Jackson and Al Sharpton now?  Have you heard of
this white couple that were kidnapped, raped, tortured, and
murdered by four people?  Four black people, but they aren’t
calling it a hate crime.
The boy in this unfortunate couple was raped, beaten, had his
penis cut off, was shot three times, and then burned and dumped.
The girl of this couple received the same treatment only they cut
her breast off before they shot her.
Oh, but it’s not a hate crime.
The police started this case as a missing person. They found the
girl’s car and searched it.  They found a fingerprint that spit out
the name of a black man.  They went to the black man’s apartment.
They found the dead girl’s body wrapped in a blanket and stuffed
in a trash can inside the black man’s space.  There is
no doubt the black man did it.
Oh, but it’s not a hate crime.
Once they found him, he turned on his friends in a heartbeat.
Four black people kidnapped, raped, tortured, and murdered an
innocent white couple.  Just how in the hell is that not a hate
crime?
You’re probably asking yourself why you haven’t heard of this.
I’ll tell you why.  Anna Nicole Smith died. The media spoke of
nothing else.  And when the suspects were arrested a well-known
radio DJ called a group of girls “Nappy headed hos.”
So where are the leaders of the black community?  If the races
were reversed our white leaders would be expected to address
this atrocious act.  There would be a demand for it.  Even
though they had nothing to do with it they would have to
take responsibility for it.  They would have to apologize,
and they would have to answer for it.
So where are they?  Where is the public outcry for the
families of the couple who died?  Where is Katie Couric and
Barbara Walters? A white person’s brutal demise at the hands of
racism and hatred doesn’t sell headlines.  White people die
all the time, it just isn’t talked about.  It’s a shameful
secret that white people can be victims, too.
We’re too busy feeling guilty for crimes we don’t commit.


How scared and hurt these two people, young and in love,
must have been when out of no where they’re snatched off
the street.  How awful it must have been for the girl to watch
her boyfriend be gang-raped, mutilated, and then killed knowing
that she was going to be next.  How much it must have hurt to
have her breast cut off.  Her body was violated and then treated
like garbage.
The men and one woman who did this have pleaded not guilty.
There will be a trial in which the lives and deaths of these two
will be relived again and again.
In excruciating detail.
Their families will never get over the loss.  They will
never stop thinking of a future that never was.  They will live
with the pain and the confusion until the day they die, always
just wanting to know, “Why?”
What could be worse than this?
Apparently, a white man calling a group of girls a bad name.

This is a hate crime in the worst way.  Those four sick people
hated them because they were white.  The media hated on them
because they weren't black.

Hide and ...er, Hide.

I couldn't find my kitty cat this morning. Yesterday he went to the vet and that always pisses him off, but he didn't even bother to come out for breakfast and that's just not like him. He will ALWAYS be there for a meal. This worries me. Kitty needs a tooth pulled so maybe that's giving him some trouble. I don't know. If I still can't find him by dinner time I'm tearing that house apart.

Why can't my insurance cover my vet needs? I don't have any kids, but my two animals do depend on me. I think insurance should cover pet costs. They're a heck of a lot cheaper than children and usually live less. I think it would be a grand idea to include pet costs in health insurance.

I stuck my foot in my mouth first thing this morning. I got into the elevator with one of my professors. I asked him if he and his family had any summer vacation plans. He told me that he and his wife had just divorced. Oops.

It's a dreary day today and I like it. I like the rain. I like a slate gray sky with big, bluish clouds and a steady rain that washes away all the stink of the city. The only problem is this is great sleeping weather and my body knows it. I'm fighting to stay awake here.

A fabulous picture of Moi.

Lace and I at the JFK assassination site.

Lace's boyfriend Wonderboy. He's trying on the Gap hat I like to call "Baby Bonnet."

I'm Baaa-aack!

Dallas was fun! Lace has the best apartment and really knows how to treat a guest. She and her man made my visit so much fun in so many different ways. They really are a cute couple.

We visited the JFK assassination site (sad), saw the Body Worlds exhibit (nice), and ate our way across the city. We went to this all-you-can-eat sushi place. I was in Heaven. We ate so much Lace and I had to forgo the salsa dancing plans later that evening.

Dallas itself is very new and shiny looking. Everything seems to be made out of glass or mirrors, I didn't see one Gothic building in the bunch. We went to the biggest Ikea I've ever seen - why don't we have one of these in St. Louis? Honestly? I was sad to leave but very happy to be home with my man again.

Right before I left I received some interesting news. It appears I may never have been able to have children. I went on the Pill at age 18 and didn't get of until last year. In four short months my girl parts have proven to be bad. I have to have a procedure (I'll spare the details) that will basically sterilize me. My doctor broke the news to me gently, adding sadly, "You may never have another period."

"Wait, I find I couldn't have kids, that I'm going to be sterilized, and I'll never have another period? What's the bad news?"

All in all it was a pretty damn good weekend.